Tantrics Of Old

by Bhattacharya, Krishnarjun

  Screeches broke loose. ‘The hunt is on!’ several Ancients rasped as they slid forward at an incredible speed on their snakelike bodies, disappearing after the mobile cadaver. It was a rush, a mass of writhing, speeding Ancients, of old and powerful predators, and then they were all gone. Adri looked at them, puzzled and unable to believe that his idea had worked so well. Slowly, he started to move towards the door. Maya wasn’t very light; moving her wasn’t as easy as he had hoped.

  He had taken a few steps when he heard the soft snapping in the darkness behind him. He froze. The sound circled around him and came to a stop in front of him, slowly, with leisure, and then the Ancient appeared from the darkness.

  ‘Going somewhere, human?’ it asked, coiling its bones beneath it.

  If it was smiling, Adri again, couldn’t tell. He could still hear the cries of the other Ancients echoing in the caverns. They seemed far away by now. The dead body was a fast runner.

  ‘You are a dead-talker,’ the Ancient whispered. ‘There is obviously another spirit in the hated one’s body.’

  ‘It is his body, the one you asked for. I have fulfilled my part of the deal,’ Adri spoke.

  ‘Idiot,’ it replied with relish. ‘With vampires, there is no deal.’

  Many things happened. The Ancient lunged forward, raising its claws, baring its fangs with a deadly predatory hiss—a move that would send shivers up Adri’s spine whenever he would think about it in the future. In that instant, Fayne burst from the shadows behind the creature, his eyeglasses reflecting the torchlight. With one muscled arm he grabbed the Ancient’s bony neck, pulling it back. In the other arm, his red bladed dagger gleamed; the next moment, the Ancient had been cut from its spine. Blood, dark and silent, sprayed from the open bone wounds all over Adri, Maya, and Fayne. The Ancient would have screeched in agony had it not been for Fayne’s dagger buried in its skull. It was over in seconds. Fayne’s strong arms easily lifted Maya over his shoulders, and they ran towards the door, Adri abandoning the makeshift torch at the doorway as they ran up the stairs. They did not stop until they were out of the Demonology building and near the tree where Gray waited anxiously.

  Fayne put Maya down in the grass and turned to Adri. ‘Well played, pashlin,’ the assassin said.

  Adri shook his head. ‘Complications,’ he said quietly.

  Gray had been relieved to see Maya, but Adri did a good job at sounding ominous; and Gray realised if he kept this up, the Tantric’s company wouldn’t be something to keep. All Adri seemed to do was attract trouble, he thought silently, cursing. He knelt near Maya and tried to look at her, but there was no light. ‘Before you do anything else, take the corruption out,’ Gray said.

  ‘That is what the problem is,’ Adri said. ‘I have no idea how.’

  Gray’s shotgun was a few feet away, but had it been in his hands, Gray might have fired it. He was livid—he could not believe his ears, could not believe what this Tantric was saying and what he had done. The blinding rage converted itself, midway, to sorrow; hot angry tears surfaced in his eyes, try as he did to control them. He fought to keep his voice steady. ‘What do you mean you don’t know how?’ he asked.

  ‘A corruption is not an easy thing to control. It is not something to give and later take away. It’s a venom, ultimately fatal,’ Adri looked at Fayne. ‘An assassin’s weapon.’

  ‘What kind of corruption did you give the fatiya?’ Fayne asked, his voice still expressionless.

  ‘The Whisper of Dread,’ Adri said. ‘It was the only one powerful enough to affect the Ancients. And the only one I had at that moment.’

  ‘Well, so what do we do?’ Gray asked, looking from one to the other.

  ‘There should be an antidote for every poison, every venom,’ Fayne said.

  ‘So make one!’ Gray exclaimed, not daring to breathe. ‘Make one.’

  ‘I am an assassin, not a healer. Antidotes are best found with them. However, the Whisper of Dread, I’m sorry to say, is one of the most masterful, dependable poisons. I have used it on countless occasions myself when I have needed to be far away when it does take effect. Not immediate, but deadly in time.’

  Adri turned to Gray, not meeting his eyes. ‘I think there is an antidote, but I’m afraid I do not know the ingredients required to fashion it.’

  ‘How long does she have?’

  ‘Till sunrise, if she’s lucky,’ Fayne said.

  Gray forced his head to stop spinning; he forced that nauseating feeling in his gut to go away. Now was not the time. He needed to help figure things out. ‘So what can be done? Who knows the cure?’ he asked desperately.

  ‘The Lake of Fire. MYTH will have the antidote for sure,’ Adri said, looking at Fayne.

  ‘We cannot reach there by sunrise,’ Fayne spoke. ‘It seems I shall fail in my charge.’

  ‘There must be a place closer!’ Gray yelled. ‘Are you giving up already?’

  ‘No,’ Adri said. ‘Recollecting.’

  I would have helped this lass, she’s not half bad, the Wraith crooned. But this bloody city changes every time I close my eyes.

  Adri moved off to a side. ‘It also retains its old,’ he whispered. ‘Do you know a place?’

  Do you know of Nagina? The cinema hall with the tragic incident?

  ‘Yes. The fire which had burnt everything down,’ Adri whispered. Behind him, Gray was engaged in furious conversation with a completely calm Fayne.

  Yes. But the cinema never shut down, it seems. It still runs.

  ‘How’s that possible?’

  The dead are still trapped in that hall, Adri.

  Adri waited, thinking.

  I had a friend among the victims. A healer, one of the best. This was long back, but even the Whisper of Dread is among the venoms of old.

  ‘Will he know the cure?’

  He is our best shot, at any rate.

  ‘Can’t I summon him here?’

  Do you have something that belongs to him, fool?

  ‘Oh, right. It’s not very far from here, is it?’

  Couple of hours.

  Gray tapped Adri’s shoulder. ‘And who are you talking to?’ he asked sharply.

  ‘Myself,’ Adri said. ‘It calms me down. Any agreement?’

  ‘The assassin is short of ideas when it doesn’t involve killing,’ Gray spat.

  ‘I might have a lead. It’s narrow, but there’s a chance.’

  ‘What is it?’

  Gray’s mind told him that Adri was not at fault. Like the Necromancer had said earlier, he had chosen the lesser of two evils. In a twisted way, the corruption had saved Maya’s life, and was now threatening to claim her for itself. But even though nothing was sure and everything was at stake, there was one thing that gave Gray relief—the fact that Adri had not backed away. Adri made countless mistakes and choices that made Gray angry, but he knew they were the right ones, at least under the given circumstances they were. Adri could have backed out at any given moment; he could’ve said sorry and left Gray with Maya out here. He did not hold any responsibility towards them. There was no written word, no contract binding him to them. The commitment Adri was honouring was purely verbal, and he was doing his best to put up with it in spite of everything that was happening. And that meant that either Adri was a greater being, capable of giant feats, or whatever he wanted from Abriti was of immense value. Gray could not decide which one was more plausible an explanation. Adri puzzled him. There were streaks of selfishness and cold that he saw in the young Tantric, but he also saw selflessness and heroism;there was something about Adri that made Gray want to trust him. Something Fayne did not have. Gray knew though, that Fayne was capable of extremely deadly acts, and he was glad he was on their side, even if it was only for the moment.

  The assassin of Ahzad was the one who carried Maya as they walked through the Old City towards the cinema hall. Fayne’s training must have been quite something, Gray thought as he shot a quick look at the assassin walking behind him, strong as a horse, carryin
g his sister’s limp body over his shoulders without any sign of fatigue. Gray kept checking on Maya; though she did not move, she breathed, and the fact that she was physically with them was a matter of reassurance to Gray, somehow. It wasn’t much, but she was within arm’s reach, and that mattered.

  As he turned back again, Gray heard Adri, who was leading them, whisper to himself again. He’d been doing that occasionally, and wondered if Adri was cracking under all the pressure. He hadn’t heard the Necromancer do this before, but then, they hadn’t been under this kind of a constraint before.

  Adri was having a disturbing conversation with the Wraith as they walked.

  ‘Tell me something, Mazumder. You were a vampire hunter. You must have dealt with corruptions.’

  Quite often. I oiled most of my blades with them.

  ‘Didn’t you use the Whisper of Dread?’

  Yes. Not often, but yes.

  ‘Don’t you know the damned antidote?’

  The Wraith replied in time. I did not want to say this, but unless my memory fails me, the Whisper of Dread is among the three incurables.

  Adri stopped walking.

  There is no antidote for it, not in my knowledge.

  ‘Then-then why?’ Adri asked softly.

  Because the eternal sleep often makes you mix up your facts. But Mishrah will know for sure. He did not forget before his death; I doubt he will have forgotten after.

  ‘Fayne should know this,’ Adri started walking again, waving aside Gray’s questions.

  He already does. Either he believes something else will come to light and is playing along, or there is actually an antidote and my memory is worse than I could ever realise.

  ‘I hope it’s the latter, Wraith. I really hope that’s the case.’

  This girl. You have sworn to protect her, have you not?

  Adri was silent again.

  That puts you in the same shoes as the assassin.

  Every road in Old Kolkata was at a perfect right angle with every other road. If they could fly like eagles did, Adri mused, they’d see a great circuit of squares that made up the city. Of course there were exceptions, but this simple rule had helped Adri gain most of his knowledge of the layout of the Old Town. Abandoned cars were parked all over the roads, most of them looted clean of all parts that could run. They used the vehicles as cover as they walked, even though the roads were deserted as usual. After an hour of slow travel, however, they chanced upon some traders heading in another direction. They had bodyguards, mercenaries with their cheap makeshift rifles, who stared at them with suspicion. Adri’s holsters were clearly visible and Gray carried his shotgun openly. They were a threat, but they weren’t stopped or spoken to. Adri was in no mood for conversation, nor did he need to learn anything. They needed to get to the Lake of Fire eventually; they would have an antidote if there was one to be found.

  They made their way through the roads without anything eventful happening. They stopped once to eat. Though they were short of time, they needed to eat and Adri, for one, was tremendously hungry. They ate cold, canned food. Nothing tasted good, and nothing was nourishing, but it gave them energy and they ate. Fayne, once again, refused to eat. He sat down and watched them eat, drinking from his hip flask.

  When the cinema hall finally came into sight, they stopped and watched it from a corner; it seemed as deserted as everything else.

  ‘Any traps we should worry about?’ Adri murmured.

  I haven’t been around here for a long time. In case you didn’t notice, I’m dead, fool.

  ‘Yet you knew about this theatre, something I didn’t know.’

  Well, you can’t know everything, you pompous—

  ‘Why do you keep murmuring?’ Gray asked. ‘It makes me very uneasy.’

  ‘Good, you’ll be on your toes then,’ Adri said.

  Fayne changed the subject. ‘I think I will stay here with Maya. Whatever you need to do, do it and come back.’

  Gray believed the assassin most capable of guarding his sister. ‘I’m coming with you, Adri.’

  Adri waited for the Wraith to give him a reason why not, but it did not object. Adri made up an excuse, something very vague about Tantrics getting exclusive entry. Gray complained before finally agreeing to stay back, muttering about it being just a movie hall and Adri being a shameless liar. Adri gave him his bag for safekeeping and moved off.

  The fire had been a very unfortunate event. It had happened a long time ago, much before Adri had been born. How the fire had started had never been discovered, but speculations ran from a faulty electric line, to a careless smoker. The sad part was that over two hundred people had perished, making it one of Old Kolkata’s biggest tragedies.

  Adri lit a cigarette and walked silently towards the building in the darkness. He stopped beneath the huge signboard. NAGINA, it said, in broad half-burnt letters. The cinema hall itself was still standing, dark and silent. The silent part was getting to him. Not a sound came from within, nothing moved. He looked around and saw no one. He was at a crossroad with four completely deserted streets running in all four directions, the theatre looming in front of him. Breathing smoke, he slowly made his way through the ruined entrance to the cinema hall and into the building.

  There is something else you should know.

  ‘I’m listening.’

  There is a film which plays in the theatre. It has been playing ever since the hall burned down. That is the film the dead watch, and they watch it over and over again. Do not be caught inside when the film ends. If you do, the curse will have you and you will never leave.

  ‘Places like this often have a curse like this. Maybe I should work on freeing the spirits sometime.’

  Hah! A curse as old and as powerful as this one will need an army of Tantrics.

  ‘You’re right,’ Adri said, walking through the corridors. ‘I can feel it.’

  Empty and lonely, the corridors were pitch black and charred. Ash everywhere. The ceiling was cracked, all the lamps broken. A lone light burned in the distance, at the end of a corridor, and Adri walked towards it. On reaching it he saw a ticket counter built into the wall. A weak torch smouldered outside the counter, and there was a hole in the wall with TICKETS written above, nothing but darkness beyond. Adri approached the hole with caution, slowly.

  ‘Hello?’ he said.

  Do not talk. Do you have the payment?

  ‘How much is it?’

  One.

  Adri reached inside his pocket and withdrew his wallet, a leather pouch bound at the top with sharp black rope. The dead only accept silver, he recalled as he put the coin on the counter. A hand emerged from the darkness. It was a burnt hand, black and bony with scraps of charred flesh hanging on to it like old paper. It covered the coin and dragged it into the shadows. Then it emerged again, soundlessly, and left a ticket on the counter. Adri picked up the small, faded piece of paper and looked at the entrance. A wooden door.

  ‘This is it, then,’ he said.

  Stop wasting time, the Wraith retorted.

  Adri crushed his cigarette with the heel of his boot and entered the hall.

  The film was an old blockbuster he had seen before. Adri realised this as soon as he entered—a cult film that had survived the years and was appreciated to this day. He also saw that the film was nearing its end. He better hurry. The projector was very loud, the whirring even louder than the sound of the film itself. It was projecting on a ragged, half devastated screen, not watchable by any standards. But a curse was a curse.

  He walked down the aisle to the screen and turned around so he could see the entire hall. It was full. Dead men, women, and children watched the movie silently. They had burned to their deaths; their scars had not gone; they were disfigured, some of them burnt to the bone; their clothes charred and black, indistinct from whatever was left of their skin; their eyes glittered like cold jewels, the screen reflecting in them, blank. Everyone was silent, their eyes glued to the film. They would’ve been like statues
if not for the slight movements and occasional shuffling.

  ‘Am I in any danger?’

  You’ve been in similar places before. You tell me.

  Curse-bound places mostly did not have vindictive dead, not unless they met their killer. Or if the dead people had been killers themselves when they had been alive. These had been innocent people, Adri thought. ‘I’ll take my chances. Find your friend.’

  Allow me, maestro.

  Adri’s eyes burned with spirit vision. He blinked and adjusted. He could now see everyone clearly, in much more detail as the darkness melted away. He didn’t like what he saw; his immediate repulsion was not based on the physical appearances of the dead people. No, it was rather their condition, the curse that held them, which made Adri pity them and instinctively not want to go near them.

  There he is in the fifth row, the Wraith announced.

  Adri did not hesitate. This had to be done. Mercifully, there was an empty seat next to the man; Adri muttered apologies as he brushed against a few dead knees and took the seat. Then he looked around. The dead paid him no heed. As far as they were concerned, he did not exist.

  Oh, and don’t mention me. He hated me.

  ‘Hello, err, Mishrah,’ Adri said, recalling the name just in time.

  The dead man to his right slowly turned his head to look at him. His face was horribly defaced; there was no flesh beneath his nose where skeletal teeth and gums grinned at him. Flames had claimed the man’s hair as well, leaving a burnt raw scalp. His eyes, probably the only things intact, stared at Adri sharply. Adri saw they were bright blue, though that might have been the spirit vision.

  ‘Yes?’ he asked.

  ‘I need your help,’ Adri said. Perhaps this was going to turn out easier than usual.

  ‘After the film,’ Mishrah said, turning back to watch the film.

  ‘That isn’t an option, Mishrah,’ Adri said darkly. ‘It will start again.’

  Mishrah did not look at Adri. He spoke, sounding slightly unsure. ‘Again?’

  ‘Yes, again. And again. You have seen this film before. Remember.’