‘You’ve told me this before,’ Maya said. ‘Gray, Dada has his own life. You must accept that. And it’s good that he’s not with us, one less life to endanger.’
‘It’s still weird. It’s always bothered me, how he always showed up at the right time. And how Mom looked at him.’
‘Don’t say something gross,’ Maya warned sharply.
‘I mean, like he was a stranger,’ Gray said hurriedly.
‘Sons become strangers,’ Maya said. ‘Supposedly there was a big argument before you were born. Look, Gray, you know all this. Where are you going with this? Or are you just ranting?’
‘No, it’s just that sometimes I think Dada is hiding stuff.’
‘I respect his secrets, whatever they are,’ Maya said. ‘Every person has things they don’t want others to see.’ She paused. ‘Listen, I think we should stop talking about Abriti Dada and home. About Mom.’
Gray nodded.
The fire kept burning. Eventually, they heated their food and ate, and spreading their bedrolls, lay down around the fire. There was still no sign of Fayne.
‘You think he’s okay?’ Gray asked. Maya made a move to get up and check, but Zabrielle spoke again.
‘The wind carries his scent. He’s all right. One thinks he just wishes to be alone.’
‘Oh,’ Maya said, settling back down. ‘Thank you, Zabrielle.’
‘Good night,’ the Demon replied calmly.
‘Good night,’ Maya and Gray spoke together. Then they looked at each other. ‘He heard us,’ Gray mouthed. Maya shrugged and then turned to the other side, surrendering to sleep. The assassin could take care of himself. Besides, she did not need another burden.
Before drifting off, she took out the soul gem bound within the moon pendant chain, and looked at Adri’s soul, floating like always. ‘Good night, Adri,’ she whispered, placing it back into her belt pouch, and closing her eyes.
Smoke woke her. The dying remains of the campfire. The wind was pushing it her way. Gray was still asleep, but Zabrielle was up, packing her bedroll. Maya slowly got to her feet and looked around. They were on a small hill, an elevation under the shadow of a larger mountain. The road ahead was a pass between two hills, wider than the Pashan had been. She looked for Fayne, and her eyes found him, a silhouette in the smoke, seated, cross-legged, on the very edge of the hill, overlooking the road below.
Tying her hair, Maya walked up to him. The assassin must have heard her, but he did not move or say a word. For a second, the worst of fears hit Maya.
‘Fayne?’ she called out, a little hesitant.
He turned slightly. ‘Yes, fatiya?’
Relief. ‘Is something on your mind?’
‘Nothing that requires your attention. We should move.’
Maya walked back and woke Gray up. He awoke without a word. Maya was reminded immediately of older days, and her brother refusing to get up, getting late for college almost every day. Somehow, this just seemed like another life, another time. The Horsemen of the Apocalypse had replaced bad grades and college professors and attendance.
They were off after a silent breakfast of canned beans and dry bread. Maya found herself walking next to Zabrielle, with Gray and Fayne bringing up the rear.
‘It is not far, the Frayed Gate,’ Zabrielle said. ‘Half a day’s walk, and we should be there.’
The land was completely uneven now. Small hillocks, then larger ones, and then the great mountains beyond. Plants grew again, mostly small mountain bushes and shrubs, normalising the inherent dry skin of the Whispering Pashan. They followed a dirt road, thin and winding, a road the highway had suddenly given way to. These paths had been walked before, Maya realised. People had left Old Kolkata before. It was possible. Trampled grass forming paths might as well have been flags and direction signs.
She found Zabrielle looking at her. She started to ask, but the Demon spoke before her.
‘Something bothers you, Maya.’
‘Yeah,’ Maya said, looking down, watching her boots crunch on the trail. ‘Ba’al made it to the Keeper, but it almost killed him. Wondering how we’ll fare.’
‘The Commander was younger then. He made mistakes,’ Zabrielle said. ‘One was but a child back then, but one saw the Demon Commander, he was vain and imperious.’
‘When you say one, do you mean yourself?’
Zabrielle nodded.
‘Good. That’s one doubt clarified.’
‘You have many others,’ Zabrielle said. ‘And not about the journey. We have already started; we will either make it or we won’t. This elegant simplicity in surrendering to the unknown is to be admired, rather than sitting and planning a journey for ages and ages, wanting to leave but not having the will to take the first step.’
Maya thought about it. True, there was something very effortless about the journey, probably the fact that it was already underway. They would have to be careful, yes, but they could only go forward. ‘These,’ she sighed, holding up her gauntlets. ‘These are bothering me as well.’
‘You cannot feel anything,’ Zabrielle said. ‘No power seems to radiate within you, is that it?’
Maya stared at her. ‘Yes, exactly.’
‘Magic is interesting,’ Zabrielle said dreamily. ‘It does not work in the ways we think. It is not about saying a few words and waving a staff. Magic is an entity, and perhaps that is the first step to realising its manipulation.’ She opened her palm and a small sphere of light materialised in seconds. Maya looked at it, magic done in moments, appearing so elementary when the Demon did it.
‘An entity?’ Maya repeated.
‘It is alive,’ Zabrielle said. ‘Which is why we do not create magic. Magic is already there. One simply employs it. You, of course, know the prime difference between the magic of Demons and Sorcerers.’
‘The gauntlets?’
‘Yes. The gauntlets are simply projectors, a way to harness the magic in the air and change its form as desired. This process is mechanical as far as Sorcerers are concerned—the gauntlets are a marvel of engineering, even though they use inbuilt magical artefacts to power the projector. The very same process is biologically built into Demons, letting them handle these energies without needing gauntlets.’
‘It’s easier for you, then?’
‘We were born with it. As children, one would burn things down, levitate things, change things on pure instinct. You wear the gauntlets at a later age, when the mind has developed more. It is more difficult to even begin to feel.’
‘I need this,’ Maya said, now grim. ‘I need to learn how to use these, for the journey, for the confrontations ahead. I cannot simply stand on the sidelines as you and Fayne fight whatever we have to fight on the way. I try—desperately—to feel the forces Ba’al said he saw around me, the magic. But nothing. I can’t do anything. I can’t coax as much as a spark out of these pieces of metal.’
‘Calm and desperation are the two schools of Sorcerer magic,’ Zabrielle said. ‘Try one.’
‘Explain.’
‘There are very few places in the Old Country where Sorcerers are trained. One of them is New Kolkata, as you well know. The teachers are always Sorcerers themselves, hardened warriors who know exactly what they want from their gauntlets, which is where the word Mordraike comes from. Mordraike is the path of the gauntlet, the relation between a Sorcerer and his gauntlets, and how it affects the magic projected.’
‘You just said these are mere instruments!’ Maya pointed out.
‘Yet people form bonds with their instruments. A musician and his guitar, a gardener and his old pair of shears, an author and his quill. Some simply cannot make their magic happen in a new instrument, and it has nothing to do with the ease of use. It is a relationship, yes?’
‘Yes, I suppose. I get what you’re trying to say.’
‘The Whisperer has a relationship with the gauntlets you wear, an old one,’ Zabrielle said. ‘Mordraike has to happen, always and always, Mordraike has to happen. I disapprove of
the Demon Commander giving you these gauntlets, for your Mordraike with them can only start after Daan lets go of his.’
‘You’re saying these gauntlets are bound to him?’
‘Indeed they are.’
‘So I cannot use them?’
‘So they demand more from you if you were to use them, they demand an understanding of magic that the Whisperer has, not something easy to rival.’
Maya looked at the black gauntlets. ‘What do I have to do?’
‘You have to try harder. You must respect the gauntlets. They are as much a part of the magic as you are.’
‘I don’t believe this. I don’t. I’m handed a weapon for the first time and it’s already got baggage! Why does this happen to me?’
‘Sorcery is not easier than Necromancy, Maya, even though it might appear that way. MYTH trains Tantrics and Sorcerers from the same age, side by side.’
‘You were saying something about calm and desperation,’ Maya said.
‘A state of mind is the first thing a Sorcerer has to build before feeling magic, let alone manipulating it. There are two schools of thought here, two states of mind. There is calm, the school that believes that peace leads to greater projection, a greater hold over magic. The Sorcerers of calm have to keep their minds clear in battle, be relaxed, let the magic flow. The school of desperation preaches quite the opposite—they use adrenaline, the rush of war and the sight of blood to speed up their senses, make the magic happen. They use life or death situations to let their magic break through, creating some of the most powerful spells human Sorcerers can ever cast.’ Zabrielle paused. ‘They are two different kinds of lifestyles, and depending on the one you choose—for you must choose one—they will define your magic as much as they will come to define you.’
Maya looked down at her gauntlets again. A musician and his guitar, a gardener and his old pair of shears, an author and his quill. A relationship most intangible, indefinable by logic. She knew what Zabrielle meant, and realised why the gauntlets felt like dead weights on her hands and nothing more. You must try harder. That had to be why Ba’al had given her used gauntlets, gauntlets used to the magic that ran in Daan’s blood. Ba’al wanted her to go the extra mile, to raise the bar. This wasn’t about pulling off a few pretty tricks.
‘How different is your magic from mine?’ she looked up and asked the Demon Mage.
‘The magic is in the air,’ Zabrielle said, her hand mimicking a butterfly. ‘Difference lies in the use.’
‘Which school do you adhere to? Calm?’
‘Demons do not need to pick a side. It is humans who need rules to understand something so complex. Magic is not something you were born with.’
‘Help me learn,’ Maya said. ‘I know nothing of this.’
‘We do travel together. One can tell you what one knows.’
‘Excellent,’ Maya said. ‘I do need a tutor.’
‘One hasn’t taught before, nor does one know how the complexities of magic can be taught. One will try and guide you, though. There are many beautiful stories one knows, and one must share. The understanding will come with time.’
‘But we don’t have time, do we? How about a crash course?’
‘A what?’
‘A shorter course. To achieving the same end.’
‘There are no short cuts, Maya.’
‘Of course there aren’t,’ Maya said with bitterness. ‘How do I start? With the gauntlets, I mean.’
‘One will tell you about chaos,’ Zabrielle said.
Gray watched them talk. ‘Mage meets mage,’ he said. ‘I’m guessing Magic 101 is in session.’
‘The fatiya carries anger,’ Fayne said. ‘It will take her a while to understand.’
‘So she can be a bitter mage,’ Gray said, snorting at his own joke. ‘Where were you last night, Fayne?’ He adjusted his backpack. ‘God, this thing is heavy.’
‘I will tell you where I was, but you must not look around, myrkho. ’
‘Look around? Why would I look around?’
‘Last night, I had hidden myself,’ Fayne said.
‘And why would you do that?’
‘It is because we are being followed,’ Fayne said.
Gray immediately tried to look around, but found that he could not. The assassin’s hand was holding his neck in a vicious clamp. ‘Let go!’ Gray hissed.
‘Then do not look around. It is essential they think they haven’t been noticed.’
‘I won’t look around. Let go! Ow!’ Fayne let go, and Gray rubbed his nape. ‘Goddammit, Fayne.’
Fayne said nothing.
‘Who’s following us?’ Gray asked.
‘I do not know. They did not try to sneak up on us last night because I had prepared an ambush. They could not see me, and did not take the risk.’
‘How did you know of their presence?’
‘I hear them, even though they have mastery over silence. Light feet that do not upset rocks, even pebbles. They do not talk to each other, but they watch us. Even now, they follow us, from above. The hills.’
‘Are-are you sure about this?’ Gray asked, eyes wide. ‘What about Zabrielle? Shouldn’t she have heard them too?’
‘The Demon did not sleep last night, merely pretended to,’ Fayne replied. ‘I had a talk with her this morning. We will try to outrun them. If we reach the Frayed Gate, I doubt they will follow us into the Shadowlands. If they do, it is there that we shall confront them.’
‘Zabrielle knows? Why didn’t you tell us?’
‘I’m telling you now, when they cannot hear us. They were close to our camp this morning, and any conversation which wasn’t a whisper would have been overheard.’
‘Should I have my shotgun ready?’ Gray asked. ‘I’m nervous now.’
‘They are nervous as well,’ Fayne said. ‘I feel it. They won’t take chances in the light. Walk in peace now. But the night, the night brings danger.’
‘Why hasn’t Maya been told?’
‘Zabrielle will tell her, sometime in the course of their conversation,’ Fayne said. ‘Such is the plan.’
‘All this cloak and dagger,’ Gray said with some resentment. ‘I’m really tired.’
Fayne said nothing, sensing a rant on its way. Gray did not disappoint.
‘We’re doing all of this because Victor Sen decides that he needs to see the Apocalypse! Do you know, Fayne, that I was a fan of that lunatic? Did you know that?’
‘No, I did not,’ Fayne said gently.
‘I was! Crazy! How can one person turn the tide of things like this? Resign us to this fate of wandering endlessly, to this mad plan? I mean, what is the guarantee here that bringing Adri back will even stop the Horsemen? None! None at all! And why are we even doing this? Is there a point to this insanity?’
‘Do not be so loud, myrkho,’ Fayne said.
‘I cannot even speak my mind loudly!’ Gray shouted. ‘All because of this—this shit situation! See? This is exactly what my problem is!’ He went on, and on, about freedom and responsibility. Fayne nudged him towards calm, and slowly, as Gray felt his energy and enthusiasm leave him, the weight of the backpack returned and he simmered down. They kept walking, the landscape and conversation bleak. They walked all day, without incident, Gray shifting between his need to adapt and his denial, Maya absorbing whatever she could from Zabrielle.
Maya was disturbed to know of their stalkers, but it did not surprise her. Of course there would be people hunting them, perhaps for the entire journey. No, she was thankful, rather, that it was not the Horseman.
The evening drew close. Ahead, in the distance, the mountains were lessening again. They were leaving the rocky landscape behind, and amongst the flat, rocky foothills, an arch came into view, an impossibly huge arch. It was a gate in the middle of unclaimed flatlands, a gate that from this distance seemed to be made of stone. The Frayed Gate. And though it was getting dark, they could still see the silhouettes standing beneath it.
‘The Old Guard,�
� Maya said. ‘What will they want?’
‘Beyond that gate starts the Shadowlands,’ Zabrielle replied. ‘One is not clear on what the Old Guard could want. They might want to fight for the right of passing through, or simply content themselves to a few questions answered well.’
‘Who’ll do the talking?’ Gray asked. A valid question.
‘One shall try,’ Zabrielle replied. ‘We should slip into the Shadowlands by nightfall. It will help.’
‘Any sign of our pursuers?’ Maya asked Fayne.
The assassin shook his head.
‘Very well. Onward, then,’ she continued with a touch of drama.
They started a walk, a long walk across the grey stone flatland. The Old Guard, they saw in the distance, were not unmoving. They walked around, sat, got back up, stood close to each other, presumably talking, and went back to their posts, never once moving away from the gate.
‘What if we were to skirt around the Frayed Gate?’ Gray asked. ‘It’s just a gate in the middle of nothing, you know. Not like there’s a wall.’
‘They will find you within seven kilometres,’ Fayne said, ‘if you do not pass through the gate with their permission. They always do. We cannot outrun them, seven kilometres is not a short distance.’
‘Why do they guard the gate?’ Maya asked.
‘The Old Country has many gates,’ Zabrielle replied. ‘Not only do these gates make themselves essential for path-finding and guiding those lost, but they also act as filters of who enters where. If a city were to be on lockdown, the guard of the concerned gate would not let anyone pass.’
‘So every city has a gate of its own?’
‘Yes. And sometimes these gates are in the middle of nowhere, perhaps demarcating what had once been a city, or perhaps simply a change in terrain. One doesn’t know for sure, no one does. There is research, but they are theories at best.’
‘And the guards? Who pays them?’ Gray asked.
‘They are not human,’ Zabrielle said. ‘Neither are they Demon, or Angel, or any of the half breeds, or vampires, or lobos. A different race, one keeping to their own selves and guarding the gates, something passed down in their lineage.’
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