“Take them in there,” he ordered the guards and Ishan. He bowed his head in respect to Prince Rao, then swiftly walked away.
They entered. The room was large and circular. But the first thing Bhumika noticed was how it felt—like the lake in the caravanserai. Like a dark pool, a door, a gateway vaster and stranger than any seeker’s path. Her heart thrummed. How powerful would it have felt when the waters still stood here?
“This hall,” Bhumika murmured, awed. She turned, a slow arc that allowed her to take in the curving walls, the tessellated stone of the floor, opening like a flower—and the ring of ghostly water-drenched figures that now circled her. At her side, Jeevan saw none of them—only tracked her movement with his eyes, as his other hand rested close to his saber, wary of threats. Ever since the Aloran prince had raised his dagger, Jeevan had been on alert.
Beyond the crescent of her ghosts, the villagers huddled together, no threat to her at all. Only the Aloran prince carried a weapon, sheathed at his belt with his hand on the hilt, and he was looking at her—and her slow, awed movement—with confusion.
“Do you not feel it, Prince Rao?” Bhumika asked.
Rao shook his head.
“No, Elder Bhumika,” he said. “I don’t understand.”
Elder. That word again. She let it slip away unquestioned. Now was not the time to worry about her past.
It was not the watchers who guided her this time but her own good sense. Her gaze lowered to the strange stone dagger still athis waist. It was only when he’d dropped the blade that his eyes had shone, and she had felt the knowledge in her stir in recognition of that light.
“The dagger you carry,” Bhumika said. “The one made of dark stone. Lay it on the ground.”
Rao did not move. So Bhumika said mildly, “Do you think I will seize it from you? Give it to one of your soldiers if you prefer.”
Another heartbeat passed, and then he removed the dagger from his belt and held it out to one of his men, who took it from him. She saw him inhale, and saw his eyes widen. Starry light flared in his eyes, then faded once more.
“What is this place?” Rao asked.
“This is what makes the monastery sacred, Prince Rao.” The head priest entered the room, his vast voice preceding him. “A sacred lake lay here in the Age of Flowers. Those who gazed into it fell directly into the arms of the nameless—into visions vast enough to drive them to madness.” He shook his head. “Common folk claim that it lies beyond the forest, in a caravanserai. But what remains of it lies beneath us.”
He walked farther into the hall. Without pause and without awareness, he stepped through one of the ghostly watchers. He did not feel them. He bent forward, reverently touching a hand to the ground. “Divyanshi prayed here,” he said. “When she departed, the water departed with her.”
From the corner of her eye, Bhumika saw Manjeet sharply nudge one of the women beside her. Bit by bit, the group lowered their heads in reverence.
The head priest did not appear to have noticed their previous lack of piety, or its sudden arrival. His focus was on Bhumika.
“My priests say you claim a yaksa is coming,” he said.
“I only claim the truth,” Bhumika said, inclining her head in respect. “The forest speaks more strongly than my words could. You see what has become of it.”
“Yes.” A pause. She saw disgust and hope war on his face. “You can kill a yaksa?”
“I can share the knowledge of how it can be done,” she said. “I cannot do so myself.”
“Daughter,” he said formally. “You came here to seek the help of the holiest priests of the nameless. If you can demonstrate your power, you have it.” Behind him, more priests entered the room—blue-garbed and solemn.
She should have been exultant to have the trust of the head priest. But her eyes were drawn inexorably to Rao—to this man with eyes that held a flame, who felt the power of this dead lake so strongly that even now he trembled, unable to look away from her in turn.
“Prove yourself,” the head priest said. “Prove you are no trickster, no charlatan or madwoman.” A twist to his mouth. “I implore you.”
“The yaksa will wake and come here,” said Bhumika. “It will come to destroy your sacred monastery, and this sacred space.”It will come for me, she did not say. That was the truth that would serve her like a knife to her own throat. “I can give you no proof that will not require you to face it.”
The head priest’s face hardened. But Bhumika looked once again at Rao.
“Prince Rao,” she called, and felt the strangeness of her own voice—as rich as it had been when she’d begged outside the monastery, when only the young priest had heeded her. “What do you see?”
“Fire,” he said. His voice sounded rough. “I see fire. And I see the dark of the nameless. And I see the—void. I see terrible danger ahead.” His voice broke a little upon that word. He met her eyes. “And you, Elder Bhumika?”
“I see your faith,” said Bhumika. “And I know it will guide you.”
He flinched at that. He swore, shaping the words without sound. Then he said, abruptly, “I believe her.”
