As we left the desert, I was shocked to see such wanton waste, filth, and destruction everywhere the rakkhosh had been. There were piles of Styrofoam cups, mountains of single-use drink bottles, and plastic cola six-pack holders that no one had bothered to cut through.
“Demon Land needs a better recycling program!” I protested. “Look at those plastic rings; if ducks get caught on them, they might choke and die, Ai-Ma!”
“Well, I certainly hope so,” the old woman responded, her eyes a little glassy. Her long tongue was drooling like a dripping faucet on my turban, “Oh, grandbaby, forgive me, this nose of mine keeps making me think of roasted goose, partridge pie, chickadee stew!”
The turban almost jumped off my head in fright, but I held it on tightly.
After seeing almost no one on our long walk, we now approached a group of marauding rakkhosh, who were marching as they sang:
“Good flesh, warm flesh,
Toasted nice and sweet!
We’ll suck their marrow, chew their bones,
And curry up their feet!”
“Old woman, what tasty morsels are these you carry?” the head rakkhosh asked, peering at us with all three of his bulging eyeballs.
Neel gulped audibly, and my own heart beat in time to Tuntuni’s shudders on my head. Ai-Ma may have been half-deranged, besides being sweet on us in a twisted sort of a way, but these rakkhosh weren’t. They weren’t going to mistake me for a demon prince with an oversized, live turban. If Ai-Ma decided to hand us over, or got overpowered, we were goners.
Luckily, as Baba would say, Granny still had some chutzpah left in her.
“Be gone, you fart-faces!” Ai-Ma shrieked, waving a knobby arm. “These are my darling grandbabies, and if you so much as break wind in their direction, my daughter the Rakkhoshi Queen will have your entrails stuffed with gold and made into necklaces!”
The other rakkhosh responded immediately.
“Oh, terribly sorry, ma’am,” the head rakkhosh apologized, bowing low as he backed away.
“Entirely our misunderstanding, madam,” said the one with extra arms growing out of his chest.
“Unforgiveable, wretched thing to suggest,” said a third demon, who had what looked like teeth for hair.
“Scram! Scat! Hato! Shoo!” Ai-Ma yelled, and they ran off in the other direction.
“Your mother’s name sure packs a punch,” I said under my breath to Neel.
He said nothing, but pointed ahead of him. We were finally approaching the border. We knew this because of the sign that read:
Thanks for Visiting Demon Land!
“The Bloodthirsty State”
State Symbol: The Razor Blade
State Flower: The Thorn
State Bird: The Vulture
State Song: “Meat, Glorious Meat”
100 million victims eaten daily
Be sure to visit again soon!
(Please drop by our gift shop for
a complimentary toothpick!)
With tears, hugs, and more than a few slobbery kisses, Ai-Ma let us down.
“Good-bye, my licorice toadstools, farewell, my candied beetle dungs, come back to visit your poor Ai-Ma soon!”
I guess we’re in the Mountains of Illusions.”
It was hard to miss the drastic change of scenery. Instead of the carcass-filled, rubbish-strewn desert, we were now walking through rolling hills, the kind I’d never seen before. The colors were mesmerizing—shimmering blues, violets, yellows, magentas, and greens swirled all around us. In fact, it was hard to tell where the ground ended and the low-lying clouds began.
As soon as we were out of view from Demon Land, we stopped to rest. We drank our fill from a sweet turquoise-colored stream, and Neel helped me free Tuntuni from under my turban. The poor bird was half-comatose from fright and heat exhaustion, and crumpled next to me. It was great to feel my head again. The mist was cool and the air rushing down from the hills whistled through my hair.
“Now what?” I pulled out Ma’s moving map and studied it through the python jewel. I was leaning against some pink grass that felt like cotton candy on my skin. Well, cotton candy minus the stickiness.
“I’m not sure.” Neel peered at the map over my shoulder. “What was the next part of Tuni’s stupid poem?”
I looked around to ask the bird, but he wasn’t there. “Tuni?” The violet-colored trees had some kind of fluffy fruit hanging from them, and there were bushes with polka-dot magenta-and-orange leaves. But no bird.
Where was he? Our diminutive yellow companion was nowhere to be seen.
Neel and I walked down a steep hill, all the while calling Tuntuni’s name. The swirling mist was thick around our feet. To my surprise, it also sparkled and made squeaking noises.
From a distance, we heard an odd little song,
“Ev-ry-thing
Is connected to
Ev-ry-thing,
But how?”
We followed Tuntuni’s voice until we came upon sort of a valley, with folds of multicolored mist all around it. We floated, more than walked, through the silky atmosphere. There were shimmering lights everywhere—silver, yellow, hot red, intense blue. My body felt light and airy, like I had turned into cotton candy myself.
Then Tuni came into view, hanging from the branch of a nearby tree.
“What in blessed bison jewels is he going on about?” Neel muttered. Then he paused. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
I caught my breath. The yellow bird was sitting on a sparkly branch that looked like it was covered in—could it be?—diamonds.
“On a diamond branch the golden bird must sing a blessed tune,” I quoted.
“Actually, I don’t think those are diamonds on that branch.” Neel’s wide, dark eyes turned to mine. “I think they’re stars!”
Say what?
I took in the scenery around me—the swirling mist, the colors, the sparkling lights. I had a sudden flash to a video that Shady Sadie had shown on her science program about the Andromeda Nebula.
“Where are we?” I whispered.
A different voice, not Tuntuni’s, but a man’s, answered from very nearby.
“Why, it’s a star nursery of course, young lady. Ze birthplace of baby stars.”
Who said that? I saw no one. Then I looked up and realized Tuntuni wasn’t alone after all. An old man with a turban and a white moustache sat cross-legged on a branch just above the bird’s head. Or to be more accurate, the man levitated off the branch above Tuni’s head.
“Your Brilliance!” Neel bowed. “It’s an honor to finally meet you.”
“The famous half-demon prince,” said the man. “And this must be Princess Kiranmala!”
Tuntuni chirped in agreement. “Yes, Smartie-ji. This is them!”
I stared at Tuntuni, then at Neel. They knew this guy? And somehow, this floating stranger knew us?
The mist swirled around him, obscuring his features, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something really familiar about him. What was he, like, a yogi with ESP? A wise man, at least, from the way that Neel and Tuni were addressing him.
Not wanting to seem rude, I dropped an ungraceful curtsy. “Uh, hello, sir-ji.”