I wake with my head slumped forward and a line of drool dangling from my lips. The sky is blue and clear; I must have slept for hours. Panic floods through me and I scramble to my feet. And then I hear voices and I go stiff. That must have been what woke me—the low hum of conversation. I peer around the tree toward the trail and see Sundari soldiers—dozens of them—traipsing up the path. These must be the men the Raja has sent to capture the Naga. It’s both good and bad news for me. Good because it must mean I’m headed in the right direction. Bad because now I have to worry about being discovered and hauled back down the mountain to the dungeon. Surely the Raja’s guards have informed him of my disappearance by now, and I can’t be certain he hasn’t alerted his soldiers. Especially since this is exactly where he would expect me to be.
I wait for the soldiers to pass, and then I start hiking again, keeping a safe distance behind them. The boot prints in the path make them easy to follow, but I still keep track of my turns. Left, left. Right, right. They seem to be following the same path I planned on. But somewhere around midday their path turns in the opposite direction. I stare at the boot prints on the trail—turning down a right path when we were due for a left—and wonder which direction to choose. Do I trust what Hitesh told me? Or do I trust the soldiers that the Raja actually sent to deal with the Naga?
I’m still staring at the dirt when I hear footfalls. I dive off the trail and press myself against a tree. The entire group of soldiers marches down the path, and they take a left now instead of a right. It seems sloppy to make such a basic mistake. Too sloppy. The only explanation is that there must have been a reason to go that way first. And then I see one of the men drinking from a canteen. Water. There must be a water source up there. I wait behind the tree until the group passes and they are far enough away that they won’t hear me. Then I follow the boot prints up the path to the right. Sure enough, a stream bubbles up from the rocks. It’s small, but it’s sufficient. I drink as much as I dare and then splash some water on my face and neck. My legs ache with exhaustion, but I keep picturing Mani, keep talking to him in my mind. I’m coming, monkey. Hang on, I’m coming.
I fall into a rhythm with the Raja’s men, following their footprints up the right trails and up the wrong ones too, where there’s always water waiting for me. My hike becomes so mechanical that I’m barely thinking anymore—right turn, right turn, left turn, left turn—and so I nearly walk headlong into where the soldiers have stopped to make camp. They are fanned out on either side of the trail, and I spot them just in time to hide before they see me. My heart is pounding in my chest. Why are they stopping? It’s nearly nightfall. Are they not planning on confronting the Naga after all? The wind rushes through the trees above me and that’s when I smell it.
The unmistakable odor of snake.
“The Naga are due to arrive at dusk.”
I’m hiding in a copse of trees, listening to an older soldier talk to a younger one. For perhaps the first time in my life, I’m grateful to Gopal for teaching me to be invisible, to see without being seen.
“But won’t they see us as they pass?” the young soldier asks.
“No. Greffi’s group has spotted them coming from the other side of the mountain. They’ll enter the temple from there.”
My heart pinches at the thought of Mani trudging up this mountain to his own death, and I long to run to him. It’s all I can do to hold myself here and wait for an opportunity to slip past the soldiers. They’re too close right now—at least these two are. I’m holding my muscles so taut that they are trembling, but I’m afraid if I move an inch, if the soldiers hear so much as the rustle of a leaf, they will find me and kill me before I can get to Mani. The soldiers keep talking, and the conversation turns mundane—weapons, food, women—and I have to draw in slow, deliberate breaths to withstand the pain of keeping still.
But then my ears are filled with the thundering of footsteps, someone running toward the camp, and I can’t help it, I turn my head. A boy dressed in mottled clothing stops near the camp. His cheeks are bright red and he’s gasping for breath. All the soldiers are immediately on their feet, and at first I think they mean the boy harm. But, no. They stop short and wait for him to speak.
“They’re here!” the boy shouts. He puts his hands on his knees and sucks in a deep breath before he continues. “Somehow they got to the temple without us seeing them. The Naga are already here.”