by Samit Basu
Flying in excited loops far above Spikes were two storks. Their names were S. G. Madhavan and H. P. Bhuthalingam; no one else was very sure how Spikes had summoned them, and Spikes refused to tell; the stork-pashan contract, he had said loftily, was sacred. Madhavan and Bhuthalingam were almost fainting and falling with excitement; even though the services required of them were unorthodox, to say the least, they were working with the most famous pashan in the world – the Oathbreaker’s Egg pashan, no less, and they were willing to do almost anything for him. The prospect of going back to the great stork-nest and regaling their neighbours with tales of what would surely be a great adventure was already making them dizzy.
As Spikes sat on the geyser-mound and the others waited impatiently, they all privately shuddered to think how slim the odds of this mad plan succeeding were. Getting the safat’s egg would require incredibly precise timing. The unwaba had told them, on the way, that chewing the safat’s eggshells would send them into a deep and swirling trance, and that Asvin’s prayers could then be used to send Kirin and Maya to visit the gods in secret, while Asvin and Spikes kept the gods entertained. Asvin had been very upset at this; he’d wanted to meet the gods himself, but he had accepted, after much persuasion, that it would be impossible for him to go anywhere in secret at present, since the gods were already watching him.
The unwaba had instructed them to come to the Ciliole Geysers. They’d waited, in hiding, in Kol for several days until he’d told them the time was right; that a safat was approaching Ciliole and planned to lay her egg there. They had wanted to know more about safats, but this had annoyed the unwaba for some reason. ‘It does not matter how many safats there are in the world, how many spots they have on their bellies, or what they like their friends to give them on their birthdays,’ he had spluttered. ‘What matters is that there is one safat heading to Ciliole to lay an egg, and you have to decide how to get your hands on the shell before it disappears into the mud. You cannot afford to simply wait for the safat to lay her egg when she chooses to, and let the shell fall just anywhere; you will lost it if so. Thanks to Kirin’s stupidity, you cannot even capture the safat with a dragon. You cannot wound or kill her – that would make it difficult for her to lay her egg. You cannot bring her down on the ground – that would kill her. You cannot let the shells land on a geyser, or in the mud. You have a lot of thinking to do, and this is not the time for discovering fifty interesting facts about the safat. That is all.’
They had realized, too late, that the unwaba’s annoyance was owing to the fact that he could not tell them exactly where the eggshell would fall, or exactly when the safat would lay her egg; this was because he simply did not know. There were too many factors to take into consideration, and the unwaba’s predictions, while stunningly accurate at all times, could not take into account the actions of the unwaba’s mortal enemies, the Kaos butterflies, and the alterations in the safat’s flight that weather changes might cause. The discovery that there were things the unwaba didn’t know had affected them in various ways; Asvin had been stricken with doubt, and Kirin and Maya had been pleased, albeit maliciously. Spikes’ reaction, however, been easy to predict. He’d said ‘Hmph.’
‘I see the safat,’ said Madhavan. ‘Should we start?’
‘Yes,’ called Asvin. ‘Guide her towards us, but do not hurt her. When I give the signal, make sure she is directly above Spikes. If she shows signs of laying her egg before you manage to bring her above Spikes – and I’m sure you will be far more likely to know than I what the symptoms of potential egg-laying are – then you will have to find some way to distract her.’
‘I can’t hear you,’ said Bhuthalingam. ‘Are there any new instructions?’
‘No,’ yelled Asvin.
The storks flew westwards, where a tiny shape could be seen far above, approaching the geysers.
‘Well, the safat is here, good Spikes,’ said Asvin. ‘Are you ready?’
‘No,’ said Spikes. ‘I’m just sitting on top of a boiling geyser because it helps me think.’
Asvin smiled. ‘And so it begins.’
He shook his fist at the sky.
‘Let the heavens shake and tremble!’ he cried. ‘For I, Asvin, Prince of Avranti, The Chosen One, Hero of Simoqin, Prophesied Saviour, Pride of the East –‘
‘Get on with it,’ murmured Spikes. ‘The bird’s almost here.’
‘- Wielder of the Bow of Fire, the Sword of Raka, the Armour of the Scorpion Man, the Ring of Akarat and Many Other Important Objects, snatched from life before my time!’
‘Forgot where you were going with that sentence, didn’t you? You, Asvin, lengthy introduction, then what?’
‘I demand justice!’ cried Asvin, unperturbed. ‘For I am become Pralay, Cold Prince, Rider of the End, Dealer of Doom and Death, not the Preserver and Renewer, not the Hero it was my destiny to be! The gods have betrayed me! I demand answers!’
He raised his great scythe with one arm in an eerie display of undead strength, and waved it about, sending arcs of blue fire gusting into the air.
The safat could be seen clearly now. She was a great gaunt bird, with incredibly large scarlet wings, and a bald turquoise head. She looked like an ancient vulture, a thin, forgotten creature from another time, come to a primitive land to visit her past.
The storks were flying with the safat and troubling her greatly. Nudging, shoving and crowding, they were slowly steering her towards the centre of the Ciliole basin.
‘I really don’t see how she can lay an egg now,’ said Asvin. ‘Should we try something else?’
‘Get ready to give the signal,’ said Spikes, looking at the ground, where a faint rumbling sound was beginning to rise from the depths of the earth, a great beast growling underground.
‘This isn’t going to work!’ Maya whispered frantically in the woods. ‘Get Spikes away! It’s too dangerous!’
The rumbling reached a crescendo.
‘Time. Signal,’ said Spikes.
Asvin waved his scythe in the air, and the storks pushed the safat forward, until she was right above Spikes. She screeched indignantly, snapping at the storks.
The Young Incorrigible geyser hissed like a dragon and opened, and Spikes shot up in the air as if hurled by a catapult, on top of a fountain of steam. He had also started leaping when the steam picked him up; now even when the geyser reached its full height, Spikes soared upwards, the world’s first flying pashan. One final push from Madhavan, and the safat was in position; Spikes seemed to hang in the air in front of her. Their eyes met. The safat flinched.
‘Boo,’ said Spikes.
The safat stopped in mid-air, flapping her wings furiously, squawking in shock and indignation. Looking at Spikes on the ground was bad enough, but having Spikes appear out of nowhere in the middle of the sky was just unfair. She knew, then, what she had to do.
Her eyes bulged. Her tail-feathers rose and spread. She looked angry, then curious and then faintly pleased.
With a soft plop, a bright blue egg emerged from the safat’s nether regions and hurtled groundwards, and Spikes, succumbing to gravity, fell with it. Madhavan and Bhuthalingam flattened their wings and arced into dives as well. The safat, resolving never to seek romance again, flapped away, glad that not being able to sleep meant she would never have nightmares about Spikes.
Egg and stone-man plummeted on, and on the ground Kirin and Maya looked away, dreading the moment of impact. For Spikes, the blue egg was all that existed in the world just then; everything else was a grey streak and a dull roar. But about sixty feet above the ground, the egg wobbled in mid-air as a gush of steam below them sent hot air billowing about them. The storks rolled out of their dives smoothly into wide circles, keeping the egg between them.
The egg cracked. It jumped in mid-air and broke in half. A bright head emerged, and a second later, scarlet wings, surprisingly large, stretched outwards, and the safat chick screeched harshly and instinctively rode the current of hot air pushing it upwards,
The skies reverberated to a thunderous crash as Spikes and earth collided, creating a large Spikes-shaped crater in the heart of the Ciliole Geyser basin. Mud and rock billowed and spattered upwards and three geyser-vents opened up beneath the pashan; they were small geysers, but Spikes disappeared in a cloud of steam and smoke.
The safat chick soared away, shaking its wings gingerly and screeching, no doubt towards a troubled life. The eggshell pieces, meanwhile, fell lightly until they disappeared into the cloud of steam around Spikes. Madhavan and Bhuthalingam landed on a convenient rock and looked on nervously. All was silent, except for the gentle hissing of a few minor geysers at the edge of the basin.
Maya was about to run into the basin, but Kirin held her back. Asvin walked gingerly over to Spikes’ crater.
‘Spikes?’ he called. ‘You alive?’
The steam-cloud cleared, revealing Spikes, kneeling calmly in the middle of the crater surrounded by wisps of steam in a haze of spray, holding a piece of the eggshell in one stony hand. The rest of the eggshell had disappeared in the mud, but they had what they had come for.
‘Yes, I’m alive,’ Spikes said. ‘You?’
Asvin halted, and for a moment it seemed as if he would attack Spikes. But duty won over impulse, and he shook his head sadly and took the eggshell from Spikes.
‘I hope the gods are ready for me,’ he cried, ‘for here I come!’
Without further ado, he put the eggshell in his mouth, and Kirin and Maya gasped; this was not part of the plan. The same thought charged into their minds simultaneously; had Asvin decided to abandon their plan? Had he gone alone to ask the gods why they’d allowed him to die?
But then Asvin took several cracked shell fragments out of his mouth and cast them, carefully, on a patch of dry mud.
‘Woe is me,’ he said, looking skywards. ‘Of course I cannot eat the eggshell! All this was for nothing, and the gods mock my despair! How could I think that I could achieve anything by trying to eat? How could I forget I am undead? My quest has failed, and all hope is lost! Oh, cruel Fate!’ He sank to his knees and clutched his still heart. He was either acting very badly, or simply stating what he felt; even though he could not cry any more, it seemed to the others that the ghosts of tears ran down his gaunt cheeks, and real ones filled Maya’s eyes.
Spikes patted Asvin’s back, very carefully.
‘It’s all right,’ he said gruffly. ‘We’ll think of something else. Let’s go.’
‘I have a few more things to say,’ said Asvin tremulously. ‘There are so many questions; let me ask them. Even if I am not in their midst, I am sure they will hear me, and find a way to explain why they have treated me thus. I know they are watching. I cannot have done all this for nothing.’
‘Even if they were listening when you started, they would have fallen asleep by now,’ said Spikes.
‘Why do you hate me so, Spikes?’ asked Asvin, his voice breaking.
Spikes rubbed his nose in what might have been a contrite gesture or an attempt to remove some of the mud that caked him from head to foot, making him look like a two-legged rhinoceros.
‘Boot. Wrong foot. And I don’t hate you. Just trying to make up for centuries of people like you killing people like me. Pointless, and I’ll stop,’ said Spikes. He took Asvin’s arm, and guided him through geysers towards the woods that lay southwards.
‘Should we go get the shell now?’ whispered Maya.
‘Not yet,’ said Kirin. His lips moved, and Spikes looked at him sharply and nodded. The pashan called out to the storks, and thanked them with what, for Spikes, was a long and elegant speech. Madhavan and Bhuthalingam made unambiguously long speeches in turn before soaring off homewards, their breast-feathers fluffy with pride. They were thrilled to have served the heir of Katar, and were eager to let their nest-brethren know the Oathbreaker clan could stop giving themselves airs now; they had failed, and the Oathbreaker’s Egg’s pashan walked the earth.
Spikes then took Asvin’s arm again and led him firmly into the shadows of the Great Forest. Kirin and Maya waited until Spikes and Asvin were no longer visible, drew their hoods over their heads and then ran out to pick up the shell.
‘What next?’ asked Maya, examining a bright blue shell fragment in her hand. ‘Wait for the unwaba to tell us what to do?’
‘That would be nice, but who knows when he’ll wake up next? We should lie low for a few days and then just eat the shells and see what happens,’ said Kirin. ‘It feels strange to even say this, Maya, but we’re really going to meet the gods. What next? It might be a good idea to decide what we’re going to say.’
Chapter Fifteen
The Silver Dagger led Mantric swiftly through a maze of narrow streets lined by lime-white, low houses glowing ghost-like under the moon. They were in the port district of Ajaxis, the capital of Psomedea. The streets were mostly empty; a flotilla of ships full of undead from Xi'en had been swept into Ajaxis' harbour by a storm of ill fortune, and the undead had decided to stay a while and sample some of that famed Psomedean cuisine. The city was under curfew at night and would remain so until the army was sure it had exterminated all the flesh-eating monsters that now stalked its streets, hungry and eager for exercise after many days cramped up in the holds of ships. Mantric and the Dagger had not met any undead yet; given the Dagger's newfound exuberance, this was a good thing for the undead. In the distance, the clatter of centaur hooves and the occasional groans of the undead could be heard, but as the Dagger pulled Mantric into a dark alley and knocked on a window, the loudest sound Mantric could hear was the beating of his own heart.
The window slid open and a bald, bearded man stuck his head out.
‘What happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object?’ he asked.
‘A big bang,’ said the Dagger, shaking his head.
‘Good. The following statement is true. The preceding statement is false. How is this possible?’
‘Ignore my answer.’
‘Perfect. Why did the dish run away alone?’
‘Because there was no spoon.’
‘Welcome to the mansion of Al-Qatras,’ said the man, and shut the window.
Nothing moved in the street for several minutes.
‘What happens now?’ asked Mantric, whispering for no particular reason.
‘They’ll be a while,’ said the Dagger.
‘This would be a good time to tell me where we are and why,’ said Mantric. ‘I thought we were going to meet a pirate.’
‘We are. But good pirates don’t lie around in pirate bars. Too many blood feuds.’
‘So this is some kind of secret elite pirate headquarters?’
‘Not at all. In fact, no pirates are known to come here.’
‘And that’s why we’re here looking for one.’ Mantric seemed satisfied by this.
The Dagger sighed. ‘I wish you hadn’t come,’ he said. ‘This isn’t a place you will like.’
‘This is my big quest,’ said Mantric. ‘I’m going everywhere.’
‘It could get dangerous.’
‘Oh dear. I wish I had magical powers I could use to defend myself.’
The Dagger grinned. ‘All right, then,’ he said. ‘We’re going to a slave auction.’
‘I don’t want a slave.’
‘That’s good, because you’re not getting one. We’re here for our pirate.’
‘We have to rescue our pirate from slave-traders?’
‘No. Our pirate’s coming here to buy a slave, and will be very surprised to find me.’
‘We will have to find a different pirate,’ said Mantric. ‘I’m not travelling with slave-owners.’
‘You’ll travel with this one, and like it. This pirate buys slaves to set them free.’
‘Sounds like a silly sort of pirate.’
‘This pirate makes a living out of plundering from other pirates. Nothing illegal at all.’
‘Can’t be very popular in pirate circles, then. How did you get t
o meet him?’
The Dagger looked around and sighed. ‘It’s a bit of a long story.’
‘You said they’d take a while.’
The Dagger smiled, and shuffled his feet in an embarrassed sort of way. ‘I’m taking this end of the world business very seriously, you know,’ he said. ‘Far too seriously. I keep wanting to start writing down all my stories, all my adventures. In case I die. Which is funny, because I’ve been ready to die since the day I started out in this profession. If I died during a mission, the Phalanx would remember me. But it would be rather pointless if the whole world ended, wouldn’t it? There would be no one left. The stories would die with us.’
‘That doesn’t make the stories any less interesting. I have time.’
Amloki listened keenly for a while, half hoping to hear noises from inside the house. Nothing. He stepped away from the window and paced about the alley.
‘I suppose I might as well tell you. This was about twelve years ago, when I was just starting out in the business. There was this fearsome old pirate called Greenbeard. Killed hundreds of people, sank ships, robbed, plundered, pillaged, was generally unpleasant. You know the type.’