“Very well,” I said. “But take Kiki with you.”
And if there’s any sign of Bandur, come tell me immediately, I instructed my bird.
She gave a sharp nod. Oh, don’t worry. You’ll hear my shrieks from across the village.
By afternoon, the island’s heat had swelled past the point of unbearable, and I felt like the biggest idiot in Tambu for deciding to steam cakes over an open fire. Even the gnats had fled the kitchen in favor of a cooler haunt.
This was how Oshli found me—fanning myself in the corner, watching my batter cook.
He set down his bag with a displeased thump. “You’re alone.”
“Takkan went in search of a well. You said he only had to stay by the tree after sundown. Dusk is hours away.” Seeing Oshli frown, I quickly changed the subject. “How is my brother?”
“The crane is convalescing and should be able to fly again by tomorrow. However, the other five squawk endlessly, and their feathers have molted all across the shrine.” His frown deepened. “It is quite a chore for my niece to clean.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Save your apologies,” said the shaman curtly. “She hardly minds. She’s taken to the birds as a way to shirk her prayers.” A harrumph. “You will be leaving tomorrow anyway, I gather. Sundau is no one’s ultimate destination. It hasn’t been since the Golden One’s selection.”
Again with that name, the Golden One. I knew it referred to Vanna, but hearing the title made me flinch.
“In Kiata, we called her Your Radiance.” I paused, not sure where I was going with this. “How did you learn Kiatan?”
“The king asked me to. When the Golden One left for Gindara, he thought she might send for me. She never did.”
Oshli began unpacking the items he’d brought: a sheaf of incense, rope, a short sack of rice, two sugar apples, eggs, and half a carp. He sniffed. “What are you baking?”
“Cakes,” I replied. “Would you like to try? They’re almost ready.”
Oshli lifted the steamer’s lid, peering inside at the rising little lumps. He took one cake and chewed. “It’s tougher than I remembered. Tambun cakes are meant to be soft and sticky.” Another bite. “But I suppose the flavor is there, vaguely.”
“You’ve had them before?” I asked.
“Vanna used to bring cakes like these. She would cut them into the shapes of flowers and decorate them with rose petals.”
I set aside a plate for Takkan, then sat with Oshli at the table. All afternoon, my mind had buzzed with questions about Raikama. “Will you tell me about Channari?”
“What is there to tell? We weren’t friends.”
Oshli’s reply was brusque, a clear signal to talk about something else. But I’d never been known for my tactfulness. I pushed: “Anything. Please.”
He set down the cake. His face had turned hard, and I didn’t think he’d actually speak. “The other children and I used to throw turtle eggs at her when she walked down the road. We called her a monster, a snake demon, a witch. Many other names that were far more cruel.”
The shaman closed his eyes. His words were heavy, and I could hear that the past had long been a terrible weight on his conscience. “Her adah forced her to wear a mask wherever she went, even at home. I could hear him beating her when she disobeyed. He was the only person she ever feared, I think. He worked her hard, giving her chores to keep her out of sight. She had the face of a snake, you see. Her eyes…her eyes alone would make grown men cower.”
“She was cursed,” I said.
“She was a sorceress,” said Oshli. “Rumor had it that she could make you change your thoughts with a flicker of her eyes and could call the snakes to do her bidding.”
They weren’t rumors. My brothers and I had witnessed the hypnotic thrall of Raikama’s magic many a time.
“We used to say Channari ensorcelled Vanna to love her. Vanna was the only one who was kind to her, the only one who mourned her when she died. Though now I suppose it was the other way around.”
“How did she die?” I asked. “How did you think she died?”
“There was an attack,” answered Oshli. “A demon came for her in the middle of the selection ceremony. Only Vanna witnessed it. She said Channari tried to protect her and, in doing so, was killed.”
My chest constricted at the lie. Raikama had told me the truth just before she died, that the demon had killed Vanna, not Channari. And while Channari mourned, the pearl in her sister’s heart rooted itself to her—fulfilling her wish to be beautiful in the most awful way: it gave her Vanna’s face.
“When she emerged from mourning, she had changed.” Oshli looked away, his shoulders pinching. “She was colder, her light muted like the moon’s. Some worried that she’d gone mad. She cut herself, you see. Straight across the face.”
Revelation dawned, and a tingle shuddered down my spine. The mysterious scar across my stepmother’s face—why she had borne it so visibly had been a source of gossip in the palace for many years. Even I had wondered where it had come from. Now I knew.
“I hated seeing my sister’s face in the mirror,” Raikama had told me before she died.
She had intentionally given the scar to herself. As a reminder of her life as Channari.
“Her adah was furious about it,” Oshli went on, “but it did little to deter the suitors. They vied for her hand, going on impossible trials for her, obtaining things like mosquito hearts and gold from the bottom of the sea. That weeded most of them out. In the end, she chose the most unlikely of the men.”
“My father,” I said.
“He wasn’t even a suitor. But she left with him one evening, so quietly and swiftly that no one noticed until they were long gone. We thought all the kings and princes would wage war against Kiata, but it was as though a haze had fallen upon the suitors. They all forgot about her. Everyone forgot about her.”
“Except you,” I said.
“My memory is not untouched. But yes, as I said before, I remember more than most.”
After all these years, Raikama’s magic held strong.
Still, there was a piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit. “The demon that attacked Vanna—do you remember anything about him?”
Oshli shook his head. “Only that Channari fought him with a spear.” He began to rise. “It broke during their battle, but I’ve kept it. Do you wish to see?”
Of course I did. I followed him outside to the tree in the courtyard. Leaning against the trunk was a long spear, its wood dark with age.
Oshli picked up the weapon and held it upright. It was as tall as I was, but its end had been split off.
“She slew a tiger with it once,” Oshli said. “It came into the village and slaughtered the four men who tried to fight it, and the rest of us ran away. Channari stayed. Not for us, but for Vanna—I doubt she would have cared if the tiger had devoured us.”