Sundown, and with it, darkness. Victor got up and kindled the skull lamp. The room lit up and Death finished the last page. It closed the diary, observing the object in a gauntleted claw; the diary withered and turned to dust, falling. Victor noticed the small mountain of dust at Death’s feet then.
‘Adri Sen,’ Death whispered.
The light in the room flickered for a few seconds.
‘He has done things,’ Death drawled. ‘There are gaps in the narrative, but for someone his age—there is something about him.’
‘He tricked both of us,’ Victor admitted. ‘Not something I expected.’
‘You underestimated him from the beginning.’
‘Happens. You haven’t been a father, I presume?’
Death met his eyes, and even Victor felt pure terror for a moment, an overwhelming urge to simply run, that mask of rust, the black eyeholes that commanded his very breath, the black eyeholes within which some sort of entity had made its home, something both alive and dead.
‘You did the right thing back there,’ Death said.
‘Back where?’
‘When you were insulted and you took it, bore it, instead of going for your weapon. You may have sensed I am weaker, but I am still far beyond you, human.’
Victor nodded at the warning. He knew. ‘So you were reading my son’s diaries. Unexpected.’
‘I will not underestimate him again,’ Death said. ‘He’s a trickster, a human depending too much on luck. But he does not understand fate. Fate has already given him to me.’ It paused. ‘I have yet to reach out and take him.’
‘So the deal with MYTH is off, then? You’re going after Adri? If you do that I fear MYTH might activate the Loom.’
‘Tell me human, why have you not activated the Loom? You must have found it by now.’
‘I found it a decade back,’ Victor said. ‘The door guarding it does not open till the Apocalypse. You know that.’
‘I have agreed to the deal with MYTH. The fools do not understand that when the Apocalypse comes, power does not matter. There is only one master then. Let them delude themselves with dreams of the Loom’s strength—if they might have a soul to hand over to me, I will still take it.’
‘But how can you ignore the Loom so blatantly?’ Victor jabbed. It was a risky move, but he needed to confirm a suspicion.
‘Only a Spider Lord may activate the Loom,’ Death said. ‘There are none in MYTH.’
‘Ardak’s legacy. I suspected this.’
‘Where is Adri Sen now?’ Death asked slowly. ‘Where is your spawn?’
‘You mean his soul. The others carry him—Gray and Maya Ghosh. They’re in Frozen Bombay. Their father, the Lich, awaits them in Zaleb Hel. I recruited him to bring the soul back, and rest assured, he will.’
‘The Lich?’ Death asked.
‘Yes, you weren’t around, you had disappeared on all of us, and I thought a little family reunion would be good for Gray and Maya. I got him out of the Bagchi Prison.’
‘Fool,’ Death rasped. ‘You may have complicated matters, freeing the Lich and letting him meet his children.’
Victor was taken aback for a moment. He had planned everything perfectly, looked well into the Lich’s background.
‘He’s an enemy of the state, that’s all. Damn good bounty hunter. What did I miss?’
‘I feel strange having to offer explanations now,’ Death said. ‘Perhaps it is the closest I come to being human again, the human I once was. You are over-confident, Victor Sen. You do not think any more, as you used to.’
‘Regardless, you need me,’ Victor said. ‘I’ve been acting as messenger between you and your brothers because of your inability to actually meet each other. I would like to continue to do so. So tell me, Horseman.’
Death considered the words.
‘It is not an explanation. It is more of a story,’ the Horseman said finally.
‘All ears,’ Victor said.
‘There had been an old blood feud between the Horsemen of Old Kolkata and the Spider Clan, an enmity as old as time. They had once protected an akshouthur War needed, and that is how the seeds of discord were planted. I cared not. They could not harm us, and we killed hundreds of their kind.’ The Horseman subconsciously felt the gash on his mask. ‘There are many ways to end a feud, and one of them is marriage. Ardak, the spider king, had a daughter. She went by many names—Aasa, Azo, Asinath, Abasi; these were names less and honorary titles more, for she was said to be brave and beautiful.’
‘Who was it?’ Victor asked, eyes burning. ‘Who fell in love with her?’
‘Pestilence,’ Death said. ‘He was always the one who knew to keep his heart intact. He fell in deep, and I made him a promise, that I would see to their marriage.’
‘A promise you did not keep,’ Victor said. ‘So that is why he bears his grudge against you.’
‘I tried!’ Death said, its voice rising suddenly. ‘But things are not so rosy when blood has been spilt. We were two ancient unrelenting forces, not foolish humans in love! I bargained with Ardak, for the marriage would only be an advantage to his race. I asked him for the Loom in return for the marriage and the ensuing peace, the one object the Spider Clan treasured above all else. Ardak refused, and he called his entire clan to weave themselves in their indestructible cocoons and sleep. And so the entire Spider Clan, whatever few of them remained, disappeared overnight, spinning their protections around themselves, wading into their deep, deep sleep. There was one member, only one, who did not obey. It was Ardak’s daughter, and she disobeyed out of love.’
‘No,’ Victor said.
‘The Lich had wooed Aasa,’ Death said. ‘He had stolen her heart and locked it in a cage. She was madly in love with him, and creating a false identity, he and Aasa moved to New Kolkata and got married. His only motive in doing so was to get to the Loom, like everyone else, like me, and he came closer than any of us. What he did not understand, however, was that she was not one to give up her clan’s interests so easily.’
‘New Kolkata,’ Victor whispered. ‘They had children, they had Maya and Gray. And MYTH knew. MYTH sent Kaavsh to keep a watch on the Lich, and the Lich had to comply.’
‘A violent marriage. MYTH took the Lich away later when they realised Aasa would not give up the secrets of the Loom. Even MYTH had planned to follow the Lich to the Loom, thinking themselves clever. But no one understood Aasa. This Maya and Gray you talk of—they are Spider Lords, even if they do not know it themselves.’
‘MYTH knew, of course they did,’ Victor said. ‘It’s the reason Maya wasn’t allowed to study Sorcery, they were afraid of her. It was Kaavsh who did not let MYTH kill them. I know the Angel had attachments with his earth siblings.’
‘These siblings can operate the Loom if they so wish,’ Death said. ‘If the Lich tells them of their ancestry, there is a risk. I believe Ardak is already trying to get through to them, wherever he is hiding.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Victor swore softly. ‘I wasn’t with MYTH at the time the Lich was imprisoned. I was in the Abyss, hunting Spectrals. The old codgers managed to hide this from me. I’m impressed. There is something I don’t understand, though. Why did Ardak never use the Loom to change everything?’
‘I have always wondered about that in my endless time, human. Only Ardak knows. Even when we massacred his people, the Loom was never used.’
Victor thought about it. Many possibilities presented themselves. He did not voice them aloud.
‘I cannot stand ignorance, human,’ Death rasped. ‘You have put events in motion that did not need to be. I cannot stand insults either. And I have been insulted by your son. I am the eldest brother, yet the last one to find his four seals. When I do, I am tricked, made a fool of.’ It paused. ‘I cannot wait two years for MYTH to hand over a soul, a charity. I will hunt Adri Sen down, and this time there is no running away.’
‘You should have already!’ Victor said. ‘Where were you all these months?’
Death stood, the chains retracting. ‘My master had his release so very close, yet he did not have it because of me. He was punishing me.’ It looked at Victor. ‘Or did you not hear my scream?’
‘The Serpent,’ Victor whispered in wonder. ‘I would very much like to meet him.’
‘And you shall, as soon as I bring the soul back, and with it, the end of days. You shall gaze upon his might, and fall at his feet. The rivers shall rise with blood, and no more shall men tell their stories. We will ride once more, together.’
‘You ride for Zaleb Hel now?’ Victor asked, interrupting the Horseman’s prophecies.
‘I shall scatter the Spider Lords to the winds,’ Death growled. ‘Only my soul gem shall remain, rightfully mine, and nothing else.’ As Victor watched, a corruption spread from the Horseman’s feet, decaying the floor, the bookshelf, the walls. Plaster cracked and books crumbled to dust; the skull lamp disintegrated, everything fell prey to time, everything but the sofa Victor sat on. Death left then, ducking to avoid the doorway again. Victor sat amidst dust and ash, amidst dunes, all that remained of his son’s belongings.
21
Fayne had still not regained his full strength, Gray noticed. He was feeding on raw blood now, something that was keeping him from reverting to his weakened state—but even blood wasn’t good enough. The blood curse still needed to run its full course. Gray was currently tied onto Fayne’s back, facing outwards, as Fayne scaled a cliff; Gray felt the assassin strain and heard him pant with effort.
Gray hated the loss of his arm dearly; at times like these, embarrassment came easy, but looking at the sheer drop below, Gray wondered if he could have managed the climb even with another arm. Zabrielle was climbing up beneath them, silent in the face of the storm. Fayne’s hands slipped at times, loose rocks or a bad grip, and Zabrielle was the only one who kept them from falling to their deaths, pushing Fayne back onto the surface with bursts of magic.
Gray peered below again and spied the boat, already half destroyed by the sharp rocks. There was no going back. He must meet his father and find out whatever it was he wanted, face him in combat if need be. Things hadn’t been bad so far, but Gray refused to allow himself satisfaction. None, until he saw Adri standing again. Life had a twisted sense of humour, Maya had been the one who had wanted Adri back more than anything. He looked into the distance, at the small lights of Frozen Bombay in the rain and the storm. Maya was there, somewhere. She would figure it out. He looked up at the lightning streaks. A dramatic time for a meeting with the Lich.
A small ledge. They rested for a quarter of an hour, exhausted, Fayne refusing to untie Gray. They had climbed halfway up the rock face, a fair distance remaining. A true trial, Gray thought. And to think that Ba’al had come here alone! Of course it had nearly killed him. They did not talk, there was no energy to be wasted talking. Fayne and Zabrielle knew they would be facing lobos soon, and only that was of consequence. Gray wondered briefly how the Lich had reached Zaleb Hel, but again, it did not matter.
They continued climbing, and it was as the rain stopped and the skies cleared, a moonless night, that they reached the top. Fayne cut the restraints, and he and Gray lay on the hard rock, panting. Zabrielle reached a moment later and joined them, gently moaning. The best time to really waylay them would be now, Gray mused, getting up.
They were on the outer fringes of the island, nothing but bare rocks. The land inside got progressively greener as Gray’s eyes travelled. In the non-existent light he could make out edges of plants and other dark shapes he assumed were trees, the beginnings of a forest.
‘Not good,’ he said. ‘Too dark.’
Contrary to popular perception and the poems and songs, curse them, lobos were equally active in daylight, their transformations just as fast. Fayne and Zabrielle wouldn’t have problems seeing in the dark, but Gray somehow wanted to see his father in complete agonising detail when he did, with all his scars and imperfections. No more guessing, no more voices in the gloom. It was a quiet feeling.
When Gray suggested they camp for the night, no one complained. Dawn was a few hours away, and as the other two picked themselves up with bursts of reluctant energy, Gray led the way into the forest. They ended up spending the rest of the night under a giant peepal tree in the first clearing they could find. Fayne and Zabrielle were so exhausted from the climb that they slept immediately. Gray kept watch.
There was no fire, they could not risk it. Gray changed into dry clothes in the dark, hanging his dripping ones from low branches. He took off his boots and wiped himself dry, hair, body, hands, feet. Then, pulling out his shawl, he wrapped himself up for more warmth and sat with his back to a neighbouring tree. He took a deep breath, smelling the clean air after the storm. He felt better now that he was dry; Zaleb Hel was a little warmer than Frozen Bombay. He still wished for a fire though.
Gray did not watch the bags at the base of the peepal tree; the threat of theft was the last thing on his mind. But he was alert, he was on guard duty, and when his peripheral vision, even in the dark, told him that something was creeping down the peepal tree, he gave a start.
The object, whatever it was, zipped back up the tree in a second. Gray stared at the main trunk, wondering if he had imagined it. The trunk looked like a group of thin trunks converged to make a fatter one, moulded, intricate like the muscles on an arm. He looked up and saw the main trunk break into several thick branches, travelling the length of the clearing, darkness beyond, the leaves blocking the night sky and the cold, several thin pillars of branch touching the ground from these branches as peepal trees did. A possibility occurred to him, and he stared into the depths of the tree. Nothing. It was more likely the lack of a proper meal and the paranoia stemming from thoughts of his father.
I should eat something. We stocked up on our canned food again. He shuffled over to his bag, extracted a can of baked beans, and settled in his spot. He opened the tin with difficulty and started to eat with his fingers, as he had recently begun to do. Then he heard it, in the leaves above him. A rustle, a slight rustle, but louder than what the wind would command. His ears strained to hear again, but nothing, only the crickets. He looked up. Black.
He threw away the can when it was empty, and washing his hand lightly with his goatskin in his teeth, he settled back once more. Covering himself with the shawl again, Gray half closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. His eyes had completely adjusted to the darkness, and inwards he stared at the peepal trunk. Waiting. In a short while, he saw something descend from the heights of the tree.
Numerous chills waltzed up and down his spine, slowly, reintroducing him to apprehension and ghost stories, reminding him of Old Kolkata. It was an arm, a slender arm, ending in a hand, but as he saw it descend, he knew no human had an arm that long. The fingers on the hand were slim, outstretched, and the arm itself, now longer than fifteen feet, was still growing—it was going for the bags. Gray was scared for a moment. Should he let it have its way?
Then his stubbornness kicked in. He should not be afraid. He was not in the wrong. The supplies were his; he was the one being stolen from, whatever it was that was stealing. You have fought Demons, man!
‘Hey!’
The hand slipped back up in haste. Gray felt encouraged by the gesture. It was probably afraid. He looked up at the peepal tree, drawing his shotgun.
‘What do you want?’ he asked.
Nothing replied.
‘You’re not getting anything from our bags,’ Gray said. ‘I’m going to be on guard until morning. So if you want something, you’ll have to talk.’
Gray did not quite know why he was attempting a conversation. It was a gut feeling; somehow he knew this thief would be capable of speech. All things talk.
He waited. ‘Are you going to answer me or not?’ he asked again with finality.
The reply came then. Gray’s flesh crawled when he heard the voice, a voice that had once belonged to a woman, but now there were staggers and trembles, whispers and strains in t
he same throat. The voice came out of the night, speaking in a long drawn, exaggerated hush.
‘Nice young man. Good young man,’ she said.
‘Angry young man,’ Gray said. ‘Why were you trying to steal from me?’
A pause. ‘Hungry,’ the voice said, guttural.
Another chill shot through Gray’s marrow. ‘And we are not?’ he asked.
Silence.
‘You steal from everyone who passes?’ Gray asked. ‘That’s wrong. Food isn’t easy to come by.’
‘How . . . how else would I eat?’ the voice asked back. ‘Hunger . . . it never ends.’
‘Well, you could ask,’ Gray said.
A rustle. ‘Ask . . . now?’
‘Try it.’
‘Can I . . . Can I have that which is yours?’
Gray’s legs gave a light tremble. He had learnt to be careful with creatures like these. There was no knowing what she was asking for. Best to clarify before giving permission.
‘What do you want?’
‘Fish,’ she rasped. ‘Raw, cold, wet from the sea, scales, blood, fish!’
Gray holstered the shotgun and slowly walked over to his bag. Looking up into the darkness, he quickly groped around until he found a small, flat tin. Sardines. He held it up.
‘Take it,’ he said.
Silence, only the crickets.
‘I’m wilfully giving it to you,’ Gray said. ‘Take it.’
‘Promise you will not grab my hand,’ she said.
‘No, of course not,’ Gray said, the very thought repulsing him. ‘Why would I?’
The leaves parted then, and it slowly came down once more. The hand. Gray’s hair stood on end as he watched it descend gently, an arm once human. The fingers moved gently as it reached the tin, and it took the food without touching Gray’s fingers. Then it shot back up with incredible speed, stirring the leaves noisily. Then Gray heard heavy, excited breathing, the sharp noise of the can being torn. Then wet, sloppy sounds of eating. Munching, slurping, and then silence.
Horsemen of Old Page 32
