King of Lanka

by David Hair

  There was nothing left to say. The plan was laid—simple and flexible—blast a hole, get in, find Ras. They hugged quickly, nodded, and then turned to the wall. ‘There, where it’s already cracked after last night,’ Vikram pointed. He raised his first arrow, sighted it, and waited while Amanjit did the same. They both took a deep breath, as if about to plunge into deep waters. ‘Good luck, brother!’

  ‘Yeah, see you inside,’ Amanjit replied.

  Music welled up and flowed over the walls, filling the air about them.

  Wedding music.

  They aimed, muttered their spells, and fired.

  Love and Fidelity

  Lanka, 31 July 2011

  ‘Ravan Aeshwaran, I give you my love and fidelity forever.’

  Ravindra bowed over the hand of the woman before him and kissed it, accepting the reverence in her eyes as his due. Her upturned face gazed at him reverently.

  ‘Unataka, I accept your renewal of fealty on this, my day of marriage.’ He stepped forward and kissed the sunken skull-like face of the Naga-Queen. Her leathery green skin ran down her almost naked torso to blend with the giant serpent trunk that began at her hips. She bobbed in a snakey approximation of a curtsey, and her snake-body wove rapid patterns on the tiles as she backed away.

  Muttering sounds ran through the court—Surpanakha had not come to renew fealty. It was noted. And it troubled him also. Where was she?

  He sighed. Unataka’s was the last of the pledges of loyalty that were to be renewed. The time had come. He glanced at Meghanada Indrajit, who was obviously relieved that the tedium was ended. The giant warrior made a drinking gesture. Ravindra nodded, forcing a smile. He was weary from spending the night trying to batter down Deepika’s defences. She felt close, damn close, but he could not break her. It made him worry that something was going badly wrong. He needed to begin Rasita’s final transformation as soon as possible. ‘Ensure the walls are secure, Meghanada, then join us.’ He looked to where Lavanasura was lisping into the ear of eagle-faced Atikaya. ‘Lord Lavanasura, you will bring the bride to the mandir.’ He clapped his hands. ‘It is time!’

  Suddenly, there was a blast and the floor quivered. It came from the thick north wall, a hundred yards from where they stood. The distant shudder of power released: earth-shattering Parvata-astras that hammered against the northern walls.

  His Rakshasas howled in fury. Vikram had not honoured the truce that was agreed to be in place until the midday duel. They snatched out weapons, began to move willy-nilly. He made his voice cut above the din. ‘My Lords! Hold! HOLD!’ He waited until their initial alarm subsided, and projected confidence. ‘My Lords, we have strengthened the walls. Real-world artillery could not breach those wards in a day of constant firing. Our warriors are well armed. Meghanada will inspect the assault point. The rest of us have a celebration to partake of. Let our enemies pound us all they like—we will not even hear them in the wedding chamber.’

  The Rakshasas murmured appreciatively at their king’s composed demeanour, and bowed respectfully. He raised a calming hand, reflecting on how close it all was now. So long, so much suffering, and now the last keys were falling into place. He thought hungrily of his bride. Oh sweet Manda, how will you feel, when you realize that you are mine once more … for all eternity?

  He turned his attention to the here and now. ‘Meghanada, go to the walls. Take others that would rather fight than feast. The enemy may have realized what is happening, and plan an interruption.’

  ‘But the duel is not until midday,’ Indrajit frowned. ‘A truce stands until after that!’

  ‘Our enemies are not so noble as we might imagine,’ Ravindra told him. ‘Secure the walls!’

  The huge warrior bowed, his armour clanking. ‘My King!’ he roared, and shouldered his way through the crowd, picking warriors to accompany him as he went. The uproar diminished as the Rakshasas scattered seeking weapons. Ravindra watched them move, steeling himself for the conflict to come.

  Meghanada, you were always the most competent of these monsters, apart from Maricha and Surpanakha.

  Surpanakha … why did you not come, my sister?

  And where is Deepika Choudhary? How is she resisting me? Has someone trained her?

  He gnawed his lower lip. He felt like a climber precariously placed above a precipice watching his footholds crumble in slow motion.

  Pashupatastra

  Lanka, 31 July 2011

  Glowing astras hammered against the walls of the city and shattered. Every impact was like a bullet hitting glass, sending glowing cracks radiating out. But instantly those glowing cracks would fade, cut short and disarmed by the protections woven into the structure, leaving only a small pit in the stonework.

  Arrows from Hemant’s men swept the walls, but the Asuras were keeping their heads down, apart from occasional potshots that whistled harmlessly about the rubble. Every so often Amanjit broke off the pounding of the walls and launched an Aindra-astra to rain arrows from the sky, but they seemed to dissolve before impact, striking some invisible shield that flared at each impact in a glorious technicolor flash. It was an incredible light show, but they were getting nowhere. Heavier and heavier blows hammered into the structure as Vikram and Amanjit called upon greater reserves. Brighter explosions, more dust and shaking ground, pounding and pounding … to no avail.

  ‘It’s not working, Vik!’ Amanjit panted. ‘We’re not even making a dent!’ He glanced up. ‘Do we attack?’

  Vikram cursed. ‘We’re not invulnerable, man. There are hundreds of Asuras up there and only one arrow needs to get through.’

  Amanjit scrunched up his eyes, peering over the wall. ‘Under?’

  Vikram shook his head. ‘No. This Citadel, unlike the lower town, has got centuries of accrued enchantments protecting it. I think we’ve only got one option.’ He nocked an arrow, one he had kept carefully aside after singing a mantra over it earlier. ‘Pashupatastra.’

  Amanjit blinked. ‘The Shiva-astra? That’ll half-kill you, man. After the Vaishnava-astra in Sri Lanka you were laid out for a week! Ravindra will slaughter us.’ He held out a hand. ‘Let me try it!’

  Vikram shook his head. ‘You only know half the astras, man. If you miscast this one, you’ll kill yourself.’

  ‘If you use it then I’ll have to take on Ravindra alone!’

  Vikram gritted his teeth. ‘I’ll manage! We have no choice!’

  Amanjit groaned. ‘This is not good.’

  Vikram stood and took aim. ‘No choice, bhai,’ he repeated, closing his eyes. Amanjit scanned the walls, as an Asura half-stood, aligning a bow on Vikram. He fired an astra that blasted the Asura in the chest. Vikram didn’t flinch, just chanted a mantra.

  Amanjit waved to Hemant. ‘Tell them to keep their heads down!’ He shouted above the rising gales about them. Dust rose and stung his eyes. The tribe chief waved once and sent out a complex pattern of peeps through a whistle. The firing along the line subsided.

  Amanjit dimly glimpsed a red figure at a window, held by another dark shape. He lifted his bow, in case these were winged Rakshasas about to assail them, but held fire. Beside him, Vikram’s mantra took on extra force. Amanjit felt his hair lift, as if pulled towards the darkly glowing arrow. Dust and smoke swirled in towards it, and the air crackled. Vikram remained focused, a statue etched in shadow, and then he shouted one name as both invocation and spell: ‘Shiva!’. He fired.

  It worked. The Pashupatastra arrow roared, sucking the air behind it. Winds whipped at the attackers from behind as it roared in the slipstream of the arrow. The head of the arrow transformed into a trident that glowed livid violet, and hammered through the Citadel wall.

  Amanjit pulled the suddenly swaying Vikram behind their tiny earthworks, as the Citadel wall before them disintegrated. The air pulsed and throbbed. Amanjit hunched over Vikram’s limp form. He saw dozens of Hemant’s men that had rashly stayed watching blown backwards through the air, hammering into walls and powdering like stone. Stone shrap
nel tore the air above their head. His ears throbbed, his eardrums pulsing and then all light was gone, as the shockwave washed all of the dust and debris right over them. The oxygen seemed sucked from the air about them, and he found himself gasping just to breathe. Vikram’s face looked stunned. ‘Hold on, man!’ he shouted at him. ‘Stay with me!’

  ‘Air,’ Vikram gasped. ‘We need air for Hemant’s men!’

  Amanjit nodded. He sucked a mouthful of air close to the ground, and fired straight up, blindly, shouting ‘Vayu!’ A Vayvaya-astra. The astra of the wind-god.

  He hit the dirt again, covered Vikram’s slumped body, and clung to the wall, as a gale ripped through the battlefield, scouring the ruined town. Men and Asuras who were not in holes were thrown hundreds of yards. The air was like sandpaper, ripping painful swathes in exposed skin.

  And then it was gone. For several seconds, utter silence prevailed.

  Then a woman screamed.

  Not just any woman.

  Rasita.

  Amanjit shouted her name, leaping to his feet with his heart in his mouth. Before him, the Citadel shuddered with all the destruction of Vikram’s Pashupatastra revealed by the winds of the Vayvaya-astra. There was a massive breach, and more than that, the astra of Shiva had slammed through the labyrinth of buildings as if a massive fist had punched through it. Towers lay in ruins, the roof-top gardens were simply gone, and the far wall was as shattered as the near one. There were no enemies in sight, nothing moved. The only sound was the echo of Rasita’s voice.

  Without waiting for Vikram or anyone else, Amanjit drew his sword and ran for the breach. ‘Ras!’

  Deepika slowly released her iron grip on Ras’ mouth. But she didn’t remove the dagger from her throat, its tip gouging at the skin of Rasita’s neck, leaving shallow bloody tracks. Ras’ body oozed cleanliness and delicate perfumes. ‘Well? What are you doing?’

  Do I actually have to kill you to stop this wedding?

  ‘Dee? Is it really you?’ Rasita’s voice was disbelieving. ‘But I saw you—’

  ‘You saw me fall down a hole. I climbed out again. I met the boys. We set out to rescue you from the Big Bad Demon-King. And now I find you about to marry him! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?’

  ‘How? Surpanakha …’

  Deepika threw a look over her shoulder. There was no time for this, not with the stunned guard outside, and the maid on the floor … But I have to try and talk her round … ‘She tried to kill your family in Mumbai, but instead I got her. But first I ransacked her mind, looking for clues. Then her ride home showed up, so I used some skills Vishwamitra had shown me, and took on her shape. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Shape-changing is easy, when you know how. So here I am. And now the boys have shown up too. But slutty Rasita can’t keep her hands off Ravindra,’ she added with a snarl.

  She saw Ras’ face twist miserably. ‘It’s not like that.’

  ‘Isn’t it? Gods, if I hadn’t interrupted you before, you’d have been lost already. He nearly unmasked me then! Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep a false shape together when a demon-king is kicking you in the guts? And on top of that, I’ve been holding off Ravindra’s attacks through the heartstone all night! I can’t keep it up. I think he knows who I am now!’

  ‘I’m sorry! But you don’t understand!’

  ‘No, you don’t understand, Rasita! He’s got you thinking you’re saving the universe! But you’re not—you’re damning us all!’

  Ras blanched. ‘What do you mean?’

  Deepika clutched the sides of Ras’ skull, her eyes burning into hers. ‘The true history! I know it all, now! The destruction of Sinathai. The seven fractured souls of Manda. The sons of Dasraiyat and their war on Lanka.’

  ‘Then you know how Dasraiyat wronged him, and—’

  ‘You idiot! Dasraiyat was the one who was wronged! Aeshwaran turned on him, mid-ritual! All he wanted was to destroy his rivals, and Dasraiyat especially! Once he was inside the ritual, he didn’t need his “friend” any more. Nor his poor, benighted Manda, who was virtually his slave! I’ve been in his study, and seen the notes for his Mandore ritual. You should see the things he did to those poor dead queens once he had them in the Ether and bound by those heartstones! Then you’d realize! My God, he’s barely human!’ she shuddered. ‘And I’ve been inside Surpanakha’s head: she was his real sister—she knew the truth. And she killed Sue Parker—on Ravindra’s orders! He’s a cold-hearted bastard!’

  Rasita shut her eyes, panting. ‘Nooooo,’ she moaned, shaking her head side to side.

  ‘Yes! He has lied to you at every step! He was the one that disrupted the attempt to save Sinathai in a jealous rage, not Dasraiyat! He wanted no rivals in sorcerous power! He wanted to enslave Manda and kill Dasraiyat. He abused her like the monster he is, but he needed her. That’s what this has been about, ever since: Aeshwaran trying to restore Manda as his puppet. And Dasraiyat—Aram Dhoop, Chand, Vikram and all the rest—opposing him at every step!’

  Rasita burst into convulsive sobs.

  Deepika found her fury dissolving in those tears. She dropped the knife and pulled the sobbing girl to her chest. ‘There, girl. It’s going to be all right, now that you understand. We’ll get you out of here. We’ll make it right.’ She let the girl cry for a few more seconds, then dabbed at her with a handkerchief. ‘Rasita, we can’t afford to wait. We’ve got to go.’

  ‘You kept telling Ravindra that he should kill me …’ Ras whimpered. ‘In that council-meeting …’

  Deepika spat. ‘That’s because I thought you were so far gone that killing you was the only option! I nearly slit your throat now without giving you a chance to speak! I’d lost hope of getting through to you!’

  Ras looked as if she wanted to crawl up in a ball and die.

  Deepika stood, wondering how to get her moving. On the floor, the Asura maid groaned. Deepika sighed, and picked up the dagger, took a couple of steps and bared the girl’s neck.

  ‘No!’ Ras gasped, suddenly animated. ‘No! She’s my friend!’

  Deepika stared. ‘She’s a Rakshasa. She’s no one’s friend!’

  Ras sat up straighter. ‘She’s my friend. Please don’t hurt her.’

  Deepika rolled her eyes. ‘For goodness’ sake. We’ll probably have to kill her later,’ Deepika grumbled as she stood up. She grabbed Ras’ arm, and pulled her to her feet. ‘Let’s fly out of here before the wedding party arrives!’

  She pulled her towards the window, when suddenly the curtains on the doorway parted behind them.

  Rasita exclaimed. ‘Lavanasura!’

  Deepika turned, seeing a reptilian thing with insect eyes in the opening, long robes flapping about him. Behind him, other shapes clamoured, and a bell began to ring.

  ‘Go, Ras!’ Deepika pushed her towards the window, calling on her powers.

  The Rakshasa’s fingers blurred, and he made a hurling gesture, creating a spear that flew at Deepika’s belly.

  ‘No!’ She gestured, and the wooden spear splintered and flickered aside. Already the Rakshasa was conjuring another. She took a step forward, and hurled fire at him. He doused it in a wet curtain of droplets he sprayed about him. Nice trick, bastard! He didn’t fight like a normal Rakshasa. Creative, not Destructive. Then her conscious thought gave way to anger. She balled her fists, and shrieked a bolt of lightning at him, right into the droplets screening him. The electricity flashed through the droplets, straight to his flesh. He howled, dancing in her lethal grip.

  Then a hulking shape roared through the doorway behind him. She spread her hands, and made him howl too.

  Not enough! Forced to spread the energy over the two of them, she lost focus. Too much power earthed into the stone. Sparks rippled around the doorway. She inhaled, released the lightning, and punched—her fists became balls of force that hammered into the two enemies. Both slammed against the wall, and slid down it.

  An arrow crackled into the room. An agniyastra. She stopped it in mid-air, made it spin and f
ly back out. Fire bloomed and someone cried out. But others were coming. They had to get out!

  Striding to the window, she made wings spring from her own back, wincing at the discomfort. Ras was already on the ledge, her arms shimmering, surrounded by spirit-flesh in the shape of wings. She had obviously learnt something of sorcery! ‘Good girl! Let’s get the hell out of here.’

  Out the window, it looked like something between Diwali and an artillery duel. The defensive wards of the city crackled and danced as shower upon shower of astras and normal arrows hammered against the bubble-like membrane of enchantment that held the walls together. Coruscating light danced, dazzling and captivating.

  Then suddenly it fell still.

  She had to wrench her mind back to the moment. ‘Go high!’ she shouted to Rasita. ‘Up and over!’ They bunched their legs, ready to jump, and—

  The curtain wall disintegrated. Some unseen force struck it, as if a god had decided to punch his way through the entire wall and out the other side. A wall of soundless force rolled over them, and they flew backwards, sprawling back on to the floor, winded and gasping. A mighty roaring made the air quiver, then fell into a ghostly silence. There were dust clouds everywhere.

  She crawled to Rasita and clung to her, teetering on the window-sill. ‘It’s a breach!’ she gasped, when she could be heard again. She felt awestruck, and frightened. Vikram! It had to be! ‘We’ve got to get out of here, sister!’ But a cloud of dust and smoke washed over them and all they could do was cling blindly to the window frame. A gale buffeted them, and only after that could she see enough to act. The tower was cracked, and the Citadel looked like a broken child’s toy. All had fallen silent.

  She pulled on Ras’ arm encouragingly. ‘Come on!’

  They launched themselves into the air, and beat their magical wings towards freedom.