Horsemen of Old

by Krishnarjun Bhattacharya

  There was a woman, a dark skinned, bead-wearing woman with blood red eyes and teeth filed sharp, who sold only Sorcerer gauntlets. Her glittery eyes fell on Maya’s gauntlets one day, and she asked if Maya would sell them, quoting an incredible amount. Though Maya was tempted, she knew she would lose whatever Mordraike she had already established with her weapons, and she said no. The woman never bothered her again, and Maya wondered if the gauntlets of Daan held some hidden power she was unaware of.

  She met the Arab soon. A hooded man, a man she had never seen in the place before. He entered the Pit late one night. Maya spotted him immediately, being familiar with almost everyone who frequented the place, and her eyes followed him cautiously. He made his way down the fighting arena, going up a slender set of stairs and past all the vendors selling their wares. He stopped for a second. The woman with the red eyes was whispering. Something. In his ear. Maya saw a clean-shaven chin as he nodded, then continued towards the bar. This, of course, was where Maya was.

  He came and sat smoothly on the chair opposite Maya, and she saw more of his face. It was oval, the face, the cheekbones were recessed, the jaw angular, the chin protruding. The nose looked like it had been broken recently, there was a scar. His lips were thin, ugly. The skin was pale and milky, and she could not see beyond the eyes, which seemed a light hazel in the lamplight. Maya suddenly felt foolish in her eastern façade; she knew she wasn’t duping the Arab.

  ‘You have been looking for me,’ he said.

  She didn’t expect his voice to be so weak. Extremely so, low and guttural, stretched thin like an old man’s words, barely audible over the ruckus that was the Pit. Maya took a deep breath.

  ‘My name is Maya Ghosh,’ she said. He was avoiding her eyes. ‘I have learnt whatever I know about magic on my own. I do not know enough, I’ve hit a brick wall. I need to learn, and not from the fakes proclaiming themselves Sorcerers in this city. I need to learn from someone who knows what lies in the heart of magic.’ She paused, hoping to make her lines appear less practiced. ‘Take me as your apprentice. I will work hard, as hard as it takes, to learn. I will be your best student, even if I’m your first. I have powerful tools, and my lack of knowledge does them injustice. There is much I want to discover in magic, and I am ready to accept you as my mentor, if you will have me.’

  The Arab shifted in his seat. ‘I will tell you something, Maya,’ he whispered. ‘A secret. In the heart of magic lies darkness. Not where many wish to tread.’

  ‘I have been told to not talk to the darkness.’

  ‘Wise words.’

  ‘But tell me something, tell me another secret. Does the darkness hold power?’

  The Arab’s lips trembled. ‘Beyond your imagination,’ he breathed.

  ‘I wish to attain great power,’ Maya said softly. ‘There are things I will have to do. I wish to be capable of them.’

  He met her eyes. ‘Whatever the cost?’

  Maya did not hesitate in her reply. ‘Whatever the cost.’

  ‘Very well. Maya Ghosh, I accept you as my disciple. Our fates are bound now, there is no other way for you to walk. Show me your gauntlets.’

  Maya’s hands had been on her lap, hidden from sight. She brought them up now. A series of hisses and clicks, and a shocked Maya saw her gauntlets open on their own accord, and shoot across the table magnetically. They attached themselves to the Arab’s hands and clicked and settled in place. He looked at them, and she saw a slight smile on his face for the first time.

  ‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘Dawn, Dusk, it has been quite a while . . . yes, yes I know . . . no, but you have felt what has transpired . . . no, I’m afraid not . . .’

  Maya watched in pure astonishment as the Arab mumbled to the gauntlets, for minutes, before he turned his attention back to her.

  ‘You’re . . .you’re Daan,’ Maya said.

  ‘I apologise for their behaviour,’ Daan replied. ‘They have not seen me in many years. The Mordraike is still strong.’

  ‘You talked to them? Do they have . . . life?’

  Daan looked offended for a moment. ‘I can feel their emotion,’ he said. ‘Have you never seen a musician talk to his instrument?’

  Maya nodded. Understandable. She did not know for sure if the gauntlets really lived, or if it was simply a connection to an owned object. The way they jumped to his hands, it could simply be the magical residue, the Mordraike. Or it could be something more. Still, there were too many questions arising now to dwell on this one.

  ‘Why are you known as the Arab?’

  ‘Why are you known as Xavier?’ he asked back. ‘The same reasons, if one were to fathom them . . . tell me, these gauntlets, Ba’al made a gift of them to you?’ Maya nodded. ‘Yes, smart . . . very smart indeed . . .’

  Did Ba’al know? Oh my Lord, could it be that Ba’al knew the gauntlets would somehow find their master? Maya looked around, as slowly, as slyly as she could.

  ‘No, no, no ambushes,’ Daan said. ‘Ba’al merely planned for me to train you. He knew.’

  That changed things. Maya felt bitter immediately. Just when she thought she had broken free, the only thing she did not let go of led her back to a plan, someone else’s plan. The gauntlets, the accursed gauntlets had slowly, but surely, pulled her back to their true master. She was trapped again, confined as a disciple, all part of the plan, part of her so called destiny.

  ‘I would not grieve,’ Daan said in his hush. ‘Not so soon. I have the knowledge you seek, I know of your destiny. The path you’re meant to walk is the path I preach. But you always have a choice. You had a choice before you walked in here; you will have a choice before you walk my path.’

  ‘I hate people who talk about my destiny as if I’m not a damn part of it,’ Maya barked. ‘Choice is an illusion without knowledge.’

  ‘Yet the first step to that knowledge is choice itself.’

  Maya slammed a fist on the table without warning. Daan simply looked at her, but even in her anger, the old anger, Maya could sense something different. Somehow, she knew Daan understood exactly how she felt. The dragon, the dark dragon swept around her, waiting for her leave. With great difficulty, Maya summoned the strength needed to talk. ‘Working for Jed is putting coin in my pocket. It isn’t doing anything else. I am not—learning.’

  ‘The anger you feel is an old anger,’ Daan replied, completely unmoved. ‘This anger has nothing to do with you and what you have faced. I suspect the anger is older than all of us. It has merely found you and has rested in your heart, which allowed it, a heart vacant, a heart in need of either love or hate.’

  ‘What do you know of my anger?’ Maya hissed.

  ‘More than you realise,’ Daan whispered. ‘The path of the Shade relies on this anger. One without the anger in his heart cannot walk this path.’

  ‘You mean to say I’m suited to become a Shade?’

  ‘The choice,’ Daan said, ‘is yours, Maya.’

  ‘Of course I bloody accept,’ Maya said. ‘I’ve had enough of waiting around. Plan or not, predestined or not, I want to do this.’

  Daan got up. ‘Follow me. We are leaving.’

  Maya got up, but did not hide her surprise. ‘Now? Where?’

  ‘You will be trained in Zaleb Hel. There are many things I will tell you.’

  Maya followed him out of the Pit. She was leaving, finally, she did not know for how long. The anger ebbed, slowly, and beneath it she discovered anticipation. She had wanted this, of course she had. But there were people she wanted to bid a farewell to. Labadon, Jed Alfan, and of course, Charles Ward. She wanted to mention it to the Darkchild, but he did not seem to care. They headed through the city and straight out, towards the north.

  Gray awoke because of the gunshot. He woke in a cold sweat, immediately reaching into his empty holster. Another gunshot, a distant crack amidst the engine’s hum. He looked out of the window.

  At first he saw his own reflection and the lit train compartment behind him, but there was something
else beyond the glass. Movement. He squinted. Lobos. They were running alongside the train in the darkness, bearing the speed, the light from the windows reflecting in their green wolf eyes. Someone from the train was shooting at them. Their presence unnerved Gray, even though he was safe within, protected by inches of thick metal and what he hoped was strong glass. He rubbed his eyes, then stared as a lobo was hit—it became a rolling ball of dust and fell behind. He inched closer to the glass, looking harder, peering into the black, looking for a white wolf among the shadows—

  ‘They’ve been running for hours,’ Zabrielle said behind him, and Gray jumped. ‘One didn’t mean to startle you,’ she continued gently.

  He turned towards her, and for the first time in a while, noticed all her scars, her bruises. There were several on her face itself, a prominent white scar on her neck where the vampire had slashed her.

  ‘We’ve been through a rough patch, Zabrielle,’ Gray said, apology creeping into his voice.

  ‘One hasn’t been as fast in battle,’ she said. ‘The wounds hurt, and will open again if one moves too quickly.’

  ‘Hell, it’s okay, man,’ Gray said in alarm. ‘I’m not blaming you. You’re doing fine, you’ve done fine. You’ve had my back, and Fayne’s. I don’t want a sacrifice, a good companion, rather. I depend on you.’

  The Demon closed her large eyes and tilted her head in a bow.

  ‘One cannot close your wounds as easily as one’s own,’ she said. ‘It is the first time one is travelling with human companions, and it is difficult to see your injuries and not heal them.’

  Gray nodded. It must be tough. Not being able to help. He thought about magic then, how varied and twisted it was. So many rules, so much complexity. In that moment, Gray realised that summoning fireballs and electricity and ghost swords, they were all like petty parlour tricks, trivial, direct uses of magic in comparison to the enormous living system that Magic was. They were nothing, all of them, in comparison to the heart of Magic, the raw chaos that lurked within.

  ‘How did Daan blink that distance?’ Gray asked, one thought leading to another.

  ‘There are two sects who have kept their secrets well, both defectors from MYTH. The Ichor and the Shades. One does not know how the Whisperer made that blink. One did not think it possible.’

  ‘He was a Shade. I’ve never heard of the Ichor, except in your story that one night. Even my grandmother, I don’t think she ever mentioned the Ichor.’

  ‘Blood mages, even more secretive than the Shades. Between them lies hate, for the Ichor did not come when the Shades needed help.’

  ‘Where are the Ichor found?’

  ‘The stories say somewhere in the north. There are warnings. Nasbandth Eish Wa Ichien Ishad. Those who seek the Ichor may find an early end instead.’

  ‘Have you ever met one?’

  ‘Fayne is an Ichor.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘His father, certainly, not his Dyne mother. Thus the blood curse works for him. There is much we do not know about the alkhatamish.’

  Gray slowly processed this. ‘How many Ichor are out there?’ he asked.

  ‘They still have a fair number left, unlike the Shades, who are few.’

  ‘Maya will indeed become a Shade, won’t she?’ Gray asked. ‘Daan spoke of it as if it had already happened.’

  Zabrielle studied him carefully. ‘Like one has told you before, she has a choice, young one.’

  ‘But you know, within yourself, that she will choose the shadow. You saw it in her.’ He paused. ‘I did too.’

  Another gunshot in the distance. Before Zabrielle could reply, Gray continued talking. ‘I saw the Driver in New Kolkata. He drove the train that took us to the Old City.’

  ‘He drives every vehicle in every place,’ Zabrielle said.

  ‘All of them? At the same time? How does—’

  ‘No one else can be in two places at once to check how he does it,’ the Demon said with a little smile. ‘Some mysteries, as they say, are better left unexplored.’

  ‘Sometimes I think the universe is mad. It’s crazy, the things that happen, the things that exist. Sometimes I think the Creator, with all due respect, is fucked up in the head.’

  ‘Careful, young Gray. Sometimes, outbursts like this may offend the people who believe.’

  ‘What about me being offended by the state of things?’ Gray snapped out, then relaxed. ‘Forget it, I’m just ranting. It’s a lot to take in, now being a Spider Lord and all. My mother being Ardak’s daughter. I can only remember her as Mother, as my mother. This lineage, this history . . .’ He took out the ring from his pocket. ‘This bloody ring, having to now awaken my clan, a clan that is suddenly mine. Responsibilities, too many of them.’

  ‘The people who get responsibilities are the ones who can take them, carry the burden. You are incredibly strong, even more so for your age.’

  ‘Stop it, you’re gonna make me blush, man.’

  Zabrielle laughed after ages. ‘Let me tell you a story, then. It will help you forget all of this, if only for the moment. All these burdens and the lobos and the gunshots.’

  Gray nodded and curled up on the plush seat. Zabrielle sat opposite him. ‘This is the story of Versalen,’ she began. ‘A Paladin, a knight of sunlight.’

  24

  Maya had made the choice already. It somehow did not feel right, but she had settled for the power that would come with the path. Yes, even Zabrielle had talked about power. A great loss, but power nonetheless. When Daan had blinked with her across the sea, on to the outer fringes of the island, she had been flabbergasted, awed. The very promise of such a thing—it was enough. She could not wait for her training to begin.

  But no such thing happened. Daan spent the day with her in silence. They walked through the forests of Zaleb Hel, forests and the occasional glade, sometimes a thin stream. She asked him where they were heading once, and upon his refusal to reply she did not ask again. They walked through dark caves, by a waterfall, then past arid areas of dust and sharp rocks. At dusk, they were walking uphill, towards an edge of the island. The sea thrashed against the rocks below as they climbed a thin path, a sheer fall on either side, a dagger-like extension jutting into air. Then she saw it, waiting for them, at the very edge of the cliff.

  It was a mirror. Maya stared at it with burning curiosity, careful to watch her step as they crept up towards it. It was oval, a mirror as tall as her, the frame a simple dark wood. There it stood, at the edge of the cliff, the sea on all sides, the wind strong, persuasive—yet it was firm, standing without apparent support, without any stands she could spy. She looked at herself and Daan, and in the reflection she saw him meet her eyes. Once.

  Then he walked into the mirror.

  Maya froze. Daan was gone. There had been nothing, no instruction, nothing more than the glance. She knew immediately that she was supposed to follow him, but all she could see now was her own self. Perhaps it was more than a mirror. A portal of some sort?

  She went up and touched the surface gingerly. Cold. Solid. Definitely solid. Maya cursed and looked around. The sea, as far as she could see, some islands in the far distance. The setting sun. She pushed the mirror. It did not budge. ‘What is this?’ she murmured. A test, then, a test of some sort. Some kind of initiation? She did not care, she was in no mood for games.

  ‘Open,’ Maya said. Nothing. How had Daan entered it? Had he blinked, and had she imagined the entry? But no, she had seen it, seen his arm, leg, body disappear, half entered. ‘I command you to open,’ she said. Bloody hell. She could not perform any magic, Daan still had her gauntlets. ‘Open, damn you!’ she shouted, the wind drowning her voice. She kicked the mirror in anger. It did not even shudder, staying firm, unshakable—Maya almost lost her balance and grabbed the mirror to stay upright.

  ‘Daan,’ she spoke to the mirror. ‘I can’t do this, I’m in no mood for this, whatever this is. Come back out or I’m leaving.’ Then she realised she couldn’t leave. Of course not.
She was a prisoner on the island. She peered around the back of the mirror, slowly. There were no supports, just the end of land—the mirror, somehow, stood upright on its own. She backed away. No switches, no hidden latches, no trapdoors.

  Maya spent the night on the cliff. She almost froze to death, but her anger and frustration did not let her back away. This was not beyond her. She was not one to even go off and find a warmer place to sleep. Bloody mirror. The moon lent her light, and she sat cross-legged in front of the mirror, watching herself, watching flecks of snow gently swirl in the night. She wrapped her cloak around herself, but it was not enough. She had depended too much on magic to take away the cold, and now, without her gauntlets she felt human once more. She whispered threats and abuses to her new mentor, and occasionally the mirror.

  The night was long. Maya could not even doze off, not here where she might fall to her death. What is the point of this? There must be a point. Making me feel useless, vulnerable, bringing forward my ignorance in the ways of magic, is that it? She closed her eyes and concentrated on the magic. It was everywhere, the mirror did not register as anything different.

  Dawn came and Maya stared at her sleepless self, the dark circles under her eyes. She was tired, hungry, and still furious. ‘I’m done, Daan. Come out of the damn thing. I can’t do this,’ she said out loud, with great effort. Nothing. Nothing at all. Hours passed, the morning carried on.

  ‘Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?’ she murmured, glum. It was something Gray would have said. She thought of Gray, then looked up to check if, by any chance, the mirror was showing Gray and where he was. It wasn’t. She grabbed a stone and hit the surface hard. Nothing.

  What do you want? she thought desperately. She was losing her strength, losing it fast. The mirror was the same as it had been. It could outlast her, she knew that. Maya crumbled to exhaustion around noon, and collapsed before the mirror.