by Alex Archer
Doubtful. If anything, the fact they were Americans would have meant a very painful death in many parts of the world. No, that was not saving them.
Maybe it wasn’t the right time to kill them yet. Annja frowned.
Annja felt the air shift again. The man who had escorted them down to this place seemed to slink away in the darkness.
She was getting tired of not knowing what was going on.
And that’s when everything changed.
Chapter 13
There was a sudden explosion of light in the chamber. And then the first thing Annja saw after her eyes adjusted was a blue figure emblazoned in front of her. A statue. Annja caught herself as she recognized who it was.
Kali.
The goddess of death often characterized in Hindu as uncontrollably angry and destructive.
The statue before Annja had four arms, each wielding a different weapon. And the red eyes were supposed to suggest a certain level of intoxication, a bloodlust resulting from one of Kali’s many battles.
Kali was a ferocious deity.
What the hell had Annja stumbled onto here?
She soon got her answer. After the immediate shock of so much light where there had been none before, Annja forced herself to take in her surroundings. The torches that had sprung to life glowed hot, casting long shadows across the chamber, but also giving more than enough illumination for Annja to finally see the men who held them captive.
Her first impression was that there weren’t nearly as many of them as she’d thought there were in the dark.
The dozen or so men certainly looked as ferocious as their goddess, Kali. They still had their faces shrouded in black, but slowly, each man reached up and undid the length of cloth that covered them. These scarves, knotted at both ends, were handled with a degree of reverence Annja found amazing.
She racked her brain for any information she thought might help her figure out who these men were. Obviously, they were devoted to Kali. But why? What was their cause?
One by one, the men tucked their scarves into their belts, the two knotted ends dangling over, as if ready to be drawn quickly.
And used to fight with. Weapons?
A thought struck her hard.
Thuggee.
She frowned. That cult was supposed to have been wiped out ages ago.
It didn’t quite make sense. Thuggee, what the Western world derived the word thug from, were bands of robbers and murderers who used to prey on travelers from about the thirteenth century through the British colonial period.
Because of their fearsome reputation, the authorities had taken steps to crack down on them. And as far as Annja knew, the cult had been virtually extinguished.
So what was going on here?
The scarves that they had used to cover their faces would be what were known as rumal. One of the best-known weapons used by Thuggee was the garrote. And they often used their head scarves as a weapon instead. The knotted end would help them hold the rumal in place until their victim was dead.
Which is why they placed an unusual degree of reverence on their rumal, much like a samurai respected his katana.
Each of the men stood in silent reverence before the statue of Kali.
And Annja wondered what was coming next.
After another few minutes, she heard footsteps and turned to see one final man enter the chamber, his head wrapped in the same rumal as the others. But instead of black clothing, he wore a mottled blend of brown and blue along with the black head scarf.
He passed Annja too quickly for her to even see his eyes and then stood in front of the statue, bowing low. Annja heard a low murmuring among the other men as their voices rose in a muffled prayer.
The praying went on for what felt like ten minutes. Annja could feel Frank growing impatient behind her, so she shot him a glance. Disturbing the Thuggee during the prayers they were obviously offering to Kali would no doubt be met by severe punishment.
Better to let them finish it and see where we stand, she thought.
The voices in the chamber rose to a fevered pitch and the energy grew from a quiet, intense respect to a frenzied rage. The whole place felt as if it might explode into a blood orgy.
Many of the men were swaying back and forth, caught up in an altered state of mind. Had they done narcotics before coming to prayer?
A wave of fear washed over her. In an altered state of mind, anything could happen, and these people wouldn’t even realize it. She and Frank might be gutted before their killers even knew what they were doing.
Annja looked back at Frank. He seemed absolutely terrified.
And Annja couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t used to feeling as helpless as this.
What if she drew her sword now? If she could somehow grasp it behind her, despite the bindings on her wrists.
There was a good chance she could free herself before the men came down from their adrenaline high long enough to clue in. And if she could keep them in front of her, rather than flanking her, she might be able to get the two of them out of here alive.
Maybe.
Annja closed her eyes.
Saw the sword.
But she couldn’t reach for it—
Abruptly the chanting died.
The chamber grew quiet again. The torches flickered and died, plunging the chamber back into darkness. Annja hesitated.
She felt movement all around her. Some of the men appeared to be leaving.
Prayer time was apparently done.
A single torch sprang back to life, its glow breaking the darkness. The last man to have entered the chamber still stood in front of Kali with his back to Annja.
There were four men left besides him.
Much better odds. But only if Annja could get her sword and draw it before they knew what was happening. And unfortunately, now that the prayers had stopped, the men had their eyes firmly locked on her and Frank.
The element of surprise was gone.
Annja wondered if it had ever truly been there. They no doubt knew what to expect from their prisoners. She felt confident this had happened many times before. And they wouldn’t be so foolish as to leave themselves exposed to attack.
Of course, they had never had a captive like Annja before.
The four remaining men pressed closer to them. Their eyes bore into them and Annja frowned back. But she felt Frank’s fear grow.
He’s close to losing it. She needed to keep him in check. If he freaked out, they’d kill him.
The man standing with his back to Annja said something quietly and the men eased back. Had he felt Frank’s anxiety level spike?
Annja tried to remember more about the Thuggee, but her information was scant. She had no way of knowing if they dabbled in magic or not. She didn’t think they did, but she’d already witnessed some unusual happenings here that she didn’t have an answer for.
And if this man in front of her was some sort of high priest, then perhaps he might have secret knowledge.
Annja frowned. I’m being ridiculous, she thought. As many times as she supposedly witnessed something magical or otherworldly, there’d been an explanation for it.
At least, most of the time. She visualized the sword.
The man in front of her bowed low again, and another litany of syllables came out of his mouth in a strange, guttural tongue Annja couldn’t understand. And even though she couldn’t understand his words, they seemed sincere.
The men also murmured something, and Annja felt as though another presence had entered the chamber accompanied by a strong breeze.
Annja squinted as bits of grit blew into her face. She forced herself to try to observe what was happening, but as the wind increased, it grew increasingly tougher to see. Annja’s vision swam as tears filled her eyes to combat the swirling dust and debris. She wanted to wipe them but her hands were bound. If only she wasn’t tied up, she could use the sword to cut her way out of this mess.
The wind died in the next moment.
They were plunged into silence, absolute and unmoving. Even Frank had grown still, his fear having frozen him in place.
The man in front of the statue of Kali raised his hands toward the roof and said another prayer, but this one was much shorter. And when he was finished, he lowered his arms.
More silence.
Annja waited. It felt as though something would happen soon. But she didn’t feel the same growing sense of dread she had earlier. There didn’t seem to be a frenzied action to this group, and whatever their intentions, the man in front of the statue had absolute control.
Annja smirked. Well, at least until I get free and start using my sword, she thought. It would be interesting to see how little control he had then.
Frank shifted, and one of the men drew his arm back and sent something flying. Annja caught the movement and willed herself to stand still as the knotted end of the rumal took Frank squarely on his temple.
Frank grunted as it struck home, his knees almost buckling, the impact was so staggering.
But as much as the strike had hurt Frank, he still managed to keep his feet under him. He grit his teeth.
Good. Annja nodded once.
The man in front of the statue turned to face them at last. Annja watched as he drew his hands up to the rumal that covered his face and started untying it. It was longer than the ones the other men wore, and it took him forever to unravel it.
But when he did, the smile on the man’s face took Annja’s breath away.
“Hello, again, Annja. Frank.”
Dunraj.
Chapter 14
The way he looked was so unlike how he’d appeared at the welcome party on the previous night. Gone was all sign of rich sophistication and bespoke suits. Of Hyderabad’s most eligible bachelor.
In its place stood a man with a shadow over his face and a ferocity that seethed in his eyes.
“You’re about the last person I expected to find here,” Annja said. “The cover of GQ India, yes, but not in some maze of caves on the outskirts of a city that ostensibly belongs to you.”
Dunraj cracked a smile. “I can understand how you would find my superficial personality as intriguing as other women, but I assure you that I am anything but that simple.”
“Apparently. I mean, you’re doing something here that defies the life you seem to lead in the city.” Annja nodded at the statue. “Am I right that this is Kali?”
“Of course,” Dunraj said. “She is the perhaps one of the most important deities in the Hindu culture and religion. I have devoted my life to serving her.”
“By doing what? Resurrecting an old cult?”
He snorted. “And what would you know of cults? You may have guessed at what we are, but I’ll wager you have very little real information as to what it is we are all about.”
“You’re a bunch of thugs,” she said.
The look on Dunraj’s face was one for the ages. If he had expected her to not know anything about what he was doing here, he was mistaken. Annja liked not living down to people’s expectations.
“How did you know about us?”
“Do you know anything about me? What I do? I’m an archaeologist, for crying out loud,” Annja reminded him. “History is my business. And I have a pretty broad working knowledge.”
Dunraj attempted a pained smile, as if a small child was chastening him. “Regardless, you probably only have a very limited understanding of what Thuggee is.”
“Probably,” she admitted. “But at least I’m not as naive as some of the women I see looking for a chance to sink their hooks into you. That’s points in my book at the very least.”
“Granted,” Dunraj acquiesced, “but then, those women are merely part of the set that I have worked so hard to fabricate. My real work lies in the service of Kali.”
“And killing people,” she reminded him. “Let’s not forget about the murders you’ve committed.”
“It is not murder,” he said. “It is paying tribute to my goddess. Something I came to terms with long ago.”
“This isn’t the old days, Dunraj. You can’t go wandering around killing people just because your god tells you to.”
Dunraj laughed. “What world have you been living in, Annja? Of course I can. And there are millions more people like me who do exactly that. The history of religion is always written in the blood of those it subjugates. But at least my goddess is not a hypocrite about what she craves. About what she needs. She demands sacrifice.”
“Wonderful. Just what the world needs—another religious zealot. Swell.”
Behind her, Frank moaned. Annja shot him a look.
Dunraj sighed. “Yes, well, I suppose it was too much to expect you to understand the goal of our work here.”
“And just what is it you’re up to? As far as I can see, you’re getting started on some small-scale terror campaign at a development that would seem to have your fingerprints all over it.”
The man shook his head. “I had nothing to do with that construction project. I protested its development vociferously. I tried every resource I had at my disposal to thwart it from the start. I was unsuccessful.”
Annja shrugged. “You do have a lot of resources. So if you couldn’t get it derailed, then who is behind it?”
“An outside firm interested in developing large tracts of land beyond the city limits.”
“And that’s where you have a problem.”
“Hyderabad was once a flourishing center of Thuggee activity and Kali worship. Years ago, this region was dominated by our ancestors.”
“But let me guess, the British took offense to the whole murdering travelers thing, huh?”
“Yes. They did. Thuggee was forced to go underground or risk being exterminated. Out of love for our goddess, Kali, that is exactly what happened. We went underground.”
“And now you’re bringing it back to the surface to combat developments on sacred land, perhaps?”
“Very good, Annja,” he said. “That is exactly what these lands are. They cannot be transformed into sprawling megamalls or amusement centers or housing communities.”
“And yet you transform land this way every day in Hyderabad.”
“I do it where it’s permitted. Where I build is not sacred land. It is not hallowed ground.”
Annja sighed. “I’m surprised you weren’t able to tie development up with legal injunctions or court procedurals. Don’t you have a flotilla of lawyers on retainer for such a thing?”
“Sometimes all the lawyers in the world cannot prevent what is seemingly inevitable.”
“But if you feel that way, then what makes you think this scheme of yours will be any better at stopping the developments?”
Dunraj crossed his arms. “Because, Annja, if there is one thing these people do understand, it is the cost of building and then not recovering the investment. If word spreads that someone is targeting these sites, then no one will buy. No store will lease space. No company will risk the wrath of the Thuggee. We will succeed in preventing the spread of modernization where none should ever be spread.”
“I don’t think it will work,” she said. “Someone will figure out you’re behind this, or someone will catch one of your thugs and then the game will be over. It will only be a matter of time before modernization rolls over this area and puts a giant Mickey D’s right where your shrine to Kali stands now.”
Dunraj slapped Annja across the face and her lip burst, sending a warm stream of blood into her mouth. Dunraj shoved his face just inches from her own.
“You will not speak so rudely of my goddess, Annja Creed.”
Annja spit blood on the floor of the cave. “Just letting you know what I think of your rotten plan.”
Dunraj smiled, revealing those gleaming teeth. “It will be my greatest pleasure when I finally introduce you to my goddess.”
“And just how are you going to do that?”
Dunraj cocked an
eyebrow. “Why, you’re to be sacrificed, of course. You and your cameraman there.”
Frank coughed. “Hey,” he spluttered. “I didn’t do anything.”
Dunraj shook his head. “You were at the development looking for answers. That makes you a threat. And threat must be dealt with. Surely you understand.”
“What I understand is I want to live,” Frank said.
Dunraj sighed. “Yes, well, we can’t always be master of our own fate, now, can we?”
“I’m pretty sure I could be,” Annja said. “Whether or not you introduce me to your god.”
Dunraj smiled again. “When you scream for mercy and beg for the sweet release of a quick death, I shall refrain from granting you that one last wish.”
“And here I thought we got off on a good foot at your party,” she said.
Frank shook his head. “I’ve got a lot of living left to do.”
“Tragically,” Dunraj said, “you’ve got a lot more dying to do before that happens. And it will be a glorious death for you, my young friend. Your blood will spill in Kali’s name so she may know of the love we have for her.”
“There goes that bucket list I had drawn up.”
“I don’t even want to know what was on that.” Annja looked at Dunraj. “Why don’t we do a deal here?”
Dunraj eyed her. “You’re joking.”
“No,” she said. “You let Frank go. He’s just a child, for crying out loud. Surely your goddess wouldn’t want you to kill one as young as him. It doesn’t make any sense. He’s got no worth to her, no life experience.”
Dunraj just stared.
“But me?” Annja continued. “Well, you could get a lot more mileage out of my sacrifice than you would Frank’s. So let him go and keep me. Run that blade right through me when you want to and I’ll go happily. He’s nothing to you. Or Kali.”
Dunraj laughed. “I admire your attempt—feeble as it was—to spare the boy’s life. But he’s not as young as you would have me believe. And Kali appreciates every drop of blood spilled.”
“Fantastic,” Annja said. “So she’s an equal-opportunity bloodlusting goddess. Awesome.”
“You should feel honored,” he insisted. “It is not often we even tell people they are to be taken in Kali’s name. Mostly, my men strike the sacrifices down without their bodies ever being consummated at the altar.”
