by Samit Basu
It would be a rather busy day. For an ordinary mortal. But not for Asvin. Avi. Not for Avi.
For he was a Hero. A Chosen One. A Person to whom Things Happened.
Many Things.
‘Lights,’ said a voice in the sky.
Another sun rose swiftly, filling the sky with rich shades of orange. There was a furious buzzing, and seven imps flew down from the sky, their eyes rolling in a blur as they flew around Asvin, capturing every movement as he walked on, slightly puzzled. The landscape seemed familiar, but that could not be; he had never come to Purani before in all his journeys across the world. But those hills to his right, like teeth biting into the sky, those ruined castles…he had seen them before. He was sure of it.
‘Walk faster,’ said the voice.
‘Why?’ asked Asvin.
‘Why? You ask Us why? Because you have to rescue Bimola the Beautiful!’
‘Why?’ asked Asvin.
‘Because We say so!’
‘Who are you?’ Asvin waved his sword at the imps, who flew buzzing angrily.
‘Impudence!’ roared the voice. Sixteen skeletal warriors stepped out from behind trees and charged at Asvin. He sliced them all up in under a minute. He looked up at the sky and shook his sword, and for a moment it felt as if the clouds above were watching him, and in their strange patterns he saw faces. It was the sort of thing that inspired fear, he thought, but he felt nothing at all.
One of the clouds darkened, and a bolt of lightning hit Asvin squarely in the chest. He staggered and fell, his limbs scattering in every direction.
‘ Why, indeed,’ sniggered the voice. ‘That should teach him obedience. Here, you! Put him back together, I quite like him. But Zivran, can I play someone else now?’
Avi the Strong stood up and drew his sword. He would have to hurry, he thought. If the gods were smiling on him, he would rescue the princess Bilasi today. He broke into a run, drawing closer and closer to Castle Purani. Castle Sapnani. And soon he came to a bridge that ran over a slow and sluggish little river. On this bridge stood a man, slimmer and shorter than Avi, and in his hands was a long, curved scimitar. Imps buzzed around his head, watching him ceaselessly.
‘None shall pass,’ said the stranger. ‘Who dares walk the wilds of Sapnani?’
‘I. Avi,’ said Avi.
‘Die then, Foul Knave, at the hands of Barat!’ cried Barat, who clearly had a marked and completely unjustified aversion to certain names, and charged at Avi, stabbing and slashing. But Avi was no mean swordsman; he parried and thrust, wounding the stranger several times, but strangely drawing very little blood.
As Asvin slashed and spun and executed a particularly neat thrust through his opponent’s thigh, he thought, for a moment, that he could hear cheers and whistles far away. Puzzled, he paused, and Barat seized this opportunity to drive his scimitar through Asvin’s heart. As he did so, he moved in close, his head next to Asvin’s.
‘My name is Omar,’ he whispered.
Avi pushed him away, and hacked at his arm, but Buyashka swerved and struck again, moving in like a serpent.
‘My name is Omar,’ he whispered. ‘What is yours?’
Avi leaped backwards, ducked, stepped in close and cut off one of Barat’s arms with a mighty stroke. As the swordsman staggered back, Avi charged, roaring, and buried his sword in his opponent’s throat.
‘Asvin,’ he whispered. And he twisted his sword, tearing Barat’s head off, and before the head fell to the ground, Avi could have sworn it winked.
* * *
Kirin muttered the incantation and the sand began to ripple. He stood and watched the little dunes flow out in circles, humming a little tune, juggling three shells with his mind.
‘Where are you going?’ said a voice behind him. A familiar voice. His favourite voice in the whole world. A slow grin spread lazily over his face as he turned around.
‘I was going to Kol,’ he said. ‘To see if anyone needed saving.’
‘That’s a pity,’ said Maya. ‘And here I had come back for a long spell of independent thinking, ideally with a slice of lemon.’
They stared at each other in slightly embarrassed silence for a while.
‘I’ve just changed my mind,’ declared Kirin. ‘I’m going to wander around in my golem-drawn rickshaw, to see what the new world is like and have lots of deeply meaningless and completely selfish adventures instead of sitting on the beach and getting fat. Now, in case you’re interested, in the spirit of scientific discovery, in finding interesting ways to save Kol and help all humanity that don’t involve just rushing into danger and getting yourself killed, I have room to spare.’
‘I could come for a bit,’ offered Maya. ‘At least until something more interesting comes along.’
* * *
The GameWorld Trilogy
The Simoqin Prophecies
The Manticore’s Secret
The Unwaba Revelations
Dedication
For my mother Samita and my sister Sayoni, first readers, lifelines, best friends.
For my father Subrata, who spent his life working boring jobs so I would never have to.
For my friends, for love, sustenance, wisdom and constant confirmation that the world is a strange place full of people more wonderful than any I could ever make up. This means you, Sanghamitra, Sunay, Stoob, Broto, Rukmini, Nidhi, Arjun, Meenakshi, Sarnath, Rehan, Josh, Arunava, Vijay, Rupanwita, Momo, Bini. And the rest of you useless loafers as well.
