The Unwaba Revelations

by Samit Basu

  Not that any general had devised a perfect method of fighting ravians, but in a crowded battlefield ravians were less deadly than in individual combat. The overwhelming danger all around them slowed them down, and while they would still win almost any individual fight, their options were limited; they could be outnumbered and overcome, though it would always involve heavy losses.

  Askesis stood on the central hill, and around him stood his Mortals, Kol’s hundred finest human warriors clad in black armour, faces hidden under black helms. In front of the Mortals stood a regiment of warlocks, and disorganized companies of chroniclers, heralds, scouts and messengers, waiting for Askesis’ attention. The Commander stood in silence, looking at his Koli legions with pride, at line after line of men of every possible ethnic origin, standing together, united to face a strange and ruthless enemy, and he dreamed, as every general of his stature had dreamed before him, of a world army united under his command.

  It would, of course, have been convenient for Askesis if the invaders from another world had truly united this world against them. It would have been even more convenient if the ravians had truly been strangers to the world, and not well-loved, revered heroes from times widely believed to have been simpler, and inextricably associated with his world’s past and present. But neither of these was to be, and the bonds of necessity that bound these unlikely allies together were alarmingly thin. Askesis expected, at any moment, to hear that his most powerful generals had turned against him, and towards some unspecified Path of Truth, Justice and Light. Or that the Dark Lord had broken the newborn alliance and taken the Free States, sandwiching Kol between rakshases and ravians; were not Dark Lords practically obliged to turn traitor?

  Psomedea, the Centaur Forests and Ventelot, too, had now been left to fend for themselves, and were ripe for plucking. Askesis’ choices had been to either trust his supposed allies completely and leave Kol vulnerable or to make sure Kol was as doughtily and flexibly defended as possible, and prepare for the worst; the decision had been an easy one to make.

  In the east, the armies of Xi’en were on the move, and not as part of complicated courtship dances. This was the perfect opportunity for them to invade Avranti, but if they were doing so, it was part of a very devious plan indeed, because they were moving in the wrong direction. Yet another civil war had broken out in Xi’en. The imperial houses of western Xi’en were revolting against the daimyos of the east, settling ancient scores lovingly detailed in languages Askesis had no intention of learning. Askesis wondered if the ravians had anything to do with causing that war, or whether it was the Civilian’s going. His spies did not know. What they did know, though, was that huge clouds had risen up over the Mountains of Harmony, and there had been snowstorms and avalanches for days on end. All the major passes to Avranti from Xi’en had been blocked. Askesis did not know if the ravians were somehow behind this either; he berated himself for seeing conspiracies and mysteries where none, in all probability, existed. Then again, you never really knew with ravians.

  He turned his attention to his legions’ generals, who had arrived on his hill desiring a final council. A mysterious company of grey-cloaked strangers had arrived on horseback from Kol, unannounced, and sought his audience. And a party of scouts had come from Shantavan with very strange reports. Askesis heard the scouts first, and immediately barked orders at his heralds; trumpets blew, mirror-bearers flashed signals across the hills, and there was a buzz of curiosity among the troops as Queen Rukmini, Rabin of Oodh, Haroun of Artaxerxia, the neo-Hudlumm chief Klevadix and White Spear, the centaur general, rode out a few minutes later, answering their commander’s call.

  The Mortals formed a wide ring around the top of the hill, and Askesis welcomed his generals one by one as they entered, and swiftly told them what the scouts had seen.

  The Avrantic force coming to meet them could not be counted; it was simply too vast. This was because it was not just an army; the entire Avrantic army was present, but it brought up the rear. In front of the approaching army were what appeared to be thousands, perhaps millions, of Avrantic civilians; men, women, children, all apparently unarmed. In Shantavan they had attacked bearing crude weapons. The ravians had driven them into a frenzy, and they had charged into the forest heedless of the dangers that lay within. Now, however, it seemed as if they had abandoned their weapons. They came singing and dancing, playing musical instruments, bearing flowers, and had called out to the scouts to join their march for peace and love across the world. Some of the scouts had decided to join the revelers, to count how many ravians were present among them. None of these scouts had returned.

  Gymros and Gerilola, the official army battlebards, coughed insistently behind Askesis until he turned around. ‘We have several inspirational speeches prepared for you,’ said Gerilola. ‘Would you like to go through them before you address the troops, or should we pick the one we think fits the situation best?’

  ‘It begins “Hear Ye, defenders of civilization!” and ends with you sniffing a flower meaningfully,’ said Gymros. ‘You’ll love it.’

  ‘Get out of my sight,’ said Askesis. He turned to his generals.

  ‘I will be frank with you; given this new information, I do not know if we can win this battle,’ he said. ‘Negotiation seems out of the question, as no envoy we have sent has returned. No generals in the modern age have ever fought a battle in almost complete ignorance about the enemy’s strength and formation, but we must do what we can. We have decisions to make. Do we want to be responsible for the slaughter of an entire nation whose people do not rule their own minds?’

  ‘If only they were not human,’ said Rabin. ‘I do not know how I will ask my men to shoot civilians.’

  ‘They’re attacking us. We have a superb army. They are untrained in battle. I do not see where the problem lies,’ said Klevadix. ‘Let them come! We will break their spirits in a day, and they will slink back to the east.’

  ‘We cannot affect their morale in any way if their spirits are held in leashes by ravians, who must be hidden among them. An untrained civilian militia is one thing – unworthy opponents, but opponents bearing weapons, intending to harm us, giving us reason to defend ourselves,’ said Askesis, ‘If they bear arms and invade us, their lack of strength is their problem. Considering their numbers, their threat to us would have been one of attrition, because we simply do not have the resources to kill everyone in Avranti and then deal with the army following them. But we could have blocked their path, as planned, and filled the basin with bodies and retreated without significant loss, and done it again. Our reserve forces could have swept across the Asa in a week and engaged their army in the rear, and we could have driven the remaining civilians unharmed back to Avranti. Could have, however, does not work here. If they are unarmed, and believe they are marching for peace, then killing them earns us eternal infamy.’

  ‘We are soldiers,’ said Klevadix. ‘We do not fight to be popular, but because we are ordered to.’

  ‘Unfortunately, the world cannot be won by arms alone, noble Klevadix,’ said Haroun. ‘The ravians are masters of distorting information, and if we start a massacre here today, within a week all alliances between humans will be broken, and all our nations will be cast into bloody civil war.’

  ‘If we attack them, our alliances will be broken long before that,’ said Rukmini. ‘I will not slaughter unarmed Avrantics.’

  ‘My views on this matter are already known,’ said Rabin. ‘If I order them to shoot defenceless civilians, my archers leave the field.’

  ‘What do you suggest then?’ asked Klevadix, mouth twisted. ‘We surrender? Pack our bags and go home? This is a ravian ploy to drive us back to Kol. They test our strength of character. We must not wilt.’

  ‘And where will we stop? The ravians will lose nothing here. How many will you butcher before our troops revolt?’ asked Rukmini.

  ‘Speak for yourself. My army knows what discipline and honour are. What are your views, White Spear? You have
been silent.’

  ‘Only because you discuss human concerns, which do not apply to us,’ said White Spear. ‘I will abide by whatever decision Marshall Askesis arrives at.’

  ‘Haroun and Rukmini are right,’ said Askesis. ‘We must find another solution.’

  ‘Send in your magicians first,’ said Haroun. ‘Let them mingle with the crowds, dispelling the ravian auras, and seek out the ravians and destroy them. Once the Avrantics’ minds are freed, they will scatter and flee. We can drive them back and then meet their army, if it decides to stay.’

  ‘An excellent suggestion, in theory,’ said Arunava, general of the warlocks, ‘but difficult to implement. Mingling with their civilians would involve yielding too much ground. If the peace march suddenly turns into a mob, we will have a riot on our hands, and we will lose more lives if they are close to us. Besides, I am not sure we are strong enough to physically defeat the ravians with magic alone. And if we are lost, it is just a matter of time before your soldiers change allegiances. I am confident we will be able to protect our troops. But sending us out as the first line of attack may prove to be disastrous.’

  ‘With your permission, Marshall Askesis,’ said a voice from the ring of Mortals, ‘I might suggest a solution.’

  The generals turned in surprise to see who had dared interrupt them, and found it was a man from the grey-cloaked company who’d arrived at the same time as the scouts. He was unarmed, and had handsome features and long hair tied behind his head. His face looked strangely familiar.

  ‘Who are you, and on what grounds do you presume to interrupt this council?’ asked Askesis sharply.

  ‘I have no name,’ said the newcomer, striding into the circle, ‘but my face does. It is the face of Icelosis of the Seven Heroes, defender of Kol. The last name I used was Bekrom – call me that, if you will.’

  ‘And the men you lead – do they have names?’

  ‘No,’ said Bekrom, ‘and they are not all men, though today we have all decided to wear the same face. We come from Kol, though the Civilian has not sent us; indeed, she is not sure we even exist. May I approach? I have counsel that is best heard by as few as possible.’

  ‘And how do we know you are not a ravian or an assassin?’ asked Haroun.

  The stranger looked at Haroun and smiled. His features shifted, and transformed into Haroun’s, and everyone who saw the change gasped.

  ‘I may yet be an assassin,’ said the shapeshifter. ‘But I would be a very poor assassin indeed, to choose to strike in full view of the most powerful human army ever assembled.’

  ‘Tell us what you have to say, and quickly,’ said Aciram, looking out over the field, his eyes drawn by movement. In the distance another party of scouts rode out of the forest. The sappers, their work finished, drove their carts back along the riverbank. The trench was now full of logs. The pashan coolies lumbered behind the vaman carts as they began to cross the battlefield.

  The generals moved closer together and the shapeshifter spoke in hushed tones.

  ‘We are shapeshifters from Kol, descended from the half-rakshases of old. What we do and why I cannot reveal at this point. Suffice to say that our leaders have almost all been slain by ravians, and we have decided not to wait in Kol for the ravians to come and finish us off. We have been in Avranti, and have seen the ravians gather the army that now comes to meet you. There are ravians among the humans who approach, maintaining some kind of web of control over humans around them. We will break that web for you, moving among them; we have leaders to avenge, and ravians to kill. Our vows forbid us from waging war against humans – we may only defend Kol, and that defence can only prove successful if it is carried out in secret. So we cannot help you defeat the Avrantic army that follows the civilians. This I am sure you will achieve on your own. Until it is safe to attack, do whatever you can hold the Avrantic army beyond the trench. We will remove the civilians and help you return them unharmed to Avranti. In return, we ask only this; you ask us no questions afterwards, and tell no one you ever saw us. You will never see us again.’

  ‘Are you a gift from the gods?’ asked Rukmini, awe written plainly on her face.

  ‘If we are, we were not informed of it. Well, Marshall Askesis? Will you put your trust in us?’

  Askesis nodded gravely. ‘What must we do?’

  The shapeshifter told them.

  The council on the hilltop lasted for two more hours as Askesis and his generals added their military expertise to the shapeshifter’s ideas and Gerilola and Gymros listened intently, taking notes for background; they would make up far more interesting tactics later on. When the generals were done, the battlefield of Pataal-e-Gurh suddenly exploded into activity. The shapeshifters, who numbered around two hundred, were given fresh horses. They rode them to the left flank, where they joined the centaurs. Then the allied armies were treated to a magnificent sight; the centaur army at full gallop tearing down the riverbank, crossing the Artaxerxians, and then racing towards the Durgan forces on the right. Queen Rukmini and the Durgan cavalry accompanied half the centaurs and the shapeshifters into the shadows of Shantavan, and the other half of the centaur army took their places on the right flank. A Koli legion on the rear echelon moved forward to replace the centaurs on the left flank, the thunderous sounds of thousands of boots marching in unison reverberating around the hills.

  As Askesis stood on his hill, orchestrating the movement of his troops, listening to the sound of music float in from the far end of the battlefield and herald the arrival of the enemy, he wondered for a very brief moment what his soldiers were thinking. The bards would say their hearts were filled with pride and fear, but Askesis’ own memories of his days in the ranks were different – in the silence that preceded the many battles in his past, he’d thought of the little things, of the witty retorts that came too late to fire at his corporal, of what he’d eaten for breakfast, and how there was a slight pain in his right ankle and how lucky he’d be if he still noticed it at the end of the day. And he’d thought about some of the too-big-to-handle things, how time would soon slow down until every clump of grass and chunk of brain would seem to float in the air, how elsewhere in the world people were eating and sleeping and playing football, and how lucky he was to be alive, and how unlucky he was to be born in a time of war. He’d asked his tent-mate what he thought about while marching to battle, and had received the enigmatic and possibly enlightenment-inspiring reply ‘Squirrels’ and realized that everyone in the army thought of different things, which made sense. Because even if they’d only appear in the epics as brave, valiant props who went ‘ooh’ when heroes spoke and followed them endlessly to their unfortunate deaths, or receive less honourable mentions in lists of countless casualties, each soldier was a different person. Askesis had learned that lesson early, and had always felt a degree of regret as he watched its importance recede further and further in his mind as he rose through the ranks. Now, as he watched thousands move at his command, he felt a sudden thrill of power. It did not matter, really, what his soldiers thought and felt; for now they were pieces on a chessboard, and he was playing. If asked, he would have said he loved them all equally.

  It was well past noon when the Avrantics crossed the ridge and caught their first glimpse of their official welcome to the Free States. And across the wide plain of Pataal-e-Gurh, Askesis’ army saw the people they had come here to fight, men and women and children, entire families, villages, cities, and provinces walking or dancing towards them, intoxicated by ravian spells and their own music. Hundreds walked abreast with wide, fixed smiles on their faces, singing songs of harmony and brotherhood, holding hands in an endless chain of joyous humanity. They’d made great banners bearing messages of peace, wore garlands of wild flowers and threw fistfuls of petals and coloured powder in the air.

  The ravians danced along with the humans, hidden, as Askesis knew they would be. They weren’t controlling the Avrantics like puppets, but simply pushing their emotions in one direction – the happin
ess the Avrantics felt was mostly of their own creation. They were delighted to be there, on this day, to be able to tell their children how they changed the world . They were marching to save all humanity, to shame armies into submission, to show those cruel and twisted politicians and warriors that a little love and a little music were all you needed, that every soul in the universe could be brought together if only someone would make the first move.

  ‘The enemy’s forces are savage and numerous; giant men with cruel faces who ride on hideous beasts whose like has never been seen before. Their approach shakes the earth, and my heart trembles; what hideous sights will I see today? But the soldiers of Kol, battle-hardened and brave, merely laugh in their faces. Tonight, they will feast in their tents, they say; the enemy will dine in hell,’ wrote Gymros. ‘Even from his hill, Askesis can smell the enemy’s stench. It suffocates him but he, too, laughs contemptuously as he gazes upon the invaders. They bear fearsome weapons, crafted underground by demons. Their ugly, towering forms roll over the clean earth like – ‘

  ‘What are those things that you have many of, Gerilola?’

  ‘Fingers?’

  ‘No. They couldn’t roll like a finger. Pay attention.’

  ‘Fingers can roll.’

  ‘You’re thinking of fingers that have been cut off. Not epic enough.’

  ‘Oh yes. Sorry about that.’

  Askesis knew that it would take the ravians mere minutes to change the mood of this sea of people completely, from enthusiastic, warm, hopeful friendliness to a frenzy of undirected emotion to savage fury and back again. It burned his heart to see humans driven thus, like drugged cattle. Part of his warrior’s mind toyed with the idea of letting the Artaxerxians loose – he could almost taste their impatience from afar. He imagined the sky darkened by hissing clouds of arrows, raining steel and death on the unarmed fools across the battlefield, and then the thunder of hooves as the cavalry drove into them like a single spear. He shuddered.