Horsemen of Old

by Krishnarjun Bhattacharya

  ‘But why would someone go to such great lengths to simply guard the look of the Seal?’ Gray asked. ‘I’ve heard it was stolen several times from the Sea Lord, and each time he got it back.’ Ward nodded.

  ‘That’s what we’ve heard, isn’t it?’ Edha was smiling, clearly amused. ‘But tell me something—how many times have you heard of a stolen object coming back to its owner? Happens, yes, but just speaking statistically, it’s not possible several times. Even if the thief can’t use it, there are too many people who would buy it.’

  ‘So the Seal . . . it was never stolen?’

  ‘Precisely. Fakes and rumours of return. The real Seal must be guarded more securely than the Sea Lord’s life. He will not let it get stolen. And thus rises the fact that no one has even seen the real Seal. The only depiction has stayed in that one page, and Baaligh knows it holds power, for the Sea Lord pursues it viciously.’

  ‘What happened next? I mean—what happens next?’

  ‘The Warlocks are threatened by the Sea Lord. If he cuts off the trade from Frozen Bombay, he’s effectively isolating Ahmedabad from all foreign products, and the Warlocks need certain chemicals and spices in their spells, always have. They cannot do with a trade ban, they will be powerless even with their stockpiles. So they return the page. But then Drake goes one step further and asks for the eyes of those who have seen the page.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Gray gasped. ‘The blinding of Baaligh.’

  ‘Yes,’ Edha said in a drawl. ‘Bloody bastards.’

  ‘I always thought it was because of some promise broken, some sin he had witnessed too great for his eyes!’

  ‘So say the stories, don’t they? Bastards didn’t know then, not the Warlocks, nor the Sea Lord, that blindness was hardly a crutch for Baaligh, that he would become the leader of the Warlocks in another twenty years.’

  ‘To this day,’ Ward said quietly.

  ‘And the next clue is in Baaligh’s song,’ Edha said. ‘Have you heard it?’

  ‘It is an epic,’ Gray said. ‘It would take hours to hear the whole thing. No one in New Kolkata knew. We didn’t have any travelling performers who could sing it for us to hear. I think the Jadavpur University’s Department of English studies the song as one of their texts.’

  ‘It has over five hundred verses.’ Edha was at her coffee maker now. ‘Coffee?’ Both Gray and Ward nodded. ‘Of course you’ll want coffee, you bloody freeloader,’ she snarled at Ward.

  ‘It’s in the lines,’ she continued. ‘I’ve studied it extensively, and there’s a code, a universal code divided into parts.’

  ‘You don’t sound that excited,’ Gray observed. Edha handed him a cup of coffee.

  ‘The trail stops here,’ she said, sipping.

  ‘But didn’t you decipher the code?’

  ‘There are too many possibilities. Sometimes he’s trying to say something, but then there are too many kinds of substitution, transposition methods that apply. They’re all different messages in the end.’

  ‘No, no,’ Gray said. ‘It can’t stop here, there has to be something more. What about commonalities? Are there certain words in the song which are repeated?’

  Edha looked at him with interest. ‘Not directly. Wait.’ She hurried off and after some digging around, came back with a notebook. Flipping through the pages, she finally found what she was looking for. ‘Interesting that you should ask, because this had me occupied for a while before I moved on. There are words that get repeated, several times, under different keywords, though these words are synonyms of one another. Time, Sacrifice, Offering, Oblation, Servitude, Bondage, Enslavement, Slavery. Again and again these words come back in the song, hidden in the code. I might be wrong about this—like I said, too many possibilities.’

  ‘No, supposing you’re right, supposing you are,’ Gray said, frowning. ‘What does that give us about a physical description of the Seal?’

  Edha shrugged. ‘Time, sacrifice, slavery. The Leviathan serving the Sea Lord for ages and ages, time after time, generation after generation? Pure speculation.’

  ‘Yes, that could be an interpretation,’ Gray said, getting up on his feet. ‘But why sacrifice? Why offering?’

  ‘Because the Leviathan kills for its master? A kind of offering, don’t you think?’

  ‘I had a revelation, Edha,’ Gray said, his voice trembling. ‘In a dream. Now this might sound cuckoo, but hear me out. When I was in Old Kolkata, in the Bishakto Jongol, I saw an incredibly huge statue of the Dark Goddess, where the Tantric Kali would sacrifice people.’ Edha nodded slightly. ‘Now, the stone below the goddess was washed red from all the dry blood, but there was something else I had noticed, something on that stone. It was a small, circular piece of something—perhaps stone or wood—like a plate, carved with drawings of the Dark Goddess and her ten arms. I noticed it for a fleeting moment back then.’

  ‘A Stiling bloodstone,’ Edha said. ‘It’s a sacrificial catalyst. It needs to be there when you sacrifice something to a Lost God. The original ones are long lost, the one you saw was probably a replica. All the Lost Gods have their own bloodstones. What are you driving at?’

  ‘Bear with me,’ Gray said. ‘My grandmother had a bloodstone too, a replica. She had a small statue of Agni, whom she worshipped every single day, diligently.’ Gray’s breathing was getting faster. ‘Now, can you tell me the names of all the Lost Gods?’

  Edha’s eyes were narrowed, she was thinking fast. ‘Fire, Water, Beginning and End. Agni, Iku-Turso, Atum, and Kali.’

  ‘Yes. Now, think about Iku-Turso,’ Gray said in a low, shaky voice. ‘The Lost God of water, depicted as a giant underwater beast.’

  ‘No,’ Edha whispered as she understood.

  ‘What? What?’ Ward demanded, hanging on to every word.

  ‘Yes,’ Gray breathed, still looking at Edha. ‘Imagine, just for a second.’

  ‘Wait,’ Ward said, eyes bulging. ‘You’re saying the Leviathan and the Lost God of Water are the same?’

  No one said anything. Gray continued to stare at Edha, his gaze almost pleading. She stared back unrelentingly.

  ‘You’re asking me to believe in Gods now?’ Ward asked in apprehension.

  ‘No,’ Edha said slowly. ‘He’s asking you to believe in something that was made a God, like all Gods. Something so powerful and gigantic, something so beyond the understanding of our ancestors, and perhaps us, that we named it a God. Something that shares a bond with a certain Stiling bloodstone.’

  ‘Otherwise known as the famous Leviathan Seal,’ Gray said.

  ‘Oh, bloody hell,’ Ward said.

  ‘This is something else,’ Edha said. ‘This changes everything.’

  ‘Yes,’ Gray said. ‘The Leviathan isn’t the pet. It’s the deity. It’s the damn God.’

  ‘Drake uses the bloodstone to start the ritual of sacrifice,’ Edha said, slowly beginning to nod. ‘So any ship leaving the shores gets taken by the beast. It’s an offering. Oh, shit, that madman offers his entire city as a sacrifice! And when he deactivates the bloodstone—’

  ‘The Leviathan stops feeding,’ Gray said, sitting back down.

  ‘Iku-Turso,’ Edha murmured. ‘Incredible.’

  ‘This is why Drake asked for the eyes, this is why Drake keeps it hidden. If the Seal is seen, it’ll get recognised as a bloodstone immediately.’

  ‘But how does this help us get to Zaleb Hel?’ Ward asked, more to himself.

  Edha looked at him, then at Gray. ‘We need to get there,’ Gray said to her, nodding.

  ‘It helps you,’ Edha said. ‘Don’t you see? Now we have rules, rituals. The Leviathan is unknown, but Iku-Turso has a lot more to his name.’

  ‘The rules of sacrifice!’ Ward exclaimed. Gray looked on, not daring to hope.

  ‘Yes, the rules of sacrifice. The third rule, which says an Old God will take one blood sacrifice every twelve hours. The rule of one and twelve, the moon and the sun.’ Edha had a glint in her eyes, she seemed pleased with the
situation.

  ‘But that’s bloody impossible!’ Ward cried. ‘The Leviathan takes down everything!’

  ‘Does it? How did you see the beast, Charles?’

  ‘I saw it take Singleton’s ship, and then . . . and then . . .’

  ‘And then your ship made it home.’

  ‘I thought . . . it was luck, didn’t I?’

  ‘One offering every twelve hours,’ Edha said with a victorious air. ‘There you go, that’s your window to cross over to Zaleb Hel.’ She paused. ‘There’s always a chance that we’re wrong about this, though. It is a theory, a very convincing one, but there is also always that chance.’

  Silence again. They were all reeling, all making their own plans. How would one profit from this situation? A lot of ways, actually. Gray looked at Ward and nodded. The young captain looked at him in deep thought, then tilted his head.

  ‘Thank you for your help, Edha,’ Gray said solemnly. ‘I’m in your debt.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘If this is proven true, then this information will have to get out. It might as well mean the end of the Sea Lord’s rule, a rule that has persisted since Frozen Bombay has. If Drake is no longer in power, then this could mean the people coming back—an actual democracy.’

  ‘You understand the subtext, mate?’ Ward asked Gray. ‘She means that you are going to do the bloody proving.’

  Gray nodded. ‘If I reach Zaleb Hel alive, then consider it proven.’

  ‘And you will no longer be in my debt,’ Edha said seriously. ‘I will be watching.’

  It had to be a clandestine operation, and enough time had already been wasted. Ward and Gray brought the other two up to speed and outlined the new plan. Their bags were already packed, and they did not have to buy anything more in preparation of their journey. The chickens took the most time—they had to be bought from separate places, lest it raise suspicion—but once that was over with, they crept to the same dock where Drake had betrayed them.

  This is it, Gray thought. Cross, or die trying. I’ve had enough of the island’s mockery.

  Snow fell, a quiet farewell. They watched as Ward’s men arrived with the small truck, two boats sticking out of the back. They unloaded and unwrapped the boats, then carried one to the water. The cages came then, the chickens flapping and squawking their heads off, cage after cage, cage after cage. About twenty cages full of chickens were loaded onto the boat and covered with an oilcloth to muffle the racket. Gray fleetingly felt sorry for the birds before he remembered he ate them with great enjoyment. Still, a necessary evil, all for the sake of a blood sacrifice.

  Ward issued commands in hushed whispers, and his men pushed the boat into the water. They saw it go in the light of the lamps they held, go towards unrelenting darkness, into the waters. There were light waves tonight and the boat resisted even as it travelled, deeper and deeper. A lamp burned on the aft of the boat, and they saw it get smaller and smaller in the horizon.

  Then there was a sound, a gentle sound of shifting water, then a sharp CRACK that made everyone start, and the light was gone. A shiver went down Gray’s spine. The boat had disappeared. They exchanged glances. Ward’s men were now carrying the other boat to the water’s edge.

  ‘I’ve been thinking, mate,’ Ward said to Gray. ‘We could test the waters with this one and then get another for you, just to be safer.’

  Gray was about to agree, but then he stopped. His father waited for him on the other side of this boat ride. A long life wasn’t his either way—and now Gray felt tired, perhaps too tired to take a hundred precautions. The Leviathan theory had been his, and he knew he must put everything on the line to defend it.

  ‘No, think I’ll do this,’ he grunted.

  ‘Are you sure? It won’t be a trouble at all.’

  ‘Thank you, Ward. You have my gratitude.’

  ‘Didn’t do it for you, mate. But for all it’s worth, you’re still a right lad. All the best with your endeavours, may our paths cross again.’

  ‘Oh they will. I need to hear about your connection to Anulekha.’

  The boat wobbled as Gray got on. He hadn’t been on one before and he frantically waved his arm about before falling in. Fayne boarded gently, graceful as a cat, and pulled Gray up to a sitting position. Zabrielle boarded last, and Ward untied the mooring rope himself.

  He tipped his hat at them as they cast off. Fayne took the oars in silence and started to row. A lamp hung on this boat as well, and Gray took one last look at the frozen city and Charles Ward and his pirates, standing motionless on the pier. There was no sound, only the creaking of the boat and the sloshing of water as the assassin rowed.

  Gray felt an innate sense of dread despite himself. There was nothing around him. It was night, coldest night—Ward had faded into the darkness, and in the light of the lamp Gray could only see black water, the depths of which he could not see, nothing but the surface, collecting these dots of white that disappeared immediately, a void. And right then, Gray knew it was freezing under the dark surface. He wrapped his cloak even tighter around him, waiting for something to happen, waiting for the end with a pensive resignation.

  Fayne kept rowing and nothing came for them. No ripple in the water heading for them, no rows and rows of gigantic spear-like teeth glinting for one terrifying second, no loud crack and arms of the cold, cold, abyss. Still, Gray would not speak, he would not talk until they reached the island. He envied Fayne, at least the assassin had something to do, but he could not even row now, useless cripple that he was. He watched Zabrielle standing quietly at the bow of the boat, and wondered what she could be contemplating.

  The wind started slowly, but grew quick. The waves grew as well, bullying the boat around. Gray held the rudder, and Fayne would occasionally grunt at him to push right or left. They kept going, in the rising wind and waves, in the early comings of what Gray suspected was a storm, but they were still alive. Still alive! An hour must have passed since they had left the shore, at the very least. Perhaps they could begin to hope.

  The black shape came suddenly, out of the darkness, and for a moment Gray thought the beast had come to devour them, the Lost God of the sea that did not keep his promises. But no, it was a rock, a large piece of shard in the sea, bigger than their boat, dangerous. They skirted around it and saw more, groups of them, the sea clawing at their bottoms.

  Zaleb Hel had arrived.

  As Fayne and Gray shouted to one another and worked together to outsmart the rocks, Zabrielle silent and pensive, Gray found himself wondering how they would get close enough to any of the rocky shelves without being dashed against the rocks. The sea was fierce now, spraying against their faces relentlessly. The wind screamed, and once they reached a wall, if they reached a wall, Gray knew he would not be able to scale it with one arm.

  And then of course, there was the matter of the Lich who was waiting for them. Gray hadn’t told the others. He shouted it over the wind and surf as they headed towards the island where the Keeper would be found.

  20

  Victor Sen climbed the stairs with a mild sense of recollection. He was careful to not let his suit scrape the walls, the dirty walls—this apartment had always been ill maintained. The door was already open, the lock broken. The magical alarm should have done something, but of course, that depended on who the burglar was. Ashes were flying outside the door and seeing them, Victor knew.

  Victor walked into Adri’s apartment and sighed. ‘I somehow knew I’d find you here.’

  Death sat on a chair. One of Adri’s diaries was open in its hands. As if it were a throne, Victor thought. A king reading. The Horseman’s chains were spread all over the floor, the ugly mask focusing on the page it held open. But something was different about Death. The liquid darkness forever circling its body was gone, and there were large gashes on its armour. Victor surveyed silently. The Horseman’s helm had a rip, a gash that travelled from behind the mask, all the way to the front, revealing nothing but black
within. Another large tear in the metal, through the black shawl, deep into the armoured chest piece; more on the legs, and the hands that held his son’s diary. Victor closed his eyes for a mere second and sensed the Horseman’s power. Weak. It was weak.

  The horrific images that the Horseman inspired still flashed before Victor’s eyes. He blinked through them, trying to speed up his adjustment to the little girls, the blood, the crows and the fog. ‘Where have you been?’ Victor asked. ‘You’ve been gone months, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. And it’s not just me. Famine is exasperated.’

  When Death’s voice was heard, it was calm yet deadly, a knife’s edge gently moving on a table’s edge, sometimes touching, sometimes not. ‘I have already got my brother’s message,’ the Horseman said slowly, not looking at Victor.

  ‘So you know of MYTH’s offer. The other akshouthur. It’s a good offer, Horseman. I mean, it’s just a fallback, but still. Of course there are risks involved. If the Seven manage to activate the Loom—’

  ‘You talk too much, human,’ Death said.

  Victor stared at Death and Death at the diary. Minutes passed, and Death turned a page. Victor took a seat.

  He was impatient, he wasn’t used to being ignored. A part of him wanted to lash out, make the smooth threats that came so easily to his tongue, part of him even wanted to reach for his revolver. But Victor was also smart, extremely so. He waited.

  Hours passed. The fires outside were controlled. Guardians came into the apartment and retreated on seeing Death, leaving them alone as per the new MYTH directive. Victor spied one of Adri’s cigarette packs—he took a cigarette and lit it. He looked disapprovingly at the brand and then at the ashes floating around the room, gathering on his suit. He hated this bit about Death, the fact that it spoiled his suits.