The Immortal Bind

by Traci Harding

  The man in drag backed away.

  ‘Go!’ Thorkell insisted, and startled by the reprieve, Willie took off after Sara down the road. The demon inside him was fuming and his head was splitting in the wake of the blow. ‘Run faster!’ He urged, thankful to be back in control of his form. ‘I command you Vasudahara—’

  Don’t— Dasa warned.

  ‘Out of my body!’ Thorkell closed his eyes, ready to embrace death.

  After a moment of still and quiet, his eyelids parted to find several of the locals, who had witnessed the scene, staring curiously at him.

  Still here. The demon laughed at the attempted exorcism. Only a simpleton would believe exorcising a demon could be so easy. Stop messing about and catch up with the girl.

  ‘Fuck that.’ Thorkell took a seat in the gutter. ‘I am done.’

  I’ll say when we are done.

  Dasa launched another internal takeover, which Thorkell resisted by thumping himself in the head every time he felt Vasudahara was gaining the upper hand. The pain was intense and he felt his brain might explode under the pressure of the dispute.

  Stop resisting.

  ‘When we’re dead.’

  As long as I am with you, there’s no chance of that happening.

  Get out! Thorkell screamed inside his mind as Dasa assumed control of their form once more.

  ‘Enough.’ The demon cracked his neck and raised himself up off the ground. As the bemused onlookers saw his black eyes, they all shied away to go about their business.

  You’ve lost her now, Thorkell taunted from within.

  ‘I know where she is going.’ Dasa returned to a more deserted part of the strip, and Thorkell could only observe, frustrated to be a prisoner in his own form.

  The spiked, barred fence at the front of the temple was not very high; it acted more like a barricade, as the temple trust relied on people being trustworthy and respectful. Dasa considered that a mistake. He ran at the fence and grabbed hold of the bars between the spikes, launching his body up into a handstand before releasing his grip to back-flip onto his feet inside the temple grounds.

  * * *

  Sara didn’t look back until she made it to the temple gates that were just closing for the night. ‘You must let me in,’ Sara appealed to the Pandit. ‘I urgently need your protection.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, and to Sara’s great shock and relief he permitted her to enter before closing the gate.

  ‘Come with me.’ He led her down the path towards the public shrine.

  ‘Sara!’ Willie called from behind the closed gate, but she pretended not to hear him — better that he was out of harm’s way.

  ‘Put this on.’ The Pandit held out a blindfold to her, and she was understandably disconcerted by this. ‘I am here to help,’ he assured her.

  As she was blindfolded, spun around and dragged sprinting across the grounds and up and down stairs, Sara’s fear turned to exhilaration, as she had no choice but to let go and allow the priest to be her eyes — this was blind faith on a whole new level. There was a familiar ambience about this place that inspired her feet to keep moving and somehow she managed to hit solid ground with every step. She didn’t falter once!

  At the bottom of one hundred and eight stairs, the blindfold was whipped off her face, and before her was an aisle lined with antiques, at the far end of which stood a holy man.

  ‘Keep going!’ the Pandit urged, as he was older than her and obviously felt that he was slowing her down. ‘Run!’

  Could the holy man protect her? As Sara drew nearer she recognised the man from her past-life insights. He was the Wanderer — guardian of the curse. She retrieved her stone from between her breasts as she ran. Lights turned on to illuminate the golden statue of the Lord Shiva that stood behind him, encased in glass — all three jewelled eyes set in place. The sight shocked her to a complete standstill only metres from the holy man.

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Sara’s plan was thrown into turmoil. Then she heard a familiar voice inside her mind.

  Your ill-fated connection to this place has nothing to do with the curse of the stones that were buried with me.

  ‘Rosalind.’ Sara gasped at the relief of perceiving her internal guide, but was bemused by the implication, as she gazed up at the jewels in the eyes of the statue. ‘Those are the authentic stones.’

  Sara felt they had to be. Surely whoever mounted them in the great effigy of Shiva had confirmed that. Sara looked to the beautiful, magical stone in her possession with disbelief. ‘This is a replica?’ It had to be. And if that was the case her offering to appease the Lord meant nothing. ‘Why make me travel all this way for a lie?’ Sara appealed to her inner guide out loud, her eyes upon the statue, for the holy man seemed oblivious to her presence.

  It is not my lie that brings you here.

  Sara’s eyes welled with tears, for she was deeply moved by the truth of the statement. She’d never been given the opportunity to repent her transgressions against this sacred place. That was why she’d been drawn here, and more than ready to make reparation, Sara sank to her knees to beseech the statue and his messenger. ‘Forgive me, Lord. This karmic tragedy was of my design, I was selfish, and what I did to my tormentor was cruel. But we cannot go on like this. Please let it end here.’

  ‘So you admit it!’ The Pandit was shoved aside by her pursuer, thundering down the shadowy aisle towards them. The holy man closed his eyes and quietly began to chant.

  ‘Yes, what I did to you was wrong.’ Sara got to her feet. ‘But you were treating me and all the Devadasi like your personal property, long before I ever entombed you.’

  He approached and slapped her face hard. ‘You knew my fate! You gave the order that bound me to my curse of formlessless.’ He spat at her and hit the hand that was cushioning her face.

  The sting of the slap took her breath away for a moment, and she flicked his spit back at his feet. ‘You’ve ruined my life so many times, Vasudahara, and I could forgive that. But the many innocent lives you destroyed in your ruthless pursuit of me, for those crimes only the Gods can be your judge.’ She drew up tall, feeling the persona of the Akashvani she’d once been welling within her, as all Devi Chanda’s knowledge bled through into Sara’s conscious awareness.

  ‘My soul dwells in a place beyond judgement, beyond cosmic law!’ the demon taunted. He took a step to strike her again and she withdrew just as quickly.

  ‘Oh, but you are mistaken.’ She referred him to the statue behind her, bearing the stone he’d died for. ‘The Eye of Wisdom once again resides in its rightful place, therefore you are cursed no more.’

  The demon had been so focused on her that he’d not even glanced at the golden statue overseeing the proceedings. ‘No—’ His black eyes became transfixed on the stone in question, and he began to quietly moan.

  ‘Welcome back to the karmic cycles, Samsari.’

  Samsari referred to any soul too attached to mundane existence, someone not striving for enlightenment and the spiritual liberation of Samsara.

  She was morbidly spellbound to witness the extreme agitation of her nemesis as he struggled to drag his sights from the cause of his distress.

  ‘The Eye of Wisdom has the power to annihilate all evil.’ She took comfort in the knowledge her past self had shared with her.

  Thorkell’s expression turned from anger to horror; the man and the demon wailed in mutual agony as the entity of Vasudahara was expelled from its host body in a single blast of energy.

  ‘Praise the gods!’ Thorkell fell to his knees in gratitude, turning his gaze from the huge effigy to Sara. ‘Free at last.’ He gasped one last breath and served her a crooked, satisfied smile.

  In that moment Sara was unsure if Thorkell was referring to his own release or hers. ‘May you at last dine with your Gods in Valhalla,’ she said.

  He laughed at this and, through gritted teeth, endured the throes of his body spiralling into rapid decay.

  Upon witnessing the harrowin
g event, the countenance of an Akashvani departed and Sara screamed.

  Flesh and muscle rotted away from the abomination and the stench of death plumed and then ebbed accordingly. Thorkell’s jaw bone dropped off, the skull fell backwards and then rolled across the ground towards her feet.

  ‘Eek!’ She recoiled from it as the remainder of the skeleton collapsed into a pile of bones and clothes. Hyperventilating in shock, Sara looked to the Wanderer, who smiled, appearing content with the proceedings.

  ‘You are absolved, Devi. The Lord Shiva blesses you for your homage.’

  It didn’t feel like she’d been blessed. Sara felt nauseous, woozy, dizzy and then nothing whatsoever.

  * * *

  ‘Well it’s about time.’

  It was Willie’s voice Sara heard as she stirred, and it made her smile — he was going to be okay, and so was everyone else she’d wronged. The feeling of gravity that had overwhelmed her every morning upon waking since she’d received her chair was gone, along with the detached feeling she experienced every morning since she’d got involved with Robert. Her spirit felt lightened of a great load.

  ‘Hey girlfriend.’

  ‘Hey Willie-J.’ Sara gazed about and realised she was in her hotel room, and it was daytime outside.

  ‘What the hell happened? Do you remember?’

  ‘Some.’ Sara moved to raise herself, and felt a twang of pain on the left side of her head. ‘Ouch!’

  ‘Take it easy,’ Willie urged her back down. ‘Your head had a bit of a run-in with a stone floor.’

  ‘I passed out.’ She felt over the left side of her head where there was a rather large bump, and that, along with memory of the events prior to her blackout, made her wince. ‘It’s over, Willie.

  Robert and his demon are gone.’

  ‘How?’ Willie was dying to know everything.

  Sara waved off the explanation — it was all too raw to recount.

  ‘Did you find out anything about your dream man?’

  The question was like a dagger to the heart, and Sara teared up at the memory of watching him walk away.

  ‘What’s the matter, is he dead?’

  His questions only made her more upset, but she shook her head in answer to the query. ‘I just . . .’ Sara breathed deeply to try and bring her surging emotions into check.

  Not in all her born days had she been so emotional, but then she felt she needed to cut herself a little slack. Sara hadn’t been truly in touch with her own emotions for some time, and had just experienced the traumatic events of five lifetimes — it was a miracle that she was not a complete basket case! She may have lost the love of her life, but he was alive somewhere, and she had her life back, demon- and curse-free. So, in reality, she had much to be thankful for.

  ‘Hey . . . fuck all that.’ Willie took her hand in his. ‘You ready to go home?’

  ‘So ready,’ she sniffed and smiled as Willie passed her a tissue.

  ‘You sure you’re up to it?’

  The thought of being snuggled up in her warehouse within the next twenty-four hours was so comforting. Even if she was alone, that was one thousand times better than being with someone who didn’t have her best interests at heart. ‘A couple of painkillers, some food and I’ll be good to go.’ She sat up very slowly, to begin organising herself.

  ‘I’ll make the arrangements.’ He patted her knee and took up his phone to make a few calls.

  * * *

  As they checked out of the hotel, everyone seemed to be in particularly high spirits. Their coach left the hotel and headed down through the streets of Somnath, where they discovered all the local people were in celebration mode. India was always colourful but today everyone was in their brightest clothes with extra embellishments. Even the barred temple gates and fence were being adorned with vibrant flowers.

  ‘Is there a festival happening today?’ Sara asked the driver.

  ‘Haven’t you heard?’ The driver passed them his newspaper. ‘All the sacred stones of Somnath have been found! The Trust announced plans today for a new temple to be erected here, to house the treasures. This is a most auspicious omen for Somnath.’

  As they drove past the temple, observing all the merriment, colour and music, the scene warmed Sara’s heart and she was nearly reduced to tears again. ‘The Sadhu has gone.’

  ‘And the temple has reopened before full moon, as promised,’ the driver, a local man, was so proud to advise.

  ‘Damn,’ Sara uttered under her breath, thinking it a great shame she’d not be given an opportunity to speak with the Wanderer, Sara felt sure he would have known where her dream man might be found. That thought seemed rather a guilty pleasure considering all that had happened. To release her desire to be with him was no doubt the price to pay for allowing that want to cloud her better judgement in the first place. Disentanglement was the key to enlightenment, so the ancient masters claimed. Detachment from the outcome was the only resolution that would serve her — she may have defended her demon, but only by learning from her mistakes would karma be appeased.

  * * *

  Jon’s arrival home was a little depressing if he was honest, and the weather was as miserable as his mood.

  All well and good that he was granted a rather sizeable reward for returning the stones, then made to sign a confidentiality clause about his involvement in their discovery and return, before being flown first class, straight home. After the controversy surrounding the doors of Somnath being rendered impure by their removal from holy soil, Jon expected that the Trust would announce that the Eyes of Karma had been unearthed with the Eye of Wisdom, which had never left the temple site. He really didn’t care what the official story was, he hadn’t done it for the fame, or money. Yet the Trust had insisted he take the reward, which would allow his painting schedule to be rather more leisurely going forward. He would have traded the money for just one more day in India — to seek a way to find and aid Sara — but the Trust were just as adamant that he return home.

  The Australian papers had nothing new to report about Sara or Baxter. Jon was really missing his chair now and hated being completely cut off from her. He didn’t know whether Baxter had caught up with her, or if she’d managed to find a safe place to hide. Sara could be dead for all he knew! His exhibition would open tomorrow night and Simon would slaughter him if he flew off anywhere at the moment, but Jon was fully prepared to depart at a moment’s notice, as soon as there was a whiff of her whereabouts.

  ‘Welcome back!’ Simon strode into Jon’s studio in a very chirpy mood.

  Jon assumed that his agent must have come in the back door, as Simon looked stunned to see the French doors in the studio thrown open to allow a crane to lift two huge hunks of stone into the studio from the street outside. There was no balcony that the doors led out to. Jon had had the larger than usual doors installed in order to get his artworks in and out — this was how they’d retrieved the huge painting of The Unknown Woman to take it to the framers and on to the gallery.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Simon gaped at the scene.

  ‘I’m taking possession of some new art supplies.’ Jon waved Simon over to help him, as he took hold of the chains on one side of the load to guide the blocks inside.

  ‘Jon, you’re a painter.’ Simon grabbed hold of the opposite side of the delivery and they pushed the blocks into the space, where they landed safely on the floor.

  ‘So now I have a new hobby.’ Jon grinned as he began to unstrap the load.

  Simon shook his head, bemused, but clearly he’d learned better than to question his client’s creative whims. ‘Are you going to start sculpting her now?’

  The query stung a little, but Jon took it with the humour that was intended. ‘No. I promised to do something for Rosalind’s grave, so I thought I’d cut my sculpting teeth on that project.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Simon seemed to agree that would be a fine thing. ‘So how did the trip go?’

  ‘As well as could be expected. I re
turned the stones.’ He forced a smile, trying not to sound deflated. ‘I’m not cursed any more.’

  There was a silver lining.

  ‘But no girl, I take it?’

  ‘She’s vanished.’ Jon shrugged, detaching the last of the chains from the stone, before waving to the crane driver to tell him he was all clear to go. When he turned back around he found Simon in deep reflection and grinning. ‘What are you so happy about, anyway?’

  ‘What?’ Simon snapped out of his daze. ‘Sorry. I wasn’t smiling at your misfortune, I was thinking about tomorrow night. You’re going to love what I’ve done — with the exhibition,’ he clarified, as Jon must have looked worried. ‘Oh, by the way, I’ve been meaning to give this back to you.’ Simon pulled the chair’s stone from his pocket and handed it over. He shrugged. ‘That’s all that was left . . . sorry about that.’

  ‘Stop apologising, will you? It’s fine.’ Jon placed the stone aside, as he wished he could place the entire episode aside — but Sara was emblazoned upon his psyche and every time he closed his eyes, she was there.

  ‘I do wish you could enjoy this more.’ Simon was clearly sympathetic. ‘It’s a big deal!’

  ‘I know,’ Jon encouraged himself to better spirits. ‘I’m still a bit jetlagged. I’ll be good by tomorrow, I expect.’

  ‘Good.’ Simon seemed content with that. ‘Dress nice, please, for me.’

  ‘Not a suit,’ Jon negotiated. ‘But I promise to find something that hasn’t been Pollocked.’

  ‘Excellent! I’ll pick you up early, and we’ll have a little celebration with the gallery elite before the doors open.’

  ‘Look forward to it.’ That was so hard to sound thrilled about, but he managed.

  ‘See you at six.’ With a wave, Simon took a call on his phone on his way out the door and Jon found himself alone with two huge blocks of stone to move before he could close the doors. ‘Time to find the trolley.’ He went in search of the more docile form of aid.