Deathsworn: Siddhi Chronicles Book 1

by H. K Oby

  Amin heard soft footsteps and the sounds of cloth rustling. After reaching him, the sage examined the wounds all over Amin's body with an analytical eye, finally deciding on a spot on Amin's chest where a bone had pierced his skin.

  Adopting the same pose as before, the sage began to chant and Amin found out why Amaira had been so loud. Burning heat flowed through that wound, quickly overtaking the pain that came from the wound but then making the latter disappear while fading away, too.

  Incredulously, Amin watched as the bone floated out of its own accord and the skin healed, muscles stitching together until the only sign of an injury that remained was a light redness that itched. The sage moved on to a different part, and the process began anew.

  Being healed wasn't so painful that Amin wanted to scream, but it wasn't a walk in the park, either. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on feeling how it was done, already having understood that these feelings were the true basis of magic in this world he had stumbled into.

  While absorbed in the task, he felt that anticipation that had taken root in his mind at the beginning of the journey returning. After he was healed, the sage would finally tell him why the gods were so mad that they wanted to make sure he died, even if it meant exposing to everyone just how petty they were. He had heard that the gods placed pride above almost everything else, so their actions in Ayodhya were definitely circumspect as it definitely wasn't a feat to boast about to target someone as powerless as him.

  He also found himself wishing that he could get a boon, too. Hadn’t he done well?

  I don’t even have a siddhi, so any boon is welcome. Hell, give me that famous boon so many initiates crave for where one doesn’t have to sleep, and I’ll still be happy!

  He hadn't really been that surprised when Amaira was granted one. A major topic of discussion among initiates was power that could be obtained in unconventional ways. Mighty sages had the ability to grant boons to those they were pleased with. It was a common theme in the mythological stories of India. During that time when he had been waiting for Rishi and Amaira's siddhis to awaken, he had found himself inadvertently daydreaming of random sages appeared in front of him, commending him for something trivial such as the stylish way he walked and awarding him with the boon of all the siddhis in the world.

  Hey, it’s a dream, so why try to make it realistic?

  “It is not easy to smile after such a harrowing experience. I can already see what the librarian sees in you. Set up, young man, and let me have a look at you.”

  Realizing that the last vestiges of the burning, healing pain in the last of his wounds was fading, Amin did so, using his hands as support. He found the sage sitting cross-legged beside him, his hands resting in a meditative pose in his lap while he studied Amin thoughtfully. He was a lean man, with patches of hair on his chest and hands and a small, sharp nose. He looked barely thirty, but his eyes held a weight of wisdom that was impossible to be attained by someone so young.

  Chortling merrily on seeing the question in Amin’s face, the sage said, “Vanity. It is a sin I have been told I must not partake in, but looking young is something I have always enjoyed. Now, the librarian tells me you’re dealing with a unique issue. Lay out your palm, and I will see whether it is so.”

  Amin hurriedly thrust his right hand forward, eliciting another bout of laughter. He felt that sound lifting his own spirits smiled, too. At last, it was time to solve this chief mystery of his life, so excitedly, Amin waited as the sage took his palm with both his hands and began to study it as if it was a book that revealed all the secrets of his past, present, and future.

  For five minutes, the sage remained motionless, only his eyes darting all over Amin’s palm. For all that time, Amin felt himself relaxing further and further, dreaming of finally being able to live without fearing the trials.

  The familiar piece of finishing a mission well settled over his mind. There had even been an unexpected gain from the whole thing: Amaira had a boon, which Amin started to factor into the plans he had made for their future fights.

  Just when he was finished laying out a training regimen he would follow until the time of the trials after making whatever sacrifice was needed to appease the gods, the sage looked up, meeting his eyes.

  Strangely, confusion filled them. Jumping out of the sedate mood he had been enjoying, Amin frowned, and the Saint spoke in an ambivalent tone.

  “This…cannot be right. I have never before doubted my reading, but what I see forces me to reconsider. This is absurd, but if it's true, you are…”

  The sage froze midsentence, the muscles of his open mouth stopping so abruptly that they twitched for a moment before falling still. Only his eyes moved, focusing on something behind Amin, and then, horror flooded them.

  A sudden feeling of dread coming over him, Amin scrambled back. No sooner had he moved a few inches away than those eyes bulged as if someone was filling them with water. The same started to happen to the rest of his face, the bizarre sight making Amin doubt his sanity.

  The sage’s features grew bigger for not more than two seconds, and then…with a sound akin to a melon bursting, the head of the sage exploded into a million pieces.

  For a couple of moments, Amin just kept blinking and looked on, ignoring the gore he was splattered with that slid down his tattered jacket. Then, tilting his head straight up at the sky, he screamed louder than he ever had in his life.

  “WHY? WHY? WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU? WHYYYYYY?!”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Amin kept screaming until a hand caught his shoulder, squeezing gently and returning him to the land below. The heavens were as they had been, filled with drifting clouds and uninterested birds, but to him, their very sight caused rage and fury to erupt as they were the only face of the gods he knew.

  His face was an enraged rictus. Ignoring Amaira who was saying something, he almost opened his mouth to scream again, then stopped when a thought came to him.

  This must all be some sort of sadistic entertainment for them. They waited until the last moment to act. They killed that sage just when he was about to give me the answer. They must be watching right now. I can't let them see me like this and enjoy!

  His features dropped so suddenly that Amaira jerked her hand back. When he turned to look at her and found her staring with horror with her hands over her mouth, he understood the reason behind the reaction and said wryly, “Don’t worry, my head is not going to burst like that saint’s. No, I probably have a long period of torture ahead of me…”

  Rishi stood beside Amaira, looking at him as if he was mad. Amin looked down at the grass, feeling disappointment and dismay well up. A moment later, he turned to the sky, again, intent on putting on a defiant image, but soon, he wondered whether he was acting foolishly.

  Averting his gaze to the pond, he sighed. A small, skeptical part of him wondered whether he was jumping to conclusions, but after examining everything that had happened so far, it seemed absurd that anything else could be the reason behind the death of the sage.

  The librarian had followed through. Even Amin had done his part, but if it could be said that they were playing a game, then the gods had arrived and flipped the table. He found himself thinking of that old vanara, wishing that he was here as he felt more lost than ever, and suddenly…he was.

  The twinkle of light came into being right in front of him, and with a flash, the librarian appeared, throwing one end of the uparna hanging over with his hand over his shoulder and taking in the sight of the headless sage. His nostrils flared, and the corners of his mouth tightened. Striding forward, he bent beside the body and closed his eyes.

  Amaira and Rishi both gave a start when they saw the vanara who had arrived without making a single sound. The fur on the vanara’s back bristled and his entire body shook while he mourned the sage who must have been a friend. It felt good that someone else was sharing his emotion, but at the same time, a sense of powerlessness overwhelmed Amin as they could do nothing even if t
hey wanted to.

  “Thank you for everything, but it seems that the gods are just too interested in me. Do I have no choice but to resign myself to my fate? The gods are supposed to be the ultimate beings of power, right? They are like the judge in a courtroom. If a judge, himself, is corrupt or biased, what can normal people like us do?”

  The librarian stood up and turned to Amin. His face was that of someone firmly controlling the emotions. Closing his eyes and pursing his lips tightly, he suddenly looked as if he was making a difficult decision. Then, his fists tightened, and he spoke in a deep voice that showed not even a hint of the shakiness that had been present in it before.

  “An apt way of putting it. The gods are known to act wilfully…but they have crossed the line. It is high time for them to answer for their behavior. I heard the question you hurled at the heavens. Do you dare face the gods and ask for an answer? Do not fear their power. I will give you the capability to withstand anything they might throw at you. If you trust me, come with me. If you give in to fear and hopelessness, you might still die…but you will have a chance.”

  Amin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had figured out that the librarian was powerful, but how could he possibly stand up against all those gods who had been represented in the godly matrix?

  Does it matter? Is this even a choice? If I say no, I have to go back to Ayodhya and wait to die at the trials.

  When he looked within himself, he found that there was also a burning need to do exactly what the librarian had proposed. He wanted to ask those beings just what their damn problem was, and the satisfaction that would come from fulfilling that wish might even be worth giving up the few months of life he would forsake if he said ‘yes’, here, and failed.

  When he nodded firmly, the librarian smiled and raised a hand. Blackness engulfed Amin’s vision, and he felt as if he was in the middle of a throng. Something was pushing into him from all sides, all over his body, and just when the pressure started to reach a point where it would crush him like a car in a junkyard, it vanished, and a bright light blinded him.

  Blinking furiously, he waited for his eyes to adjust. Conversations were going on all around him in voices that almost all contained a hint of melody. Each of them fell off slowly, as if those speaking were realizing that they were not alone. Through his soles, he felt somthing smooth, almost like glass. The air was pleasantly cool and it smelled of roses and other flowers he had never bothered to learn the names of. Just when the after-image of that flash faded, a powerful voice shouted, “You dare intrude on the court of the gods? You-… You?! Your death was ordained in your trials, but it seems you are impatient. Very well, then. Die.”

  The speaker was a handsome man wearing a rose gold dhoti made of a material that shimmered, the light that was somehow being emitted from everywhere dancing on top of it, forming mini rainbows when he moved. His lean, muscular body was bedecked in jewelry much like the rakshasa, but where the latter’s taste had been non-existent, here, it felt as if someone professional had worked on the details, ensuring that only an aura of majesty radiated from his visage. His crown was smaller, but a much larger jewel was set in the center of it, a ruby the size of Amin’s fist. Ordinarily, the man’s grand image would have taken his breath away, but the object that occupied most of his focus was the throne that he was sitting on.

  Made of solid gold, it stood on legs that had been carved to look like lions mid-stride. The hands were exquisitely detailed with depictions of men dressed similar to the speaker fighting against rakshasas like the one Amin had just killed. The throne was at least 30 feet away from him, but the fact that he could glean so many details spoke of the incredible skill of the artist who had worked on it.

  The back of the throne rose above the speaker’s head, culminating in a curved top. Right at the top-most point was what made the throne enter the realm of awe-inspiring grandeur: a three feet long thunderbolt as thick as an arm, frozen in place, electricity snaking up and down its length.

  The first thing that Amin felt after hearing the man speak was the same anger that had enveloped him before, but it was suddenly pushed aside by a freight train of fear when that lightning bolt floated to the man’s hand which moved almost casually, hurtling the weapon that started to magnify with each second that it spent flying toward Amin. It grew thicker, affecting the very air around it. Static electricity made the hairs on his hands and feet rise, and just when he was about to try and jump aside even though he knew that he wouldn’t make it, he felt a hand on his shoulder and a voice appeared inside his mind.

  “I’m giving you my power. All of the siddhis are yours, but your time is limited. Think quickly and act.”

  Only the fact that it was the librarian’s voice stopped him from being convinced that stress had driven him insane. He didn’t even have the time to wonder whether what he heard was true. Taking a chance, he recalled the list of siddhis he had read in the library and asked himself what he wanted the most, right now.

  First, I need some time to think of and employ a counter-attack or put up a defense. Is that even possible? Wait…one of the ultimate siddhis can give the user whatever they want!

  Knowing that he didn’t have the luxury of thinking on whether he was taking the right approach, he concentrated on the lightning bolt, imagining it slowing down along with the breeze in the room, his breathing, his heartbeat, the flow of his blood in his veins and by essence, time itself.

  He poured all the focus he could muster into the wish, and from a place that he knew resided in his mind but was not a part of it, a bundle of sensations responded. It was the only way they could be described; they were similar to the tunnel he had made using his own experience of activating a siddhi, so he instantly knew how to make use of them.

  He prepared to gather his energy, but surprisingly, the sensations just flowed through his thoughts, filling in the gaps of his wish. If time was slowing down around him, then he would function normally. Only the surroundings would slow down. That hand returning to rest on the hand of the throne would move slower. The sound of the man’s jewelry clinking would be drawn out. All of that snaking electricity would move slower.

  In just a moment, his wish was fleshed out perfectly…and it became reality.

  The bolt truly slowed down, and a frown started to come over the face of the one who had thrown it. As soon as that happened, Amin’s head began to hurt as if someone was happily pounding on it with a hammer, and he realized that using something that was so beyond his capabilities was taking a toll on his mind.

  I won’t be able to do much more. If I don’t figure out how I can survive, I’ll be stabbed like that time an underling betrayed me! Uh…is that even similar to what’s going on here? That was the first time I faced death. Now, death is just a salesman I want to stay away from as I have no interest in what he’s selling. I’m not scared of him, though. Nothing like a poetic revelation to drive away panic! Now, what siddhi can I use to stop that lightning?

  He didn’t need to think long for an answer.

  Didn’t I decide that if one had that last siddhi on the list, all the others were useless? If anything one wants can be created, isn’t that person basically god? Yes. Right now, I am god! As for this pesky lightning bolt… wouldn’t it be fun to throw it back at that guy? It’ll be awesome if I get to see his face when that happens! ‘If’? Why would god have to see ‘if’? That is exactly what is going to happen!

  He created a new image in his mind, one in which the lightning bolt turned and started barrelling towards its owner. Again, he did his best, and then that newly-arrived, foreign part of his mind responded.

  Is this how it feels to activate a gifted siddhi? Man, I’m jealous…comparatively, it’s much easier and faster.

  His wish was perfected and imposed upon reality once more while Amin kept a close eye on what was being done. At the same time, the pounding in his head grew to an unbearable degree, and when he saw that the lightning bolt had turned around while still mo
ving slowly as he was also holding onto his wish that time had slowed down, he let go of both.

  Like a video player that had been set to the default speed again, everything started to move normally. A wide grin came on his face when he saw the reaction of the speaker.

  The man’s eyes widened and he gulped. He jerked back, hitting the back of the throne that stopped him from moving out of the bolt’s way. After turning around and looking at the throne accusingly, he threw himself forward, barely managing to leave his seat before a hole was punched through it by the lightning bolt that barreled into the distance.

  The old vanara’s hand caught his again, and the voice reappeared in his head.

  “If I were you, I would catch my head and act as if I’m not seeing anything. Lord Indra, the king of the gods is quite famous for holding grudges. If he knows you saw him in this manner, he will make your life miserable until you beg for death. No one is watching you, so no one will know that you are laughing happily at his plight.”

  Amin followed the advice without feeling the need to think about it. At that moment when he had seen the reaction of Lord Indra, most of the animosity he felt had gone out of him in a moment of absolute bliss that he knew he would fondly recall in the future whenever things got bad.

  The voice of the king of the gods resounded again, this time sounding even angrier than before.

  “Sacrilege! Chiranjeeva, what is the meaning of this? Must I treat you as my enemy?”

  Chiranjeeva? Who’s that?

  Looking up while maintaining the face of someone in severe pain, Amin saw that the king was back on the throne and the lightning bolt was back above his head. For the first time since arriving, Amin had the time to look at the surroundings.