Tiger's Voyage (2 page)

“May I suggest trying to be his friend?”

“He was always my friend. Maybe if I could get that part of him back, I won’t feel like I’ve lost everything.”

“I think you are right.”

Friends with Ren?
I pondered as I pulled out the ribbon holding my braid and climbed the stairs to turn in.
Well, something is better than
nothing, and right now I have a whole lot of nothing going on.

The next day Mr. Kadam and Nilima had set out a brunch. They’d already come and gone, but I found Ren in the kitchen piling a plate high with fruit and sweet rolls. He looked more like himself every day. His tall frame was filling out, and his dark hair had regained its glossy sheen. His gorgeous blue eyes watched me with a concerned expression as I took a plate.

When I got to the strawberries, I bumped him with my hip and he froze.

“Can you move down a bit please?” I asked. “I’d like to have a go at those cheese Danishes before Kishan gets here.”

Ren snapped out of it. “Sure. Sorry.”

He set his plate on the table, and I took the seat across from him. He watched me as he slowly peeled the paper away from a muffin. My face burned slightly from his attention.

“Are you okay?” he began haltingly. “I heard you crying last night.”

“I’m fine.”

He grunted and started eating but kept his eyes on me. When he was half finished, he looked away.

“Are you
sure
? I’m sorry if I upset you … again. I just don’t remember—”

I stopped him right there by raising my hand. “How you feel is how you feel, Ren.”

“Still, I apologize for hurting your feelings,” he said softly.

I stabbed my melon with a fork. Despite my protestations and my attempt to be nonchalant, I was having a hard time following Mr. Kadam’s advice. My eyes felt hot.

“Which time? On my birthday when you said I’m not attractive or that you can’t stand being in the same room with me or when you said Nilima is beautiful or—”

“Okay, I get the point.”

“Good, because I’d like to drop it.”

After a moment, he elaborated, “By the way, I didn’t say you weren’t attractive. I just said you’re young.”

“So is Nilima by
your
standards. You’re more than three hundred years old!”

“That’s true.” He grinned lopsidedly in an attempt to get me to smile.

“Technically, you should be dating a very old lady.” A tiny smile passed my lips.

He grimaced. “I also want you to know that you’re perfectly easy to be around and very likeable. I’ve never had this reaction to anyone before. I get along with almost everyone. There’s no legitimate reason why I should feel the need to escape when you walk into a room.”

“Other than the pressure to remember, you mean?”

“It’s not the pressure. It’s something … else. But I’ve decided to ignore it.”

“Can you do that?”

“Sure. The longer I stay near you the more intense the response. It’s not talking with you that’s hard; it’s just being in close proximity. We should try talking on the phone and see if that makes a difference. I’ll just work on building up immunity.”

“I see. So your goal is to build up a tolerance for me.” I sighed. “Okay.”

“I’ll keep trying, Kelsey.”

“Don’t strain yourself
too
much, because it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve decided to just be friends with you.”

He leaned forward and said conspiratorially, “But aren’t you still, you know, in love with me?”

I leaned forward too. “I don’t want to talk about that anymore.”

Ren folded his arms across his chest. “Why not?”

“Because Lois Lane never suffocated Superman.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We’ll have to watch the movie. The point is, I’m done holding you back, so if you want to date Nilima, go for it.”

“Wait a minute! You’re just going to cut me off?”

“Is that a problem?”

“I didn’t say it was a problem. It’s just that I’ve been reading your journal, and for a girl who’s supposed to be crazy about me, you’re sure giving up pretty quickly.”

“I’m not
giving up
anything. There’s nothing
between
us now
to
give up.”

He stared at me as I speared another piece of fruit.

Rubbing his jaw, he said, “So you want to be friends.”

“Yep. No pressure, no tears, no constant reminders of things you forgot, no anything. We’ll just start over. A clean slate. We’ll learn how to be friends and get along despite your inner trigger to run. What do you say?” I wiped my hand on a napkin and held it out. “Want to shake on it?”

Ren considered, smiled, and took my hand. I pumped his up and down once.

“What are we agreeing on?” Kishan asked as he walked into what was the longest conversation Ren and I had had since before he was captured.

“Kelsey just agreed to give me a demonstration of her lightning ability,” Ren smoothly lied. “Being able to shoot fire from your hand is something I’ve got to see.”

I looked at him with a raised eyebrow. He smiled and winked, then stood and took both of our plates to the kitchen sink. Kishan’s golden eyes cast a doubtful glance at me, but he sat down and snatched the remaining half of my cheese Danish. I smacked his hand playfully before picking up a towel to help Ren. When we were finished, he swiped the towel from me, snapping it lightly against my thigh. I laughed, enjoying our newfound repartee, and turned to find Kishan frowning at us.

Ren put his arm lightly around my shoulder and dipped his head closer to my ear, “‘’Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look. He thinks too much; such men are dangerous.’ Better keep an eye out for him, Kelsey.”

I laughed, glad that he remembered his Shakespeare, if not me. “Don’t worry about Kishan, Caesar. His growl is worse than his bite.”

“Has he bitten you lately?”

“Not recently.”

“Hmm, I’ll keep an eye out for you,” Ren said as he left the room.

“What was all that about?” Kishan growled, giving me a brief glimpse of the fierce black tiger hiding behind his eyes.

“He’s celebrating his emancipation.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve told him that I’d like to be friends.”

Kishan paused, “Is that what
you
want?”

“What
I
want is irrelevant. Being my friend is something he can do. Being my boyfriend is not in the stars right now.”

Kishan kept thankfully silent. I could tell he wanted to offer himself as a replacement, either seriously or in jest, but he bit his tongue. Because he did, I kissed his cheek on my way out.

With the ice finally broken between Ren and me, we all could finally move on and soon settled into a routine. I checked in with my foster parents, Mike and Sarah, every week, telling them virtually nothing but that I was fine and busy assisting Mr. Kadam. I assured them that I’d finished my freshman year at Western Oregon University online and that I’d be spending summer break doing an internship in India.

I practiced martial arts with Kishan in the mornings, had late breakfasts with Ren, and helped Mr. Kadam research the third part of Durga’s prophecy in the afternoons. In the evenings, Mr. Kadam and I cooked dinner together—except when he wanted to make curry. Those nights I made my own dinner, using the Golden Fruit.

After dinner we played games, watched movies, and sometimes read in the peacock room. Kishan stayed in the library only if I was telling a story, and then he’d curl up at my feet as the black tiger. We began reading
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
together. Mr. Kadam bought several copies of the play so we could take different parts to read. I liked being able to share those times with Ren.

Mr. Kadam had been right, as usual. Ren did seem happy. Everyone responded to his improved mood, including Kishan, who had somehow changed from a brooding, resentful younger brother into a confident man. Kishan kept his distance, but his golden come-hither eyes made my face burn.

Sometimes in the evenings, I’d find Ren in the music room playing his guitar. He’d strum through songs and laugh when I requested “My Favorite Things” from
The Sound of Music
. One such night, Ren played the song he’d written for me. I watched him carefully, hoping a memory might be coming back. He was concentrating deeply as he picked softly through the notes. He kept getting stuck and started over again several times.

When he caught my gaze, he dropped his hands and grinned sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I just can’t seem to remember this one. Do you have a request this evening?”

“No,” I said curtly and stood.

Ren took my hand but dropped it quickly. “What is it? You’re sad. More than usual.”

“That song … it’s—”

“The song? Have you heard it before?”

“No,” I lied and smiled sadly, “It’s … lovely.” I squeezed his hand and stumbled away before he could ask any more questions. I wiped a tear from my cheek as I climbed the stairs. I could hear him working on the song again, trying to figure out where the notes belonged.

Another evening, I was relaxing on the veranda, smelling the night jasmine, and looking up at the stars when I overheard Kishan and Ren talking.

“You’ve changed,” Ren pointed out to his brother. “You’re not the same man you were six months ago.”

“I can still whip your white hide if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“No, it’s not that. You’re still a powerful fighter. But now, you’re more relaxed, more certain, more … composed.” He laughed. “And much harder to get riled up.”

Kishan replied softly, “She’s changed me. I’ve been working hard to become the kind of man she needs, the kind of man she already believes me to be.”

Ren didn’t respond, and the two entered the house. I sat quietly, thinking deeply about Kishan’s words.
Who knew life and love would be so
complicated?

A few days later, Mr. Kadam called us together in the dining room. As we all took seats around the table, I secretly hoped this wasn’t bad news and that Lokesh hadn’t found us again.

“I’d like to propose an idea,” Mr. Kadam began. “I’ve figured out a way to make sure we can find one another if, perchance, someone is abducted again. It won’t be comfortable, but I feel a little discomfort is a small price to pay to make sure no one is lost.”

He opened a box and took out a bubble-wrapped package. Inside was a black velvet bundle that unrolled to reveal five thick syringes with needles the size of a giant porcupine quill.

Nervously, I asked, “Umm, Mr. Kadam? What exactly do you mean by a
little
discomfort?”

He opened the first syringe and took out a bottle of saline solution and some alcohol wipes. “Have you heard of
RFID
tags?”

“No,” I responded with alarm as I watched him gently take Kishan’s left hand, swipe the area between his thumb and forefinger with an alcohol wipe, and then dab a yellow topical ointment in the same place.

“It stands for Radio Frequency Identification tags. They’re used in animals.”

“You mean to track whales and sharks? Things like that?”

“Not exactly. Those are larger and drop off after they lose power.”

Ren leaned forward and picked up a chip about the size of a grain of rice. “It looks similar to what Lokesh implanted in me.”

He set the chip down and rubbed his hands together slowly, looking off into the distance.

“Did it hurt? Could you feel it inside your skin?” I asked tentatively, trying to bring him back from whatever dark place he had gone.

Ren let out a breath and gave me a small smile. “The pain was minimal at the time, but yes, I could feel it under my skin.”

“This tag is slightly different.” Mr. Kadam hesitated and added, “We don’t have to use them, but I think they will be a protection for all of us.”

Ren nodded in agreement, and Mr. Kadam continued, “These are somewhat similar to
RFID
tags which are used in pets. They emit a frequency, usually a ten-digit number, which can be scanned through the skin.

“The chips are encased in biocompatible glass to prevent them from coming in contact with moisture.
RFID
tags for humans are not commonplace yet but are beginning to be approved for medical purposes. They identify medical history, allergies, and the types of medication a person is currently taking.”

He drew some saline solution into the syringe and replaced the smaller needle with the giant one. Then he placed a tiny chip into the needle’s groove. He pinched the skin between Kishan’s thumb and finger and carefully inserted the needle. I looked away.

Unperturbed, Mr. Kadam continued, “Now for the large marine animals you were speaking of, researchers use satellite tags that transmit anything from the current location in longitude and latitude, to the depth of the animal, the duration of the dive, and the swimming speed. That type of tag is external and is attached to a battery that eventually is used up in the transmission of information. Most of them last only a short time but some of the more expensive ones can last for a few months.”

He pressed a cotton ball to Kishan’s hand, removed the needle, and covered it with a Band-Aid. “Ren?”

Kishan and Ren switched places, and Mr. Kadam began the process over with Ren.

“There are a few internal tags put into marine animals that can record the heart rate, the temperature of the water, the body temperature, and the depth of the animal. Many of them transmit information to satellites when the animal surfaces.”

He selected a new syringe, drew a bit of saline solution, replaced it with the larger one, and placed another chip into the needle’s groove. When he pinched the skin and moved closer, I grimaced. Ren looked up and made eye contact with me. He smiled and said, “Easy as peach pie.”

Peach pie
. The color drained from my face.

He tried to reassure me, “No, really. It’s not that bad.”

I smiled weakly. “I’m not sure your tolerance for pain and mine are the same, but I’ll survive. You were saying, Mr. Kadam?”

“Yes. So the problem with the
RFID
chips and the satellite tags is power. What we have here is technically not on the market and will likely never be, due to the general public’s fear of identity theft and having government agencies monitor them.