Karmappa should have been thrilled, it would mean an end to his wait and vigil, but instead he struggled to draw an even breath. He could only hear Aindri's resolve, 'I shall make the blade sing' and despair flooded him; his salvation could claim her life.

Dhuma let his friend ponder for a few minutes and the silence that now settled was one of unease and restlessness. A restless that was further aggravated when Dhuma reached out and plucked a single hair from Karamappa's head.

It was strange, Karmappa would recall later, at that moment all his attention was focused on Dhuma's fingers, and he realised in all the centuries that they had been friends, he had never noticed how...beautiful, if that word could be used for a man, Dhuma's fingers were. They were long and slender, with shaped and lacquered nails, unusual beauty, considering what he was. And how sharp they were, he had cut the strand of hair, without him feeling even the slightest tug. Of course the nails would be sharp, given who Dhuma was, but still the he could not deny the beauty of those nails.

He looked at the strand that Dhuma handed to him, wondering why his friend had resorted to such a childish act.

It was long, lustrous and grey. 

And that rattled him as things began to make sense, why the children did not think twice to call him grandfather, why there were no curious glances at his apparent agelessness, he had started to age. He would need no further confirmation to Dhuma's words, but he had to ask,

"Are you sure?"

Dhuma nodded, "the signs are all there, too many irregularities, tiny ones, but together they could add up to a significant aberration. Did you know that Vella would be at the the Arka Festival? You remember her?"

"Neela's daughter? What brings her here?"

Dhuma shrugged, a casual gesture that conveyed how frivolous human intentions could be to one who was almost an immortal, "She comes disguised as a Banjara, not that they are fooled but then they have always been tolerant of her kind; both are travellers, even if the Banjaras worship the wind and her people serve the seas. And brings with her, an odd companion. I call him odd for he is a thief, a courageous if foolish and one who has had an unbeatable streak of luck so far."

"Adrushta's minion, I guess. What happened for his luck to run out?"

Dhuma laughed; he familiar to Karamappa's dry wit and understood the unsaid sarcasm, anyone who chose to travel with Vella and the Banjaras was definitely not fortunate. But in the light of what he had learnt, he knew that there could be more than what one saw, "Who knows what the Gods think? Who knows how he has been able to convince Vella to let him travel with him, and the Banjaras have also agreed. He had managed to survive, for most of the journey, alive,  so maybe his luck is still holding out.

Do not let your love for that child blind you, my friend. Look around you, when has the summer not yielded to winter? The nights grow longer yet the sun grows stronger. And you know what would happen when the heat rises, tempers would rise too." 

The despair he felt, gushed out in an angry outburst, "What do you know of love, Dhuma?" 

An outburst he regretted the next instant, he knew what Dhuma was and also knew that the affection they shared was as deep an emotion the love could be. 

They had been together for so many centuries, and friends for so long that Dhuma ignored the outburst.

"Why not ask Aindri?"

Karmappa would not. He still hoped that his worries were baseless; he was afraid of asking her and getting a confirmation that she indeed did have visions, visions which were neither dreams of hopes or simple nightmares of fear. Ones that would be meaningless and yet filled one with a nameless urgency.

_____________________________

Aindri sat on the rock, the one that she called as Karmappa's hillock; it was just nearing dawn and she had been unable to sleep, the dreams had been disturbing. And over the past few weeks, as the sun shone with vigour, and heat inflamed tempers all around, she had been irate. She remembered having similar ones as a child, but they were few and far between, and she had always dismissed them as figments of imagination sparked by the tales her tatha told. However, the dreams now were clearer, persistent and ominous;  It did not help that she could hear voices too, the urgency in the voices unsettled her though she could not make out what they meant.

She had no one to talk to about them, most would laugh them away, though tatha and Vahin would listen to her, but she still did not see how they could help her. So she kept quiet, though it left her uneasy and unable to sleep. She sat in silence, enjoying the cool air, in an hour's time it would be sunrise and the heat would start. And when Vahin came and sat beside her, she smiled at him, not wanting him to see that she was worried. But then she could never hide her emotions with him, for after a few minutes he asked,,"You seem restless? Is it about the festival?"

Aindri nodded, though he was not too correct, it was nice to able to admit that she was restless. But she was unprepared for his words, "What makes you think that none would offer for you? You are beautiful, anyone can see that; you cook marvelously, which will be known to all once they taste the Arka offerings and you are Kau'tilika's daughter, so you will be allowed to chose. Mark my words, there will be no shortage of offers."

She shook her head, she was not worried about that, though she was not too keen on getting married; what frustrated her was that she had no reason for that disinterest either, at least one which might make her parents hear her, "I do not want that..."

"Aindri, listen to me, I know what you dream of, you hope to find that legendary sword, which for all we know is just a story that tatha tells us," and when he noticed that she glared at him, he softened, "fine, it is true, the sword does exist. What do you plan to do, steal a horse and go searching for it? Spend all you life chasing an elusive dream? It is not practical, you know it even if you are too stubborn to admit it..."

Anger choked her words as she spit them out, "And you, what are you going to do? Whom are you going to offer to? No plans of having a wife, a family, a home?"

He turned his face away and she continued, "Oh, so we have different set of rules for us. I guess I was a fool to think you are different, but then you are just like every one else, what you said applies only to me for I am a girl, as a man it is different for you."

Vahin looked back at her and answered, "It is different for me, not for the reason you mentioned. Those are dreams not meant for me, Aindri. No, do not interrupt me, I am an orphan who has survived only on the generosity of your parents and I am aware of the rumours that are muttered behind my back when people know that your parents are not around to listen. My father could be of this village but not my mother, nobody seems to know of her but then she was different from them which is why they whisper that she is a witch, a spell caster who worshiped the moon and ensnared by father. I have heard them all.

Some dreams are unwise and impossible, the sooner we realise and accept that the better it is, for all of us..."

He watched Aindri stomped away, her twirling skirts raising puffs of dust clouds, anger at the truth he had said resonated in her stamping feet; she was also aware of those rumours though neither she nor anyone in her family had never heeded them. For once, he was glad that he was an orphan with a dubious lineage; for despite those practical words he had told her, there was no way he could accept another woman in his life, not when he had already pledged his heart to Aindri.

Breekai bit back a moan as the wooden cart ran over another rut in the road; this was neither the company he preferred nor the transport he liked. He was comfortable with a horse, would have liked a ship and loved a carriage but then the circumstances under which he left had been decidedly unfavourable. Nor was the destination, a vague place in the middle of nowhere, appealing to him. 

Yet, he could not break away from the company, though there were many chances to do so. What held him back was curiosity; he had realised that Vella was only disguised as a Banjaran, and he wanted to find out who exactly she was. He was also sure that she was far younger than he had guessed her to be when they had first met and that curiosity drove him to stay in their company. She and her companions were polite and willing shared their meals with him, but apart from those times that they ate together, they would not seek or tolerate his company. 

It was on a full moon night, fifteen days from the Arka festival, that he got his chance. 

Each mile that they traveled inland had increased the heat, and he found it difficult to fall asleep. As he tossed in his rough bed, he heard a slight rustle and caught sight of Vella as she slipped away from the camp. 

It was difficult to follow her, to try to stick to the treeline so that he would not be seen and he was grateful that she did not go far from the camp, she stopped at a small clearing, lit by the moonlight, but far enough from the camp to not be visible by the Banjaras.

When Vella stepped out of the drab brown shawl that she had wrapped herself in, he knew he had guessed correctly. She was young, maybe a few years older than him; dressed in white flowing robes and silver jewellery, she was beautiful as she stood radiant under the silvery moonlight. And when she sank onto her knees. he knew who she was, he had heard of them, the Amaris, children of the moon, who worshiped Chandrika. 

He stood, hidden in the trees as he watched her. He was not sure as to why he was still with them, but he could understand why Vella and her little entourage did not mix with the rest of the Banjaras; they were shunned by the Banjaras for not being nomadic enough and ignored by the settlers as not being settled enough. They were travellers, mostly sea farers, for their ardent worship of the moon gave them a deep understanding of the tides; where the were no seas they used the rivers, so it intrigued him that Vella should travel so far inland by carriage rather than take a boat. They were on the fringes, not belonging to any of the distinct groups, satisfied with their life, worship and the blessings they could grant. For they were reputed to be healers and their exclusion did not deter people from seeking out their services. 

After a few minutes, he felt he was intruding on her privacy, so he turned and walked away,as quietly as he had come.

_________________________________

Vella watched Breekai leave , from the corner of her eyes; her thoughts were similar to his, as she wondered what prompted her to offer him passage and what had made him agree to the same. She herself did not understand what drove her to attend the Arka festival, one held so far inland and to that particular group of villages. 

She continued to sit on the damp grassy ground, wondering if she had done the right thing by coming over, on a whim. She knew that Breekai had guessed what she was, a devotee of Chandrika, though he had no clue who she was. She was indeed an Amaris, a child of the moon, as all her people were known. But she was also High Priestess of Chandrika, or rather would be one, once her grandmother ceded the title to her; it would also be hers if her grandmother died, but then Vella knew that the woman was too stubborn to die, at least for the next couple of centuries.

It was uncharitable for her to think of her grandmother's dying, especially as it was she who had brought her up, after her mother had abandoned her to run off with another man, which was what her grandmother had told her. Vella had been brought up with love and firmness by her grandmother who had an intense dislike for her errant daughter; a dislike that she wanted to imbibe her granddaughter with.

As a child, one who missed her mother, Vella had shared that dislike though it was tinged with insecurity that she had somehow been responsible for her mother leaving them, that she, as a daughter, had failed to be enough for her mother. However, as Vella had grown up and was able to dredge out the facts from the rumours and the talks, she piece together a different account of her missing mother; a young beautiful woman, forced into a marriage she had not wanted, who had not found respite even on the death of her husband; a young mother who had loved her daughter and yet had been driven to choose between that child and the hope of having a loving family with a man who had loved her true. She did not remember her mother, but when she closed her eyes she could see a fuzzy image of a beautiful lovely woman, with tears and hope in her eyes. And so she had set out in search of that image.

Now, almost three months since she had run from her kingdom of Hilargi, she wondered if what she had done the right thing. She knew that her grandmother would be worried and angry and her fiancé would be equally upset over her disappearance, she did not believe in love, her duty to her kingdom was foremost in her mind but she liked him and enjoyed his company, she had been determined not to give in like her mother and marry if she did not like the man, Vella's abusive and alcoholic father had left a few indelible, horrifying memories. After her father's death, her grandmother had taken them with her when they had to visit another kingdom, and on once such journey, they had stopped at an Arka festival. Vella did not remember much about the festival, she only knew that she had lost her mother there.

The festival near Idorean would have the largest congregation of people and hence Vella had decided to visit the celebrations there, she would have only one chance to find out about her mother. She was not sure what she would find, twenty years was a long time and everything could change. However, she did not want to give up without making an attempt to find out about her mother, even if she was not too sure what she would do if she did find her mother; what does one say to a woman who left her three year old daughter behind, left without so much as a backward glance? Maybe she wanted to know if her mother ever thought about her, remembered her, Vella did not remember much though there were always fleeting echoes of the lullaby, the one that her mother sang, or so she was told. Escaping the palace, even with the help of the six people whom she would trust her life with, even with the knowledge that she would have one displeased and angry grandmother to face on her return, had been the greatest risk she had taken. 

The quarantine at Daiphini had made it impossible to hire a boat to travel inland and all those who had arrived by ship would be under greater suspicion so she had effected a disguise as a Banjara to avoid being held up,and had been pleased when Breekai had believed her to be one. 

And now, so close to her objective, she was plagued with doubts. And when she made a rough calculations as to how many days were left, she gasped. She continued to pray to Chandrika, desperation now lacing her prayers, for she had realised that this year, the main day would fall on a new moon night, a celebration of the sun followed by a moonless night. It was on the day she would need her the most that her goddess would be at the nadir of her powers.

________________________________________

Deep below the earth, where the rock was more gel than solid, the heat was oppressive; it had been intended as a prison for the creature that lay writhing under that prison of stone. One that had been awaiting for a long time, not that it knew of time as those above the earth did. It neither knew form, nor did it have any sense of substance, all it was aware was a tug. 

A tug that drove it to answer, to obey. 

The obsidian mists that clung together, had a form once, a fearsome one but that had been a long time ago and it retained memories of being un-formless; it desired that state. It had traveled a long distance from its earlier prison, dissipating into smoke and creeping through the cracks of the heated stones, deep in the bowels of the earth, waiting and searching.

It had not heeded the first call, the pull was too faint and distant. Then it had felt the pull, harder, more persistent than earlier and knew it had to answer. The words had been an invocation, a compulsion that had been faithfully and precisely chanted; borne by the winds, carried by the waters  and drifted into the earth, to reach it, hidden deep below. It would answer those summons, they promised It freedom and...a veritable feast.