Shadowland: Book III of the Brotherhood of the Conch Read online

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  For my three men,

  Murthy, Abhay, and Anand,

  who believed in me

  from the very first.

  And for Juno,

  who sat beside me every day,

  while I wrote this book.

  1

  DISASTER!

  Anand paced up and down the length of the cave, which was dimly lit by a sputtering lamp that was threatening to extinguish itself. His footsteps echoed against the cave’s damp, rough-hewn walls. He was vexed, and who could blame him? He’d been waiting here in this freezing hole high on a cliffside for four days now—the last twenty-four hours without food or water. And there was still no sight or sound of the hermit he’d come all this way to meet! If he hadn’t seen the man himself on a couple of occasions in the past year, clambering up the side of a distant crag like a skinny goat, his gray hair blown helter-skelter and his robe billowing in the wind, he would have doubted his very existence in spite of all that Abhaydatta, the Master Healer, had told him.

  Though Anand, as Abhaydatta’s apprentice, held the healer in the greatest esteem, right now he was angry with him as well. If it weren’t for Abhaydatta, Anand wouldn’t be here, starving half to death, and probably coming down with a terrible cold, too. His head felt like it was stuffed with wool, and the sounds he heard were distorted and indistinct, as though reaching him from very far away. Anand was partially to blame for the situation in which he found himself, but when this unpleasant thought pricked at his conscience, he pushed it away.

  I’ll wait until the lamp burns out, he thought. Then I’ll go back down to the Silver Valley, where I’ll have to tell Abhaydatta that I failed.

  He sat down on the clammy, uncomfortably sharp rocks just inside the entrance to the cave, crouching a little, for he’d grown a great deal in the last year since he turned fifteen and wasn’t yet used to his height. From this vantage point he scanned the hillside for the hermit, though his hopes were not high. He drew his yellow wool tunic, the one that all apprentices wore, closer and pushed his long hair away from his eyes. The despondence that tormented him today was unusual for him. Generally he was cheerful and responsible, much liked by the healers. His fellow apprentices liked him, too, though they sometimes complained that he took the world too seriously. But mostly they held him in awe because he held a special position in the Brotherhood. He was keeper of the magical conch from which the healers drew their power, and the only one with whom the conch communicated. Anand, however, was rather modest and did not consider himself special. If anything, he had many doubts about his abilities—and all of them seemed to have surfaced today.

  After four days of harsh winds and sleet, it was finally bright outside, the sun shining on piles of snow. It was still cold—but then, up this high in the Himalayas, it was always cold, except in the Silver Valley, where right now Anand’s schoolmates would be sitting down to a hot, savory lunch. Gloom descended on him as he imagined their meal. On Tuesdays—today was Tuesday, wasn’t it?—the cooks served a hearty rice-and-lentil stew filled with fresh vegetables grown in the valley, with fried potatoes on the side. His stomach growled as he imagined biting into a succulent, spicy potato. Then his appetite ebbed. How would Abhaydatta react to his failure—and to his disobedience, for he had given Anand strict instructions to return to the valley yesterday? Abhaydatta wasn’t given to ranting. He would probably stride away, lips clamped together in disappointment. But some of the other apprentices were sure to make fun of Anand.

  Anand did not know that none of the things he dreaded was going to happen, that something far worse was waiting for him in the valley.

  * * *

  Five days ago. That was when it had all started.

  Anand had been in the middle of a lesson with Master Mihirdatta, the healer who specialized in Transformation, a skill that allowed a healer to examine the very essence of objects and change the whirling particles of energy that were at their core.

  “If you can focus your intellect enough to get down to the level of this energy in something, if you can feel its particular vibration, then you can change it when necessary to something else,” Mihirdatta explained. “But it is an advanced skill even for those of you who are senior apprentices, and not to be undertaken lightly, for to change the essence of even the smallest object is dangerous and may have far-reaching consequences, either on the universe or on the healer.” He gave the students a simple exercise: to change the palm leaf on which they were writing their notes into parchment.

  Anand concentrated the way the healer had explained, closing his eyes, drifting into a state that could best be described as alert sleep, and trying to feel deep into the fabric of the leaf. Just when he felt as though the leaf was dissolving into a pool of rapidly moving pinpricks of light, he was distracted by the arrival of a messenger. It was Raj-bhanu, a friend of Anand’s. They had been on an adventure together when Raj-bhanu was a senior apprentice. He had recently graduated and had been given a junior healer’s robes. He bowed to Mihirdatta in apology for the interruption. However, he said, he had an urgent message from Abhaydatta. Anand was to meet him in the Hall of Seeing as soon as he finished this class.

  This was highly unusual. The apprentices’ days followed a strict and—in Anand’s opinion—overly predictable routine. The other boys whispered among themselves, throwing Anand curious glances. Anand sat up very straight, his heart beating fast as he wondered why his mentor had summoned him. He knew it was important. Otherwise Abhaydatta would not have interrupted his lessons. He hoped it was something exciting.

  Anand loved being part of the Brotherhood and learning the secret arts with which they aided the world. He knew how lucky he was to live here, in this sheltered valley with its winding paths lined by silver-barked parijat trees, its airy dormitories, and its magnificent Crystal Hall where the conch was housed. He felt especially fortunate to be keeper of the conch because he loved the tiny but immensely powerful shell more than he had ever thought he could love anything—or anyone. Still, it had been two years since his last adventure when, along with his best friend Nisha, he had traveled hundreds of years back to the court of Nawab Najib and saved his subjects from being destroyed by an evil jinn. He had been happy to return to the Brotherhood after having completed his task, and in the last couple of years he had learned many valuable skills. But he was ready for a new quest.

  Distracted by all these thoughts, he bungled the Transformation he was attempting, turning his palm leaf, quite inexplicably, into a large and extremely blue turban. His classmates snickered, and Mihirdatta stared in disbelief.

  “However did you manage that? In all my years of teaching, I’ve never seen a student come up with that particular result. Ah, well! It’s obvious that you’ll be of no use until you’ve found out what Mast
er Abhaydatta wants. You might as well go to him right now.”

  Anand bowed gratefully, handed the turban to the apprentice next to him, and hurried to the door, almost tripping over a stool in the process. Mihirdatta shook his head, but Anand noticed a small smile playing on his lips as though he hadn’t forgotten what it was to be young and hungry for heroic exploits.

  * * *

  Anand ran all the way to the Hall of Seeing, a small, elegant building formed entirely out of intertwining trees with shining green-gray leaves. Pausing at the threshold to catch his breath, he could hear the murmur of voices inside. He had arrived too early—Abhaydatta was still in conversation with someone. He was about to move away to the other side of the path when he heard his name mentioned.

  “Are you sure Anand is ready for such a challenge?” a man’s voice said. “He hasn’t completed his fourth year of studies yet. He doesn’t know the major protective chants, or the—”

  With a start Anand recognized the voice as belonging to the Chief Healer, Somdatta. Whatever task Abhaydatta had planned for Anand was obviously important enough for the Chief Healer to take an interest in it! He knew he should not eavesdrop, but he couldn’t resist. He hoped that his mentor, whom he idolized, would proclaim his faith in his apprentice’s abilities. Abhaydatta, however, said something quite different.

  “I’m not certain that he is ready, either,” he replied in a somber voice. “But some instinct I can’t explain is urging me to send him forth. I fear that if I don’t do it now, we may all regret it.”

  “I trust your wisdom, Master Abhaydatta,” Somdatta replied, though he did not sound too happy. “You have my consent.”

  Hearing their footsteps, Anand retreated hastily. By the time the two men emerged from the building, he was hurrying up the path that bordered the lake of silver lotuses as though he had just arrived. Both healers nodded graciously to acknowledge his greeting, though Abhaydatta shot him a sharp glance from under his thick white eyebrows.

  Once inside the building, the Master Healer did not waste time. “Some time ago I told you about the hermit who lives high up in the mountains, and about how one day you might study with him,” he said. “Well, that time has arrived. I want you to meet him—or rather, attempt to do so, because ultimately only the hermit decides whom he will meet.”

  Anand remembered that distant conversation, for he had thought of it longingly from time to time. Abhaydatta had said that the hermit was the only one who knew how to develop Anand’s special gift, something no one else in the Brotherhood had: his ability to communicate with objects of power. This special ability had allowed Anand to develop a unique friendship with the conch. It had also enabled him to find the Mirror of Fire and Dreaming, without which he could not have traveled back to Nawab Najib’s court. With the help of the hermit, who knew how many other objects of power he might learn to work with! His heart leaped at the thought.

  Abhaydatta smiled wryly. “Don’t get too excited! It’s quite uncomfortable on the mountain, and the hermit can be capricious. You may not see him at all. But I’ll do what I can to help you. I’ll give you directions to a cave that he uses from time to time, and I’ll equip you with gifts that I think he’ll like. You’ll carry enough food and drink for three days. If he doesn’t come to you by then, you must return to the Brotherhood. This is important! As you no doubt heard when you were eavesdropping”—here he turned a stern gaze on Anand, making him squirm—“the mountain is dangerous. I’ll weave a protection around you, but it will last only three days. After that, you’ll become easy prey for the forces that dwell there.”

  Anand started to ask about these forces, but Abhaydatta stopped him with a raised hand. “You must tell no one about your coming journey. Even with the best of intentions, boys aren’t necessarily as discreet as they might be, and the news might reach the wrong ears.”

  “Can’t I tell Nisha?” Anand asked, dismayed at the thought of keeping such an important secret from the girl who was his best friend and confidante. She had shared his adventures since the time he had been a twelve-year-old living in the slums of Kolkata and she an orphaned sweeper girl.

  Abhaydatta closed his eyes and thought for a moment, his eyes darting side to side beneath their lids as though he was reading something. “You may mention it to her,” he said finally, though he didn’t explain why.

  With quick strokes, using only a fingertip that left a sparkly trail on the floor of the hall, Abhaydatta drew a map of the path that would lead Anand to the cave. He made Anand pronounce carefully the password he would have to use to get back into the valley, for its boundaries were always kept magically sealed against intruders. Then he went on to explain the complicated protocols of visiting a hermit: how to bow to him, how to address him, how to offer him gifts, and what questions not to ask him under any circumstances. Anand had no opportunity to inquire about the dangers that lurked on the mountain. But as he hurried to his next task of the day, he thought, perhaps that was for the best.

  * * *

  At dinner that night Anand made sure to sit next to Nisha. As he quietly told her about his upcoming task, she gave a sigh of envy, pushing back the unruly hair that framed her face.

  “How I’d love to go up there with you! But Mother Amita would have a fit if I even suggested it.”

  Nisha had a flair for exaggeration. But in this case, Anand thought, she was probably right. Mother Amita, the herb-mistress to whom Nisha was apprenticed, and with whom she lived in a cottage at the far edge of the valley, had become increasingly strict as Nisha grew older. All this last year—perhaps because Nisha was the only girl in the Brotherhood—Amita kept a close eye on her, allowing her to join the other apprentices only at lessons and meals. Recently, she had insisted that instead of the tunic and pants that the boys wore, Nisha should dress in a long, shapeless skirt and a shawl that covered her hair. Anand knew that such restrictions were difficult for his free-spirited friend, but she put up with them because she loved being part of the Brotherhood, which was the only family she had ever known.

  “Oh well,” Nisha said, brightening. “Maybe Mother Amita will make a trip down into the gorge of herbs soon—we’ve almost run out of brahmi plants—and I can go with her. I love the gorge. The trees there are strangely shaped, so that they look like old people. And the birds that nest there aren’t scared at all. They’ll fly down and sit on your wrist if you call to them.” An idea struck her, making her eyes sparkle. “Maybe I can get her to let me go by myself! Wouldn’t that be exciting?”

  Anand nodded, though inwardly he doubted that the cautious herbmistress would allow Nisha to go anywhere by herself.

  Nisha’s eyes narrowed as though she guessed what he was thinking. That did not surprise him. The two friends knew each other so well that they often seemed to read each other’s minds. “Ah, but I have a secret weapon. Remember that special course we took in Persuasion a month ago from Master Somdatta? Well, I’ve been practicing it—every single day!”

  “But you aren’t supposed to use Persuasion on our teachers!” Anand said, shocked. Somdatta had emphasized that the complex skill, which required using one’s voice in a particular way while focusing attention on the subject’s heart region, was to be employed only when one was in danger.

  “Well,” Nisha said, reading his thoughts again, “I’m in danger of losing my mind from boredom. Does that count?” She grinned at his disapproving expression and patted his hand. “Don’t worry! I’ll only try it once. If it doesn’t work, I’ll satisfy myself with trailing behind Mother Amita.”

  Anand smiled, remembering how impatient Nisha been when he first met her, how insistent on getting her own way. And what an inflammable temper she’d had! She still had traces of those qualities, but overall she had matured in the years since she’d joined the Brotherhood. He hoped he had grown as much, but secretly, he was skeptical. Perhaps he still lacked confidence, as when he had been a dishwasher boy at a roadside tea stall in Kolkata, taunted and slapped aroun
d by his employer. Otherwise, why did a tendril of misgiving tighten around his heart as he thought of his journey, as he remembered the Chief Healer’s reluctant agreement? Why did he fear that somehow he would make a dreadful mistake?

  * * *

  After dinner, Anand went to bid good-bye to the conch in the Crystal Hall. Starlight shone through the transparent dome of the hall, lighting his way as he entered. As he walked to the center of the hall, where the conch was housed inside an exquisite lotus-shaped shrine, he felt calmer than he had all day.

  He had hoped the hall would be empty, but as always there were people there, meditating. Fortunately—though it wasn’t as satisfying—Anand could speak to the conch silently and hear its answers inside his head. Standing close to the shrine, he told it about his upcoming journey, though he did not bother to explain the details. He knew from experience that the conch had its own way of finding out whatever it wished to know. He did, however—somewhat hesitantly, for the conch could be quite caustic on occasion—confide his doubts to it.

  The conch was unusually serious in its reply.

  It is quite natural that you’re anxious. Even apprentices far senior to you would have quailed at the thought of spending three days alone on the mountain, which is a place of ancient enchantments. Abhaydatta has set you a challenging task—but he would not have done so if he didn’t trust you. You, too, must trust yourself, for that—and not the spells the Brotherhood teaches you—is the strongest weapon you have.

  What if I fail? Anand asked. What if the hermit doesn’t like me or decides I’m not worth talking to?

  There is nothing to be done if that happens, is there? But that is not what failure is.

  It isn’t?

  No. Listen carefully, because one day soon you will have to put this lesson into practice. If you grow dejected about what comes to you, that is failure. If you accept it serenely and do what is needful, that is success. Now you must rest—but before you go, you may hold me, if you like. We will be apart for quite a while, after all.