Empire of Bones
let her hand fall. She didn't need to say anything, in the end. They did all the talking for her.
    She spent the rest of the afternoon in her room, trying not to think. Toward evening, when the light lay heavy and golden across the fields, she slipped through the door and down the hall. The sannyasin who guarded her door was nod-ding in the coolness of the hallway. Jaya's joints glowed with a faint pain, but she needed to run.
    She took the back way through the compound, into the fly-humming cattle sheds. A black buffalo lifted its mild head and stared. Behind it was a gap in the wall. Half running, half stumbling, Jaya found the path that led down toward the river. The Ganges ran slow and old between its banks, glistening like oil in the heat. Jaya crouched in the cool mud by the river's edge and plunged her hands into the water to wash her dusty face. She wished she didn't have to go back. The voice was silent now, but she could still feel it inside her. She wondered for the thousandth time what it really was: sickness, a god, a demon, nothing?
    Dragonflies skimmed the surface of the river.
    A voice said, "Miss?"
    Jaya jumped. Climbing awkwardly to her feet, she turned to see a young man watching from the top of the bank. His mouth fell open in dismay as he recognized her.
    "Jaya Devi?"
    "Don't call me that," Jaya snapped.

    "I'm sorry, I didn't mean any disrespect, I—"
    "Just Jaya," she said, suddenly tired of everything. "Nothing special. What's your name?"
    He stammered, "It's—well, it's Kamal. Kamal Rakh. My brother's the one who shouted out this afternoon. The big guy?"
    He had a round, worried face beneath its beard. Jaya stared at him: at the neat turban, at his faded T-shirt and the old MK.16 slung across one shoulder.
    "I suppose I should go back, shouldn't I?" she said, and he nodded with relief. He helped her up the bank.
    "That's a pretty ring," he said, shyly. Her mother's garnet gleamed wetly on her finger, and Jaya found herself smiling.
    "It's a magic ring," she told him, very solemn. "It'll stop me from getting killed."
    "Really?" He smiled back, and she saw with a leap of the heart that he didn't believe her. It was so good not to be treated with deference that she laughed.
    "No. It's just a bit of cheap glass. No magic."
    "What about your prophecies, though? They're not just cheap glass, are they?"
    "I don't know," Jaya said honestly. "What do you think?"
    He shrugged. "Prescience? Precognition? Probably not magic, though—and I don't think you're a goddess. I did an engineering degree, before they started discriminating against Sikhs, too. But what you say comes true, and that's what mat-ters, isn't it?"
    "I don't know if I'm doing the right thing," Jaya said. "What if I've started a war?"
    "Then it's long overdue, Jaya. We can't go on like this. You're the catalyst, but we've been waiting for you. Don't worry. You can only do your best. You can only tell the truth, as far as you can." He glanced at her. "Do you believe in karma?"
    The widow's voice echoed in her head. "No. I think you make your own destiny."
    "I think you're right. Well," Kamal added, "we'll make it together, then."
    Jaya couldn't think of anything to say. They reached the ashram in silence.
    That night, Jaya woke with a start. Her heart was beating loudly enough to wake the world, thundering against the walls. Then in the next moment she realized that it wasn't her heart at all; it was the sound of a helicopter. A single sharp cry came from the courtyard, followed by the rattle of gunfire.
    Jaya snatched her clothes from the chair and ran out into the compound. The helicopter soared up, splintering the lamp-light, and the wind from its rotor-arm sent her hair flying across her face. A woman was lying facedown in the court-yard, not moving. Intermittent gunfire barked from the gates.
    Jaya ran, keeping close to the wall and crying, "Dad! Dad, where are you?"
    A bullet whined past her and shattered against the plaster. Jaya ducked
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