"The Sign of the Snake" by Rahcel A. Marks

Rachel A. Marks

Kaushal hunted the viper alone. His father was falling deeper into illness every day. And his brother, Jeevan, had forsaken the way of their people, the Irula.

Kaushal was sure this was why his father was dying; the man's heart had broken. Pride remained thick in the men of his tribe. They did not forgive, they did not forget. And now with Jeeven gone far away, only Kaushal could continue the tradition of his people. He wished to have honor in this, but his father would not let him. A fourth son should have no honor.

But the hunt drove him; discovering danger and holding death in your fist, so easily crushed. He could lose himself in it.

Kaushal looked to the tamarinds. The swaying boughs creaked with the weight of chattering macaque monkeys. The beasts could be a snake hunter's best tool. Vipers were easily spotted in the underbrush by the macaque.

Soon a screech sounded in the branches, and was swiftly echoed back by the other monkeys. Kaushal watched where the macaques turned their attention. Branches shook in the monkeys' frenzy, and screams filled the air. Look, they called, it is a viper slithering in the brush. The song all Irula longed to hear.

Kaushal bowed his head, honoring the rhythm of this dance, then he slunk along the brush, heading for where the macaque pointed. He stopped to listen, clearly hearing the sound of movement in the grass: a steady hiss as the snake's body pushed over the dry blades.

He slunk closer and saw a tail pass only a few feet away. The snake would be aware of him now, sensing his vibrations on the ground.

Kaushal took three quick strides to the viper's side. The snake jerked, but he snatched at the neck, lifting the body from the grass without hesitation.

The thick body writhed, and tried to twist up and around his forearm. The mouth opened with a hiss, and sharp fangs sprang out to kill. But Kaushal's fist clenched the snake with assurance as he pulled the sack from his belt. Though he'd been bitten many times, he'd never gotten sick. His people held to the covenant of the jungle, only taking what they needed to survive. This kept them safe from the spirits of the viper and the sting of the bee.

The monkeys squawked and jumped behind him, still singing out the same song.

But then Kaushal heard something else. A higher, more frantic cry, mingled with them. He placed the viper in his bag and listened more closely. There, it came again, from within the forest.

A girl's scream. "No!"

Kaushal's heart skipped. He moved closer to the tamarind trees and looked into the shadows.

At first he saw nothing.

But the cry came again, "No!" And a growl vibrated the air at the same time.

Kaushal saw tents and a fire, a small camp in the forest. He also saw why the girl screamed.

A lone and mangled-looking dhole was ready to pounce at the man that stood protecting the girl. "Back!" he yelled. Kaushal couldn't tell if he spoke to the girl or the wild dog. He held a stick in one hand, whacking at the beast, as the other hand pushed back his daughter.

Kaushal knew he needed to act. He checked around them for more dogs, but it appeared the beast was alone. Before he was sure of what he was doing he yelled, "Go!"

The dhole turned to Kaushal with an irritated flick of its head. Its hungry, yellow eyes glowed in the darkness of the tamarind shadows. Kaushal stepped back. What now?

The girl and her father stood with wide eyes, watching him. The dog crouched, ready to jump at Kaushal. He held no threatening stick to protect himself.

Then he felt the bag in his hand move and he smiled.

With a silent plea of cooperation, he flung the sack at the beast. The black viper twisted out of its prison, into the air, and landed right at the beast's feet. With a hiss it coiled, ready to strike.

The dog jerked its attention to the swaying viper and stepped back, sniffing at the air.

The viper struck in a blur, sinking its teeth into flesh. The dhole jumped with a yelp, then took off into the trees, leaving the angry snake behind.

The girl and her father looked as if they watched a ghost. "Go back into the tent, Urja," the man said to the girl in a shaky voice. His face looked grave. He did not seem the least bit thankful.

Kaushal needed to gather his viper and leave. "Pardon my intrusion, janaba. I will leave you in peace."

The man bowed his head, and spit on the ground at Kaushal's feet.

The Irula snake hunters gathered death. Some saw them as evil spirits, some saw them as gods. It was obvious what this man thought.

Kaushal ignored the curse and walked slowly, closer to the viper. It turned its attention towards him, black, unblinking eyes following his every movement. But it was harmless now, its venom spent on the dhole.

He waited out of respect. Soon the viper sunk back to the leaves and began to pull from its coils to slither away. Kaushal took it by the neck once more and put it back in his sack.

When Kaushal stood he looked once more to the man. Then he nodded a goodbye, unable to quench the rock that sunk into his gut. He easily forgot the way people viewed the Irula. Usually he was sheltered from it, as they lived in small clusters, keeping to themselves. He would never be used to others looking at him as if he weren't human.

His eyes wandered to the tent. The girl stood in the opening, watching. Her coloring was olive and light, and her eyes, the same bright color of the leaves. She was such a strange sight beneath these trees, a sharp contrast to his own people's black skin and deep, brown eyes. He could not keep from staring right back. He had not realized how beautiful she was before. Bronze hair escaped her veil, hanging down over her cheek, shadowing her lips. He wondered if she despised him like her father.

A quiver ran down his spine at her look. Something in her eyes unnerved him. As if she looked through him. He would not soon forget them.

Kaushal turned away, and left through the trees.

Kaushal walked into the village and his mother immediately accosted him with a thousand questions. "What has taken so long? Only one? Why do you shame us?"

He told her of his small adventure, and she bustled him into the snake hut. "Hurry! Before this one curses us all. Throwing it at a dhole! What were you thinking? Your father will not hear of this. He has too much on his soul as it is. The man is heavy with heart pain."

"Jeevan has not come to see him today?" Kaushal wondered why he asked. He hoped his brother would at least come to return the mantel, so that Kaushal could wear it. If the tasks of a first son were to be his, then so should the honor. But Jeevan had not come any day since their father had grown ill. He still kept the necklace mantel to himself, and no one knew where he had gone.

Kaushal's mother glared at him, most likely wondering why he asked as well. She waved her hand at the table of snake jars. "Are you going to help me or ask silly questions?"

Kaushal lifted one of the heavy, clay jars and placed it on a stool. His mother grasped the sack and dumped the snake into the jar. Then she put a rag over the opening.

"I will butcher it later tonight, after I say my prayers," she said. Then she tied the rag tight to the top of the jar with a length of vine. "Now, go tell your father you have done your duty, and will do the same tomorrow."

Kaushal obeyed and went to his father. The old man's sickbed was in the far corner of their sleeping hut, tucked away behind a length of red silk. His mother hoped the red would whisper to her husband thoughts of awakening. He had one son ready to take his place, shouldn't that be enough? But apparently it wasn't. Jeevan had been the first born, the one to take the mantel. The other boys in-between had died young. Kaushal was all that was left. And Kaushal was a fourth son. No one special.

He moved aside the red silk, leaving behind his thoughts to kneel beside his dying father. "I am here, Papa. I have gathered a viper today. I will gather another tomorrow."

His father's eyes did not open. Sweat beaded on his brow. His lips were pale from lack of moisture.

Kaushal kissed his hand and rose, leaving his father to find rest.

As he readied for bed his mother told him to go with the honey gatherers the next sunrise. He remained silent. He would not defy her openly, but he had no plans to join the other men in the climb for honey. He was born for the viper and he would follow his instinct.

The next morning he thought of going back to the camp in the tamarinds. The memory of the girl lingered, leaving an ache he didn't like. He knew his mother would never approve. Neither would the girl's father.

So he walked for many hours, towards the rice fields. Perhaps they would bring a cobra to him. His people's anger had been fierce when the jungles were burned back to make room for the rice paddies to come. But after many years the Irula learned the snakes' love of the watery earth and used it to their advantage. Nothing sold as well at market as the magic of viper flesh.

Kaushal walked through a small ravine, reveling in the shade of the rocks. He heard footsteps shuffling behind him.

His heart sped forward, and he turned. But the road was empty. He was alone. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, but he moved on.

The sound of a follower continued, and the feeling of being watched intensified. Eyes were on him and someone—something—was following.

A road bandit would not wait so long to attack. And most knew an Irula carried nothing they would want. Who would wish to harm him?

The image of the man spitting at his feet flashed in his head, the look of anger and fear in his eyes. He was not the only man that thought this way about the Irula.

Kaushal's nerves grew raw. Defense was not the best way of surviving. He should hide. He put a hand on the hilt of his dagger, it's smooth, bone surface reassuring.

He walked a few more feet casually and then stopped to turn, just as he had before.

No one.

He ran off the road and hid himself in the crevice of a rock, trying to slow his breathing and be still, trying to make himself small. He pulled the dagger from his belt. They may have seen him slip into the rocks. Fire pulsed through his veins.

Several moments passed in silence, except for the thundering of his heart. Then a shadow approached his hiding place. It stopped and seemed to look around.

Kaushal took his chance at surprise and leapt from his hiding place at the shadow, holding his dagger to its throat.

His head filled with the smell of myrrh oil. The throat was soft. A whimper escaped it.

Kaushal froze in surprise.

The girl pulled from his grasp and turned, backing away, watching him closely. Her veil had fallen to the ground, and her eyes were wide within her wind-blown hair. Green eyes. The girl from the tamarind forest. "Urja? Why do you follow me?"

"You remember my name?" she asked, eyes growing even more.

Warmth filled him. Would she know he had thought of her? He tossed the question and its implications aside. "Why did you follow me?" he asked again.

She looked down and folded her hands before her. "Forgive me, janaba. I wished to know your name. I was afraid to ask. I hoped perhaps to hear someone say it."

Kaushal's face turned hot. The inappropriateness of their meeting began to sink in. He had touched her throat. He had felt her heartbeat. "I need to take you back to your father," he said, feeling sick to his stomach at the thought. "How did you sneak away from him? I am sure he will not be pleased."

It was the right thing to do, taking her back. She was too young and beautiful to be wandering the empty roads alone. He was appalled at his own reaction to her.

She looked at him with a tilted head, seemingly undisturbed by this news. "No, he will not be pleased. But he is not my father, he is my guardian."

"But—"

"Yes, he is worthy of the name, father." She nodded her head. "He is a good man to me. But my true father died long ago."

Kaushal's chest tightened. "I am sorry," he said. He would know what it felt like to be fatherless soon.

"I was very young. But I remember his eyes, soft and kind. He would sing to me of King David and his battles as we traveled. So much walking. And there were many dangers. Father was killed by bandits that attacked our caravan. Hasad took me as his own, to save me from the other men. He told me he would not touch me if I did not wish it. He has been very kind to me. Very kind."

Kaushal's heart skipped. That man was her hus—but he was so...old. "I—then I suppose I really should get you safely back to him."

"Yes," she said. And she pulled her veil back on to cover her hair, and wrapped the end around her neck. It was not a traditional Dravidian dress at all. It was very plain, brown, probably made of cotton. It covered every inch of flesh, but her fingers, and only added to her beauty and mystery.

He blinked and looked away. His mind was getting muddled. "Very well, come." He motioned for her to follow him, knowing this would keep him from his duty today, but caring very little all of a sudden.

Urja did not move. "You have not granted my wish," she said.

"Your wish?"

"To know your name."

Kaushal felt a tingle in his chest. "I'm called Kaushal."

He thought he saw a smile in her eyes as she looked at him. "Kaushal," she repeated quietly. "I am called Lydia in my father's tongue." Then she walked past him with a nod.

He followed, letting the name sink into his mind. Not a Dravidian name. Not Irula. But he felt as if she were becoming a part of his world. His small world that would cast her out because of her blood. She had been kinder to him than his own kin would be to her.

His heart felt sick at the thought.

They walked to her camp in silence. Kaushal found himself becoming unnerved by her closeness. She was like an amazing new flower on the jungle floor; so vital and sure of herself. So unlike the girls of his village.

"I heard one of the men in the village say a man in your hut was ill," she broke through his thoughts. "Your father?"

He looked away and hoped she couldn't see the heat in his face. Then she might figure out what was on his mind. "Yes," he said absently. "My father is ill."

"Was he bitten by one of your snakes?" she asked.

He looked at her then and smiled. "No. We don't become ill from their bite. We have a covenant."

She merely nodded as if this didn't shock her. Kaushal was surprised. This was usually the news which made others uncomfortable.

"He is dying of a broken heart," Kaushal continued. "His son has left him."

"Are you not his son?"

"I am only a fourth son. I am not the heir to his mantel."

"That isn't true," she said, her voice very matter of fact.

"I'm afraid it is."

She shrugged and walked on. He watched her back, her cotton wrap dragging on the ground, like water running over the stones. "You will see," she said, making him wonder.

They walked in silence the rest of the way, and soon came to the edge of the wood. When he stopped she turned, looking at him curiously. "You must see my guardian."

He didn't like the idea of meeting that man again, especially in this sort of way, now that he knew the man was more than a father. Kaushal did not think it would go over well. He could end up hanging by his neck from a tree.

But in spite of his fear he couldn't help but nod and followed her into the camp.

Hasad sat outside at a desk in the sun, scratching something out onto papyrus. He looked up from his work and a frown grew into his features as they approached. Kaushal was very temped to turn and leave. Urja was safe. His duty was done.

But the man spoke. "Why do you stand so close to my woman, Irula?" He didn't seem worried about where she had been.

"Hasad, this is Kaushal," Urja said, ignoring Hasad's angry words. "He is a snake hunter."

"I know what he is, Urja. Now go in the tent."

She merely walked over to her guardian and kissed him on the head. Then she bent to his ear and whispered, "I have made my choice. He is the one."

The one what? He didn't like the sound of that. By the look in Urja's eyes he was going to be the evening meal.

Hasad looked at her, jealousy plain on his face. "Not him, Urja. God help me, anyone but him."

"It was in the river stones. The sign of the snake. He is the one I have chosen."

Kaushal realized this was his cue to leave swiftly. She was beginning to sound like a witch. No matter what his heart felt, she was not of his kind, nor was she his to have.

He began to slink back into the trees as quietly as he could, but Hasad spoke and stopped his escape.

"He is cursed! Look at him. Son of God knows who!"

Kaushal didn't like the condescending tone of the man. A fire stirred in his gut. "I am the fourth son and heir of Jishnee the Triumphant, the guardian of the viper. I see no shame to be had in this."

"Then where is your father? If you come to make a suit for my ward he should be in our presence."

Kaushal stepped back in shock. A suit? What was the man saying? Wasn't she his wife? Urja looked as if she had some sort of strange notion, but she'd mentioned nothing about it. And he had given no sign of regard. Had he? He'd been so muddled in the head. Perhaps she had seen his feelings.

"Jishnee is ill, Hasad," Urja said. "Kaushal is the man of his house."

Hasad frowned. He seemed trapped in the will of this woman. They both were apparently. "Very well," he said to Kaushal. "As you can see, I am not a young man. I have given Urja consent to chose on her own whom she would wish to bond with. I am her husband in name only, and seek merely to give her shelter. I will assure you, I have not taken advantage of her. She is pure. She is a jewel." He looked at Urja, longing plain on his face, and then back at Kaushal. "So, speak."

Kaushal didn't know what to say. Was he to ask for Urja's hand? A girl he knew nothing of? He couldn't deny he felt something for her. But the flesh could easily deceive. And she was very beautiful. But if he said nothing he would insult Hasad. And Urja. The man didn't look like he was in a forgiving mood. Especially as it pertained to Kaushal having anything to do with Urja—who he apparently felt much for himself.

"I...Well, she is quite lovely—her eyes, I mean, I have only seen her eyes." Kaushal cleared his throat. It was suddenly very hard to speak. What was he doing? He couldn't lead them to think he would marry this girl. She wasn't an Irula. She wasn't even Dravidian.

He looked at her. He could see a smile in her eyes. A soft tilt to her head. The curve of her hip through cotton—

"Her eyes?" Hasad asked, breaking Kaushal from his thoughts. "Is this reason to marry? For eyes! What of her mind, her spirit? What of Urja?" He looked to his ward. "You truly wish to join with this boy, Urja? He is a fool along with everything else."

Kaushal's frustration mounted. "Not merely her eyes," he said. "She has a strong spirit, and a stubborn mind. Her beauty is obvious, but she is more than this. She is kind and she—"

The strength of the man's laughter surprised him. Hasad grasped his stomach and slapped his hand on his desk, rattling the jar of ink. "What a man to say such a thing. Perhaps he may become worthy of you, Urja."

Kaushal didn't know whether to laugh or cry out in frustration. This was all getting out of control. He was going to have to insult this girl and her husband—guardian—whatever he was. It was all too much. Urja could never be his. No matter how beautiful she was, or how spirited. No matter how he felt. "Forgive me, janaba. I would not presume to become joined with your lovely ward." He swallowed, making himself say it. "I cannot pretend otherwise. I am Irula, she is not. I cannot disappoint my father."

Hasad looked surprised by his words. Urja did not. She actually looked pleased.

"Why are you here then, Irula? To insult me?" Hasad asked.

"No, janaba." Kaushal decided the truth might keep him out of trouble more then any other option. "I was escorting your...wife home from my village. She followed me there to discover my name."

The man looked sideways at Urja and shook his head. "Forgive Urja's impertinence, Irula. Go home to your father and she will bother you no more." He waved his hand in dismissal.

Kaushal looked at Urja before he turned to leave. Her beauty stole his breath. The smile was still in her eyes. It was in the river stones, she'd said. The sign of the snake.

Kaushal knew the river never lied.

When he returned home he had no honey. Nor did he posses a viper for his father, so his mother refused him a meal. "You work or you go hungry. No meat, no skin, no teeth. No honey. This means no silver for food. Get a taste for your family's future if all you do is chase clouds all day long."

His sleep was sparse and full of Urja; her eyes, her fingers brushing her hair from her brow as they walked. He could not keep her from his head. Would she haunt him like this always? He decided to ask his mother to find him a wife. He was too old to have no woman to warm his bed. It was time. His heart was wondering to the untouchable.

The next morning he walked out to the snake hut to gather his things for the day's hunt. The new day awoke from the hills, the air already turning hot.

"The sun brings us news of our future, Kaushal," came a voice from the shadows, making him jump. A hand reached out and touched his shoulder. "It is only me. Urja. I have come to heal your father."

Kaushal couldn't tell if his rapid heartbeat was from the fright of her sudden appearance, or her hand on his shoulder. "You must go," he whispered. "Now, before my mother sees you." His hand rose on its own to wipe a hair from her eyes, but he pulled it back. He couldn't allow himself to look at her. She was too close. The smell of myrrh filled his head. "Please go."

Her eyes smiled at him once more in that knowing way. She pulled a red, velvet box from the folds of her wrap. "I am here to heal your father," she said again.

He moved to take the box and his fingers brushed hers. "You can heal a broken heart?" he asked.

Her skin was softer than silk. He shivered.

"Perhaps. You will have to trust me." Then she pulled away, turning towards his family hut. "Come and introduce me to your mother."

He felt as if he were in a trance as he followed her. They walked into the hut and Kaushal's mother turned to speak, but when her eyes fell on Urja she froze before the words escaped. Her eyes darted to Kaushal in question. He could only imagine what she was thinking. But he knew it wasn't good.

"Mother this is Urja. I met her two days past in the tamarind trees."

Awareness dawned in his mother's eyes. "Aw, so this is the girl." She studied Urja's appearance with an appraising eye. "She is a Jew." Her tone made it clear this wasn't a positive observation. She frowned.

Urja seemed not to notice. She smiled and bowed to Kaushal's mother. "Yes, I am a Jew. And I have come to give my god's power to your husband."

"Witchraft." His mother frowned deeper. "What have you done, Kaushal? You wish to send your father to his death at last?"

"She has come to heal, Mother," he said without thinking. "Not to kill. She would not hurt him."

His mother looked at him as if he were insane. "We do not need another god in this hut. Why not just dig the hole for your father's grave instead? It would be of more use."

Kaushal shook his head. "I know you mean well, Mother, but I am the man of this family now. And I wish father back with us." He pulled Urja past his mother, deeper into the hut, without another word.

They stood before the red curtain, and Urja pulled it aside herself, kneeling at Jishnee's side. Kaushal's mother fumed behind them.

Urja's hands were gentle as she touched his father's brow and whispered what sounded like a prayer, though it was in no language he knew. Then she took the box from him and pulled from it a silver necklace with a snake medallion glittering at the end.

Kaushal gasped. Behind him he heard his mother whimper. It was Jeevan's mantel.

Kaushal looked at Urja in shock. How had she come across such a thing? And why was Jeevan not the one to return it?

"The river brought it to me," she said as if hearing his thoughts. "I knew the moment I saw you it was yours. Now put it on, Kaushal."

She placed the charm into his palm and pushed it towards him with a nod. He studied it for a moment, unsure, his hand shaking. What had happened to Jeevan? How had the mantel been lost? Was his brother dead or had he merely tossed the birthright into the river's current?

"You will wear the birthright. You will be firstborn."

Kaushal's whole body trembled. His throat tightened.

Jeevan. He was truly lost now.

Sorrow and anticipation mingled in Kaushal's chest, and he pulled the silver chain over his head, feeling it rest on his neck. The weight of the snake medallion was comforting.

Urja smiled at him and then looked down at his father. "Your son is home, Jishnee. Open your eyes and see your first born, Kaushal."

Kaushal's heart beat faster. Something seemed to shift in the air. He could feel a stirring in his gut. What could she mean? He, Kaushal, was fourth son, he was not first.

The medallion began to turn warm at his breast. Adrenaline rushed through him. The mantel was his, now.

His father's eyelids fluttered and Kaushal's stomach clenched.

Urja reached out her hand to his, but he could not look away from his father. Jishnee's eyes stood open, staring at the rafters. A parched tongue came from between his cracked lips, appearing as if he were trying to speak.

His mother's hand came from behind them with a cup of water. Kaushal took it from her, and Urja put her fingers in the water and then placed small drops on Jishnee's tongue. Soon the still man seemed to be aware of what was going on around him.

He grasped Urja's wrist as it pulled away from his mouth. "What is your name, child?" came a scratchy sounding voice. Could that be his father's voice? It sounded so foreign.

"I am called Urja," she said.

Then his father's eyes moved to his mother's. A sob escape her lips. She seemed suddenly unable to stand, leaning on Kaushal's back.

"Kaushal," came the scratchy voice once more.

Kaushal leaned forward. "I am here, Father."

Kaushal walked Urja home, to the tamarind trees. They didn't speak, only the sounds of the forest surrounded them. She took his hand as they approached the forest's edge. It surprised him how natural it felt.

When she spoke her goodbye it was in a whisper. "I will see you soon, Kaushal." And she leaned over, her lips touching his cheek.

His body tingled. Yes, he would see her again. It was in the river stones. The sign of the snake.

He watched her fade into the green and then turned away, listening for the warning call of the macaque in the tamarind trees.

Rachel A. Marks is a homeschooling mom to four beautiful kids. She divides her time between her drawing table and the computer desk, working as both an illustrator and writer in her spare moments. She also has had the privilege of being managing editor for the Christian Literary Magazine, Haruah, and is currently working with her agent to publish her first novel. You can read more about her on her webpage, < www.shadowofthewood.com >.

Cover: " Unicorn - Summer's End "

Original art: Colored pencil illustration on pastel paper.

Specializing in colored pencil works on fiber-enhanced paper, more of the work of Michelle J.A. McIntyre can be found on her Webpage, < www.fantasyrealmcreations.com >. She creates a variety of fantasy art subject matter including dragons, unicorns, gryphons, fairies, and centaurs.

The Sign of the Snake

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