They crossed through worlds that had cities filled with monsters, and (she was almost certain) worlds where monsters made cities. She saw a giant scaly creature squish a mountain with its thumb, muttering, “Make a mountain out of a molehill, you say? Ha! How about making a mountain into a molehill! That’s far more interesting. Yes, yes.”
They charged through a cloud bank. On the other side, there was nothing but a vast expanse of ocean. But it was unlike any ocean Aru had ever seen. It was not blue or gray or even greenish. It was as white as milk. A small stone island stuck out of the middle like a lump of oatmeal in a cereal bowl.
“That was once the pedestal from which the Ocean of Milk was churned,” said the horse.
Just like that, Aru knew where she was. In the museum’s panorama back home, there was an illustration of the Ocean of Milk. Long ago, a powerful sage cursed the gods, causing them to lose their immortality. Weakened and in trouble, they churned the ocean to get the nectar of immortality. When they started churning, poison burst into the air. The gods asked Shiva—the Lord of Destruction—to get rid of it. He drank it down, and the poison turned his throat blue.
Aru always liked lying down in the panorama theater where it was cold and dark and silent, watching the stories of the gods and goddesses rotate around her. Which is how she knew that there had been a battle long ago over the nectar of immortality. The gods had not churned the ocean by themselves—they had needed the help of the asuras, the demons. But when the ocean finally gave up the secret of immortality, the gods tricked the asuras and took all the nectar for themselves.
Aru shuddered. She wondered how long a demon could hold a grudge. They might not be able to live eternally like the gods, but they could be reincarnated from one life to the next. Forever and ever…
The seven-headed horse began to descend. It slowed to a moderate clip once they reached the island’s shore. Past the sand dunes yawned the entrance of a large tunnel.
Aru thought it would look old and creepy inside, but it turned out to be just an abandoned office space. Marble cubicles had been cut into either side of the tunnel. They were all unoccupied. Some contained corkboards pinned with photographs. A headset, like the kind a telemarketer might use (except these were made of gold and studded with diamonds) had been left behind on each desk. Every so often, she saw a vending machine. But they didn’t offer candy or chips. Instead they had things like “seven hours of sleep,” “a good daydream,” “a very good daydream” (with, Aru noticed, a strange winking face beside it), “a shot of eloquence,” and a miniature antibacterial hand sanitizer.
Posters, covered with a thin layer of dust, still adorned the tunnels. A gleaming city of gold was featured on one of them. Scrawled across it were the words:
COME VISIT THE CITY OF LANKA!
THE PREMIER DESTINATION OF
DREAMS AND NIGHTMARES!
SERVICE: GOLD!
FOOD: GOLD!
ENTERTAINMENT: NOT GORY, BUT
DEFINITELY HAS MOMENTS OF GORE!
Another poster advertised an underwater city with a very attractive naga model, who was winking and baring shiny fangs:
THE CITY OF SNAKES!
COME FOR THE SCENERY, STAY FOR
THE SLITHERING BEAUTIES!
But wherever Aru looked, there was no sign of Mini.
“This is the tourism headquarters of the Otherworld,” explained the horse. “But it’s currently closed. Nobody will disturb you while you’re here.”
One part of the tunnel was boarded up. A large sign proclaimed NO TOUCHING! and CAUTION: UNDER RENOVATION. A bitter smell wafted between the planks of wood hammered over the opening.
But there was enough space under the boards that someone the size of Mini (but not necessarily mini-size) might be able to squeeze through to the other side.
It was here that the horse stopped. “This is where I leave you, daughter of Indra.” It knelt so she could dismount.
“Thanks for the lift,” said Aru. Her legs felt wobbly when she slid off.
“Call on us when you have need.”
Hmm…What constituted need? Because she’d really love to show up to school on a seven-headed horse. All those sleek black cars would probably explode on the spot. The horse seemed to guess at what she was thinking, because it whinnied.
“Urgent need,” it clarified.
“Wait. What’s your name?”
“Uchchaihshravas,” it replied.
“Uchcha…Um, maybe I could just whistle?”
The horse huffed.
“So that’s a no on the whistling,” said Aru.
“Declare your name to the sky. We shall hear and answer.”
The horse bowed its seven heads, then took off the way it came. Aru didn’t stay to watch it disappear. She crawled under the planks, covering her nose with her hand. This place stank. Mini would probably be concerned that the whole room was full of toxic fumes.
She found herself in a narrow alley. When it opened into a cave, Aru knew where the strange smell was coming from….
In the center of the space stood a cauldron the size of a claw-footed bathtub. But the cauldron wasn’t made of iron or steel…it was made of vapors. It was transparent enough that Aru could see blue liquid sloshing angrily inside it. Trying to contain a liquid with only vapors seemed like a really bad idea…and judging from the way the whole thing kept quivering, it looked like it was ready to burst at any moment.
But there was also something solid inside, about the size of her shoe, floating on top of the blue liquid. The mehndi design on her fingers pulsed gently. Was that shoe the third key?
If so, how was she supposed to get it out?
Just behind the cauldron crouched a huge statue of Shiva, the Lord of Destruction. He bent over the cauldron, his mouth wide open, as if shocked by its contents. Aru couldn’t see the rest of the statue. It disappeared behind the ledge on which the cauldron bubbled.
“Aru?” called a familiar voice.
There, standing off to the side with a notebook in her hand and a pen in the other, was Mini.
The two of them regarded each other warily. Aru wasn’t sure what to say. She had already apologized. But it never hurt to say I’m sorry again. And the truth was that Aru hadn’t come here just to save her own skin. She had come because Mini was her friend. Plus, she’d made a promise not to leave her behind. She might fib a little, but she never broke her promises.
“Mini, I’m sorry—” she started.
At the very same time, Mini said, “I may have overreacted.”
“Ack! You go first!” they both said. Again at the same time.
Now they glared.
“Nose goes!” declared Aru, quickly smacking her nose. (Did it hurt a bit? Yes. Would she do it again to avoid having to discuss her feelings first? One hundred percent yes.)
Mini, who had not reached for her nose, grumbled. “Fine!” she said. “All I was going to say was that maybe I shouldn’t have left you like that. I hate when people do that to me. And I know you didn’t meant to hurt anyone when you lit the—”
“Apology accepted!” said Aru, feeling immensely relieved. “Now—”
“I just want you to know that…that I understand how you feel,” continued Mini. “My parents, they, well, I love them. And they love me. My family is great. Honestly. But they didn’t think I’d be a Pandava. They thought it was a mistake. I guess it just meant a lot that you believed…in me. And I get that maybe you felt like that, too—like an impostor—and probably that’s why you lit the lamp.”
Aru didn’t say anything for a moment. She wasn’t mad or embarrassed. She was grateful. She’d found someone she could breathe easier around, and it hurt. In a good way.
“I do believe in you, Mini,” she said. “I think you’re really smart. Definitely a bit on the neurotic side, but totally smart. And brave, too.”
She meant it. With all her heart. Maybe Mini could see that, because she smiled and stuck out her elbow. Aru bumped it and she knew they were good.
“Did you see that thing floating in the cauldron?” asked Aru.
“Yup. I’m guessing it’s the third key, but I don’t know how to get it out. Do we have to sip from the cauldron?”
Sip from that bubbling vat of gross blue liquid?
“Ew…” said Aru. “Well, I already bit a book, so if anyone’s going to be sipping whatever that is, it’s not me.”
“That is poison. Specifically, halahala poison.”