Goddess of Gotham (3 page)

Oh, she knew why they did it. It was out of respect for her status. No one could gaze upon the girl-goddess except the courtiers and the king himself. Which kind of put paid to any chance of her
ever getting a kiss. Not that she really wanted a kiss. Well, not just from anyone. Kisses sounded, well,
slobbery.

Although one from Tenzin might be nice.

Kissing. Another mystery. In fact, she had no idea how to do it. It was one of those questions she could not ask anyone, not even her Ayah. Mamma would have known what to say, would have taken
her seriously. She would have understood how much Tenzin meant. Would have told her what to do.

The thought of Tenzin sent butterflies flapping wildly about her stomach. Which annoyed Kumari because she liked to be in control. Or at least that was the theory. In practice, it was really
hard. In which case, it was better not to think about him. Which was also pretty tough.

So caught up was she in her thoughts, that Kumari did not realise quite how far she’d climbed. It was only when she stumbled and had to right herself that she paused to look down.

Far below in the valley she could see the lights of the palace. A beacon always burned at each corner to let the people know they were safe. Although frankly, what with the Happiness deficit,
the people were growing restless. Kumari’s gaze shifted to the royal wing. She squinted, trying to make out poor Papa’s window.

There it was on the corner, beneath one of the seven gilded pagodas that adorned the palace roof. A dim glow was visible within; Papa could no longer sleep with the lights off. Next to his room,
the RHM’s was in darkness. She remembered the voice raised in anger, the RHM’s soothing tone, then the thuds. He had been trying to shut someone up, that much was obvious. But what
about and why? And in the middle of the night? As the god-king’s closest aide, the RHM was extremely powerful. He could easily deal with someone by daylight through the usual channels. Unless
he did not wish to be discovered.

It occurred to Kumari then that the RHM could be her suspect. He had the opportunity, the influence. But what about the motive? The RHM had appeared to love her Mamma, certainly to respect her
deeply. No, it could not have been the RHM. He had no reason to kill Mamma.

Bored now of staring at the palace, Kumari’s perspective widened. She swept her gaze over the valley, settling on a house in the Court Officials’ District. Tenzin was the son of the
Royal Treasurer. It was how she had first come to lay eyes on him, accompanying his father to court. Unlike all the other boys, he had dared to look her in the eyes, glancing at her sideways with
an amused glint.

How dare he,
had been her first thought, followed by a rush of admiration. The boy had guts, not to mention a cute smile. Of course she had turned away, lifting her chin a touch
haughtily. And then ruined the entire effect by glancing back when she thought he wasn’t looking. Naturally he was and naturally he had grinned triumphantly. Kumari could not help but grin
back.

Right now he was asleep, as far as she could tell from his darkened house. Or maybe lying there in his bed, thinking of her . . .

Don’t be ridiculous,
she told herself. Tenzin had far better things to do. Like hang around with the other kids with whom he attended school. Kumari had never been to school.
Instead, she had the RHM and the Ancient Abbot.

It made it much harder to get away with anything, being the only kid in class. But Kumari had her methods. Take tonight, for instance. It made it all the more exciting, knowing how furious they
would be if they found out. Except, they were not going to find out. She would be back in her bed just after dawn.

Huddled against a boulder, knees drawn up, Kumari stared at the changing sky. Indigo was giving way to grey; soon the sun would splash it with golden streaks. Across the valley, she could barely
make out the contours of the Holy Mountain, its foothills shrouded in mists, its peak crowned with cloud. She stared at the foothills, wishing that, just for once, the veil of the mists would be
ripped apart. Hidden by it, her mother lingered, gazing back at the land she still loved.

The Holy Mountain was blessed, its tip the most sacred spot of all. The summit cloud acted as a screen, shielding the gods from mortal gaze. The only way to ever see a god was to summon one from
the mountain and the ability to do so was only handed to a few. The Ancient Abbot had taught her the words, the formula written in her ritual book. But words were nothing without magic. And magic
involved risk.

Summoning was not entirely safe for either side. You never quite knew what might appear. In Mamma’s case it was doubly dangerous, alone as she was, unprotected by the other gods.

‘Summoning,’ the Ancient Abbot said, ‘is only to be used in extreme circumstances.’

Well, these circumstances
were
extreme. How else could she communicate with her Mamma? And Mamma would understand; she had always urged Kumari on.

‘Be strong,’ she would say. ‘Fight for what you believe in, Kumari.’

Well, she believed in her mission. She believed it was the only way. Kumari stared harder at the mountain and murmured, ‘Mamma.’

A tear trickled down her cheek. She brushed it aside, furious. ‘No tears,’ Mamma always said.

‘No tears,’ whispered Kumari.

Nestled in her robes, warm against her belly, Badmash glanced up and let out a squawk. Kumari looked down and smiled. She had almost forgotten his presence.

‘Soon, now,’ she soothed. ‘You hang on in there.’

Badmash was growing restless, his belly growling for food. Any normal bird would have gone foraging for a few worms. But Badmash was no normal bird. In fact, he hardly considered himself a bird
at all. It was why he refused to fly, or so Kumari theorised. In any case, it gave him a human-sized appetite along with a lot of attitude.

Very soon, though, the sun would rise, a sudden slash through the grey cloud. The cold mists would be ripped by light, night turning swiftly to day. It was alchemy itself and Kumari loved it,
the bleak mountains bathed in sudden gold, the frosty sky on fire. Each jagged peak would salute the sun as the valley awakened. Demons would scuttle back inside their caves. Eagles would swoop in
delight.

With the dawn, she would perform her ceremony, then slip back to the palace. They could be there by breakfast time, with her Ayah none the wiser. The Ayah brought breakfast each morning, laid
out on a silver tray. Yak yogurt and honey for Kumari, a whole mouse for Badmash. At first the palace cook had protested so now the Ayah simply slipped one on the tray in transit. It was pretty
impressive, come to think of it, having an Ayah who could handle a dead mouse.

A sound cracked through the air, the snap of a twig breaking. Whirling round she saw nothing save a ragged shrub swaying in the wind. Little grew above the tree line; the climate was too harsh.
The wind was bitter, unrelenting, unlike the balmy valley below. Kumari dropped her head to her knees and pulled her robes tighter. Alone on the hillside, it felt as if the dawn would never
come.

Thoughts began to taunt her. Just who was she kidding? Imagining she could summon up her Mamma. She was nothing but a joke. She had not passed a single one of her Powers, for heaven’s
sake. And at this rate she never would. Call herself a trainee goddess? Trainee
dingbat
more like.

And then she felt it, a flash of warmth on her back. She whipped her head up to see the mountain. Above it, the sky blazed, aflame.

Hastily, she pulled out her book.

‘Place incense on charcoal,’ she muttered, reading out the instructions. She had done this a hundred times before but this time she had to get it right.

The firestick stubbornly refused to light, no matter how hard she flicked it.

‘Stupid thing,’ cursed Kumari. The sky was getting lighter. Then, with a whoosh the firestick ignited. With trembling hands, she applied it to the incense. A wisp of fragrant smoke
curled into the sky, scenting the air all around. Rising to her feet, book in hand, Kumari read over the next bit. From his perch on her shoulder, Badmash cooed. He did so love a good ritual.

‘OM TARE TUTTARE TURE SOHA

OM TARE TUTTARE TURE SOHA

OM TARE TUTTARE TURE SOHA . . .’

Kumari chanted, feeling a little silly. That was part of the problem. The words just felt all wrong.
This is your one shot,
she thought.
Come on girl, give it all you’ve got.
Breathing in until her ribs felt like they might crack, she threw back her head and howled:

OM TARE TUTTARE TURE SOHA

OM TARE TUTTARE TURE SOHA . . .’

Swaying backwards and forwards, Kumari did her best impression of the Ancient Abbot. He might be an old guy but he could chant with the best, voice rising higher and higher, making the whole
temple echo. One day she fully expected him to take off and hit the temple roof. Now and then it gave her the giggles, which she had to stifle in her sleeve. Today, however, was no laughing matter.
It felt as if her whole life rested on this moment. To see her mother one more time, she would happily die for that.

On and on Kumari chanted, working through all the verses. For once they came easily, without her having to glance at the book.

‘HOWL WIND, ROAR THUNDER . . . ’

She blew into her cowrie shell.

‘RIP HEAVEN’S VEIL ASUNDER . . . ’

She waved her firestick aloft.

‘THROUGH FLAME, THROUGH FIRE,

THROUGH HELL ITSELF COME FORTH!’

On and on she chanted, beating the ground beneath her feet, summoning up the spirits from the earth and sky, from the heavens and the depths. Around her the wind howled, shrieking with a
thousand demonic voices. The mountain trembled as the spirits woke and shook it in a rage. A sheet of fire shot from the distant peak. Thunder rumbled in anger. The gods did not give up their own
without a fight, even when they were stuck in some nether world.

At last, Kumari slumped to her knees, spent, her head bowed, her heart broken.

She had done her best, given it her all. And
still
there was nothing. She would never see or hear Mamma again. Never get to the truth. Never find out who had killed her. Never be able to
sleep in peace.

Then she felt the sun burst across her face, the first shaft of daylight. Snapping open her eyes, she was all but blinded.

And there – before her – stood a shape, silhouetted against the fiery skies.

The sunlight picked out the edge of scarlet robes, casting a halo round a hooded head. A hand reached for Kumari, its touch the one she craved. She could smell Mamma’s familiar perfume,
see the royal ring on her finger. Although her face was deep in shadow, she knew this, at last, was her mother.

‘Mamma?’ She took a step forward, face lifted in longing.

Cold fingers closed around her own.

Then everything went black.

CHAPTER 2

A
great roaring filled her ears, a sound unlike any she had ever heard. Strange smells filled her nostrils: leather, sweat and
something
else.
Her head was being flung around, her body jerked side to side. She tried to roll with the motion, as if she were on a boat. The roaring changed in tempo, increasing and decreasing. There
was an earsplitting squeal and the motion abruptly ceased.

‘What is it? What’s happening?’

The man’s voice came from beside her, speaking roughly in a tribal tongue that she recognised. It was the dialect used by the warlords who plagued the western borderlands of the kingdom.
Dimly Kumari recalled feeling a sharp pain in her arm and then an endless sleep punctuated by movement and sounds: yet more voices, being shoved around, manhandled as if she were a potato sack.

‘It’s the Macy’s Parade,’ came another voice from her other side. ‘Dumb cab driver’s taken the wrong cross street.’

A sensation welled up inside Kumari. Desperately, she tried to speak. Her tongue felt swollen, her throat dry as dust. Finally, she managed to croak.

‘I’m going to be sick!’ she rasped.

Instantly, there was pandemonium.

‘She said
what?’

‘She’s going to be sick!’

‘Open the darn window!’

‘No – open the door.’

‘Keep a hold of her, you idiot!’

One of them grabbed Kumari’s shoulders and propelled her forward. She was stepping down from some kind of coach, although she could see no horses. The vehicle was bright yellow, the hard
ground beneath her feet a dull grey. She glanced up at the sky. Instantly, the world tilted sideways. Stretching up, touching the heavens, immense towers surrounded her. Towers ten times higher
than the palace walls, thirty times higher even. So tall were these towers that they blocked out the sun’s rays from the earth. Diamond shards of light shot from the summits, citadels of the
gods, surely. Kumari stared, awestruck. Suddenly, her guts lurched again.

‘Hurry!’ shouted a voice. ‘We have to get the kid out of here.’

‘Pipe down,’ said another, closer to her. ‘Can’t you see she’s not well?’

As Kumari retched over and over, her mind began to steady. The hands that held her head were strong, their grip unrelenting.

‘Where am I?’ she muttered. ‘Who are you people?’

No answer from alongside. She retched again, deliberately. These men meant her harm. She had no idea who they were. What was she doing here, in this place of towering pinnacles?

Last thing she knew, her spell had worked. She had summoned up Mamma. Somehow, though, Mamma had gone. Again. And she was
here,
with these people. Had her magic gone wrong once more? Was
this some sort of demonic mirage? No, this felt all too real. Fear trickled down Kumari’s spine, landing at its base with a jolt. She must be in the World Beyond. At the mercy of Time! The
mortal enemy, its sands unstoppable . . .

More sensations began to filter through; the sounds of people talking and walking. In the background, that roaring sound. Other noises, strange and startling. A hooting and a honking; a distant,
whooping wail. Her eyes focused on scraps of paper carelessly tossed in the gutter. She glanced at her wrist; her amulet was gone. Her cherished silver bracelet, a gift from Mamma. Without it, she
felt naked, more defenceless than ever.