“Why not,” Priya said, giving in to the impulse of chaos. “Youthere!” Priya yelled, raising her voice. The children stumbled to a stop. “Rukh will be leading the rest of your training today. When it’s time to get ready, Khalida will stop you.”
There were groans but no real protests. Rukh grinned at her and ran over to the group, already yelling orders.
“Keep an eye on him?” Priya asked Khalida.
“You’ve released a monster,” Khalida said dryly. “But I’ll do my best to manage him.”
Priya would have liked to run in circles, honestly. Maybe climb a tree or two. But she couldn’t. The journey through the deathless waters was approaching. She had a duty to the mask-keepers.
She found Kritika’s room, knocked on the door, then nudged it open without waiting for a reply.
The older woman was brushing her oiled silver hair into a plait. She gave Priya a nod as she entered. Kritika’s mouth was thin, bracketed by lines of tension. She wore a white salwar kameez. Beads of wood were wound into her hair.
“You look ready,” Priya said.
“I am, Elder,” Kritika said stiffly. “I’m prepared.”
Priya crossed the room toward her.
“There’s no shame in being frightened,” she said.
“I’m not. I have faith in the yaksa.”
Priya nodded. She wasn’t here to poke at the fraying edges of Kritika’s faith today. She was here to be kind.
“I’ll be there too,” Priya said quietly. “I’ll be watching. And I’ll pray for you all. You’re strong. You’ll make it through.”
“Strong,” Kritika repeated. The lines around her mouth deepened. “I have tried to be.”
Kritika reached a hand out. Surprised, Priya let her hand be gripped. Let Kritika look up at her, eyes shining with fervor, faith.
“Today Ganam and I will become twice-born,” Kritika said with determination. “And I have hope that the twice-born among us will survive their third journey. Soon you will have real help, Elder Priya. Fellow elders. And the yaksa will listen to more voicesthan just your own. You will not be alone. We will save Ahiranya together.”
There was real hope in Kritika’s voice. But fear, too.
Priya grasped her hand in return.
“I know it,” she said.
Evening came, and dusk fell. The temple children lined up for the ceremony. Priya and the mask-keepers had agreed to try to make the journey through the deathless waters as traditional as possible: children in white, and mantras being softly sung; lanterns lit, and the effigies of yaksa surrounded by flowers. The moon above them was only a sliver, a hand sickle against the black night sky.
Priya kept her focus on the mask-keepers. Nervous twice-born, faces gray with fear, were trying to look strong. Ganam had vomited in a courtyard just before they’d begun their walk to the Hirana, but nothing in his bearing betrayed his nerves. Little Pallavi had run off to the kitchens and brought him back water, which he’d thanked her for. Afterward he’d said to Priya, in a mutter, “I’d prefer liquor.”
“Wouldn’t we all,” she’d said, feeling that want down to her bones.
Now they stood before the Hirana together. Waiting.
There was a rustle, nearly a sigh, as the tree shuddered, and the ground shifted, and the yaksa emerged as if from nothing, simply rising from the night dark. All of them were here.
It was Arahli Ara who opened the way, who whispered through the green and made the Hirana yield open for them, providing them a path into its heart.
“Go,” Priya said. “Become twice-born and thrice-born. Take your place as elders.”
She felt sweaty. Uncomfortable in her tunic. Not at all like a proud and confident temple elder. The mask-keepers drifted past her, entering the tunnel, following the yaksa into the dim and dark.
Priya looked at the children. “You stay here,” she said. It wasn’t their time.
They nodded. Ashish was looking at the tunnel, his face wan and resolute. He, more than the rest, seemed to fear the fate that lay ahead of him.
