‘Great, as if the Alabagi weren’t enough,’ Gray stamped his foot in a burst of anger. ‘Can you guys believe this?’ He turned to Pestilence. ‘Why didn’t he snipe me on the balcony? I was way above the city walls.’
‘You were supposed to be Death’s kill, that’s why. Now they know I’m involved. Famine won’t hold back once we cross those gates.’
‘What is the plan, then?’ Zabrielle asked.
‘Meet Wither,’ the Horseman said, holding up the large crossbow. It looked more like an assault rifle from the future, having several layers emerging and hidden, a massive magazine beneath the foregrip. Three barrels poked out from the front, and there were three prods with separate strings as well, all on different heights, the loading bays hidden. Gray was sure the Gunsmith, had he been alive, would have wept with joy at the sight of the elegant weapon.
‘You’re going to shoot back at Famine?’ Gray asked.
‘My crossbow wasn’t built for range,’ Famine shook its head. ‘But it is the most versatile weapon you will ever find. No, Wither will create a smokescreen, block Famine’s vision while we make a run for the tower.’
‘He can’t shoot what he can’t see,’ Fayne mumbled, nodding in approval.
Pestilence looked at Zabrielle. ‘Demon, can you light the beacon from afar?’
‘I will need to be next to the furnace, Horseman,’ Zabrielle said.
‘Then you will need to scale the tower,’ Pestilence said. ‘We have to be wary of the Alabagi.’
‘They shall flock to me,’ the little girl spoke. She was standing in the doorway next to Fayne, a basket in her hands. ‘One or two might get away, but the rest shall not bother you.’
‘One is enough to end us,’ Fayne rasped.
‘True,’ the girl said.
‘We must hurry,’ Zabrielle said. ‘Tsara Tul Esham.’
The Horseman nodded. ‘May your Gods smile upon you.’
And then they started to walk. Gray knew it might be a walk towards certain death—he had always known that—but now it might be a walk towards destiny, unconventional allies at their side, forces the universe had commanded to be with them. The odds were perhaps being balanced at last, at long last, and this walk of theirs towards the Alabagus gates, it was an escalation towards whatever lay ahead, whatever path they would now take. Gray knew one thing for sure, that this, whatever it was, it wasn’t going to be easy.
As they stood before the gates, the giant gates, the little girl paused, her hand on a lever. She looked at them.
Pestilence raised its crossbow high, and then fired in an arc, up into the sky. Arrows shot out like bullets from a machine gun, and once the arc was complete, the Horseman lowered its weapon and nodded. The little girl pulled the lever, and with the slow creaking of the gates there came another noise, high in the air.
A horn, a deep monstrous horn, throaty and gigantic in its bass, echoing across the silence, drowning out everything else. It blared, lonely and powerful, and then stopped.
‘Death’s hunting horn,’ Pestilence said. ‘The dead in the field will rise. Expect company.’
The gates were open, and before them lay the Alabagus grounds. Huge, stretching as far as the eye could see in every direction, a sight they had seen before—but something had changed. Beyond the lake and the Eiwa Jarwa, there was a white wall. It was smoke, billowing and spreading, thick, maintaining a visibility barrier beyond.
‘I shall draw them away from you. Go!’ the little girl, the Queen, the Steward shrieked, and ran to the left, basket in hand.
They ran then. The Horseman galloped ahead, the front guard, Gray and Zabrielle followed. Fayne ran too, but he looked his weakest—Gray knew this was it. There was no time to worry about Fayne anymore. He stared at the tower and ran.
The Eiwa Jarwa was a tower made of the same yellow sandstone as the fort, it glowed in the sun now. Gray could spot an entrance, a door inside, and little windows at varying heights. In all probability, there was a spiral staircase within, like Ba’al’s tower. It was a great distance away, and Gray did not know how he was going to swim in the lake, the moat, with one arm. But it did not matter. The others ran, and so did he.
He saw it then, the object he had spied earlier, one of the many littered across the grounds. He had not known what it was then, but now, up close, he looked at it in awe. It was a giant cage. A cage like any other bird cage, except it was gigantic, the metal bars thick as pillars. The door was open, the cage was empty. Gray looked to the skies as he ran.
There were dots in the distance, and now they were growing with alarming speed. White. Several of them. ‘They’re coming!’ he shouted as he ran. Pestilence was firing as it advanced. Distant figures on the field were collapsing, Gray did not care what they were. ‘They’re coming!’ he shouted again, turning to look at the little girl. There she was, in the far distance, in one corner of the grounds, basket in hand, waiting.
They ran past heaps of human skeletons, Gray almost tripping on a skull in this mad, frantic dash of theirs. His eyes were still on the sky. The creatures were growing larger, larger—he could make out the wings now, beating hard and fast, the shapes of the bodies. My God, they’re enormous.
Fayne had fallen behind, but there was no way to wait for him. Was it his imagination, or did the smoke seem thinner? The Horseman’s crossbow sang again, and a fresh wave of smoke burst in the horizon. Gray’s chest was burning, his lungs were hurting, his feet tired. They hadn’t eaten in the morning, food had been the last thing on anyone’s mind. But they were slowly covering the distance, getting closer to the tower. The tower, the tower, it was all everyone must be thinking.
It was close now, more heaps of bones on the way, Gray slipped and fell, but he was up again, running, and then he saw a gigantic shadow pass. He had seen this shadow before, in the moonlight, in Old Kolkata, before they had run into the Demons at Hazra. It had blocked out the moon. He stopped, chest heaving, and looked up. The Alabagi had arrived.
They were silent, perfectly silent, no cries or roars, no sound of beating wings as they swooped past overhead. He looked in wonder, repulsion, in fear. They were serpentine, like the sky serpents of old—white, pearl white, their metallic scales rippling in the sunlight. Gigantic, monstrous, cold, vicious eyes, eyes that seemed to stare at him for minutes, a second and it was gone, the long, winding body cutting through the air, leathery wings primed for speed. They were like snakes, like griffins, like dragons, old beasts feared through time, boundless white swirling entities, entirely scales and teeth. Another came, zipping through the air, twisting and turning through the sparse clouds—the same repulsive slither that snakes employed on soil—and then it had passed too. Gray felt a hand on his shoulder.
He snapped out of his moment. Fayne had caught up with him, the others were far ahead. ‘Run, myrkho’, Fayne gasped. Gray obeyed.
More Alabagi were passing them, massive, simply colossal, heading for the little girl. Gray ran and ran, and finally reached the edge of the moat. Then he saw the skeletons, the undead skeletons shuffling towards them from all sides. Zabrielle and Pestilence were waiting by the water. The Horseman dismounted.
‘My horse will bear you across,’ it said urgently. ‘Hold on to her.’ Then it was raising its crossbow, shooting down undead. Gray lunged and grabbed onto the saddle—the beast felt curiously warm—and it descended into the water, Gray holding on. Zabrielle swam by his side, and they made a beeline for the tower. The water was cold, and Zabrielle helped keep Gray above the surface.
Gray turned his head as they swam. The Alabagi were landing in the distance, their wings raising dust and sand clouds. There were three, four of them, and Gray could not see the girl anymore.
They reached land and the horse trotted out of the moat. Gray let go, collapsing on the ground, breathing heavily. Zabrielle pulled him to his feet. ‘No time, Gray.’ He nodded. The Eiwa Jarwa was tall, looking much taller now, a tremendous climb. They headed for the doorway, beyond which Gray coul
d see stairs. Zabrielle turned around one last time, and swore in the Old Tongue. Gray saw an Alabagus in the air.
It had turned around, uninterested in the feeding; it was heading for them. ‘Go!’ Pestilence shouted, and turned to face the approaching monstrosity.
Fear. Gray rushed inside the tower and started to climb the stairs. It was dark—the only light came filtering in from the tiny windows. Gray did not have much time to look around, look inside, for something was making its way down the stairs. Somethings. Gray paused and stared at the skeleton for a second. It was primeval, a human skeleton aged yellow, reminding him of the Ancients immediately. It brandished a sword, a rusty weapon. It swung.
Gray dodged and yelled, ‘Zabrielle!’
The Demon gestured from behind him—a flurry of ghost blades erupted from thin air, and the skeleton broke and fell, now bones. Another one stepped down. ‘I need a sword!’ Gray yelled.
They fought their way up the staircase, shouts and yells resounding in the narrow spiral, accompanied by the clacking of bones, the rattling as skeleton after skeleton broke down. Mercifully, they weren’t tough, but they were a hindrance, and Gray got cut more than once. A roar froze them in their tracks, a feral roar outside—Gray peeped from a window while Zabrielle held the undead off. The Alabagus was swooping down and attacking Pestilence, circling in air, finally roaring. Its curls were hypnotic, and Gray blinked as he saw the Horseman fire at it, then roll out of the way as it dived—then a blade bit into Gray’s shoulder. He screamed and swung his ghost blade.
A smell of dusty bones, remade and breaking again. Halfway up. Outnumbered all of a sudden, skeletons simply pouring into the narrow path. Zabrielle was using different magic now, there was fire, and the skeletons were burning as they broke down, lighting their path. Then finally, the sky. The open sky.
They stepped out on the roof of the tower, a circular open space with a low wall around them. In the centre was the elusive furnace, a giant metal tray, charred. A few skeletons were up here too, and they came at them, charging. Gray smashed one in anger, kicked another in the knee, breaking it—the skeleton was down when Gray drove his sword through its head. Zabrielle burned the other two, then turned towards the furnace. A wave of her fingers, and fire blossomed in the heart of the black vessel. It grew rapidly, almost magically, and became a raging fire within seconds.
Zabrielle fell on her knees, exhausted. Gray rushed to the edge of the terrace and saw Pestilence on the ground, struggling to get up. The Alabagus was nowhere to be seen. Gray looked around wildly; the rest of the Alabagi were gathered in the distance, still feeding. He turned. An open mouth, the insides white, an ivory white, a series of fangs running around its rim. Saliva, wet. A giant, forked tongue, black. The white bone at the end of it, the instrument that would burst into his chest and pull out the heart. But then a burst of something else. A burst of magic—Gray felt himself move, he did not know how. Zabrielle had blasted him out of the way, and the Alabagus flew past, its scaly bottom brushing against the tower, breaking a part of the outer wall.
It screamed, and turned in air, a slippery predator. Gray saw its eyes—they were perfectly white, no irises, cold and expressionless, white amidst the white—observe him as it cut a quick arc, heading to the tower again. He was frozen stiff once more, watching its great motion in awe and horror. No one had prepared him for this. The beacon was lit, there was no other plan now.
It came again, fast, and now Gray noticed the hind legs with curled talons, like that of a bird. What was this creature, this monster? What could have given birth to such a horror? And why had the Alabagi been in cages earlier, whenever?
An arrow interrupted its flight, shooting clean through a wing. It did not affect the creature, but it changed course immediately, flying now towards the owner of the arrow. Gray looked around, not knowing what to do, not knowing where to go.
Zabrielle had already stepped into the staircase. ‘Come fast, young Gray,’ she said wearily. ‘We will be safer inside.’
Gray nodded and started to walk towards her, and in mid-stride, he realised a lot of things. Time slowed down for him again, as it had before in the face of death. He saw, in clear detail, every bruise and cut on Zabrielle’s face, her skin. He saw her eyes, those green eyes, almost liquid, looking at him, not knowing, not anticipating. Beyond her, beyond the doorway, in the north, he saw the clear sky, the clear horizon. The smokescreen had dispelled, the skies were clear. Famine’s shot was clear, and Gray knew—he somehow knew—right then that he was in the crosshairs, that he would not make the rest of this journey, epic as it had been. In another moment, Famine would shoot him.
Hey, tell me something, Fayne. How do you face such an enemy? As in a sniper or something similar? Your blades can’t reach him in this situation.
He has to see me before he hits me.
Okay, supposing he’s seen you.
I’m too fast for a sniper, myrkho. He cannot possibly take me out while I’m moving.
Supposing you’re still.
Why would I be still?
Supposing you are.
I wouldn’t be.
Say it’s a hypothetical situation. You’re still and a sniper has you in such a standoff. What do you do then?
Fayne emerged from the doorway, from beside Zabrielle. He was running already, not something Gray thought him capable of, his head bent low, his long tied hair flying like a whip, his body primed at an angle for all the speed in the world, every single second that was his. Gray watched him, curiously, as Fayne came, straight at him, and then he saw Fayne’s hands rise, open palms. He pushed Gray down on the floor just as the gunshot resounded, miles away, echoing, echoing, echoing, the desert winds carrying it places. There was a whoosh, and then a sick, hard sound as the round connected. Fayne gave a start, and staggered back to the edge of the terrace. ‘The blood curse . . . it has run its course, myrkho,’ he said, his masked face looking at Gray. Then he toppled over backwards.
‘NO!’ Gray screamed from the floor, but Zabrielle was already there, crouched, holding him down. ‘NO, NO, NO! FAYNE! FAYNE!’ Gray had never screamed so hard in his life. He screamed and his eyes were hot with immediate tears, but he could not overpower Zabrielle.
Too great a price. Too great a price. Too great a price.
‘Let me go!’ he screamed.
‘If you are hit, Fayne’s death will have been for nothing!’ Zabrielle said. Her voice was cracked, her hands firm.
‘Why?’ Gray sobbed finally, giving up, lying still. ‘Why?’
A series of bangs in the distance. The smokescreen was back again, it was a matter of little time before it reached the tower’s height. Zabrielle warily let go of Gray, and slowly, they sat up against a wall. ‘He saved you, Gray,’ she said.
‘I didn’t want . . . him to die,’ Gray whispered.
The Alabagus shrieked, wherever it was. They did not react. ‘I’m sorry, young one.’
Gray wiped his tears. ‘I can’t believe that just happened. If only Pestilence . . . if only . . .’
‘The Horseman was fighting the Alabagus.’
‘I know, I know. It was just a minute—my God, he was alive just a minute back.’
‘You know, young Gray, there’s something—’ Another roar, and the Alabagus shot up into the sky in front of their eyes. They scrambled up to their feet and watched it soar and then turn around in a giant semicircle. Zabrielle glanced off the edge hurriedly. ‘It’s knocked the Horseman out,’ she said shortly.
Gray looked at it with hate. ‘I’m going to kill this bastard,’ he said under his breath.
The monster was flying in a straight line now, picking up speed. Zabrielle sent a group of ghost swords flying at it, but it did not back off. ‘Gray,’ she whispered. ‘Run.’
Gray bent and picked up a skeleton’s sword instead. ‘Come on!’ he shouted at the serpent.
It opened its wings at the last second, creating a mighty gust that blew them off their feet, even as it landed o
n the edge, its scaly talons digging into the rock. Gray crashed into the opposite edge, and as he hit the floor again, he saw Zabrielle fly through the broken wall, the wall the Alabagus had broken earlier, and fall out of sight.
‘Not you too!’ Gray shouted hoarsely. He scrambled up and dived for the opening, ignoring the Alabagus, and looked over the precipice. Zabrielle hung, the claws of one hand slipping. Her hand slipped, Gray shouted, and caught her. He was holding her then, she was hanging, she was alive, hanging on to his hand.
‘I’ve got you,’ Gray said, his voice completely broken. ‘I’ve got you.’
‘Gray,’ Zabrielle said in awe and horror, her eyes wide.
Gray expected her to look beyond him, at the massive snake head rearing behind, at the tongue ready to burst through his heart. He expected her to sigh, to perhaps comment on the futility of this rescue. But no. Zabrielle was, instead, staring at his right hand. He had caught Zabrielle with his right hand.
Gray was so startled he almost let go. It was impossible. He had a new hand, a hand unlike anything he had seen before. It was white, for one. And it was made of bones, bones fashioned intricately, fitting each other in a complex formation, a complete stranger to human anatomy. It felt—strong. Gray tried, and pulled Zabrielle up with his arm. She rose effortlessly, and then they hugged, for a mere moment. Gray looked into her eyes, not able to believe, he looked at her and he thought of kissing her, and then she looked away, at the Alabagus which had not attacked. Gray, glancing at his arm once more, followed her gaze.
The Alabagus, the great beast, twitched and shook its head, not roaring, not making a noise. Its snake head moved this way and that, but it was incapable of movement—possibly because there were reins on it. Reins in the form of a lasso around its neck, a lasso of some material burning red, a rope that led to the hands of a figure on its back. This figure wasn’t sitting on it like a proud rider; instead, ungraciously, it was on all fours on the serpent’s back, between its wings, its head buried into the beast’s body.
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