A Chime for these Hallowed Bones (Chapter 7, Part 1)
Yadleen was so hot that it hurt. It was the middle of winter, and she knew she should be cold, but she felt like she was in an oven. Maybe it was because everything seemed to be on fire. Yellow, jade, and gold flames danced across every building along the street her mother had brought her to. None of the people walking along this street paid any attention to the fire, though, just as none of them paid any attention to Yadleen or her mother.
She couldn’t focus on the fire, either. Her stomach was in knots. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday, when her mother had scrounged up dinner for her fifth birthday. At least her mother had picked her up when they came into this part of the city. Being hungry was tiring.
“You see that house?” her mother asked, pointing at a haveli across the street.
Yadleen blinked up at the house. It was three stories tall, so wide that it could fit eight windows side by side, and had four balconies. A warrior-wight wearing red and yellow stood to the left of the front door. To the right of the door, hanging beneath a beautiful set of glass chimes, was a lamp-wight that burned with jade ghostfire.
“Yadleen?” her mother pressed.
“Yes, Mataji.”
“Remember when you asked where your papaji is?”
It was a bit hard to remember when she was so hungry. She had asked that during dinner. The other children in the run-down building where she and Mataji lived all got some blessing from their fathers on her fifth birthday. She’d asked Mataji why her father wasn’t there to give her a blessing.
“I remember,” she muttered.
“He lives there.”
Yadleen stared up at the big house in confusion. The room she and her mother shared could fit inside it a hundred times over. “Papaji lives there?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t we?”
Her mother smiled. It wasn’t a happy expression. It made Yadleen think she’d bitten into a guava, only to find out it had gone bad. “I used to. Not anymore. It wouldn’t be honorable.”
“Why not?”
“When you’re older, you’ll understand.” Her mother turned away from the house.
Yadleen stared over her mother’s shoulder at the haveli. Despite the hunger still knotting her stomach, she found herself memorizing the route back to the house.
* * * * *
Typhoid took Mataji not long after Yadleen’s eleventh birthday.
There hadn’t been enough savings for both a proper funeral and for Yadleen to eat that month. She had to give Mataji’s body to the flensers. Mataji would understand. Everyone knew the flensers were thorough: they’d ensure that Mataji’s bones were extracted, cleaned, and put to good use so that her soul would be free to dance.
Now, though, the savings had run out. No one wanted to hire a girl her age, not when they could buy a wight to do the same work. Even the rich families, who flaunted their wealth with human servants, weren’t interested in training her. Hunger made her desperate. There was one person left who might feed her, or at least, give her a job so that she could feed herself.
Papaji’s haveli hadn’t changed in the last six years. Everything was still on fire, too, burning in those same three colors. While she approached the property, Yadleen silently rehearsed the lie that would get her through the front door.
She was so focused on her purpose that she didn’t notice the odd palanquin coming towards her.
A ghostly moan warned her before she could be trampled. She jumped out of the way, ready to rattle off a quick apology, only to shriek and trip over the curb. This palanquin wasn’t borne by a group of attendant-wights. It rested on the back of a single beast-wight, a fanged monster whose lower jaw was level with her head.
The blazing beast moaned at her again and took the two additional steps needed to align the palanquin with Papaji’s front door. A necromancer in a black kurta suit and matching turban sprang out. His beard was midnight black with streaks of gray. He loomed over her like a storm cloud. Yadleen expected lightning to strike her, but the necromancer merely clucked his tongue.
“Mind your surroundings, Child. You cannot trust the dead to do it for you,” he rebuked her.
Before Yadleen could stammer an apology, the necromancer offered her his hand and helped her up. She dusted herself off. “Thank you, sir,” she murmured.
“Do you have business with the Kapoor household?” His gaze roamed across her features, and a frown crept across his face.
Now was the perfect chance to practice her lie. Yadleen said, “I’m the daughter of Dharam Kapoor’s second cousin. I was sent to work for him as a cook.”
“I see.” There was a note of skepticism in the necromancer’s voice. For a moment, Yadleen worried he’d seen through her, but he merely gestured at the haveli. “You may go in first. I suspect your meeting will be shorter than mine.”
* * * * *
The necromancer was right. The meeting didn’t last long. In truth, it never even happened.
Yadleen’s lie got her through the front door, but the moment the lady of the house laid eyes on her, she was seized and dragged into the kitchen by her hair. A pair of cooks were tasked with guarding her. She heard the lady and a man shouting, the lady accusing the man of inviting Yadleen there, the man demanding to know if the Japjot Baig had seen her coming in. Then the lady burst back into the kitchen and seized her by the hair again. This time, Yadleen was pulled out the back door and across the haveli’s garden. A warrior-wight opened the rear gate for them.
“You will never return to this house, you dishonorable wretch,” the lady hissed. “If you do, I’ll have you tossed into the Well.”
She hurled Yadleen into the alleyway. Mud sprayed outward as Yadleen flee face-first into a puddle. The gate slammed shut.
Yadleen pushed herself up. The mud was splattered all down her front. These were her only clothes, and now they were stained. Tears dripped onto the splattered mud as she stared at the stain. She was old enough to understand now why she wasn’t allowed to live with Papaji, but she’d never thought he’d throw her out without even looking at her.
This wasn’t fair. Why did she have to starve? The dishonor wasn’t even her fault.
The clop of bony toes intruded on her sorrow. She blinked through watery eyes. The beast-wight with the palanquin had squeezed itself into the narrow lane. It trundled to a halt in front of her. The fires that filled its empty eye sockets drilled into her soul. Then the beast-wight moaned.
In that moan, she made out three commands, rumbling like distant thunder. “Get in. Close the door. Wait for me.”
Thank you for reading! Part 2 of Chapter 7 is now available! Also, if you enjoy what you read here, please share this chapter (and the rest of A Chime for These Hallowed Bones) with others!
