Aru scanned the table and saw a small brass plaque that read: CHITRIGUPTA. There was also a mug that read: FOURTEEN WORLDS’ BEST DAD. Behind him were bookcases and file cabinets and mountains upon mountains of paperwork. It took a moment for Aru to remember Chitrigupta from the stories. He was the one who kept a record of everything a soul had ever done, both good and bad. This was why karma mattered. Her mom used to say, Chitrigupta will see and write down everything.
Aru wasn’t sure she believed in karma. What goes around comes around sounded suspiciously convenient to her. But the one time she’d said Karma isn’t real, she’d walked outside and a bird had pooped on her head. So who knew?
“Where did you get the mirror, child?” asked Chitrigupta.
Most adults would have gone straight to accusing a kid of stealing. But not Chitrigupta. Aru liked that.
“It was given to me during the Claiming.”
“The claiming…Wait. The Claiming?” Chitrigupta’s eyes widened. “I don’t think there’s been a Claiming since…” He rose from his chair. “Bring up the records!”
The room spun into chaos. Aru and Mini stepped back as the seven miniature versions of Chitrigupta jumped onto him and disappeared. He slumped back into his chair, and his eyes glazed over. Then they flashed and crackled, and words streamed across his gaze.
When the text finished scrolling, he leaned forward again. Tears shone in his eyes. “Never been a girl before,” he said, looking between Mini and Aru. “How unusual…”
Aru braced herself, waiting to hear the usual lines that they couldn’t possibly be heroes, or that they were too weak, too young, or too…girly.
“And how refreshing!” he said. His shirt changed to say: THIS IS WHAT A FEMINIST LOOKS LIKE. “Upend the patriarchy! R-E-S-P-E-C-T! Et cetera, et cetera. And you got past Ek and Do, too. Well done, well done.”
Mini brightened. “So can you help us? We need to wake up the celestial weapons and then we have to go to the Pool of the Past to find out how to stop the Sleeper from ending Time forever.”
“Oh, that does sound dire,” said Chitrigupta. He reached for his mug and sipped from it. “Sadly, I’m not allowed to help. Not even the Dharma Raja could help you, little ones.”
Mini turned red. “Does he…does he know we’re here?” she asked.
“Undoubtedly.”
“Doesn’t he want to…I dunno…meet me?”
At this, Chitrigupta’s face softened. “Oh, child, I’m sure he does. But the truth is, he will eventually meet you one way or another. Your soul is what matters—it is the immortal thing, not the body. The gods no longer get involved with mortal affairs.”
“Can’t you make an exception?” asked Aru.
“If I could, do you not think I would have helped the heroes who came before you? Bright, shining things they were. Like living stars. I can only do for you what I did for them.”
“And that is…?”
Chitrigupta sighed. He spread out his hands. Two ivory-colored tokens—flat squares with screens, like tiny iPhones—appeared on the table. “I wish there were more, but you two simply haven’t lived long enough.”
Aru picked up one of the tokens. She saw little images of herself flashing on its surface. In one she was holding open the door for a young woman carrying a stack of books. In another, she was washing the dishes in the apartment. In the next, she was pulling a blanket over her sleeping mother.
“What are these?” asked Mini.
“Good karma,” said Chitrigupta. “They should allow you to get past at least some of the things buried within these halls. You see, there are many rooms in the Kingdom of Death. Many places you may enter but not exit. All I can tell you is that you must follow the signs and find your own way. The celestial weapons are kept near the Pool of Reincarnation. Right next to the Pool of Reincarnation is where you will find the Pool of the Past.”
“There’s only one way to get to them?” asked Aru. She was thinking about the handy trick Boo had shown them, where all they had to do to go somewhere was reach for a place with intention.
Thinking about Boo made her heart tighten. Was he okay? She hoped he was somewhere safe, blissfully asleep. Deep down, however, she feared that wasn’t the case….
“Oh, I don’t know about that. There are hundreds of ways. Some paved, some pebbled, some pockmarked.”
One of Chitrigupta’s miniature selves hopped onto his shoulder, climbed onto his face, and scratched his nose while he spoke. Aru tried not to let her eyebrows soar up her forehead.
“Even I do not know what you will find in the Halls of Death,” said Chitrigupta. “Things and places move through death differently than humans do. Things that were once real are now mere stories in this kingdom. Forgotten things endure their own death, for they are never reincarnated into something new.”
Forgotten things?
Aru wanted to believe this meant they would find objects like deflated basketballs, mismatched socks, or bobby pins. Or that pen you could have sworn you put into the pocket of your backpack but wasn’t there when you went to look for it. But she knew that was wishful thinking.
Mini was looking beyond both of them to the door behind Chitrigupta. It was made of polished onyx.
“When was the last Claiming?” asked Mini.
“Just before World War II.”
“That can’t be right…” Aru said. “Boo mentioned something about the last Pandava brother being a yoga teacher or something.”
“Oh, him,” said Chitrigupta. He rolled his eyes. “Couldn’t get that man to leave all the other dead people alone! He kept insisting on leading everyone through breathing exercises. Made some people want to die all over again, which is saying something. He was a latent Pandava. His divine powers were hidden, even to him, and there were no calamities that forced his inner godhood to awaken. Sometimes you don’t even know how special you might be. Sometimes it takes moments of horror or happiness to, if you will, unleash that knowledge.”
“So the last ones, in World War II…did they make it through the Kingdom of Death and get to the celestial weapons?”
Chitrigupta sighed and leaned back in his chair. Even though he looked like a young man, there was something very old and tired in his eyes. His smile was sad when he said, “We had a war, didn’t we?”
Dare, Disturb, Deign
Chitrigupta refused to send them off without any food.
“I think I might be your uncle,” he said, whizzing about the office. “Or, at the very least, we all share some divine something or other. I do hope you make it back! I never even had a chance to regale you with my stories or essays. Did I tell you about that time I interviewed a snail? You wouldn’t believe how fast he could talk. Downright speedy.”
From a file drawer, he brought out a box of cookies. He opened it and offered one to Mini, who sniffed it.
“Why does this smell like…books?”
“Ah, they’re wisdom cookies! I’ve made these from scratch before. The secret is to allow the books to hit room temperature before mixing them. Cold writing doesn’t sit well in the mind.”
“Uh, sure?”
“Save it for later,” said Chitrigupta, plucking the cookie from Mini’s hand and returning it to the box. His outfit had changed again. Now he was wearing an apron that said DO NOT KISS THE COOK. YOU HAVE GERMS. “And don’t eat them all at once. That might leave you feeling a little queasy. Or empty.”
“Thanks, Uncle!” said Mini.
“And you don’t want to get dehydrated or—”
“You could die!” said Mini and Chitrigupta at the same time.
They looked at each other with an expression that so clearly said We must be related! that Aru wanted to knock her forehead against the door. Repeatedly.
“Yeah, thanks, Uncle,” said Aru.
Chitrigupta patted both of them on the head, and handed them two small thimblefuls of a bright orange liquid. It looked like a captured flame.
So much for not being dehydrated. This couldn’t even be called a full sip. But Aru swallowed it dutifully.
A warm glow spread through her bones. Her throat no longer felt dusty. Between the sip of whatever this was, and one of the fancy Spring petit fours from the Court of the Seasons, Aru felt clearheaded and sharp-eyed.
“The dead have a tendency to leave us parched and tired. Watered-down soma always does the trick.”
“Soma?” repeated Mini. “As in the drink of the gods?”