Magic and Mayhem: A Collection of 21 Fantasy Novels

by Jasmine Walt

  The morning following a rave, Rai nurses a fierce hangover and a broken heart in the sunshine at Nina’s café. It is one of the few surviving coffee shops in the city, serving up steaming cups of the rare brew. Already coffee beans are in short supply in the galaxy. Only the better-off can afford it. The rest can only stare at the steaming concoction with greed and lust. The café is tiny and has only four tables. The dozen chairs are so small Rai can just barely squeeze his five-foot-eight frame into one.

  After fumbling for his sunglasses, he puts them on and presses his right palm against the fierce pounding in his temples, which springs out of nowhere. The morning is hot, the temperature already in the eighties. The small ceiling fans overhead lazily turn the air, which settles right back down, hot and dusty on his brow.

  Rai is dressed for the heat, but a thin trickle of sweat runs down his back. His once pristine white kurta, a loose shirt-like item worn by many in the city, is creased from the night. He wearily stretches out his jean-clad legs ending in open sandals in front of him.

  Obviously a coffee is not the answer, he thinks. Then sighs, wondering if anything can heal the hole in his heart.

  The temple next door is one of the many replicas of the original temple of Mumbadevi that have sprung up all over the city. Opposite is a new age shop with roaring business, hosting females of many species from different parts of the world who have come to get their chakras fixed.

  Just then the old woman next to Rai, with skin stretched so tight across her face that he is sure it will snap any minute, makes appreciative noises. Nina serves her a tofu, which trembles in its dish.

  “Oh my,” says the old woman, fanning herself with red-tipped fingers. “Too much. Too much. I wanted just a little.”

  Well eat up, bitch, thinks Rai.

  There seems to be too many of these old women around with acid-peeled faces, white tights, and yellow, nicotine-stained fingers, hanging onto equally-aged companions dressed in ridiculous holiday attire. Light blue cardigans, ironed jeans, and old-fashioned Nikons with large lenses adorn them. All of the tourists smile at the quaint scene of the Indian temple with the café opposite playing Bollywood love songs, as if they have come to gloat at the remnants of the once proud city.

  Bombay retains a certain exotic appeal, definitely more than whichever city these pests come from.

  He wonders again why people still like to play tourist when so much of Earth has been destroyed by natural disasters over the last decade. Few Earth cities are worth visiting these days.

  What is the appeal in going from one broken metropolis to the next? Some perverse kind of dystopian porn?

  The woman seated at the next table digs into the white, jelly-like substance. The tofu slithers around the plate and she chases it with her spoon until she finally captures and eats it with relish.

  Somehow, the entire incident reminds Rai of his current obsession, Flaccid. This, of course, is the real reason behind him leaving the solace of his apartment in Colaba to head to the grungier party island of Juhu.

  Flaccid—the one he picked up at the most happening same-sex hangout in the city. Rai chanced upon him at the bar situated right behind Nina’s coffee shop.

  Next door is the more affordable communication-café, with backpacking students on their one-year-to-see-the-galaxy routine, surfing the mind waves with their invisible antennae, trying to appear occupied, but really on the lookout for cheap sex.

  Rai had stumbled across the bar by accident. The combination of the loud rave music pouring out and the charms of the muscular bouncer at the door had drawn him. He had walked in and ordered a martini. Before he had even picked the olives out, Flaccid strode into his life.

  To the sound of trip-hop, Flaccid had taken the drink from his hand and sucked down a long, drawn-out sip, looking at Rai over the rim of the martini glass. Rai had watched; without breaking eye contact, Flaccid had put his arms around him. They had kissed with eyes open wide. That was how it was all night long. Swallowed up, Rai could do no more but taste the magic of his lips. He could not even remember touching or being touched anywhere else by his lover. It was all about the lips.

  When finally he could stand it no more, he had made the only direct move in their relationship—reaching down between his lover’s legs—to find the nub of their relationship, the ghost of the ex-wife, the evidence of that which was to lead to their breaking up; the flaccid member.

  So this is how it feels to reach the end of desire, thought Rai as Flaccid pulled back, leaving Rai in the agony of his unconsummated desire.

  He had looked on, helpless, as Flaccid pulled on his bikini shorts, then his trousers and his tee-shirt, and left. Then, reaching out, he closed his fingers around the old-fashioned pocket watch Flaccid had left behind.

  The next day at Nina’s coffee shop, Rai is still in the misery of his not pre-nor-post stuck-in-the-middle coitus as he goes over each individual mind-connected, soul-stirring moment of their encounter.

  How, Rai wonders, am I going to find Flaccid in this crazy city, among the mildewed dregs of coffee shops, incense-filled temples, painters’ exhibitions, antique fairs, flea markets, and karaoke bars? All spread around him, overwhelming him with their noise, and sucking him into the vortex of a man he knows of only as Flaccid.

  It is time. Time then, to go back to the basics. Perhaps tease the past into revealing Flaccid’s whereabouts. Or else, is it time to move on?

  Suspended in agony of the decision, the kind which is difficult to make, yet once made, will change the course of the future, he taps his fingers on his coffee cup. He picks himself up.

  “Goodbye, Nina.” He waves to the familiar slim, beautiful girl behind the counter and walks out of the shop toward the highest point of the city on Malabar Hill.

  He crosses the narrow canal, which runs through the tall towers of the few remaining old-fashioned nineteenth century skyscrapers, which had survived the tsunami, straggling reminders of the past. Then he proceeds past the central market, teeming with all manner of life and mementos for sale from across the galaxy, and across the art exhibition situated in the clearing after the flea market.

  He takes the final turnoff for the peak and boards the antique cable car, which takes him to the top. Perched at one end of the row of seats, he fingers his eyelashes in nervousness, reveling in the sick sorrow bubbling up from his core as he considers his future.

  Surely the end of a relationship should not have affected me so much. Once again, he had put much more into it, mistaking the temporary solace of a lover’s arms as a joining of the souls. I should have learnt by now. Yet he could never resist the allure of finding out. This time he had been so sure that he had found the one. He couldn’t have been more wrong for me.

  The cable car stops and he departs toward the end of the world, the peak of his life. As he reaches his destination, his calm stance melts, a thin trickle of tears runs down his cheeks. He reaches the end of his patience. Despite being in the most amazing city on the planet, it is nothing if he has no one to share it with. No, not anyone—just my true love. The one I can call my own. But perhaps he does not exist. Not in this life, at least.

  Rai stands on the small shelf-like space jutting out from the peak overlooking the city, gazing toward the future he never had. Then bracing himself, his feet spread out wide, pushing down against the rocky surface of his life, he is ready to take off.

  He shuts his eyes, takes a deep, purifying breath and then, just as he is about to let go and jump—

  “Rai?”

  He shakes his head. Once again taking a deep breath, he tries to focus neither on the past nor the future, but on the moment, gathering his emotions to make that leap.

  “Rai? Rai!” This time the voice is more insistent. “It’s not yet time, Rai.”

  An apparition in white robes floats before him. Wisps of hair from a long white beard blow in the breeze; the man’s face is serene. Their eyes are level. Rai looks toward his feet and realises that he is suspen
ded miles from firm land.

  He gulps. “Who are you?”

  “I am Mimir, and I am here to help you fulfill your destiny.”

  The base of Rai’s spine prickles, his feet tingle, the hair on his forearms rise up, the shackles around his heart crack, whisper, finally melt and break away.

  “Destiny?”

  “You do have one, you know.”

  “I do?” A cynical part of him denies what he has just seen and yet some core of him wants, needs, to believe.

  “Yes, a future larger than life, bigger than everything you have ever imagined—a place where anything is possible.”

  Rai hesitates, taking a fleeting look at the lights of Bombay below.

  “Change. It is coming to you now, Rai. Everything you ever asked, indeed, prayed for. Grab it now, for your time has come.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I am here to take you on your chosen path.” Mimir continues to smile. “Come with me.” He holds out his gnarled hand.

  Rai takes a final look at the city spread in front of him, then removes the old-fashioned pocket watch Flaccid left behind. It falls from his grasp. His eyes strain to follow it through the darkness until he finally tears his gaze away and looks at Mimir. Rai places his palm in the elderly man’s outstretched hand.

  “I am ready.”

  Mimir transports him through the wormhole, the tunnel which spans time, across the seven colours of the rainbow, to where his destiny awaits. His future on Arkana, at the Academy of Half Lives, dawns.

  Rai opens his eyes to see a girl and a boy, hand-in-hand, taking a walk in the grounds of the Academy. They look up from their conversation. Mimir and Rai land in the garden adjoining the Academy in a flash of white light.

  Shaken and confused from the journey, not yet sure about what has actually happened, he allows Mimir to help him to his feet and lead him to the two people.

  “Meet Beauty and the Beast,” Mimir jokes. “Tiina and Yudi, this is Rai. He’s just been through the wormhole and I am afraid must be feeling rather discombobulated.”

  Rai’s head spins even more. “Dis…dis…?”

  “He means you must be dazed from your journey. Don’t worry, you’ll soon get used to Mimir’s way of speaking.” Tiina walks to him. Of slim build with dark brown hair and brown eyes that could melt any man’s soul, she is unlike any woman Rai has met before.

  The look on Rai’s face is so confused it is comical. She laughs and embraces him.

  “This is just the beginning.”

  Rai wonders if he should believe her.

  15

  A few days later, after Rai has acclimatised, he starts classes with the rest of the students and often notices Tiina and Yudi together. They seem like a finely-tuned instrument, though not always in perfect harmony. When they do get it right, they can make the most melodious songs. Tiina is as graceful as a veena, the ancient instrument of the gods. He compares Yudi to a saxophone, someone who straddles many cultures, with keys that can be played by those in the know, to make him perform the actions they want, sometimes even against his will. Yet Yudi would be game enough to comply, despite knowing the consequences might not be in his best interests.

  It is no accident that the three of them get together in a group exercise during the class of self-ascension where they are being taught to travel across dimensions. Rai has just managed to calm his senses and ascend into the other plane when he runs into Tiina.

  “Rai! So, how is the yoga practise coming along?” She goes straight to the point.

  “How did you know?”

  “Hard not to miss you. I have seen you in yoga class, practising the various asanas. You are good.”

  “Been practising it for a long time. You don’t grow up in Bombay without some of the philosophy rubbing off on you.” A thought strikes him and he pauses. “Though, it is only after I left the country that I actually started practising it.”

  “How do you manage to stay in the headstand for so many minutes? I have been trying for years and am still unable to go beyond a few seconds.”

  He grins. “It’s just practise; I like the feel of blood rushing to my head, clears things up.”

  “So is that why you also wear linen trousers most of the time, too?”

  Rai looks down at his clothes, surprised that she noticed. “It’s the effect of growing up in a warm climate—there’s no way you can wear jeans, forget leather trousers…” He glances at Tiina’s brown leather pants, which mould to her frame. “…in the heat and humidity of a tropical climate. And now I am just used to the cool airy feeling of cotton against my skin. That’s why I like yoga, too. They both make me happy.”

  “And are you happy, Rai?”

  He nods. “Especially here with people I am very comfortable to be with. My kind.”

  Before she can reply, Yudi comes across to them and asks her, “So, how about some introductions?”

  Rai smiles at him. “We already know each other. Don’t you remember? We met as Mimir brought me to the Academy.”

  “Ah! So you are together already.”

  They look up to see Mimir walking toward them, holding a hooked cane.

  “Mimir!” exclaims Rai.

  Tiina bows her head in deference.

  Mimir’s face breaks into a broad smile. “Tiina! So, you have met your fellow voyagers.”

  Rai notices Yudi grin at the rapt expression on Tiina’s face.

  Yudi says, “If I could paint, then the mood of this scene would be peaceful, exquisite, all in white.” Then, seeming perturbed at having shared his innermost thoughts, he adds, “I have no idea where that came from. Was that poetic or what?”

  Mimir nods. “White is my favourite colour.”

  “Isn’t purple the colour of spirituality, though?”

  “I had no idea you also painted.” Tiina rests a hand on Yudi’s arm.

  He shrugs, trying to brush aside his artistic inclination. “Sometimes.”

  “Purple is also good,” replies Mimir. “Though it has more connotations of passion than what I am comfortable with. I do admit that I feel like that sometimes. The passion, I mean. I am familiar with that emotion. You don’t get to my age without sampling a range of all the delights that life has to offer.” A wicked twinkle lights his eyes.

  “Oh!” exclaims Rai. “I do believe you are trying to embarrass us, Mimir.”

  “We elevated spirits have our moments of weakness, too.” The guardian chuckles. “Though, I get that way more when I am faced with yet another ‘good versus evil’ kind of situation.”

  Yudi asks, “Humour being the panacea to such intense situations?”

  “You talk as if it were a common occurrence,” says Tiina.

  “Good versus evil? Well, when you get to be my age, it seems to get annoyingly repetitive. As if all the bad stuff is compelled to occasionally raise its head, remind us that it is still around, lest we forget about it, and get slapped down again.”

  “You mean, be put in its place,” says Yudi.

  “Yes, exactly.”

  Tiina frowns. “It sounds awfully boring when you put it that way.”

  “It can get quite dull and solitary. Therefore, it is almost a relief when someone such as Shaitan comes along. An out-of-the-ordinary situation, needing a very different approach and raising some very interesting possibilities.” Mimir casts them a meaningful look.

  Yudi shifts his weight and crosses his arms. “Uh-oh! I do not like the sound of this.”

  “Well, you are right. The three of you are the answer this time.” Mimir nods at each of them in turn.

  Rai looks on, fascinated as Mimir holds up his hooked cane so that the moonbeams reflect off its polished surface and into his third eye. A whoosh of pure energy sweeps through him, in an implosion of colour, emotions, sensations, and sound, which surprises all their senses. It sends him reeling with conflicting sentiments that threaten to overwhelm him.

  I will not make it back, realises Rai.

/>   “Arise, chosen ones!” Mimir proclaims. “You have a mission.”

  “Uh-oh! Hear it comes,” whispers Yudi.

  The elderly man throws a warning glance at Yudi, who promptly shuts up. “As you know, Shaitan has held sway over our universe for many years now. Each of you has had your brush with him already.” He pauses and looks at Rai, who nods slightly.

  Tiina and Yudi’s expressions mirror the mixture of pain, fury, and resignation in his soul. A shared past; we already have that in common.

  Mimir bows his head. “What you don’t know is that a few weeks ago, Shaitan attacked Arkana.”

  “Arkana?” Tiina exclaims. “But everything seems so…so untouched.”

  Mimir bobs his head. “Yes, he came with only a select group of his army. In a daring strike, he raided the Temple of Arkana—”

  “The one there on top of the hill?” Tiina points to where the soaring white tower of a shrine is not far off in the distance.

  “Yes. He was very precise in his goal. He swept in, killed the guards, and stole the Isthmus.”

  “So it’s true?” breathes Yudi. “The Isthmus is real? It actually exists?”

  Mimir continues as though not noticing the interruption. “And with it, he is on his way to becoming invincible. For he who holds the Isthmus commands unlimited power.”

  “What kind of power?” asks Rai. “Can he command armies? Bend us to his will?”

  “Worse, or better if you want to put it that way. He commands destiny and can bend the fortunes to favour him. As long as he holds it, fate will open its gates, and with luck on his side, nothing can stop him. Not even the most superior of all half lives.”

  “If the Isthmus is so lucky, how can it be stolen? Wouldn’t it be able to protect itself?”

  Mimir beams. “Good question, Tiina! And therein lies the contradiction. He who holds the Isthmus dictates fortune, but the Isthmus is still just a device, and like any other object, it can be stolen. Whoever takes it commands it, and can order divine intervention to side with him every time.”