Severance (The infernal Guard Book 3)

by SGD Singh

  Asha nodded, and Aquila lowered Igga to the ground.

  For the record, you can rub your repugnant skin all over my—

  Having fun?

  A little, yeah.

  Aquila felt the scratch on his cheek heal even as Asha turned her attention back to the Vasana and bowed low as the presented the gift.

  “We mean no disrespect, Igga… Ma'am,” Asha said. “We were told we had to catch you in order to earn an answer.”

  The Vasana rolled the music device over in the dirt, then regarded them with a look that could melt paint. “Get on with it, then. I have no time to dawdle about with desperate Infernal Guard who think they have nothing better to do than attempt to cheat death itself.”

  Oh, God.

  Don't panic. It's gonna be fine. Aquila moved to Asha's side. “Igga, we need to know—”

  “What you need to ask yourself,” Igga interrupted, while licking a paw, “is this. After choosing to devote his life to a career that often ends in painful, gory death, can your brother survive the month of December?”

  “Please,” Asha whispered. “Please help us.” But the Vasana was silent.

  Maybe since you caught her, she'll only answer you.

  “Can we save him?” Aquila demanded.

  The Vasana stopped grooming and fixed him with an unblinking stare.

  “No,” it said finally, and Aquila felt Asha sag against him.

  The Vasana made a strange hiss when it saw her reaction. “In case you haven't been paying attention to the way the universe works, everyone dies. Everyone. I fail to see why this particular human should be more important than the others.”

  It resumed its grooming.

  “So that's it?” Aquila shouted, then lowered his voice with effort. “That's your answer? Nidhan's going to die in December, and there's nothing anyone can do about it?”

  “Nidhan's is not the only life at stake. Focus on the bigger picture, Jodha.” Igga began to push the gift toward the boulder-cave, and Aquila's stomach tightened.

  It has a point.

  Asha's attention snapped to him, and her temper flared. Do I look like a give a rat's ass about the big picture? We'll worry about the rest of the world after we save my brother.

  Aquila raised his hands. Fine.

  “There is someone else.” The Vasana stopped, and looked again at Aquila as its tail swished once. “This person will either save millions. Or save their family. Not both. You put your focus there, and there's a chance to change the future. Not a large one, but a chance.”

  Are you getting anything from that? Is she talking about Silas?

  No. Asha shook her head once, closing her eyes, and Aquila felt her frustration. It's not Silas.

  Then what the…

  Aquila had the strong urge to grab the creature by the neck and make it stop speaking in riddles, but knew he'd never catch it a second time.

  The ferret-cat looked bored. “Oh, don't look so pathetic. I've been wrong before.” It tilted its head. “Once.”

  Asha started to say something, but the Vasana turned toward the boulder without a backward glance and added, “You're acquainted with the Seer from the Triputi Prophecy. Why don't you go away and bother him, and leave me alone?”

  The forest seemed unnaturally silent, and Aquila considered that their excursion had been a complete waste of time.

  Chapter 12

  Asha needed to think, so they walked back to the temple-resort instead of shifting and flying.

  “Okay,” she said, twirling one of her katar. “We call Silas as soon as we get back to the temple. And if he gives us some shit about destiny and the inevitable cycle of birth and death, then we get Nidhan here, and we keep him here until the end of December while we deal with the threat.”

  “We tell him he's supposed to die?” Aquila said.

  Asha stopped and gripped his arm. “No,” she said. “Absolutely not.”

  “But if we tell him, maybe he'll voluntarily stay here and out of trouble until after December, or—”

  “No,” Asha's temper flared at his look of bewilderment, and Aquila put a hand on her shoulder, sensing it.

  “Listen to me. Whatever we do, we cannot under any circumstances tell Nidhan he's supposed to die. He can't know that we want him to hide. Okay? Promise me.”

  “But…” Aquila was clearly not convinced that a Tvastar would happily obey a simple, unexplained order from a Jodha.

  Asha sighed. She returned her weapon to her belt and started to walk again.

  “What do you know about Sikh history?” she asked.

  “Not much,” Aquila said. “A lot of persecution, a lot of fighting. One of their prophets is the only known person to have sacrificed himself for another religion.”

  Asha nodded. “Have you heard the story of Bhai Bota and Bhai Gharja?”

  Aquila brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Tell me.”

  Asha thought back to the stories she'd learned from BapuJi. “The local Quazi died in 1738, and Zakriya Khan, major creep-azoid, was named governor of Lahore. In his noble effort to get rid of all non-Muslims—which was one of the Mughal Empire's favorite pastimes—he appointed his favorite masochistic minion, Yusufi, as head of the area's army patrol, and with the full approval of the Emperor himself, the military began killing every Sikh they saw, just for existing.”

  “Shit.”

  “It was bad. Really, really bad.” Asha looked at the sky, marveling at how blue it was here, so close to the sun. “So when Yusufi and his entourage ran into a group of Sikh warriors one day, he pretty quickly found himself tied head down to a galloping horse, and dead.”

  “Serves him right,” Aquila said. “In fact, I would call that death quite humane.”

  “Yeah, well, Zakriya Khan didn't agree with you. He put a bounty on every Sikh's head, and all hell broke loose. Every greedy son of a bitch in the region came out of the woodwork. BapuJi told me that they brought carts piled with the heads of Sikhs to the governor for a reward.”

  “Jesus.”

  “After a year of fighting, watching their friends and families get slaughtered, the handful of Sikhs who were left fled into the jungle and lived in secret. The Mughals began to think they were all dead, wiped off the earth. An occasional disgusting bastard would try to disguise a body as a Sikh to get a reward, but that worked less and less, especially since the governor killed you if you got caught.”

  “The old fashioned Reaver type.”

  “Yeah, right?” Asha made a disgusted noise. There would always be Reavers willing to profit from the suffering of others. To Asha and most Guard, Reavers were worse than Familiars. They lacked the devotional awe of the Underworld, and based their actions only on a double helping of greed and a triple helping of sadistic, criminal intent.

  “Where was I?” Asha ran her fingers along the yellow-flowered shrubs that decorated the forest floor. But when she closed her eyes, she still saw the torn model of Nidhan, and Asha winced.

  “One survivor was Bhai Bota. He was young, still unmarried, and very devoted. One day he was walking back from the river, getting ready for his daily prayer, and two travelers saw him. One of them says something like, ‘Hey, is that a Sikh? I thought the Mughals wiped them out.’ The other guy goes, ‘He's a fake, you donkey. If he was a real Sikh, he would have fought and died like the others. Real Sikhs aren't afraid of death. Lions don't hide like jackals.’

  “I see where you're going with this,” Aquila said.

  “This is a true story, Aquila. Every Sikh kid in the world, including Nidhan, grew up with it. So shut up and pay attention.” Nidhan was Bhai Bota in her mind, two brothers separated by hundreds of years.

  “Okay.” He kissed her cheek. “I'm listening.”

  “Bhai Bota heard them, and he realized that there was nothing for him to do except stand up against the governor, even if it meant sacrificing his own head. He and his friend, Bhai Gharja, came up with a plan to show everyone that Sikhs hadn't been defeated.
”

  “What was their plan?”

  “There was a bridge nearby that was a major trade route. Using only their lathis, Bhai Bota and Bhai Gharja blocked the bridge and started collecting what they called a Sikh tax, telling people that they were entering Sikh land and had to pay the royal tax.

  “They were counting on the fact that the governor would hear about it and overreact. They wanted to prove the Mughal Empire's cowardice and inspire others to rise up.”

  Aquila smiled. “I like these guys.”

  “Yeah, well, it turned out the people were so beaten into submission that it didn't work. Everyone just payed the tax, and the government didn't seem to know anything about it.”

  “So what did they do?”

  “They decided if no one was going to report them, they would report themselves. They wrote a rude letter to the governor and informed him that two Sikhs had taken over an area he thought he ruled, armed with only sticks, and even called him bhabi.”

  Aquila grinned. “I really like these guys.”

  “The governor overreacted like they knew he would and sent a hundred soldiers, fully armed, on horseback. When the soldiers saw only two men with sticks, they laughed and started to turn back. They were going to report that the whole threat was a joke, right? But Bhai Bota and Bhai Gharja stood in the road in front of the army and yelled at the guy in command ‘Oi! Where do you think you're going, little mommy's boys? You haven't paid the tax.’

  “The commander sort of looked down his nose at the two Sikhs in ragged clothing, armed with only lathis and kirpans, ‘Don't fight to die today, boys,’ he told them. ‘Come with us, and the governor will spare your lives.’ Bhai Bota shouted back, ‘When did we ever want to save our lives? We stand here prepared to die. In fact, we are anxious for death today. So why don't you get off your horses and fight us? You can use whatever weapons you want, don't worry! We promise to use only our lathis. We've been looking forward to seeing how much courage you'll show on the battlefield.’

  “The commander, who apparently had some tiny shred of justice, tried to convince the Sikhs to come with him peacefully, but Bhai Bota and Bhai Gharja refused, telling them, ‘Stop talking. The only relationship we have left is between our weapons and yours.’ When the commander hesitated still, Bhai Bota said, ‘Fine! If you won't attack, we will.’ And they sprang like lions at the soldiers, swinging their weapons. And the army retreated! Two guys with sticks, and they backed off.”

  Aquila laughed, clapping his hands.

  “The cowards couldn't believe their eyes, I guess,” Asha said. “Bhai Bota and Bhai Gharja kept throwing rocks, taunting the soldiers, and the Mughals finally responded with arrows and bullets. Bhai Bota and Bhai Gharja shouted that the injuries only made them stronger. They yanked arrows out of their flesh and threw them aside with disgust, saying things like, ‘Your arrows are useless. They can't even pierce our skin.’ The soldiers attacked with swords but Bhai Bota and Bhai Gharja stood back-to-back and deflected the blades with their sticks, smacking the horses as they passed and startling them into retreat.

  “The soldiers tried attacking on foot, but learned pretty quickly that Bhai Bota and Bhai Gharja could kill a man using only a lathi, so they retreated and used their rifles. They fired again and again, aiming at the warrior's hands and feet, and the two Sikhs eventually had to drop their weapons from their ruined right arms. They fell to the ground.

  “The commander told them if they begged for forgiveness and agreed to embrace Islam, he'd spare their lives.”

  Aquila snorted. “They were dreaming these guys would go for it.”

  “Absolutely.” Asha imagined the two Nihangs, and pictured Nidhan, broken and bleeding, and her heart twisted. “Instead, Bhai Bota and Bhai Gharja picked up their weapons with their left hands, and rose, standing back-to-back again, this time to support their injured legs.

  A bunch of soldiers moved in to attack. But Bhai Bota and Bhai Gharja burst into motion and smashed their heads in with their lathis.”

  “You sure this is a kids' story?”

  “Sure, I'm sure.” Asha hesitated, remembering. “Toddlers know this shit, Aquila. There are books with illustrations and everything.”

  Aquila raised his palms. “Hey, no judgement. I fought my first Revenant at seven—supervised, of course.” He pointed out the way around a towering cypress tree. “Pray continue your tale.”

  “The soldiers retreated again, and shot at Bhai Bota and Bhai Gharja from a safe distance. But Bhai Bota and Bhai Gharja—bleeding, nearly every bone in their bodies broken—dragged themselves up onto their knees and elbows and began advancing on them again! They crawled with unblinking glares, and the soldiers were terrified.

  “The commander was nearly hysterical, but he led the final attack. The entire remaining army fell on the Sikhs with their blades. And finally, Bhai Bota and Bhai Gharja were killed.”

  Aquila's expression clouded. “That's it? I mean, I figured they were gonna die, but… Jesus, Asha, what the hell kind of children's story is this?”

  “I was allowing for a dramatic pause,” Asha said.

  “And now? Is this another dramatic pause?” Aquila stumbled as she elbowed him in the ribs.

  She indicated the path ahead with a bow. “News of Bhai Bota and Bhai Gharja's bravery spread across Punjab like righteous wildfire. People who used to say the Sikhs were all dead said, ‘The Sikhs couldn't be finished. Who could destroy fearless warriors like that?’ Their incident had shocked the soldiers as well, and as word spread, Bhai Bota and Bhai Gharja's stand on the toll bridge struck a crack of fear into the Mughal ruler's cold hearts.

  “But most important, it reminded the Sikhs that Punjab was their land. They began to regroup and prepare to take their future back from the evil empire, one fearless stand at a time.”

  She indicated the end of the story with a flourish.

  “Okay.” Aquila nodded. “What you're saying is that Nidhan, being someone who grew up with this kind of bedtime story, doesn't see death as something to avoid. Point taken.”

  “Good.”

  “What's your solution?” Aquila kicked a rock. “Lie to him? I don't think he'll take kindly to that.”

  “I don't give a shit what he does or doesn't take kindly,” Asha said. “He can get over it in his old age.”

  Aquila was silent for a long moment, then sighed. “Okay, Commander. Whatever you say.”

  Asha wrapped an arm around Aquila's waist, and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

  “Don't thank me ye—” He was interrupted by the ringing of a telephone.

  Asha stopped, knowing who it was without looking at the phone. “Silas.”

  Aquila grabbed her phone and hit speaker. “Silas.”

  “Drop everything and go to Kolkata. Immediately.” Silas' voice echoed into the forest, full of what would sound like panic, if Asha didn't know him better. “Call me when you land.”

  “We're on it,” Asha replied. “Leaving in ten.”

  “Make it five,” Silas said, and hung up.

  Asha shifted, soaring above the trees toward the cliffs, rising until she saw the plane in the fading light, Aquila close behind her, even as his voice rang in her head.

  He couldn't have called someone who, say, for instance, wasn't on their honeymoon?

  Chapter 13

  Just as the plane's wheels touched the tarmac at Kolkata's Nateji Subash Chandra Bose International Airport, Aquila felt Asha See why they were there. His own mind recoiled at her horror, and he rushed to kneel in front of her as she sat, shaking her head back and forth.

  “Asha!” Aquila gripped her shoulders. “Breathe. Look at me. Whatever it is, we'll deal with it, okay?”

  Her eyes snapped to his, and they glowed like blue embers. “It's Ranya. She's here. Silas wants us to save her.”

  Aquila recoiled. “What?” Whatever Aquila may have imagined, this was not it.

  Asha snatched her phone out of her pocket and calle
d Silas with a shaking hand. “We're here. Tell me where she is.”

  Aquila heard Silas' voice as if through a fog. “Listen to me, Asha. Everything depends on her survival. Everything. You must save her. When you get closer, you'll See her location. For now, fly to the North Kolkata slum. Follow the river. And hurry. You don't have much time.”

  Asha threw her seatbelt aside and stood impatiently at the door as the plane taxied. “There wasn't anyone closer? Silas, if everything depends on her, and we're too late…”

  Aquila heard Silas say, “And do not touch her. She has to be moved without being touched. Lexi is arranging for a car to meet you where Ranya's being held. Take the jet to Uttarakhand, to our secure temple in Rishikesh. We'll meet you there in ten hours.”

  Silas hung up, and Asha stared at her phone.

  “Huh,” she said. “He sure got the hang of the whole ‘Chosen One bossing everyone around’ thing fast enough.”

  As soon as the plane stopped moving, Asha threw open the door and shifted, flying low, and Aquila followed close behind her, his hawk senses reconfiguring the directions in his new location within seconds.

  They picked up speed and height as they flew farther from the airport, the city lights glaring against the cloud of pollution that clung to the ground.

  We're rescuing Ranya? How the hell did she get captured in the first place? And by who?

  Asha veered right, swooping between tall buildings, and Aquila followed suit. She isn't exactly stable. She's paying for her insane attempt to obliterate the Asura.

  Aquila followed Asha past cracked, mildew-covered walls as the neighborhood went from bad to worse.

  The Asura captured and brought her back to Satya?

  Not them. I've seen Ranya kill twenty Asura with a thought.

  Then how?

  She forgot the Asura have powerful friends. Or maybe she never knew. How would she?

  But… Aquila searched his knowledge of Underworlders. He remembered only one, very old volume he had read once.

  Their gods. They called on their gods?

  Maybe. According to history, the Asura's Witches have summoned some pretty nasty big guns in the past. And Ranya couldn't have recruited all the Witches. If the Asura still have some…