by Samit Basu
‘D-d-damn,’ said the man, and fell over.
He got up, spluttering. His cowl had fallen off, and a crab was attached to his straggly hair.
He pushed the boat over to a conveniently huge boulder in the shallow blue waters, and they waded up to it and stepped gingerly into the boat, which was very wobbly. D-d-death clambered on, nearly upsetting them all, and Irik perched on the prow. D-d-death’s pole sent the boat into motion again, and soon it was moving fast as the hidden dolphins started pulling again. Asvin, who was sitting nearest the front, sometimes saw a sleek grey body coming close to the surface, and was filled with joy, for he had never seen a dolphin before.
‘So, this Death, he’s an actor?’ Gaam whispered to Irik.
‘Yes, and not a very good one,’ said Irik, ‘which is why we’re training him as much as possible, sending him to pick people up and so on. He’s getting scarier, though – he only fell into the water once this time. You must remember he’s a very new Death.’
‘A new Death?’
‘The old Death died.’
‘The old Death died?’
‘He was a very old Death.’
Bolvudis grew larger, a beautiful little island covered in a mist that was lifting fast under the hot sun. They saw, on a cliff, huge letters, carved out of wood, painted white.
B-O-I-U-D-V-L-S, they said, shining in the sun. ‘People lost jobs over that,’ said Irik apologetically.
Smoke rose from some parts of the island. Irik said the Badshah had made an artificial Volcano in the Natural Disaster Valley. They could hear the sound of many drums in the Square Forest where, under the watchful eye of an imp, the warrior-dancers who served Golla, Queen of the Jungle were beginning their martial arts routine, which consisted mainly of gyrating wildly, shaking hips and spears and trying to ensure that their tiny costumes, inexpertly knitted together from reeds, stayed on.
‘You are now entering the Very Blue Lagoon, and we hope you had a pleasant journey,’ crooned Irik as the travelers stared in wonder at the Picsquids, the imps buzzing around, eyes winking merrily at the newcomers, and the giant crocodile (trained, of course) basking in the sun. Mantric stood on the shore, bald head gleaming in the sun, a huge smile spread over his dark face. He looked a lot like Maya. He was clad in maroon robes, and was clean-shaven, unlike most spellbinders – Chancellor Ombwiri’s beard, for example, reached his waist. Nimbupani the chimaera stood by his side, roaring a welcome.
‘Thank you so much, Death, and we were all terrified,’ said Maya sweetly to D-d-death, shaking his bone-hand warmly.
‘It’s a pup-pup-pup,’ replied D-d-death, gracefully hitting the water, upsetting the boat and giving our intrepid heroes a very wet welcome.
‘You must forgive him,’ said Mantric, as they waded out of the water, completely drenched, ‘He’s a very new Death.’
‘We heard,’ said Gaam, grimly, for there were seaweeds in his beard and an unidentified wriggling object down his back.
Mantric hugged Maya and shook everyone else’s hand warmly. He welcomed Amloki as an old friend, and called Pygmy Lion, a pashan, who took their dripping packs from Asvin.
‘I’ll take you to the village later,’ said Mantric. ‘But first, you must blow the casting conch, to win the favour of the gods who preside over the performing arts.’
‘The casting conch?’ said Maya incredulously.
‘They all think you’re actors,’ hissed Mantric. ‘Do it.’
They all sounded forlorn blasts on the huge conch-shell that an imp handed to them, in turn, ceremoniously.
‘Welcome once again to Bolvudis,’ said Mantric loudly and warmly. ‘In the hut over there you will find costumes, to wear while your clothes are wet, and then I will take you to the village. A song has been composed in your honour, for it is not often that we get world-renowned actors in this little-known southern paradise. A feast awaits. Follow me.’
He walked off at a great pace. They looked at one another, shrugged and followed.
Chapter Twenty-six
He was tired and completely out of breath, but he was still running. They had run all day, no food, no rest, no stopping to admire the beauty of the Centaur Forests. When they had crossed into the Centaur Forests just before dawn, a little bit of ravian hand-waving had brought a large branch crashing down on the centaur standing on guard at the western border, looking for strange things coming out of the Bleakwood. Strange things like them. The centaur wasn’t going to tell anyone about that little episode – getting knocked out by falling branches wasn’t exactly going to win him favour with his superiors – which meant their entry in the forest would not be noticed. For a while, at least. The ground was still hilly and getting rockier as it sloped gently upwards. Kirin knew that the hills would get higher and higher, but very gradually, until they suddenly rose sharply far in the east to mark the western border of the Xi’en Empire.
Kirin suspected they would be followed soon, and since Spikes was leaving deep footprints in the fresh, damp earth, they decided speed was of the essence. But though Kirin was very fast indeed, as fast as the fastest human, he could not keep up with Spikes, and would certainly not be able to outrun a centaur. Luckily, Red Pearl was wounded and would not be able to gallop at full speed.
But the soothing smell of damp earth and green leaves was very, very good, especially after the Bleakwood. Old memories simmered in Kirin’s mind – he tried to remember days long, long ago, when he had run in forests with his ravian guardians, learning to hunt, fight and hide.
They reached a sparkling stream, which gurgled merrily as it flowed towards a little waterfall a short distance away. They waded downstream for a little while, then Kirin climbed on to Spikes’ back and they jumped down the waterfall. They waded to the edge of the little pool it had formed and climbed up again, on the same side of the stream. Kirin knew it wouldn’t deter a skilled tracker for long, but it was the only ruse he could think of at the moment.
It was evening, and they began to hunt for a place to sleep. Spikes found a little cave – it had paw-prints all around the entrance, but was empty – and they moved in. The original inhabitant of the cave didn’t return as night fell. It must have either abandoned the cave long ago, or seen Spikes as it returned home, decided the neighbourhood was going downhill and moved to a more prosperous locality.
Night fell softly over the Centaur Forests. Spikes sat near the mouth of the cave, out of the pale light of the new moon, listening intently. Kirin leaned on a rock near the end of the cave, with the book glowing softly in his hands. He turned through the pages, one at a time. They were all empty.
He set the book beside him on the rock. It stopped glowing when his hand left it. Then there was a rustling noise in the darkness as the cover flipped open on its own.
Late, but not too late, thank the stars. Thank you for coming, Kirin.
Kirin grabbed the book. In the soft white glow he saw Narak’s face emerge in expanding ripples, as if it was coming out of water. The eyes opened. The lines of the face were dark, much darker than they had been in the Bleakwood. The face looked stronger, harder, even younger. The scar looked deeper.
‘I still don’t believe what you said,’ said Kirin ‘but we were attacked yesterday. It was probably a coincidence, but I’m going to give you one chance to prove that you really are my father.’
Very well. I will give you the proof you seek. But before I begin my tale, let me say this. I am still weak, and you will have to keep me here with the force of your own will. As my power fades, you will probably feel the pain I feel. Do not be alarmed. Even if I disappear suddenly, I will return. I will not leave without saying goodbye. But pay close heed to whatever I say, because I will only say it once, and I will not have the strength to speak to you often.
I created this enchanted book more than two hundred years ago, and I have several things to explain to you before I can rest. I have a task, a terrible task for you to perform, but I will guide you through it, and you will find help in the unli
keliest of places.
Narak’s voice grew stronger.
Let me first state my claim, Kirin. I am Narak, Demon-hunter, warrior-mage, ravian cast out of Asroye, husband of Isara, Princess of Asroye, slayer of the body of Danh-Gem, and you are our son. I do not ask you to trust me blindly. I just ask you to hear what I have to say. Whether you believe what I tell you or not, whether you carry out the tasks I set for you or not – these, and all other decisions I will leave to you.
Kirin nodded. The voice spoke swiftly and crisply. It sounded even more like his own now. ‘I’m listening,’ he said.
If I guess right, you have learnt about your people from human books and your own dim memories. Is that not so? Kirin nodded. Very well.
You have spent your life among humans, and you know what they are like – as greedy, violent, and selfish as the lowly asurs. And yet some of them are bold and wise, savages with hearts of gold. You know what humans do to the world they live in. They settle in a region, suck it dry of all its beauty, cut down trees to build their machines and their towers, mine rocks out of the earth and slay one another over them. Ravians, on the other hand, are gentle and wise, friends of the living earth. They are strong, yes, strong as rakshases, but they hate warfare and bloodshed, and do not seek more land than they need.
Unfortunately, the ravians also possess powers that are both a blessing and a curse – magical powers, Kirin. And magic can be used to create many beautiful things, but magic cannot be controlled. When the ravians enter a world, it becomes magical. And if it was magical to start with, anything can happen. Evil creatures suddenly find powers they never knew they had, and use these powers to maim and plunder. And when the ravians find that they are responsible, however indirectly, for ruin and devastation in the world they live in, they move on. But while humans leave desolate wastelands in their wake, the ravians try to heal the wounds they opened. Which is why the ravians joined the Great War against the rakshas Danh-Gem.
‘You know,’ Kirin said slowly, ‘I really didn’t run away from my friends for a history lesson, no matter how fascinating.’
You will listen to what I have to say, son. The voice was just a little harsher.
‘I thought you would leave the decisions to me.’
True. Narak laughed, a dry laugh. The long years have made me talkative. I never thought of myself as old before. I apologize. You are much like me, son.
Suffice to say that the ravians came to this world because they felt they had hurt the last one they were in, and they left this one because they thought the consequent lowering of magic in this world would heal all its problems. They knew this would work to an extent at least – the dragons, most rakshases and many other terrible monsters would disappear, or at least become weak enough to be dealt with by humans, after they left. Danh-Gem, however, was the wiliest adversary they had ever met in all the worlds they had passed through.
Seeing that he could not defeat the ravians in the War, Danh-Gem decided to hide in some form until they had gone, give his allies two centuries to rebuild their armies and then return more mighty and dangerous than ever before.
‘Where do you arrive in this tale?’ asked Kirin.
I was one of the first ravians sent into this world, to find out whether or not it was suitable for us. I was very young. Only low-castes made the first journey – it was considered less of a loss if they died in a hostile world.
‘Low-caste? The ravians had castes, like they have in Avranti?’
But you have learnt about ravians from humans, Kirin. Humans met them very rarely and thought they were perfect. And the ravians who loved humans – Lord Simoqin, for example, were all gentle, mild-mannered souls, skilled in the arts, noble, high-minded. In truth – and I tell you this as one who has suffered more than most – they were as proud and rigid as any other race, when it came to imposing social distinctions. But I thought you did not want history lessons.
‘But you said you were a warrior-mage. That doesn’t sound like a low-caste profession to me.’
I became a warrior-mage. I was low-caste by birth, not profession. And so they sent me and others of my kind here first, to be killed if the world was too dangerous. They even tried sending those who were not wholly ravian, but they died while traveling between worlds. My family had no name, no clan. I stole books from libraries and learnt magic. I learnt to fight on the streets. I sold magical toys for a living. And when I became richer, it mattered no more. Then I bought all the training my heart desired, and no questions were asked. I became the most powerful warrior-mage in all of Asroye.
‘I didn’t understand – those who were not wholly ravian?’
It is not relevant to your quest.
‘Nevertheless, I want to know.’
As you wish, son. Ravians, like some other magical races, can mingle bloods and have children with other, similar beings. Did you not know this?
‘Ravians can have children with humans?’
This news seems to delight you.
‘It’s just surprising, that’s all. Go on.’
Have you not heard of the half-rakshas heroes of Avranti of old? The rakshases of this world have that power too. Be that as it may. I have wasted too much time. Do I have to tell you the whole story, Kirin? Do you not believe me? Will you not do as I say?
‘You still haven’t proved anything yet, you’ve just told me things about ravians. And you were getting very expansive, why are you suddenly in a hurry?’ said Kirin, aware of a sudden, slight headache. ‘Are you in pain?’
A little. It matters not. Come, I will answer your questions, one by one. Ask, quickly.
‘Well, you haven’t really explained anything, have you? The book, my mother, the Simoqin Prophecies, Spikes…’
Very well. I shall carry on. After we came to this world and found it habitable, the other ravians arrived. The city of Asroye was founded, deep in the heart of Vrihataranya. The ravians lived in peaceful isolation for years, never venturing out of the forest, except in disguise, when they wished to learn more about the world.
Of course, it had to happen – we could not hide forever, and the world outside discovered us. Danh-Gem the rakshas, who lived in Vrihataranya then, saw Isara, ravian princess slender and beautiful, as she walked in the dark woods of Vrihataranya. He wanted her; he grew desperate to have her. He tried to abduct her, but she was skilled in magic, and would have killed him, but did not – for she was kind and wise, and believed that the rakshas was only doing what his brutish nature forced him to.
But Danh-Gem was even then a powerful rakshas-lord, and his armies were beginning to make war in the north. Years passed, and his power grew greater and greater. Vrihataranya, once a green paradise, became full of evil birds and beasts, ever watchful, ever spying on the ravians, ever trying to find the hidden city. Finally Danh-Gem could wait no more. He came to Vrihataranya from his newly established realm in Imokoi, and, catching a ravian in the woods, gave him a letter to bear to the King, Isara’s father, asking for the hand of his daughter in marriage.
The poor fool. He thought that the fact that he was lord of many lands, rich beyond compare, the wisest and most dangerous of rakshases, and a mighty sorcerer as well, would make the King accept him. Narak laughed again, a rather unpleasant laugh. I could have taught him better.
The King sent him a reply – it was the head of another rakshas, possibly a relative, one that had attacked ravians a few days ago. That was uncharacteristically savage for a ravian, but the King had thought Danh-Gem would not understand anything less than a direct, even threatening insult. Which was foolish, for Danh-Gem wanted to be a friend, and was now a bitter enemy. The most powerful enemy the ravians could have made in this world.
The King, of course, thought that no ravian would turn traitor. He was wrong again. A few years after he had stolen Tatsu’s Gauntlet, Danh-Gem bought the loyalty of some ravians with dragon-gold and discovered that Simoqin the Dreamer, human-friend and tutor to the spellbinders of Enki, was betrothed
to princess Isara. Not of her own volition, mind you; but she had not objected, for her father and the customs of her land were very dear to her, and Simoqin was a noble ravian indeed. But her heart, though she knew it not then, was already given elsewhere.
‘I was wondering when you would enter this tale.’
Princess Isara and I had first met long before the War, when she bought toys from me. We were both young, and though I was a low-caste, I fell desperately in love with her. And she returned my affection, though she would always say I was nothing more than a dear friend to her – she would have been quite happy with Simoqin, I admit. So while the Hidden City prospered and the ravians made merry amidst the mighty trees of Vrihataranya, I spent the years that followed learning the arts of magic and war like one possessed, so that one day I could be the greatest hero the ravians had ever had. So great, indeed, did I dream of being, that in my vision of the future the King himself would declare me unbound by the barriers of caste, the betrothed of his daughter, heir to his throne. And when the enraged Danh-Gem captured Simoqin the Dreamer and bore him back to Imokoi in his chariot I saw my chance to win Isara’s hand. I entered the pits of Imokoi, slew many of Danh-Gem’s evil monsters and returned with Lord Simoqin.
‘This is a very nice story,’ said Kirin, ‘but do tell me – how would bringing her betrothed back from Imokoi help you win her hand?’
I admit it was naïve, but it was the right thing to do. I was somewhat noble at the time, I remember. Simoqin, however, had been cruelly tortured in Imokoi, and did not live. A year later, Isara and I pledged our troth in secret. By that time I was truly the greatest hero in Asroye – no one wielded the sword or cast the earth-tearing death-spells better. I had become Danh-Gem’s chief enemy, and there was a great price on my head. Those were the darkest days of the Age of Terror.
‘Why did they make you leave Asroye, then?’ asked Kirin. The headache was getting worse.
Emboldened by my success and the favour of the King, which I thought I enjoyed, I returned to Asroye once – I had slain a dragon at the very edge of the Great Forest – and asked for his daughter’s hand. The King was enraged, and banished me from Asroye in spite of the pleas of all his generals – even the high-caste ones, I am happy to say. But he would not listen. I left Asroye with a good number of warrior-mages and hunters, and lived in the forest ever since. The princess left with me as well. One summer’s day, under the shadow of the grey mountains of East Imokoi, under the cool green leaves of the Great Forest, we were married.