Chapter 7: The Secret Maya Keeps

AJ flew over the soft golden carpets toward his mother's personal room, where warm light spilled from under the door. He'd been feeling guilty about sneaking to Earth with Sid and wanted to see her — the specific guilt of a son who knew he was breaking the one rule his mother had: set.

He pulled back his broken wing and slipped under the door — one of the benefits of a damaged wing was fitting through tight spaces.

"My baby, please don't do that," said Maya with a twinkle in her eye, looking at her son with mock surprise.

He sat on the dark green velvet sofa — the sofa that had been in Maya's room since before AJ was born, the fabric worn smooth by three centuries of use — and watched as his mother pressed a golden, shimmering powder onto her eyelids, then brushed light through her hair. Her eyes twinkled. Her skin was smooth. She appeared: ageless. Despite having been through more than a lifetime's worth of: pain.

When Akshar died, the pariyan had worried about how Maya would grieve and love simultaneously when her baby arrived two days later. Yet since the day Akshar Junior was born, she had governed Devlok with grace — always fair to others, even when life was not fair to: her. She could heal. One touch of her smooth hand could cure any pari illness or injury. It was a gift she acquired when her father died — as though his healing energy had: transferred. Passed from the dying to the living the way a lamp passes its flame to: another lamp.

The only illness she had not healed since then was: AJ's wing.

"Well, Maa, you won't heal my wing, so I'm going to keep sneaking up on you forever," he said, flying to the mirror and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Teasing. The specific teasing of a son who used humour to approach the thing that: hurt.

But it was a difficult subject for Maya.

"It's not so simple, beta. You know that," she said, breathing in his smell — wondering when his scent had changed from the talcum powder and Himalaya baby soap of his childhood into sandalwood aftershave and cold cream. The specific bewilderment of a mother encountering her child's: adulthood.

"I don't see why I can't just have two good wings," he said. "Then I'd have my own human. I could go to Earth as long as I wanted. I could actually: do what every other pari does without gambling my: life."

"It was your grandfather's wing. You inherited it through war," she replied, a cautious smile on her face. The smile that held: a door closed.

AJ had heard this story a million times. He flew to his mother's white mantelpiece and made himself a drink — tomato juice over ice, black pepper, salt, and a generous amount of nimbu. The drink that he'd been making since he was twelve. The drink that tasted of: rebellion and: comfort simultaneously.

"One day," said Maya, now sitting on the edge of her desk, watching her son fly to the window with the glass in his hand, "you will understand how much pain the decision caused me. And you will understand why I had to: do it."

"So cryptic, Maa! Don't worry. You know I don't really care."

Maya smiled at her son. The smile that said: I know you care. I know this hurts you. I know the broken wing is not just a: physical limitation but an: identity wound. And I cannot: explain. Not yet.

"Besides, if you fixed my wing, I'd only get one human assigned. And you'll never guess what — the two humans I watch have come together. They even seem to be getting: along."

He took a large swig of the drink and fluttered to the top of the window.

"You have the most intrigue and love for humans I have ever known," said Maya, looking at him with the specific pride that contained: worry. "Only your grandfather matched it."

"I am so proud of you. But, AJ — " She paused.

"Yes, Maa?"

"Don't spend too much time on Earth. You know your wing makes you — you know you can't do all the things the other pariyan can do, na?"

"Yes, Maa, I'm not immortal. It's okay, you can say it."

The word — immortal — hung in the air between them. The word that every pari in Devlok possessed and that AJ: did not. The word that defined the gap between AJ and: everyone else. The gap that Maya could close with: one touch of her healing hand. The gap that she: chose not to close.

"Just be careful," she said. She flew to him and put her hand on his. The hand that could: heal and that: wouldn't. "I love you."

AJ gave his mother a kiss on the cheek — the cheek that smelled of the golden powder and of: the home that he had known his entire life — and flew to the door.

Maya opened it, and as AJ flew out, the Elders arrived. Ekta, Eira, and Eshan — the three pariyan who had governed alongside Maya for centuries, who knew what Maya knew, who had been in the out-of-bounds room.

"He has the energy of his grandfather," Maya said as they came in.

"Are you ever going to tell him what you know?" asked Ekta. The directness of an Elder who had watched Maya avoid this conversation for: seventeen years.

Maya was quiet. A solemnity filling the room — the specific solemnity that descended when the out-of-bounds room's secret pressed against the: present.

"I can't," she said.

"Don't you think he has a right to know?" asked Ekta.

"It's not certain that it will happen. I'm not certain I will: allow it to happen," Maya said.

"Even if it causes the destruction of humans on Earth?" asked Eshan.

The question — the question that had been circling the out-of-bounds room for seventeen years, the question that Maya carried in her body the way AJ carried the broken wing — the question that was: her wound.

"How can I ever choose between my humans and my: son?" asked Maya.

"I think you're forgetting, Maya, that in the end it might not be your: choice," added Eira.

She understood this. She had understood it since the moments following AJ's birth, when they were taken into the out-of-bounds room and discovered what her son had been born with and the complications around his: future. It had never once fully left her mind. Not for seventeen years. Not for a single: day.

The secret lived in the gold light behind the closed door, and Maya lived with the secret the way humans lived with: gravity. Always present. Always pulling. Never: escapable.