Horsemen of Old

by Krishnarjun Bhattacharya

  ‘Single or double?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m alone,’ Maya said.

  ‘Single,’ the man nodded, looking over the innumerable markings on the page he had opened.

  ‘How much do you charge?’ Maya asked, looking through her coin purse.

  ‘Four a night. Six for sea facing.’

  ‘Six what?’

  The man looked at her quizzically. ‘Bronze, what else?’

  ‘Right,’ Maya said, relieved. ‘I’ll take the sea facing room.’

  ‘Open the window, good breeze,’ the man said, nodding and making a note. ‘Name?’

  Maya hesitated.

  The man looked up. ‘Any goddamn name if you’re on the run. No one gives their real name.’

  Maya nodded, but she could not think of anything at that moment.

  The man tutted impatiently and scribbled. Maya peered at the logbook. ‘What is that—you’re putting me down as Xavier?’

  ‘Male name,’ the man said, shrugging. ‘Not that it’s anything to me, but less people bother you.’

  Maya nodded. It made sense.

  The man closed the register. ‘I’ll take the money now,’ he said.

  Maya handed him six of the smallest brown coins. He looked at her suspiciously. ‘You an outsider? Or just stupid? I said bronze.’ He leaned over the counter and peered into Maya’s wallet before she could react. ‘Those ones,’ he said, pointing at the larger brown coins. Maya rectified her mistake. ‘The smallest ones are coppers. Then bronze,’ the man said. ‘And you know the silver, you have enough of those,’ He paused. ‘No problems here as long as you pay.’

  He fished out a naked key and blew on it, handing it to Maya. ‘Number 10. First floor, last door on the right.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ Maya asked. ‘Not that it’s anything to me either, but I’d like to know who I gave my money.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere, I’m the owner,’ the man said. ‘Name’s Jaire.’

  Maya nodded and walked up a short, incredibly cramped staircase, up to a corridor, up to her room. It was much smaller than the one she had had in the Wanderer Lodge, but it felt cosy. There was a small bed with a blanket, and that was all she needed. Locking the door and ignoring the window, she somehow got rid of her boots and slept.

  Morning came. Maya lay awake, looking at the ceiling, bare and wooden. Yesterday had felt like a dream, but she had reached Frozen Bombay. She was here, in a room that was small, wooden, nothing on the walls, no cupboard, no wardrobe. She hated leaving the warm blanket, but she had to urinate.

  The sea, the glorious sea set against a red sunrise. Maya looked at the waves as they rose and then broke, the winking of the light in the water far away, the way the water moved like dunes. Slowly, she opened the window and leaned out. It was still snowing, and a rush of cold wind hit her, wind of the sea. The Arabian Sea. She could not believe it, the gigantic body of water she saw before her, like the lakes she had seen, only a million times larger. The water, a frigid blue, cold but seemingly warm. Her eyes followed the sway of the water again, hypnotized, the gentle dance of the sea in the far distance, the reckless crash up close. It was simply entrancing. She had never seen anything like this her entire life.

  It took a long while for Maya to detach. Digging in her backpack for her toothbrush, she went to the bathroom and began brushing her teeth. In doing so, she saw herself in the mirror after a long time. Filthy, muddy, bits of snow in her hair, the scars on her face darker, deeper. She looked down at her hands and realised they were aching. She opened her gauntlets slowly, for the first time in many days, and saw red, angry welts developing on her hands. Of course the skin needs air. It was easy to forget that when the gauntlets were so comfortable; she cursed herself for her ignorance, and winced as she examined the welts. They stung.

  There was a bathtub behind her, small like the bed, but it would do. Over the course of the next hour, Maya discovered hot water and soap, and how good being clean felt. The water that drained away in the end was black, coal black from all the dust and the dirt and the muck she had collected. She dried herself then and changed into fresh clothes, into clean, dark Demon Mage robes. She looked at the old ones, burnt at places, torn, the rich colour already fading, and decided to throw them away. Her wet hair took time to dry, and when it did, Maya wore her travelling cloak and boots. She did not want to eat canned food any more.

  It was a tough call, leaving her gauntlets behind in the room, but Maya’s hands were aching too much and the swellings needed air. Besides, she did not plan to go far, just get some breakfast and then back. She took precautions, hiding the gauntlets in the bathroom, in a narrow crevice between the bathtub and the wall.

  Stepping out felt good. She was admiring the sea again when she noticed it in the distance, gaining visibility as the morning fog cleared.

  An island, a wide piece of rock in the sea, black, with jutting edges, looking for all the world like a stone crown, partially submerged. Zaleb Hel, where the cursed city of Zaleb Khadd would be found.

  And the Keeper.

  It was right here, right in front of her, a mere boat ride away. She wondered if she would have made the journey if she still had the soul gem. All of a sudden, she was thinking about Gray and his fool’s errand. It’s right here. It was never that far. Gray’s mission did not, somehow, feel as pointless, as foolish anymore. She stared at the island for a while, at the uneven contours, the high cliffs. Then her stomach growled and she shook her head. If it was close, all the better for Gray. All the better for Adri Sen. Maya was not here because of them. She was looking for something else.

  But what? Maya saw a roadside vendor moving with his cart, selling some sort of a meal. It was vada pao, fried potatoes coated with gram flour, tucked in between two pieces of bread. Maya found it rather dry but filling. She had two for a copper. She sat on the concrete block that ran along the edge of the land, separating it from the sea. Waves dashed into rocks below her as she ate, slowly, wondering again why she was here in Frozen Bombay.

  She had wanted to get out of the Shadowlands, first and foremost. She remembered vague thoughts about some sort of magic academy, or a magic teacher, about wanting to learn Sorcery in greater detail. But there was something else too. The Apocalypse. She had wanted to find a way out, find some sort of solution that did not involve the Keeper.

  ‘When the darkness talks to you, do not answer,’ Maya spoke out loud.

  She needed to understand this city in order to know what she could even attempt. Frozen Bombay had always been rumoured to be a hub attracting people from all over the world, people of all kinds with all kinds of histories. There had to be someone she could use. No, the city needed to give up more. She needed to know the places to find these people. She needed to loiter. She needed to roam.

  Maya was not worried.

  15

  ‘The White Watchman, he was easier than the Old Guard,’ Gray said.

  ‘He sees too many travellers,’ Zabrielle said. ‘If there’s a land route ban, he’ll be the one stopping everyone.’

  ‘Dude didn’t look so strong.’

  ‘Appearances. Like the one you’re putting on.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Maya, of course. You avoid discussing her.’

  ‘Can we do this another time, Zabrielle?’

  ‘If that is your wish,’

  They continued in silence then, down the dirt path and into the small settlement before them. They were not alone, people passed them constantly, almost stepping on their heels, all heading towards or from the dusty colony that lay before them, spread in a sudden dip of the land below, silhouettes of tall factories looming above.

  The three of them hid their fine clothes under travel cloaks, coarse garments of oilcloth that the masses here wore, an attempt at blending in. It also provided a surprising degree of warmth, Gray observed dimly. Frozen Bombay was true to its namesake.

  They walked into the settlement, Fayne hobbling behind,
and set about finding the shack they had rented. Thin, thin corridors of street, cramped, reeking of excreta and alcohol, children, scrawny underfed children running through, smaller children crying from behind closed tin doors. The houses were equally small, distributed in a grid without spaces in between, walls hugging walls. Shoddy, illegal construction. Gray found it extremely depressing, such a state of survival, but he knew who lived here—the people who worked in the factories above, all well worked, not well off.

  Their key had no name, no number, it was just another key that could open any of the hundreds of doors they saw. Fayne was too weak to walk anymore, and they left him on a locked doorstep and carried on; it took them a good two hours of exhaustive search to find the house.

  If one could really call it a house. Gray entered and found the ceiling a mere foot above his head; the walls were simply bricks stacked loosely, and there was no floor, instead the same dirt under his feet as outside, mercifully devoid of snow. No windows either. He walked through the place, finding two rooms—a luxury, hence the exaggerated pricing—none of them a bathroom. He recoiled in a kind of disgust and pity he had never known, though he was too conscious to admit it to Zabrielle. The Demon sensed it but did not bring it up, and left, instead, to get Fayne.

  Gray wanted to sit but there was only the ground. He kept his bag in a corner, and after a moment’s hesitation, sat next to it as gingerly as he could. Looking around, he wondered how he could take this up with Zabrielle.

  Zabrielle got Fayne in just as the wind picked up speed and the snow summoned itself into a small storm. Fayne lumbered in, and she locked the door behind her, creating complete darkness, lessening the sound of the rising wind.

  A soft sound of burning, and a light blossomed in Zabrielle’s open palm. She was sitting cross-legged next to the door. Gray glanced briefly at Fayne’s unmoving figure.

  ‘His health worsens,’ Zabrielle said. ‘One had to support him all the way here.’

  ‘This is not a place for him to recover,’ Gray said.

  ‘Tell me of yourself.’

  ‘We can’t possibly stay here, Zabrielle.’

  ‘Tell me of yourself.’

  Gray exhaled. ‘Fine. I can’t stay here, Zabrielle. This is too—too depressing. I mean . . . I mean I know people stay here, that people live like this and it saddens me, it does, but how can we possibly stay here like this?’

  ‘One told you beforehand how it would be.’

  ‘Yes you did, but this—this is really bad. This is the very dregs. There’s no bathroom!’

  The sound of the wind rose, whistling through gaps in the house, creating a chill the magical light could not help with. The tin roof vibrated slowly, a small series of rattling noises.

  ‘This is living like an animal,’ Gray said further, not knowing how to press his point across.

  ‘Young Gray, there will be hardships,’ Zabrielle said gently, her eyes reflecting the only light.

  ‘Are we out of silver?’

  ‘We aren’t here because of financial difficulties. As one told you, this is the safest place in Frozen Bombay right now. Our enemies hunt relentlessly, as you have seen. They must not find us.’

  ‘Aren’t we putting all these people in danger by staying here?’ Gray asked desperately.

  ‘Irrelevant. Right now, our survival has the highest priority, and among the immigrants, here, is the best place to hide. Hunters will find too many vibes emanating from this area. One of the characteristics of this city is the population. We must use it.’

  ‘I’d rather sleep in the open,’ Gray said. ‘This place . . . is simply too small.’

  ‘We’ll freeze to death,’ Zabrielle said. ‘Gray, we are not here for long, just long enough to secure passage to Zaleb Hel. Think of this as more of a rest stop.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Gray muttered.

  ‘Let the snowstorm blow over. We will find a boat right afterwards.’

  The snowstorm, however, wasn’t eager to relent. It raged fiercer than ever, and Gray was surprised the shack held. The wind howled in pain, the roof clanged a machine symphony, and Zabrielle’s magical light burned on. Flecks of snow seemed to find their way in along with the cold. Gray wrapped the cloak tighter around himself, thinking of his childhood, of growing up in a house big enough for him and Maya to have separate rooms. New Kolkata always had enough space, there were no need for slums. A slum. That’s what this was. A basti.

  It was so dark inside the wretched room that it might as well have been night. Gray found his thoughts drifting to Maya again, and he decided to voice them. Might as well.

  ‘I know Ba’al won’t like what I’ve done,’ Gray said. ‘Maya being destiny’s child and all that.’

  ‘Forget the Demon Commander,’ Zabrielle replied. ‘Do you like what you have done?’

  ‘Are you psychoanalysing me?’ Gray asked with a hint of suspicion.

  ‘I am merely being a mirror,’ Zabrielle replied with posture. ‘Travel the world for your great truths, yet not look within yourself, you madman, what a terrible life!’

  ‘And where is that from?’

  ‘A song. By a great man, a bawul.’

  ‘Tell me about him.’

  ‘It won’t work. Answer my question if you will, young one.’

  ‘Maya,’ Gray breathed, eyes now downcast. ‘Maya, Maya.’ A pause. ‘I overheard what you were telling her.’

  Zabrielle nodded. ‘And?’

  ‘If she’s becoming a Shade, it is best to have her apart from us. You saw what she tried to do either way. The soul gem wasn’t safe with her around.’

  ‘And what makes you think we couldn’t have stopped her from walking that path?’

  ‘She was changing, Zabrielle, and you know what I’m talking about. Becoming harsher, saying things she normally wouldn’t.’

  ‘That might have nothing to do with the Shades. That is how any normal person could react once they can’t take it anymore, once they tire. It could have been you, Gray.’

  ‘Look, man, if you’re simply going to send me on a guilt trip—’

  ‘You are already sending yourself on such a trip, young one. I’m trying to help you understand.’

  Gray nodded. It was true. He had given himself hell about it, tried to ignore it but failed. The cold did not help.

  ‘Do you think I did the right thing?’ he asked.

  Zabrielle smiled. ‘Izlawar pashi. There is no right or wrong, only regret or the lack of it. There is no changing what you have done, only what will transpire.’

  ‘You’re somehow making me feel bad. Guilty.’

  ‘Then I must tell you that after deep thought, I realise that parting ways with your sister is the best thing you could have done for her.’

  ‘How? Explain.’

  ‘She is free now, and now she must choose her own path. We are not present anymore as catalysts, rocks to guide the river. What she will become is her own doing. The best we have done is given her a warning.’

  ‘I think I understand,’ Gray rubbed his eyes. ‘It’s tough, letting go of her like that. There are moments of anger, there have always been—but it’s not a sibling fight anymore, I guess.’

  ‘It’s not.’

  ‘She’s out there, all alone.’ Gray’s eyes were moist. ‘After all I did to bring her back, I cast her away.’

  ‘You set her free. It is what she wanted.’

  Gray broke into gentle sobs despite himself. Zabrielle closed her palm, extinguishing the light. In the darkness then, Gray felt her arms gently take him in a hug. He hugged her back with all his might, and they held each other as Gray gave in to his tears. The storm continued, cruel.

  Zabrielle was something else, Gray thought as he watched the Demon make her way up the road. He followed, hurrying to keep up, but also keeping a distance as instructed. She was different, unlike anyone else he had met so far. Calm, always calm, appearing years beyond her age, however old she might be. Quoting lines endlessly but never name dropping
, only choosing to say things that would somehow fit in retrospect. Knowledgeable. Extremely well read. Compassionate, knowing when he needed support, knowing when to back off, maintain her distance. Making no stabs at control or enforcing Ba’al’s intentions. Intelligent, wise, perhaps a philosopher in her own will. A warrior too, well versed in combat, as deadly as she was dreamy.

  The best weapon that I give you. Ba’al had not lied.

  Gray did not quite understand how he felt. There was something extremely dependable about Zabrielle, something that made her seem like a friend, but again she was a guardian, making sure they found the correct paths. Her kindness made her almost human to Gray, yet there was something ancient about her—perhaps her infinite, infinite patience. The fact that her words were extremely well chosen.

  Did she call him young because she was much older? Gray wondered if he would call a ten year old young. But why was he thinking about this? Why was her age important anyway? Not merely a desire to know more about her, not just curiosity. No. Could it possibly be something of a schoolboy crush? But she was a Demon! Humans and Demons did not—get along like that. But they did, he remembered. Darkchild. Half breeds existed. But why the hell was he thinking of this? What if she could mind read? Come to think of it, that would explain how she could understand what Gray was going through, every single time—

  Zabrielle turned around to look at him just then, and Gray furiously concentrated on other things. Photography. The expensive camera he had always wanted to buy. The exams he must be missing. Anything else. Wait. Zabrielle was saying something.

  ‘We’re almost at the station. A local train to Bandra. That’s where the smaller docks are.’

  Gray nodded. Nhava Sheva was the largest dock, but they were avoiding large, looking, instead, for one closer to Zaleb Hel, preferably on the west coast. Something small, less noticeable. Bandra had several.

  The local trains impressed Gray greatly with their raw power. Snow did not matter to these enormous machines with their giant engines. Their tracks had been built to combat cold, and despite the crowd, Gray could not help but somehow enjoy the ride. The walk to the coast near the Bandstand took time, but when they did reach, Gray, like his sister, was stupefied by the view of the sea. Zabrielle allowed him the moment—their work would also be easier after dark—and they sat on the coastal rim, watching the sunset.