Burn the Sea

Chapter 1

The little girl with big brown eyes didn’t see the bones in the corner.

Or perhaps she just ignored them. But most likely she didn’t notice the chalky skeletons with their arms and legs disjointed and splayed. Deep slashes scored the bones, creating crevices where nature never intended, and their marrow spaces echoed with the memories of their last screams.

But they were hidden in the shadows, far from the cave’s entrance where the little girl stood, staring at what lay ahead: a monster.

It lay asleep just beyond the bit of sunlight that dared to peek into the lair.

The giant lion’s ribs rumbled with the deep purrs of sleep, and it may have looked entirely ordinary were it not twice as large as any lion the girl had ever seen.

And its body was the deep green of the leaves of a mango tree at the peak of summer. As were its wings.

Which glowed.

The birds that had guided the girl here flew to the sleeping monster and chirped in its twitching, fur-covered ear.

At first, the creature gently batted the little birds away with its massive paw and attempted to continue its slumber, but the birds swirled fearlessly above it, nipping at its ears until it slowly opened one of its molten yellow eyes.

“You’ll never let me sleep now,” it grumbled. “What has you in such a—”

It caught sight of the little girl and roared.

Needle-sharp claws scraped against the stone as it scrambled to its feet and stood with its hackles up, filling the space with the lime green glow of its vast wings.

Its menacing grin revealed long canines on either side of its mouth.

“You might think yourself brave for coming to this cave, but consider my caution carefully: You cannot mask the intention of what you ask, and the Spirits may command you rest here eternally.”

The little girl had jumped at the roar but didn’t move as the monster spoke. She swallowed and nodded gravely when it was done. “No questions. I understand. My family has lots of rules too.”

The monster scowled as it stared down at the small girl. “You’re nothing but a child! You cannot be more than four years old. Does their shame know no bounds?”

“I am five.” She stomped her foot, jingling her silver payal, as she added, “And a half. And nobody sent me here. The birds showed me the way.”

“So you do not have a question?” The tips of the creature’s wings relaxed, and its hackles went down.

“Not as many as you do.”

For a moment, the little girl seemed to realize she may have insulted the enormous monster, whose deep breath shook the air as it leaned forward on paws as big as her head.

Her eyes widened, and she stumbled back, but she stopped when the creature lifted its head and laughed.

Its deep chuckles filled the cave with a warmth that matched the light from its glowing feathers.

“I’m allowed to have them,” it said.

The little girl frowned. “I don’t think it’s fair that only you can ask questions.”

“I do not make the rules.”

“But you uphold them.”

The creature paused. “Wise words for one so small.”

It tipped its head toward her in a gentle bow, and the child returned the gesture. It asked, “If you are not here for a question, why have you come?”

The girl sighed and gestured at the cave’s entrance, toward the fort below.

It lay beyond the forest at the base of the mountain and seemed much smaller from up here.

“It is deportment day. I spent all morning walking with a book on my head while reciting the names of the other ranis and rajas. I needed a break, but they wouldn’t let me have one.

So I sneaked out to the gardens while the deportment mistress was speaking to Uncle Trimulya. ”

“And the birds brought you here?” The creature’s voice rumbled as it spoke.

“Yes, sometimes they come and listen when I play my tambura.” She paused and looked at the little birds, which had nestled into the tufted green fur on the creature’s head and shoulders.

“They’ve never taken me anywhere before, though, and I’ve never seen them in the dark.

The tips of their feathers glow just like yours. ”

“Yes, they are my little cousins. I protect them from people who would take advantage of them.”

“That’s awful. Why—”

The creature held up a paw, silencing her. “Remember my warning. No questions. Or I’ll have to treat you just the same as anyone else. I will not remind you again.”

The girl pursed her lips. “The birds must be very special.”

“Yes, they are,” the creature said. It sounded grumpy, but she saw its small smirk. It lay down, tucking its wings in as it crossed its front paws and rested its head on them so it was eye to eye with the little girl. “You talk a lot. What is your name, anyway?”

“Abbakka Chowta. Rajkumari of Ullal.” She stared expectantly into the yellow eyes in front of her. “I know I cannot ask you your name, but usually that’s what happens next in an introduction. At least that’s what my deportment mistress says.”

“I am Matanta. Guardian of the adaiman.” The little birds chirped in protest. “They will argue that they can guard themselves, but nevertheless I am here.”

“It is an honor to meet you.” Abbakka gently bowed her head.

“You are the first in centuries that I have not eaten.”

The girl giggled. She could not hear the honesty in Matanta’s reply and still had not seen the bones in the back of the cave. She did not feel their souls pushing her away, back to her home below.

Abbakka peeked outside and looked down at the fort. The cave was well hidden from the lower vantage point of the fort’s grounds; nobody would find her up here. The deportment mistress would surely give up and go home, taking her books and tiresome lists with her.

“I have a question I want to ask.”

“So you do have a question.” Matanta sighed. “It always comes to this.”

The giant green lion stood, spreading his wings and shaking them so his glowing feathers vibrated and created a pulsing light. His voice crashed over Abbakka. “I will hear your question, and the Spirits will judge its worth.”

Abbakka clasped her hands together to stop them from trembling. Her words came out as barely more than a whisper. “May I hide here for a while? Just a little bit.”

Matanta lowered his wings. “That is your question?”

“Yes,” Abbakka replied. Her heart raced as Matanta squinted and stepped closer. She held her ground, fighting the urge to sprint out of the cave.

“More a question for me than the Spirits,” Matanta mused. He drew himself up and raised his wings again, his deep voice echoing against the cave walls. “I deem your question worthy. You may stay. But only this once.”

The little girl smiled. “Thank you.”

And so it was for many years. Every time, Abbakka would come and ask the same question, and every time, Matanta would give the same answer.

Until the day her question changed.