by Rohit Gaur
“Here we go,” Tarun said aloud to no one and then began shimmying up the side of the pedestal. With great care, he swung his leg over the cold stone back of the Ovi, trying to balance on its upturned form. He then looped the rope gently over the statue’s neck and tied it with an old-fashioned knot he had once learned.
The statue remained frozen. The cold stone did not budge an inch and the only sound was the whistling of the arctic wind. From his vantage point, he could see across the mountain chasm to the terrace across from him, separated by several hundred feet of empty air.
This is stupid, Tarun thought. He felt foolish for believing an absurd dream and began picking at the knot he had just tied. But as he shifted the rope to untie it, he felt it grow taut with tension. Looking up, he realized it was because the statue had lowered its granite head. With a lurch, the front legs of the ram fell down to the pedestal and Tarun was now sitting fully atop the statue, its smooth surfaces moving like the muscled hide of an animal but still calcified like a tooth or nail. He had never felt anything like it before. The statue was alive.
He wasn’t sure what to do next. He flicked the rope, but the statue stood still. He squeezed his legs, patted the flank, gently touched the head. Finally, he simply spoke.
“Take me to the bottom of the mountain!” he implored the statue.
With a leap, the animated Ovi left the pedestal and touched the ground lightly before swinging over the edge of the terrace. Like the view from the front car of a rollercoaster, Tarun glimpsed the full height of the plunge for one stomach-churning moment before the drop began. The Ovi pitched from side to side, dropping down the cliff side in short leaps and plunges, Tarun clutching fiercely to his homemade knot and the curved horns of his remarkable ride.
The next time Hassan entered Parvati’s cell, he brought with him a small pan of warm water, a clean towel, and a comb. He explained, somewhat apologetically, that they had no clean clothes for her to wear, but that she could at least bathe if she wanted.
“Thank you, Hassan,” she said, accepting the small gesture of kindness. After their last conversation, she had been thinking, reflecting on her charitable endeavors and her husband’s career. She had always believed with certainty that her motives had been untainted by self-interest or advancement, but Hassan’s words had moved her. The orphanages she had helped to found had assisted many, but so many more had remained outside of their influence. Children like Hassan had only ever experienced the suffering caused by the conflict, but none of the healing she and her husband had tried to bring. He had known only hurt and fear and isolation.
“I’ll return in a half hour for the pan and the towel,” Hassan said, stepping toward the door.
“Hassan?”
He stopped and turned. “Yes, Mrs. Sharma?”
“Nothing. Never mind. Thank you.”
The trip down the mountain was fast—faster than Tarun would have liked. He had ridden a horse once, but only at a slow trot and along a well-worn and flat trail. But here, the Ovi on which Tarun was lashed bounded steadily down the face of a mountain, leaping from narrow ledge to narrow ledge. The landscape was a blur of white stone as they rocketed past the other terraces and bridges and Tarun could barely register the landscape as it passed. He clung hard to the statue’s form, afraid of accidentally being flung by the bucking movement, though he felt surprisingly secure in his perch. The wind ruffled his feathered arms and face and he felt almost like he was flying down the mountainside, as in his dream.
When they reached the first terrace, the Ovi galloped heavily down the main road of the first terrace and came to a halt in front of the main gate, still closed tightly to the outside world. Tarun relaxed his hands, achingly tight on the looped rope, and slipped off the Ovi’s side. He came around to its front, eager to see the statue head on. It looked unblinkingly straight ahead. No pupils or eyelashes had been carved into its face, just a pair of white orbs.
“Thank you,” Tarun said aloud. The Ovi bowed its head briefly in acknowledgment before returning to its position. He walked to the side, patted its flank, and untied the rope from around its neck, returning the granite creature to its silent and still form.
He walked steadily back to the side tunnel through the wall, his stomach still churning from the ride. On the other side, he found Galerest and the oxen gathered around a low fire, waiting impatiently for his return.
“We didn’t expect you so soon this morning!” Galerest called out. “We figured you’d spend the night somewhere up high and spend the day coming back down. You must have walked some in the dark, eh?”
“I’ll explain on the way down,” Tarun assured him with a knowing smile. On the cart ride back to the port city, Tarun told Galerest all about the avalanche, the dream, and the magical rope. When he had finished, Galerest shook his head and clapped him on the shoulder.
“You surprise me at every turn,” he said.
Back on the ship, Radigar took the coil of rope and placed it in the ship’s hold alongside the axe.
“Two tasks completed!” Radigar congratulated him. “You feel proud, don’t ye?”
Tarun smiled. “I’ve had a lot of help,” he countered.
“Well, there, you see, Galerest?” Radigar joked. “Brave and generous, our boy is.” He looked admiringly at Tarun. “And quite dashing with his new feathered look. It suits you. Not sure that I recognize the species you’re takin’ on. Best we be quick about getting you out of the Veiled Lands, though I say, you would be a handsome fellow.”
That night they set sail for Phracta, location of the third of Ganesha’s objects, his broken tusk. When Tarun asked about the location and its inhabitants, they were eating dinner aboard the ship. Galerest and Radigar gave each other a quick uneasy look. Galerest spoke first.
“It’s an island in the South Sea, tropical, humid. Interesting city, actually. They have canals instead of roads. Big lagoon at the center of the island. That’s where Ganesha’s tusk has been hidden, according to my sources, in a sunken chest at the center of the lagoon.”
“And who lives on the island? What kind of creature?”
Galerest coughed. “Well, you see, Phracta is . . .” He paused, searching for the right words before Radigar chimed in.
“It’s the capital city of the Serpentine, my lad. No other way to say it.”
Chapter 14
RING OF FIRE
Traveling from the snowy shores of Bergine to the tropical waters surrounding Phracta, even in the gut-wrenchingly fast transport provided by the Needle, required hours of skimming along the open sea. As Radigar piloted the vessel, Tarun and Galerest rested on the aft deck, enjoying the change of climate as they made their way to warmer weather.
Tarun was thinking. The visit to Bergine had been full of unexplainable, astonishing things: an enchanted wall that kept out visitors, a dream visitation, a statue brought to life by mysterious forces. How could this world be so different from his own?
“Galerest, there’s something I don’t understand,” Tarun said. “Or maybe it’s more than one thing. Why do the Veiled Lands have so much magic but the Bare Lands none at all?”
Galerest smiled. “It’s not that the Veiled Lands have more magic, it’s just that we know how to use it.”
“Who taught you?” Tarun asked.
“I’ve had many teachers, but the most important was Ganesha. He presented me with my staff when I became a dvari.” Galerest pulled out the short, wooden staff that he usually kept tucked into his belt. The wood was smooth and richly oiled, capped by a gnarled head. “They come in a great variety of sizes and materials, but they all share a common purpose.”
“Which is?”
“To help the wielder of prana concentrate and direct energy into useful forms.” Galerest raised the staff and pointed at a heavy spool of rope that lay on the deck of the ship, an object larger than Galerest himself. A stream of energetic vibrations poured out from the staff and surrounded the spool. Then, with a flick of his wrist,
Galerest flipped the massive spool over onto its side.
“With a staff to focus the prana,” Galerest explained, “you can do things you could never do otherwise.”
He handed the staff to Tarun, who felt how light yet sturdy it seemed to be.
“So humans can’t use prana because they don’t have staffs?”
“Not exactly,” Galerest replied with a small laugh. “Learning to use prana requires training and skill. Many have the potential, but few have the drive or patience to learn. Which reminds me that it is time to continue your training.”
“Do I get a staff?” Tarun asked hopefully.
“All in good time,” Galerest said as he took back his staff and tucked it away. ”Now, just as we practiced it last time!”
“We’ve got it!”
An agent burst into Arjun’s conference room waving a sheet of printed paper: the list of IP addresses in northern Kashmir that had searched for and accessed the Black Market upload site within the last twenty-four hours. The sparse population and lack of regular Internet access in the remote northern region meant that there were only four addresses, each with approximate longitude and latitude coordinates. For once, the remoteness of the region and its miles upon miles of stunning but uninhabitable mountains was working in their favor. Arjun grabbed the paper and scanned it quickly.
“Parvati is held at one of these locations?” he asked the agent urgently.
“We can’t say that for sure,” he replied. “She might have been moved, or the video might have been uploaded from a different location. But this is the best lead we have at the moment.”
“Do we have enough soldiers to approach all four locations at once?”
“We do, but that would require hours of organization before we could mobilize. We have contingents located within thirty miles of two sites. I recommend we start with those.”
“Do it,” Arjun commanded. “And I want to be on the ground near the sites. Arrange transport for me and my advisory team.”
“I can handle it,” Vishal interjected. “We’ll have you on a helicopter within an hour.”
Arjun surveyed his team. “Let’s bring my family home.”
Hours later, Tarun sat on the prow of the ship, his feathered face pressed into an underwater breathing mask, staring at the ocean water lapping against the hull. This is never going to work, he thought.
A splash: Galerest had leaped into the water and was now sinking to the bottom, adjusting his own face mask. Instinctively taking a deep breath before remembering his mask, Tarun followed him into the depths. The water was still warm from the sun that had just set and his foot immediately wrapped itself around a slimy strand of seaweed. This harbor seemed shallower than some of the others they had anchored in. At least they had that going for them.
The plan was anything but simple. Galerest had explained it as they sailed for most of the day. First, they would need to talk their way into the well-guarded harbor. As it turned out, Radigar was ready. He hid Tarun and Galerest below deck and then posed as a small-time trader looking to sell some of the miscellaneous cargo that he had brought on board for just this reason. Once they were docked in the harbor, then he and Galerest would sneak out from their hiding place, put on their equipment, and slide into the water. The city of Phracta was as an island crisscrossed with deep canals and pockmarked with ponds, lakes, and lagoons. Some of the Serpentine lived aboveground, some lived underwater. The inner city, where they needed to go, was protected by a wall with two entrances, one for each level. They would be sneaking in through the underwater gate, Galerest explained, because every visitor normally would use the aboveground entrance. Therefore the upper gate had more guards and thicker walls.
It was surprisingly easy to breathe underwater. The face mask Radigar had given to him fit snugly around his head and he could almost breathe normally. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim haziness of seeing through water rather than air. All sound had ceased except for the muffled murmur of the waves.
Galerest waved slowly in his direction. He turned and began to trudge with careful steps across the ocean bed of the harbor. Tarun followed, pushing the drifting seaweed aside and stepping down lightly in the thick mud. Although it was night, the harbor was softly lit, and Tarun could make out above him the dark hulls of docked ships, their anchor lines stretched tightly to the sea floor. They looked like oversized balloons tied to the ground with strings, as if you could cut the cord and they would just float away.
After a few minutes of walking, Galerest crouched on the floor, pulling Tarun down with him. He couldn’t speak, so he gestured to the distance. Tarun could just glimpse the stony pattern of the guard wall and a dark spot where he imagined the entrance might be. Galerest had told him that because the underwater entrance was only typically used by the Serpentine, it never had more than two guards stationed there. Tarun was not sure how Galerest planned to lure them away, but he knew he would have a plan.
From the pocket of his water-soaked cloak, Galerest drew a tightly tied bag that appeared, Tarun noticed, to be wriggling. He untied the knot and loosed the string, quickly snatching from within a long black slithering eel. From another pocket, he pulled a small cylinder and then deftly tied it with the string to the tail of the eel. Finally, he pulled a small cap on the cylinder, releasing a bright orange underwater flare, which crackled and fizzed like a bottle rocket. He released the eel with a lunge and it tore off in a frightened streak, pursued by the hissing flare. Galerest looked at Tarun. Though it was difficult to see through his mask and the murky water, Tarun thought he saw Galerest grin.
After a minute or two, Galerest motioned to Tarun, and they crept forward toward the gate. With a start, he noticed the bodies of two crocodile guards swimming rapidly away from their posts in pursuit of the moving flare. Staying low to the ocean floor, Tarun and Galerest circled behind them and slipped through the entrance. As they ducked into the tunnel that led into the city, the warm tropical water became suddenly chill.
The underwater streets of Phracta were mostly deserted at this late hour. The twisting roads were lit with gloomy bluish streetlights, which cast rippling shadows on the homes and storefronts that lined the strange avenues. Each building stretched up to the waterline about forty feet overhead and stretched up into an aboveground half. The inhabitants of Phracta, the Serpentine along with many other amphibious and reptilian creatures, passed easily and comfortably between dry and wet environments, and they preferred dwellings that contained both. It made for a strange city, half sunlit tropical island, half eerie underwater grotto.
Galerest led them into a darkened side street and to a ladder cut into the side of a rock wall. He climbed up first to check it out, then waved Tarun up next.
Out on the surface, they removed their masks and sat for a moment on a narrow rock sidewalk taking deep breaths of the salty air. The water trickled off of them in rivulets that drained back into the watery canals that the city maintained instead of streets. Small wooden boats were hitched at intervals along the wide canal, but no one seemed to be out on the water in this neighborhood. The only sounds were the lapping of the waves on the edge of the canal.
Presently, Galerest began to whisper softly to Tarun.
“We must change into our disguises. Here in Phracta, only the Serpentine and other reptiles are truly free. Anyone else is a servant—and they must wear a particular uniform to identify themselves.”
From his tightly sealed pack, Galerest pulled two bright purple outfits marked with the insignia of a snake’s head. He and Galerest stripped off the water-logged garments they had swam in and put on the servants’ uniforms.
“I have a contact within the city,” Galerest explained as they dressed. “Someone affiliated with the resistance. She will shelter us for the evening and help us find our way to the lagoon in the morning.”
They crept along the darkened sidewalks of the city, careful to avoid stepping close to the edge of the water. At each intersection,
Galerest peeked around to look for Serpentine guards. Even though they wore disguises, even servants were not permitted on the streets without accompaniment, especially after the city curfew.
Shortly they came to a low red door, sunken deeply into the wall. Galerest knocked the same pattern that he had on the door in the Market Sway, and soon it opened for them to duck inside. The air inside was humid and the walls ran with perspiration. In front of them stood a petite figure with a brown salamander face. She looked at Galerest.
“I was told you would be with a human boy,” she said. “Who is this?”
“He’s transcending,” Galerest responded.
“Into what?”
“We don’t know yet.”
She squinted at Tarun, inspecting him for signs of something wrong. Tarun looked down at his hands in embarrassment. They were almost completely covered with feathers by this time. The red stood out brightly against the purple of the uniform.
“Okay,” she finally said. “Follow me.”
As she led them up a flight of stairs, she introduced herself as Latrina. Galerest asked her about how she had become affiliated with the resistance. She spoke without turning around.
“I’ve seen firsthand what the Serpentine want to do. I am originally from an island several leagues away. It was once a free and prosperous land, until the Serpentine arrived and claimed it for themselves. Now, we are forced to serve their interests or risk being jailed. Or much worse.”
She stopped and looked at them.
“My husband resisted,” she started to say but trailed off. “It’s been many years since I have laid eyes on him, though I hear he’s still alive. I will help anyone who fights the Serpentine.”