Forest of Demons Read online

  Papa looked up from his chai. “Well, that’s good news isn’t it, Kunti?”

  Her Ma huffed, but her shoulders relaxed. She turned her attention to Priya. “You better set up the stall. Papa will rest today.”

  Priya nodded. Everything was going to be all right.

  CHAPTER 3

  The red sun had cast its fiery glow over the market, and Priya sat, head covered by her thin scarf, watching the world shimmer as the heat rose off the baking ground. At this time of day she was certain that, if one were so inclined, they could fry an egg on the heat radiating from the earth alone.

  She adopted a nonchalant pose, but in reality her eyes kept flitting back to the smithy. Ravi was inside. She’d seen him retreat at midday, after locking the horses he was responsible for shoeing into the adjacent stable. The smoke coming from the chimney said that he was hard at work. She imagined the heat inside must be unbearable; she imagined his bare torso glistening with perspiration; she imagined slapping herself hard to knock the inappropriate thoughts from her head.

  He’d saved her life—that was all. She’d yet to thank him for it. She recalled his arms around her, cradling her as he ran with her on sturdy, sure feet. She recalled his gentle words and soothing tone, but the rest was a blur of fear and shock.

  She wanted to thank him.

  Needed to see him again.

  She was standing even before she’d fully processed her intent to do so. Having taken the first step, she found her feet eager to take her the rest of the way. She was halfway across the market when Reema cut across and entered the smithy.

  Priya’s step faltered. Why was Reema visiting Ravi during red sun time? Her parents, the barbers, always took a siesta between the hours of noon and four. An image of Ravi’s bare, glistening back popped into her mind, but this time it was accompanied by a slender pair of female legs wrapped around his waist.

  Oh.

  Priya turned and started back to her stall. A wretched sob caught her attention. She glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Reema stumble out of the smithy and run away crying.

  Emboldened by her curious nature, and the fact that she had a legitimate reason, Priya allowed her feet to propel her back toward the smithy.

  Walking into the smithy was like walking into a clay oven. A wave of heat hit her in the face, and she was instantly covered in a fine sheen of perspiration. The clang of metal on metal filled the air, and Ravi’s powerful body filled her vision. She stood mesmerized by the play of muscle across his back, by his thick taut forearms, and the twist of his slender hips.

  The clanging stopped. He turned to pin her with eyes like ember.

  “Priya?” The embers narrowed, and he put down his hammer.

  Priya swallowed, suddenly unsure of what to say. “Ravi, um . . . I wanted to thank you for . . . the other day.”

  Ravi nodded. “No need.” He went to pick up his hammer, and Priya experienced a surge of panic. She wasn’t done yet.

  “No. There is. You saved my life. If you hadn’t come along when you did . . . in fact, I was wondering about that. What were you doing in the forest and how did you know I was in trouble?” She watched him carefully, but his expression remained neutral.

  “I was out for a walk. The smithy gets a little stuffy. I heard you scream.”

  “I didn’t scream.”

  He cocked his head. “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  He prowled toward her, and she resisted the urge to back up. He stopped mere inches from her, his body throwing off a strange heat of its own, one that Priya fought not to curl into. His breath caressed the top of her head. “In that case I must have thought I heard you scream.” A wave of dizziness assaulted her, it was the heat . . . his skin was bronze silk . . . so close, she wanted to touch it. He stepped back, releasing her from the strange spell, picked up the hammer and turned back to work.

  Priya stared at his back in confusion. What had just happened?

  The clanging resumed.

  She stared at the back of his head unblinking, waiting, but he continued to work. The conversation was over. She turned to leave and the clanging stopped.

  “See you at dinner,” he said.

  Priya entered the neatly swept and dusted room. The floor had been carefully set for four with a colourful floor mat and thin seating cushions.

  “Put on your blue tunic, the one with the embroidery around the neck,” Ma instructed.

  Priya looked down at her plain brown tunic and cream loose pants. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

  Ma looked over her shoulder at her, almost burning the chapati she was cooking. “Goodness, girl, no wonder you’re still unmarried.”

  Priya frowned. “What’s that got to . . . Ma!” She stormed back toward her room.

  “He did save you; carried you in his arms the whole way! A strong boy with a decent occupation, why didn’t we think of it sooner?” Ma’s voice followed her into her room, and for the first time Priya wished she had a door to slam and not just a thick curtain across the entrance to her bedroom.

  She sat on her bed, her face still arranged in a frown, but her mind was elsewhere. It lingered on the curve of his neck, the hard set of that grime-covered jaw. She slapped herself and then winced. What was wrong with her? She loved Guru. Had always loved him.

  She heard the front door open and Papa’s uneven step as he limped in. It was the first time he’d been out since his fever. He was determined to get back to work, but Priya knew it would be a while before his leg was strong enough to take on the forest. The injury was an old one, one he would never recover from. In the cooler months he would cry out in pain every night.

  Priya knelt and pulled out the case from under her bed. It contained all her clothes. She rifled through it until she found the blue tunic her mother had been speaking of. It was just a tunic, a tunic that brought out her eyes and made her fair skin even fairer. What was the harm in making the effort for company?

  She quickly changed into the tunic.

  Reema’s tearful face flashed through her mind.

  She quickly changed back.

  In this case the last thing she wanted to do was attract the wrong kind of attention. She wished, not for the first time, that she was more knowledgeable in matters of the opposite sex. She was practically an old maid, and yet she’d never been kissed. Whereas Mala had been permitted to go out to social events two villages over with her friends, Priya had always been told to stay home. She knew her parents meant well, that they wished to protect her, but in doing so they’d simply nurtured her naivety. In turn her desire to escape the small village and see the world had grown. She’d start with the capital, and then travel north into the undiscovered lands. She would walk to the ocean and maybe, if she was lucky find a way to go even further ... for surely there had to be more to her world then this Isle? Papa said the ocean was the end of the world but she didn’t want to believe that. There had to be more.

  “Priya, Ravi is here,” Ma called.

  Priya took a deep breath, drew back the curtain, and entered the main room.

  Ma looked her up and down, not even bothering to hide her disappointment. Priya shrugged.

  Papa was already seated on the floor, ready to get on with the meal. If she didn’t know him better she’d think he was eager to have the whole thing over with.

  Ravi stood awkwardly in the doorway, his large body eating up space. But it was his face Priya was fascinated by. Who would have believed that under all the grime and soot would lay physical perfection? A straight nose, almond-shaped eyes fringed with thick lashes, and a mouth that would tease and bruise. The way he had teased Reema? Had he kissed her body with those lips? He caught her eye and she averted her gaze, afraid that he would read her thoughts.

  “Come, son, don’t be shy, sit.” Ma pulled him into the room, ushering him onto the floor opposite Papa. “I’ve made a lovely sabji; you’ll lick your fingers.”

  Ravi folded his body into the
lotus position and smiled warmly at Ma, eliciting a girlish flush. Priya stared at her mother in horror, and then back at Ravi and his even white teeth.

  Papa cleared his throat. “Priya, come sit next to me.”

  “No, Priya you can sit here.” Ma ushered her into the spot beside Ravi.

  Papa harrumphed but didn’t argue.

  Priya made herself as comfortable as possible, but space was limited, and Ravi was a big guy. Her knee touched his, and warmth seeped into her, radiating outward from the point of contact.

  Ravi shifted in his seat, probably trying to give her room.

  “Come, come, don’t be shy, help yourself. Eat!” Ma was more animated than usual, and Priya felt the first fingers of anxiety wrap themselves around her chest. When Ma got animated, her tongue loosened. Things were said that couldn’t be taken back, and there would either be anger or embarrassment.

  Priya glanced at Papa. His eyes were fixed on his meal, his jaw tight.

  Great. What a fun meal this would be.

  She spooned rice and some of the spicy vegetable stew onto her plate, and then poured some lentil soup onto her rice. She had just broken off a piece of chapati when Ma spoke again.

  “So Ravi, why are you still unwed?”

  Priya closed her eyes. And so it had begun.

  Ravi swallowed his mouthful and replied. “Unfortunately any proposals I’ve made have been rejected.” He shrugged. “I understand why. My work takes up much of my time. I fear any wife I take would be sorely neglected.”

  “What nonsense!” Ma exclaimed. “Name me one man who does not work to provide for his wife and family. It’s his duty, and the duty of the wife to care for him. Rejections indeed!” She huffed.

  Ravi took a sip of water. Priya watched him from the corner of her eye and saw him glance at her father, who stared resolutely at his plate.

  Knowledge stirred and bubbled from the back of her mind to the surface, and she found herself posing the next question. “Have you made many proposals?

  Ravi tensed beside her. “No.”

  “Really?” Ma asked. “How many?”

  “Kunti!” Papa looked up, his brow creased in a disturbed frown. “That is none of our business!” There was real anger in his tone.

  Ma ducked her head. “Of course. I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s all right. I don’t mind,” Ravi said.

  “You don’t need to answer,” Papa said gruffly.

  “I’d like to.” She felt his eyes on her, like a delicate caress to the side of her face. “One. I’ve made one.”

  Priya choked on the morsel she was chewing. A heavy hand patted her back and she coughed, eyes watering.

  “Goodness, Priya!” Ma offered her a cup of water.

  Priya took it, gulping it down. Her cheeks were on fire, and she couldn’t bring herself to look in Ravi’s direction.

  Papa’s words rang in her head, So if someone asked for your hand, would you turn him down?

  His discomfort with Ravi’s presence suddenly made sense. Ravi had asked for her hand, and Papa had refused on her behalf.

  Her stomach felt suddenly hollow and full at the same time. It felt like . . . disappointment. Why should she feel disappointed? She’d never looked twice at Ravi before, and Reema . . . she was his lover, maybe one of many. Priya shut down the thoughts. It was done. She had a plan. She was going to the capital, and being tied to a smithy was not part of her plan.

  The rest of the meal passed in silence. Ma looked furious, and Priya knew she too had made the connection. There would be fireworks tonight.

  With the meal over, Ravi graciously thanked her parents and headed for the door. Priya hesitated for a long moment, but unable to bear the growing tension between her parents followed him, stepping out into the warm night.

  Ravi’s eyes gleamed like cats eyes in the dark. “Thank you for a lovely meal.”

  Priya tilted her head to look up at him, trying not to dwell on the curve of his jaw or the dip in his top lip. “I’m sorry. I . . . I didn’t know.”

  Ravi frowned, “You didn’t know?”

  “The proposal?” She wondered for a moment if she’d made a mistake, but his expression was suddenly closed and she knew she hadn’t. “I didn’t know, but the answer would have been the same. I have a dream and my heart . . . it belongs to another.” She ducked her head.

  “Guru.”

  She looked up at him sharply.

  He smiled. “You’d have to be blind not to see it. But as a friend I can tell you, he’ll never love you back in the same way.”

  Priya felt her temper flare. “I appreciate you saving my life but that doesn’t make us friends. I could never be friends with a man who treats his women so callously.” As soon as the words were out she wished to take them back.

  Ravi’s eyes narrowed. He took a step toward her, his jaw clenched, his body radiating danger. She shrank back against the door.

  “You shouldn’t speak of things you don’t understand.” His voice was low with menace.

  Priya stared at him with round eyes, afraid of what he’d do next but he simply stepped back and walked away into the night.

  The hollow feeling was back.

  She entered the hut in the aftermath of a row. Ma was still bristling, and the clanking of pots and pans were the music of her anger. Papa had gone to bed.

  Priya sighed and approached Ma. She reached out to place a comforting hand on her shoulder and was surprised when Ma shrugged her off.

  “Ma?”

  “Don’t! Don’t pretend you’re sorry. Isn’t it every mother’s dream to see their daughter married to a good man? Cared for and happy, so that she may pass on in peace? Isn’t it every mother’s dream to nurse her grandchildren, to see their tiny little faces just once before she meets her maker?” She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “Do I ask too much?”

  Priya had no words of comfort, for she knew deep in her soul that she couldn’t give Ma what she desired. To do so would be to condemn herself to restlessness and heartbreak. If she couldn’t have Guru, then she would have her dream. She would have the capital. She stepped away.

  “Sorry. I really am.”

  She turned to see her Papa in the doorway to his room, his face twisted with sorrow, but his eyes filled with empathic comprehension.

  He passed a hand over her head in a soothing gesture as she passed. “I spoke to Pujariji on my walk earlier. Guru and Pratip will meet you in the morning. I’ve drawn you a list. It’s in my satchel.” He smiled tenderly at her. “Follow your own heart, beti, and you will always find peace. Others must find their own; it’s not for you to provide it for them.” That said, he retreated back into his room.

  Priya carried his words into sleep with her and dreamed of castles and silk, adventure and love.

  CHAPTER 4

  The next morning dawned hotter than usual, a sure sign that winter was around the corner. There would be a month of intolerable heat and then the chill would come, unforgiving but relatively short. The harvest would be reaped in a week’s time and the grain distributed. People would check their stores to ensure they were equipped for the frost, and once it was upon them, no one would venture out during the red sun hours, which would become unbearably cold. Priya enjoyed the winter despite its brevity, for it brought with it a beauty all its own.

  As she waited beside the forest trail for Guru and his friend Pratip, she felt her excitement grow. A whole morning to spend beside Guru. A whole morning of listening to his voice, his laugh, and to maybe hold his hand. They’d held hands all the time as children, but once his betrothal to Mala had been announced, everything had changed. She felt a pang of guilt. Wasn’t this the exact reason for Mala’s quarrel with her on the morning of her demise? Yet here she was thinking covetous thoughts about her friends betrothed.

  But Mala is dead.

  Still didn’t make it right. She would stop. She would banish the inappropriate longings.

  Guru came into view, sc
aling the soft rise that led down to the village proper, and all her resolve melted.

  He was beautiful. With skin like milky chai, hair as dark as a raven’s wing, and eyes as warm as chocolate, he was captivating to behold. Beside him sauntered Pratip with his infectious grin, mischievous dark eyes, and uncontrollable mop of curly hair. Pratip’s family had moved to the village four years ago. He’d found his calling working in the temple as an idol cleaner, while his father had taken on the role of panisira, catering to the general village needs. The village servant was an invaluable asset; it was to him everyone turned in the face of any festival or gathering. He would liaise with the necessary parties, order the food or decorations required, and ensure that the event went without a hitch.

  Guru raised a hand in greeting. Priya returned the gesture before tucking errant strands of her hair behind her ears.

  “Hello pretty girl,” Pratip said.

  She blushed.

  He could always make her blush. Ma said it was his charm; some men were blessed with it and could talk their way into, or out of, any situation.

  “Let me take that.” Guru held out his hand for the satchel, and Priya lifted it off her shoulders and handed it to him.

  “Wow, this is heavy,” Guru said.

  Priya shrugged. “You get used to it.”

  “Our Priya is a warrior.” Pratip winked. “She fought off a rakshasha; we’ll be well protected today.”

  Priya laughed. “Yes, if you count turning tail and running as warrior behavior.”

  “I call it sane behavior.” Guru looked solemn.

  Pratip looked toward the forest, rubbing his hands together. “Well, let’s get on with this.” He held up a black thread with a small talisman hanging off it. “We have God’s protection today.”

  They entered the forest together, but after a few moments, Pratip fell back and Guru continued walking abreast of Priya. Priya’s pulse accelerated. Had he planned this with Pratip to give them some time alone together?

  This part of the forest was filled with sounds of life. The shade the canopy of the trees provided was a blessed relief from the dry heat of the sun.