“That does not sound like information one would find in a scroll,” Ravana pressed. “But I am fascinated by this. If I were to wear a pair of wings and flap as hard as I could, I would still not take flight. Something else must buoy birds. If I could only speak to them, I might be able to divine what allows them to fly.”
I laughed at the thought of little sparrows or finches relating the secrets of their wings to this man. I wondered if this was one of the many things my father knew and could never share. “They are far more trouble than they are worth.”
Ravana turned to face me fully. “Now, Radnyi Kaikeyi, you really must tell me. How have you come by such knowledge?”
I had talked myself into a predicament. I needed to distract him, and for want of a better option, I entered the Binding Plane. Happily, we had already formed a bond, a cord the color of the cloudless sky. I could work with that. I sent him a gentle suggestion: Drop the matter.
His brow furrowed, and he shook his head as if to clear a fly away.
To my shock, I felt the suggestion recoil from him, the same way I had bounced off him on the garden path. Such a thing had never happened before. I frowned, concentrating this time, and sent the message again, more firmly.
Ravana sprang to his feet. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing!” I insisted, too quickly.
“Are you a witch?” he demanded, taking a step away from me. His features twisted, eyebrows knitted together and lips pulling back into a scowl. For a moment, he looked like a creature from the tales, from my nightmare in the forest. And yet, however frightening he looked, his actions betrayed his own, mortal fear.
“No, of course not!”
“I received a suggestion in my mind,” he said. “Some sort of magic is afoot.”
“That’s absurd.” I rose to my feet, pretending insult. “I will not be maligned in such a way.”
But he stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “Why such an extreme reaction?” he asked. “I am sorry. I was rude just now, but please do not leave.”
“What do you want?” I asked, eyes darting to the path behind him.
“Only to talk,” he said. “I mean no insult, but you have magic. I know it; I felt it. Look, here. I will swear that I mean no harm. Would that put your mind at ease?”
Cautiously, I nodded. He would be honor bound to such an oath.
“I swear to the great Lord Shiva that I will not tell another soul anything you share with me about this matter of magic, and furthermore, that I mean you no ill will on its account.”
I repeated his words back to myself, searching for any gap in his statement, but found none.
“What would you like to know?” I finally said.
“Everything,” Ravana replied. “Shall we walk back to my rooms? There is something I wish to show you, which I think will be of great interest to you.”
And so, for the first time in my life, I revealed my secret. I told someone about the text I had discovered in the library cellar of Kekaya’s palace. I told of the Binding Plane and my ability to influence others. I had always feared that my story would sound like madness—or worse, like heresy—for the gods were the origins of all magic, and my power came from no god. I could not tell anyone—not even Manthara—for fear they would never trust me again. But Ravana could not be so easily influenced. I felt protected by his vow, and flattered by his interest, and the words spilled out of me.
When we reached his rooms, Ravana checked to make sure no servants were present, then unlocked one of his trunks and rummaged inside. After a moment, he pulled out four scrolls, each made of fine leather.
“These are my texts on magic,” he said to me. “I thought I would bring them to the mountain of Lord Shiva, in the hope that perhaps in that sacred place I would be able to use them. I thought they might help me with my investigations into flight. But I have never wielded magic myself. And now I see that these were never meant for me. They were meant for you.”
This was a precious gift indeed to give to anyone, let alone a near stranger. I shook my head. “That is too much.”
“Read them,” he insisted. “You have time. If they make sense to you, then you should keep them. Knowledge is meant to be shared.”
I knew that politeness dictated I protest more vigorously, but in truth I ached to read the scrolls. I had never succeeded in discovering more of my own in Kekaya’s library and had been too fearful to even look in Ayodhya. So, I gave in to the desire, carrying them to the fine teakwood desk in the corner.
The first was a treatise with faded illustrations of the five elements sketched in feathery ink and painted: orange and red fire, dark blue water, pale gray wind, green and brown earth, and yellow lightning. Below each element was listed a mantra. Ostensibly to create it?
I mouthed each mantra in turn, concentrating as I did when I entered the Binding Plane. When I recited the final one, my fingers brushed against the page and I felt a light tingling sensation. Excitement jolted through me—but I could not seem to replicate the sensation.
The next text was nearly impossible to decipher. I managed to discern that whatever power it contained had been discovered by devotees of Lord Brahma, but that was all.
Most magic in this world belonged to the gods, this I knew. But it was still discouraging to see it laid out this way. I opened the third, expecting the same, but—
The third dealt with the Binding Plane. I recognized the language immediately.
I read it quickly, my vision nearly blurring in my haste. And then, puzzled, slowly read it again.
It had nothing to do with personal connections. It took me several moments to understand that it was referring to other people’s bindings. The scroll contained a different mantra to the one that was now as familiar to me as breathing. This mantra supposedly allowed me to access a new aspect of the Plane. Beneath it was an explanation of concentration techniques to strengthen or weaken these connections as one pleased.
My heart thrummed in my chest as I recalled that day on the field, when Dasharath had seen me maneuvering the chariot and confronted the Master of Horses. I had seen such a connection then. At the time, the bond between them had been slippery, unwilling to come into my grasp. But if I had known this mantra, perhaps I might have touched it.
I could feel anticipation pooling in my stomach at the idea of sitting at the council table and changing not just my own relationships but the alliances and rivalries themselves. Incredible potential unspooled before me, and I fought to keep my excitement in check.
I glanced around and realized Ravana had retired to the other room, offering me privacy to read the scrolls.
“Raja?” I called. Ravana returned immediately. “May I try something on you?”
“Of course.” His face lit up, his excitement mirroring my own. “What should I do?”
“Just stand there,” I said. I focused my eyes on his solar plexus and repeated the mantra to myself. I sensed the faintest glimmer of something but lost it. No matter.
I tried again, emptying my mind of all else and repeating the words with more force. The world shifted, as though the mat beneath me had been lightly jerked.
A strange veil fell over my surroundings, shrouding them in gray. And at the center of this faded world was Ravana, and the web of bonds that radiated from him in a tapestry of light.
“Incredible,” I breathed, walking toward him. I resisted the urge to duck, knowing that the threads of the Binding Plane were not real; I had never seen threads that did not move with me. It felt as though I could get tangled and trapped in them, as though I could reach out and touch one. Underneath my feet, the world was solid, even though it had dulled to a distant gray. But I could tell that I was not quite fully in my reality anymore. I lifted my hand and lightly touched a bond—but my fingers passed right through. It was only magic, after all.
“What is it?” Ravana asked.