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“It’s me,” I say, as gently as I can. “Channari. And Oshli.”
Silence.
I bite down on my lip. “Remember?” I sing hoarsely:
Channi, Channi, Monster Channi.
Rain and wind and gloom all day.
When the sun sees your face,
it goes away….
One brave face peeks out from behind the curtain. The oldest, from what I can tell. When she spies Ukar on my shoulder, she steps out. “Look! It is her.”
She’s a girl of eight or nine whose mother used to shake her lizard-hitting stick at me whenever I passed their house—but this girl does what no child of Puntalo has done before. She runs toward me, nearly toppling us both with an unexpected embrace.
“Channi!” she cries.
I don’t know what to do other than hug her back, and as she cries into my tunic, I hold her small shoulders still. “Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head mutely.
“Your family?”
“Asleep, in the next house. Almost everyone is asleep.”
Oshli and I exchange glances. He crouches next to us and touches the girl’s arm gently. “You’ve been very brave, Liyen, and I’m grateful you are here. Will you tell us what has happened?”
Quietly, the other children start coming out from behind the curtain to join Liyen, who sits on a cushion. “Demons came last night and tore the village apart.” She lowers her lashes. “They didn’t hurt anyone. Yet. But they said they’d kill us if Channi didn’t give the Golden One to Angma. Then everyone fell asleep. Except us.” She glances nervously at her friends. “We ran here—the mist didn’t touch this house.”
I can picture it all. The foul mist that toys with people’s thoughts. I grind my teeth, furious that Angma has resorted to threats against my village.
I stroke Liyen’s short black hair. “Nothing will happen to you,” I swear to her. “I’ll keep you safe. All of you.” I draw back my hand. “Once the rain passes, I’m going to Angma.”
“With the Golden One?” Liyen’s a sharp girl, and she must have caught sight of Vanna’s light when we were outside.
“Why is she a tiger like Angma?” one of the boys asks, his voice small.
“It’s only temporary,” replies Oshli. “She won’t harm you.”
I offer a smile at the children still by the curtain, then turn to Liyen. “Are you and your friends hungry?”
She shakes her head sheepishly. “We ate the cakes that were in the cupboard. Sorry.”
She means the cakes I steamed for Vanna before the selection. I’d forgotten about them.
“Did you find the ones in the tin box too?” I ask, reaching for the second stash I kept by the oven.
At the possibility of extra cakes, the younger children’s eyes brighten.
I open the box and pass out the slices. Oshli takes one, then starts to tinker with the broken bowl under his arm. A sense of peace occupies his face. I let him have the moment.
“We didn’t know you made cakes,” Liyen’s sister says. There’s sugar on her cheek, and I thumb it off. “They’re delicious. Better than my mama’s.”
I almost laugh. “I won’t tell her so. But yes, I make cakes.”
Another little boy leans his head against my shoulder. “We weren’t scared yesterday. Well, only a little. We knew you’d come back. We were waiting for you.”
