by David Hair
‘I don’t know. It sounds too American—just nuking a problem doesn’t solve it.’
‘I thought you liked Americans,’ Amanjit laughed, then cursed himself. Sue Parker was still missing, and though she meant nothing to him, she evidently still meant something to Vikram. ‘Shit, sorry man. Bad joke. Really bad.’ He reached out an arm, and winced as Vikram batted it away. ‘Sorry.’
‘You’re an idiot, Amanjit.’
‘Yeah. I know’ He exhaled heavily, and waited until Vikram’s face cleared. ‘So, what do we do?’
Vikram’s face looked grey with nausea at the thought of the killing to come, recalling all the bloody battles of past lives. ‘Ravindra’s protections only encompasses the main Citadel. Everyone outside is vulnerable. Most of the Asuras are in the lower town. Nearly ten thousand souls …’
Amanjit put a hand on Vikram’s shoulder. ‘Brother, they are demons. They don’t have souls.’
‘Are they? Don’t they?’
Amanjit exhaled impatiently. ‘You can’t pity your enemy, bhai! Think about what they did to Uma and Tanvir. Think about your father. And where’s Sue? Where’s Dee, for god’s sake? You’ve looked Ravindra in the eye—you know what they’re like.’
Vikram’s head slumped. ‘You’ve seen war, in other lives, but you don’t remember. I do. There is no glory in it, and no right or wrong on the frontline. It’s just large-scale butchery.’
‘We have to get past these Asuras to get to Ravindra, Vik. What choice do we have?’
‘I don’t know,’ Vikram whispered. ‘But we have to think of one, if we can. Before it’s too late, and the killing turns us all into demons.’
Amanjit scowled glumly. ‘Then if we can’t “unleash hell”, what can we unleash?’
Vikram stared into space, then slowly turned to meet his eyes. ‘How about we unleash pandemonium?’
That night, Vikram went to the east side, below the Citadel, while Amanjit went to the west. Hemant’s men circled to the north. Only the Citadel, where the Rakshasa surely resided, was not pinpointed for attack. They had to even the odds on the softer targets first.
Some kind of celebration was going on within the palace, dimly heard. Vikram blanked it from his mind, pictured Rasita’s strained sickly face, when he last saw her in Udaipur, the night he lost her. Deepika, missing, perhaps a prisoner here, perhaps dead. The face of Sue Parker; still missing. Was she also inside here? Poor Uma and Tanvir. His father, whose had never been fully explained. So many others in past lives. He felt a nauseous anger grow, that would fuel his first astra.
At midnight, Hemant’s men kicked up a racket on the north side, firing makeshift bows, making a lot of noise. They saw Asuras stream along the walls. Vikram sighted along his arrow, and fired. The biggest, most juiced-up Twashtar-astra he could summon, combined with an Aindra-astra, to multiply the shafts fired. The arrow soared, breaking into many as it curved in the night sky. Then ten thousand pale shafts of light rained down upon the fortress. He did it again, even as he broke cover, and ran towards the lower-city gates.
The Twashtar, the arrow of confusion and panic: he’d never really used it before—it required victims that were ill-disciplined and lacking focus to succeed—the Asuras, with their childlike minds and animal volatility, were the ideal subjects.
A wave of shouting erupted from within the walls as he blasted down the doors, Amanjit beside him shooting down those guards that had not been panicked by the fiery astras. Hemant and his men followed, bearing drums that they began to hammer upon, and horns which they blasted out loudly in the midnight stillness.
To the Asuras, panicked and dazed by the Twashtar, it was as if all hell were descending upon them. As Vikram smashed the gates with a Parvata-astra, the whole mass of beastmen erupted into the streets and alleys, hooting with fear, calling madly for the king, or the moon, or their mothers. They recoiled from the advancing men in utter dread, breaking in seconds as Amanjit fired vivid Aindraastras into their midst, bringing down those that tried to resist. A riot ensued that became a rout in seconds, as the Asuras fled the sound and thunder of the invaders, running hither and thither directionless, only so long as it was away from Vikram and Amanjit.
Arrows flew down at the boys from the Citadel walls, but the darkness made them erratic. Vikram shot down an astra that flew from above, and then fired at the Rakshasa archer, but his shot broke on some protection woven into the Citadel. Mostly though they were unopposed, driving the panicked Asuras before them.
The party sounds of the Citadel had ceased, to be replaced by wails of despair and hatred. Fiery astras flew from the walls, but by then Hemant’s men were in Lower Town, emptying the slave pens. A stream of human slaves were led out of the eastern gate past dead Asura guards, into the arms of the waiting tribesmen. Children were among them, the freshly stolen Meghwal. Their fathers cried out in relief as they recognized the faces of their missing loved ones.
The tide of Asuras fleeing the city went in all directions. Some found refuge in the Citadel, but most surged out into the night and kept running, scattering for miles across the island, trampling each other to death in their need to escape from the Twashtar-induced panic. Other attacked their kin, or turned on the boys only to be shot down. The city was almost emptied within ten chaotic minutes, with hundreds dead. But the Rakshasa and their guards were now on the battlements of the Citadel. More astras flew. Hemant kept his men clear of arrow-fire, and the boys were forced to withdraw swiftly from the growing barrage from above.
Finally they rejoined the Meghwal. The tribal warriors were exultant, naming them as heroes, saviours. Maybe they were. But when Vikram met Amanjit’s eyes, the Sikh’s eye’s were dark, his need for vengeance unassuaged. ‘We’ve bought maybe a day, before the Asura re-form and return in force, with ten times our numbers’ he said to Vikram in a low voice. ‘What will you think of this mercy of yours then, bhai?’
I Need My Heart
Lanka, 30 July 2011
Rasita could not reconcile her laughing brother, or serious compassionate Vikram, with the devastation in the city below. From her windows, between the pre-wedding rituals and bathing and pampering, she scanned the smoking ruins. At midnight the city below had burst into chaotic panic. Fires had been started by panicked Asuras, and hundreds had been trampled to death. The people of Lower Town were scattered to the winds, apart from a few that had kept their heads and got inside the Citadel. Fires were still raging below, Keke reported, the little maid so enraged she could barely speak. Blackened corpses lay here and there in plain sight.
It reinforced her feeling that she was right to reject Vikram in favour of Ravindra.
The sooner I am wed to Ravan Aeshwaran, the sooner this horror can end.
‘Let me speak to Vikram,’ she begged Ravindra when he came to her, his face grim and drawn. It was the middle of the night, but no one was sleeping. His people had been decimated in the city below. The Ravan had warded the Citadel to prevent similar catastrophe within, but at a personal cost—sorcery was draining, even to him.
He shook his head. ‘What could be said? Do not fear, Rasita. His attack was clever, as the Asuras were unprepared and vulnerable to the Twashtar, but the effects are brief. Within a day or two those that live will return, and then we will overwhelm him. It need not delay our plans.’
‘Then let us be wed now’ she pressed, putting her hand on his chest. ‘I am ready.’
Ravindra smiled. ‘Would that we could. But there are preparations that must be made. Even in such a situation.’
‘You seemed willing enough to proceed, that afternoon in the Ivy Room,’ she whispered.
He gave a throaty chuckle. ‘Indeed, but I would have held back, my love. Credit me with some strength!’ He smiled, kissing her hands. ‘Have the maids been pampering you? Has Lavanasura performed the prayers?’
‘Yes, Lord.’ It had felt a travesty, to be washed and perfumed and blessed while outside his people—my people too, now—lay dead and dying.
‘But I was thinking—my heartstone! Do you not need it?’
‘No,’ he replied. ‘Its function is primarily to sustain you through death. The Ravindra that devised the ritual of Mandore thought death was needed. But I have learnt better. In fact, the heartstone only represents danger to us now. It could be used against you.’
She could not conceive of Vikram harming her, despite his other faults. ‘Is there no way of regaining it?
He smiled. ‘Actually, now that you are so close to whole, there probably is.’
Just before dawn, Vikram stirred in his sleep. He dreamt Rasita was calling his name. Her face was sad and she seemed to know everything about him. He woke to find himself in a fogbound room, where high-backed antique furniture loomed mysteriously.
She stood beside the bed, clothed in a beautiful sari, more lovely than he had ever seen her, radiant as an expectant bride. ‘Vikram, I need my heart,’ she whispered.
‘Here it is,’ he answered eagerly, holding out the pulsing stone.
She took it, and put it inside her bodice, where it pulsed once and faded. Her face held a solemnity and distance that scared him. ‘Go home. This war is wrong. You have taken so many lives, You don’t understand what is happening. Leave me alone, and go home. I know who you are! I know what you did!’
‘What do you mean?’ he asked, suddenly feeling that he was in a nightmare. ‘Who am I?’
Her face went utterly cold. ‘You are Dasraiyat, an adulterous traitor, and I reject you!’
‘What?’ His training under Vishwamitra took over. He woke himself, clutching at his pocket.
The Rasita heartstone was gone.
Ravindra sat alone in the highest tower of the Citadel, staring out at Lower Town and the plains beyond, to the edge of the woods. He was trying to determine how many foes they actually faced—not many, he was sure—apart from Vikram and Amanjit Singh, they had only seen small squads of other men, rough little tribesmen. A paltry force. Every hour brought more returning Asura, the panic engendered by Vikram’s Twashtar-astra wearing off. By morning, most would return, and then he would take the fight to his foe. The Asuras might fear him and still speak of Vibhishana with affection, but he was their king. They would return to him, and he would triumph. And after that, he could tighten his grip on the real world, where he still had three squads harassing the Indian army, laying the groundwork for his eventual negotiations with the government. By year-end, he would control India from the shadows.
He lifted the Rasita heartstone to his lips, and kissed it silently, then laid it aside, and took up the Deepika heartstone, staring into it thoughtfully. It was shadowy, inert, and yet … where was the ghost? Why had the spectre of Deepika not come crawling over the walls or hammering on the gates? The final piece of this jigsaw still eluded him. He scowled silently.
There was a knock, and then the bulky shape of Khumb lumbered in and bowed. ‘My Lord,’ the Rakshasa rumbled. Khumb really was his uncle, from when both were mere mortal humans in Adun, just as Meenakshi was his real sister. ‘More Asuras return. The enemy did not assault the Citadel though we had lost most of our defenders. Are they fools?’
Ravindra gave a taut smile. ‘Not fools. But weak. They have only a peasant rabble at their command. The attack on Lower Town was the most they could achieve. In their place, I would have used much more lethal astras and slaughtered the Asuras. They show a lack of ruthlessness that is revealing. They are still boys, at heart.’
‘What are your plans, Lord?’ Khumb rumbled.
‘We shall attack,’ Ravindra replied. ‘Have all the Asuras equipped, and mass them before the gates. Keep them protected from astras. Let us show the enemy our might.’
Khumb bowed, eager for battle. Then he straightened, and looked pensive. ‘Preparations for the wedding are complete, nephew—why must we wait?’
‘For the Darya,’ Ravindra replied, eyeing the gem as it caught the light.
‘Then where is she?’
‘That, Uncle, is a good question. If she were truly dead, she should be here. Which means she may have survived, and is hiding from me.’ He twisted the gem in his fingers, so that refracted light danced about the room. He smiled grimly. ‘In which case, all the better.’
‘What will you do?’
‘Something I should have done earlier—I will assume she is alive, and deploy my powers according to that assumption. I will use this gem to channel my powers to finding her and bringing her here.’ He reached inside himself, and then sent a blast of mental energy into the gem.
His blow struck home, and his face lit with satisfaction. Somewhere—somewhere close!—Deepika Choudhary shrieked in sudden pain, and then pulled down shields against him. Shields he began to hammer against, in waves of blows that she might hold off, but not for long …
A Parley at the Gates
Lanka, 30 July 2011
Vikram told no one of his strange dream and the loss of Rasita’s heartstone, not even Amanjit, in case it drove his friend to do something rash. Amanjit was already suffering too much at Deepika’s absence. The loss of the Rasita-stone had shaken Vikram to the core, as did Ras’ cold attitude towards him. He could not understand it. It almost paralysed him. I’m here to rescue you, he whispered. Why do you turn away?
Instead, he resolved to make war. Dawn brought another cloudless sky, the monsoon holding off, the heat oppressive as the humidity grew. The air seemed thick, needing to be gulped down. And as the sun speared the darkness, worse was revealed.
A horde of Asuras was growing before the Citadel gates. Hundreds of them were streaming back into the city from the surrounding forests as the effects of the Twashtar wore off. Already there were three thousand or more, and they were forming into lines and being armed. Vikram watched from the eaves of the forest with Amanjit glowering beside him.
You were right, bhai. We should have killed them while we had the chance.
All morning the boys, joined by Hemant, watched the enemy army mass, and then stream into Lower Town. The fires had been extinguished, and bodies pulled clear. The Rakshasa lords strode among them, poised to deal with any astras that might fly from the forests, but Vikram could see no point. He had miscalculated, shown weakness when war allowed none. He was failing again.
Before midday, a change came. Trumpets blew, and the Asuras tramped in lines out of Lower Town, and faced the forests in thick ranks, the Rakshasas driving them on. The ranks of armoured beastmen throbbed with fury, especially when they caught sight of Vikram and Amanjit on the low rise from where they watched. They hooted and jabbered, shrieking for vengeance for the damage and loss caused the night before.
Hemant touched Vikram’s shoulder. ‘Lord, we must fall back. If they attack, only you can stop them.’
Vikram hung his head. To fall back would be to fail forever, he sensed. But how could they fight, here and now?
‘Let’s take a few of them down first,’ Amanjit growled, picking up his bow. ‘They can’t block all of our arrows.’
Vikram shook his head. They could not win. They’d thrown away their chance when they had let Ravindra off the hook last night. He turned to Hemant to tell him to withdraw his men, when he saw something away to the left that made his jaw drop.
At the edge of the forest, clad in a robe so thickly embroidered with gold thread that it shone, was a massive figure. It was clinging to a tall stick, bent but still powerful, the head weighed with huge bull horns. One hand was raised in solemn greeting, then the inhuman skull turned back to regarding the Asuras.
‘Vibhishana?’ Amanjit gasped, while Vikram just stared.
Vibhishana here? How?
A thin youth stepped out of the trees beside the Rakshasa and raised a tentative hand. Vikram felt himself smile. ‘Kasun!’ He almost fell over himself as he hurried down the small knoll and scurried towards the newcomers. ‘King Vibhishana! How are you here?’ Amanjit ran beside him, his expression lifting as he began to hope again.
‘My Lords,’ Vibhishana bowed,
clinging to his staff with white knuckles. ‘I am told that I owe you my life.’ His voice was thin and wheezing, and the closer the two boys got, the more they could see the strain the giant Rakshasa was under to just remain standing.
Kasun was hovering like an anxious parent. He clasped Vikram and Amanjit’s hand quickly. ‘It’s incredible! He woke a few weeks after I took him into care. Then he said he had to come here …’ His eyes went back to the hordes of Asura. ‘He told me this is a place that appears on no maps.’
‘He’s right on that count,’ Amanjit drawled. ‘How’d you get here?’
‘My brother knows people. He got us to Tamil Nadu by boat, and then I hired a truck and drove. He told me where to come. I tried calling you but could get no connection. We drove through the whole of India, and no one noticed! Mind you, I think sometimes he can play tricks with people’s eyes and minds.’
Vibhishana almost smirked. ‘Humans are easy to manage. But not my own kind.’ His eyes were on the ranked beastmen, who were being worked up into a charge by the Rakshasa marshalling them.
‘Why are you here, Lord?’ Vikram asked the old bent but still magnificent Rakshasa.
‘To help you. I sensed you both, in the false Lanka. You and your doctor friend saved me. I am here to aid you.”
The trumpets blared, and they suddenly realized just how close the Asuras had come. They were streaming towards them, less than a hundred yards and closing in seconds. Hemant shouted an order and the remaining Meghwal began to pull away, but he himself lingered, the langur monkey on his back snarling at the oncoming hordes.
Amanjit lifted his bow. ‘Either we get out now or we fight,’ he growled.
Then Vibhishana stepped forward, into full view of the oncoming enemy.
The blasting trumpets were drowned by the sudden howl and clamour of the first Asuras to see their lost king, and the charge broke into a stumbling, dissolving morass of wide-eyed and disbelieving beastmen. Kasun took a step towards the Rakshasa king, and Vikram caught his shoulder. ‘Stay out of it,’ he whispered, his own eyes locked on the unfolding scene as he pulled himself away.