by Samit Basu
Asvin looked at himself in a long mirror in a wide, sun-lit corridor. He wouldn’t have recognized himself–they had done a good job. His long, flowing hair was no more. They had cut it brutally short, Kol fashion. They had even shaved off his moustache (that precious moustache, back home there had been a servant whose sole task had been to oil it), taken off all his jewellery – he missed the earrings a little – and removed the sandalwood paste from his forehead. Asvin quite liked the loose shirt he was wearing. The Sacred Armour of the (younger) Sun had been a little difficult, especially in summer. But the trousers were, well, a little, well, constricting. In spite of all the changes, he looked sufficiently regal, he thought, though he wished he were carrying a sword.
‘Enjoying the view?’ asked a soft voice.
Asvin started. The Civilian was standing right next to him. Amloki had disappeared.
She walked up to a statue of a woman carrying a torch and a book. She poked it in the eye. A section of the wall slid back.
‘Follow me,’ she said, disappearing into the shadows.
He followed her. She pulled a lever and the wall slid back.
‘Is this where I finally get to meet my brave rescuer?’
‘I’m afraid not. The Silver Dagger is rather…shy.’
‘Where are we going, then?’
‘Downstairs.’
He followed her silently down stairway after narrow stairway, until it seemed to him that they must be underground. The stairs were completely dark, but there was a faint glow coming from below.
They reached the bottom. A long, narrow passage stretched out in front of them. There were torches on the wall. ‘Pick one up,’ she said.
It was a maze, Asvin realized, but the Civilian obviously knew the way. As they turned corner after corner Asvin looked at the dark openings to tunnels they were ignoring, and wondered how many thieves had met mysterious and possible gruesome ends here, and what treasure it was that the Civilian was going to reveal to him.
The Civilian stopped. This was a dead end. There was a wall right in front of them. She walked towards it and pulled a lever. Nothing happened.
‘Put the torch out.’
‘Why?’
‘Because the next passage is filled with a gas that ignites at the least spark.’
Rocks moved behind them, closing them in, and the wall in front slid back. They stepped forward and the wall closed behind them on its own accord.
There was a mild smell in the air. ‘It’s not poisonous unless you’re slow,’ said the Civilian, moving briskly forward. They walked down the narrow passage in pitch darkness. Asvin sensed, rather than saw, the Civilian stop.
‘There’s a curtain of mewlips in front of us. You are aware what these flowers do, aren’t you?’
‘No’ said Asvin, who was not.
‘Listen, then.’
The civilian walked forward, and Asvin heard a rustle as she passed through the fronds. Suddenly there were loud, angry yowls, as if a dozen cats had had their tails trodden on simultaneously.
‘Now you are. Step through the curtain, please.’
Asvin felt the fronds brush against him as he walked through the mewlip curtain. The flowers yelled again.
A trapdoor opened in the floor, flooding the tunnel with light. This was white Alocactus light, not firelight. A deep, rumbling voice said ‘Identify yourselves.’
‘It’s me, Mati,’ said the Civilian, ‘and Prince Asvin of Avranti. He is unarmed.’
She reached the trapdoor. There were stairs, leading down. They descended.
In the bright white light, Asvin saw a large, square room with two doors, to the right and left.
Standing in the middle of the room was a golem. Asvin had heard tales of these mighty men of clay, but had never seen one before. He knew he was safe, but he still felt a tingle of fear as he looked at the sheer size and obvious power of the giant figure in front of him. A golem could break most pashans with a single blow. Asvin, who had never seen pashans either before yesterday, because they were not allowed in Avranti, now realized that he was in the presence of something far more dangerous. And who could be a better guard than a golem? They were immortal – well, they weren’t even living beings – they were eternally faithful, immune to most kinds of magic and they never needed to eat or sleep. But he’d never heard of a golem that served humans before. The vamans made them, and used them for heavy work in their cities and mines deep underground. And he’d thought golems could only work under the earth…but of course, they were underground.
‘Where are we?’
‘This is Mati’s chamber, where really good thieves discover Mati a few seconds before he kills them. The door to the left is called the Room of Signs. The door to the right will lead you to a treasure chamber. It is where the Crown Jewels of Kol are kept.’
Kol and the Free States had been part of the Kingdom of Kol before Danh-Gem had killed the last king. The people of Kol had waited, going by the general rule, which was that an heir to the throne would appear mysteriously from distant lands in the north, bearing unquestionable proof of his royal birth, but their patience had worn thin after about fifty years – after all, the old king had never even been married, and all the heirlooms which could have proved that his son was indeed his son were in the royal treasure-room. The Free States had declared themselves independent, and Kol had become a city-state.
‘But why…’
‘Your restraint has been admirable. Follow me, Asvin.’
The golem poured a little water on a small potted Alocactus and handed it to the Civilian. Lady Temat lead Asvin to the Room of Signs. The Alocactus light was faint, and as Asvin walked behind Temat, he saw tables along the walls of the large hall, and strange objects glowing gold and silver as the light fell on them.
The Civilian stopped in front of a huge stone. There was a large, shiny sword buried in it, almost up to the hilt. She was silent for a while.
‘Too easy,’ she murmured. She walked on.
A few pillars later, they came to a huge cauldron, bubbling on a strange green fire. There was a hideous, slimy green ooze boiling inside.
‘Stand near the cauldron.’
Asvin walked up to the bubbling slime and felt its hot green glow on his face.
Suddenly an arm burst out of the cauldron. A fat, black, scale-covered arm ending in cruel red claws. Asvin leapt back with a startled cry. The arm disappeared into the cauldron and came back again holding a great black club. It held the club out of the cauldron, pointing towards Asvin.
‘The Lady of the Swamp appears to like you,’ said the Civilian. ‘Excellent.’
‘What, um, what do I do? Do I take that thing?’ asked Asvin nervously.
‘It’s very poisonous, so I would advise against that,’ said Temat. ‘But thank her politely. She is very sensitive.’
‘I thank thee, O generous one, but I am not worthy to bear thy mighty weapon,’ said Asvin. The hand disappeared again and a loud, disgruntled belching sound was heard.
‘A flair for words, too. Well, well,’ and the Civilian walked on. They had almost reached the end of the hall.
‘Lady Temat,’ said Asvin, ‘please tell me why you have brought me here.’
‘There are a few things you might have to do, Asvin. Quests, as it were.’
‘Tell me, Lady Temat. I am ready.’
‘I am not asking for your trust, Asvin. What I am asking for is your patience. All will be made clear to you in a few days. Until then, please do as I ask. For you are not ready yet. Far from it.’
‘I understand. Pardon my impatience.’
‘Speak no more of it. There is one more test, Asvin, in this Room of Signs. What I will now show you is a weapon you have read about, for it is one of the greatest magical weapons ever made in Avranti. It is a priceless object – Avranti would probably declare war if Maharaja Aloke knew it was in Kol.’
They reached a small stone platform. Temat reached down and removed the black cloth covering
it.
Asvin saw a huge bow. It was covered with emblems and mysterious signs. It glowed red, casting long shadows in the Room of Signs. He gasped.
‘The Bow of Fire,’ he said reverently. ‘This should be in Ektara, in the temple of the Sun. Death comes to any man who sets arrow to this bow, save the sons of the Sun.’
‘Are you ready now, prince Asvin?’
So this was what he was here for, thought Asvin. He had stared into the face of death and been brought to Kol to look at it again. Well, his life had been saved, and the astrologers back home had all told him how auspicious the time of his birth had been…
There were arrows in a quiver by the platform. He picked one up. Your body has been trained, his guru had told him. Let it take over when your mind feels fear. You are a son of the Sun. The stars say so.
He picked up the bow. It was hot, and glowed brighter as he picked it up. A corner of his mind was asking why anyone would fight with such a bow, it was cumbersome, a standard crossbow would be so much easier and quicker. He took a deep breath, and set an arrow to the bow.
There was a crack of thunder, and the tip of the arrow burst into flames. The room glowed red for an instant. Asvin smiled, his heart beating furiously, his face flushed with pride and joy.
‘Impressive,’ said the Civilian, ‘You just might be what I am looking for.’
Asvin said nothing. He set the bow down and looked at her questioningly.
‘A few days,’ said Temat, ‘and I will explain everything. Till then, Asvin, explore Kol. I will tell Amloki to accompany you. For now, I will say only this–take care of yourself. You might become very valuable very soon.’
Asvin nodded, and started walking with slow, purposeful strides towards the door of the Room of Signs, and the world beyond.
The Civilian looked at him and sighed. Nice boy, she thought. Very good hero material. Never asks questions, of course. Who put the sword in the stone? Why did the Lady of the Swamp have a club? If anyone who touched the bow died, except the hero it was looking for, how did it get into the Room of Signs in the first place? These were not questions that came to him. Fate, destiny, karma. Quests, swords, good, evil. Honour, courage, loyalty. He didn’t have the sort of mind that asked questions, and listened to answers primarily to search for more questions. He didn’t have a mind like hers. Would he live long? She had watched over him from afar for years. Her spies had protected him, guarded him, bled for him. A young boy had lost his thumb for spying on Asvin’s archery lessons. Two of the Dagger’s men had died in the forest. He didn’t know. He didn’t need to know. But he was a nice boy. No dark corners in his heart. He would do. He would have to.
Unaware of anything except the burning memory of the bow in his mind and heart, Asvin walked on, head held high. He knew there were things he didn’t know, and he didn’t care. The gods would look after him. For he was a Hero. A Chosen One. A Person to whom Things would Happen.
Many Things.
Chapter Twelve
‘Danh-Gem, the great and powerful, master of dragons, emptier of flagons, bad boy of bad boys, is coming back any time now. True? False?’ asked Kirin. Maya had smuggled him into Enki Library in the morning and they had pored over books on ravians all day.
‘It all depends on whether he thought he was a Dark Lord or not,’ said Maya.
They were strolling down Lost Street with Spikes. Lost Street was so called because normal people never went there unless they were lost, and most of the things that were lost, stolen, robbed or left behind went to Lost Street before they found their new owners. It was considered an achievement to walk through the whole of Lost Street unscathed. Kirin went there quite often. This was because a lot of herbs and chemicals that were magical or dangerous (and often both) were sold on Lost Street, in seedy little shops run by asurs. Of course, it was all illegal, like the weapons stores, the smuggled goods counters, the ‘hotels’ and the famous asur gambling joint, Your Money And Your Life, Haha.
The only legitimate enterprises on Lost Street were an auction house and several law firms.
After the Stuff had started becoming popular, Kirin hadn’t been able to meet all demands with Maya’s supplies. Lost Street had gained a new customer, and a good one – one who paid for whatever he bought, and didn’t come into a shop with a bunch of club-wielding pashans.
‘What do you mean, Dark Lord or not?’
‘Well, everyone knows Dark Lords come back. They are killed, then they spend some time hanging around without bodies, generally as dark shadows in places full of dark shadows anyway – it’s called camouflage – and then they return, greater and more terrible than ever before, and so on.’
‘So if he returns he’s a Dark Lord, and the only way we can tell is if he returns?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome. You’re the one who was around when it happened, remember?’
‘I wish I remembered.’
‘But seriously, Kirin, you should tell my father. He knows more about ravians than anybody else. The pelican incident was years ago, he’s forgotten. And you can’t just sit on a secret like this. You may have forgotten why you’re here, but you can’t have been left behind by accident. Not the son of the Demon-hunter. There has to be some legend, somewhere – if anyone knows, it’ll be my father. Maybe we should look at the Untranslatable books. They’re in a small room on the lowest level.’
‘The one with the fat Red Phoenix guard?’
‘Apparently it’s a matter of tradition.’
‘But won’t we be wasting our time? And don’t you need special permission?’
‘Kirin, I get you into the library nearly every day. In case you’ve forgotten, that is strictly forbidden. And you’ve wasted your time every day ever since we met. Coming back to the point, you should tell my father. We should go and meet him, wherever he is. I mean, what if, hypothetically speaking, you were, um, the hero of the Simoqin Prophecy? You know, last ravian striking the last blow of the ravian war, avenging his parents and all that.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Maya.’
‘All right, then, so that was ridiculous. But there must be something.’
‘Poor Simoqin. The hero of his dream walking into an asur shop.’
‘I still don’t like all this dealing with asurs, Kirin.’
‘Don’t be silly. A lot of them are perfectly nice. And the city wouldn’t run without them. They do all the jobs no one else will.’
‘It’s not the ethics that concern me, Kirin. It’s the smell.’
They entered Hooba’s Emporium, the shady little shop where Asvin got his supplies. Spikes waited outside.
Hooba shuffled forward, rubbing his bony fingers together in time-honoured sinister storekeeper fashion. ‘Hello Kirin, and how is everything?’ He looked at Maya suspiciously and spoke to Kirin in Asurian. ‘Why did you bring your woman? These are troubled times.’
‘It’s really all right. She’s more dangerous than any of your friends, and Spikes is outside,’ replied Kirin in the same guttural tongue. Maya had been surprised and a little shocked when Kirin had learnt how to speak the language of the asurs, but had quickly accepted that it was only ancient and deep-seated prejudice that had prevented her from learning it herself. But then Kirin was like that. Perhaps it came from not being human. She was picking up the language from him, now, though her fellow spellbinders, who generally thought of asurs as moving spell targets, would have been mortified.
‘Whet’ll it be, then? The usuel?’ asked Hooba in his strangely accented Koli. Kirin nodded, and put some coins over the counter. Hooba produced a little bulging bag. Kirin took it, and didn’t even look inside, which was considered to be sheer stupidity when dealing with an asur. Maya winced and looked away as usual, but Kirin always said Hooba wouldn’t cheat him. And Hooba never did. Not that Hooba was some pearl among asurs or anything like that. He was a low-down, dirty, smelly, violent, foul-tongued, backstabbing, two-timing asur. But he
never cheated Kirin. Whether it was out of fear of Spikes, or because Kirin had learnt the asur language, it worked.
The sound of an asur voice drifted in from outside.
‘Get out of here fast, Kirin,’ said Hooba, reverting to Asurian. ‘Trouble is heading this way.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘You wouldn’t understand. Go.’
‘I’m perfectly safe, Hooba. Everyone on this street knows Spikes and me. And speak in Koli. How many times do I have to tell you Maya’s a friend?’
The voice was heard again. It was slightly raised, as if demanding something.
‘Yes, but the trouble I’m speeking of isn’t from this street. There ere more of us moving in every dey. The hordes from Imokoi seem to be shifting here slowly. The sewers ere filling up. There’s en ermy of esurs gethering in Kol, end I don’t like it. No one on this street likes it. The king is coming, Kirin.’
‘The king?’
‘King Leer, Supreme Commender of the Divine Ermy.’
‘The Divine Army?’ asked Maya.
‘Thet’s whet we cell our forces,’ said Hooba a little sheepishly. ‘Es if you humens don’t do it ell the time.’
There was a scream outside, and a thud. The screaming stopped.
‘Kirin,’ called Spikes from outside. ‘Outside, now.’
There seemed to be many asurs outside. They were all shouting.
‘Get ewey from my shop!’ hissed Hooba ‘The northern esurs ere moving in, don’t you understend? They don’t went to cleen sewers like us Kol rets! Some of them never been out of the mounteins before! They come here looking for trouble! End they fight all dey! End you bring e women to my shop!’
