After several minutes the maid disappears from view, and moments later I hear a door open. A breeze races past me and I hear the slosh and splash of water being tossed from the bucket. My heart leaps. There’s a door to the outside from the kitchen. It’s more than I could have hoped for. The maid continues working for what seems like an eternity, and by the time the lights finally go out in the kitchen, my whole body aches. I lower my heels to the floor and roll my shoulders, but I wait a few minutes before leaving the stairway.
At last, when I’m convinced the maid isn’t returning, I dart from my hiding place and grab one of the canvas bags. I feel guilty taking so much bread—I don’t need all of it—but I most definitely need the bag and I don’t want to take the time to relocate the rolls. I look for something with a lid to carry water, but the only thing I can easily find is a metal mug. Hopefully, there will be a spring nearby. I toss both the mug and the dagger into the bag with the bread and slip out the door into the night.
The mountain range looks close enough to touch, but I jog for at least two hours before I reach the trail Hitesh described. By then I am gasping for breath and my mouth is gritty with thirst. The nearly full moon is a grim reminder that I have less than a day to find Mani and still twenty miles to hike with no water and no plan. My head is pounding and I feel unsteady on my feet.
I need to find water before I can do anything else. I wander along the path, looking for animal tracks, mud or any sign of a stream. When the trail forks, I choose a path at random and keep searching. The path branches off several more times before I finally hear the gurgling of flowing water. I run toward the sound and find a small stream full of large boulders. The water turns white as it spills over the rocks.
I pull the mug from my bag and fill it at the edge of the stream. The water is ice cold and I’m certain nothing has ever tasted better. My thirst is satisfied after draining the mug once, but I fill it twice more anyway. I don’t know when I’ll find water again. I pull some bread from my bag and take small bites, forcing myself to chew and swallow. I’m not even a little bit hungry, but I can’t hike for twenty miles on an empty stomach.
Once I’m back on the trail, I realize I’m hopelessly lost. I can’t remember how many times the path broke off or which way I turned. Finally I realize that there’s no choice but to go back to the base of the trail and follow Hitesh’s directions. My jaw is tight as I hike back down the mountain. I should have paid closer attention to where I was going, and now I have no idea how much time I’ve wasted. As I walk, it occurs to me that Hitesh could have lied about the location of the Snake Temple. The thought sends a wave of nausea over me, but I push it away. It’s the only information I have, and so it’s follow this trail or nothing. The Raja couldn’t have known I would escape, so what would be the point in telling Hitesh to lie? I need to hold on to the hope of seeing Mani again if I’m ever going to make it up this mountain.
When I’m close enough to the bottom that I can see the head of the trail leading straight down, I turn and quickly begin jogging back up the mountain. But my energy doesn’t last long and soon I can only manage a fast walk. At the first fork in the path, I turn right. And then right again. And then left. I walk all through the night, forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other, slowly plodding along. I find another stream—or maybe the same stream higher up—and fill my mug again. Then I continue hiking. Right twice. Left twice. Right twice.
The darkness gradually recedes and the sky turns indigo and then violet. If I don’t hurry, this will be Mani’s final sunrise. But my legs are so tired they feel like jelly and I can barely keep my eyes open. Maybe if I rest for a few minutes, I can move faster and make up the time. I move off the trail and find a place to sit with my back against a large tree. My eyelids are heavy. It won’t hurt to close them for just a moment and then I can—