Magic and Mayhem: A Collection of 21 Fantasy Novels

by Jasmine Walt

  “Shaitan!”

  The wrath of Shaitan is coming and she must save her newborn, hide him away before the self-proclaimed king arrives. Still sluggish from the pain of childbirth, she gets to her feet with superhuman effort.

  Clutching the child, now asleep in her arms, she dashes to the nearest entrance and heads down the staircase. As she descends, she searches in desperation for a place to hide the baby. She continues to run down the steps and then across the floor below, and there finds a panel to an opening in the wall—a transportation shaft, normally used to dump trash.

  She hesitates only for a second. As an afterthought, she takes off the chain around her neck and places it around the child. After pausing only to wipe away her tears, she places the child on the shelf behind the panel and closes it. She plays with the keypad to make sure that it drops all the way to the bottom of the building. The gears change and the shelf is transported down, taking the sleeping child with it.

  Then Thalia climbs the stairs and walks onto the terrace. Shaitan steps out from his ship and swaggers over to her. As she watches him approach, Thalia tries not to show how terrified she is. He is the very picture of the devil, yet even in that weakened state, a thrill runs through her and she cannot help but note how magnificent he appears.

  A gust of wind lifts thick black hair that hangs almost to his shoulders. The turquoise vest over his torso sets off his ebony skin, and a smile plays around his lips. In silence, Shaitan pulls out his sword and continues toward her. His pace is measured, and with each step he takes, she quakes. Finally, her legs give way and she falls to her knees.

  Shaitan pulls her up by her hair, exposing her neck. She raises her eyes and notices the dark blue sapphire on the gold band around his forehead glitter as if welcoming her to death. With hypnotic relief, she fixes her gaze on the shining stone, jolting in surprise as he leans over to kiss her. He runs his hands over her eyelids, gently closing them so that she does not see the sword descend before her head is swiped off in one stroke.

  9

  Yudi’s Journey: Pluto, 3016

  The lightning strikes him down, charring him black with smoke ebbing out, and he awakes to the gut-wrenching pain.

  Thump. Kreeee. Thump. Kreeeeee…

  Yudi jolts into consciousness from the sound. He throws off the covers and pads onto the small terrace adjoining his bedroom, wearing just the pair of black shorts he sleeps in. He is on the eighteenth floor of a fifty-eight storey apartment block. The distance does not hinder the noise, which carries to him through the dawn air, growing louder by the second: Thump. Kreeee. THUMP. KREEEE…

  Not again!

  Down below, he sees the aged Plutonian female going about her early morning ritual of dragging the large steel pole, bumping down the sleeping escalator steps. Every morning at five o’clock without fail, that annoying noise wakes him up. And every morning he looks out the window to see her walking down the escalator, which would normally be running in the upward direction if it were switched on.

  Why does she not take the path next to the escalator? It would make the going much easier for her. And where does she go with that one single steel pole every morning? He ponders her routine just as he has every morning.

  Another of life’s great mysteries…just like the question of who my real father is. The thought comes unbidden, as if the urban chemistry swirling in the air is mocking him. The smog of the early dawn creeps in—a reminder of the clogged, urban city where he lives—masking the scene below until all he can see is his own face reflected in his mind’s eye.

  Without turning, he reaches for the half-empty cigarette pack placed within arm’s length on the small wrought iron table on the terrace. He flicks on the vintage Ronson gas lighter, its golden casing long since rubbed away by frequent use to a dull brown. The cigarette paper crackles as it lights up. He pulls in a drag and exhales, watching the smoke as it melds with the smog, hitting the sticky side of the taller one hundred and eight storey-high apartment buildings on either side of the street. The smog slithers toward the other open window of the apartment diagonally opposite, where the young man living there often parades his women.

  His heart begins to beat in sync to the thump, kreeee, thump, kreeee, even as the sound fades. He shuts his eyes. I am safe. I am safe. No. I am scared, so scared. Feeling so helpless is unstoppable, and the sensation grows within him.

  After stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette with jerky movements, he reaches for another.

  Athira’s voice rings in his ears. “Being sixteen isn’t permission to smoke your lungs out all in one go. You’ve got the rest of your life to live. Space it out a bit.”

  He steels himself against the prick of consciousness that was bound to follow and continues to light his second cigarette of the day. As he pulls on the cigarette with his right hand, he plays with the faded Ronson in his left. Its smooth, much rubbed surface is a slight comfort. It’s the only reminder left of his father.

  Adopted father, he corrects himself.

  However much his logical mind tried to believe what Athira told him, his heart refused to listen. Athira would always remain both his father and mother. The man had not just raised him, but had showered him in love in a strong affectionate manner, which had bound them forever.

  As usual, thinking of Athira sends his mind into overdrive and he shuts his eyes against the pain. He can feel every separate beat of his heart, realise the full breadth of his life, and discern each individual moment in that space.

  So, this is how it feels to be powerless. His thoughts hang alongside the window and then hurtle against the glass, crashing into a thousand pieces in his mind.

  Stop! Breathe! He admonishes himself, and clinging on, tries to haul himself up. Mentally, he stays suspended over the precipice for a few seconds, and then he is there, back on stable ground.

  Yudi sighs and opens his eyes. Panic attacks have an annoying way of creeping up on him when he is at his most vulnerable. The images will come rushing back and once more his mind races over that well trodden memory path.

  10

  En route to Pluto, 3000

  Pluto is the equivalent of a day and a half in terms of travelling time, yet a few light-years’ distance from Ka Surya; to the ten-year-old Yudi, it feels like they had been travelling forever. His terror at seeing Ka Surya meet its watery grave had been replaced with mounting excitement at the prospect of being on his first trans-planet trip on a spacecraft and his head is half giddy at the thought of the adventures in store for them. The ancient spacecraft shudders at the speed it travels, but has been holding firm on its course to Pluto.

  Seeing Athira deep in thought, Yudi realises his father mourns the loss of his planet.

  In respect for his grief, he had tried to stay quiet for as long as possible, strapped into the co-pilot’s seat to Athira’s right. At first, he had distracted himself by counting the stars they passed, but as the hours dragged by, they went deeper into space and even the stars stopped showing up.

  Soon Yudi tires of staring into the black space. He glances at the clock on the control panel and realises that they have been travelling for the equivalent of almost an Earth day. He thinks he had already shown admirable restraint in not disturbing his father so far, but time is wearing on him.

  Athira is as still as a stone statue with his hand steady on the joystick of the spacecraft. The occasional flick of his wrist coaxing the ship along is the only outward sign of life. His brow remains furrowed, showing deep contemplation.

  Yudi wonders how to distract him without showing his boredom. He squirms around first discreetly, then openly. Finally, he snaps off his safety belt as the spacecraft tilts to the left to avoid an incoming meteor. Yudi promptly falls and strikes his head on the control panel between the pilot and co-pilot’s seat. That catches Athira’s attention and he turns to Yudi. The fact that he did not reprimand Yudi for undoing his belt is a clear sign he is still upset by the destruction of his home. Yudi sinks into the seat,
straps himself back in, and rubs his forehead to soothe the pain.

  “How much longer, Dad?” He uses the more endearing term instead of the more formal ‘Father’ he would normally use, hoping to ease Athira somewhat.

  “A few more hours…or days.” Athira shrugs. “What difference does it make?”

  Pleased to have a response, Yudi comments, “I always wonder why we still count time in Earth hours, even though we don’t live on Earth anymore.”

  “Well, Earth is our mother planet; it is where all of us originated from. After we interbred with non-humans and populated other planets, it turned out that Earth’s concept of hours, days, and years was the easiest to follow for everyone. So even today, that is what we use.”

  Athira smiles and stretches out his hand to ruffle Yudi’s hair.

  Happy that he has Athira’s full attention, Yudi asks the question guaranteed to distract his father. “Have I always had this birthmark with all these dots arranged in such odd fashion?”

  “It has five dots arranged in a quincunx.”

  “A what?”

  “Quincunx. Q-U-I-N-C-U-N-X. It’s pronounced ‘kwin–kenks,’ with a k.”

  “Wow! You are smart, Dad!”

  Athira’s voice turns hard. “What are you up to, Yudi?”

  “What?”

  “You never like to talk about it, and all of a sudden you ask me the very question you have always refused to discuss?”

  It is delivered in a casual tone, but Yudi actually means it. “Well, I figure if I have to take revenge for Ka Surya, then I better know who I am going head-to-head with, right?”

  Athira hesitates, then shrugs again, the fight visibly going out of him. “I suppose you have to know one day, and we have a few more hours to go after all.” He sets the craft to auto-pilot and turns to Yudi. “You already know how I found you.”

  “Yes, the orange cloth.”

  “Golden. It was golden just like your birthmark was.”

  “Yes, the birthmark in the form of the five dots…a…a…” Yudi hesitates not brave enough to pronounce the word.

  “Quincunx.”

  Instinctively, Yudi touches the space over the side of his left hip where the birthmark is. “But it’s not golden now.”

  “It’s faded over the years, but it’s there and as I recall, the quincunx is also Shaitan’s emblem.”

  “Really?”

  “So I guess you two have a connection.”

  “Is he my…my birth father?”

  “Maybe…actually, yes. I think you are his son.”

  “That’s not so bad, right? I mean he is powerful and famous and rules over so many kingdoms. So, does that mean I am a prince?”

  “You could say that. But you must be careful, Yudi, for Shaitan has sworn to kill his children. He has sworn not to let them live.”

  “Why does Shaitan hate everything so much?”

  “It’s a good question. Be sure to ask him if…when you meet him.”

  “You think I will meet him?”

  “He will find you one day, Yudi. Don’t underestimate him.”

  “Why is he so angry?” He frowns, mirroring his father’s earlier contemplative expression.

  “You would be, too, if your father cursed you to die a ghastly death at the hands of your own child.”

  “But you found me!”

  “I did.”

  “You are my father, too, aren’t you, Dad? My true father.”

  “I am.”

  Yudi grins, glad to have pleased Athira. “I am going to be a great swordsman just like you.” As an example, he pulls the sword on his back from its scabbard and brandishes it in mock-threat.

  His father’s voice fills with pride. “That you will be, too! If it is the last thing I ever do.”

  Then, his attention is pulled back to the screen. Following his gaze, Yudi gasps in excitement, for they are almost upon an asteroid belt.

  Athira exclaims aloud, and the explicit four letter word hangs in the air between them. “Belt up Yudi; this is the last mile before we get into orbit on Pluto.”

  “I am already!” He almost jumps out of his seat in excitement, enjoying the exhilaration of the flight. Then a thought strikes him. “The horses.”

  “Uh?”

  “The horses. We are not going back for them, are we?”

  “No, we are not.”

  Upon hearing the finality in his father’s voice, Yudi subsides. It’s not fair!

  Athira concentrates on navigating through the minefield of rocks. They clear the rocks flying at them from all directions and cross the asteroid belt without incident.

  As the black and brown planet comes into view, both father and son absorb the view of their new home. Young as he is, Yudi realises their adopted world is nowhere as pretty as the place they left behind.

  “I promise you, Father.”

  At Athira’s absentminded grunt, Yudi clarifies.

  “I promise to become accomplished at swordplay, and I will avenge the horses.”

  Before Athira can comment, the radio crackles and his friend on Pluto—the same one who alerted them to Shaitan’s march on Ka Surya—makes contact, guiding them to land in a deserted field just outside Charon, the capital city of Pluto. This is where Athira and Yudi spend the next seven years of their lives.

  With the enviable resilience of youth, Yudi takes to his life on Pluto like he grew up there. His days are full with academics at school and every spare minute is spent on practising swordplay with Athira. It doesn’t take him long to realise that his father misses his home planet and never really gets over seeing his childhood home destroyed.

  In his first year on Pluto, Athira obsesses with teaching Yudi to master the blade. At ten, Yudi is quite adept at swordplay, but that is not enough for Athira, who pushes him to practise for more than five hours every afternoon after school, and without recourse to wearing armour.

  Yudi often protests, his young body aching, his arms and chest bearing the brunt of Athira’s blade as he struggles to parry and thrust and evade the older man’s sword. Yet Athira is never sated, relentless in driving Yudi to be the best.

  On a particularly tough day when Athira challenges Yudi more than necessary, he snaps, and finally gets the better of his father. With a skill born of anger and desperation, Yudi fights back, and in a surprise move, disarms Athira for the first time. After the two look at each other, panting, Athira bends to pick up the sword, which fell between them. He wipes the blade and puts it back in its sheath, then, taking Yudi by the arm, he leads his son home from the gym to the small flat they share in one of the typical multi-storey apartments of Pluto.

  They sit down to an early dinner.

  “You must wonder why I push you so hard at being good with the sword.”

  Yudi doesn’t reply, too busy trying not to wince at the aches and pains riddling his body. Though they fight with real swords, the blades are covered for their protection. “Who cares?”

  “Well, you should. It is the sword that may one day save your life.”

  The urgency in his voice catches Yudi’s attention.

  “It is the way of our world now that technology can only be used for transportation. It cannot be used in battle or hurt anyone.”

  “Why are you telling me this? Its something I have already learnt in school from reading the Laws of our World.”

  “What they probably haven’t told you is what I remember from when I was your age, when humans used guns and lasers.”

  Wow! The talk of guns and strange weapons fascinated Yudi. “Really? And have you used a gun or a laser weapon?”

  “I remember holding a gun before it was outlawed.”

  “Why would they do that? It would be so much more exciting to fight with guns, like in the old movies.” Yudi makes his right hand into a mock gun and fires.

  Athira smiles. “As humans started mating with species from other planets, they were exposed to different cultures and different ways of life. Many of the other
non-human races had already realised technology was best when used for the good of all. They showed humans the error of their ways. For the good of the new generation comprising of humans and half lives, Earth finally agreed to and signed the Laws of the World, and one of the rules of the constitution was that technology could only be used for transportation or communication, not to hurt and definitely not in battle.”

  “Wow! I never knew that!”

  “I tell you this because you need to be aware that the only way to defend yourself is with your hands and with your weapons. So you cannot slip up.” Athira pauses, then says, “Promise…promise me that you will excel with the sword, you will be the best at swordplay in the entire galaxy.”

  Since it is important for Athira to hear it from him, he promises, knowing quite well there is little chance he could live up to this. Yet, under Athira’s watchful gaze, Yudi’s skill with the sword grew.

  He learnt everything Athira could teach him, and by the time he was fifteen, had won most minor and a few major fencing championships on Pluto.

  Years later, Athira no longer picks up the sword, content to watch Yudi practise most mornings. As Yudi grows taller, he realises his father only seems to grow older and quieter. In his sixteenth year, Yudi puts on a final growth spurt, reaching six-foot-four. Looking down at Athira, who wears his fifty years poorly, he notices his father’s once black hair had turned a silver-gray somewhere along the way.

  Yudi also shows a flair for painting, much to Athira’s surprise, who could barely draw a straight line. He wonders if this particular gift comes from one of Yudi’s real parents.

  On one occasion, looking at one of his latest creations, Athira asks him, “What inspired that particular drawing?”