The Simoqin Prophecies

by Samit Basu

  Maya had been feeling uneasy for some time. Little chills had been running up and down her spine. She had whispered her fears to Gaam, and he had said it was the aura of the rakshasi –the jungle noises had ceased, and only the occasional sounds of the wind through branches could be heard. They crept up to the entrance, to the two boulders that stood in a little clearing in the middle of the jungle. Loud snoring sounds emerged from the tunnel. Asvin looked like he was going to say something on the lines of ‘She sleeps’ but Gaam put a warning finger to his lips.

  But Maya still couldn’t get rid of the feeling that something was very wrong. She conjured up a Thrillseeker. A Thrillseeker was a little green ball that bounced noiselessly towards the strongest source of magic within a particular area. She had learned how to create it recently, from Mantric, who had used a Thrillseeker to find the mirror.

  The Thrillseeker bounced off her hand, to the entrance of the tunnel. Assured that the rakshasi was inside, Maya reached out to grab the ball before it bounced down the tunnel.

  Then the Thrillseeker stopped. It hovered in mid-air, and suddenly rocketed off into the sky, bouncing over their heads, going behind them.

  It suddenly occurred to Maya that they were in a clearing in the middle of the jungle, and should have been standing in sunlight.

  But they were still covered in shadow.

  A large, woman-shaped shadow.

  They spun around and saw two trunk-like, hairy blue legs, which led up to a crudely sewn tiger-skin tunic that barely covered the monstrous figure of Arakat, standing quietly behind them.

  She was as tall as the tallest tree, her fangs were gleaming white, her blood-red lips were dripping saliva. Her skin was dark blue, her hair was long and matted and she wore a necklace of tiger skulls. Her small, cunning eyes stared at them.

  The Thrillseeker bounced up to her massive foot and exploded.

  She laughed. The earth shook, and birds all over the forest took to the air, screeching.

  Maya and Asvin looked at Gaam.

  ‘Run!’ he yelled.

  He dived to his right as Arakat’s foot came crashing down into the ground where he had been an instant ago. Maya fired a fireball into her eye, but she didn’t even seem to notice. With one fluid, sweeping motion, she picked Maya up with one huge hand and Gaam with the other. She kicked Asvin, and he crashed into a boulder and fell unconscious to the ground.

  She looked from Gaam to Maya, wondering which of them looked tastier.

  Then a fat man came running out of the tunnel. He was clad in a tiger-skin loincloth, and looked as if he had just woken up. His bare flesh jiggled as he ran, and he looked annoyed.

  ‘Put them down, my love,’ he said. ‘You promised.’

  ‘But I’m hungry, O sweet one,’ grumbled Arakat in a voice of thunder.

  ‘I have told you before, light of my life,’ said Chorpulis, ‘We shall feast on the fruits and wild honey of the forest, drink spring water and mead, and live in peace and harmony with the natural world around us. The Bard himself avoided meat.’

  ‘But I’m a rakshasi, O eye of the moon,’ pleaded Arakat. ‘I cannot drink milk when I know there was a cow around it once.’

  Chorpulis waved an admonishing finger. ‘Now, now, my wilful little butterfly, who is your bouncing bunny?’

  ‘You are,’ said Akarat coyly, ‘my one true love.’

  She put Gaam and Maya, who had been watching this tender exchange with great interest, down on the ground, and patted their heads gently, almost cracking them open. Then she shrank until she was human-sized, and suddenly took human form. She was quite pretty, really.

  ‘All she needed was love,’ said Chorpulis, holding the simpering Akarat’s hand and looking at her with fond eyes. ‘And I am tired of running after that cold-hearted swordswoman, who understands neither poetry nor the lofty heights my superior intellect dwells in. I grow weary of court life. Here in this idyllic setting, I will live, one with the trees, with my beautiful wild Akarat, and write poetry that will cast even the Bard’s into the shade.’

  ‘And I will be your apsara,’ said Akarat, looking at him with loving eyes, ‘but, my love, these barbarians have probably come to kill me and take you away.’

  ‘Actually, no,’ said Gaam. ‘We just want the sword that you took with you - Prince Chorpulis, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Chorpulis. He went into Akarat’s lair and came back with the sword. It was covered with what looked like chewed-up hair.

  ‘You can’t give that away, I was using that,’ said Akarat.

  ‘Beloved,’ said Chorpulis sternly, ‘I will find you another toothpick.’

  ‘Oh never mind,’ grumbled Akarat. ‘Take it.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Maya to Asvin, who had sprung to his feet and was looking around for the rakshasi. ‘Asvin, Akarat. Akarat, Asvin.’

  ‘Sorry about the kick there,’ said Akarat sheepishly. ‘You know how it is – I’m sure you get a little cranky when you’re hungry.’

  ‘It’s quite all right,’ said Asvin, a little stiffly.

  ‘I will tell you what we will do,’ said Gaam to Akarat. ‘We will go back and say that you had eaten Chorpulis, and that Asvin here slew you and retrieved the sword. Then no one will bother you afterwards, and you can live in peace here in this delightful haven.’

  Chorpulis was ecstatic, but Akarat looked a little dubious – no doubt she had planned to eat a few avenging soldiers on the sly. But she nodded, and slipped a ring, cunningly carved out of ivory, off her finger. ‘Go, and my blessings go with you,’ she said, handing it to Asvin. ‘No rakshas will attack you while you wear the Ring of Akarat. I hope this gift makes up for the injury.’

  ‘It leaves me in your debt. This gift may prove invaluable,’ said Asvin, bowing low. ‘I thank you, and wish you both happiness. My friend Gaam will write a moving tale about your imprisonment, Prince Chorpulis – just make sure that you are never seen by humans again.’

  ‘The earth will swallow me,’ said Chorpulis. He put an arm around Akarat’s slender waist and waved goodbye as they left.

  Two days later, Rukmini and Nidhi stood and watched as Gaam and Maya passed through Raka’s mirror. Then Asvin kissed Rukmini’s hand, bid Nidhi farewell and disappeared.

  ‘I wonder if I am destined to ever meet him again,’ said Rukmini wistfully, as the mirror turned silver and reflected her beautiful face again.

  Nidhi looked at her and smiled. The young never saw it coming. ‘I wonder who he really is,’ she said.

  ‘If you want to know what I think, I think he’s Asvin, the Avrantic prince who died mysteriously,’ said Rukmini slowly.

  ‘He was about your age, wasn’t he? Maybe a year older. And he has the favour of Lady Temat. And he may be the hero of Simoqin,’ said Nidhi. ‘Why, he’s almost perfect.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Nidhi,’ said Rukmini, but Nidhi, who was older and wiser, saw the smile Rukmini thought she had suppressed.

  ‘But we will meet again, I think,’ said the queen of Durg.

  And, obviously, she was right. Queens often are.

  Chapter Eight

  The great halls of Vanarpuri throbbed with excitement. Vanar sentries stood on tall trees, ceaselessly watching for any signs of danger, as line after line of humans and asurs, blindfolded, led by a few armed vanars, trudged into the forgotten city. Parts of the great city teemed with life again, and the air was full of tension, for the Great Council of the followers of Danh-Gem was to happen tonight, the night of the new moon, the third night of Tigermonth.

  No one had seen Bali for a week now, and Kirin, who had been introduced to the Parliament of Vanarpuri and had been given the right to free passage anywhere in Vrihataranya, correctly presumed that he was away organizing the Council, meeting leaders and chieftains from all over the world. Vanars had been raiding Avrantic villages near Vrihataranya, procuring huge amounts of food and other necessities, for weeks now.

  The clamour and bustle reminded Kirin a little o
f the streets of Kol. Instead of people on carpets there were vanars swinging from creeper to creeper, but on the streets of Vanarpuri the sheer variety of people was almost as mind-boggling as in Kol. Barons from Ventelot, tribal chieftains from east Vrihataranya, rebel captains from Avranti, Durg and the Free States, and a few renegade daimyos from the islands east of Xi’en mingled with Artaxerxians, Neo-Hudlumms, Skuans, asurs and vanars. Kirin noted there were very few pashans – they would not unite until Spikes called them – and no rakshases. The rakshases had probably eaten the messengers.

  He had spent the week exploring the Great Forest but today he was with Spikes again, and Angda, Bali’s sister, who ran Vanarpuri in his absence. They were in a small temple, just outside the city.

  He listened quietly as Angda spoke of the Sultan of Artaxerxia, and how he would not support them, but there was a desert chieftain, Omar the Terrible, who was on their side. The Xi’en Empire would always be against Danh-Gem, who had stolen the dragon Gauntlet, but they would not take part in the war against him, and could be overcome once the rest of the east was conquered. In the far north, the werewolves and the ice-giants had not yet responded to the call, but they would if Danh-Gem returned. The zombies of the islands near south Elaken could not travel so far, but they were ready to strike terror into the hearts of the living whenever necessary. She told him that great armies were being gathered in Skuanmark, Artaxerxia and Imokoi, and Xi’en assassins were being hired to kill many leaders in other lands, including Maharaja Aloke in Avranti and the Chief Civilian of Kol. Kirin didn’t tell her that assassins tried to enter the Palace nearly every night.

  ‘This Council will reveal many things, and I will preside over it,’ said Angda proudly. ‘But there are many leaders who could not come, as Kol and its allies are watching the roads, and the accursed Silver Phalanx strikes fear into those with feeble hearts. Omar the Terrible could not come himself, and neither could Bjorkun the Skuan lord, or the king of asurs. But many have come. We will make new allies, Karisman. War is coming. And you will have an important role to play in that war.’

  ‘When is the council exactly?’ asked Spikes.

  Angda, who had been speaking loudly so far, looked around and leaned towards them. ‘That is what I have called you here to tell you,’ she said, in a whisper. ‘You will not be attending the Great Council.’

  ‘What? Why?’ asked Kirin, startled.

  ‘Bali has told me to tell the two of you to stay outside the city tonight. When the Council begins, you should be waiting here, in this temple. There are other things in store for you tonight. I will say no more. The stones have ears.’

  She sprang away, and disappeared into the city.

  ‘They’re all mad,’ said Kirin, with feeling.

  They stood there for a while, watching people file in through the gates, and then went for another walk.

  At midnight, when the sky was dark and clear above the giant trees, the dull beating of great gongs announced that the Great Council had started. Kirin and Spikes waited in the temple, watching the torches of the vanar-guards as they patrolled the city borders. The temple floor was made of great slabs of stone – some of the slabs, near the sacrificial altar, had fallen in, and the whole floor was covered with fine, slippery moss. After the gongs stopped, there was a deathly silence, even the night-song of insects could not be heard.

  ‘This way, Kirin,’ said a voice behind the great stone idol at the end of the temple hall.

  It was Bali. He gave them white cloaks, and they wore these, covering their heads with wide hoods. Bali led them through a passage behind the idol to a wide torch-lit chamber, where five other figures were sitting around a broad stone table. They sat.

  ‘You are now members of the Brotherhood of Renewal,’ said Bali. ‘The identities of the other Brothers will be revealed to you, but you will not see their faces.’

  He introduced Kirin and Spikes to Bjorkun, King Leer, the translator Tungz, Omar the Terrible, Abhishek, a minister from Avranti and a samurai from east Xi’en who said he was a ronin, a samurai who owed allegiance to no liege-lord, and his name was not important.

  ‘I see no need for this secrecy. Every enemy of Danh-Gem knows of me, and this hood is uncomfortable,’ said Bjorkun, throwing his hood back. Leer and Tungz immediately did the same, but the rest stayed as they were.

  ‘You know why we are meeting here, and not in the Great Hall, I trust,’ said Bali, sitting down.

  ‘No,’ said Kirin.

  ‘The Hall will be full of spies and traitors,’ said Bali. ‘And true-hearted folk who have come here to join us – the speech Angda will give is a mere formality. And we do not want the matters we will discuss here to reach the ears of anyone outside this room – and you know what I speak of, Karisman. If the Civilian in Kol learns of our designs, some of the objects we seek will be destroyed, and our hopes will come to nought.’

  Kirin nodded.

  ‘I have told the Brothers about our discovery of the pashan-lord and you, Karisman. I have also told them about the wondrous chariot that you drew out of the depths of the earth, and they unanimously agreed that you should be a part of this secret council, for we do not doubt your loyalty to the cause, or to the Rakshas. But I have not told them about the five objects we must procure to raise the Great Rakshas. I felt it would be more fitting if you told them, for it is your labours that have brought this matter to our knowledge.’

  ‘You have aided us immensely already, Karisman,’ said Bjorkun. ‘And you will be richly rewarded, I assure you.’

  Kirin cleared his throat.

  ‘I do not ask for any reward, and there is much work left to be done. To raise Danh-Gem,’ he said, ‘we must get five objects. First, one of Spikes’ claws.’

  ‘Which we have,’ said Bjorkun, his eyes narrowing into slits as he listened keenly.

  ‘Yes. Do we also have the iron crown of the asurs?’

  ‘It is in Imokoi,’ said Tungz, ‘but it is in our possession. It has been passed on from king to king, and no asur will deny its authority – not even the sewer-rats of Kol. The king can get it for you.’

  Bali and Bjorkun exchanged a glance.

  ‘The most precious gem the humans know,’ continued Kirin.

  ‘Which we do not have,’ said Bjorkun. ‘What is the most precious gem in the world? The Tear of the Sky?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Bali, ‘and we will return to this one. Tell us the other two, Kirin.’

  ‘A jinn-lamp from the western sands.’

  ‘Strangely enough, that will not be a problem,’ said Omar. ‘It is a most puzzling coincidence, but I have a lamp in my possession. I do not have it here, but I know where it is. I take this as a sign that this venture will succeed.’

  Bali and Bjorkun both smiled. ‘We were grateful indeed when you chose to join the Brotherhood, Scourge of the Sands,’ said Bjorkun.

  ‘Not join the Brotherhood, Lord Bjorkun,’ said Omar. ‘Lead the Brotherhood.’

  Bali flared up instantly. ‘That is not possible,’ he said. ‘I am the one who has brought us all together.’

  ‘Is that so, vanar-lord?’ asked Bjorkun, smiling. ‘I might tell a different tale. And Omar is the son of the Sultan himself, and was born a leader.’

  ‘Now how did you find that out? Heads will roll in the sands,’ said Omar, in the same calm voice.

  ‘May I continue?’ asked Kirin. ‘The issue of leadership is not one I am interested in. I serve Danh-Gem, and no one else. Perhaps it is best that we work together as equals, and let Danh-Gem decide which one of you commands his armies. I am content to remain in the shadows.’

  They looked at him, and nodded.

  ‘Apologies, Karisman, do continue,’ said Bjorkun. Kirin could feel the heat of Omar’s gaze from under his hood.

  ‘The fifth object,’ said Kirin, ‘is the Gauntlet of Tatsu.’

  ‘Thank you, Karisman,’ said Bali. ‘The Gauntlet of Tatsu, needless to say, we do not possess. Yet hope lives, brothers. We have thre
e of the five things we need for the spell, and we will merely have to find the other two. Which is why I invited you to this meeting,’ he said, shooting keen glances at the ronin and Abhishek.

  ‘Let us first deal with the Gauntlet of Tatsu, and how we are to obtain it,’ continued Bali. ‘Speak, my brother. Will you be able to get it for us?’

  ‘I think so, if the spirits of my ancestors smile upon me,’ said the ronin. ‘I will journey to the Wu Sen monastery, and endeavor to steal the Gauntlet. But it will be difficult even for me –and impossible for anyone who is not samurai. I will need two months.’

  ‘You have two months, but no more,’ said Bali. Bjorkun shot a suspicious look at him, but said nothing.

  ‘The Gauntlet of Tatsu was Danh-Gem’s most prized possession,’ said Bali. ‘You should consider it an honour that the task of acquiring it is assigned to you.’

  ‘I do,’ said the ronin.

  ‘That makes four,’ said Omar. ‘That means you, my friend, will have to get the fifth.’ Everyone turned and looked at Abhishek, who spluttered and said ‘I cannot do it myself! My position! The scandal!’

  ‘You expected the Avrantics to help?’ sneered Omar. ‘That was not wise. All they can do is talk and drink tea.’

  ‘I had asked Rabin, the Bandit King, to come,’ said Bali. ‘But he refused, for his quarrel is with Avranti alone, and after that this was the best I could do.’

  Abhishek spluttered some more and said ‘Our unparalleled culture…’

  ‘Tell us about the Tear of the Sky,’ said Bjorkun. ‘I have heard the name, and that the knights of Ventelot tried to steal it for the Crown of Ventelot, but that is all I know.’

  ‘The Tear of the Sky,’ said Abhishek, flustered, ‘is, the legend says, the tear of the Rain-God when, seeing the parched earth, his grief…’

  ‘I did not ask for its history,’ snapped Bjorkun. ‘And if you were planning to tell us that the city of Ektara was founded where it supposedly fell to earth, kindly do not. If it is not yet clear, we want to steal this jewel. We did not offer you wealth beyond your puny dreams to hear you talk about your foolish myths.’