“Your grandmother?” I asked. “Wait a minute, I thought all demons came from some faucet of evil or something.”
“Well, not all, obviously.” Neel pointed at his own chest. “But yeah, most full rakkhosh are born from wells of dark energy.”
“So how is she your grandmother?”
“Come on, your mom doesn’t have to be the one who gave birth to you, but the one who raised you. I’d think you of all people would understand that. My Ai-Ma is the one who raised my mother.”
It was hard to imagine the Rakkhoshi Queen once being a baby demon in someone’s warty arms.
“Some nanas knit or cook; his eats flesh!” Tuntuni quipped.
“Don’t start,” Neel snapped, “unless you want me to give you to her for lunch.” He turned to me. “Listen, you get some rest. I’ll take the first watch.”
It was the gray morning when I at last opened my eyes. I realized that Neel hadn’t woken me up to take over the watch.
“You looked tired,” he explained, yawning himself.
Neel hadn’t slept all night but was still pretty energetic as he gathered our things, including the golden and silver spheres, cradled like twin babies in his makeshift sling. This morning they were buzzing and humming, letting off a red glow and the warm smell of cotton and honey.
“They’re happy to be together,” I said.
“Make new orbs, but keep the old; one is silver and the other gold,” Tuni sang.
“Tuni,” I warned, “maybe it’s a little too soon.”
“You are so spherical, so round and spherical, you make me hap-py when rakkhosh stay,” the bird continued, ignoring me.
“Hmm … wonder if my grandma would fancy some Tuni-bird stew,” Neel snapped. Immedately, the bird stopped singing.
“Come on, let’s go.”
It was a long walk over a rubbish-filled stretch of land—broken yo-yos, half-eaten peanut butter sandwiches, a few scary-looking skulls, and more than a few smelly old socks, none of them with a proper partner. As we walked, we saw no one.
“They’re mostly nocturnal,” Neel said.
“Like the snakes,” I offered. Neel gave me a half smile. He seemed to get what I was saying. That my biological relatives were just as terrible as his.
We were heading for a giant gorge between two steep mountains on either side. When we got closer, gooseflesh broke out on my arms. I wasn’t sure if it was coming from the gorge itself, but the air was filled with an almost-deafening rumbling sound. It sounded disturbingly like some very large creature snoring.
“We’re almost there.” Neel stopped walking to look critically at me. “You’re wearing my jacket, so that’s good.”
Neel picked up Tuntuni and, to my surprise, sat him right on my head.
“Hey, what’s the big idea?” I asked as the bird squawked his surprise too.
“As much as I don’t mind if my Ai-Ma makes chicken stew out of the bird, I think I’d better try to get him home in one piece. And he’ll be safer out of sight.” Neel pulled out a long cloth from his pocket and wound it around both Tuntuni and my hair, making a big, only slightly lumpy turban.
There were muffled sounds of Tuni squawking nervously. “How do chickens get strong?” Without waiting for an answer, the bird yelled out from inside the turban, “Eggs-ersize!”
“Chill, Tuni. We’ll be all right.” I patted my head. “Just try not to dig your claws in, okay?”
“How do crows stick together in a flock?” came the muffled question. And again, without waiting for an answer, the bird squawked, “Velcrow!”
“How did the dead chicken cross the road?” Neel snapped. “It didn’t, because it was dead!”
That shut the bird up rather quickly.
Neel made a few more adjustments to my outfit, then stepped back, obviously satisfied with the results. “You’ll pass.”
I wasn’t sure what I was passing for—a bird-containing turban certainly wasn’t going to fool anyone into thinking I was a demon—but I was too exhausted to protest. Just like Tuntuni, if I wanted to make it out of Demon Land alive, I was going to have to trust Neel.
He reached into the food pouch at his waist and brought out a handful of dark seeds. “Keep these just in case she asks you to chew on anything,” he said.
Chew on something? I wanted to ask but the prince kept walking. “Come on, we better get there before any of the other rakkhosh wake up.”
We entered the gorge, and I realized that the awful snoring had been coming from here after all. Those horrible rumbling, shrieking, trilling noises were coming from the nose of an elderly rakkhoshi who was fast asleep in the riverbed.
“Ai-Ma! Ai-Ma!” Neel called, gesturing to me to stay behind him. “It’s your grandson, Neelkamal!”
The old crone sat up mid-snore, and then came flying at us. Her knobby arms and legs were flapping, her gray hair was streaming behind her, and her near toothless mouth was fixed in a wide grin.
“Oh, my sugar plum yum-yum, my lollipop dum-dum, my molasses-sweet grandbaby, oh me, oh my, oh, come and give your old Ai-Ma a kiss!”
“She can’t see very well, and she can’t hear very well,” Neel hissed as the old woman approached. “And she can’t remember very well.” I felt my heart lighten, then fall again as Neel added, “But unfortunately she can still smell really well.”
The old rakkhoshi crone bent far down, and standing high on his toes, Neel gave her a gingerly kiss on her hairy cheek. Then Ai-Ma began to sniff the air like a crazed hunting dog catching the whiff of a fox.
“Grandbaby, my sweet boo-boo, have you brought a pet? A human being to play with? A gift for your poor Ai-Ma?”
My turban shuddered. Neel slapped it. I didn’t love the thought that Tuni or I might be considered a delicious gift, like a box of cookies, for Neel’s grandmother.
“Ai-Ma!” Neel exclaimed. “What are you saying? This is my brother, Lalkamal, and he’s your grandson too!”
The crone reached for me, but, feeling my turban first, withdrew her hand.
“The brother of my gum-gum must be my grandbaby too,” the old crone mused. “But why does he smell so much like a human pup?”
Neel’s grandmother drew herself up to her full height, and then, randomly, snorted out some iron pellets from her left nostril.
“If you are my family true, here’s some iron pellets for you to chew,” she sang, handing the booger-covered iron pieces to me.
I had no choice but to take the revolting things. I slipped the pellets into my jacket pocket, and substituted the seeds Neel had given me. I chewed them as loud as I could. Ma would be horrified at my table manners, but Ma would be even more horrified if I was this old biddy’s main course for dinner.
Ai-Ma smiled, but kept sniffing the air. “Is old Ai-Ma’s nose fooling her? Why do I smell human flesh? And mixed in with a nice roasted chicken?”
My turban muttered and wobbled again, but I gave it a good punch.
“How can my grandbaby be so small? Let me see your eyeball!” Neel’s grandmother demanded.
I looked in shock at Neel, who handed me the golden ball from his sling. I held it out to the crone, who felt the bowling-ball-sized object, and smiled.