The night was terribly silent except for the trickling sound of water flowing through the caves. He tightly held the knife which he had borrowed from Sravan. That dull brute Roy should be sleeping somewhere at the end of the tunnel he was walking through. He slowed down as he saw a faint flicker of light emanating from the chamber at the end of the tunnel.
He slowly inched towards the light, making sure he couldn’t be seen by anyone who was inside the chamber. He almost reached the end of the tunnel which opened into small chamber to its right. He edged along the tunnel wall right up to the chamber and peeped in.
He found his target.
Roy was sitting up on his mattress, dressed in loose robes. His sword lay by his side, its thin blade glinting in the orange light of the oil lamp by his bedside. The Librarian watched in disbelief as he saw what Roy held in his hands.
His papers. His script. His story.
Roy was reading them by the lamp light.
The librarian realized that Roy hadn’t burned it all then.
He stood there motionless for a couple of minutes before he finally put his knife back in his pocket and turned back.
Sravan was surprised when the Librarian came back to his chamber and gave him back his knife.
“You took care of your business?” Sravan asked him.
“No!” the Librarian replied. “Some stories are more important than people.”
The caves were a dark place during the nights and most of the daytime too. But the fires made sure that people didn’t trip, stumble or accidentally step over someone sleeping in the central hall during the nights. But as much as the fires provided visibility, they were poor guides to spot someone entering or leaving the caves.
The Forgiven had carefully guarded the entrance to their caves. The huge doors and the guards on shifts were a cautionary measure because wild animals and other factions were supposed to be kept at bay. Any safe haven in the wasteland will sooner or later attract scores of survivors. The Forgiven’s motto was to rescue and provide living to the survivors, but the fact remained that they had limited resources and also that there were hostile forces out there who might want to steal, loot and plunder those resources. The apocalypse sometimes tended to bring out the worst in people.
So it was with surprise that the guards noted, a group of around fifteen Forgiven coming out of the caves, towards the gates in the middle of the night. The guards had only ever worried about people budging in, but this was the first time that they saw people sneaking out of the caves. Leading the group was a thin man with curly hair. He held a torch in his hand. They were all dressed in loose robes and were covered in loose shawls and other clothes that would protect them from the night chills. Many of them carried huge bags, filled with supplies which the guards correctly guessed were stolen from the warehouse in the western back chambers.
One of the guards, a short, thick set young man stood up and shouted out. “What’s the matter? Where are you sorry lot heading?” The guard tried to sound cheerful.
“Just outside. Let us pass,” the man with the curly hair replied curtly.
“There are no hunts or roaming sessions scheduled for tonight,” the guard said surprised. “I don’t think I have seen you often here. Are you new here?”
“Yes, brother. I am new and I wish to remain so. Just let us go. We intend no harm.”
The guard paused for a moment and said, “Those are stolen supplies, aren’t they? Does the General know you are leaving?”
Sravan pulled at the Librarian’s arm.
“Let me speak to them,” he whispered.
The Librarian remained silent but Sravan could see clearly the Librarian’s left arm–the one with the trigger finger intact, reaching out to his supply bag and resurfacing with a revolver.
“I am sorry but the story needs to be told,” he said and in a flash, shot the guard in his chest.
The guard gave one final scream, slipped from his seat up at the gates and fell with a thud to the ground. His head burst open with the fall like a squished fruit.
“What the hell are you doing?” Sravan screamed in rage, grabbing the Librarian by the collar.
“Ensuring our survival,” the Librarian answered. He then turned to the other guard who clearly looked frightened and in shock.
“Can’t take any chances,” the Librarian said and shot the other guard too before he could draw out his own revolver.
“Goddammit! We never kill our own,” Sravan whispered. He then flew into a fit of rage. “You psycho!” He screamed and punched the Librarian in the face.
The Librarian fell to the ground. He looked up at Sravan in seething rage. His nose looked broken. Blood streamed down from it. His upper lip was torn. He aimed the gun at Sravan.
“You fool. This is the End Age!” he screamed.
His left hand shook as his trigger finger frighteningly lingered on the trigger.
“There is only one rule –kill or be killed,” he said, croaking. “If we can’t leave, all of us will be dead or captured, when the Sinless arrive,” he said looking at the rest of the group.
“Everything has a price. The lives of those two guards is the price I paid, for all your worthless lives…” he wiped the blood off his nose. “While all of you stood around like cowards … you ungrateful bastards.”
He spat the blood out from his mouth and got up. He walked up ahead and threw the gates open.
“Now grow up, grow some fucking balls and follow me,” He said and walked out of the caves.
The Forgiven followed.
As Pradeep sat with the General by the dry wood, his mind drifted off once again to a familiar face. He was once again thinking of the day when Veda visited him while he was lying on the mattress at Mishra’s chamber.
That was the day when she had spoken the most. Almost the entire conversation had been oral then. She hadn’t brought her notepad along.
“Get well soon, Pradeep!” she had said.
He remembered liking the way his name had sounded in her voice.
But what was it that he had seen in her eyes, when she had seen him lying there, wounded and in pain? Was it only concern or was it something more? Or was it pity? Pradeep had never pegged himself a handsome man but he knew he looked decent enough. Now that his face was ruined, would Veda not like him? Did she even like him in the first place?
“You seem lost!” the General’s voice jolted him back to the present.
Pradeep shook his head.
“It’s nothing!” he lied.
“I know you have a lot on your mind, son. With all that has happened recently,” the General said. “I am disturbed by how that pathetic lunatic had escaped with few of our men. Killed Mohan and Prateek on their way out.”
He shook his head.
“Anyway, I just want you to know that I am proud of you. For what you have done for Saahil. Putting your life in danger like that – foolish but noble,” the General said, and got up to fetch a match to light a fire.
“But you got to be more careful. The days have changed, Pradeep. It's no longer the place and time of men. It's the age of Gods.” the General said, as he struck lit a match and sat down near the sticks.
“New Gods!” the General continued. “New and strange. You know the Sandmen in the northwest worship something they call the Bleeding God! Hah!” he chuckled and lit the sticks. “Scared little bunch of men and women...desperate to believe in something –anything at all and calling it their God.”
“I also hear there is someone out there who is immune to purges?” Pradeep enquired, as the General tried to fan the fire.
The General looked up at him and frowned.
“The Purge Walker? Yes, I hear stories about him. Rumours,” the General said, as the fire crackled and little embers flew up illuminating his creased face.
“It is rare but sometimes roamers bring news of him. News that are mostly too fantastic to be true. They say he is building a community out there in the wastelands of Mumbai.”
“What do you think?” Pradeep asked.
The General shook his head, staring into the raging fire.
“I don't know! We have too less information right now to know if he can be trusted or if he even exists. They say he is good on the eyes,” the General paused. “And I know better than to ever trust a guy who is good on the eyes,” he said stroking the fire with a thin branch. “Ugly women and good-looking men can never be trusted. Nature doesn't work that way, son,” the General’s eyes lingered for a brief moment on Pradeep's scars.
“That is some weird train of thought,” Pradeep said.
“Expecting an apocalypse and planning for it was a weird train of thought too,” the General grunted. “Well I guess you owe your life to this weird train of thought,” he said pointing to his wrinkled forehead.
Pradeep remained silent. He knew better than to push the matter.
The General stood up and threw the branch in his hand into the fire. The fire crackled and roared higher.
The General looked at Pradeep through the rising arms of the flame and said, “If you still think there's not enough reason to not trust him – do you know why I said sometimes the news are too fantastic to be true?” he paused “The roamers say he has the eyes of a boar.”
And with that, the General left.
Pradeep walked back to his chamber, careful to not move his head too much. It still stung whenever he moved. He lay down on his bed, uncomfortably. The General’s words rang in his ears.
Eyes of a boar.
Something inside him told him that this Purge Walker was real, even though his mind refused to accept such an absurdity. With fading thoughts of eyes and monstrous boars, he slowly drifted off to sleep.
A few hours later, he had to suddenly wake up. Is it an earthquake? He thought, his eyes half open. He woke up with a start to the sound of a distant growing rumble and the steady vibration of his surroundings. Other Forgiven were slowly starting to wake up but no one seemed to have any idea about what was going on. It was the middle of the night.
He got dressed and quickly dashed into the central chamber only to find the General rush in there at around the same time.
“What do you think it is?” Pradeep whispered to the General, trying to not speak too loudly and panic the rest of the Forgiven before they could decide what’s going on.
The General whispered back. “He was right. The Librarian …”
“What are you–”
“Hooves” the General said. “That is the rumble of hooves pounding on the ground.”
“What do you mean hooves?” Pradeep started to ask but then it hit him.
The horsemen had arrived.
BATTLE OF BELUM
“Come out, you cowards! The time for your judgement has come!” Vikranth shouted into the megaphone as the dark rain hit his face hard.
He stood beside his horse, outside the gargantuan wooden gate on which were etched the words, ‘Forgiven, Forever’.
The dark rains were not a very good sign. It had been raining on that fateful night when the kinkars had broken free at the towers. The Ashvins had not yet been a formidable army by then and he had been just a ‘wet behind the ears’ volunteer when it had happened but he had heard gruesome tales about it and the Sinless still spoke of the night as a cautionary tale.
He shook the thought away. He considered himself religious, but not superstitious. He had to concentrate on the work at hand.
“Surrender now and you might live!” the megaphone blared. “Confess your sins to the Purohit and he will judge you righteously.”
Behind him stood the horde of horsemen, in four rows of fifty men each, wielding their swords, guns, wrenches, axes, clubs and other rudimentary weapons of all kinds, many procured by their rangers and some modified and tinkered by the Avadhanis. They all waited impatiently like a pack of hungry lions about to pounce upon an elephant, as the dark rain drenched them.
“We will count down to five. If by then, the gates do no open, then we set them on fire,” Vikranth’s voice boomed through the megaphone.
“The caves are a bad place to hide with all that smoke filling them up,” He taunted. “Open your gates to the legion of the Lord, surrender, and each one of you will be treated with the justice you truly deserve and the pure devotees among you will walk free and prosper forever under the leadership of His Holiness.”
“FIVE!” Vikranth started the countdown.
Stunning silence except for the steady sound of rain drops crashing onto the ground.
“FOUR!” No response.
More silence that hung heavily in the air.
“THREE!” A man lit a wooden torch and proceeded over to the gates.
The man stood waiting, shielding the flame from the rain with his cloak.
“TWO!”
Vikranth was about to signal the torchbearer to lit the fire, when the gates slowly started to creak. The caves were finally opening up to the invaders at their doorstep.
Vikranth’s eyes shone as the gates started opening wide and the words ‘Forgiven’ and ‘Forever’ etched on the left gate and right gate moved slowly away from each other. But the light in his eyes quickly turned to panic as he saw what lay beyond the gates.
He saw a line of men sitting on their motorcycles carrying automatic weapons, revving their engines, but it was the man who stood in front of these men that startled him. He was a big man with a huge frame, who stood like a bull. He carried on his shoulders, what Vikranth immediately recognized as a rocket launcher.
Before Vikranth could even scream a command for the horsemen to retreat, the rocket launcher was fired. Vikranth looked on in horror as the rocket expelled out of the launcher, snaking in the air towards them with a long tail of smoke behind it.
He ducked immediately and looked up as the magnificent messenger of death flew above him and lodged itself into the ribcage of one of the horsemen in the second row and then exploded into a massive wave of red blood, blue flesh, bones, light, heat and dust, as bodies and limbs of men and horses flew everywhere. Vikranth was lifted off the ground and thrown forward a few feet onto the wet ground by the blast force.
As he stood up, disoriented, the Forgiven’s bikers started circling the horsemen. There were around six of them. The mud flew high from their wet tires as they repeatedly circled in the thumping rain with their guns and clubs raised.
Vikranth pulled out his dagger and threw it into one of the biker’s wheels. The dagger lodged among the spokes of the wheel and the wheel stopped dead in its tracks. The motorcycle tumbled like a metallic toy, throwing the rider off, while pieces of metal and leather flew off it every time it made contact with the ground in its tumbling crash. The rider landed headfirst into the ground and Vikranth could hear his neck snap like a dry twig even among all the commotion.
Vikranth proceeded to take his hand gun out and shoot another biker. The bullet burst through his ear, and emerged on the other side along with the biker’s blood and brains as he fell from his motorcycle.
Though many of the horsemen in and around the nucleus of the rocket’s impact were now dismembered pieces of meat, the rest of them had quickly regained the control of their horses. They drew their weapons and rode on their horses, dodging and attacking the bikers as they weaved through them. The bikers and the riders seemed to be in a strange dance of violence and blood under the black rain.
Vikranth stood in the middle of this dance, without his horse as he watched new dancers joining the party. He saw the huge man who had fired the rocket launcher run at them, followed by a slim and tall man with a katana in his hand and another man whose face was entirely covered in bandages.
Roy charged into the rain, his katana held high above him.
The carnage in front of him was getting bloodier with each passing moment. His eyes searched for Niv. He knew she would join the fight despite the General’s orders for all the women to stay inside. Roy knew her. He found her now, a few meters to his right, firing away
at the advancing BlueSkins. Roy saw a horseman approaching her from behind.
He shouted out, “Niv! Look out.”
But his voice was drowned out in the constant rumble of engines and hooves hitting the wet earth. He ran towards her as quickly as he could.
He saw the BlueSkin dashing onwards, his horse galloping at a whopping speed. Roy stopped and stood his ground behind Niv.
“Get out of the way!” he shouted into Niv’s ears.
She looked at him, surprised; and to Roy’s amusement, for the first time in his life, she had done what he had asked her to do. Roy held his katana by his side, patiently waiting. The horseman had a baton in his hand that looked like it belonged to a cop before the End Age. The horse advanced at Roy like a hurricane in the rain. Each of its powerful hooves crunched the wet earth beneath them as it ran.
Roy waited, gripping his katana tighter than ever until the horse was only a few feet away. The horseman screamed wildly as he swung his baton at Roy’s head. Roy ducked and rolled out of the way to the side and with all his might, plunged his katana sideways into the horse’s neck and held on to the handle.
He dug his shoes down hard into the wet ground while being dragged away by the horse for a few meters before it collapsed onto the ground, atop the rider, pinning him to the ground as he shrieked in pain. Roy got up panting and pulled the katana out of the horse’s thick neck. Blood spew forth like a fountain. Roy was no stranger to blood. His time with the Thuggees was marked with copious amounts of blood. He stepped on the now almost dead horse, looked down on the shrieking BlueSkin, held the katana with both his hands, lifted it high above him and with one swift movement, plunged it deep into the heart of the rider.
Pradeep’s bandages grew wet as they soaked under the dark rain.
He knew the rain was not especially healthy to his wound and his face started itching already, but this was not the time to care. He chucked his combat knife towards a horseman while he ran onwards into the chaos that was unravelling in front of him. The knife found its mark–right between the horseman’s eyes and he fell to the ground with a thud.
Sinners- The Dawn Of Kalki Page 9