Tiger’s Tale (The Tiger’s Curse #1)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

AS THE CALL, SO THE ECHO

The sounds of the forest should have comforted him, but he’d spent too many nights listening to the hum of insects, the croaking of frogs, and the death cries of small creatures being silenced by the larger creatures that pursued them. Occasionally, he was the thing that stalked them, that stuffed the gnawing hollowness in his belly with their pulsing life.

Hunting sated his hunger, but it couldn’t fill the emptiness that consumed his days. Without Ana, he couldn’t find purpose or meaning. She had been his anchor, and now he was adrift on an ocean alone. So many times he wished he could have followed her into death.

Outside he heard a rustle in the trees and the screech of a bird. Kishan covered his golden eyes with his arm, wishing he couldn’t see in the dark so well. His stomach rumbled. He’d have to hunt tomorrow.

Then again , he thought. Maybe not . “Can I even starve to death? Didn’t Ren try that once?” he asked out loud, though no one was there to hear his question. He couldn’t remember if it was true. Even if it was, it obviously hadn’t worked. Still, hunger pangs would give him something else to focus on. If he could just forget for a while, perhaps he could find a modicum of peace. For the first time in his incredibly long life, he felt... old .

There was a sudden rustle and a thump on the hut door. Kishan’s instincts caused him to spring to his feet immediately, but the moment the scent of the man on the other side of the door tickled his nostrils, his muscles relaxed, and his body slumped back on the too-small cot.

“Come in,” he said brusquely. Then, remembering his manners and his training of long, long ago, added a soft, “ Please .”

“Hello, son,” Kadam said, as he entered the hut. His piercing gaze took in the scene. “How are you?” he asked politely, hearing only a tetchy rumble in response coming from beneath the worn blanket, as he drew the wooden chair up to the bed. Stooping to stoke the fire, the visitor then tugged a neglected bundle of tied herbs down from the rafter and began sorting them for a pot of tea. “I see you’ve been disregarding the care of my hut.”

“Your hut?” Kishan grumbled. “I believe I’ve lived here longer than you have.”

Kadam’s eyes twinkled in the dark as he ladled water into his favorite mug and replied cryptically, “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

He carried the mug to Kishan, blowing steam away from the brim. “I suppose it depends on your perspective. Now, why don’t you sit up for a while, son, and drink this. I promise you’ll feel better.”

“I really don’t think that’s possible,” he replied, but sat up obediently. Kadam fluffed the meager pillow while Kishan sniffed the contents of the mug, grimacing. Reluctantly, he sipped. Sweat beaded on his upper lip and chest. “Why am I so hot?”

“The medicine is burning the sickness out of you.”

“I didn’t realize I was ill.”

“Yes. You’ll get over it, of course. Even without my special concoction. The amulet strengthens you and grants you long life.”

Kishan set down the mug and said soberly, “I wish it wouldn’t.”

“I know, son. You miss her. But it’s not your time. Not yet. You still have work to do.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

Kishan picked up his drink and swirled the contents slowly, staring deeply into the cup.

“You want to ask me something,” Kadam said astutely. “Go ahead.”

The corner of Kishan’s mouth lifted briefly, but his sadness tugged it down almost immediately. “You’ve always been able to read me,” he said, then admitted softly, “I... I’m afraid of the answer.”

Kadam shrugged. “I’ve never known you to be cowardly. Ask anyway.”

Letting out an almost painful sigh, Kishan asked, “Will I see Ana again?” Before Kadam could reply, Kishan held up a hand. “I already know what you’re going to say. You can’t tell me, right? Or, you don’t know. You aren’t back from the dead. You haven’t technically died yet.”

Smiling, Kadam clapped Kishan on the shoulder and squeezed. “While that last part is true, what I can tell you is this...” Leaning closer, he peered directly into Kishan’s golden eyes. “You absolutely will be seeing Anamika again in your future. I guarantee it.”

Kishan blinked once, twice, three times, and then seeing that his mentor was perfectly sincere, released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He grunted, lifted the cup to his lips, and quickly downed the rest of the bitter brew before settling back down on the pillow and closing his eyes. “Thank you,” he said gratefully.

“You’re welcome.” Standing, Kadam took the mug, rinsed it out, dried it, and replaced it on the little wooden shelf. “Just keep in mind that seeing your wife again may or may not be the reunion you have in mind at present. Not everything comes easily when you walk through time as we do.”

“I know. But I don’t care. Just knowing there’s a future where she exists is all that matters to me. It’s enough.”

“Good. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”

Kishan cracked open an eye. “Can you stay with me for a while? I’m finding being alone difficult.”

Taking a seat again in the wooden chair, Kadam removed the Divine Scarf from around his neck and draped it across the cot, asking it to transform into a comfortable blanket for Kishan. “I suppose I can stay for a time,” he replied.

“Thank you, again. Why don’t you tell me one of your stories, then? That should help me drift off.”

Raising an eyebrow, Kadam chuckled. “I didn’t realize my stories bored you so much. They never appeared to tire Miss Kelsey. Very well. Let’s see if I can find one to distract you.” He stared into the flames for a long moment, his mouth slightly lifted as if he were remembering a song or words meant only for him. When he looked at Kishan again, it appeared as if the firelight was dancing in his eyes. Steepling his fingers, Kadam touched them to his bottom lip, considering. “Perhaps the time has come to tell you one of the lost tales.”

“Lost tales? What do you mean?”

“You recall when I was drifting in space and time and that it took me many of your months to return to our world?”

“Yes.”

“As you know, I was searching for a way to remain with you and still have a successful outcome in defeating Lokesh.”

“Right. You told us that you had to die. That there was no other way to defeat him.”

“That is correct. To be exact, there was no other successful way, where all of you would have survived and would have ended up happy. But there are and were many other possibilities. Many other outcomes. In some timelines, we lost the battle. In others, we won, but you or Miss Kelsey perished. Those timelines were... not ideal. One or more of you did not become your best selves, or ended up alone; I could not accept that.”

Kadam left off, and Kishan could read between the lines.

The idea of what he might have missed out on had his life not turned out the way it did brought Kishan renewed sadness.

“So I selected the best outcome for all of us,” Kadam finished.

“Then you chose well. I do not regret my life. Though I am grieving over my loss, I’m still grateful for the wealth of memories and experiences I treasure, as well as your sacrifice on our behalf. Without your discerning choice, I would not have those.”

Kadam dipped his head briefly in acknowledgment. “You’ve gained much wisdom over the years, my boy.”

“As you know, there were many others influencing me. It definitely wasn’t all my doing. But you’re saying there were other possible outcomes? You spoke of lost tales?”

“Yes. Many others. Countless others. In fact, there are many timelines where we don’t even exist. These were very dangerous for me, as I nearly came undone in those places. To begin finding myself, I needed to latch on to timelines that closely paralleled our own and seek the aid of those souls that were essentially my mirror image.”

“What?” Kishan asked incredulously. “Why have you never told us of this before?”

Kadam smiled wryly. “It was never the right... time. Perhaps now you will allow me to tell you the story of one such dimension—the first one, in fact, I ever encountered. Sadly, it also nearly undid me. Though, in truth, I never would have learned what I did had I not struggled to the point of death.”

“So, you’re saying there’s a world somewhere out there with no Tiger’s Curse?”

“Ah,” Kadam replied, lifting a finger. “I never said that. It would seem the world—or at least the versions of it I encountered—always needed the tigers in one way, shape, or form. There was indeed a Tiger’s Curse in this place. But neither you nor Ren nor I were ever born in that place.”

“Remarkable!”

“Yes. In that timeline, you see, there was a major shift in history, one mostly due to the actions of one man, Sviatoslav I Igorevich, the Grand Prince of Kiev. Our timelines, as far as I can tell, synced up until his reign. Then, instead of going to war with the Khazars and the Bulgars, he made a treaty with them, allied with the Slavic tribes, and recruited the Varangians to be his Royal Guard.

“Together they created a mighty Kievian Empire, defeating Poland and Hungary. They made inroads with the indigenous tribes to the east, providing enough land and stability in the region for future royal generations to prosper. They took over trade routes and with them incorporated many Chinese and Mongolian cities into their empire. Because of this, Genghis Khan never rose to power.”

“That’s why we were never born. Our mother was a descendant of Genghis Khan.”

“That is correct.”

“But... then where does the Tiger’s Curse come in?”

“Ah... that’s where it gets interesting. It would seem, in this world, the Damon Amulet was broken not into five pieces, as it was here, but into seven.”

“Seven?”

“Yes. And the inscription was different. Not only did it have new words but they were written in Samoyedic or perhaps another Uralic tongue. It’s hard for me to remember exactly, as I was looking at it through the eyes of another.” Kadam paused for a moment and then added, “Of course, it’s entirely possible the language I recall is completely their own, but I suppose for the purposes of our story, it’s close enough to the Samoyedic of our own world, as near as I can detect from my memory anyway.”

“I’m sure it is,” Kishan said. “You’ll have to explain what you mean about the eyes of another,” he added, both puzzlement and curiosity clear on his face.

Kadam nodded. “I’ll get to that. For my survival, I relied greatly upon an ally I discovered in that world. This other gentleman, fortunately for me, was a man of great aptitude, kindness, and empathy. He also happened to be a shaman of renowned skill and intellect. He found me, you see; sheltered the unraveling bits of who I was; and showed me the path back to myself. Without him, I never would have come home. I owe him a great deal. He was the one who mentored the tigers.”

“Then he was your counterpart.”

“He was, in a way, though we never lived in the same century. I have searched for his mirror image through time on our own world and have never found him. As far as I can tell, he was never born here.”

“And the tigers?”

Kadam smiled widely, crossed his legs, and laced his fingers, cupping his kneecap. “Ah, we’ve come to it,” he said, “the most interesting thing about this, for lack of a better word, echo, of our own world, is that the tigers...”

“Yes?” Kishan prompted, unable to resist leaning forward. “The tigers were... what?”

“Kishan, the tigers of that world were not only Siberian cats,” Kadam explained, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. “They were... women . Tsarevnas— tsarinas , actually—destined to rule the Kievian Empire.”

There wasn’t a sound in the little hut except for the deep inhales and exhales of the man on the bed.

“Did you hear me, Kishan?” Kadam asked.

The answer came slowly as the man gripped the worn blanket to his sweaty chest and laid back on the bed. His eyes, burning with fever, stared intently through half-lowered lids, and the room darkened, either with dusk, or the portent of the unshared history.

“I heard,” Kishan replied. “Tell me... everything .”