The Unwaba Revelations

by Samit Basu

  The Unwaba Revelations

  Part Three of the GameWorld Trilogy

  By Samit Basu

  Cover Art by Deepak Sharma

  About the Author

  Samit Basu is a writer of books, films and comics. His first novel, The Simoqin Prophecies, published by Penguin India in 2003, when Samit was 23, was the first book in the bestselling Gameworld Trilogy and marked the beginning of Indian English fantasy writing. The other books in the trilogy are The Manticore’s Secret and The Unwaba Revelations.

  Samit’s global breakthrough happened with the superhero novels Turbulence and Resistance. Turbulence was published in the UK in 2012 and in the US in 2013 to rave reviews. It won Wired's Goldenbot Award as one of the books of 2012 and was superheronovels.com's Book of the Year for 2013. Its sequel, Resistance was published in the UK/US in 2014 and was just as well received.

  Samit also writes for younger readers: other works include the ongoing Morningstar Agency and Adventures of Stoob series.

  Samit's work in comics ranges from historical romance to zombie comedy, and includes diverse collaborators, from X-Men/Felix Castor writer Mike Carey to Terry Gilliam and Duran Duran. His latest GN, Local Monsters, was published in 2013. He's currently working on a number of book, TV, film, comics and new media projects.

  Samit was born in Calcutta, educated in Calcutta and London, and currently divides his time between Delhi and Mumbai. He can be found on Twitter, @samitbasu, and at samitbasu.com

  The GameWorld Trilogy

  The Simoqin Prophecies

  The Simoqin Prophecies, first published in 2003 in India, was critically acclaimed and an instant bestseller. It marked the beginning of Indian fantasy writing in English.

  Written with consummate ease and brimming with wit and allusion, it is at once classic sff and subtle spoof, featuring scantily clad centauresses, flying carpets, pink trolls, belly dancers and homicidal rabbits. Monty Python meets the Ramayana, Alice in Wonderland meets The Lord of the Rings and Robin Hood meets The Arabian Nights in this novel—a breathtaking ride through a world peopled by different races and cultures from mythology and history.

  The Prophecies foretell the reawakening of the terrible rakshas, Danh-Gem, and the arrival of a hero to face him. But heroes do not appear magically out of nowhere; they have to be found and trained. And sometimes the makers of prophecies don’t know everything they need to know…

  As the day of Danh-Gem’s rising draws closer and the chosen hero is sent on a quest, another young man learns of terrible things he must do in secret and the difficult choices he must make in order to save the world from the rakshas.

  Praise for The Simoqin Prophecies:

  “Cross-cultural extravaganza” – Locus

  “In Simoqin, first-time author Samit Basu has created a wonderfully detailed alternate world peopled with a dozen species from mythologies of different cultures… And then Basu has topped it by not taking that world too seriously.” – Outlook

  “Numerous delights, great and small… The Simoqin Prophecies is an intelligent, inventive delight. It marks the arrival of a fresh and very original voice” – The Indian Express

  “Childhood fantasies, adult terrors and adolescent derring-do beguile the reader down a twisting labyrinth of adventure that's unrepentantly funny… It is quite simply the most fun book to see in print this year.” – The Times of India

  “Playfulness is the motif of this entertaining novel. Reading it, I couldn't help but think of Kill Bill, Quentin Tarantino's vastly referential exercise in homage - a breathless blink-and-you-miss-it amalgamation of all his favourite movie moments” - Business Standard

  “The best thing about The Simoqin Prophecies though, is undoubtedly the manner in which it straddles (without ever really crossing) the line between being an entertaining fantasy novel and a tender satire on the genre” – Dawn

  “Basu weaves an intriguing tale, full of mystery and suspense, with generous doses of humour and also does a brilliant job of inventing fabulous (and grotesque) creatures.” – The Telegraph

  The Manticore’s Secret

  Being a Hero isn’t easy—but it’s a lot easier than being a Dark Lord.

  Dark forces just aren’t what they used to be in the good old days.

  The Manticore’s Secret is the spellbinding sequel to The Simoqin Prophecies: Part One of the GameWorld Trilogy. Once again Samit Basu creates a mesmeric landscape bursting with weird and wonderful characters and a gripping narrative that’s complex, playful, sometimes sombre but always dazzlingly inventive.

  A mysterious Dark Lord and his grotesque army threaten all that is good on earth… or do they? The heroic immortals who vanquished his rakshas father long ago have returned to do battle with the forces of evil, which is good news… or is it?

  In the shadows a secret society of shapeshifters battles deadly mind-controlling foes who threaten history, humanity and the future of the planet. A beautiful, amoral rakshasi plots world domination while a strangely civilized barbarian fights to save the world.

  But the world is spinning out of control. Because the gods are back. And they want to play…

  Praise for The Manticore’s Secret:

  “Wildly imaginative, thoroughly enjoyable” – TimeOut

  “I was blown away by how cinematic some of the passages were… an awesome imagination”- Jabberwock

  The Unwaba Revelations

  Under the all-seeing eyes of the assembled gods, armies are on the move. The Game has begun. And when it ends, the world will end too . . .

  In The Unwaba Revelations, the third and concluding part of the GameWorld trilogy, a way must be found to save the world; to defeat the gods at their own game. A daunting prospect under any circumstances, made worse by the fact that the gods, who control all the heroes, are blatantly cheating by following only one rule—that they cannot be defeated by their own creations.

  As epic battles ravage the earth, Kirin and Maya, guided only by an old, eccentric and extremely unreliable chameleon, and egged on by the usual rag-tag gang, carry out their secret plan; a plan so secret that, in fact, no one involved has any idea what they are doing!

  Monsters, mayhem, mud-swamps; conspiracies, catastrophes, chimeras;

  betrayals, buccaneers, bloodshed—The Unwaba Revelations continues the roller coaster journey that began with The Simoqin Prophecies and gathered momentum with The Manticore’s Secret. Traversing earth, sea and sky, realms both infernal and celestial, worlds both imagined and material, this book will draw you irresistibly into a tantalizing, action-packed, epic race to reclaim the flawed, magical world of its heroes.

  Praise for The Unwaba Revelations:

  “Post-modern, post-racist, disrespectful, assured” – Outlook

  “A romp… unveiling feats of such daring that readers are left gasping for more.” – The Hindu

  “A delicious read” – Mint

  The Unwaba Revelations

  Part Three of the GameWorld Trilogy

  Prologue

  The first rays of the morning sun skimmed the westernmost tree-tops of Vrihataranya and ran smiling up the jagged eastern spur of Mount Batenbals, tallest of the Grey Mountains east of Imokoi, pausing in astonishment for a moment as they beheld the slender, graceful body of Aishwarya the Duck (Viaduci olwezasc) crouched over a rude-shaped boulder in a perfectly executed Reverse Bakasana.

  Aishwarya was no ordinary duck. A tautological statement, given that it is commonly known that there is no such thing as an ordinary duck, but Aishwarya was exceptional even among ducks. Aishwarya was a Famous Duck. Star of the forthcoming Bolvudis Muwi-visions The Duck, The Duck II: Upon Her Damasc Beak and The Duck III: Daughter of the Duck, Aishwarya was well known in the highest ci
rcles. The reasons for her solitary yoga holiday in the mountains were manifold: Her last assignment, posing for the figurehead of a brand new ship commissioned by one of the most notorious pirates in the world, had unfortunately thrown her into a massive controversy over the connections between Bolvudis and the criminal underworld, and on top of that, Derozio DapperDrake, her partner in love and stardom, had recently publicly revealed his long-running secret affair with a peregrinating mallard named Cyrfrensis. Escape from sympathy, adulation and suspicion alike could only be found, she knew, in the mountains, and here, in the fresh air of Mount Batenbals, she hoped to restore, through meditation and exercise, the mellifluous quaver in her quack.

  As she crouched, eyes closed, enjoying the tension in her wings and the sun on her back, the harmony of her duck-chakras was suddenly ruined by the sound of heavy boots crunching over pebbles.

  She looked downwards and saw, to her surprise, that a vaman clad in thick robes had appeared out of nowhere a little distance below her. And two more, crawling out of a hole in the mountainside that she was quite sure hadn’t been there a few moments ago. The first vaman looked around warily, scanning the rocks and the forest for dangers unknown; the other two emerged fully and stood, sunlight glinting off their heavy armour.

  ‘Kill that bird, Mod.’

  ‘It’s just a duck.’

  ‘What is a duck doing in these parts? It could be a spy.’

  ‘Yes, that’s just what the ravians needed to acquire that deadly edge. A duck.’

  Ten more vamans, emerging from under the trees, laughed loudly at this, but Aishwarya, not liking the tone of the conversation at all, retreated flapping to the safety of a nearby rock, behind which she squatted indignantly, peering out, feathers fluffed, at these bearded cads who were not only clearly devoid of Soul, but unfashionable to boot.

  ‘Well met, Mod Vatpo,’ cried a prosperous-looking vaman as the ruffianly duck-disturbers hopped briskly over rubble and rocks to join their comrades under the shadows of the trees. ‘It has been many moons since we last crossed paths.’

  ‘Indeed it has. Curse those pestilential moons,’ replied Orange the shapeshifter, aiming to confuse, because he had no idea who Mod’s long-lost friend was. ‘But consider this; could our reunion have occurred at a more auspicious hour?’

  ‘We are not exactly sure how auspicious the hour is, Mod,’ said Reh Hanpo, president of the Rebel Union of Marginal Labour. ‘I, for one, am still not happy about meeting in the open like this. Are you sure this place is safe? Will the ravians really come?’

  ‘This is not a good time for doubt, Reh. I will tell you again, if it makes you feel any better: They promised they would meet us here, today, at dawn, when I spoke to them in Kol,’ said Orange. ‘Granted that was many moons ago, and the world has changed since then, but if they want to renew our alliance, they will most assuredly come.’

  ‘You must not always worry so, Reh,’ said Mod’s friend, placing a comforting hand on his leader’s shoulder. ‘Our day is finally here. All your secret labours for the welfare of the Union have borne fruit. And here we are, together, finally, ready to change the course of history, and spread the glory of vamanity across the galaxy.’

  A senior politician of some kind, thought Orange.

  ‘My labours were not secret without reason,’ snapped Reh, glaring at the Union leaders he’d spent years uniting. ‘We could not afford another infiltration, Rash. Our scheme would have been as dead as our beloved predecessors if the king’s spies had even suspected that any of us were friends. And they would have, had we not proceeded this cautiously. Do you have any idea how hard they have been looking?’

  Rash. Rash Nappo, senior vaman defence minister, thought Orange. A Unionist that close to the king? He wasn’t very surprised; quite a few of the other vamans were well known in their guilds. He gave the forest and the rocks another piercing gaze. Nothing. Good.

  ‘They should have looked harder,’ chuckled Rash. ‘After all, we were only under their noses all along.’

  ‘Gloat later. The king’s watchdogs aren’t here, good. But, look harder, and you’ll notice the ravians aren’t either.’

  ‘They will be here,’ said Orange firmly. ‘Is everything else ready?’

  ‘We’ve brought everything, Mod,’ piped up Nue Tonpo, a scientist. ‘Everything you thought of. Detailed drawings of the newest secret weapons, battle plans fresh from Rash revealing positions, strengths and tactics, Reh has the scrolls of account, and the lists of friends. They must be awed by this display of trust, and forgive our past weaknesses; indeed, we have been over-generous this time. We might even manage to get more than portal-secrets, if we bargain well – and who can bargain better than us?’

  ‘We risk too much,’ muttered Reh.

  ‘Consider the stakes. The risks are acceptable.’

  ‘I’m not surprised you think so, Mod – wasn’t it your idea?’ said Nue. ‘Either way, that’s not even all we’re offering. We’re throwing in all our cards here, as you suggested, as we agreed, despite Reh’s misgivings. Chak over there has maps of our own tunnels from Xi’en to Imokoi.’

  ‘Each one of us has brought enough evidence to warrant immediate execution for treason,’ said Reh.

  The Unionists laughed, a little nervously.

  ‘And you, Mod?’ asked Rash. ‘Have you truly obtained Kol’s best-kept secrets? That, too, is a worthy prize.’

  ‘No,’ said Orange, one of Kol’s best-kept secrets.

  ‘What have you brought, then?’

  ‘I have brought a whistle.’

  Orange took out a whistle and blew it.

  ‘Perhaps this is a good time to tell you,’ he said, ‘that you’re all under arrest.’

  Shattering the silence that followed Orange’s announcement, to the north, south, east and west of the Union’s conspirators, four giant armadrillos, the vamans’ trusty war-beasts, burst upwards through the soil, their steel-hard snouts easily breaking through the last few yards of their golem-loosened tunnels. Earth and pebbles cascaded off their bony, plated shells in streams as with a massive, earth-shaking thump they landed on the ground, their silver head-shields glittering. Massive curling claws attached to pillar-like, leathery feet crunched into the earth, and cunning, beady eyes peeped through mask-slits in amused contempt, observing with satisfaction the drooling, slack-jawed, loosened-bowelled horror that seemed, for some reason, to affect the two-legged when multitudes of armoured, elephant-sized engines of terror materialized uninvited in their midst.

  Elite vaman bombardiers of the Bhumi Silverlode lay on their steeds’ backs in leather and metal sheaths, two per armadrillo, roaring challenges as the Rebel Union’s terrified leaders cowered in terror. With frightening speed, twin cannons were assembled on each armadrillo’s back; one warning shot was fired, sending a large spherical ball, trailing an eerie green flame, crashing high into a tree just behind Reh. The tree exploded, filling the air with smoke and burnt, spiraling twigs and leaves, knocking most of the Unionists off their feet.

  Reh and Rash, battle-axes raised, faces masks of fury, charged screaming at Orange. The shapeshifter, moving as no vaman had ever been seen to move, drew two daggers from his robes, dived between them, rolled, and knelt on one knee, his face ground-wards, his hands extended and empty. Reh and Rash went down screaming, daggers embedded neatly and deeply between the armour-plates at the backs of their knees. Orange turned, smiling viciously, and drew two more daggers.

  The rest gave in without a struggle. A few considered swallowing the papers they were carrying, but then they looked into the armadrillos’ eyes, gulped and realized anew how sensitive their digestive systems were.

  More Silverlode troopers, armed to the teeth, emerged from tunnels and searched the Unionists, their grins under their helms widening every time they came upon tokens of the extent of both the importance and the treachery of their captives. Mor Kotpo, their captain, walked smartly up to Orange and saluted him.

  ‘We are in yo
ur debt, Gaam Vatpo,’ he said. ‘I owe you a personal apology, too, for having secretly doubted you. The king will be delighted – we have driven a stake through the Rebel Union’s very heart, and it is all your doing.’

  ‘Thank you, Mor,’ said Orange. ‘The oath I swore when I found myself granted a second chance at life, however, is not even half fulfilled. With your permission, I will take your leave.’

  ‘Are there more Unionists left?’ asked Mor.

  ‘No. I must now enter the Great Forest, and not return until I have found the road to Asroye. Only when I have ensured the ravians’ destruction will I allow myself to rest.’

  ‘I’m afraid I cannot give you the permission you seek, my friend,’ said the captain, smiling. ‘You have proven yourself a master strategist, and a fine soldier, and such valour cannot go unrecognized, or unrewarded. The king desires to meet you.’

  ‘I do not want glory, Mor. Send the king my thanks, and assure him of my loyalty. I must be on my way.’

  ‘The king desires to meet you,’ said Mor, his smile unwavering, though a few other vaman soldiers appeared as if magically behind Orange. ‘He is aware of your oath, and I suspect he intends to make things a lot simpler for you. Come with me, now.’

  Orange paused for a second, and then met the captain’s eyes and nodded.

  A few minutes later, the last of the armadrillos dived into the earth, his ridiculously small tail waving in the air. And then the mountainside was empty again, with no sign of what had happened except a few mysterious circular spots of rubble in the ground, a few bloodstains and a sorry-looking treestump.

  Aishwarya the Duck emerged from behind her rock, her tail-feathers bright and bushy. The cheese-slice of her life was suddenly hole-free; the world had fallen into place, and she now knew that life wasn’t supposed to make sense, and that her own problems weren’t really that important in the greater scheme of things. Quacking joyously, she flew up, frivolous-feathered, to meet the morning sun. And she saw the future, as clearly as if it were spelt out in front of her in big shiny letters in the sky.