Deathsworn: Siddhi Chronicles Book 1

by H. K Oby

  Everyone else reacted at the same time. The jeweler screamed, too, in a high-pitched voice that would have sounded perfectly normal coming from a high school girl. He ran, or rather, tried to run farther into the house before seemingly remembering that that would take him deeper into the evil spirit’s abode. The other servants gave in to terror; with their nerves already on edge due to everything that had been happening recently, their minds broke down, unable to handle any more. They sank to the floor or a wall nearby, eyes unfocused and limbs shaking without pause.

  In all the confusion, no one noticed the follower who had reached for the sage secreting away a cloth bag that now held only a little of the white powder it had been filled to bursting with a moment ago, or a different follower who stood further behind hiding a projector-like gadget that had been retrofitted specially for this situation. No one saw a proud grin flash across Amin’s face for the briefest of seconds as he admired his handiwork, and no one saw two of the followers who had done nothing so far nod to each other and disappear into the nearest doorway.

  By the time Jeethelal finally regained his senses, the white cloud had already dissipated. With a grave set to his face, Amin walked forward.

  His footsteps echoed in the massive, white-walled sitting room of the mansion, built and decorated lavishly with paintings, vases, and figurines to impress all those who stepped through the door. Lamps and lanterns made to look ancient, but fitted with LED lights inside illuminated the hall well, leaving only a few pockets of darkness.

  Before Jeethelal could say a word, Amin raised his hand to stop the man and declared, “There’s no time to waste. The pisach has detected my presence, as you can probably tell. It tried to scare me away, but I shall not be deterred so easily. It will muster its strength, now, to strike. We must finish the ritual before that can happen, or we are all doomed!”

  The jeweler stared at him dumbly, first, not comprehending a word he had said. A stern glare made him blink, and Amin could swear that he heard the gears in the man’s mind turning.

  Eventually, when he replied, it was in a halting tone tinged with equal parts of hope and fear.

  “Please, carry on! The servants will give you anything you ask for! Do I…need to be present for the ritual? I might have a meeting to attend to…and I might get in the way! Also, my doctor…”

  Yes! Luck is on my side, today!

  Suppressing the thought, Amin frowned, looking as if he was pondering on the answer. The temptation to amuse himself by waiting for the man to form his half-baked excuse was strong, but the painful memories where he had ruined quite a few cons by giving in to such inane desires convinced him otherwise.

  One of the first things he had learned on his journey as a conman had been to never rely on luck or doubt it when it graced a plan with its fortune. So, before the jeweler realized he was offering up his house on a silver platter, Amin gave a firm nod and said, “All right. I’ll manage. I detected no hatred directed towards you, so you are not required. But if you wish to leave…I suggest you do so quickly or risk becoming a vessel for the spirit that will soon be looking to escape the might of Lord Shiva.”

  The answer made the jeweler let out a huge sigh of relief, at first. As he heard the warning, though, his eyes widened, and he quickly waddled away from Amin.

  Without even a glance behind him, Jeethelal headed out the door. The servant who had run away seemed to have alerted the guards stationed all around the house; a team of five were waiting outside as the jeweler reached them, nervously searching their surroundings while staying away from the steps that led up to the door as if convinced that proximity would attract the ire of the evil spirit.

  Amin watched as they accosted the jeweler. After rattling off a couple of instructions, he left.

  With bated breath, he waited to see whether his luck would hold. The five walked up to the door, and just as it looked as if they would enter and usher in one of the worst-case scenarios that he had envisioned, they positioned themselves around the entrance with hunched shoulders and shivering backs.

  More luck! No, don’t question it. No guards to oversee our actions, and no Jeethelal to question anything we do. Perfect!

  Pushing away the twinge of apprehension that had arisen due to things going a bit too perfectly, Amin began the next stage of the plan.

  Beckoning forward the two followers who remained, he folded his hands imperiously and looked all around the house with his brows furrowed, as if trying to ferret out his target with just his gaze. The two underlings began removing all sorts of ritualistic items from their clothes, arranging them neatly on the floor at their feet.

  Soon, they were surrounded by all the components that Amin could think of which were generally seen being a part of such demon-expelling liturgies. With a satisfied nod, he began making his way around the gigantic sitting area with his eyes closed, giving the impression that he was using senses beyond those gifted to most to root out the location of the spirit.

  The room was so large that it took him a minute to reach the corner. He bumped into tables, sofas, and other objects that the jeweler had decorated the place with tastelessly, but knowing that he was being watched by the servants who must have recovered by now, he made it look as though he intended to stumble like a drunken man searching for a place to relieve himself after a fun night.

  Eventually, he reached the corner of the room to a spot beside the grand staircase that led to a higher level. There were locked teakwood doors on both sides of the corner, leading to guest rooms that were currently empty.

  It was a spot where he couldn’t be seen by the guards outside, even if they turned around.

  And it was also the spot that was the farthest away from their target in the bungalow.

  After contemplating the floor for a few seconds, he summoned his supporters. Hastening to his side, they began arranging the materials in the manner they had discussed before. Amin oversaw the preparations, occasionally making a comment or two on the position of a coconut or the angle of a line drawn on the floor using colored powders.

  He stepped back a couple of minutes later, sweating both from the lack of air-conditioning— which was ordered to be switched off when the jeweler was absent, in a bid to save money at the cost of dehydrated servants— and the palpable pre-getaway jitters that he was only barely managing to control.

  Taking a deep breath, Amin walked into the middle of the modified pentagram they had drawn. The items they had brought had been carefully arranged in the pockets made by intersecting lines, and the largest space in the middle held a stool on which he took a seat.

  The servants stood a few feet away, occasionally quivering, observing what was going on with shifty eyes that spent more time gazing longingly at the door through which they wished they could run. Some of them kept looking up, expecting another appearance of the evil that plagued the house, but they were only setting themselves up for disappointment.

  Amin drew their attention by beginning to chant Sanskrit verses he had learned by heart from various places online. It was almost a dead language, so the chances of anyone understanding him were low, but he had still taken the precaution only to choose those lines that corresponded to exorcism-related rituals in the Vedas, the ancient texts of India.

  He made grand gestures with his hands, often throwing more of the vibrant powders into the air to symbolize his invocation of the elements which were supposed to help expel the spirit. At least, that was what he hoped it looked like; he didn’t believe such stuff one bit.

  Throughout the fake ritual, he kept glancing surreptitiously in a particular direction. If he were truly a perfectionist, he would have resisted the urge to do such a thing, but the nervousness that was now clearly apparent in the two followers who stood nearby was making its presence known in him, too. Thankfully, their actions could be chalked up to the fear of not finishing in time before the pisach accumulated its strength, so Amin didn’t think too much of it.

  Fifteen minutes later, it
was one of the servants who saw it first.

  “Look! Smoke!” He shouted, pointing towards the ceiling in the direction diagonally opposite to where the ritual was going on.

  Amin’s heart skipped a beat as he heard the man.

  It’s about god-damn time!

  Putting all the strength of his relief into his voice, he bellowed, “There it comes! Alas, I was too late to save the house completely, but the ritual will work! It’s too dangerous to be here! Everyone, run!”

  He took his advice, pulling up his dhoti with both his hands and sprinting toward the door.

  His followers were ahead of him. The servants followed a beat later; along with the black, acrid smoke, the screams that had stopped before also echoed down from above, pushing them to listen to the ‘expert’ present rather than take things into their own hands.

  Reaching the door, Amin saw that the guards had already moved back. Raising his hand and pointing at the driveway, he commanded, “Run! Anyone within the grounds of the bungalow will die! Save yourselves!”

  Sure enough, they ran.

  The main gate lay open. The guard stationed there looked on, puzzled, as they all ran out the arch together before coming to a halt and panting with their hands on their knees.

  Amin was only slightly out of breath, but he kept up the act. Years of experience running away from danger had given him endurance that few could match at his age. Looking around, he spotted the two who had disappeared before.

  Their barely concealed grins told him all he needed to know.

  Straightening himself, Amin turned to the guards, gardeners, and servants who were all looking at the bungalow with terror.

  “Do not worry! The pisach will be defeated! Give it time. It will destroy what it pleases in the house, but you have nothing to fear! Your master knows where to find me.”

  With that, he turned away and walked off to the nondescript car that waited nearby.

  Before anyone could react, he had gotten in along with the four he had come with. Barely a few seconds later, the car disappeared from view among the traffic on the busy highway.

  Unbeknownst to those staring in the direction it had gone, all the inhabitants of the car were laughing merrily, savoring the joy of a con well-executed.

  Amin held a pouch in his hands. It had just been handed to him by one of those who had disappeared initially. He kept squeezing its contents, ensuring himself that the gems he felt within were real.

  Jackpot! With this much, maybe I can finally start searching for them…

  His thoughts were interrupted by the quintessential question that was always on the mind of everyone after a successful heist.

  “How much?”

  Although he knew the possible answer, it made him suck in a breath and stare.

  “At least six crores, in total. If we choose that American jeweler, we might even get a better price! A million dollars, at least! We’re rich! We even have the time to bargain ‘cos of the perfect plan! Jeethelal will only find ash in his vault…he’ll hesitate before going to the cops, thinking it’s the spirit’s handiwork! It’s brilliant!”

  Cheers broke out all around him. Amin remained silent, but the glow in his eyes was enough to show just how exhilarated he was.

  “FUCK!”

  A sudden shout made them all turn to the front. They had turned onto a muddy side-road as planned to throw off anyone who might be following in case their getaway hadn’t been clean. It was only large enough to fit one vehicle; such roads were common all over India, often present to be used by locals who had traversed them before the word ‘highway’ was even heard anywhere in the country.

  The tires squealed as the vehicle came to a sudden halt. The headlights cut through the darkness, their beams falling upon a plastic barrier typically used by the police to section off areas where roadwork was being done.

  A man calmly walked out of the darkness into the pool of light cast by the car. Five more followed a second later.

  They all held guns pointed straight at them.

  Amin’s mind had gone blank as soon as he had seen the barrier. A familiar sense of abject danger pricked his mind, making him blink hard and focus.

  He looked at the others in the car. At first glance, all of them looked just as stunned as he felt. Yet, on closer observation, there was one who was barely pulling the act off.

  He had been betrayed.

  This fucker! I gave him a chance to climb out of poverty, and he repays my kindness by stabbing ME in the back? I’ll kill him! I’ll…

  A gunshot made his mind grind to a halt. The driver slumped forward, dead, onto the steering wheel, blaring the horn with his motionless chest.

  A bullet fired from a different gun hit the one sitting in the passenger seat. Amin watched as the man he had chosen for his quick legs choked on his blood, clearly not quick enough to outrun his death.

  A glance at the one who had sold them out made it obvious that things weren’t going according to plan. The double-crosser had been double-crossed, too, but Amin didn’t find it in him to pity the man.

  He was sitting in the middle, so there was nothing he could do while the others scrambled for the door. Sadly, the attackers were prepared; two of them walked up to the two windows before the doors could open fully. Two point-blank gunshots finished off the last two members of Amin’s motley crew.

  There was nowhere to go. Nothing to do. Nothing to say to escape the cold-blooded killers, but he couldn’t go down without at least trying something.

  “Stop! I’ve hidden away some of the jewels we stole! You won’t find them if you kill me!”

  The gunman paused, hesitating, but a voice from somewhere nearby made him growl and push the barrel closer to Amin’s head.

  “He’s bluffing. Haven’t you heard of him before? The great mastermind with a higher success rate than most con artists on the streets of all of India. It’s a pity, but money is money. Get on with it.”

  Amin’s heart thumped in his chest, convinced that it only had a few more seconds before it would be forced to stop. He still couldn’t believe that this was happening; even as death stared him down, he kept analyzing every step he had taken, trying to find out where his planning had gone wrong as if he would have a chance to not repeat the same mistake in the next con.

  The bullet that entered his stomach finally awakened him to reality.

  He gasped as he felt the red-hot, burning sensation of skin and flesh being forced apart by reinforced metal intent on destroying everything in its path.

  The gunman laughed, his tobacco-stained teeth shining in the moonlight while he gestured at his friends, showing off how much of a bad-ass he was.

  More began to emerge from the shrubbery around the narrow road, chuckling at his fate that was now sealed. He had heard that it was a fatal wound if not addressed, and the chances of any of these killers suddenly having a change of heart was too damn low.

  He clutched at the wound, trying desperately to stop the flow of blood. He was growing weaker by the second, the pain sapping away at his reserves with a singular determination to leave nothing behind but the desire to have it all end.

  He tried to order his thoughts. He could tell that he was in shock; a big part of him was still trying to search for explanations, still wondering whether this was a dream, but the rest of him knew that this was the end.

  They ignored him, knowing that he would die in a few minutes, knowing that he was too busy dying to do anything that could hamper their mission. As he watched them search the pockets of the dead around him, thoughts struggled to form in his mind.

  It’s…over. Everyone knows this will happen sooner or later…but I thought I had time. This…has been my entire life. Scrounging for wealth. Trying to gather as much of it as I could. There was no other meaning to it. No other purpose. I spent most of my life figuring out how to conserve what I had stolen or looking for ways to steal more. It was all for the goal I set for my life, for the people I swore to find…but this
is all that it boils down to. I don’t remember EVER feeling just…free. Free of obligations, free of concern. And now I’m going to die. If only I could fly away from everything, just once, like the birds that were my only friends for so long…

  His vision swam. He was breathing in labored gasps. He couldn’t even feel most of his body.

  Yet his eyes were fixated on the sky through the window, and that last thought echoed over and over again, growing stronger each time it was repeated fervently by his half-delirious mind.

  Seconds felt like hours. Minutes felt like days. But the singular focus that Amin felt did not waver, only growing stronger as if feeding on his lifeforce.

  At last, the thought grew so strong that he couldn’t hold it in any longer. He opened his mouth, coughing on the blood that welled up in his throat, and although no one could understand what he was saying, he roared out his wish.

  “I WANT TO BE FREE! I WANT TO FLY!”

  A massive, white streak of light suddenly appeared in the sky, blinding him with its brilliance. He closed his eyes, and a second later, he felt strangely weightless.

  Er…did I become a ghost?

  It was a relevant question as he did have a lot of unfinished business, but the pain was still present. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes.

  He was still in the car, but his perspective was different. It took a moment to understand why this was, and when the realization struck home, his throat went dry.

  I’m…floating?! How?

  His eyes still adjusting, he felt himself moving toward the open window of the car. The impulse to get away still filled his mind, driving his movement subliminally, although he had no idea how any of this was happening or even whether it really was.

  He paused after exiting the car. His vision focused on the sky, and his wish echoed again in his mind.

  The world lurched into motion. It became a blur, and the impact of moving while bleeding so much almost made him blackout.

  Perhaps he did lose consciousness as coherent thoughts only formed in his mind quite a while later, his senses telling him that he was now still.