Hopeless Magic (21 page)

The five women turned around silently in unison and began walking towards a black limousine that could have been plucked from the early to mid nineteen hundreds. They stopped at the door, opening it for me and allowing me to get in first.

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I crawled in the hot back seat and sunk down on the scorching leather. I was already sweating and all I had done was walk from the plane to the car.

The women piled in after me and the driver placed my carry-on suitcase and backpack in the trunk before sitting back down into the driver's seat and taking off.

The windows were rolled down and the hot, humid breeze blew through them in a barely satisfying way. The Kendrick airstrip was located outside of the actual city of Bangalore, so I regretfully never saw anything but the outline of the city. We drove through winding, pot-hole stricken roads, passing small farms with nothing more than shanty's for dwelling places and starving children waving us by.

Every once in a while we would pass a temple, either a closed structure, that housed the statues of exotic gods, or outdoor pavilions with tall monuments to Buddha in the middle. Red flags waved from the Buddhist temples and at all the 315/711

religious sites were thousands of candles lit in prayer to a deity created from stone.

The road was relatively empty and the driver made good time. The women next to me remained silent, their expressions not even changing. I continued to sweat well into the twilight of evening and eventually gave up on consciousness all together. The trip to the palace would take two days of driving and one full day of riding on an elephant, whatever that meant. I was exhausted and sorely jet-lagged; if I couldn't talk, I decided I'd better just go to sleep.

I drifted off with the jungle growing denser around me. The call of wild birds and laughter of monkeys was my sound track to the exotic Indian world I had entered. Even in darkness, the colors of India seemed more vibrant than those at home.

The red of the saris seemed brighter than usual, the green of the thick, long-branched trees of the jungle seemed more vivid and the sun that grew lower in the western horizon seemed to glow in unusual hues of pink, orange and yellow. India 316/711

was enchanting and the mystical feeling of a greater magic waiting for me was pulling at my blood, sending pinpricks of feral electricity rushing through me, draining me from any energy I had remaining.

----

When I woke, the sun was streaming in through the opened limousine windows and the car was pulled over to the side of the road. I felt disoriented and had no idea where we were. The trees around the car had thick trunks and were dense with leaves. Colorful birds and small, gangly monkeys hopped from tree branch to tree branch in a ballet of jungle life.

I sat up, realizing I was alone in the car. I was drenched in sweat, my shirt soaked through and my hair felt like I had just gotten out of the shower. I wanted to call out to the women, but stopped myself, remembering the vow of silence.

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I crawled out of the back seat, thankful for the humid breeze that drifted through my clothes.

The car had been stifling and the cooler mountain morning air felt like heaven.

The women were surrounding a small roadside stand eating something out of homemade newspaper packets. I approached them carefully, not sure if I was allowed to. They smiled graciously at me, and a middle aged woman with long braids and a gold head scarf held up her finger to me.

She turned to the vendor, an impossibly skinny elderly man with snow -white hair and a stooped back, and gave him the same gesture. He produced another newspaper packet that the woman then held out to me.

I took it from her, pressing my palms together and offering another small bow, frustrated that even my manners were commanded silent under the traditional vow. She smiled at me and bobbed her head back and forth as if to say it was no problem.

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I unwrapped the newspaper, while the driver and the vendor talked animatedly in a language I couldn't even begin to understand. Their sentences seemed to move impossibly fast and I was relieved that not everyone around me was under the constrictions of silence. Inside the newspaper was a doughy bread, I had to assume was made without yeast. I was pleasantly surprised after biting into it that there was a fried egg inside sprinkled with a mild curry. Whatever the name of the native food, it was the perfect breakfast and I devoured the delicacy in seconds.

After everyone else had finished their breakfast and the driver and vendor shook hands, we all piled back into the limousine for the continuation of our journey. The roads seemed to worsen as we drove higher in altitude and deeper into the jungle, the driver had to significantly slow his pace and become increasingly creative.

The jungle grew more exotic the further in we drove. The vegetation was like nothing I had left behind in Omaha, and the animals were wild and 319/711

feral. The sounds were the most frightening part, loud moans or high pitched screeching sounds made terrifying interruptions to our otherwise silent drive. I wanted desperately to be reassured that they belonged only to large birds or friendly mammals, but with everyone restricted to their own thoughts, mine grew increasingly more fearful.

We drove through the heat of the day, the women eventually produced small hand held fans and offered me one. I fanned myself frantically, hoping I wouldn't be judged on appearance any time soon.

We stopped another time during the day for lunch. This time the roadside vendor produced newspaper packets of rice and a curry sauce.

There were no utensils provided so I had to watch until the women dug in with one cupped hand, bringing the food to their mouths between their fingers.

I followed suit, but felt more like a barbarian than the custom dictated. Somehow the stewards were 320/711

perfectly capable of getting the food from hand to mouth without smearing it all over their faces and dropping it clumsily at their feet. I could not figure it out though and so by the end of the meal, more rice had landed on the ground than in my mouth. The floor was a feast for all sorts of large insects that I would have been perfectly happy to never have met in my life.

Since no napkin was provided either, my black fitted t-shirt had to play the role of paper towel and give me back some of my dignity the delicious, spicy curry sauce had taken from me. My fingers were stained in an orange reminder that I would be making Indian food a permanent addition to my diet when I returned to Omaha.

At the end of the day, nightfall fell fast in the thick jungle. There was no room to see a sunset and with the canopy of trees blocking the full shine of the sun, one minute there was day light and the next we were enveloped in darkness.

Eventually the driver pulled off of the main highway and onto an extremely bumpy dirt road. I 321/711

bounced along in the backseat feeling like an earthquake victim, and sorely apologetic to the women next to me that I kept jabbing with my boney elbows. I was certain the old limousine was ready to just fall apart at any minute.

At the end of the dirt road was a small wooden building with open windows and a light on. The driver stopped the car in front of what I could tell was a sort of house. My increasingly exhausted looking stewards piled out of the vehicle; I followed suit. The driver left us to drive around to the back of the house.

I stopped before entering, half wondering if this were a trap. If I was going to lure someone away from everyone protecting them and either kidnap them or kill them, this creepy shack would definitely be the place to do it.

The house was surrounded by a small clearing but the jungle wasn't far away and the deafening night sounds coming from every direction were the ultimate decision; I would rather face whatever was in that kidnapper's haven than the 322/711

army of wild animals seemingly surrounding me on every side.

I swallowed my fear and entered the run-down house with my magic ready to react. It all turned into nothing, however, when I nearly released the electricity on the five women sitting down to a meal on an old door propped up on two buckets sitting unsteadily and awkwardly low to the floor.

There was an empty chair I wasn't quite sure would hold my weight, but I took it anyway looking forward to the meal I just now began to smell. White rice and a chipped porcelain dish containing an amazing curry sauce made with pumpkin and lentils began to be passed around and I heaped the native food onto an identical porcelain plate that had seen years of abuse.

A bread, similar to the one filled with egg, was also passed around and I was delighted to find this one filled with potatoes and onions. I followed the example the ladies set by tearing pieces of the bread apart and using it to pick up the rice and sauce together.

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The meal was completely satisfying and despite the silence of the room, I began to relax. The stewards were comfortable to be around and completely gracious. Even the driver who I could see through one of the open windows, making his bed in a shed where the car was parked, was easy to be around. One other person was out there with him; an elderly woman with floor length, greying black hair and a delicate yellow sari, dishing up a plate of food for him from a heavy iron pot. I recognized her as the cook of this magnificent meal and if I I weren't worried about breaking tradition I would have demanded that she write down the recipe so I could replicate it at home.

After dinner, the youngest of the stewards began to clear our plates. I stood up, joining her. There was a small basin of water off to one-side of the one room shanty and I knew it would take no time at all if we tackled the dishes together.

I began to move the plates to the counter the basin was sitting on, when I heard the first sound 324/711

any of the women had made the entire trip. The oldest of the stewards gasped in horror at my attempts at helping and reached out to grab my arm and stop me.

I had anticipated some resistance and so I looked down at her with the sweetest smile I could and bobbed my head in the back and forth motion that I had seen countless times in the last few days. I knew I didn't pull it off correctly. The Indian people were born with a sort of rubber neck that let them display their indifference at any given moment. I just hoped to replicate the idea in a stiff and awkward movement.

The second sound of the evening came from all five of them breaking into laughter at my attempts at cultural relevance; I had to laugh, too.

The laughter, like dainty wind chimes, floated in-to the cool evening in a refreshing sound of relaxation. I was allowed to help with the dishes, and like I had predicted, we were finished in fif-teen minutes.

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After dinner, mats were rolled out across the floor and mosquito nets hung from hooks in the ceiling. I crawled under my tent-like netting ready for sleep. I hadn't done much the last few days but the hours of traveling had completely exhausted me. I decided to check in with Avalon who had been silent in my head since the jet.

Where are you?
I asked, hoping he was close.

I am close.
He replied answering my emotions.

And then I felt that he was close, out in the jungle, but with several other Immortals. They had set up camp and were eating a dinner not all that different from mine.
I have never heard of
the stewards laughing, Eden. Not ever.

Oh really?
I was happy with myself, feeling like I had the right to be proud of a unique accomplishment.

Actually, I think you are a completely new kind of
Immortal for them.
He said passively. Avalon was relaxed and enjoying the wilderness. The jungle was completely his domain and I could feel in every fiber of his being how relieved he 326/711

was that the trip had been uneventful so far.

When I reported back to Amory, he said that most
of the younger Immortals use their magic the
whole trip. You know you don't have to be so hot,
and you don't have to be so uncomfortable on the
floor, right?

Damn it. I always forget about the magic.
I laughed, realizing Avalon was right, I was positive no other Immortal would have let themselves get that sweaty or that hungry. I rolled my eyes at myself, but not really regretting feeling India at the human core of what it really was.

You know what, that is exactly how it would go.

Avalon reflected, amused.
Of course, the most
powerful Immortal of probably all time would
struggle to even remember she has any magic at
all.
He rolled his eyes, laughing good naturedly at me.

Shut up.
I grumbled back.
You're just as powerful
and you never forget. So that makes up for it.

Well, probably more powerful. So I guess you're
right. I'll give it to you.
I felt him smile and 327/711

noticed from his point of view Jericho give him a curious glance from across the fire.

So, are we good? I mean nothing out of the normal as far as this whole walk thing goes?
I asked, remembering my journey was far from over.

It would appear that way, so far at least. By tomorrow night you will be at the palace and we
should know more.
He said with his characteristic tone of authority he used every time he was in a leadership position.

"Avalon," I heard Jericho call from across the fire. "What are you doing? Thinking about a girl?" he laughed and others joined him.

I found myself smiling at Jericho, and not just from his sense of humor.

"Something like that," Avalon called back.
Ok,
well get some rest; you've got a big day tomorrow. Let me know how much fun riding an elephant for ten hours is.
He finished with a dark amusement.

That sounds awesome.
I sighed and rolled over, leaving Avalon's head and entering mine. The 328/711

elephant ride was just the beginning of a seemingly impossible few days ahead of me.