Page 4 of The Burning Mountain
“And some flatbread, please, if you have some to spare,” said the man.” Best thing to have along with this soup.”
Finally, by the time the fast ended and the last prayer was said, Lalasa was so hungry he could have eaten a slipper.
The stranger ladled the thick soup into shallow earthenware bowls and distributed them. Lalasa took one sip of the long-simmered soup, and his eyes widened. He had never tasted anything as delicious as this dish and said as much. Others, too, echoed his compliments.
Afterward, once they all had their fill, Veer requested shelter for the night again. Lulled into a good mood by great food, Lalasa instructed them to stay in an abandoned hut near the cow pen.
“How much are you willing to sell the magic stone for, stranger? I’d like to purchase it,” he asked, wiping his mouth with water and dabbing it dry with a towel that he had over his shoulder.
“But, sire, this isn’t for sale,” protested Veer. “This stone helps me get through those hungry nights on the road.”
“Nonsense. Everything is for sale. Give it to me for fiftyvarahasand you don’t need to go hungry again.”
“I’m not willing to part with it for less than a hundredvarahas. I have to think of my wife too.”
Until the stranger mentioned his wife, the village headman had forgotten her existence. She had draped the loose end of her dull-green saree over her head, hiding her face. She hadn’t said a word throughout their entire stay and ate quietly.
They haggled over the price some more until both parties were satisfied and Lalasa had the magic stone in his proud possession.
Truly, the stranger seemed like a simpleton, thought Lalasa later, after he had retired for the night. Selling such a valuable, magical artifact for a mere hundredvarahas. He had better ideas for the stone himself and was planning to sell it to the highest bidder in the capital city, Thanepur, and reap a profit of several times the money he paid for it.
2
THE STORY OF THIANVELLI’S ORIGINS
Chandra stared into the flames of a small mud stove in the hut they were provided. A pot stood over it, bubbling contentedly. Behind her, Veer lay sprawled on a low cot, as if it were a throne. She sensed the weight of his gaze on her back as she ladled porridge into a bowl. She was getting used to brooding silences from him.
Ever since their stint in the forest, she found him watching her occasionally with an enigmatic look. And every time she tried to decipher its meaning, she came away more confused—because she saw not just guilt, bitterness, and frustration, but also surprisingly, fear. As if he was afraid for her. She wished he would just talk to her instead of subjecting her to silence, but Veer seemed to be the kind of person who preferred to stew over his feelings in solitude.
It was the crack of dawn, with daybreak approaching, but the goddess of the night hadn’t yet relinquished her hold on the darkness.
Chandra offered one of the bowls to him. “Here. The headman’s wife was kind enough to donate some leftover milk. I hope it’s good. I even found some mint growing in a patchoutside to add. Since we need to leave soon, I didn’t make it too hot.”
Veer took a sip and made an appreciative sound. He lifted the bowl and drained it.
“Of course it isn’t as good as the soup you made earlier,” she said, tongue-in-cheek, while filling his bowl with a second serving.
Veer gave her an innocent look that didn’t fool her.
“Was it really magic?” she asked curiously, unable to bear the suspense any longer. “It tasted like an ordinary soup to me, but everyone else was singing praises.”
“It tasted so because everyone else was famished to the point of fainting. Why’d you think I took so long to make the soup? I wanted to make sure everyone was the hungriest they’ve ever been.”
“But…why didn’t I feel that way?” she asked puzzled, filling up her own bowl with porridge.
“How many days do you fast in a month, Princess? Can you honestly tell me you have never gone hungrier? This would have been impossible anywhere but here, in the village headman’s house, where everyone was decently fed despite the famine ravaging the countryside. That bunch of gluttons.”
“So there’s really no magic involved?” she asked, unable to hide her disappointment.
“Thought you hated magic users, Princess,” he asked, sardonic amusement creeping into his voice.
“My father does, not me. I have no opinion one way or another. And can you blame me for the misunderstanding? After seeing you handle the healing stones and then the farseeing stones, I thought it was another kind of magical rock,” she said, ducking her head, her voice descending to grumbles.
“The farseeing and the healing stones are created from thesangrahastones, which can act like reservoirs of certain types ofmagic.” His lips twitched. “But I’m afraid the ability to make the most delicious food imaginable isn’t magic based.”
She watched him finger the fat purse of gold coins for a while before asking, “What are you planning to do with all that gold?”
“Give it to that man we met earlier, with instructions to distribute evenly among his neighbors. He seems like an upright man. And it’s best to spread the money, so the suspicion doesn’t fall on a single person. Makes it much harder to recover too.
