The Simoqin Prophecies

by Samit Basu

  With this newfound power over asur minds, Kirin started trying to teach the asurs about the world. He ended up learning much more than he taught – he learnt a great deal of asur history, picked up the rudiments of the danav language and most importantly, learnt that the asurs didn’t want to learn anything about anything. Kirin was not a patient teacher, and he had given up after three days. He’d told himself he was doing enough to change the world, but he wished someone could teach the asurs that there was more to life than money, food and fighting. And he wished someone could teach humans that as well, while they were at it. Vanars are different. They didn’t want money.

  So he had gone off into the forest with Bali’s adopted human brother, Djongli the man-ape, and Spikes, and wandered far and wide. But Angda had told him to return to Vanarpuri before the old moon died, so when Dragonmonth arrived in Vanarpuri, Kirin did too.

  Narak had not spoken since that night in the Centaur Forests. Sometimes the book had flipped open in the night, and Kirin had rushed to it, but nothing had happened, the book had just glimmered dully in his hands. He wondered if Narak had lost the strength to summon him, and whether he would be able to give him the other two gifts he had promised him. Magic was growing stronger every day – Kirin, with his new heightened senses, could actually feel it growing, as his own powers increased – and sometimes his sharp ears had caught strange humming sounds coming from the book, and he had wondered if his father was in pain. But the book had remained stubbornly silent.

  For two months now, a nameless fear had been growing in Kirin’s heart, a feeling of growing danger, a feeling that he was being watched by someone close to him, but nothing had happened – there were no enemies hiding in the trees, no panthers springing at him from the thick undergrowth. But none of his fears had been unfounded before and he wondered if some other power was preventing his father from speaking to him…

  And as he watched Angda tear away through the branches that served as streets in Vanarpuri, he wondered how he was expected to kill Danh-Gem if his father could not find the strength to show him the way.

  He lay down on his rug on the cold temple floor and drew the book out.

  Were you worried?

  He opened the book and saw a strange, twisted smile on his father’s face.

  ‘Where were you? Are you all right?’ he whispered.

  Apart from the fact that I’ve been dead for two hundred years, I’m fine. Narak smirked.

  ‘Is it difficult to talk? Are you in pain?’

  That is irrelevant. There is not much time. When is Danh-Gem’s night?

  ‘Full moon, Dragonmonth – fifteen days away.’

  Now tell me, son – what weapon do you use?

  ‘I don’t carry any weapons. I never needed any in Kol.’

  And did you think you could slay Danh-Gem with your bare hands?

  ‘No.’

  Narak said nothing.

  ‘I thought you would guide me,’ said Kirin after some time.

  And so I will.

  When I made this book, I wondered – Danh-Gem cannot be slain with any weapon made by mortal hands. I do not know what form he will rise in. What weapon should I give my son? A sword? A mace? But what if the form Danh-Gem assumes makes that weapon unsuitable? And what if my son is unskilled in the use of that weapon? Days I spent dwelling on this matter, and finally I reached a solution. I would give up the weapon that had taken me ten years to make. I would give you the weapon I had carved out of the living shadows of Elaken and tempered once a year in my own blood. I would give you the Shadowknife.

  ‘You gave up your own weapon?’

  It was necessary. The weapon, like the task I have set for you, is not a gift but a burden, Kirin. So you need not thank me. It is your forgiveness I should ask for.

  ‘What is this Shadowknife? How did you put it inside the book?

  It is not inside the book. It is on it.

  ‘The moongold?’

  Put your hand on the cover of the book, Kirin.

  ‘All right.’

  What, in your opinion, is a good weapon?

  ‘Well, a sword, I suppose.’

  Then imagine a sword, Kirin. The sharpest, subtlest sword in the world. Are you seeing it in your mind? Close your eyes if you have to. Can you see it?

  ‘Yes.’

  What are you holding in your hand, Kirin?

  Kirin cried out in amazement. The black cover on the book had melted away, and the book was glowing – the whole cover was shining moongold now. But the darkness on the cover hadn’t disappeared. It had melted off the book and on to his hand, and there it had formed a long, double-bladed sword, completely black, so black it made the darkness seem grey.

  It was the Shadowknife.

  The Shadowknife served me faithfully, Kirin. Take good care of it. It is living shadow, and it draws light from your mind; it will take any shape you desire, and will become whatever weapon you desire to wield. This is the weapon that will pierce the hide of the Rakshas – the weapon of Narak the Demon-hunter, returned to haunt him in his hour of triumph.

  Kirin wasn’t even looking at Narak. He stared at the black shape in his hands, which was changing shape as fast as his mind could think. As Kirin saw weapon after weapon in his head, the Shadowknife melted and reformed as a spear, a bow, an axe, a dagger, a lance, a shield…

  It swirled and grew, it dissolved and hardened and Kirin could not take his eyes off it.

  Do not use this weapon until Danh-Gem rises. Every asur has been told tales of the Shadowknife of Narak, and you will be revealed to the servants of Danh-Gem as an enemy. Do not try to find a sheath for it, for no sheath can hold the Shadowknife.

  ‘Where do I put it, then?’

  Think of a ring.

  Kirin watched as the black crossbow twisted and shrank until it was a bright black circle on his finger.

  ‘This is amazing,’ he said.

  Not anyone can wield this weapon, Kirin. To wear it, immense magical powers are needed. Powers that you have. You can face any enemy on this world, Kirin, and defeat him, because the power to mould the Shadowknife lies not in the Shadowknife, but in you. Never forget that.

  ‘I won’t.’

  I will leave you now. I have just enough strength to speak to you one more time, Kirin. I will give you my final gift then. After you have slain Danh-Gem.

  ‘Wait, please. I want to ask you something,’ said Kirin.

  Hurry, then.

  ‘What happens to me after I slay Danh-Gem?’

  Now is hardly the time to think of that. Concentrate on the task ahead, Kirin.

  ‘Did you even think of that? Or did you only consider how Danh-Gem was to be killed?’

  Did I not say I would give you another gift after you killed Danh-Gem? Narak sounded angry. Do not judge me solely by what I did to you two hundred years ago! I loved your mother, and I love you, Kirin. I will not tell you what the fourth gift is. I will only say that you will be given a choice if you succeed. I will not force you to do anything, ever again. You will decide where you belong.

  ‘In the ravian world, or here?’ asked Kirin softly.

  But Narak said nothing. He was still frowning. The lines faded, and he was gone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘I hope you’re not tired or anything,’ said Gaam as he led Asvin towards the mirror, ‘because tonight is going to be a long night. Did you bring everything?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Asvin, gripping the hilt of his sword. ‘Where are we going this time?’

  ‘Elaken,’ said Gaam. ‘We’re going to get you some armour.’ Gaam was in full armour himself, and carrying his huge battle-axe.

  They reached the cave where the mirror stood. Maya and Mantric were waiting for them. Queeen was there, too. She gave Asvin an enthusiastic welcome as he entered.

  ‘The Simoqin Prophecies,’ said Mantric, ‘said that the hero would wear the most powerful armour in the world. Tonight, Asvin, you will take that armour. It is the most danger
ous quest you have attempted so far, and if you succeed, you may rest assured that your powers are as great as any of the Seven Heroes in the Age of Terror. For one of the Seven heroes – Anik of Avranti, in fact – was slain while he was attempting to wrest this very armour from the hell where it lies.’

  Asvin’s face turned white. ‘The Armour of the Scorpion Man? But does that really exist?’

  ‘You will find out tonight, Asvin. For tonight you will go to Elaken, through the mirror of Zinat, which, if Jaadur the spellbinder spoke true, lies inside the Pyramid of the First Pharaoh.’

  The Book of the Scorpion, an ancient Elakish tome, spoke of the legend of the First Pharaoh, who would one day return with the armies of the dead and destroy all evil in the world. The Pyramid of the First Pharaoh was the oldest and finest of all the pyramids of Elaken. It was rumoured that priceless treasure lay inside the Great Pyramid, treasure worth more than all that had been plundered from the rest of the necropolis, but no one knew how to enter the Great Pyramid, and even if they knew, few thieves would have dared to walk its secret pathways. For the First Pharaoh did not sleep alone. He was guarded by the dead and his immortal servant, the Scorpion Man.

  No living person had seen the Scorpion Man, and no one who had seen him had returned to tell the tale. But the scribes of ancient Elaken had written in their sacred tomes of the armour that he wore, the shining armour that no weapon or magic could pierce.

  The Scorpion Man, the legend said, stood in a trance, talking to the gods, in a vestibule near the Pharaoh’s burial chamber, and would wake if any thief went near the sleeping Pharaoh. But the Scorpion Man would also wake once on every moonless night, and if anyone asked him for a gift then, he would grant it, as long as it did not involve the Pharaoh or his treasure.

  Through the ages, this legend had inspired heroes to try to enter the Great Pyramid and simply ask the Scorpion Man for his magical armour. But every hero who had entered the Pyramid had been slain by the forces of the dead that guarded it. No one had even managed to reach the Scorpion Man. It was said that Danh-Gem himself had tried to enter the Pyramid. He had not found the entrance and had tried to break down the walls, but the magic inside had proved too strong even for him.

  ‘In Avranti, our records say that Anik left the palace saying he would not return without getting the Scorpion Man’s armour, even though all the other Heroes dissuaded him. And he never returned,’ said Asvin. ‘So he did go to the Great Pyramid, through Zinat’s mirror. But how could Zinat’s mirror be inside the Great Pyramid? All I know of her is that she was one of the Heroes. Gaam told me very little else.’

  ‘Zinat of Elaken was much like the Silver Dagger of today,’ said Gaam. ‘She was an accomplished thief and assassin, and her movements were always shrouded in secrecy. But it is said in the Chronicles that the belly-dancer who slew the Sultan of Artaxerxia was none other than Zinat in disguise.’

  ‘Zinat was the best thief in the world,’ said Mantric, ‘and Jaadur writes in his book that she managed to find a way into the Great Pyramid, because she sought the armour herself. She even took her mirror in there with her, to escape through if she failed. But after entering the Great Pyramid, she did not dare to go further – the entrance she found closed as soon as she passed through it and even that journey had taken her more than a day of peril. The Scorpion Man would not awake again for a month, on the next moonless night, and she could not possibly survive a month fighting the undead in the Great Pyramid. So she left the Pyramid through the mirror. Which is convenient for us, because the mirror stands there to this very day, I hope, and tonight you are going through it to get the armour. Of course, if the mirror is broken then Gaam can steal a vaman-made armour for us, but I do not think the mirror will be broken.

  ‘Be very careful, all of you. And though the prophecy seems to demand that you find the armour, remember, your lives are much more valuable than any metal, even if it is the most powerful in the world.’

  ‘One question,’ said Gaam, turning to Maya. ‘Why have you brought Queeen here?’

  ‘Well, you told me she was very good at solving mazes, and I’m pretty sure there’ll be one in the pyramid – at least, the Book of the Scorpion speaks of ‘the twisting tunnels of the dead’, which I thought must mean a maze,’ said Maya, surprised, because Gaam sounded annoyed.

  ‘That is true,’ said Gaam, ‘but I don’t think she should come with us tonight.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, it will be dangerous in the pyramid,’ said Gaam, looking at his dog, who was busy licking Asvin’s hand noisily.

  ‘Oh come on, you old soft-heart,’ said Maya. ‘You know as well as I do that the undead won’t attack animals. Besides, Queeen’s been of no use whatsoever so far, and it’s time she justified her existence.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Gaam, but he looked unhappy.

  ‘You might as well get started,’ said Mantric. ‘The sun’s already set. If you do succeed in getting past the traps in the pyramid, remember – do not under any circumstances touch the Pharaoh’s tomb, or the treasure! That will guarantee a slow and painful death – at best.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Maya, as Asvin stepped forward, said ‘Zinat’ and touched the mirror, and black clouds billowed over the silver surface, ‘now we feel so much better.’

  She stepped through the mirror with Queeen and Gaam followed, looking disgruntled.

  The mirror was about to turn silver again, when Mantric turned and saw a white blur streaking into the cave, past his feet. and jumping into the mirror.

  From a hole in the fabric of space-time (which looked like a mirror) in the Great Pyramid of Elaken emerged two humans, a vaman, a dog and a rabbit. Steel-bunz had had enough of being left behind.

  Zinat’s mirror was behind what seemed to be, on the basis of nervous groping, a huge pillar. They fumbled about in the darkness.

  ‘Do I make a light?’ whispered Maya. ‘Wait,’ said Gaam, ‘Asvin, spy around a bit.’

  Asvin put his magic helmet on and saw a huge hall. He could see clearly enough, but the helmet turned everything he saw green. What they’d thought was a pillar was actually the back of a gigantic statue. Asvin stepped up to the middle of the hall and saw a double line of statues leading up to a door on one side and a sarcophagus on the other. The statues were all identical, a woman’s body with a cat’s head, sitting on a throne. In the deathly silence the sound of Queeen panting was obscenely loud.

  Some of the statues were headless, the others looked arrogantly across the hall. The floor was mainly smooth, but sometimes there were great cracks in it. Asvin walked up to one and looked down. He could not see the bottom of the chasm.

  ‘You’ll need light, I think,’ he said. ‘There are cracks on the floor.’

  An instant later a cold blue light shone behind a statue, casting long, threatening shadows across the room, as a fireball appeared above Maya’s head. It seemed to Asvin that the eyes of some of the statues blinked, and the arms shifted. You’re imagining things, he told himself. He looked upwards, and could see the ceiling, far, far above. He’d always thought the passages in the pyramids were narrow and constricting. But then this pyramid was like no other.

  The others walked up to him and looked around the hall.

  ‘This place is full of magic,’ said Maya. ‘Very old, very powerful, very dead. I feel like an infant.’ She closed her eyes, and the fireball above her head grew brighter, and they could see the whole hall, every statue staring silently into nothingness. ‘That hardly took any effort,’ she said.

  ‘Which way do we go, Gaam?’ asked Asvin.

  ‘The door, I think,’ said Gaam. ‘I don’t like the feel of this hall.’

  They walked to the door, jumping over the wide cracks in the floor, Asvin leading the way.

  But just as he was about to reach the door, it slammed shut. Echoes reverberated through the hall and died out. There were several creaking noises, one long, loud hiss, and then silence.

  ‘We
woke someone up,’ said Maya. Asvin drew his sword.

  Then suddenly, with a roar, the cat’s eyes of the statues sitting nearest the door burst into flames. And then, two by two, the eyes of the statues on either side of the hall lit up with ancient magic fire. When the statues were headless, there was a gush of flame at the statues’ feet, as the eyes on the severed heads lit up, throwing fiery beams of light across the broken floor. Finally, the two statues nearest the sarcophagus woke. All the heads turned, creaking, towards the intruders, and they were caught in the glare of hundreds of fiery eyes. They froze, looking at the expressionless feline faces and the burning stone eyes.

  The room was filled with light and smoke, and the sound of roaring flame. The fireball above Maya’s head withered and went out.

  ‘Is this the part where we die?’ she asked Gaam.

  ‘A quick dash towards the mirror might be a good idea,’ he replied.

  The lid of the sarcophagus at the other end of the hall suddenly flew up into the air, and crashed on the ground. There was a sudden stab of bright white light.

  ‘Who disturbs the sleep of the servants of the Pharaoh?’ asked a voice. A woman’s voice, rich, purring, deep and seductive. Something white and shining jumped out of the sarcophagus. There was a flash of light, and then a small white cat stood in front of Asvin. Its skin was shining brightly and its eyes were pools of utter darkness.

  Every statue in the hall lifted its head and screamed. Asvin, Maya and Gaam cowered to the ground and covered their ears, terrified.

  ‘Silence!’ yelled the voice. It was the cat speaking. ‘Sleep now, sisters. The Pharaoh still rests, and our day has not come yet.’