by Samit Basu
You were born exactly a year after that day. That year had been a particularly tumultuous year – dragons and rakshases all over the world were marching on the Great Forest, and there was a scarcely a day when swords did not ring and flash in the webbed sunlight under the trees. But even as I roamed the barren valleys of Imokoi and slew the servants of Danh-Gem, my mind kept going back to one thing – Danh-Gem’s Warning.
Danh-Gem was hatching a plot for his own return, I thought, a plot that I had to foil. A plot that he had had in readiness for years, I thought, for why otherwise would he boast brashly of his return? He had burnt his challenge on his rival’s breast – fire is very sacred to rakshases, and I knew in my heart it was no idle boast. The War was tearing up the land – a War that we were winning, but a War that would eventually ensure our departure, for we had scarred the land, and we would not stay.
I decided to make a plan of my own, to ensure that if Danh-Gem did indeed return, that he would not be able to wreak havoc upon a world whose magical defences we, the ravians, had removed when we left. That is where you came into the story, son.
Kirin said nothing. He gritted his teeth, to shut out the pain in his head, and listened intently.
What if, I thought, Danh-Gem managed to stay alive in spite of our best efforts? Or if, as he foresaw, he died, but somehow rose again after two hundred years? There would be no ravians left in the world then. My task, as I saw it, was to ensure that at least one ravian was left behind when he reappeared.
I started preparing the most powerful spell ever prepared on this world, at least by human or ravian. I decided you would be the one left behind – you were a mere infant then, and I saw you whenever I could, and every day I fed you a drop of a potion that I concocted which would turn you into stone the moment the ravian-portal to the next world appeared, and keep you alive until you were woken. I bitterly regretted having to do such a thing to a helpless infant – I kept it secret even from your mother, who would not have allowed me to do such a heinous thing – but I had to, I was driven mad by my desire to defeat Danh-Gem. The Demon-hunter’s heir completed the Demon-hunter’s task, I thought, it is as it should be. Once I had finished the charms I had to put on you, I was in a quandary – what should it be that woke you up? And who would guide you, who would tell you of the great task you had to perform? For even if I told you what you had to do when you were growing up in the forest, I could not be sure that you would not forget once you turned into stone. When I sat awake at nights, on guard, unable to remember when I had last slept, the answer suddenly came to me. I began to write this book. I poured out my heart to it, so that one day I could return, or at least my shadow could return, to see my son, to guide my son through the terrible things I would make him do. From the bottom of my heart, son, I crave your pardon.
‘I still don’t understand,’ said Kirin. ‘Why me? Why did you not stay back yourself? And why on earth did you make Spikes wake me up? And how? Spikes wasn’t alive then!’
I could not cast it on myself, because I was too old, and resisted magic too well. I could not stay back myself because I was not sure I would survive–I needed to choose someone who was protected well. As you were. And as for the other questions – patience, Kirin. I will explain. The story is far from over.
Your mother, Isara, was also immensely powerful and skilled in the use of magic, as I have already said. We hardly ever met in the years that followed – there were hurried trysts in secret groves where we had walked together when we were young – but Asroye was forever shut to us, and the forest was full of danger. Our friends brought you up – we hardly ever got to even see you. But I have often watched you training in secret – you have it in you to be a mighty warrior, Kirin.
‘But I have forgotten all that, father,’ said Kirin. ‘I do not even carry a weapon. How am I going to fight the mighty Danh-Gem?’
You cannot imagine how much happiness it brings me to hear you call me father, Kirin.
‘Slip of the tongue,’ said Kirin sullenly. He was quiet for a while, so was the voice in his head. ‘Go on, then,’ said Kirin, his voice shaking a little.
Yes. Your mother hardly ever met you either – we were busy protecting the city we had grown up loving, the city that had cast us out, but we cared not.
As time passed, I completed the spell that would keep you here when the ravians departed. I then bent my mind to trying to decipher what Danh-Gem’s plan was – how would he return from the dead? It would take magic more powerful than any I had ever seen. I had fought with the undead in the marshes of Imokoi and in the deserts of Elaken, Kirin, and they were all mindless bodies, animated by the wills of others, or by resentful spirits. What, then, was Danh-Gem’s plan? He could not do it all alone – the very essence of his plan was giving time to his followers to regroup, to do whatever was necessary to bring him back, to grow strong in his absence and yearn for his rebirth.
Who, then, was Danh-Gem close to? Men he had never trusted. Dragons, other rakshases and other monsters would disappear or diminish after the ravians left. That left only two races – the faithful but witless asurs, and the pashans.
Danh-Gem had bred a strange race of pashans in the furnaces of Imokoi. They were eternally loyal to him, but they were also vicious and ruthlessly cunning. But how could I, a ravian, find out what went on in the minds of Danh-Gem’s most loyal servants? To answer that question, I hatched my most desperate scheme yet. I would have to go to Imokoi myself and find out.
Of course he would. Kirn overcame an urge to laugh. And Maya thought her father was crazy.
I bade farewell to Isara, and told her I was going to Imokoi, and if I did not return in a year, she would have to avenge my death. Tearful was our parting, as we remembered our childhood together in the Hidden City. Isara began preparing her most powerful spell ever, a spell she should have cast years ago – a spell to slay Danh-Gem. There was no other being in the whole world who could have made that spell, Kirin. Not even I – in any case, I had spent a lot of my magic on you, and the book, which I took with me.
I went to Imokoi, and there the whispers about a silent killer in the night spread almost instantly. The number of asurs I killed with sword and spell cannot be counted, Kirin, I boast not. And then I allowed myself to be captured and brought before Danh-Gem.
He could not give me much of his attention, as the greatest battles of the Great War were being fought even then. But he left me to the tender care of the only living thing he trusted, his most faithful servant. Katar, the first pashan he had ever created in the furnaces of Imokoi, and the most deadly.
They tortured me, Kirin, for months and endless months. I lost count of the days as they cut, tore and pounded me. But I endured it all, taunting them, telling them I knew where Asroye was, but would not tell. While I lay there receiving their tender care, the greatest battle this world had ever seen was being fought in the plains east of Elaken. Dragons, rakshases, ravians, humans rained arrows and fire at one another. It was a battle no one won, Kirin – a battle where deaths without number gained nothing, that scarred the earth forever. Things might have gone differently had I not been in chains in Danh-Gem’s Tower in the heart of Imokoi. Yet even as they pounded away at my body, breaking it in a thousand places, my mind was at peace. As they inched me closer and closer to the painlessness of death, I prepared a great mind-control spell and cast it on Katar the pashan. To my joy, for his mind was as strong as any I have seen, he broke. He was in my power and would do my bidding. For in spite of all Danh-Gem’s sorcery, he was a pashan, and no pashan could match a ravian. Katar, the fool, slew my torturers and freed me.
And then came the stroke I was most proud of, Kirin. For Katar showed me an egg. A pashan egg – I knew nothing of such things. He told me, in his grating voice, that it was his own, his son, the egg would hatch forth a pashan as deadly as he, a pashan that would one day help bring back Danh-Gem. I was overjoyed – here was what I was looking for. For one of my chief fears had been – what if y
ou were awakened at the right time and even had me to guide you, but could not even find Danh-Gem until it was too late? I asked Katar what else he knew about Danh-Gem’s plan, but he said he knew no more. But at least I knew the egg was a part of whatever stratagem he had in mind, and that his followers, two hundred years later, would come looking for the pashan that sprang forth from it. I decided I would make things easier for you – I would make the minions of Danh-Gem come to you.
Danh-Gem had hired a stork to throw the egg wherever it would hatch. While Katar stood blinking stupidly at me, I cast enchantments strong and deep on that egg, until it was glowing, red, green and beautiful, as Danh-Gem’s powers worked in harmony with mine. I covered my face with a cloth, and pretended to be Danh-Gem himself – Katar and I gave the egg to the stork and he went away. This Spikes you speak of is the pashan that came from that egg, Kirin – he found you because I willed it so. Because I, Narak your father, made it so.
Kirin looked at Spikes, crouching in the darkness at the mouth of the cave. Dropped by a stork, he thought. Son of Danh-Gem’s most loyal servant, walking around with me. The slayer and the servant travel together. Very nice. The voice had not stopped.
And even as the stork flew away, trumpets sounded and Danh-Gem returned to his tower, running like a thief in the night. He had lost the battle, though the King of Asroye was no more. His very presence tore my spell off Katar, and while Danh-Gem climbed up to where we were, Katar and I fought a bitter battle – a battle that I won. I threw Katar off Danh-Gem’s tower even as Danh-Gem entered that chamber.
He was weak, for he had just returned from a battle, but I was even weaker – the torturers were very talented. He felled me with a single blow. He would have killed me right then, but suddenly the air was full of the sound of screams and he saw something that made him forget about me.
I looked out of the great tower window, and at first I thought the sun itself was falling down to earth. Then my eyes cleared, and beyond the dazzling white light I saw her beautiful, resolute face.
I had endured the Tower of Danh-Gem for a year. Isara had come to avenge me.
She was on the most beautiful white carpet I have ever seen. She must have woven it herself, as she waited for me to return.
Danh-Gem forgot all about me. He threw great red discs of fire and summoned his flying dragons, but they burned away like scraps of paper when they hurtled towards the white flame she was bearing. Unnoticed, I crawled away, down the stairs to Danh-Gem’s library. They had kept this book there, with his other books. I cast a spell of protection on the library, for I knew Isara’s spell would destroy the tower, then there was a great scream, a blinding white light and I knew no more.
Kirin was silent for a long time. His breath came in deep, painful gasps. He suddenly realized his head was killing him as he pieced the puzzle together. So Narak’s spell had protected the Untranslatables, and the asurs had brought them to Kol later. Spikes, guided by his father’s spell, had wandered all over the earth looking for him, and had found him in Vrihataranya. Then they had come to Kol, met Maya and found the book – was it chance, or was he really meant to slay Danh-Gem? And had his mother lived? And had Danh-Gem really died?
‘I understand now, father,’ he said, shutting out the pain. ‘Now tell me what I must do.’
I will have to go soon, Kirin, and it may be a while before I return to speak to you, for I have spent a lot of the power I put into this book already. But I will tell you now what you have to do.
First, I do not know what Danh-Gem’s plan is, but I do know it must involve two things – the uniting of his former followers, and the pashan that serves you. The servants of Danh-Gem will find you, Kirin, you will not even have to look for them, they will hunt you. When they do come, you must control your anger and work with them.
‘Work with them?’ Kirin couldn’t believe his ears.
Yes, Kirin. I do not want you throwing your life away rashly. You must wait till Danh-Gem actually does return and then you must slay him. No one knew more about Danh-Gem than Narak the Demon-hunter, and Narak the Demon-hunter tells you this – Danh-Gem always had an alternative plan. Therefore do not hinder his servants as they go about the process of restoring him to life – aid them, if you have to. Your target is not evil as a whole, it is Danh-Gem and only Danh-Gem. You must slay him, no matter what the cost. Gain the trust of his followers. Pretend to be one of them. The pashan is your friend. Use him. Use his loyalty. While they need him – and they do need him, I know not why – the followers of the rakshas will not harm you. Remember – if you fail, he will conquer all, for he will be more terrible and powerful than ever before. Wait for him to rise again, and then send him back to the pit he sprang from. Will you do this?
‘Yes,’ said Kirin, his head spinning.
And remember, Kirin – wherever you go, enemies will follow. Therefore, I warn you – do not even go near those you trust, those who are dear to you. For doing so would cast them into the very jaws of death. Trust no one. The ones who hunt you will arrive, I know it. They will arrive soon. Win them over, no matter how much hatred they arouse in you. A time will come later, I promise you, when you will have the power to decide whether they live or die.
‘I will do what I can,’ said Kirin. ‘But I am not like you, or my mother. I am not a hero. And though you two may have been the most powerful mages in the world, I am afraid I do not have powers that even remotely measure up to yours. How will I slay Danh-Gem?’
Son, said Narak, laughing, and this time it was not the usual cold, dry laugh but a warm, affectionate one that made Kirin feel a new, strange, sinking feeling in a tight corner of his heart, after the way I treated you while I was alive, I would be far too ashamed to approach you empty-handed, even in death. Do not despair! I will not be able to talk to you often after this, but I will help you much more through other means. I have four gifts for you. I will give them to you one at a time, when I perceive you are ready to receive them. You are the son of the two most powerful ravians who ever set foot in Asroye. You have powers beyond your dreams, Kirin, son of Narak and Isara. Would we send you to face Danh-Gem unarmed?
My first gift to you is memory, a light to shine into the slumbering corners of your mind and awaken the ravian powers that you have forgotten to use. Too long have you slept, son. My friends and followers taught you how to fight beyond the muddy dreams of the humans who rule the world today. And to succeed in the task I set for you, you will need those skills. I will leave you now – you and I both need rest, I have spoken too long. Rest in peace for a while. But before that, to take my first gift, place your hand on my face.
Kirin put his hand on the page of the book, over his father’s face, the lines of which were breaking away, slithering around like snakes, gliding over one another and forming a hand, exactly the same size and shape as Kirin’s. Kirin placed his hand upon it. He was almost sure that the hand in the book reached out and grasped his.
And then power flowed into him. The book grew thinner, some of its pages seemed to melt away. Kirin shuddered and saw his veins glow as bright as the moongold on the cover of the book as awareness of his ravian abilities flooded his mind. His body shook – a corner of his mind, strangely detached, told him this was what being struck by lightning felt like – and he saw, out of the corner of his eye, through the strange colours that flashed in front of him, the towering shape of Spikes wrestling with something that growled and roared at the mouth of the cave.
He opened his eyes and saw nothing at first. But he felt his senses singing. Suddenly he could see, hear, feel, as never before – there were new sounds in the air, new smells, new colours even in the darkness of the cave, as if different eyes had opened behind the ones he had used all these years, showing him things right in front of him that he had never been able to see before. He fell to the ground, unconscious, as the sudden rush of power overcame him. His hand fell limply to the ground, feeling the new, enriched texture of the earth. Then he was still, and saw no
more.
Chapter Twenty-seven
It was the biggest hut on the island. They built it a little larger every time it fell in or exploded. It was a little distance away from the village where the actors lived. The door was wooden, and extremely battered. As Pygmy Lion opened it and entered, he saw the Badshah hunched over an extremely complicated-looking collection of glass vessels and tubes, connected to one another. Inside this contraption a green liquid bubbled fiercely. From time to time the Badshah sprinkled a little of the liquid on a carpet that struggled in a corner, held down by four large flowerpots.
Pygmy Lion was a pashan. There were no other pashans on Bolvudis – their weight generally sank the boats that tried to bring them. Pashans were only suitable for land travel, so it was a mystery how Pygmy Lion got to Bolvudis. But there were two things driving him – he was an artist, the only known pashan artist in the world, and therefore naturally drawn to the phenomenon that was Bolvudis. Also, Pygmy Lion was a fugitive from justice, at least pashan justice, which usually involved heads rolling around without bodies attached to them.
Pygmy Lion had been a sculptor. Of course, since pashans are generally made of stone it would seem a little pointless to carve them in stone, merely adding to the confusion, as it were. But Pygmy Lion had never cared about that; his Art was all that mattered to him. And there were many pashans who actually wanted statues of themselves made – some to beautify their caves and houses, others to fool their wives when they were having affairs.
