Page 115 of Tiger's Quest
We collected a group of smaller-sized gourds. Kishan had about ten, and I had four. He opened his group first, which contained rice, a butterfly, a hot pepper, snow, a feather, a lily, a cotton ball, a mouse, another snake, which he got rid of—it could have been harmless, but better to be safe than sorry—and an earthworm.
Disappointed, we turned to my group. The first had thread, the second contained drum sounds, the third held a vanilla scent, and the fourth, shaped like a small apple, had nothing. We waited for a minute and started to get nervous thinking one of us was going to get sick again. The broken gourd disappeared like the others, so something had happened.
“Is that it? Do you see anything?”
“No. Wait. I hear something.”
After a minute, I said, “Well? What is it?”
“There’s something different about the room, but I can’t tell what. Wait. The air! It’s moving. Can you sense it?”
“No.”
“Give me a minute.”
Kishan crept around the room examining shelves, walls, and gourds. He placed his hand on one of the walls and leaned in closer, bumping gourds that rolled and shifted.
“There’s air coming through here. I think it’s a door. Help me move these gourds.”
We cleared the entire section of wall, which left only bare shelves.
“I can’t move this one. It’s stuck.”
It was a tiny gourd that seemed to be growing out of the wall. I pulled and pushed, but it wouldn’t budge. Kishan stepped back to get a better look and started laughing. I was still yanking on the small gourd.
“What is it? Why are you laughing?”
“Stand back a second, Kells.”
I moved out of the way, and he placed his hand on the gourd.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to prove. It won’t move.”
Kishan twisted and pushed. “It’s a knob, Kelsey.” He laughed and pushed open the section of wall that was now obviously a door. On the other side, we found more steps that led higher into the tree.
He held out his hand. “Shall we?”
“You know, I’m never going to look at pumpkin pie the same way again.”
His laughter echoed through the tree trunk.
After a few hours of climbing, Kishan called a halt. “Let’s stop and eat something, Kells. I can’t keep up with you. I wonder how long your special energy drink is going to last.”
I stopped about ten steps ahead of him and waited for him to catch up. “Now you know how I feel trying to keep pace with you tigers all the time.”
He grunted and slung the backpack off his shoulders. We made ourselves comfortable on a large step. He unzipped the bag, took out the Golden Fruit, and rolled it between his palms. After thinking for a moment, he grinned and spoke in his native language. A large plate shimmered and solidified. The steam coming from the vegetables smelled familiar.
I wrinkled my nose. “Curry? Ugh. My turn.”
I wished for scalloped potatoes, cherry glazed ham, green beans almondine, and rolls with honey butter. When my dinner appeared, Kishan eyed my plate.
“How about we share?”
“No thanks. Not a curry fan.”
He finished off his meal quickly and kept trying to get me to look at imaginary monsters so he could steal bites from my plate. I ended up just giving him half.
Another hour of stairs and my power juice wore off. I felt drained. Kishan let me rest while he looked for the next house. When he returned, I was writing in my journal.
