by Rohit Gaur
Just as Tarun had settled back into his examination of the passing crowds, a voice from behind him spoke up in a soft but menacing tone. “Are you planning to order something, boy, or are you just going to take up this table for no reason?”
Tarun turned. Three figures stood close, a lizard with a bright red face and two rough-looking dog-faced fellows flanking him. He deduced that the lizard had been the speaker: he seemed to be the leader of the trio and was directing his eyes right at Tarun. The three had apparently sauntered over from the bar and now they wanted a place to sit.
“Uh, I’m just waiting for someone,” he replied, unsure where to place his eyes.
“Well, perhaps you should wait someplace else,” the lizard hissed with a spreading smile, as Tarun caught a glimpse of a glistening black tongue.
Tarun quickly slid back his chair and prepared to leave. He wasn’t about to engage in an argument with this bully. Better to just walk away and find another place. But as he prepared to slip off to another part of the cafe, the lizard reached out a scaly claw and grabbed his collar.
“Wait a second. What’s your name, boy?”
“Uh . . . Tarek.”
The lizard’s eyes narrowed as he pulled Tarun closer in.
“Tarek. That’s an unusual name. Where are you from . . . Tarek?”
What do I say now? Tarun thought. He didn’t really know the names of any actual places in the Veiled Lands, and he certainly couldn’t reveal that he had just crossed over from the Bare Lands—Ganesha had strictly forbidden that.
“I’m from here,” he sputtered on a whim, deciding that might be the safest reply.
The lizard’s hand tightened. “You’re from the Market Sway?”
“Uh, yeah. Yup.”
“Liar.” The lizard spoke the word with malice, talons now piercing the silk of Tarun’s tunic. “No humans live in Market Sway. Who are you?”
“You’re hurting me!” Tarun squirmed, trying to remove himself from the lizard’s strong grip.
“Perhaps you’re a spy?” the lizard asked. Then turning to his companions: “And what do we do with spies here? That’s right. We show them a good time. A real good time.”
Tarun’s eyes widened and his breath caught short.
Then another voice, gruffer and stern but with a note of mocking, called out from a nearby table, only a few paces behind the lizard: “Gee, buddy, it sounds like you want to ask him out on a date.”
Tarun glanced over at the new speaker: his face obscured by a hood pulled far forward, he looked short but broad, and his arms were covered in brown matted fur, just like the mongooses that Tarun sometimes saw in the forests around his home. Parvati had always warned him to stay away from them because they were fierce, territorial, and unafraid of humans.
“Sorry to interrupt this romantic moment,” the mongoose went on, “but I’m afraid I’m going to have to break you two up.”
“Oh yeah?” the lizard spat out, narrowing his eyes “How do you plan on doing that?”
The mongoose leapt up and crossed the short distance in an instant. His fist flashed by Tarun’s face, connecting with the lizard’s jaw. Letting go of Tarun’s collar, he stumbled back into his companions. Before they could react, the mongoose swung a long staff directly into the stomach of the lizard, then one-two thwacks on each of the dog’s skulls. The patrons of the café all were staring at the scene unfolding in front of them, though no one leaped to help or intervene. Tarun got the distinct impression that fights of this nature might happen here a lot.
The mongoose gripped Tarun’s arm and steered him quickly out the swinging doors and down the thoroughfare, muttering to him: “Quick, now. Before they get up.”
Though Ganesha had warned him about trusting strangers, Tarun instinctively felt this man could be helpful. He pulled Tarun down a corridor and around a corner, stepping quickly into an alley similar to the one he had left only a short while ago. Down along the wet cobblestones, the mongoose hurried him along until they came up to a low, recessed door. He knocked on the door sharply, two taps, a pause, then three more taps. The door opened and the mongoose gestured for Tarun to enter first.
When Tarun hesitated, the mongoose spoke again: “Ah, I almost forgot. I’m Galerest. Apologies for not meeting you when you first arrived, Tarun, but at least I found you before that situation got worse. You can relax, though; you’re safe.”
He paused, then reconsidered.
“For now, at least.”
Chapter 8
COMPANIONS
Inside the secret meeting place of Operation Thrillkeld, the light was dim and the mood tense. Around a low table, four members had gathered. Four members—and Tarun. He had quickly gathered a few facts from their sparse conversation: working against the Serpentine, Operation Thrillkeld had been quietly trying to organize a wider resistance movement with little success. No one revealed any details, but Tarun got the strong feeling that the group was dispirited, even close to defeat. They had been pleased to see Tarun and mentioned, as they each shook his hand, their fondness and regard for any friend of Ganesha’s. But even as they did, Tarun did not feel encouraged—he could sense that they thought his presence there might be a mistake. He wondered what they knew that he didn’t.
He took stock of the room: Immediately next to him sat Galerest, picking at a spot on his paw with the tip of a small dagger. Swaggering and full of charm, Galerest seemed the most at ease in this moment. Next to him sat Ellivan, the shy-looking antelope who had opened the door in the alley when Galerest knocked. She had not said much, keeping her sad eyes on the table. Across from Tarun sat Cronan, a bulky sea lion who swayed a bit in his seat, possibly a consequence of the fragrant liquid he was continually sipping. Finally, next to him, Ayetoal, a yellow-plumed bird with dark black eyes and a stern demeanor. He was speaking in a slow but forceful manner to Galerest.
“The last thing we heard was that the Serpentine had finally moved on Acavia, near the Dalti coast. Completely slaughtered the Acavians for denying them entry for so long. The word is that they’ve put their governor on a spike at the entry to the harbor as a warning to other cities. But that’s just a rumor, since no one has dared to get close enough to see.”
“It’s more than a rumor,” Cronan growled. “I’ve heard it from several who have seen it for themselves.”
“That’s so,” Ellivan offered, looking up briefly.
Ayetoal nodded. “Either way, it’s not good. Now that Acavia has fallen, practically the entire northwestern coast is under Serpentine control. We don’t stand a chance without a foothold.”
“News from the southlands is just as dire,” Cronan interjected. “A Serpentine battalion has marched right through most of the towns, leaving nothing behind but a trail of destruction. Received a letter not but two days ago and it sounds as if nothing is moving. Everyone shut up indoors, too scared to step out.”
Galerest turned to Ellivan. “What news do you have?” he asked gently.
She cleared her throat. “Not much. The plains are quiet and undisturbed, but they know what has been happening along the coasts. They know the Serpentine will come, sooner or later. Preparations have begun to defend their towns, but . . .” she trailed off.
“But what?”
“They have no idea how to defend themselves, how to dig trenches or build ramparts. They have no real weapons, and if they did, who would teach them how to use them? There hasn’t been a trained army there in centuries. What can you expect?”
A silence fell over the group.
“Raavana!” Ayetoal said at last in a choked whisper. “He’s the one responsible for all of this. If I could meet him on the street, I’d . . .”
“You’d what?” Ellivan interjected suddenly. “Fight him? He’d tear you to shreds.”
“Who’s Raavana?” Tarun asked.
The others looked at one another in disbelief. “He’s the Commander of the Serpentine,” Galerest said.
“Pure evil,” said El
livan.
“Don’t worry, though,” Galerest assured Tarun with a smile. “We won’t make you fight him just yet.”
“Seems like we haven’t had good news in ages,” Ayetoal blurted out. “If we could just claim one victory, perhaps we’d have better luck recruiting more people to the resistance. We have to show that the Serpentine are not invincible!”
“Well, that’s why we’ve got the boy here, eh?” Cronan winked at Tarun. “Gonna show ’em who’s who, ain’t ye?” He took a long swig from his glass.
“That’s right,” Galerest said, clapping a paw on Tarun’s shoulder. “Tarun here is our champion, our wayward hero. Defender of the Veiled Lands and Slayer of Serpents!” Everyone smiled and laughed, looking at Tarun with kindness. He could tell they were making an effort to be cheerful and lighthearted for his sake, but their worry was palpable in the silence that ensued.
Before long, the group had split up to begin making plans and preparations: a boat, Galerest explained, was waiting in the port to take them to the location of Ganesha’s first object. Under cover of darkness, they would sneak into the boat and sail away before the Serpentine guards could conduct the routine inspections they now required of all vessels coming into or out of the Market Sway harbor. The ship would sail directly for their destination and they would arrive at first light. It sounded straightforward but Tarun knew it would be anything but simple.
“Lead us from darkness to light, from death to immortality.”
Arjun listened to the priest praying over Kumar’s wrapped body, resting on a table of fresh-cut flowers and burning oil lamps. The low table stood at the front of the largest reception hall in Srinagar, selected to accommodate the great crowds that clamored to mourn the loss of the boy, cut down in his prime. Friends, old acquaintances, and strangers had processed past Arjun to deliver their condolences. Dutifully, Arjun had shaken their hands and accepted their kind words. His sister had also joined him, traveling up from Calcutta, to support him. But even as he grieved for his Kumar, he could not prevent his mind from wandering back to the control room, where the search for his missing wife and other son carried on without him.
“The soul is spirit. Swords cannot pierce it, fire cannot burn it, water cannot melt it, wind cannot dry it.”
Arjun forced himself to concentrate on the priest’s ritual blessing of the body. The priest thumbed sandalwood paste from a small wooden bowl onto Kumar’s forehead. Raising a small glass vial, he dropped water from the Ganges over his mouth. Finally, murmuring in Sanskrit, he circled the body strewing rose and jasmine petals, preparing Kumar for the journey beyond to the abode of the ancestors. Arjun wept, and his sister put her arms around his neck.
“While the body perishes, the soul lives on.”
After the funeral, the oil lamps were snuffed and the flowers swept up. And Arjun, returning to his office, forced himself to set aside his tears. There was much to do, and little time.
A few hours later, equipped with dark green cloaks and hoods, five figures silently passed through the door of the resistance hideout and stepped into the alleyway. Tarun glanced overhead at the night sky, blazing with purple and blue and white stars. He had only a moment to admire its magnificence before Ellivan grabbed his hand and pulled him along with the group.
They stopped short of the main Market Way corridor, Ayetoal glancing quickly around the corner, scanning for threats. He clicked his tongue twice and Ellivan and Galerest stepped out with Tarun between them. Ellivan muttered to him:
“Just stay with us. Not too fast. Like we’re just out for a night stroll.”
Tarun could not keep track of the path they took, turning corners, walking past closed storefronts and brightly lit interiors of restaurants and taverns. Before long, he could smell the salty, sour odor he remembered from childhood vacations: the ocean. The air felt damper and the walkways began to decline, eventually becoming dark stairways and landings, down which Tarun and his companions groped, hands trailing along the walls. They passed almost no one, either a lucky accident or the skillful maneuvering of his leaders. Or, Tarun wondered, because no one wanted to come across a Serpentine soldier in a dark corridor.
Just as he thought this, two figures rounded a corner in front of them, heads erect, staffs glowing with a threatening energy. Before he could react, Galerest threw an arm over his shoulder and steered him into a side street while the other three continued on, suddenly arguing in loud, theatrical voices about something Tarun couldn’t hear. Galerest looked him straight in the eye and laid a finger on his lips. He pulled Tarun into a crouch behind some pipes and they strained to listen.
Outside on the path, the Serpentine stopped the trio.
“And where are we headed at this hour, friends?” one of them hissed.
Cronan spoke first. “Just headed home after a nightcap! Exciting match just now, Quizles versus Spartos! Very close at the end there. And this one thinks the refs called it wrong.”
“They did!” shouted Ayetoal, sounding much more jovial than Tarun remembered. “Totally botched the game.”
“Quiet your voices!” the Serpentine commanded. “Go straight to your residences. Curfew is in an hour. I don’t want to see your faces again on the street.”
“Yes, of course, rightly so. We’re off,” Cronan replied.
After a moment, the Serpentine walked slowly past the alley where Tarun and Galerest lay hiding, but they continued on without looking. Galerest waited another two minutes before standing up.
“It’s alright, Tarun. No harm done. Let’s keep going.”
Back on the sidewalk, they found the rest of the group and continued, hearts pounding in all five chests. Danger lurked around every corner.
Shortly, they came to one particularly steep stairwell, which emerged into a large clearing. A few hundred yards ahead, Tarun could see the port, illuminated by blazing lights set atop tall poles and along the rigging of the ships docked in the slips. The boats were of various sizes, most of them like small fishing ships, but a few were much larger, obviously capable of holding hundreds of people or vast quantities of cargo. Under the blaring lights, men were unloading one of the massive ships with the help of several immense creatures that looked to Tarun like giant camels atop legs the length of a two-story house. Enormous crates were affixed to their bellies, and the giant long-legged creatures carried them to waiting nearby trucks.
The group stopped and Galerest turned to them. “That there is our ship, Tarun.” He pointed in the distance at a modest boat, lit on its topsail with a green light. “In a moment, we will make a run for it, but for now, say goodbye to your new friends.”
“Best of luck to ye, lad,” Cronan said, holding out a rough wet paw. Ellivan offered a brief hug, whispering “Good luck” in his ear. Ayetoal nodded curtly and saluted: “We wish you speed, safety, and above all, success.” Tarun thanked them shyly. He wondered if perhaps he had misjudged them before: they truly seemed to be wishing him well.
Galerest then readied him for their sprint across the docks. “Stay low and with me, keep moving if I do. Ignore anything you hear besides my voice. If we need to, we’ll run.”
Then they were off, moving swiftly across the docks, taking cover behind the loading crates, spools of rope, and detritus that accumulates along a port landing. In the distance could be heard the shouts of workers unloading cargo but Tarun tried to focus on staying in the shadows and making his footfalls as noiseless as possible. The ships loomed larger as they approached the water. Tarun could hear the lapping of water against the walls of the harbor.
Galerest stopped short in the shadow of a large iron crate. They were now only twenty yards from the blue boat that he had pointed out earlier, its prow angling into a sharp point. On the side of it was written The Needle. Galerest was waiting, listening closely and sniffing the air.
“They’re nearby,” he murmured.
They waited for a few more minutes, Galerest leaning back against the crate. Shortly they heard footsteps
coming down the gangplank of a nearby ship: six Serpentine soldiers. As they watched, the soldiers meandered slowly down the docks, eyeing the ships and the workers.
“They come through every half hour,” Galerest spoke softly, “looking for anything out of place. Once they go by, we’ll sneak across, climb aboard, and set sail. With any luck, it will be twenty minutes before they notice we’re not where we’re supposed to be.”
The soldiers had now passed the Needle and were now sauntering past some sailors standing a few ships down. Galerest waited for the soldiers to begin questioning them before grabbing Tarun and hustling him rapidly across the final stretch of the docks and up the ramp to the deck of the boat. He pulled Tarun down to a crouch again and lay still, listening closely. Nothing.
Sensing that they had made it safely, he let go of Tarun and sat up. Tarun did likewise, taking in the roughhewn deck he now sat upon.
From the shadows in front of them, a soft chuckle emerged. “Well, well, well. Glad you could finally join us.”
Out stepped a white-feathered bird with a long, low-slung beak. The pelican was wearing an oversized dark blue coat over gray trousers, adorned with brass buttons.
Galerest grinned and let out a sound of relief. “Radigar, I’d like you to meet Tarun.”
The pelican held out a calloused hand and shook Tarun’s hand hard.
“Pleasure to meet you, lad. Any friend of Ganesha is a friend of mine.”
Tarun smiled and returned the shake. Everyone here seems to know Ganesha, Tarun thought. I guess he must be important if so many people want to help him.
“Love to stay and chat,” Radigar said, “but I think we’d best be off. Galerest, if you don’t mind, pull up the plank and shift the anchor. Tarun, why don’t you join me in the helm?”
By the time they reached the small compartment that housed the steering wheel, the boat was already drifting out of the slip into the harbor. Radigar swung the wheel around to direct the nose out toward the open ocean. As he did, he spoke at a rapid clip to Tarun.