The Simoqin Prophecies

by Samit Basu

  Then Bali finally stopped and waited for Spikes to catch up. With amazing agility, he began to climb up the rock-face, Hooba trembling and squealing on his back. Bali sprang from rock to rock, a few yards from where the roaring water gushed down, and Kirin watched the green dye on Hooba’s back grow darker in the clouds of fine spray. Hooba screamed shrilly but his squeals were lost in the roar of the waterfall.

  Bali climbed until he reached a ledge, high above the rapids, which seemed to have been cut in the rock-face. No centaur would ever be able to reach it. The ledge ran up to the waterfall, and then there was a tunnel carved into the rock. Bali disappeared into it.

  A little later, two other vanars appeared on the edge of the ledge, and started shouting to Kirin, who signaled that he could not hear them above the noise of falling water. They threw down a rope, and he climbed up, getting thoroughly drenched in the process. Then they tied two more ropes to rocks, threw them down and Spikes hauled himself up. In silence, they passed into the tunnel.

  It led to a little chamber, lit up by torches, where three more vanars sat. Another tunnel let out of the chamber, to a ledge right behind the waterfall, and light filtered through the white, falling water and filled the chamber. The torches on stands in the walls seemed unnecessary, as the light outside was growing stronger. Kirin marveled at the smooth, round walls of the tunnel and the chamber.

  Bali shut a stone door, the one leading to the ledge behind the waterfall. It closed with a click and immediately the roar of the waterfall was muffled, and only filtered in through the other opening. The light coming through the water-curtain was also shut off, and they looked at one another in the light cast by the flickering torches. The secret chamber had been made by vamans centuries ago for Psomedean archers, who watched the river from behind the waterfall and shot enemies trying to cross.

  .

  ‘The borders will be watched,’ said Bali. ‘It is only a matter of time until they return to the cave where I found you, and follow Spikes’ trail. But they will lose us on the wet rocks, and they can never come up here. We have food, and can last for a long time even if they besiege us.’

  ‘How did you find this place?’

  ‘Chance,’ grinned Bali, fangs gleaming red in the firelight. ‘Chance, and good vanar eyes. We have made this a vanar stronghold in the heart of the man-horse realm. We are near the northern border of these paltry woods, but the border will be watched now, and we must travel east when we do, to the edge of the mountains, and then find our way north through the Peaceful Forest and thence to Vrihataranya and Vanarpuri. Traveling along the plains would be faster, but too many are watching the roads now. The ruler of Kol is a worthy adversary.

  ‘But we will talk about our escape later. Tell us! Who are you, Kirin? My friend Hooba here tells me you used to buy magical things from his shop, and that you are a powerful sorcerer but not a spellbinder. How is it that Spikes, lord of pashans, follows you?’

  Kirin looked at Spikes. This was convenient, the little story they’d cooked up would probably work. If he was to stay alive, it had to work.

  ‘Hooba has told you the truth,’ he said, in the most sinister voice he could manage. ‘I am indeed a sorcerer, and though modesty forbids me from saying so, I am probably the greatest sorcerer in the world. Spikes is the son of Katar, most trusted henchman of the great Danh-Gem himself.’

  ‘I know,’ said Bali.

  He knew? Inconvenient. At least he didn’t know how intelligent Spikes was.

  ‘No doubt that is why the great Spikes is as clever as a vanar,’ smiled Bali.

  Great.

  ‘No,’ ventured Kirin, ‘his mental powers are a gift. A gift from me.’ Spikes made a little menacing sound that would have sounded like a muffled laugh if anyone except Spikes had made it.

  ‘But who are you really, Kirin?’

  Well, monkey-man, I’m the person you, or someone who looked exactly like you, pushed into the wall when he was stealing the Untranslatable books. But you didn’t see my face, did you? You just pushed me into the wall and I fizzled out like an Alocactus. If you weren’t one for the ladies, you might have remembered me.

  ‘I am Kirin the Karisman,’ said Kirin. They looked puzzled, but suitably impressed. Kirin tried to sound haughty. ‘Of course, if you are a true servant of Danh-Gem, you will have heard of the Karismen.’

  There was silence for a few seconds. This is where I die.

  ‘Of course, we have heard about the Krismen, who has not?’ said Bali courteously. ‘But do tell ma a little more about yourself.’

  ‘Karismen, not Krismen. Never lie to me again, Bali lord of vanars. I will ask again – do you know who the Karismen are?’

  ‘No, Kirin. The vanars were unfortunately not a part of the Great War, as I am sure you know.’

  ‘It’s all right, then. Anyway, the Karismen were – are – a secret society of sorcerers dedicated to assisting those who will bring the great Rakshas back to the world. Spikes’ egg,’– Bali nodded vigorously –‘was enchanted with a spell that made him seek me out.’ This might actually work.

  ‘I am the only one left,’ he added quickly, before Bali could want to meet the other Karismen. ‘The other members of the Secret Brotherhood were slain by the evil spellbinders of Kol. They were looking for me, too, but they did not know what I looked like – I used to roam in their very midst while they searched for me high and low. Secret wars are fought every day, lord of vanars – as I suppose they must be wherever you are from. But the Koli sorcerers guessed I was a Karisman eventually, and to escape their clutches I journeyed south with a band of mindless circus performers. The orders given to me by the Chief of the Karismen – a mighty seer who died mysteriously, though I cannot understand why he could not avoid it – were to wait in the Centaur Forests until the servants of Danh-Gem found me.’

  He paused for a moment, looking at the awestruck wonder on the faces of Bali’s soldiers. This was fun. Unless they were going to kill him when he stopped, of course. Bali looked a little doubtful, though. He needed a little more convincing. But should he say it? He might as well, he was quite sure Bali was the one in the library.

  ‘Where are the Untransatable books? Show them to me quickly,’ he said.

  Now Bali looked genuinely impressed.

  ‘You have powers beyond my comprehension, Karisman,’ said Bali.

  He gestured to another vanar, who pulled out a little bag from under his seat. He drew the five Untranslatable books out from under the bag. Kirin felt a little thrill of excitement.

  ‘It brings my heart much joy to see them,’ he said. ‘The spellbinders had woven magic around their library that prevented Karismen from breaking in. So tell me, what do we do next? How are you planning to raise Danh-Gem?’

  They looked at him in silence.

  ‘What?’ asked Kirin.

  ‘Don’t you know?’ asked Bali.

  ‘What?’

  ‘We were basing all our plans on the hope that Spikes, or you, would know how to raise the Rakshas.’

  Kirin stared at him blankly. ‘I don’t know.’ They were amazing, wandering around the world, killing people everywhere, because they thought a pashan might know things they didn’t.

  Bali looked back at him equally blankly. ‘We were hoping you would tell us,’ he said. ‘I thought you said the Karismen would do that. I thought I had finally found what I was looking for.’

  ‘I said the Karismen would help,’ said Kirin. ‘It is not for me to lead the forces of Danh-Gem, Lord Bali. The Karismen were advisers. I will help you, but a Karisman is never hungry for power. If there is a leader in these things, it must be you.’ And if that doesn’t make you like me, nothing will. ‘Do not understimate your achievements thus far; I have been waiting for years to see these books. I will study them and see what I can do,’ he continued. ‘But have you done nothing so far?’

  ‘You cannot imagine how much we have accomplished,’ replied Bali. ‘Armies are gathering all over the world.
The night the next new moon appears there will be a council in the heart of Vrihataranya, in my great capital, where followers of Danh-Gem from all over the world will unite. The asurs wait in Imokoi. Our allies in Skuanmark and the other northern lands prepare for war. When Danh-Gem returns, we will be ready. But we do not know how to raise the Rakshas. I had hoped you would know. But I am not saddened, for somehow I think you will find a way. My heart is gladdened by the sight of you, Kirin, I know not why, but I take it as a sign of hope. I do not give my trust easily, but there is something about you.’

  The last person who said that was Red Pearl. ‘But I do not understand how Hooba fits into all this, or how you found out about me.’

  ‘I used to hate asurs,’ said Bali, smiling. ‘I thought of them as pests, as maggots that should be stamped on. But Hooba is different, and he says there are others like him in Kol. We found we have a lot in common.’

  Hooba grinned shyly.

  ‘I had told my friend, the Skuan lord Bjorkun, that we needed to find the most terrible pashan in the world,’ continued Bali. ‘He followed the wrong pashan, and had to flee from Kol – he set out east, to find me, in my secret hiding-place, as we had decided. On the way, he found Hooba, also running away from Kol.’

  ‘The blested northerners broke my emporium, Kirin,’ said Hooba, coming forward. Kirin noticed, for the first time, that there was a big black crow sitting in the shadows.

  ‘Bjorkun knew he had made a mistake with the first pashan, and sent asurs out to look for Spikes, but you had already left the city by then. So Hooba here proved to be a great blessing. Bjorkun caught him and, in exchange for sparing his life, found out about Spikes – and a mysterious sorcerer named Kirin who we had never heard of before. Bjorkun gave Hooba to me, and I sent my soldiers out to find Spikes. And his mysterious master, if possible.’

  ‘And so here we all are,’ said Kirin.

  ‘The soldiers of Kol and Avranti are up in arms against the vanars,’ said Bali. ‘We must act fast. Three of my best warriors were slain in the Bleakwood. We will wait here for a while, and see if you can read these books. Whether you can or not, we will then leave this place in three days – the sentries on the borders will be less vigilant then, and we cannot stay longer, for then I would be late for the council. Kraken, go to Bjorkun and inform him that I have found the pashan and the last of the Karismen. And that the council will be on the day we planned it.’

  Kraken croaked harshly and flew away.

  ‘Now read them, and quickly,’ said Bali. ‘For if we cannot find out what arcane spells they contain, we may fail entirely.’

  ‘The spellbinders of Kol toiled over these books for years, and found nothing. Yet I will try,’ said Kirin.

  He stretched out towards the books and pulled with his mind, and the books slid over the smooth rock-floor and flew up to his hands. Everyone except Spikes gasped.

  He opened the first book. It was the one about torture. Two other books were in the runic script he remembered, but he did not know what language they were in. The fourth and fifth books, however, were in the ravian script. But the words were not words Kirin knew.

  Bali was trying to read his eyes, was wondering whether he had made a mistake.

  Kirin smiled. It was not a nice smile. It was the smile he smiled when people who didn’t want to pay for the Stuff pulled knives out and he knew Spikes was behind him, standing in the shadows in their corner of the Underbelly.

  ‘Well, I’d better catch up on my reading, then,’ he said.

  Chapter Five

  The Sultan of Artaxerxia sat up and raised a thin eyebrow. ‘What is it this time?’ The young woman by his side adjusted her veil.

  ‘I crave your pardon, O Exalted One, but something has occurred which I felt deserved your immediate attention,’ said the Grand Vizier.

  ‘Indeed? Tell me everything,’ said the Sultan.

  ‘One of our captains, Omar, has turned renegade. With a band of desperate cutthroats, he is establishing a rebel stronghold in the desert. Bandits from all over the Blessed Realm flock to him.’ The Vizier tried hard to suppress a smile. He knew he had done well.

  ‘Indeed? This is sad news indeed. I remember warning you about this man. And now what I foresaw has occurred. If you would but pay the slightest heed to my wishes, these situations might be avoided.’ The Sultan’s thin lips curled into a thin smile. The little fat man was useful. The careless remarks about his daughter had been well timed.

  ‘I crave your pardon, O Exalted One, I have been negligent and deserve death,’ said the Vizier, head bowed in shame.

  ‘I spare your life, as you have served me faithfully for many years, but you have been warned.’

  ‘A million thanks, O Exalted One.’

  ‘But tell me more about this rebel Omar.’

  ‘He calls himself Omar the Terrible. The very desert sands, it is said, weep at the rumour of his approach. The grains of sand in the Al-ugobi, they say, cannot count the number of innocent virgins who have died by his sword.’

  ‘Quite a threat to our peaceful country, then.’

  ‘Yes. Of course, he does not have enough gold to carry on this reign of terror for long.’

  ‘That is as it should be.’ More gold for Omar the Terrible, noted the Vizier.

  The Sultan thought for a while.

  ‘You must see to it that Omar the Terrible never meets Bjorkun the Skuan, who, it is rumoured, is still roaming these lands in search of friends and gold.’

  ‘Rest assured that meeting will never take place, Exalted One.’

  ‘After all, our friends in Kol would be most aggrieved.’

  ‘Yes, Exalted One.’

  The Sultan put a thin finger to his forehead and thought for a while.

  ‘Do you remember,’ he said finally, ‘the little lamp I gave you? The one that came from the desert?’

  ‘It had slipped my mind, Exalted One,’ said the Vizier, who was now seeing the jinn-lamp in his dreams even when he was awake.

  ‘In case you find it, lying around, as it were, wherever you have thrown it carelessly, keep it safely.’

  ‘I will make sure no thief lays hands on it.’ Who was supposed to steal the lamp?

  ‘If a rebel leader obtained possession of a lamp, it could mean danger for the common people, who are my sole concern. And yes, if I remember correctly, the Chief Civilian of Kol, the gracious Lady Temat, is said to be for powerful magical objects. We should give the lamp to her, it would be a present worthy of her grace.’

  ‘The rebels will never lay their filthy hands on the lamp, Exalted One,’ said the Vizier, as he began to rehearse the conversation with Omar in his head. ‘You can trust me.’

  ‘Oh, I do,’ replied the Sultan, looking bored. ‘I do.’

  Chapter Six

  Kirin looked at the page in front of him, at the words he’d written, using a feather borrowed from a bird one of the vanar-guards had been eating and Hooba’s green dye – he’d forced Hooba to stand in the spray in the chamber behind the waterfall.

  He could hardly believe it. The spellbinders hadn’t been able to read the Untranslatables for two hundred years. And he’d read them in two days.

  Well, he hadn’t read the books written in runes, obviously. And he hadn’t read the book on torture either, and had no intention of doing so. But he could have. He knew how. And he knew what he needed to know. He knew what to do to raise Danh-Gem.

  It was in the other book in ravian script, a little notebook with a red cover, that he had found what he was looking for. It was right on the first page. He’d written a translation in green ink, between the lines.

  He looked at the page again, and at the words he had written. He’d written them in ravianic, so that he would still be the only person present who could read them.

  How had he done it? Could it be fate, or karma or something? Rubbish. But it wasn’t all coincidence – if the spellbinders had been a little more tolerant of asurs, they could have found out for the
mselves. Why, even Maya looked down on the asurs, thought they were little more than animals.

  But someone should really have considered the possibility that Danh-Gem, master of the asurs, might have written the book in Asurian. Was it the ravian script that had misled the spellbinders? Why had Danh-Gem written in ravianic? Had he learned ravianic to help him woo Isara? Well, the asurs had no written language anyway. And so Danh-Gem had used ravianic. Clever touch, that, writing Asurian words in ravian letters. Had the spellbinders missed it completely, thought it was some arcane language Danh-Gem had invented? They must have tried, but they would have gone to Koli asurs, and not tried very hard.

  The book was written in was Imokoi Asurian, the language of the danavs.

  The spellbinders probably didn’t even know that there was more than one Asurian dialect. Considering he’d been dealing with asurs for years, and he didn’t know until the last time he went to Lost Street.

  It didn’t matter. He knew how to raise Danh-Gem.

  Kirin had been poring over the words in the books for two whole days. He’d been getting nowhere, mumbling the strange, rolling words and flipping through pages. He’d picked up the red notebook that morning – it was probably something Danh-Gem used to scribble in, he had thought, looking at the scrawled letters, unlike the neat handwriting of the book on torture.

  Then in the afternoon, when he’d given up, he had been mumbling the first words on the first page – he knew them by heart, now – and suddenly something had sounded familiar. He’d heard one of the words before. Where? When?

  Then he remembered. He remembered Lost Street, and a ring of danavs around Spikes, and the ugly leader, who had stepped forward and yelled the word that he remembered…

  ‘Charge!’

  And Hooba had translated…

  He had called Hooba. And read the words out to him. And when recognition and excitement had dawned on Hooba’s face, he had dragged him out to the tunnel behind the waterfall and there, in the light of the afternoon sun through the roaring sheet of water, he had translated the first page of the book.