The Unwaba Revelations

by Samit Basu

  Shohm Muppo, the vaman ambassador, refused in turn to petition his king to send an army to Imokoi. The vamans were under attack, he said; strange monsters had arisen from the depths of the earth and were ravaging their tunnels. Bhumi would aid Kol with everything it had, but could not send an army to help the rakshases.

  Negotiations continued for several hours, amidst lavish meals and occasional entertainment, and as the sun began to set over King Amrit’s Park, setting the leaves alight with orange fire, the Civilian was pleased with herself; everything had gone as she had predicted it would. She was about to call an end to the day’s discussion, when there was a sudden consternation at the entrance to the grove. But it was only Mantric, arguing with Roshin, demanding to be allowed to address the council.

  The Civilian was surprised; not only was this unplanned, but Mantric had always made it a point to avoid, with an almost religious fervour, anything that stank of politics. She waved her consent, and Mantric stepped into the grove, into the centre of the circle where the ambassadors were assembled, and cleared his throat.

  ‘I’m really sorry to have interrupted your very important council,’ he said, ‘but there’s something I have to tell the Civilian that you should all know.’

  ‘Mantric is Kol’s greatest spellbinder, and a close friend,’ said the Civilian. ‘Mantric, we are almost finished here. Whatever it is can surely wait; I will be at your service very soon.’

  At any other time, with any other person, this gentle speech from the Civilian would have sent the interloper running for his life. But this was Mantric. He cleared his throat again and spoke, louder and more clearly.

  ‘I’m afraid not; they should all know, and so should their rulers,’ he said. ‘I’ve just learned that the world is about to end.’

  Several of the ambassadors laughed uncertainly. The Civilian’s eyes narrowed and they fell silent.

  ‘Tell us more,’ she said.

  ‘An army of undead creatures is about to sweep across the world, ending all life,’ said Mantric. ‘It’s the end of the world, just like all the legends predict, and only the gods can save us.’

  He looked around at the assembled ambassadors, whose expressions ranged from annoyance to amusement.

  ‘And what should we do with this news?’ asked Shohm Muppo.

  ‘Do what you can. But fear not,’ said Mantric, striking a dramatic pose, ‘for I will save you all. That is all I had to say.’ And with that, he turned around and stalked away, followed by several sympathetic glances of the sort that clever people give harmless lunatics.

  * * *

  ‘What on earth were you doing?’ Amloki asked Mantric several hours later in the Civilian’s south Kol headquarters.

  ‘That is what I would like to know as well,’ said Lady Temat, entering the room. ‘Have you lost your mind?’

  ‘I met Asvin,’ said Mantric. He waited for this to sink in, and as questions rose in their throats and almost boiled over, he raised his hand for silence.

  ‘He’s dead. But he’s not done. He’s one of the Scorpion Man’s Four Horsemen, and he’s been sent out of the Great Pyramid to tell the world of its impending doom. When he goes back to Elaken, the dead will destroy the world and everything in it.’

  ‘How did he die?’ asked the Civilian after a few stunned seconds.

  ‘The ravian who abducted Maya killed him. But he didn’t seem to want to talk about that much,’ said Mantric. ‘I tried to get him to meet you, but he refused to see anyone else; he said the world could still be saved, and I was the only one who could do it.’

  ‘How?’ asked Amloki, feeling left out. He should have been the only one who could have done it. That was the problem with being so good-looking; it caused jealousy.

  ‘He said I have to undertake a perilous journey to win the gods’ favour – only they can protect the world now, or give us the means to do it. I have to give them a gift, something that will please them so much that they will grant me some kind of boon in return, or give me divine weapons that will let us stop the armies of the dead and let this world survive. Don’t look at me like that.’

  ‘Mantric,’ said the Civilian, ‘you’re joking, aren’t you?’

  ‘I can scarcely believe the words coming out of my mouth,’ said Mantric. ‘The joke, if there is one, is on me – I had never even believed in the gods, until now. And now, strangely enough, I must go find them.’

  ‘I need to see Asvin. If there is really an army of the dead, and he leads it, it could strengthen our position greatly.’

  ‘He’s gone,’ said Mantric. ‘I did ask him to meet you, but he didn’t want to.’

  ‘What else did he tell you?’

  ‘Not very much, really. He did ask me what created the strongest trances, but didn’t seem to want to know much else.’

  ‘What creates the strongest trances?’ The Civilian was now completely lost.

  ‘That’s what I said,’ said Mantric equably. ‘The answer, of course, is the safat.’

  ‘What, in the name of everything sacred, is a safat?’

  ‘You know. Legend. Bird. Flies around all the time, can’t perch anywhere. Lays eggs in the air, the chicks hatch and fly off before the eggs fall to the ground. All seems quite pointless, but the eggshells cause stronger visions than anything else in the world.’

  ‘Did Asvin feed you a safat’s egg?’

  ‘No, why should he? He didn’t even know what it was. He did look a little hungry, though. But he didn’t want any food. I offered him a biscuit, but he said he didn’t need to eat any more. Makes sense, since he’s undead.’

  ‘Please concentrate, Mantric. Why did Asvin ask about the safat?’

  ‘How should I know? I assumed the question was born out of academic interest. Maybe he’s had visions, or wants to have them. Little chance of him catching a safat, though, since no one’s even sure they exist. In fact, if you remember, Kristo Nalegamo bought a stuffed bird that a pirate sold him that he thought was a safat, but it turned out to be a pelican.’

  ‘Mantric. Please. Stop rambling. Did Asvin tell you what he planned to do next, or how he might be found?’

  ‘No. You don’t think he was planning to actually catch a safat and eat its eggs, do you? I don’t see how he’d manage, but you never know with Asvin.’ Mantric looked a little guilty. ‘I didn’t think of that. I should have warned him.’

  ‘Warned him of what?’

  ‘Well, eating safat’s eggs and seeing the visions as a result can only end in madness. Permanent madness. Or at least the legends say so. Hmm. I should have mentioned that. ’

  ‘Is he trying to save the world too?’

  ‘No. He’s supposed to end it.’

  ‘Then why is he asking you to save it, if he wants it ended?’

  ‘How would I know? The ways of heroes are a mystery to me. Besides, he’d just asked me to go and find the gods. I was a little overwhelmed.’

  The Civilian laughed, and buried her head in her hands. ‘We’re all mad. Where will you find the gods?’ she asked.

  ‘Asvin said I would find them at the edge of the Vertical Sea,’ said Mantric. ‘Where he came by this information he didn’t say. It’s an interesting theory – you know, it’s possible that the magic level, as we crudely call it, is merely a function of distance from the gods, if the gods are what generates the magic in the –‘

  ‘Stop,’ said the Civilian. ‘Something is clearly wrong with you. I understand – we’ve all been through a difficult time. What you need is rest.’

  ‘What I need is money,’ said Mantric. ‘Lots of it. And ships. I need the navy.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t have ships to spare,’ said Temat icily. ‘You might not have noticed it, but there is a war going on, and every ship is needed if the south is to be protected; the pirate armadas are now openly entering Kol’s territorial waters, and there is always the risk of a Xi’en invasion. More importantly, Kol is being rebuilt. You are needed here, Mantric. If you have conceived s
ome sort of wild plan of disappearing again, abandon it, or I will have you thrown into the dungeons.’

  ‘But what about Asvin and this news? Don’t you think we should take it seriously?’

  ‘If Asvin is indeed undead, he no longer controls his own mind. Don’t you remember how the ravians sent undead puppets to the city? This is some ravian trick.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Mantric, unperturbed. ‘He was wearing several powerful magical totems. No ravian could have controlled him. I wish you’d been there. He was very persuasive. Said a lot of inspiring things that I’ve forgotten.’

  ‘You really intend to go?’ asked Amloki, his eyes shining.

  ‘Of course,’ said Mantric. ‘Asvin did say it would be the greatest quest ever undertaken. Imagine – sailing to the edge of the world, and meeting the gods, and saving the world. It will be a research trip like no other.’

  ‘I’m going with you,’ said Amloki.

  ‘Of course you are,’ said Mantric. ‘You’re coming, and so is Arathognan. We will need a hero.’

  ‘I remember a time when I used to rule this city, and my word was law,’ sighed the Civilian. ‘Neither of you is going anywhere. Is that clear?’

  Mantric and the ex-Dagger looked like spanked schoolboys.

  ‘I’m of no use to you in Kol any more,’ said Amloki. ‘If you need Mantric to stay, let me go instead. I wouldn’t need the navy.’

  ‘How would you get to the edge of the world?’ asked Mantric.

  ‘I have my methods,’ said Amloki, seizing the opportunity to look suave.

  ‘Ah, but what gift would you give the gods even if you found them?’

  The ex-Dagger considered several very good replies, but, seeing Temat’s thunderous face, decided wisely to restrict himself to an elegant shrug.

  ‘In all seriousness, Temat,’ said Mantric, ‘I must go. I have no doubt at all that Asvin meant what he said; it could not have happened at a worse time, and I know it is hard to believe, and that an enterprise of this nature requires months, even years, of planning. But if the world does, indeed, need to be saved, and you are too busy running the city to save it yourself, who would you rather send to do it?’

  ‘Us, that’s who. After all,’ said the ex-Dagger, ‘saving the world is not something that should be left to children.’

  In the long silence that followed, there was a lot Lady Temat could have said, but something broke inside her, and when she looked up at her only friends again, her face was calm and a smile twisted lazily across her thin lips.

  ‘Go if you must. Both of you. Kol and I will be fine,’ said the Civilian, her eyes suddenly bright. ‘Two boys off to have an adventure. I wish I could come too.’

  ‘We’ll pick up Thog, and leave right away,’ said Amloki.

  Temat shook her head. ‘The city needs him more than you do.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Mantric, wisely deciding not to push his luck. ‘It’s not as if we can rush off immediately, of course – I will need several things brought here from Bolvudis. Keep Thog, and keep your navy.’

  ‘But we’re still going to need a lot of money,’ said Amloki, grinning widely. If they were truly travelling southwards by sea, to places where no one knew him, it was time to retrieve something he’d tucked away in an old drawer in his room. Something that the south needed to meet if it wanted to think, later on, that it had lived a full life.

  A silver dagger.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Most people believe that gods exist. Many do not; this does not trouble the gods, who know that if gods, in turn, were to not believe that people exist, people would actually cease to exist. Mortal belief does make gods stronger; it inflates their egos, which is always good for the metabolism. Some gods, in fact, chose long ago to sustain themselves on belief, to survive on the prayers of their followers. These gods are, alas, now dead. The creations of the gods are made in their image, give or take a few heads; like their gods, they are fickle.

  But even those people who believe most fervently in the gods, not caring that their faith means nothing in particular to the omnipotent beings that rule their lives, acknowledge that their gods are a little… eccentric. The gods know this, and it does not trouble them. The real problem, they would say, if they cared enough to explain, is that their tiny creations are small-minded. It is not their fault; creatures so tiny cannot be expected to see the big picture. They are not supposed to perceive that the gods’ allegedly whimsical behaviour is in fact all part of the mostly benevolent divine plan, which is rumoured to be about to exist as soon as the gods get around to it. Gods cannot be expected to look into the details all the time. This is why they have a large supporting cast; familiars, naguals, angels, apsaras and the like, who get the dirty work done, while the gods make love, war, games, babies, interesting works of art and puns that would have been terrible if made by beings less powerful.

  The gods would, of course, be the first to acknowledge that the system is not perfect. Whenever work of a certain scale is executed quickly – as most divine work is, because most gods are not renowned for their patience – there is scope for error. The strange and wonderful bird known as the safat is one such error.

  Gods are beings of quicksilver, of dreams and half-thoughts and portents; their servants, usually talented local artisans, are the ones who actually push the elements around, and millennia of working for gods have not yet succeeded in eradicating their regrettable tendencies towards literalness. When Zivran the Creator had asked Sambo, his nagual, to create birds, a set of beings with wings, that would live in the sky, Sambo had, after much research on flight dynamics, aerial vectors and hollow bones (all of which he’d had to invent first in order to study better) produced the safat, a triumph of semi-divine engineering, a born master of the air. Unfortunately, Zivran had said nothing about this bird ever needing to touch the ground, so the safat had no legs and was doomed to fly all through its life; a similar mistake had left sharks incapable of sleep and permanently bad-tempered. Its inability to perch and nest or, indeed, ever stop flying had made the safat’s family life somewhat difficult, as it had to make close friends and subsequently lay its eggs in mid-air.

  That whole business of egg-laying and incubation was also something Zivran had never really gotten his head around. The phoenix, another example of faulty, over-literal avian engineering, was unable to actually lay eggs; its only means of warming its eggs enough to hatch them was by flying into fires; an inspiring image for poets and magicians, but not an experience hugely enjoyed by the phoenix.

  The safat, however, had overcome the deficiencies in its design and developed an ingenious method of ensuring the survival of the next generation. Safat chicks could only live if they managed to escape their shells and learn to fly before the shells hit the ground. This meant mother safats had to lay their eggs at very high altitudes in regions where the air was extremely hot, so the eggs would fall longer and crack faster, and the newly hatched infants could spread their wings and use warm air currents to glide upwards to safety. While safats had successfully hatched their young in deserts and above volcanoes, the discerning safat’s maternity destination of choice was in the far north, north of Avranti, near the stork nesting grounds in north Vrihataranya, in the uninhabited mud-plain that housed one of the worlds most spectacular natural wonders - the Ciliole Geysers.

  In a large basin of streaked yellow-brown mud, surrounded by ugly, bubbling mud puddles, lay about two hundred mounds of sinter, cones and craters scattered at random, periodically spitting out steam and water, at least three geyser-fountains spewing forth at any point of time. Some of the fountains were mere inches high; others rose higher than the trees to the south, and the earth trembled as their jets emerged.

  In the centre of the basin was the mightiest geyser of all – a massive cone-geyser known as the Young Incorrigible, that sent angry fountains of steam up to dizzying heights at regular intervals about an hour apart.

  Sitting on the spout of the
Young Incorrigible, apparently unmoved by the great danger he was placing himself in, was Spikes.

  Asvin stood a little distance away from Spikes, trying unsuccessfully to avoid getting wet; even though he hadn’t got caught by a geyser yet, there was a fine spray in the air, and all over Asvin. He was trying to convince himself that it was this exposure to moisture that was responsible for his terrible mood, but the true reasons for Asvin’s dissatisfaction was Spikes, who had told him several days ago that he was no longer allowed to talk to Maya. Asvin must have been under the gods’ eyes in Kol, and it would just not do to throw Maya in that sort of danger, Spikes had said. Asvin had had to accept that most of his conversations would be with Spikes henceforth; Spikes seemed to be looking forward to this.

  Outside the Ciliole Geyser basin were the beautiful woodlands of north-east Vrihataranya. Kirin and Maya were lurking efficiently under a tree near the basin. Kirin had been afraid they ran the risk of discovery by being so near Asvin and Spikes, but Maya had told him not to worry; the unwaba was with them, and besides, since they were only two supposed attendants, they could easily be classified by any god watching as acceptable retinue. She had told him a story she’d learned from Mantric in Kol – the true story behind the well-known legend of Eukantseus, the Psomedean musician who’d gone to the gods to reclaim the spirit of his dead wife. Down the ages, people had been told that Eukantseus had been told to walk away from the heavens without looking back, and that he’d been unable to resist checking whether his wife was following him or not – he’d looked back, and lost her. What had really happened, said Maya, was that his wife had joined him back on earth, but he’d looked back to see whether his servants, who’d followed him to the heavens and had been carrying his comfortable sandals, had survived the trip. The gods, irritated, had taken his wife away, but had given Eukantseus what they had thought was a reward for effort – for the rest of Eukantseus’ sadly brief life, drunk women had found him irresistible.