by Samit Basu
Finally, word arrived from Danh-Gem’s Wasteland; huge cracks were spreading through the earth. It was time. Tjugari roared and breathed fire as he swept upwards and eastwards. Behind him, other dragons roared and swerved in magnificent manouevres, further and further away from Izakar. They did not have to travel long; the cracks in the earth sped northwards as they widened, towards the dragon army and the Dark Tower behind them. An hour passed; the battle raged on, and the dragons watched.
And then the earth split as massive heads burst through it, and the dragons screamed encouragement as Qianzai, Mother of Darkness shot out of the ground and took to the air. Twelve more eruptions, and her children followed her into the sky, leaving trenches in their wake. Qianzai was as beautiful and majestic as ever, but her body was covered with scars; some of her children shook uncontrollably as they rose, and the other dragons saw deep gashes on their bodies, as if claws the size of elephants had gouged out their flesh.
Tjugari flew up to Qianzai, saluting her with lowered wings and snout; she nodded curtly, her serpent body curling and twisting as she circled in the air.
The others? Where are they? asked Tjugari.
Dead, said Qianzai. The deep-dwellers are coming. Do what you can.
The ground heaved and shuddered, tremors spreading in ripples that washed over Imokoi, shaking even the Dark Tower some distance to the north.
Another dragon head burst out of the earth, a red Xi’en serpent. In the sky, the dragons cried out in dismay; her face was streaked with scars, and one of her eyes had been torn out of its socket. She heaved and strained, and pulled herself out of the ground, slowly, agonizing, each thrust displaying a fresh array of lacerations. But even as she gathered her breath for one final push that would free her from the grasping earth, her mouth twisted, and she slid back into the ground and disappeared, pulled in again by something underground.
In the terrible pause that followed her dying scream, every dragon heard Qianzai’s voice, low and powerful, inspiring even in great weariness.
Dragonkind. Children of my heart. Hear me now, she cried. You know why we are here. We are the keepers of the balance; order and chaos, fire and water, earth and sky. We are the guardians of the surface, the protectors of all who breathe upon it, their defenders against Above and Below. Today, the skin of the world breaks, and we alone can heal it. The forces of the underworld strike out in blind anger, and an answer from the heavens would destroy all that lives in between. The three worlds have honoured us and hurt us, revered us and feared us. Today, we must show them why. Are you ready?
And then the dragons heard a screeching laugh, and Tjugari the Destroyer’s harsh voice.
And for those of you that didn’t understand any of that, he said, this is it. Bad things are coming. Burn them.
In response, every dragon in the sky roared a mighty challenge, and bathed the cracked earth in a sea of fire. And then the earth burst open, and the creatures of the underworld stepped out in the sun.
They were beasts that defied description; shape-shifting masses of hatred encased in thick hides of skin and hair, chitin and mucus, shell and scale, fire and ice. Some were in the form of giant animals, great apes with crab’s legs, mantises with millions of glistening tentacles, hill-sized boars with serpents for tails. They split the sky with their wordless challenges, roaring and screeching as they bathed in dragon-fire. Some spread vast slime-coated wings and soared upwards to meet their adversaries, others stomped and slithered northwards towards the Dark Tower, crushing the ground beneath them as if it were a thin layer of ice. Other creatures jumped out behind them, smaller monsters made of earth and dust and shifting piles of rock that staggered and jerked below the bodies of the larger monsters, sometimes disintegrating into swarming piles of rubble, and pale worms that fed on fire, growing larger as they foraged, obscene grubs that moved mindlessly through the wasteland, coating it with oily, viscous fluids. No single will drove them; they struck in every direction, seeking only to destroy, paying heed to the dragons only when attacked, and then responding with insane fury in showers of venom and hurled clumps of earth. Some of the beasts succumbed to the rain of fire, burning horribly, crashing into the rest as their skins peeled off, revealing pink, glistening muscle beneath. But many of the creatures seemed immune to fire, and ignored the chaos around them, striding off in various directions, swinging their massive limbs. It was up to the dragons to herd them in, to attempt the task of driving them back into the earth. Several dragons pounced on the monsters, folding their wings and pouncing, landing on the beasts and fighting with claw and fang and tail-spike. But the beasts were stronger; they ignored their wounds as they tore into the dragons, tearing off their wings, bringing them to earth and stomping them to death. The dragons breathed fire, slashed out with tooth and claw and rose again, but the beasts were beginning to scatter and spread, heading off at random towards places unknown.
Zibeb leaned on his sword and looked at the madness around him, at fleeing rakshases and ravians, at asurs screeching in terror as the ground shifted and swallowed them, at ravians and pashans and humans who’d dropped their weapons and were simply staring, open-mouthed, at the creatures that advanced towards the Dark Tower.
‘Come here and fight, you coward!’ he cried. ‘Let us end this!’
Aciram appeared behind him, swining a great mace, but Zibeb was ready; he spun around, his sword hissing as he struck. He encountered only empty air as Aciram teleported mid-stroke, reappearing a short distance away. But the Dark Lord did not charge. Instead, he looked beyond Zibeb, at the monstrous beasts blundering towards Izakar, flailing their limbs uselessly as dragons above burned them.
‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed,’ said Aciram, ‘but the world seems to be ending.’
‘We should hurry, then,’ said Zibeb.
A creature that looked like a giant squid with occasional elephant legs swept into the ravian rearguard, sending bodies flying with slow swings of its tentacles, and screams of horror echoed through the ranks of both armies as the combatants looked up and saw the twitching bodies of their comrades stuck to the beast.
The Red Queen appeared beside Aciram, her sword pointed at Zibeb.
‘We should leave,’ she said.
‘Not without you, dear wife,’ said Zibeb.
‘Look at them, you fool,’ she snapped. ‘They’re bigger than the tower, and they’re headed this way. The tower itself is going to collapse any minute now. What are you fighting for?’
Zibeb sighed, and turned. His face tightened as he saw another underworld monster, a giant toad with a head that seemed to be made out of living shadow, leaping towards them. The beast sailed over both armies and landed in the city, flattening three city walls. An endless tongue shot out of the shadow-head, demolishing a guard tower. Rakshases and ravians milled around in confusion around the Black Gate, warriors looking not for combat but for survival in any form, escape from randomly slashing blades and falling stone, stray dragon-fire and spraying venom.
‘If I had known your world was like this,’ said Zibeb, ‘I wouldn’t have come.’
Aciram laughed. ‘Truce?’ he said.
‘Never,’ said Zibeb. ‘But I think a tactical withdrawal seems in order. If any of us outlive this, rakshas, we will do this again. Or would you prefer peace?’
‘Why should I seek peace? Victory will be ours in the end, ravian.’
‘End? What makes you think this will ever end?’
Aciram bowed. ‘Until the next time, then.’
‘It has been an absolute pleasure,’ said Zibeb, bowing in turn.
‘Will you two stop trying to get the last word in and get the hells out of here, you ridiculous…men?’ yelled Red, looking positively animated.
Both Aciram and Zibeb considered meaningful replies, but wisely chose instead to escape as a great tentacle came crashing into the ground where they stood.
After a few exhausting minutes, bugles and horns sang out, signaling retreat, but no one
heard them in the clamour. They were unnecessary in any case; all those still alive were alive because they had already fled. The Dark Tower still stood, though the city around it had mostly been flattened; a monster seemed to have taken a fancy to it, and was rubbing its snout lovingly against the upper levels. To the east, an elephant-spider exploded in a blaze of white light as Lady Nenses used another Ravian Star. To the west, Bjorkun Skuan-lord tripped on a fallen asur’s foot and cut himself in half on his battle-axe. By the northern outer wall, dungeon-master Ublyet capered and pranced in delight, yelling ‘My pretties! My lovely little pretties!’ until a burst of dragon-fire silenced him. The ravians raced eastwards, using Willspears and Spirit Trenches to slow down pursuing beasts; the vanars raced ahead of them, casting their armour aside as they fled. The werewolves raced westward for the valleys of the Mountains of Shadow, rakshases appearing and teleporting ahead occasionally in their midst. The humans and asurs fared worst of all, but then they had expected that when they had come to the Dark Tower, and were not particularly surprised.
Red and Aciram stood their ground by the Black Gate with a few Vrihataranya rakshases, unwilling to escape until they had at least made their present felt. As Red sliced off an intrusive tentacle and looked around for smaller creatures to pick on, she saw something that made her pause and blink with something approaching wonderment.
‘Well, that’s strange,’ she said.
Beside her, Aciram detached a massive lobster claw from a howling beast that seemed to have plenty to spare, and turned violently towards her.
‘Strange, did you say?’ he roared. ‘What could you possibly find strange about anything here, my love?’
‘Look,’ she said, pointing.
Aciram looked, as instructed, and saw a thick mist rolling in very fast from the south-west towards the Dark Tower, streaming across the land like a visiting ocean. Through the roar of the battlefield, he heard the sound of a thousand horns blowing as if from a great distance, and the rumble of what sounded like a great army.
A lone figure on horseback leaped out of the mist, and rode ahead of it. A human figure in black armour, on a grey steed with burning red eyes. A scythe glittered blue in his hand.
‘To the death!’ called the Cold Prince with no sense of irony whatsoever.
And then the mist lifted, and dragons, rakshases and monsters alike stopped and stared at a very strange sight indeed.
The undead had turned up uninvited, and they were looking to recruit.
‘It’s the end of the world,’ said Aciram. ‘Just like Duamu predicted.’
‘Maybe you shouldn’t have had him executed, then,’ said the Red Queen.
‘Maybe not.’
A whispering host of long-dead ancient heroes and warriors led the charge as they tore into the creatures from the underworld, blood and bone and dust swirling in their remembered shapes, reliving ancient battles with new enemies, calling out with sonorous voices in languages long dead. Skeleton warriors raced everywhere, waving ancient swords, stabbing and thrusting until they crunched to piles of bone under massive feet, and then rose and reassembled themselves. Ghouls, ghoulehs and legions of zombies staggered and stumbled towards slow-moving monsters, biting, tearing and clobbering, crazed with flesh-lust, unable to feel either pain or fear. Lych-lords summoned wave after wave of freshly dead warriors, and asurs, ravians, rakshases and pashans fought side by side under their command, bodies jerking as they cast off memories of life and grew accustomed to the invisible strings that now controlled them. Stone statues, human figures with the heads of cats, jackals, crocodiles and ibises, hammered and pounded ceaselessly on the rock-monsters, turning them into clouds of dust and pebbles. Pretas, jakyinis and moumras capered mindlessly about, falling upon stray enemies and sucking out their blood and spirits in an orgy of life-seeking hunger. The Marichelli grotesques wandered the field, striking blows when they could, assembling new creatures from scattered limbs and adding greatly to the general ugliness of the spectacle.
A black wave detached itself from the main force and swept westwards; spirit scarabs, swarming over anything in their path and reducing it to clean bone in seconds. Millions of tiny feet clattered over fallen armour and weapons and up the appendages of nearby monsters, biting through hide and muscle, bringing down behemoths a nibble at a time. At Tjugari’s command, the dragons dispersed, and concentrated on rounding up roving monsters and guiding them with walls of shifting fire towards the Dark Tower, where the Four Horsemen and Erkila, Queen of the Damned, commanded the endless legions of the undead. There stood Tzimem, gold mask covered in slime as he toppled one great beast after another, cutting his way methodically through legs and tentacles until they fell, and then cutting his way out from under them if they fell on him. The heart in his hand pulsed louder than a dragon’s wingbeat as it drank fresh blood from the mightiest beasts to ever walk the face of the earth. The Unnamed raced through the burning streets of Izakar, spreading mists of confusion and listlessness, her werecat Manslaughter, grown to the size of a lion, constantly by her side. The Muratorian, still uncomfortable on his horse of bone, stood at the Black Gate, mind-casting messages to the lych-lords, orchestrating the battle. And Erkila stood by his side, glowing white and beautiful, her black eyes shining with satisfaction as she beheld the carnage before her, occasionally stepping out in the form of a little kitten to overpower a monster that attracted her attention. But there was no doubt as to who led the undead in battle; it was the Cold Prince, who seemed to be everywhere at once, rallying his troops, taking on the fiercest of the monsters, leading the bravest charges.
The beasts of the underworld fought fiercely and well, crushing undead in their thousands, filling the earth with dead flesh and ichor, but there could be no victory against an army that responded to destruction with reassembly, that regarded decapitation as the acquisition of a new worldview. The battle lasted for three days, but its outcome was never in doubt. One by one, the monsters fell and were torn apart, and their diverse limbs added to their conquerors’.
And then the battle was over, and the dragons saluted the lords of the undead with fountains of fire and swept homewards, leaving the battlefield to the teeming host of the Great Pyramid. Innumerable bodies stood whispering and moaning, seeing the world through dry, immobile eyes, sensing life in the world around them, hungering to destroy it. They thronged towards the Dark Tower, towards their captains, and begged for more, begged to carry on with the slaughter, to turn the whole world, end the injustice of breath and warm skin and beating hearts. And Erkila heard their prayers, and turned towards the Cold Prince, saying nothing, but asking a thousand questions with her eyes.
‘No,’ said Pralay. ‘Not yet. The creatures of the underworld are not defeated yet; we must first destroy them utterly, establish beyond doubt our sole right to end this world. We must delve beneath the earth, find their secret lairs and destroy them. When that is done, we will decide what is to be done with the rest of the world.’
Erkila smiled, and the Cold Prince knew she understood far more than he wanted her to, but she nodded, and issued her orders, and soon the undead host was gone. All save the Cold Prince; he dismounted and remained at the gate, silent and motionless, until the last zombie had lurched into a crack in the earth, and all was silent by the ruins of Izakar.
‘Come out,’ he said then.
The Red Queen and the Dark Lord materialized next to him. He gazed at their faces, and looked away.
‘Your faces are known to me,’ he said. ‘I would urge you to change them if you can; these are not faces that bring me joy.’
The rulers of Imokoi changed their faces without question, donning the guises of ravians they had recently slain, and then Red stepped forward.
‘Why did you remain?’ asked Pralay. ‘Why did you not flee with your rakshas brethren? This was no place for the living.’
‘I stayed because I recognized you, and he stayed because he did not want to leave me here alone,’ said Red.
> ‘I have a question,’ said Aciram, and cleared his throat.
‘Ask,’ said Pralay.
‘Should I abandon the thought of rebuilding my kingdom? Would it be a waste of effort? What I really mean to ask is… have you and your… people set out to end the world?’
The Cold Prince turned towards Aciram, and the Dark Lord flinched. ‘The undead army has been given the task of ending the world,’ he said. ‘But certain complications have arisen, and the battle you witnessed was part of our effort to resolve them. Certain forces have been seeking to end the world without the proper authorization, and the undead army, being, as it were, the official destroyer of this world, has no option but to eliminate these forces and establish its identity as the sole entity responsible for global demolition.’
‘Does that mean you’re ending the world or not?’ asked Aciram. ‘I apologize if this question is tiresome, but I have a certain vested interest in the matter.’
The Cold Prince sighed. ‘I will strive to be more lucid,’ he said. ‘Yes, we will end the world, but only when we are sure it is the right time. We have been receiving confusing signals, and have decided to postpone world’s end until we are sure the world needs to end. To that end, we will now go underground and continue our battle with the creatures of the underworld until we have destroyed them all.’
‘In other words, you’re trying to save the world,’ said the Red Queen, walking up to the Cold Prince. ‘This is your doing, isn’t it, Asvin? You’re trying to save us all.’
Pralay stepped back as if he had been stung. ‘You knew me?’
‘It is you, Asvin, isn’t it?’
The Cold Prince looked away. ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘Not Asvin any more. How did you know? Do those faces bring their own memories?’
‘No, Asvin,’ said Red. ‘You know me. Look at me closely.’
He looked into her eyes then, and saw who she was, saw her looking at him with those eyes under a waterfall in Shantavan, on a speeding vroomstick high above the streets of rain-drenched Kol, remembered waking up to find those eyes gazing into his, long ago, in another life.
