‘Over a hundred.’
Victor whistled. ‘Not bad. But Golems wouldn’t be able to stop him, if he were to try and escape.’
‘He’s bound by Seraphim. And his cell is guarded by a Dusk Golem.’
‘Ooh. Where did you find one of those?’
Archos didn’t reply. They walked on, a long walk, until a door finally crept into sight. A giant of a door, a monument with chains covering every inch, a jangle, a confused mass of metal. Each chain was as thick as a human arm, hugging the door in all strength. Again, no keyhole. They stood there, before it, not talking. Waiting.
‘Well?’ Victor asked.
‘The Dusk Golem is scanning us,’ Archos replied.
A long bang, a sound of metal hitting metal. Then the chains retreated into the sides of the door, an octopus withdrawing its tentacles, and the door was finally revealed—a door of iron, split in the middle. Victor had to stand impatiently for another minute before this door decided to open, the two halves sliding into the wall.
The Dusk Golem stood before them. Victor admired it briefly while Archos gave it the three passwords it needed to hear; he had only seen one other Dusk Golem in his life. These creatures were rare and followed no one. He wondered how on earth the Warden had managed to convince this one to work for him. There had to be a trick in there somewhere, one he should know. Perhaps another visit to the Warden was due, in time.
The stone creature moved aside, lowering its beam weapons. Archos sighed in relief, and Victor hummed as they continued onward. A short passage, and another door. This one, however, was transparent.
A bed lay within, and a man lay on it, naked. On his chest sat an entity wreathed in fire, almost humanoid but with wings, and from within its translucence extended serpents of flame. They curled their way around the unmoving man’s body, wrapping it in their fiery coils, entering his eyes, burning him in an endless, merciless blaze.
‘Ah, finally, there he is,’ Victor said, adjusting his hair. ‘Open the accursed door.’
Archos kept his palm on the door, and it responded with a wave that travelled outwards. It travelled like a sonar signal, from the door to the walls, along the passage and behind them, out of sight.
The Seraphim inside turned and looked at them with eyes of fire. Archos started to mutter passwords.
‘You know, it’s not really a password if it’s a damn essay,’ Victor said. Archos ignored him and continued. After several minutes of recitation, the door glowed, and then dissolved away. The Seraphim continued to glare at them as they entered.
Archos held out the Warden’s letter to the creature. Its bright eyes searched the document in seconds, and then it turned to look at the prostrate man.
‘Well, Seraphim, you can let him go now,’ Victor said, impatient.
The Seraphim withdrew the snakes. They pulled out from the man’s eyes, and then coiled, drawing back to their origin, the body of the bright, crystalline entity. Then its wings unfolded, and enveloped itself in a flash of blinding flame.
Gone.
Victor and Archos rubbed their eyes, recovering, and approached the man on the bed.
Here he is, finally.
He was in his fifties, like Victor. Extremely muscular, he had a body that had been abused—there were more scars and burns than Victor could count. His hair was pearl white, long and dirty, running down to his shoulders. His features were sharp, his cheekbones jutted outwards like his jaw, and his nose was long and narrow. He had a huge beard, overgrown and ignored, and a tattoo on his neck, a strange symbol which Victor recognised. As they looked on, the man opened his eyes, eyes revealing a transparent liquid yellow within, eyes instantly alert.
He sprang up and found Victor’s gun on his forehead.
‘Listen to me,’ Victor said dispassionately. ‘You do not need to attempt an escape. I’m here to release you. I have paid a lot for you, and I would rather like not having to shoot you. So hear me out.’
The man stared at Victor, not a trace of fear on his face or his body. His yellow eyes burned. ‘Fine,’ he grunted, finally, in a scratchy, gnarled voice. ‘How about some clothes first?’
‘Do you have clothes?’ Victor turned to Archos.
‘No. Not here.’
Victor turned back to the man. ‘You heard him. You’ll be getting your old clothes back on your way out though, along with your personal effects.’
The man stared Victor down.
‘Your being naked does not bother me,’ Victor said.
‘You’re the one wearing the damn clothes,’ the man rasped.
‘You don’t trust me yet.’
‘You haven’t lowered your weapon. Yet.’
‘It’s because I know what you’re capable of. A precaution, until I explain why I’m freeing you.’
‘You have a job for me. Why the hell else, Tantric?’
‘Perceptive. Must be the smell, yes?’
‘You stink of Necromancy. Interesting. What could a dead-talker possibly want from a bounty hunter?’
‘I want you to acquire something for me. Do what you do best.’
‘And what is my reward? My freedom, I suppose?’
‘Anything else you would care to want.’
The man took his eyes off Victor for the first time, looking around the room. ‘What year is it?’
Victor told him.
‘Been a while. Though it feels like I’ve been here for a century. Damn Seraphim,’ the man cursed.
‘About time you got back in the game. You’ll like this assignment. Your task is to retrieve a soul gem in the possession of Maya Ghosh. She is accompanied by her brother, Gray Ghosh, and an assassin of Ahzad, Fayne. They should reach the Shadowlands soon. I believe they are headed for Zaleb Hel, the island off Frozen Bombay. I must have the gem back before they reach it.’
The man did not speak for a long time. Victor looked at him impatiently, but did not speak either. Finally, the man asked, ‘And what do I do with Maya and Gray and Fayne?’
‘Kill Fayne,’ Victor said. ‘As for Maya and Gray, I leave their fate to you. After all, they put you here.’
The man looked amused. ‘Yes, it’ll be good fun. They haven’t seen their father in a long time.’
‘Quality time with children,’ Victor said, grinning. ‘I recently spent some time with my son. Most rewarding.’
‘I will hunt them down,’ the man said slowly. ‘Let us leave this tomb. I cannot wait.’
‘That’s the spirit, Ghosh!’ Victor exclaimed, finally lowering the revolver.
‘I do not answer to that name,’ the man said, standing up. ‘Call me what they call me.’
‘The infamous Lich,’ Victor said, grinning, as he extended a hand. ‘You’ll have heard of me as well. I’m Victor Sen.’
5
The night was moonless. The only light was that of the small campfire around which they lay. Winds swept by, disturbing the flame. Zabrielle looked up from her book in displeasure, muttered words under her breath, the fire got stronger, and she continued reading.
‘Do you think she was just cursing, or did she use some spell on the fire?’ Gray whispered.
‘Difficult to say,’ Maya replied. They sneaked glances at the Demon sitting peacefully, buried in her book, a large, weathered tome.
‘I know right? We know so little about magic,’ Gray said.
Maya looked at her gauntlets, at the fire reflected on the cold surface. ‘So little indeed.’
Gray looked around. ‘Where’s Fayne?’
‘He’s checking the perimeter.’
‘But the Whispering Pashan is behind us.’
‘True, but one can’t be too careful.’
Gray nodded. He was glad the assassin was taking measures for their safety. New moon nights did not bear well with him. Old memories, best forgotten.
Maya looked at him, her eyes deep, analysing. ‘You still fear the new moon,’ she said gently.
‘Don’t you?’
‘How can I not
? But it is something we must move past, Gray. We must learn to defend ourselves better.’
‘Yes, we must. Sometimes I wonder if it will ever be enough. It’s easier for you though. What Ba’al said, about magic reacting to you—’
‘Gray. There’s nothing.’
Gray looked quizzically at his sister. Maya lifted her gauntlets. ‘These are nothing more than gloves of metal for me,’ she said.
‘You have to learn to use them.’
‘I’ve been trying all day, Gray. Sorcerers don’t use phrases or words to activate these things. I’ve been trying to—I don’t know—make something happen. Been pointing at things, clenching, unclenching, trying to feel some kind of energy in the gauntlets. Nothing.’
‘It can’t be that easy,’ Gray said. ‘You need to be trained. I’m very sure Ba’al knew what he was talking about.’
‘I hate it,’ she said. ‘Big words, bigger expectations.’
‘Hey. Better than being a third wheel, right?’
Maya looked back at Gray. ‘Is that how you feel?’
Gray looked away. ‘I don’t . . . know. I don’t feel good. I kind of feel . . . like a burden, I suppose.’
‘There’s more to you than that,’ Maya said seriously.
‘I asked Fayne to train me.’
Maya’s eyes widened. ‘You did not.’
‘Yes, I did. I think I was quite desperate.’
‘Did he turn you down?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. I don’t want you to become—Fayne. I like him, but that’s not you. I don’t want you to live alone with your secrets . . . so many that you need a mask to keep them in.’
‘Is that what you think Fayne is about?’
Maya looked around briefly. ‘He can probably hear us anyway,’ Gray said. Maya nodded. No use holding back in this conversation, the first honest conversation she was having with her brother after a long, long time. She needed to let go. And maybe, Fayne needed to listen.
‘Fayne is lost,’ she said. ‘He started off as something else, he must have, and I do not know how he ended up in Ahzad, but I don’t think it was his choice. He’s been built into an automaton, a machine that performs flawlessly, too flawlessly perhaps. I just think at times that it’s human to err, and those moments are just too rare with Fayne. Somewhere inside him, there is a human being, but Fayne is scared of revealing him, letting him out. Hence the mask.’
‘We interact in a weird fashion,’ Gray said. ‘There is an understanding, somewhere, between us. He would still kill me, I think, if a client demanded it, but somewhere down this road we walk? Somewhere down this road, I think, sis, there is a point where his hand might just hesitate before landing a killing blow. I think we’re all travelling together for a reason, and as far as Fayne is concerned, I think we might just help him reach that point.’
Maya was silent, contemplating. ‘You have grown, brother,’ she said eventually. ‘This city, and what you have been through, it has made you age. You will find your path as well. It is not the same one as mine, or Fayne’s, or Adri’s, but it is a path meant for you. And when you are through, you will not look upon anyone else for your protection.’
‘I need that. I need to defend myself. I’ve had enough of being helpless.’
‘You have your place,’ Maya said. ‘Remember Anulekha? You faced her alone, and you came out of that conversation alive, you, all by yourself. That is truly who you are. You are on the road to finding yourself as well, Gray. I’m proud to say I’m having the pleasure of seeing it.’ She smiled, leaned over, and ruffled Gray’s white hair. He closed his eyes and smiled back. It had been a while since she had done that.
‘I had to tell you something else. Remember the old man, the nightmares?’ Gray asked.
‘Of course. Are you having them again?’
‘Yes. I’m seeing him again.’
‘You used to have those nightmares as a child. Back when—you know. He was around.’
Gray sighed. ‘Can we not talk about Dad, please?’
‘Yes, we can definitely not talk about that bastard. But granny. You told me you wanted to talk about her.’
‘Yes. As did you.’
‘You go first.’
‘All right. Anulekha told me something about myself. She told me to remember all the stories granny told me, as they would have a bearing on this journey. That she knew, back then, that we would make the journey, which is why she told us those very specific tales, over and over again, familiarising us. She could see something in us, in me, something called the Web.’
‘The Web? What is it?’ Maya asked.
Gray opened his mouth, but it was Zabrielle who replied.
‘A mystery,’ she said, without looking up from her book.
‘Oh great, you were listening,’ Gray complained. ‘Why were we even whispering?’
The Demon met his eyes. ‘One is sorry. Demons have great hearing. One could not have avoided this situation, however absorbed in the book one was.’
‘Tell us more,’ Maya said, eager. ‘The Web.’
‘From the elder spiders spun
Galaxies of secrets, moments of truth
If see it traveller, if see it run.’
Zabrielle paused. ‘It is something like a magical interface, they say. It connects everything, and those who can see past every day, into the Web, can trace connections and find out anything they please. Then there are those who can supposedly manipulate the Web—though this is unheard of, except in legends—they can manipulate anything in existence. Day can be made night, water wine. Time can go back hundreds of years, or speed up into the face of the new millennium. Cities can be created merely by thinking, by adjusting the Web behind a barren field where this city should lie.’
‘The power of a God,’ Gray whispered, eyes wide.
‘The same legends say that the power was wielded by a clan seemingly mortal,’ Zabrielle continued. ‘The Spider Clan, they were the ones who first spun the web. The legend also talks about a secret machine, the Loom they call it, which the Spider Lords use to spin the Web. There is not a shred of evidence to support this, however, and one must not get sucked into the romantic entirely.’
‘Are they still around, the Spider Clan?’
‘The last known Spider King was Ardak,’ the Demon replied. ‘They say he sleeps now.’
‘Sleep?’ Gray’s eyes were bulging. ‘How can someone just sleep?’
‘There was something—an altercation perhaps, it is not clear—between the Spider King and the Horsemen of Old.’
‘The Horsemen? Again?’
‘They are linked to almost every facet of legend in the Old City, you should not be surprised. There was something, I repeat, and Ardak is said to have spun the web around himself, forming a cocoon in which he slept.’
‘Where is this? In Old Kolkata?’ Maya asked.
‘The Spider Clan might entirely be fabrication,’ Zabrielle replied. ‘There is no evidence, no artefact, no manuscript to even hint that this clan existed in the first place. No fairy tales, even.’
‘How did you hear of Ardak, then?’ Gray asked.
‘The Demon Commander is wise well beyond his years,’ Zabrielle said respectfully. ‘One used to go to him often with one’s questions, and he, in his great patience, would answer each one.’
She gave them the softest of nods and went back to her book. Clearly there was nothing more to be said on the topic. Gray looked at Maya. ‘So, where were we?’
‘Granny.’
‘Yes. I want to know if you remember anything about her which seemed weird. Not human weird.’
‘We have a bloody weird family, Gray.’
‘Yeah . . . I have this vision of her,’ Gray said, ‘in which her eyes are pure white. The iris, the pupil, everything a milky white. Like she was blind or something. It’s more like a dream, I can’t really be sure. But now I have reason to question what I saw.’
‘Well, if it was a dream, we saw it together,’
Maya said darkly.
‘What?! You saw it too?’
Maya nodded. ‘Her white eyes. Somehow, when you’re a kid, these things get erased, they don’t matter once the logic in you takes hold years later. Both of us dismissed it as a dream.’
‘We never talked about it until now.’
‘It was on the night she was telling us about the sea monsters under the oceans,’ Maya said. ‘Do you remember?’
Gray recollected. ‘The story of the Leviathan,’ he said slowly.
‘You always remember these stories in such detail,’ Maya said admiringly. ‘I just, somehow—forgot.’
‘I loved the stories,’ Gray said. ‘She told us of the Leviathan that night, and then something happened, right? Something broke.’
‘Her pipe? I remember these fumes. She used to smoke a pipe, remember?’
‘Crazy,’ Gray shook his head. ‘Yes, it was her pipe, her clay pipe. It broke, and she spent a lot of time cleaning the mess while we waited for her to finish the story.’
‘Then she looked up at us,’ Maya said, sitting straight. ‘White eyes, in the light of the lamp.’
‘Damn, I’m getting goose bumps right now,’ Gray muttered.
‘She said something then, Gray. What did she say?’
Gray concentrated, looking at the fire. A wolf howled somewhere, a cry long but strained, dying out in the distance. ‘I can’t remember,’ he said at length.
‘I can’t either,’ Maya said. ‘I need to remember. I have this feeling, this gut feeling telling me that I really need to remember what she said when she looked up.’
‘It was . . . something long. She spoke quite a bit,’ Gray said.
‘And we didn’t understand her.’
‘Damn. What the hell was she?’
‘I don’t know, Gray. I really, really have no idea.’
‘Mom would’ve known. And of course, he would know.’
‘Let’s not talk about him.’
‘And Abriti Dada never mentioned anything either.’
‘He never talked to granny much. And you know how he was about his job and everything.’
‘Hmm. He did not seem to worry much about us this time around, when we passed through his camp. I mean, Adri talked to him—I don’t know what he must have said—but afterwards, Dada entrusted me to him. And you, in your bloody coma.’
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