The Unwaba Revelations

by Samit Basu

  The Ursag shook all over. His eyes changed shape and colour, from piercing blue to fiery red. His body shifted jerkily to wolf form, grey hair sprouting in great slashes all over him. The change was clearly very painful; both ravian and wolf faces were twisted in anguish. But the transition was soon complete, and a huge wolf stood in front of Maya, who stared at him in terror, gaped wide-eyed at his enormous fangs, his lolling tongue, his rolling sinews. The Ursag sprang southwards, a grey comet streaking towards the beach where Kirin lay, each step covering more ground than any natural wolf ever could.

  * * *

  Kirin was lying on the beach watching boulders turn into sand when his ravian senses curdled up and began to throb. He sprang up, gasping at the intensity of the warning inside his head, and looked around. It did not take him long to identify the source of the danger.

  A grey wolf streaked across the sand towards him, fangs bared. His blazing red eyes screamed murder, and his great paws cut deep grooves in the sand.

  Kirin considered asking him why they couldn’t all just get along, and then abandoned the idea as unsound. Instead, he reached for his Shadowknife.

  He remembered with a groan that the Shadowknife was still with Spikes.

  Who are you? Kirin thought, reaching towards the wolf with his mind.

  The Ursag was not seem to be interested in introductions or pre-combat banter. He moved as smoothly and determinedly as a shark, tearing up the ground between him and his prey in great leaps. Kirin began to run, sending short bursts of ravian force skimming into the sand. They exploded upwards as they struck sand; the wolf evaded most of the bursts, and Kirin cried aloud in shock; only a ravian could have known exactly where he would strike. The wolf leaped in and out of fountains of sand, but now Kirin had predicted a few of his dodges, so other explosions threw him off his feet. Stinging walls of sand rushed over the wolf, followed by crackling ripples of flame. The wolf ignored all of these. Every time he fell, he shook himself vigorously, and began the chase again. The Ursag was trying to close Kirin down; Kirin sought, on the other hand, to keep a good distance between himself and his unknown assailant, to stay out of range of those razor-sharp fangs. Man and wolf circled on the lonely stretch of sand, neither gaining the advantage.

  I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding, said Kirin.

  I was born to kill you, said the Ursag. I am invincible.

  Right.

  And then the Ursag showed the full extent of his strength; he began to leap tirelessly at Kirin’s throat, and neither spell nor force could deter him. Kirin managed to fend off a few lunges with his hands, losing blood in the process, but the werewolf wore him down; a few more cuts and Kirin would be laid bare for the sun to see. The Ursag was stronger than Kirin, and faster; he began to flicker between man and wolf shape as he struck. And strike he did, again and again; each punch left a huge, ugly bruise, each slash sent slowtime suspended showers of blood hovering in the salty air. Kirin parried blow after blow, but each thunderous strike drained him further and each evaded gut-ripping thrust cost him a few hours of breath.

  Time slowed down. Kirin tried to strike a paralyzing blow to the werewolf’s neck, but the Ursag transformed into human shape and punched the ground. Time and sand flew up in every direction, and Kirin was knocked off his feet, on his back in the sand; a second later, a monstrous wolf-form blotted out the sun as it hurtled down towards his throat. Kirin waited until the beast’s muzzle was inches away from his face, and then pointed; a bolt of lightning shot out from his finger, plunging straight into the werewolf’s chest, hurling the Ursag upwards and filling the air with the horrid stench of burning flesh. The Ursag twitched, shuddered, and transformed. Man-shaped he rose, and the look on his face filled Kirin with terror. There was a hole in his chest, and through it Kirin could hear the pounding of his enemy’s heart.

  ‘I don’t want to kill you, or even fight you,’ said Kirin thickly. ‘I don’t even know you. Whatever it is that this is about, it’s not worth it. I don’t want it. You can have it, just leave me alone.’ He staggered a little. His head was spinning, and he felt like going to sleep. Strange shapes floated between him and his opponent; blood filled his eyes.

  The Ursag laughed, a horrible, wet, blood-choked sound. ‘Too late now,’ he said. ‘The story’s gone too far. This is the part where you leave it. This is the moment you have dreaded since you first heard my name.’

  ‘I don't know your name,’ said Kirin. ‘Please, stop.’

  ‘I am unstoppable.’

  ‘All right, then.’

  The Ursag vaulted upwards, over Kirin, and landed on his feet behind him. Kirin turned fast, but the Ursag had already jumped again, and this time he kicked at Kirin’s head as he leaped over him. Kirin tried to duck, but the Ursag’s foot sliced his ear open, and he spun and fell on the sand. He tried to get up, but could not.

  The Ursag’s feet landed on the sand with a thump that echoed in Kirin’s ears. He knelt, grabbed a fistful of Kirin’s hair, and pulled him up. He let go, and Kirin slumped back on the sand again. The Ursag laughed aloud, and raised him again. ‘Last words, Dark Lord,’ he said.

  Kirin lifted a quivering hand. The Ursag watched with interest.

  And then Kirin sent a lightning-bolt through the Ursag’s eye.

  The Ursag was thrown back. A third of his head was missing, but incredibly he rose again, bellowing in rage, his single eye rolling madly. He staggered about on the sand, howling and tearing at his own flesh. Kirin lay back and watched wearily, too tired to do anything more.

  Out of nowhere, a black net appeared, heading for the Ursag. The creature saw it, and tried to dive and roll out of its way, but the net moved faster, twisting and spreading as if alive, and it covered what was left of the Ursag’s head. Kirin turned his head with great effort, and saw Maya, running frantically towards him. The net thickened from the Ursag’s head into a rope that ended on her fingers. It was the Shadowknife.

  The Ursag roared, and tried to shift into wolf form, but the net held firm. And then Maya closed her eyes and concentrated, planting her feet firmly in the sand to steady herself as the Ursag thrashed and leaped. Great beads of sweat ran down her cheeks. The net tightened on the Ursag’s head, and bit viciously inwards; there was a horrible squelching, crunching sound as the mesh solidified into a single point, and it rained tiny pieces of Ursag brain.

  Maya threw the Shadowknife into the sand and ran to Kirin.

  ‘Spikes?’ he mumbled. ‘Shadowknife? You?’

  ‘Borrowed it for a while,’ she said. ‘Spikes is down. Alive, though. Yes, I know it’s dangerous for mere humans, but there wasn’t anything else.’

  ‘You were better with it than I ever was,’ he said in wonder.

  ‘I have a more violent imagination than you do,’ said Maya.

  ‘That is why I love you,’ said Kirin, grinning weakly.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Maya, casting a spell, trying not to show how terrified she was that he would die, because his wounds were many and deep. ‘That’s what they all say when they’re saved from the ravian werewolves.’

  ‘Who was that, anyway? Why did he try to kill me?’

  ‘He said he was your greatest enemy. He had some long story as well. Tried to tell me, too.’

  ‘Strange. And I never knew.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Maya, rubbing her nose. ‘Now shut up and let me heal you.’

  They kissed. Some distance away, behind a cluster of palm trees, two imps named Aler and Unity buzzed away ecstatically, their eyes a blur.

  ‘And that’s an eyeful,’ whispered Pygmy Lion reverently.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The world stood still. The dauntless crew of the Duck of Destiny stood on the wooden bird’s foredeck enveloped in clouds of fine mist, staring upwards in disbelief. In front of the Duck, the Vertical Sea stretched from ocean to sky, a shining, sparkling curtain of water, and strange shapes flickered and danced behind it. From east to west, as far as their eyes could
see, the wall of water stretched, crowned by clouds and rainbows, the sound of falling water a dull roar rolling across the earth. There were voices in the water, mysterious musical voices speaking and singing in languages they did not understand. Eddies and currents of raw magic gurgled, churned and spun; little lights flashed by the Duck’s hull, and pale fumes of dense pure magic drifted skywards. The voyagers of the Fateful Fowl felt the weight of the sight of the gods, and were rooted where they stood, feeling naked and tiny before the powers around them.

  Mantric had worn his finest robes, and stood calmly in the middle of the Duck of Destiny’s foredeck, his skin tingling and glowing a little because of the strength of the magical field around him. He looked younger, stronger, regal; a man worthy to be his world’s ambassador. He was surrounded by the chests he’d brought from Kol and Bolvudis, the contents of which he’d so fiercely kept secret. Most of the chests were arranged in front of him, but two, the largest of the lot, he kept a little distance behind him, near the ship’s wheel, where Fujen and the Dagger stood, with Orpi and Telu-yeti. The rest of Fujen’s crew stood behind their captain, shuffling uncomfortably, not daring to say anything.

  The Dagger, a treat for the eyes under any circumstances but positively dazzling now in his smartest assassin’s clothes, eyed the two large, man-high chests near him warily. The one on the right clearly contained the mysterious monster Mantric had been hiding from him all these days; it rattled and thumped from time to time. The beast within it was clearly not used to captivity and extremely resentful of its long and tiresome confinement. Occasionally it slammed against the chest so hard that cracks appeared on its side. Mantric seemed to be completely oblivious to his captive creature’s escape attempts; he was busy just looking around him, gathering magic inside himself, experiencing more wild magic than any spellbinder had before.

  The skies darkened and seemed to become solid above them, stars shining brilliantly in a bed of bright black. They looked up, and saw the gods, sitting in their dark chairs around the Vertical Sea.

  If asked at that moment to describe exactly what they saw, no two people in the Duck of Destiny’s crew of adventurers could have given the same description; indeed, most of them would have been unable to even begin to put in words the incredible sensations they felt. Some saw human shapes filling the sky, shining like suns, beautiful benevolent faces old and young in radiant robes, the gods they’d always known existed, guiding their every step. Jewels the size of worlds adorned their many faces and bodies; some bore weapons in a multitude of arms. Others saw incredibly powerful, awe-inspiring, terrifying figures, shaped like humans or animals, a sky full of fangs and claws and eyes and horns and tails and mountainous sinews, creatures to bow before and worship, monsters to fear and love. Yet others saw only lights, great lights that stood or flickered, some intense and harsh, some gentle and inviting. A few saw nothing at all but stars, and strange ripples in endless darkness. Most of Fujen’s crew fell on their knees, their minds blank, their eyes unseeing. Some prayed, others wept, others swooned, overcome.

  The god who sat above the Duck of Destiny looked (to many of the Duck’s crew, though they would have differed on the number of his heads and limbs and the length of his long white beard) like an infinitely wise, immeasurable mighty father-guardian-king-magician-teacher-god. He now spoke and filled the heavens and earth with the sound of his voice, deep, rich, powerful, the first sound this world had heard.

  ‘Truly has it been said and sung that Time is as a river, ever flowing from age to age, from world to world, from past to future, and life and death and the universe itself flow through its swirling waters. And the Gods, the All-Knowing Ones, the Keepers of the Flame Eternal, stand as imperishable rocks in the river of Time, guiding its flow, charting its course, weathering its impetuous rebellions.’

  Mantric smiled uncertainly. ‘Hello,’ he said.

  ‘Hello indeed. Did you understand a word of what I just said?’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose… O gracious and omnipotent one,’ said Mantric, trying gallantly to be religious. ‘If my reply was unsuitable, forgive me. The scale of the occasion, um, petrifies my mortal tongue.’

  ‘Oh, stop it. You’re not fooling anybody. You may speak plainly, and so will I.’

  ‘Thank the gods,’ said Mantric, with infinite relief.

  ‘You’re welcome. Now, let Us attend to the business at hand. You have come here to ask Us to save your world.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why should We?’

  ‘Amloki?’ whispered Fujen.

  ‘Shh,’ said the Dagger severely.

  ‘Don’t shush me, man. We’ve got trouble.’

  ‘I know. The last thing we should be doing now is drawing attention to ourselves.’

  ‘Look,’ said Fujen, pointing.

  Amloki looked, and saw, to port and starboard, two large islands floating beside the Duck of Destiny, a short distance away. While recent events had rendered the unexplained appearance or disappearance of an island an entirely mundane event, the Dagger immediately understood the reason for Fujen’s concern.

  One of the islands, the one to the Duck’s left, seemed to be composed entirely of scales, each one the size of full-grown elephant. The other one appeared to be a writhing mass of tentacles.

  And both these islands were growing in size, rising through the waves.

  ‘It’s just a couple of islands,’ whispered the Dagger reassuringly. ‘Nothing to worry about it.’

  ‘I’d worry about them less if they weren’t breathing,’ said Fujen.

  ‘I wouldn’t presume to tell the gods what they should or should not be doing,’ said Mantric. ‘We’ve just come here to beg, really.’

  ‘A wise answer. Yes, you have come to beg. And the manner of your coming has amused Us greatly, young Mantric. You have passed every test We have thrown at you, and We are pleased. And when We are pleased, We are benevolent. Now. Surely a man of your wisdom would not have come to the Gods empty-handed, especially when the favour you ask of Us is so great.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Mantric. ‘The first thing I thought when I planned this great journey to meet you, O big and mighty ones, was this: What gift should I bring them? What humble token of man’s gratitude and worship could be worthy of the gods?’

  He picked up the smallest of the chests near him.

  ‘In this chest,’ said Mantric, ‘lie the most precious jewels in the world. Mostly gifts from the gods. Mortals have fought over these gems for ages; each one is priceless, both in gold and in centuries of bloodshed, intrigue and passion.’

  He opened the chest, and his face lit up in the warm glow that emerged from it. Then he shut the chest and tossed it into the sea. The Duck’s crew watched, aghast, as priceless jewels, the finest of Kol’s secret treasure chamber, sank into the depths of the Vertical Sea.

  Mantric said, ‘But what are jewels to the gods? You could just make more. Their only value to you is in the entertainment they provide as your creations kill one another over them. So it would be silly to return them to you. Let us leave them at the bottom of the sea, instead. Over time, you will no doubt push them back to the surface, in the bellies of fish that eat them. And the killing will begin again at some point in the future. If there is a future. These deaths, in your names, are my first gift to you.’

  ‘Interesting. I hope, for your sake, that you have brought more gifts.’

  ‘I have. I spent several sleepless nights wondering – what could gods want? Riches mean nothing to you. Power we can only give you through prayer and adoration, but if you’re planning to finish us all off, clearly that’s not very important to you either. I never really understood the idea of sacrificing monarchs or beautiful women, or even animals for that matter, to please you. If you wanted them dead, they’d be dead, wouldn’t they? Of course, there must be some amusement in making people grieve after killing their loved ones to placate you. But there has been so much grief in the world of late, and so many untold thous
ands have died, and so many have lost the ones they love. If all that hasn’t pleased you, then there’s really not much I could offer to tip the balance.’

  ‘Do you seek to preserve your world by giving Us an endless list of things you have not brought for Us?’

  ‘No. Most of these chests are full of strange and wonderful treasures – magical weapons, rare works of art, fine cloths, spices, books, all gifts from the Chief Civilian. I would have thrown them into the sea too, but they will spoil in water. My real gift for you is something else entirely.’

  ‘It really is the end of the world,’ whispered Fujen.

  ‘Those islands are the end of the world?’

  ‘When the end of the world comes, the leviathan rises. What we’re looking at here is a kraken. The kraken.’

  ‘That bit looks like a giant sea serpent. That other bit there looks like a giant squid. Which one is the kraken?’

  ‘Does that really matter at this point?’

  ‘But it can’t be the kraken! The kraken is found in the north!’

  ‘Well, perhaps it’s here on holiday. I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, what do we do about it?’

  ‘There really isn’t much you can do about the kraken. The question is, what does it want to do with you?’

  ‘My gift for you,’ said Mantric, ‘is a vision. A new idea. A dream. A story. What else could a man give his gods?’

  ‘Interesting,’ said Zivran. ‘Share this vision with Us, then.’

  ‘I do not know why gods make mortals imperfect; perhaps this makes them interesting. I do not know. Such matters are above my understanding. But what I have learned, through my studies and my travels, is this: Man’s duty is to serve and honour the gods, to give them stories worth remembering.’ Mantric paused and took a deep breath, amazed anew by his ability to lie through his teeth, and thanked his stars for not making him a politician. ‘But mortals are flawed and selfish, and do not follow the paths drawn out for them; their flaws make them stray, seek out new roads, twist and spoil the stories they should enact for the gods that made them. And when the gods run out of mercy, when their creations have strayed too far and their heroes and stories are not good enough, they destroy the worlds their children have corrupted.’