Tiger's Curse (30 page)

Mr. Kadam got our keys and bought us two colas and two popsicles. He handed me a white one while he took the orange one. I pulled off the wrapper, warily smelling my frozen treat.

“It’s not something like soy bean and curry is it?”

He grinned. “Take a bite.”

I did and was surprised to find it was coconut flavored.
Not as good as Tillamook Mudslide, but not bad at all
, I mused.

Mr. Kadam bit off a hunk of his popsicle, held it up with a grin, and said, “Mango.”

The two-story, mint-green hotel had a wrought iron gate, a concrete patio, and flamingo-pink trim. My room had a full-size bed set in the middle of the floor. A colorful curtain hid a small closet with a few wooden hangers. A basin and a pitcher of fresh water as well as a couple of earthenware mugs rested on a table. Instead of air conditioning, a ceiling fan circled lazily overhead, barely stirring the warm air. There was no bathroom. All tenants had to share the facilities on the first floor. The accommodations were sparse, but it still beat the jungle, hands down.

After seeing me settled and giving me my key, Mr. Kadam said he would come retrieve me to take me to dinner in three hours, and then he retreated, leaving me to my privacy.

He was barely out the door when a small Indian woman wearing a bright orange flowing shirt over a white skirt came to launder my dirty clothes. In no time at all, she returned with my washed clothes and hung them on the clothesline outside my door. They flapped quietly in the breeze, and I drowsed listening to the soothing domestic sound.

After a short nap and sketching a few new drawings of Ren as a tiger, I braided my hair and tied it with a red ribbon to match my red shirt. I’d just finished putting on my sneakers when Mr. Kadam knocked on the door.

He took me out to eat at what he said was the best restaurant in town, The Mango Flower. We took a small motorboat taxi across the river and walked to a building that looked like a plantation house that was surrounded by banana, palm, and mango trees.

He led me around the back, and we walked on a paved stone path that led to an amazing view of the river. Heavy wooden tables with smooth polished tops and stone benches were placed all around a patio. Decorated iron lanterns were set on the corner of each table and provided the only light. A brick archway to the right was covered in white jasmine that perfumed the evening air.

“Mr. Kadam, this is lovely!”

“Yes, the man at the front desk recommended it. I thought you would enjoy a good meal since you’ve been eating army rations for a week.”

I let Mr. Kadam order for me since I had no idea what the menu said. We enjoyed a dinner of basmati rice, grilled vegetables, chicken
saag
, which turned out to be chicken cooked with creamed spinach, a flaky white fish with mango chutney, vegetable
pakora
fritters, coconut prawns, naan bread, and a kind of lemonade made with a dash of cumin and mint called
jal jeera
. I sipped the lemonade, found it was a bit too tangy for my taste, and ended up drinking a lot of water instead.

As we started our meal, I asked Mr. Kadam what more he’d learned about the prophecy.

He wiped his mouth with his napkin, took a sip of water, and said, “I believe what you are seeking is called the Golden Fruit of India.” He leaned in a little closer and lowered his voice. “The tale of the Golden Fruit is a very old legend forgotten by most modern scholars. It was supposedly an object of divine origin given to Hanuman to watch over and protect. Shall I tell you the story?”

I sipped my water and nodded.

“India was once a vast wasteland, completely uninhabitable. It was full of fiery serpents, great deserts, and fierce beasts. Then the gods and goddesses came and the face of the land changed. They created man and gave mankind special gifts, the first one being the Golden Fruit. When it was planted, a mighty tree sprang up, and from the fruit that grew on the tree, seeds were gathered and spread all over India, changing it into a fertile land that would feed millions.”

“But, if the Golden Fruit was planted, wouldn’t it have disappeared or become the roots of the tree?”

“One fruit from that first tree ripened quickly and became golden, and that Golden Fruit was taken and hidden by Hanuman, the half-man, half-monkey king of Kishkindha. As long as the fruit is protected, India’s people will be fed.”

“So that’s the fruit we have to find? What if Hanuman is still protecting it and we can’t get to it?”

“Hanuman protected the fruit by placing it in his fortress and surrounding it with immortal servants who would watch over it. I don’t know much about the kinds of barriers that would be set up to stop you. I’m guessing there will be more than one trap designed to pull you from your course. On the other hand, you are Durga’s favored one, and you have her protection as well.”

I rubbed my hand absentmindedly. It tingled. The henna drawing had faded, but I knew it was still there. I sipped my water.

“Do you really think we’ll find anything? I mean, do you really believe in this stuff?”

“I don’t know. I hope it’s true so the tigers can be freed. I try to keep my mind open. I know there are powers that I can’t discern and things that bend and shape us that we can’t see. I shouldn’t be alive, but somehow I am. Ren and Kishan are trapped in some kind of magic that I don’t understand, and it’s my duty to help them.”

I must have looked worried because he patted my hand and said, “Don’t fret. I have a strong feeling that everything will work out in the end. It’s faith that keeps me focused on our goal. I have great confidence in you and Ren, and I believe, for the first time in centuries, that there is hope.”

He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Now, shall we turn our attention to dessert?”

He ordered
kulfi
for both of us, which he explained was an Indian ice cream made from fresh cream and nuts. It was refreshing on a warm evening, though not as sweet or creamy as American ice cream.

After dinner, we strolled back to the boat and talked about Hampi. Mr. Kadam advised that we should visit a local temple of Durga before we ventured to the ruins to look for the gateway to Kishkindha.

As we strolled slowly through town to the market, Mr. Kadam and I caught sight of our mint-green hotel. He turned to me with a sheepish expression and said, “I hope you forgive me in choosing this somewhat modest hotel. I wanted to stay in the smaller town closer to the jungle in case Ren needed me. He can reach us here quickly if he needs to, and I felt safer being closer to him.”

“I’m fine, Mr. Kadam. After staying in the jungle for a week, this feels luxurious.”

He laughed and nodded his head. We browsed through the different stalls, and Mr. Kadam bought some fruit we could share for breakfast and some type of rice cakes wrapped in banana leaves. They looked similar to the lunch Phet had made for me, but Mr. Kadam assured me they were sweet and not spicy.

After I got ready for bed, I fluffed my pillow and stuck it behind my back, pulled my freshly washed and dried quilt over my lap, and thought about Ren sitting in the jungle all alone. I felt guilty being here with him out there. I also missed him and felt lonely. I liked having him around. Sighing deeply, I pulled my hair out of my braid, wiggled down, and fell into a light sleep.

Sometime around midnight, a soft knock on my door woke me. I was hesitant to open it. It was late, and surely it couldn’t be Mr. Kadam. I walked to the door, put my hand quietly against it, and listened.

There was a muffled tap again, and I heard a familiar voice whisper faintly, “Kelsey, it’s me.”

I unlocked the door and peeked out. Ren was standing there dressed in his white clothes, barefoot, with a triumphant grin on his face. I pulled him inside and hissed out thickly, “What are you doing here? It’s dangerous coming into town! You could have been seen, and they’d send hunters out after you!”

He shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “I missed you.”

My mouth quirked up in a half smile. “I missed you too.”

He leaned a shoulder nonchalantly against the doorframe. “Does that mean you’ll let me stay here? I’ll sleep on the floor and leave before daylight. No one will see me. I promise.”

I let out a deep breath. “Okay, but promise you’ll leave early. I don’t like you risking yourself like this.”

“I promise.” He sat down on the bed, took my hand, and pulled me down to sit beside him. “I don’t like sleeping in the dark jungle by myself.”

“I wouldn’t either.”

He looked down at our entwined hands. “When I’m with you, I feel like a man again. When I’m out there all alone, I feel like a beast, an animal.” His eyes darted up to mine.

I squeezed his hand. “I understand. It’s fine. Really.”

He grinned. “You were hard to track, you know. Lucky for me you two decided to walk to dinner, so I could follow your scent right to your door.”

Something on the nightstand caught his attention. Leaning around me, he reached over and picked up my open journal. I had drawn a new picture of a tiger—my tiger. My circus drawings were okay, but this latest one was more personal and full of life. Ren stared at it for a moment while a bright crimson flush colored my cheeks.

He traced the tiger with his finger, and then whispered gently, “Someday, I’ll give you a portrait of the real me.”

Setting the journal down carefully, he took both of my hands in his, turned to me with an intense expression, and said, “I don’t want you to see only a tiger when you look at me. I want you to see me. The man.”

Reaching out, he almost touched my cheek but he stopped and withdrew his hand. “I’ve worn the tiger’s face for far too many years. He’s stolen my humanity.”

I nodded while he squeezed my hands and whispered quietly, “Kells, I don’t want to be him anymore. I want to be me. I want to have a life.”

“I know,” I said softly. I reached up to stroke his cheek. “Ren, I—” I froze in place as he pulled my hand slowly down to his lips and kissed my palm. My hand tingled. His blue eyes searched my face desperately, wanting, needing something from me.

I wanted to say something to reassure him. I wanted to offer him comfort. I just couldn’t frame the words. His supplication stirred me. I felt a deep bond with him, a strong connection. I wanted to help him, I wanted to be his friend, and I wanted . . . maybe something more. I tried to identify and categorize my reactions to him. What I felt for him seemed too complicated to define, but it soon became obvious to me that the strongest emotion I felt, the one that was stirring my heart, was . . . love.

I’d built a dam around my heart after my family died. I hadn’t really let myself love anyone because I was afraid they’d be taken from me again. I purposefully avoided close ties. I liked people and had many friendly relationships, but I didn’t risk loving. Not like this.

His vulnerability allowed me to let my guard down, and gently and methodically, he tore apart my well-constructed dam. Waves of tender feelings were lapping over the top and slipping through the cracks. The feelings flooded through and spilled into me. It was frightening opening myself up to feel love for someone again. My heart pounded hard and thudded audibly in my chest. I was sure he could hear it.

Ren’s expression changed as he watched my face. His look of sadness was replaced by one of concern for me.

What was the next step? What should I do? What do I say? How do I share what I’m feeling?

I remembered watching romance movies with my mom, and our favorite saying was “shut up and kiss her already!” We’d both get frustrated when the hero or heroine wouldn’t do what was so obvious to the two of us, and as soon as a tense, romantic moment occurred, we’d both repeat our mantra. I could hear my mom’s humor-filled voice in my mind giving me the same advice: “Kells, shut up and kiss him already!”

So, I got a grip on myself, and before I changed my mind, I leaned over and kissed him.

He froze. He didn’t kiss me back. He didn’t push me away. He just stopped . . . moving. I pulled back, saw the shock on his face, and instantly regretted my boldness. I stood up and walked away, embarrassed. I wanted to put some distance between us as I frantically tried to rebuild the walls around my heart.

I heard him move. He slid his hand under my elbow and turned me around. I couldn’t look at him. I just stared at his bare feet. He put a finger under my chin and tried to nudge my head up, but I still refused to meet his gaze.

“Kelsey. Look at me.” Lifting my eyes, they traveled from his feet to a white button in the middle of his shirt. “
Look
at me.”

My eyes continued their journey. They drifted past the golden-bronze skin of his chest, his throat, and then settled on his beautiful face. His cobalt blue eyes searched mine, questioning. He took a step closer. My breath hitched in my throat. Reaching out a hand, he slid it around my waist slowly. His other hand cupped my chin. Still watching my face, he placed his palm lightly on my cheek and traced the arch of my cheekbone with his thumb.

The touch was sweet, hesitant, and careful, the way you might try to touch a frightened doe. His face was full of wonder and awareness. I quivered. He paused just a moment more, then smiled tenderly, dipped his head, and brushed his lips lightly against mine.

He kissed me softly, tentatively, just a mere whisper of a kiss. His other hand slid down to my waist too. I timidly touched his arms with my fingertips. He was warm, and his skin was smooth. He gently pulled me closer and pressed me lightly against his chest. I gripped his arms.

He sighed with pleasure, and deepened the kiss. I melted into him.

How was I breathing?
His summery sandalwood scent surrounded me. Everywhere he touched me, I felt tingly and alive.

I clutched his arms fervently. His lips never leaving mine, Ren took both of my arms and wrapped them, one by one, around his neck. Then he trailed one of his hands down my bare arm to my waist while the other slid into my hair. Before I realized what he was planning to do, he picked me up with one arm and crushed me to his chest.

I have no idea how long we kissed. It felt like a mere second, and it also felt like forever. My bare feet were dangling several inches from the floor. He was holding all my body weight easily with one arm. I buried my fingers into his hair and felt a rumble in his chest. It was similar to the purring sound he made as a tiger. After that, all coherent thought fled and time stopped.