We spent the equivalent of many lifetimes lost in time, tending to our work and taking breaks just to be alone together, but we always returned home shortly after we left so we were never far from our family. They understood the need to heed the call of the goddess. Once our children asked why we both needed to go, and I told them I’d made a vow to always protect their mother. My sons understood and made vows of their own to serve at her side whenever and wherever possible.
Isha, Yesubai’s old nurse, finally died when our youngest was eight years of age. She’d been a nursemaid to all of our children and we’d grown to love her. The woman had recognized me immediately upon our return to our mountain home, and the three of us cried together over the loss of Yesubai. We spoke of Yesubai often, as we did of Ren and Kelsey, Nilima and Sunil, and of our parents. They were distant relatives we taught our children to honor.
The exception was Kadam. He visited on and off through the years, attending every birth and even helping me train my sons from time to time. He always appeared as himself and I wondered if Phet was gone for good. Sometimes he asked for our help. Though our list was long finished, he still had a great number of things to check off on his, and he’d recruit either me or Ana to help him.
I was with him when he gave Kelsey the henna tattoo. Kadam patted my back and smiled as the carefully wrought drawing came to life when I waved my hand over it, linking it to the power within her. I recognized the tattoo now for what it was—a physical manifestation of the love between a white tiger and the girl he eventually married, a means to reveal the bright golden light hidden beneath her skin.
Kadam also asked me to go with him to take away our healing power just before the battle with Lokesh. When I asked why, he said that Yesubai’s spirit was connected to ours, and with her father dead, it was time for her to rest at last. He added that the mermaid’s elixir and firefruit would sustain both me and Ana going forward.
I argued to wait another day until the battle was finished. That way, Ren wouldn’t have to die. But in his patient way, he explained that Ren had to perish so I would make the sacrifice. It was saving my brother that gave me the fortitude to stay behind.
Ana went with him to take the memories of being lost in time from Nilima. She also accompanied him to the time when Phet released the white tiger from service. The others didn’t see the tiger when he leapt from Ren’s body. Ana knelt next to him and stroked his head, thanking him for serving the goddess for so many years.
He turned and nuzzled Kelsey’s hand though she didn’t feel it and gave Ren a long, piercing look. Then, with long strides, he ran into the forest, his ethereal body becoming just a whisper in the grass. Once the tiger was gone, the golden magic lifted from Ren and Kelsey, her henna tattoo disappeared, and the golden light settled back into the amulet hanging around Ana’s neck.
Once, we found a note from Kadam left tacked to our door. He asked us to join him at a shrine in Japan and gave us specific instructions in how to dress and that we should disguise ourselves. To Ana’s delight, we found ourselves spectators at Ren and Kelsey’s wedding. We looked around for Kadam only to see the Shinto priest who was marrying them stop and wink at us. He placed a hand on his heart and nodded in our direction, and as Ren kissed his new bride, he clapped and cheered louder than anyone else, wiping away tears.
Time passed as the two of us happily focused on our family. We took great delight in raising our young ones. When our children, who became mighty hunters and skilled warriors, were old enough, they accompanied us into our battles. I watched proudly as they fought and was able to heal them merely by touching the Damon Amulet to their skin.
One by one, they left us. It was always sad and we visited them as often as we could, but eventually our children and then our grandchildren died. They lived long past the age of the mortals around them. They were each leaders in their own way, and we were proud of them.
We attended each funeral, birth, and wedding, in some cases openly, as parents and grandparents, but then, later, as strangers. When our brood became too large to keep track of, we left off watching them, though we could sense, through the truth stones we wore, when we came across certain people, that they were a part of us.
Every decade, on our anniversary, I started a tradition of adding to the gifts I’d given Ana. The mango tree had thrived under her care, and I plucked the ripest fruit and planted her a new tree until a great grove of them had risen near our mountain home. With the help of Yínbáilóng, the white dragon, I found a grouping of giant clams and was able to add more of the precious black pearls to her necklace.
We visited the home of the phoenixes, and each new bird gifted me with a feather, which I wove onto her belt. After hundreds of years of adding to her wedding presents, the magic inside each one grew until we realized what we were looking at. They were the gifts of Durga. The single pearl had become the Pearl Necklace. The belt of phoenix feathers became the Rope of Fire. The green veil, the one she wore most frequently, was now imbued with even more magic and it became the Divine Scarf.
One day as we were walking in the grove of mango trees, we forgot to phase out of time. Inspired by the bucolic setting, I’d drawn Ana beneath the branches and kissed her. As we were leaving, I noticed something shimmering above us on a high limb of the tree. Ana lifted her arms, wrapping a bubble around us, and we rose in the air. There, nestled among the other mango fruits, one lone globe bobbed, the sunlight sparkling off the shining skin.
She plucked it and held it out to me with a smile. We now had all the gifts and we knew where they’d come from. They’d been woven together by time, love, and magic.
Eventually, the story of the goddess and her tiger changed and people forgot. Prayers and supplications became not only less frequent but less pressing. Ana became ill for the first time since she’d accepted the role of the goddess. Alarmed, I sought out Kadam.
He mixed a drink for her. When I asked him what it was, he replied, “Soma. The restorative of the gods.”
“The same one you gave me all those years ago?”
“Yes. She can recover from this sickness, Kishan, but I fear it will sap some of your energy as she draws upon the healing power inside you. Do you remember when Kelsey healed Ren from the Gáe Bolga?”
“Yes,” I answered, hope filling me.
“You can do the same with your bond. Just be cautious not to give so much that there is nothing left for yourself. At this point, she cannot survive without you.”
“I’ll do it,” I insisted. “Take whatever you need to.”
“Kishan,” Kadam said, “you know that neither you nor she is immortal. Ana has wielded great power over the centuries. It’s taken a toll on her. She begins to show signs of age.”
“Then I’ll gather more elixir from the mermaid. I’ll go to the phoenix for help.”
“The elixir no longer works on her. She is now immune to its effects. As for firefruit juice, I fear it is the same. This is the natural way of things. I’m sorry, son, but Ana’s body is tired. Her energy wanes. She must draw upon your stores now if she is to heal.”
Looking down at my lovely wife, I touched my fingers to her dark hair. Even in the throes of sickness, she looked as young as the day we married. If her eyes weren’t as bright or her skin wasn’t as firm, I considered it due to her illness. Ana wasn’t aging. I couldn’t accept what Kadam was saying. This time he was wrong.
“Ren didn’t age. And you’ve lived as long as she has,” I argued, desperate to find a solution.