After a moment he went on. “I found the place changed, but still recognizable. The intervening years had been difficult, but Ikshuvaku’s spirit had not been extinguished. Once the seeds of rebellion had been drowned, the British had left him alone: they rightly thought he was no longer a threat. He was older and — I thought, anyway — wiser … I left to return to London with my spirits buoyed. My only concern was the influence that Sahoj still seemed to hold over both Ikshuvaku and his court at large. I asked my eyes and ears at the palace to keep me apprised of proceedings. For a while all was well. Then I got word that Sahoj had persuaded Ikshuvaku to do something very stupid. So I came back once again, and tried to talk Ikshuvaku out of this insanity. And I have been a prisoner ever since.”
“And what was that?” Thaddeus asked. “What was it that Sahoj had persuaded Ikshuvaku to do that was so stupid?”
Desai put down his bowl and rubbed one hand across his forehead. “Sahoj had decided,” he said quietly, “to wake the Sapphire Cutlass.”
“But what is that?” Rémy asked. “What is the Sapphire Cutlass?”
Desai turned, his eyes glittering with a dark light. “It is not a what, Rémy Brunel. It is a she.”
{Chapter 9}
A SORRY TALE
“Well, who is she?” Thaddeus asked. “How is it that you are so afraid of her? Is she a queen of some sort? With an army?”
“No, she is not a queen,” said Desai quietly. “She is not even a servant. She is an Untouchable, the lowest of the low … or at least, she was, once. She may still be, yet. I have never seen her. Indeed, I do not believe she really exists.”
Thaddeus frowned. “I think you’re going to have to explain a little more,” he told Desai, “because, I’m sorry, but I for one just do not understand.”
The older man smiled somewhat sadly. The dawn light was becoming almost blinding. The sun had risen over the horizon and was casting glaring rays across the landscape, silhouetting Desai where he sat. He looked into a glare for a moment, and then nodded.
“To truly explain,” he began, “I must go back a long way. Back beyond the time, even, of the first men, back to when the Earth first came into being. There are many gods, great and small, some good and some not so good, and when they saw the beauty and bounty of India, they all wanted it for themselves. The gods dislike to war among themselves — why else would they make the Earth, if not to people it with beings who could fight amongst themselves in their place? And so the great gods divided it into pieces, amicably. And these pieces they gave to their foot soldiers: stewards they trusted to ensure that the affairs of Earth were kept in order. Spirits, some might call them. Angels, others.”
“’Ang about a bit,” J interjected, a look of puzzlement on his face. “Is this stuff all real now, Mr. Desai? Cos I ’ave to tell you, I ain’t never believed in angels, no matter what the Sally Ann tried to tell me.”
Desai smiled at the boy. “That, my dear J, is something you will have to decide for yourself. I am merely telling the story the way I know how to tell it. How you decide to hear it is your own affair. Did you not learn of many things that caused you to wonder during our last visit?”
“Tha’s true,” admitted J. “Whenever I wasn’t roastin’ from the ’eat I was lookin’ at somefing extraordinary, an’ that’s no mistake.”
“Well, then,” said his mentor, “let us continue, and see what you make of this particular wonder. So the land was divided up into pieces, and populated accordingly. The land was bountiful and beautiful, and the foot soldiers of the gods found ways to provide amply for the people who found it their home — fish to the people near the seas and rivers, meat to those farther inland, rice to the plains and hills in between. They created so much variety that the gods became jealous of their skill, and commanded them to cease. Whatever was in existence on that day would be the extent of creation. There must be no more. The gods decreed it. This caused no trouble for most of them — there had been such a flurry of invention that most sections of the land teemed with creatures of great beauty, and each place had been given something unique with which to trade for those things that they did not have.
“But for one of them, it was not enough. He had been given this land, here — this strip that stretches inland from the ocean — and he cared about the people who dwelt within the borders he had been commanded to protect. He had spent so much time perfecting the land that he had failed to provide anything unique with which his people could trade. They had some fish from the waters, and they had some game from the creatures that wandered across their land. But he wanted them to have something that was purely their own — something secret and valuable that would secure their future as long as they tended it wisely.
“He petitioned the gods for more time, but they were adamant. They would give no more. Creation was set, and the people must do what they could with what they had. The foot soldier must leave them be and return to his place with the gods. The people must fend for themselves. Angry and distressed, the spirit became a tower of sheer strength, a glittering giant who reflected the flawless blue of the sky. Incensed beyond reason, he stamped his foot, and in his rage he struck the nails of his toes against the great rocks of the land. They shattered, and the shards plunged into the ground, tearing it up into a mountain, hidden in a deep valley formed by the shape of his foot, far from any place that it could be easily reached or found. The shards of his nails, stained blue from the sky, became jewels buried in the Earth. And so, in his fury, the spirit had found a way to provide for his people. A single mountain, veined with stones the color of a perfect sky, to be mined only by the people within his borders.”
“Blue stones the color of the sky,” murmured Rémy. “Sapphires. You are talking about sapphires, are you not?”
Desai smiled. “Sapphires indeed, Rémy Brunel, oh great knower of gems. He gave his people the only sapphire mine in the south of this great continent, to be kept a secret for eternity, mined only by the villages that were in the valley around the mountain. They would take only what they needed in order to trade, and no stranger would ever be allowed within its confines.”
“I suppose we know that that did not happen,” said Dita. “Or you would not know about it now, ja?”
“You are quite right, of course, Miss Dita. For centuries the mine remained secret. The sapphires that were taken from it were flawless, peerless — more valuable, even, than the great diamonds of Golconda. Some rulers, over the years, did try to find their source, but they never succeeded.”
“So what happened?” Thaddeus asked.
“The world came to India,” Desai told them. “Hundreds of years ago, when the Portuguese walked onto this land, a young man of their number decided to make a name for himself by uncovering sights that no person from his country had seen before. He traveled far and wide, and in doing so stumbled across the hidden valley of the sapphire mountain. The villagers, having never been visited by foreigners before, were curious and invited him to stay for a while.
“The family that took him in had a young daughter, Aruna. This daughter was beautiful and as bright as the jewels she worked with her father and brothers to mine. The young man was dazzled by her, and she by him. The village elders were careful not to tell this stranger of their mine, but soon he became curious as to where all the able-bodied went every day. He persuaded the girl to tell him, and thereafter became obsessed with the idea of the riches this mine represented, and the glory he would garner for revealing it to the outside world.
“He asked Aruna to be his wife, believing that as her husband he would be able to trade the sapphires in the mine more profitably. Aruna loved him, and believed his intentions to be pure. The village elders, though, were suspicious, and they forbade the match. The Portuguese man left the village, telling Aruna that he could not yet afford to keep a wife, but that he would return for her when he could.
“Aruna, having begge
d and pleaded with the village elders to no avail, grew sick with longing. She loved her family and her village, but she loved the young man more. She feared that he would not come back — that he would forget her entirely. And so she decided that if he could not afford to keep her, she would have to keep herself. She would steal from the mine — not a lot, just enough to pay her way through the world and marry her love.
“The very next day, while deep in the mine, Aruna concealed two small sapphires in her mouth, so as to smuggle them out as she left that evening. She waited until that night, when her family was asleep, and then left the village. It was only when she reached the nearest town and tried to retrieve the sapphires to sell that Aruna realized she had swallowed one of the stones. Though an annoyance, she thought nothing of it — she sold the one remaining stone, which was enough to take her to Pondicherry, where the Portuguese had told her he was headed when he left. On the journey, she began to feel a great pain in her stomach, but she carried on, buoyed up by the belief that she was about to be reunited with her one true love.
“When she got to Pondicherry, she expected to be welcomed with open arms. But instead, she found her lover at the head of a garrison of soldiers, preparing as if for war. At the sight of her, he shrugged and told her she was no longer needed. Aruna was forced to watch as the garrison set off, by now too sick to follow.
“For days she was in pain and unable to move. She was taken in by a kindly couple who let her stay with them. There she remained, sick in heart and in body, until one day a great commotion rose to her sickbed from the street outside. Aruna dragged herself to the window and saw below the garrison led by the young man, returned. And each horse was laden with a sack, crammed with the most beautiful sapphires anyone had ever seen.
“At the sight, a rage overtook Aruna, for she knew exactly where these blue stones had come from. Her fury blotted out her pain, and she rushed from the house to confront the Portuguese man. He looked upon her with fear, and Aruna looked down to see that her nails had become talons of clear, pure sapphire. First she divested him of his curved sword, the cutlass that would later become her moniker and the symbol of her revenge. Then she tore him apart with her bare hands. Still enraged, she fled back to her home village.
“The village no longer stood. It had been razed by the Portuguese soldiers, every one of Aruna’s family and friends put to the sword for refusing to give up the mountain. They were all dead, thanks to the love of one girl and the greed of one man.
“Aruna’s fury mingled with a grief so potent that it drew storms from the sky. She stood, raging and hateful of the world, until a bolt of lightning struck the cutlass she still carried. Its energy surged through Aruna, finding the sapphire still within her belly, seeking it as surely as a plant seeks the sun.
“The stone within her, already woken by grief and shame and anger, came alive. It raged within her belly, pouring its ancient wisdom into the woman’s body, flooding her veins with more than fury — filling her with a power so great that it rivaled the storms above her head. She turned on the Portuguese garrison who had come to avenge their comrades’ deaths, tearing them apart, pummeling their flesh to ribbons in the space of time that it would take a mortal to draw breath. Her rampage did not burn itself out — she flew onward through the jungles, killing wherever she found life, so full of hatred that she was blind to her victims, seeing only her lover’s face.
“Her fury was such that the gods themselves were woken from their slumber. They saw that with the power of the sapphire, this woman could become one of their number. They sent a group of wise men the means to subdue her into a sleep as great as their own. Aruna was placed deep inside the mountain from whence both her grief and her power originated, never again to walk the Earth. The valley of the mountain was cursed so that no one would ever again willingly set foot in its jungles. Over the years, the story has changed shape many times. There are people who admire Aruna for her strength, and worship her for her power. There are people who have made her a symbol of hope — a goddess for the downtrodden and mistreated. But no one has ever gone so far as to speak of waking her again.”
“Until now,” murmured Rémy.
“Yes,” said Desai, with a somber sigh that seemed to draw a thread of darkness through the bright tapestry of the new day. “Until now.”
{Chapter 10}
A NEW CULT
“But — but this is just a fable,” protested Thaddeus into the silence that had fallen following Desai’s tale. “It’s just a story — it can’t be true!”
“Surely by now you must realize, my dear Thaddeus, that what is true has far less importance than what is believed,” said Desai. “Besides, do you doubt that gemstones can wield great powers? After what you saw in Abernathy’s tunnels — after your means of travel from one side of the Earth to the other?” He gestured at the airship.
Thaddeus nodded. It was true — however rationally he thought about it, he could not deny the evidence of his own eyes. “And what do you believe, Desai?” he asked.
Desai looked back at him, his expression deadly serious. “That whatever kernel of truth is in the story is irrelevant. It is the cult that has grown up around the tale that is the true danger.”
“A cult?” Rémy repeated. “You mean there are still people who worship the idea of Aruna and her power?”
“Absolutely there are,” said Desai, “and as with all faith, it only takes a clever mind to manipulate such devotion. For centuries these people have kept themselves secret — but now their numbers are swelling. They believe that Aruna is about to rise again, and they are flocking to serve her — or whomever has designated themselves her mouthpiece — while they still can.”
“Someone is encouraging them?” asked Thaddeus, and he was rewarded by a nod from Desai.
“Just so. This, I think, is Sahoj’s most clever plan. Hidden away in Aruna’s mountain, he is building an army, and he has not even had to recruit them. They are coming to him.”
“Sahoj,” repeated Rémy. “When I was finding my way into the palace, I saw Ikshuvaku speak with an old man dressed in white robes. Is this who you mean?”
“Indeed it is,” said Desai.
“He did not seem happy by the capture of the airship,” Rémy observed.
Desai gave a brief smile. “I imagine the idea of the raja having any strength at his own command plays against whatever Sahoj is planning,” he said. “It would suit him best to have the raja dependent on his power.”
“But what could he be planning?” Thaddeus asked. “Another uprising against the British?”
Desai shook his head. “If that were all he were interested in, I would not be as concerned as I am. Unfortunately, even if the tale about reawakening the girl is false, the powers of the stones in those mines are true. If Sahoj has found a way to channel that power — as I believe he must at least think he has, or he would not be so audacious — then we must all fear the outcome, for I have no doubt his ambitions will extend far beyond these shores.
“But most frightening of all is that he may believe he can control the power he has sought out — he may even succeed, for a time — but sooner or later he will fail. What is in that mountain was not meant to exist and its power cannot be safely harnessed, much less wielded. This is what the fable of the Sapphire Cutlass is intended to show. We must find a way to stop him, before the cult and its notoriety spreads. For the more it does so, the greater Sahoj’s confidence will be.”
Thaddeus and Rémy shared an uncomfortable look, which did not go unnoticed by Desai.
“What is it?” he asked. “My young friends, if you have something to say, I beg you — speak.”
Thaddeus straightened his shoulders with a sigh. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Desai, but I think it has already spread beyond India.”
“Go on,” the older man said.
“We told you we came here from France,
yes?” Rémy said gently.
“Quite. I was going to ask you about that, in due course.”
“You will remember that before you left on your journey here, you visited me in my office at the station and gave me a list of names,” added Thaddeus. “On that list was the Comte de Cantal. It was he who took us to France.”
As quickly as he could — and with help from Rémy, J, and Dita — Thaddeus outlined the events that had surrounded the destruction of Mount Cantal. As the story unfolded — the kidnap of Claudette and Amélie, their discovery that the Comte’s entire mountain had been turned into a factory for a huge mechanical army — Desai’s face grew darker and darker. He stared into the distance, listening intently.
“The thing is,” Thaddeus went on, almost hesitant to reveal the crux of the matter, “the thing is, Desai, that when he was leading me through that volcano, he revealed that he knew Abernathy. Or at least, if he did not know him personally, then he knew of him. He spoke of warning someone that Abernathy was not ready to receive the power he had obtained. And I saw, on his breast, a tattoo. It was of a curved sword, with a hilt inlaid with a sapphire embedded in his skin.”
Silence reigned for a moment, punctuated by nothing but the dying crackle of the fire and the call of the jungle birds, waking into the day.
“It cannot be a coincidence, I think, what Thaddeus saw?” Rémy prompted, after a moment or two.
Desai shook his head. “No, it cannot. That motif matches the symbol of the Sapphire Cutlass, for sure. Their followers see it as proof of their devotion to tattoo themselves accordingly.”
“Then,” said Thaddeus hesitantly, “are we to assume — my god, Desai — are we to assume that all of those names on the list you gave me are members of this cult? They were spread all over the world, weren’t they? I remember names from as distant as the Far East on that piece of paper!”
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