The Simoqin Prophecies

by Samit Basu

  He thought for a while. ‘Oh,’ he said, looking like someone whose world had suddenly become a lot clearer.

  ‘Your guards were assassins from the start. It’s a secret that is told to the elder son on his coronation day. It is unfortunate that your holy books require kings to have two children. If the younger child is not an imbecile and people love him, he is generally killed by his beloved guards, whom he has known for years and trusts completely. The king generally offers his brother the immense honour of going on the asvamedh, which he has been brought up to believe is the greatest thing in the world. Your crime was that you were young, and brave, and people loved you. Also, you were, forgive me for saying so, naïve. Did you really think you could conquer the world with twenty men by your side? You were being removed from Avranti. Your body would have been carried back into town by your men, nice and shiny weapons intact–and people would have said, poor brave handsome prince Asvin hacked down cruelly by the wicked world, and his poor conveniently-missing-because-who-cares-really guards, such friends they were, too. And his poor brother, the king, how he must wish he hadn’t allowed the poor brave handsome prince to go on that asvamedh – but that’s the way life is, pass the chicken, please. A grand funeral, not a dry eye in the marketplace, a portrait in the gallery. If the people really loved you, a statue in the town square. The divine armour would have lain in state, awaiting the next heroic and popular prince.’

  Asvin saw his brother’s smile and his sister-in-law’s sad face again. She knew. ‘But how did your Civilian know?’

  ‘The usual way. Spies. Betrayal. Our Civilian has been watching you for a long time. As her page,’ Amloki sniffed in a very important manner, ‘I get to know most of what happens in Kol. One of your guards was more fond of you than he should have been.’

  ‘Vijay,’ said Asvin.

  ‘He was persuaded to tell us about the society.’

  ‘Persuaded?’

  ‘Persuaded,’ said Amloki with an air of great finality. ‘And so, when the time came, enter the Dagger.’

  ‘Tell me about the Silver Dagger.’

  Amloki’s eyes glowed with excitement. ‘Ah, the Dagger. The finest man in the land. Also the most elusive. I know he comes to the palace often but I have never seen him. At least, I’ve never seen his face. Everyone wants to know who he is. Every woman in Kol wants to marry him. Oh, the adventures he’s had. We have a week, and you do look a bit tired, but let’s see how much I can cover…’

  The chariot hurtled on towards Kol.

  Chapter Six

  S. P. Gyanasundaram flew high above the green sea that was Vrihataranya, the greatest forest in the world. The giant wood stretched from the coast of eastern Avranti, running southwest, across north Avranti and the northern Free States to the eastern borders of Artaxerxia. Ages ago, it used to curve back, like a boomerang, across that great barren battlefield, Danh-Gem’s Wasteland, to the Centaur Forests in the south. But the Great War had changed all that.

  Gyanasundaram was flying towards his home in the northern swamps, in the vast delta where the Holy River met the sea after flowing through Vrihataranya. He had just finished a particularly exhausting delivery and was eagerly anticipating a long holiday–days basking in his snug nest and stalking the swamps in search of juicy insects. Storks tend to build large communities of nests in single, giant trees and Gyanasundaram knew his neighbours, H. Sampath and I. Narayan would love a few of the racier stories he was bringing from the mountains.

  He knew he was flying over hills, valleys and ravines but everything looked the same–an endless, undulating sea of dark green. Hours passed. Sometimes there were silver threads when the streams were wider, but these were rare. Gyanasundaram was glad he was safe, far above the forest, where he had heard unknown and terrible beings lurked beneath every tree. Praise the Sacred Ibis for the power of flight. He sank in the strong rays of the setting sun. The sky was glowing maroon, amber and purple and the forest beneath him looked black and forbidding. He spread his great white, black-tipped wings and flapped vigorously as he soared even higher.

  A hundred hideous screams rent the air below him, startling him out of his peaceful contemplation and making him even gladder he was above it all. ‘Howler monkeys,’ he thought contemptuously, ‘evening assembly, or whatever it is those silly beasts yell about.’

  He watched idly as the forest birds, who had all scattered, squawking in alarm, returned to their nests in the trees. The forest seemed to swallow them, like the sea welcoming flying fish back. Nice, colourful birds, red, green and blue. He flew slightly lower to get a better view.

  It was then that he noticed the crows. There were three of them, flying directly beneath him in a perfect V. There was something odd about them. Their wings were beating in perfect unison, and they flew in synchrony, the distance from wingtip to wingtip maintained perfectly accurately. Gyanasundaram had always looked down his beak at crows and other carrion-eaters and thieves as rabble, the dregs of the avian world. But he had to admit he was intrigued by the military precision of these three crows. Not more flight-art fanatics, he hoped. On one of his longest voyages, a delivery to a tiny, uninhabited island far out to sea, he’d met the seagull who had started all that load of nonsense. The poor thing was old, practically featherless and starving. His followers, a bunch of thoroughly irresponsible youngsters–airheads, they called themselves–were busy crashing into cliffs and falling dizzily to the rocks beneath. Gyanasundaram had forced some food down the old fellow’s throat. ‘I will teach you to be free, stork-brother,’ the seagull had croaked. ‘Let’s begin with level flight.’ Then he had keeled over and died.

  But these crows were different. They were practically marching in mid-air, no ‘Whee man’ nonsense. They knew how to fly. Gyanasundaram flew closer to get a better view.

  Commander triple-Zero One, ‘Kraken’, nodded at his henchmen. ‘He’s noticed us. Commence negotiations.’ His trusty wing-crows, Captains Forty-Four ‘Yahoo’ and Forty-Five ‘Maverick’ said ‘Yes, sir,’ in perfect unison. Kraken was pleased. Good training always showed. With a stunning display of flying skill, he slowed down in mid-air while his sidekicks streaked ahead, performing perfect barrel-rolls to the left and right respectively. Then they all rose, in a wide inverted V, to meet Gyanasundaram. Maverick and Yahoo flew close to him, perfectly parallel, their wingtips almost touching his, while Kraken zoomed forward, accelerating, until he was right above the startled stork.

  ‘What is the meaning of this outrage?’ spluttered Gyanasundaram. The crows were violating his private air-space! And what was more, they were closing him in on three sides, forcing him to fly lower!

  ‘Quiet, stork,’ said Kraken imperiously. ‘You are commanded to appear before the most high vanar-lord, Bali the Magnificent. I am Commander Kraken, his trusted ally and messenger. You will fly with us.’

  ‘Since when have the crows been vassals of the monkey-men?’ asked the stork angrily. But Maverick and Yahoo weren’t even listening. They were looking down at some large black shape speeding through the treetops.

  ‘We are allies, not vassals,’ spat Kraken. ‘When the day of revolution comes, we will rule the air while they rule the earth. Now co-operate or you will get hurt, stork.’

  The stork made a few more pointed remarks, but Kraken had stopped listening too, watching the large black thing hurtle through the black leaves. Gyanasundaram looked down. No doubt it was some fierce creature of the wild woods, and therefore harmless. They were still too high above the forest to be attacked by tree-dwellers. But it was strange, the man-shaped thing moving beneath them. How did it manage to make the higher branches support its weight? And how was it moving as fast as the birds? Gyanasundaram sped up, and so did the crows, but the thing kept up with them easily.

  ‘Now!’ shrieked Kraken.

  The vanar leapt out of the trees. Gyanasundaram saw, as if in slow motion, the hideous black shape speeding towards him in a wide arc, arm extended, growing larger, and larger, of co
urse it would never reach that high, it was too high, no one could jump that high and…

  ‘Good catch!’ said Yahoo.

  The vanar, with the wildly struggling stork tucked under an arm, disappeared beneath the leaf-ceiling. Kraken uttered a wild whoop and dived in.

  ‘Perpendicular, Yahoo!’ said Maverick.

  The two crows screamed down in a tight arc, entering the forest together, almost vertical. They snapped out of the roll and started flying towards the vanar city.

  ‘You can be my wing-crow any time’ said Yahoo.

  ‘You could be mine.’

  Chapter Seven

  It was midnight, and the Underbelly was in full wobble. All of Triog’s six arms were busy, pouring drinks, washing glasses, gesturing wildly as his social head, Rightog, made polite conversation. Sitting at his small wooden table in the quietest corner, Kirin looked around and saw all the usual faces. Spikes lurked next to him, a grotesque living statue in the dim light.

  Business had been good. Kirin hadn’t had time to make any new Stuff, and had almost finished his reserve supplies; young spellbinders demanding inkatapults and fake scars had to be turned away, bald men had clamoured in vain for colour-changing fast-stick wigs, and the fireworks were all sold out. Kirin still had a little Stuff left, but had decided to call it a night.

  Smoke and noise filled the Fragrant Underbelly. Well-dressed crime-lords, aristocrats, ambassadors and rich merchants kept slipping down from Too Many Cooks to grab quick drinks. One section of the room was occupied by leather-clad vroomer gangs, pouring alcohol down their throats as they loudly discussed vroomstick models, their tattoos and spiky hair standing out even in the dim light. Guards in plain clothes, pickpockets and miscellaneous miscreants roamed around, looking for information, victims and friends; fashionable young Kolis gathered in excited clusters around tables, giggling excitedly as they gossiped. Pashans moved ponderously through the throngs of humans; vamans sat on high stools and nursed their hot drinks. A centaur stood near the bar, grumbling as people pushed him around. Spies from various nations listened eagerly to snatches of conversation–the Underbelly was one of the most important sources of misinformation in the world. Wrestlers from W.A.K., the Wrestling Association of Kol, sat in their tight, spangled costumes and discussed head-butts and suplexes, and men named Abhishek gathered around another table to listen to Houstarr, the world’s worst lover, recount his sad tales of rejection and heartbreak. The Teetotalers Anonymous daily meeting was being held at the bar. There were familiar faces everywhere.

  But Kirin’s eyes kept flickering towards the main entrance, where customer after customer entered and deposited the more obvious weapons, the broadswords and clubs, into the hands of the security pashans. Where was Maya? He was beginning to get worried. What had he told her? Had they fought? Why on earth had he agreed to a Dragonjuice showdown?

  There she was. She was walking towards him. Her short hair was in even greater disarray than usual and the standard inkblot was on her left cheek tonight. She wore her usual shapeless grey gown, adorned with patches of cloth wherever the holes from whatever dangerous chemical she had been playing with had grown large enough to attract her attention. In spite of all this, however, heads turned wherever she went. She was aware of the attention she always got, and in general she was rather amused by it, but not tonight. She cast malevolent glances around the room, glances that offered free cockroach transformations for every use of the word ‘Baby’. And if they had known she was the most brilliant young spellbinder in the city, or that her father was the powerful and extremely eccentric spellbinder Mantric, they would probably have been too scared to even look. She sat down in front of Kirin.

  ‘Put this on.’ she said, taking a ring out of her pocket and handing it to him. It was a very dirty ring, with a single, rather grimy, white stone.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Just put it on.’

  Kirin slipped the ring on his finger. As soon as his hand touched it, the ring started glowing.

  ‘All right. Give it to me quickly, before anyone sees it.’

  Mystified, he took the ring off and gave it to her.

  ‘Spikes, be a darling and run down to the Museum and leave this somewhere, please. Don’t let anyone see you, because I didn’t tell them I was taking it. And try not to kill anyone.’

  Spikes looked at Kirin, who nodded. He took the ring quietly and left.

  Kirin put the tips of his fingers together.

  ‘No doubt you’ll explain someday.’

  ‘How long have we known each other?’

  ‘Six–no, seven years, isn’t it?’

  ‘And am I your best friend or not?’

  ‘You are. But…’

  ‘Then why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t pretend, Kirin. Do you know what that ring was?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I read about it in the library. Not a weapon of any sort, magical but harmless. Jewellery.’ She leaned forward, looked around and lowered her voice. ‘Ravian jewellery. It glows when a ravian wears it.’

  ‘So why did it glow when you put it on my finger?’ he asked, but he knew that she knew. He wondered how much he’d told her last night. Anyway, he might as well tell her everything. It was the only way she would keep his secret.

  ‘I wanted to tell you.’

  ‘Right. Which is why it took you seven years and nine Dragonjuices to tell me who you were. ‘And by the way, I’m a ravian,’ he says, and topples over. My best friend is a ravian and he doesn’t tell me! Did it slip your mind?’

  ‘Look, I didn’t know how you would react. And you’re my only friend. Yes, I know I have Triog and Spikes, but it’s not the same. And everyone else is just a customer. I was afraid I’d lose you.’

  ‘Lose me? Last time I read a history book, ravians were heroes. Not something I’d be ashamed of. I just don’t understand, Kirin. If I wasn’t so angry, I’d have been thrilled. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I was afraid you’d tell someone else, someone like your father. I was afraid I would be taken to people who would ask me questions I didn’t have answers to. It’s big news if someone from the lost race suddenly appears–I mean, I don’t even know where my people went–I was afraid they would think I was some kind of traitor, that I had been left behind because the ravians didn’t want to take me with them. I was afraid that a lot of people would have wanted me dead. And there are other reasons.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Ravians are immortal, Maya. I’m immortal. That changes things.’

  ‘What does it change?’ asked Maya. They looked at each other silently for some time. Then Maya spoke, but the edge was gone from her voice. ‘So why are you here? And who are you, really?’

  ‘I don’t know where to start. Or what to say.’

  ‘Just tell me everything you know. And don’t forget the minor details, such as you’re at least two hundred years old,’ she snapped, suddenly angry again. ‘I don’t know what to ask you, Kirin. I don’t know you at all, and you’ve been lying to me all these years.’

  ‘I never lied to you, Maya. I was born in the Great Forest. Spikes did find me there and bring me to Kol. And I really didn’t remember who I was before he found me. I didn’t tell you a few things, but I never lied. Then we came to Triog’s, and then I met you. The rest you know. I didn’t know I was a ravian when I met you. I worked most of it out in the Library, when I read books about the ravians and started remembering things. And then I discovered that I had a few ravian powers.’

  ‘Kirin, this is not making any sense.’

  He took a deep breath.

  ‘All right. I’ll try harder. When you met me, you thought I was from some tribe in the jungle, and I’d knocked my head on a tree or something and so didn’t remember anything. I had told you Spikes had found me lying on the ground in the forest. Which was true, except there was one detail I didn’t tell you.’

  ‘And what was this on
e detail?’

  ‘I had been turned into stone.’

  ‘You had been turned into stone. I can see why you would forget a little thing like that.’

  Kirin smiled. ‘Spikes found a stone statue lying on the ground, covered with creepers, outside what he described as a small temple in the forest. He stepped on me, actually, and the stone cracked and I woke up.’

  ‘What were you doing there? Apart from being a stone statue, that is. Exactly why were you one, by the way? ’

  ‘I don’t know when or why I turned to stone, Maya. And its true, you needn’t sneer.’

  ‘What was Spikes doing there? Or did he just stumble upon you by chance? Stumble upon you, heh heh. Sorry.’

  ‘At least you’re laughing again. I was worried. I don’t know what Spikes was doing there, and, strangely enough, neither does he. At the time, I was just grateful he was with me in the forest–I would have had no idea what to do and would probably have ended up as a light lunch for a tiger or something. He told me he had been wandering all over the world for about seven years before he found me. And he didn’t know what he was looking for, but when he found me he knew it was me. The first thing I remember is Spikes stepping on me. I woke up screaming, but Spikes was completely unperturbed. Of course I didn’t know then that that was just Spikes being Spikes. He started speaking to me calmly, as if stumbling on statues that turned into people in forests was something he did every day before breakfast. He told he had looked for me all his life, but he didn’t know why. I asked him who or what he was and he said he didn’t know that either. He said he’d thought I’d know the answers once he found me, but I obviously didn’t.’

  ‘And what about you? What did you remember?’

  ‘ Absolutely nothing about who I was or where I was from, but I did remember my name and the names of my parents. I guess being a stone for two hundred years can do things to your memory. But Spikes said that Kol was the greatest city in the world and perhaps we could learn whatever we needed to know there. Besides, he knew Triog. Triog taught Spikes to speak, in some bog in the far north. Spikes brought me here.’