The Unwaba Revelations

by Samit Basu

  And thus it was that Orpi found herself deprived of her perfect new ship; she had lost it to a striking young woman in a wager, and Orpi always honoured her wagers. The Baby Duck was now docked at a pier in Port Kah-Chuwa, in the middle of a long line of ships whose owners were mortal enemies of Fujen’s. And Fujen’s crew, apart from the ten sailors who’d come with Orpi, was now occupied in loading provisions and cargo into the new ship, mostly supplies for the settlers’ southward journey.

  * * *

  ‘Ravians,’ said the Dagger as soon as Orpi finished her sad tale. ‘Only ravians could come and cheat all the pirates of Kah-Chuwa. And only ravians could make them feel good about it.’

  ‘They would have a certain command over dice,’ agreed Mantric. ‘But how did they influence the pirates’ minds? Were there no magicians among you? No pet monsters, protective amulets, enchanted artifacts? What sort of pirate town is this?’

  ‘I don’t know how they did it,’ sighed Orpi. ‘What was most terrifying, when I think about it now, was how peaceful the tavern was – usually there are at least ten horrible piratey people trying to kill one another any time you walk in. But when I went in, everyone was just lining up to get cheated. And they were so calm. If I had not been ridiculously drunk and in the company of a very attractive stranger, I would have found it odd at the time.’

  ‘I see,’ said Jen.

  ‘I love you, Baby-Duck.’

  ‘Calm? Peaceful? That doesn’t sound like the ravians I know,’ said the Dagger. ‘How many were there?’

  ‘I don’t know. There were lots of new people. But pirate cities are like that.’

  ‘The ravians don’t need protection from the pirates,’ said the Dagger, rubbing his chin. ‘They could have just taken anything they wanted from Kah-Chuwa and killed anyone who tried to stop them.’

  ‘Perhaps their ships were too crowded and they needed more, or just wanted to travel more comfortably,’ said Mantric. ‘But I know what you mean; all the ravians I’ve met have tried to kill me, and have not wasted any time in conversation. This is rather mysterious. Still, the only way to find out is to go and see.’

  ‘That settles it, then,’ said the Dagger. ‘We go to the port and get our ship back.’

  ‘If they are ravians, as you suggest,’ said Fujen, ‘wouldn’t it just be easier to get another ship? I love fighting – you know that – but if there are many of them… I want to meet the gods, and we can do that in any ship, really.’

  ‘But I want this one. It’s our ship, and another one wouldn’t feel right,’ said Orpi, pouting. ‘I feel terrible, Baby-Duck.’

  Jen patted her reassuringly. ‘That settles it, then,’ she said. ‘Port Kah-Chuwa it is. Do you have spare disguises, love?’

  ‘Of course I do. But not for the yeti.’

  ‘The yeti would have been difficult to disguise anyway.’

  Orpi called out to the women in the longboat, and they tossed a sack over. To Mantric’s alarm, Orpi, Jen and the ten sailors then began to disrobe. The Dagger, on the other hand, leaned back and sighed contentedly.

  ‘We have to pretend to be men when we enter Port Kah-Chuwa,’ explained Jen, beginning to cheer up.

  ‘Why?’ asked Mantric piteously.

  ‘Think about it, Mantrica,’ said Amloki. ‘Do you really want to walk around pirate-town looking lika a wench?’

  ‘No,’ said Mantric with feeling, and reached for his wig.

  ‘Don’t!’ hissed Jen, Amloki and Orpi in unison, and Mantric leaped into the air, startled.

  ‘Wear these clothes,’ said Jen loudly, handing him a shirt, breeches, a fat belt and very impractical boots. ‘Don’t worry about your face, we’ll give you a beard and whiskers.’

  ‘Very well,’ muttered Mantric, and stood there, clothes in hand, concentrating very hard on the water as the others dressed.

  ‘He’s shy,’ giggled Orpi. ‘It’s too sweet for words. Would you like some help with the pants, love?’

  ‘No,’ said Mantric firmly. He looked at the others. ‘You don’t look like men at all,’ he said.

  ‘Why? We have beards. Look, I even have an attachable mole,’ said Fujen, sticking what looked like a tar-coated slug on her cheek.

  ‘And my boots have little platforms on them,’ trilled Orpi. ‘We will be fine. Wait till you’ve seen us with our beards.’

  ‘But your…but your,’ Mantric struggled for a word and gave up, ‘your shape is wrong.’

  The Dagger laughed. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘We won’t get caught.’

  ‘Why? They’ll be too drunk and mind-controlled to notice?’

  ‘No. We’ll get away with it because pirates have their own rules in these situations: you reward people for effort. Seeing through disguises, even terrible disguises, is bad form. Girls have been dressing up as boys and sneaking on board ships for centuries, mostly dreaming of a life of freedom and adventure; men have been dressing up as women and sneaking on board ships for even longer, with slightly different expectations.’

  ‘So even if they know they won’t catch them?’

  ‘As long as Fujen’s girls are dressed as men, they’re safe. In places like Kah-Chuwa, everyone has secrets and dark histories; no one wants to know more about you than what you want to show them. You are whatever you’ve made the effort to look like. Any pirate would be willing to believe even that Spikes was a demure damsel, if he wore a wig and a dress. Imagine that.’

  ‘No thank you. But that’s not a bad way to be,’ said Mantric, lost in thought. ‘Other societies should try it too.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Dagger. ‘Now stop wasting our time, take off your dress and put on your beard, love.’

  * * *

  The finest ships of the pirate fleet were anchored at Port Kah-Chuwa, in a jumbled torch-lit clutter of knaar and junk and galley, trireme and longship and dhow, ships old and new from all over the world. Pirates raced to and fro all along the harbour, loading ships with large crates in an appallingly neat and organized fashion. Twelve large ships were tethered side by side along the widest pier, right in the centre of the harbour, and the Baby Duck lay right in the middle of the line. Even Mantric, who knew nothing about ships, had to admit that this was the most beautiful ship he had ever seen. Not that he had much time to compare it with the other ships, as Fujen led him, the Dagger, Orpi, their ten crew-women and Telu-Yeti in a complicated skulk around the pier, darting from one shadow to another, occasionally swaggering out in the open, mingling with the locals, saying ‘Yo ho ho!’, ‘Shiver me timbers!’ and ‘Avast!’ for verisimilitude. After a while, Fujen lost interest in this exercise. The pirates were clearly under ravian control, she said; no brawls had broken out since their arrival, and no one they had encountered thus far even smelled mildly of rum. Several of her sworn enemies had walked right by her without even drawing their cutlasses; the notorious Commandant Lienundschinker, who’d sworn to kill her the next time he saw her, actually stopped and wished her good evening.

  They strolled over the connecting pier and over the plank that led into the Baby Duck without much further incident. Fujen’s crew welcomed her enthusiastically, and she informed them that it did not matter that Orpi had lost the ship; they would not honour the bargain she had made, as she had been drunk at the time, and besides, were they not pirates? She ordered them to start preparing for a daring escape from the port (pausing to pick up Mantric’s trunks from the makara-drawn barge on the way). The crew took this well; a young ravian who had been on the Baby Duck supervising the loading of crates did not, and called for help.

  The pier was suddenly full of ravians, all carrying heroic-looking weapons. While Fujen and her crew drew their cutlasses and prepared to die nobly and pointlessly, Mantric took it upon himself to explain to the ravians that he was a powerful spellbinder, and had a yeti with him and was not afraid to use her. With Telu-yeti by his side, he was capable of removing the ravians’ influence from every human on the island, he said, which was an outrageous lie,
but the false hair all over his head added a great deal of gravitas to it; while he had no doubt that the ravians could overcome the pirates in battle, he said, this would leave no one to steer their ships for them.

  What happened next shocked both Mantric and the Dagger, who had expected the ravians to answer their threats with pirate deaths. But the ravians saw the value of what Mantric said and asked him not to start a riot, and offered to send their leader to negotiate terms with him. Mantric accepted this offer with grace, and soon the Dagger and he were playing host on the deck of the Baby Duck to one Lady Ikoche, of the ravian house Hanash, a tall, cheerful, soft-spoken ravian noble who overturned their carefully-lain strategies by being utterly likeable without the use of any ravian influence whatsoever.

  * * *

  ‘You must understand, my dear Mantric,’ said Ikoche, ‘that I would not have commandeered your ship if I had realized you were not from Kah-Chuwa, a fact that your pretty young friend conveniently forgot to mention. Some pirates from this island attacked our fleet a few days ago; we lost a few ships, and needed to replenish our stocks, and felt these pirates should pay. We did control a few minds in the process to save ourselves time and minimize casualties. But yes, we should not have, and I apologize.’

  ‘This is most irregular,’ said the Dagger. ‘Since when did the ravians start apologizing for using their powers?’

  Ikoche sighed. ‘I see the war on the mainland has touched your lives,’ she said, ‘and filled you with hatred for my kind. But we are not all the same, my young friend. In fact, my presence here is proof enough of our differences. House Hanash and House Esmi sail the southern seas because New Asroye’s gates are shut to us. We did not support their unjust war. We sought peace, and we failed. We sought an end to all that was wrong and cruel in the ravian way of life, and we failed. So we have left their city and now seek new homes for ourselves in the south.’

  ‘And you need our ship to help you carry your things there. But—‘

  ‘I do not need your ship,’ said Ikoche. ‘You are free to go. It was a simple misunderstanding.’

  ‘You would just let us go?’

  ‘Of course. But there is a price you must pay.’

  ‘I’m almost relieved to hear you say that. What must we do?’ asked the Dagger.

  ‘You must tell me your stories. I want to know everything about you; it will help me understand the world better,’ said Ikoche.

  After a long and pregnant pause, the Dagger stated stiffly that they were on a secret mission of earth-shattering importance.

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Ikoche.

  ‘To meet the gods,’ said the Dagger.

  She regarded them gravely. ‘You jest.’

  ‘We do not, actually,’ said the Dagger. ‘We’re going to meet the gods, and give them a present.’

  ‘We cannot tell you what it is, because it is supposed to be a surprise,’ said Mantric. ‘It will make the gods happier if they do not know just yet.’

  ‘A noble ambition,’ said Ikoche. ‘And is there any motive behind this act beyond sheer generosity?’

  ‘We’re trying to prevent the end of the world,’ said Mantric.

  Ikoche took this in her stride with no hint of surprise. ‘I see. Is there anything we can do to help?’

  The Dagger gave her his most charming smile. ‘Yes. If you see anyone trying to end the world, stop them. They’ll probably listen to you.’

  Ikoche smiled and bowed. ‘Well, you have a ship worthy of the journey,’ she said. ‘What is it called?’

  Mantric and the Dagger looked at Jen accusingly. ‘The Baby Duck,’ said Jen shamefacedly.

  A tremor ran through Ikoche’s jaw. ‘An excellent name,’ she said. ‘But if you are going to seek the favour of the gods, should you not name it after one of them?’

  ‘This ship was a birthday present for the woman I love,’ said Jen. ‘We cannot change the name, even to please the gods.’

  ‘Well, thankfully, it is none of my business,’ said Ikoche. ‘But should you reconsider, I believe there is a goddess known as the Baby of Destiny. Perhaps that would be a better name for your ship; it would please the gods and make an adequate birthday present as well.’

  ‘I think that is a wonderful idea,’ said Mantric. ‘The Baby of Destiny it is.’

  ‘Baby Duck,’ said Jen.

  ‘Baby of Destiny. Consider the circumstances.’

  ‘Baby Duck. Consider the figurehead.’

  ‘I will take your leave now,’ said Ikoche, kindly but firmly. She walked down the plank to the pier, hesitated, and then turned and smiled at them.

  ‘I have spent several months in your world, and every day it has found new ways to fascinate me,’ she said. ‘I wish you well; take your ship and save the world, and think kindly of us ravians as you do so. We are not all terrible people, and if the ways of Esmi and Hanash prevail, perhaps one day we may even be friends. I wish I could come with you! But my people need me, and I must put thoughts of adventure aside. Good luck! I have no parting gift for you, save one.’

  ‘The pleasure of your acquaintance was gift enough for us,’ said the Dagger. ‘Perhaps we shall meet again one day.’

  ‘I look forward to it,’ said Ikoche. ‘Farewell! And though you leave me empty-handed, I have something for you to remember me by.’

  ‘What is that?’ asked Orpi breathily, smouldering at her.

  ‘A name,’ said Ikoche.

  A brief while later, as the first light of dawn filled the sea and sky with magical shades of blue and green, the Duck of Destiny sailed majestically out of Port Kah-Chuwa, towards the edge of the world and the gods that sat around it. Fujen and Orpi stood on the foredeck, arms outstretched in the wind. Mantric inspected his secret hoard in the hold, Pollux explained literary theory to the Bolvudis Seagulls on the sails, and the Dagger ventured below decks to get to know Fujen’s pirates better. If the end of the world was nigh, he thought, there was truly no time like the present.

  Chapter Five

  Suitably sinister clouds roared and crackled in the sky, their edges glowing purple and orange as the Dark Lord’s army gathered to do battle with King Zibeb’s ravians. Visible now in the distance behind them, the Dark Tower loomed over the landscape, mocking all invaders. Asur drummers kept up a frantic beat, monstrous war-beasts bellowed and trumpeted, pashans thumped the earth in unison, horns rang out in discordant notes and a pleasant time was had by all.

  The Dark Lord stood on a great jutting rock, surrounded by armed werewolves. He was fashionably dressed in magical obsidian armour, peering out with his fiery eyes through slits in his ornate horned war-helm, and his dark minions looked at him with love as they felt battle-frenzy coursing through their veins. The Red Queen stood by her lord’s side, cold and impassive, showing no signs of elation or awe as she watched giant rakshases fidgeting impatiently and snarling at the countless asurs milling about their feet.

  Angda, queen of vanars, stood in front of the children of Vanarpuri on the left flank, her face full of fear and wonder as she peered into the distance, gripping her broadsword tightly as the ravians strode forward, singing songs in melodious voices, their weapons shining with holy light. Their presence illuminated the battlefield, and the sun blazed fiercely through clear skies above them as they walked fearlessly on savage, blood-choked earth. Behind Angda, gorilla-men swung maces and pounded their chests, and baboon-vanar archers cackled as they thanked their enemies for giving them good light to shoot in.

  The ravians had broken through the rakshas illusions all over Imokoi with frightening speed. They had driven bands of captured asurs ahead of their forces and laughed coldly as their mindless heralds fell in rakshas traps, in concealed ravines and trenches full of spikes, on broken bridges and covered slime-pits. Led by Lady Nenses, the ravian mages had cast great spells they called Asroye Silence on the land around them, sending circles of green light pulsing around them, draining all magic in the region they covered; illusions melted away, leavi
ng the Imokoi bare and defenceless, ripping apart the façade of gloom and horror. Teams of ravian builders, supervised by Dalmaan, had built bridges and pathways using their minds, creating makeshift structures with stones, chunks of earth and asur corpses that their army could march over, while squads of battle-mages, led by Orro Earthshaker, had flattened physical obstacles in the path of Zibeb’s army, cutting the earth in a straight line from Danh-Gem’s Wasteland to the Dark Tower. Aciram had hoped that the ravians would need several more days to reach the lands near Izakar, which would have given his forces enough time to reach full strength; as things stood, the army which held its ground mostly comprised survivors from the first battle and reinforcements from the Dark Tower, mostly asurs and pashans. The crucial difference, of course, was that the rakshases were no longer interested in toying with their prey. Today would be a day for those who survived it to remember for the rest of their lives.

  The Dark Lord had sent messages to his allies spread out over Imokoi summoning them to the battle; Bjorkun’s Skuans had sent word of their approach from the north, and Omar the Terrible was expected to return any moment from a raid he had led to help the shadowsnatchers fight a ravian incursion in the east. Omar had left the men from Ventelot behind to aid the Dark Lord; heavily armoured knights soothed their fidgeting steeds to Aciram’s right, and in front of a division of archers and a war-band of danavs, wielding a massive two-handed claymore, stood Laird MacGaffen, a hero from the highlands of North Ventelot. His face was painted blue and he looked very depressed; leading asurs into battle was never easy. On a recent training exercise, he’d given his asurs a rousing speech about freedom and pride, but they hadn’t understood a word, because of his thick accent, and when he’d raised his kilt in a show of bare-buttocked defiance towards an imaginary enemy, the asurs had gotten the message entirely wrong. Laird MacGaffen had not been able to walk straight since then, and he had a lot of anger to work off.