Land of Hope and Glory

by Geoffrey Wilson

  Charles and Saleem pushed their way towards him through the sludge.

  ‘Don’t know,’ Charles said. ‘Can’t see anything.’

  ‘What happened?’

  The match went out and Charles muttered and struck another. As the light flickered brighter, Charles glanced up the slope, which disappeared into the darkness. ‘There was some sort of creature. Don’t know what it was.’

  ‘Another demon.’ Saleem looked around as if the beast would pounce on them at any moment.

  Jack stared up into the gloom and listened carefully. He heard nothing. Whatever the creature was, it seemed to have left them for the moment. He glanced at Saleem, whose face was glistening and pale.

  Jack gestured to the lad. ‘Come over here.’

  Saleem, forehead creased with worry, dragged himself up the mound of straw and squatted beside Jack.

  Jack grabbed Saleem’s tunic at the neck, twisted the material and yanked him closer. ‘You bloody idiot. You could’ve got us all killed.’

  Saleem yelped and tried to pull away.

  ‘I should have left you behind.’ Jack bunched his hand into a fist. He was going to hit the lad – he could feel it. The fool had put all his plans at risk, put Elizabeth at risk.

  ‘I didn’t mean it,’ Saleem wailed.

  ‘Hey, look what I’ve found.’ Charles proudly held a brass lantern aloft. Then the match went out and darkness enveloped them again.

  Jack felt Saleem try to pull away, but he held the lad firm.

  A few seconds later, Charles struck another match and the lantern glowed into life. Sallow light pushed back the darkness. All around them stood piles of refuse and detritus: mangled iron and steel, festering cabbages, sawdust, hay, coal. Rough earth walls rose steeply on all sides. And when Jack looked up he could see no light above, no glimpse of the sky. They appeared to be in a pit somewhere deep underground.

  ‘We have to get out of here,’ Charles said.

  ‘You’ll never get out,’ a man’s voice in the dark rasped and then groaned.

  Jack let go of Saleem, who slipped back and clambered away. Jack grasped for the pistol, but found it was gone. It must have slipped out of his belt as he’d been dragged along. He saw that Charles had also lost the musket, although the ammunition satchel was still over his shoulder.

  ‘Who are you?’ Jack called out.

  The man groaned again, but didn’t reply.

  Jack struggled to his feet, pain cutting into his chest.

  Charles raised the lantern and trudged through the filth in the direction of the voice. Soon the light revealed a Rajthanan cavalryman lying against one of the walls. His turban had come off and his short hair was stuck to his scalp with sweat and grease. He grimaced, as if in pain. Then Jack noticed that both of his legs had been severed at the thigh, leaving two stumps dark with blood. He appeared unarmed – not that he was in a fit state to use a weapon anyway.

  ‘What happened?’ Jack asked.

  The cavalryman made a sound as though he were straining to lift something. He spoke with difficulty. ‘That thing. Took my legs off.’

  ‘What is it . . . an avatar?’ Jack asked.

  ‘How should I know? Some kind of avatar, yes.’

  ‘Not a train engine?’ Even as Jack asked, he knew it wasn’t. He’d seen parts of the creature momentarily and it had been larger than a train avatar, with insect-like legs and a swollen abdomen.

  ‘No. You’ll see for yourself, soon. It’ll be back. It’ll kill us all. Ate my friend – I watched him die.’

  Jack paused. ‘What’s going on here? There’re avatars all over the place. Who’s controlling them?’

  The cavalryman gave a choking laugh. ‘No one’s controlling them. They’re running wild.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘No idea. They’ve been left alone for months. After the rebels came. Must have gone mad somehow.’

  ‘We’ll have to climb out,’ Charles said.

  They all looked up the almost vertical earth walls. Charles clambered to the top of the tallest mound of refuse, sinking into the mire up to his knees. He tried to climb the slope, but the soil crumbled away beneath his hands and he managed to get up only a few feet before sliding back down again.

  Jack eyed the other walls; they were all equally steep. ‘There’s no way.’

  ‘Maybe we can build a ladder out of this stuff.’ Charles kicked a heap of metal fragments.

  Jack doubted it. Few of the pieces of metal or wood were large or solid enough, and there was nothing with which to bind the pieces together.

  Saleem gasped and stepped back, almost tripping. He was standing in a far corner of the pit that was barely lit by the lantern.

  ‘What now?’ Jack muttered.

  Saleem stared at the ground before him, chewing his bottom lip.

  Jack eased himself down from the straw and, with Charles, clambered across to the other side of the pit. A putrid reek made his throat tighten. Near Saleem stood a pile of what at first looked like black slime. But as Jack stared, he noticed lines of white beneath the sludge. Bones – ribs, legs, arms, skulls, some human, some not.

  Charles crossed himself.

  ‘What’re we going to do?’ Saleem whispered.

  A deep gurgling came from above. They all looked up. The back of Jack’s neck crawled and Saleem gave a soft whimper.

  At first they could see nothing but complete darkness. Then there was a movement, a gleaming line that shifted then vanished, followed by another. Gradually the outline of a huge metal creature, somewhere between a spider and an ant, became visible. It climbed slowly down the side of the pit, its segmented legs glinting in the lantern light. Its head was covered in quivering stalks and its mouth was a mesh of constantly moving mandibles.

  ‘Find something to fight it off,’ Jack said.

  They scrambled over the bottom of the pit, looking for weapons. Jack noticed his hands shaking as he fumbled through scraps of metal, mouldering vegetation and slag. He stopped for a second, tried to pull himself together. He took another sip of jatamansi.

  He found a steel pole, which he held in the middle like a double-ended staff. Charles picked up a rusted scimitar, while Saleem produced a piece of varnished wood, which he raised like a cudgel.

  They backed over to the side of the pit and surrounded the Rajthanan.

  ‘Kill me.’ The cavalryman was grey and slick with sweat. ‘There’s no hope.’

  ‘You’ll be all right,’ Jack said. ‘We won’t leave you here.’

  The creature crept to the bottom of the pit, the scent of sattva and coal strong now. It raised its head and examined the surroundings with its feelers. Its abdomen was constructed of metal ribs, but over these had been welded an odd conglomeration of objects – old kettles, barbed wire, cartwheels, pots. The collection hung like shaggy fur and rattled as the creature moved. An inner fire glimmered through the joins in its armour. Jack had never seen an avatar like it.

  The beast advanced tentatively, feeling ahead with one of its legs. Jack’s heart hammered and his breathing slackened. Perhaps the creature could be scared off, like an animal? He shouted and struck the protruding leg with the pole. The creature drew back, growled and sat on its haunches as though about to pounce.

  Jack shouted again and waved one of his arms, still holding the pole with the other. The beast took another step back. It was working. He’d managed to confuse and frighten the creature.

  But then it sprang forward, maw agitated.

  Jack jabbed with the pole, but the beast moved aside with great agility and ran towards Saleem. The lad cried out and swung the club wildly. The creature flicked its leg and sent him flying against the wall, then pounced on the prone Rajthanan.

  Charles shouted and ran at the creature’s flank. The scimitar rang as it hit the huge abdomen.

  Without turning its head, the beast shot out a limb and knocked Charles off his feet. The scimitar slipped from his hand. He leapt up again and grasped the blade. He was a
bout to attack again, when Jack grabbed him from behind, shouting, ‘Leave him. There’s nothing we can do.’

  Charles panted, stared at Jack, went to say something, but then stopped.

  The beast towered over the Rajthanan, who cried out and waved his arms. A pointed proboscis extended from the creature’s mouth. The Rajthanan tried to knock it away, but it shot forward and speared him in the chest. He screamed and struggled, grasping at the proboscis. The beast gave a slurping sound and blood oozed across the Rajthanan’s chest. The monster appeared to be sucking.

  The cavalryman shut his eyes and groaned in agony. He sobbed and pleaded, saying words in Rajthani that Jack couldn’t understand.

  Jack looked away. No one deserved to die like that, but there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

  It seemed to go on for a long time. Saleem, on the other side of the pit, put his hands over his ears to block out the sound.

  Finally, the Rajthanan went limp. The creature gave a regular gurgle, like a purr, then opened its mouth wide and engulfed the dead man’s head. Bone and sinew cracked. Gore and blood ran out. The creature’s maw worked and crunched, as though eating a carrot.

  Jack breathed heavily. Pain seared his chest and he took another sip of jatamansi.

  ‘What now?’ Charles asked.

  ‘If it comes near us, we fight.’ Jack gripped the pole with both hands.

  After more than ten minutes, the creature had completely devoured the Rajthanan. It slunk away to the other side of the pit and, with a burbling sound, regurgitated bones covered in red mucous on to the pile. The stench was sickening. Saleem put his hand over his mouth and then vomited quietly.

  The beast now moved into the centre of the pit and scratched around in the refuse. It found a tin plate, still clean enough to wink in the lantern light, picked it up, spun it around, then placed it against the underside of its abdomen. There was a series of sparks and a wisp of smoke, and then the plate was welded to the creature’s body.

  It looked up again, turning first to Saleem and then to Jack and Charles. They all stood poised. But the creature merely grumbled and then moved to the side of the pit. It scuttled up the wall and soon vanished.

  Charles breathed a sigh of relief.

  Saleem sank to his knees, pressed himself back against the wall and tried to curl up as small as he could. He stared across at Jack and Charles with wounded, watery eyes.

  Jack ignored Saleem – it was the boy’s fault they were in this mess in the first place. He deserved to suffer a bit.

  Charles shouted up into the darkness. ‘Help! Anyone!’

  Silence.

  ‘We’re too far underground,’ Jack said. ‘No one will hear us.’

  ‘But that thing will be back,’ Charles replied. ‘You heard that cavalryman.’

  Charles was right, and for a moment the hopelessness of the situation gnawed at Jack. But he had to overcome the feeling. Had to – for Elizabeth’s sake.

  He glanced at the ammunition satchel still on Charles’s shoulder. ‘That powder still dry?’

  ‘Guess so.’ Charles opened the bag. The small bag of powder, the paper cartridges and the bullets were all dry.

  ‘Good.’ Jack looked around the pit, thinking quickly. ‘We need something to make a bomb. Some sort of container.’

  ‘How about this?’ Charles picked up an empty glass water bottle.

  ‘Perfect.’

  Jack and Charles crouched, dropped a few bullets into the bottle and carefully tipped in the grey-black powder. They then bit open the cartridges and poured in the powder from these as well. By the end the bottle was two-thirds full.

  ‘We need a fuse.’ Jack looked around and his eyes settled on the lantern. ‘That’ll do it.’

  He tore a strip from his tunic and wound it into a fuse. He then dipped this into the lantern’s oil reservoir until it was dripping. He rested the water bottle on a flat sheet of iron and laid out the fuse beside it.

  ‘We have to do as much damage as we can with that.’ He motioned to the bottle. ‘I’m going to get it down that thing’s mouth. It’ll blow up inside.’

  ‘Down it’s mouth?’ Charles said. ‘Won’t be easy.’

  ‘I’ll need to get in close. Just before it strikes.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Saleem said suddenly. ‘If it eats me I’ll hold on to the bottle. It’ll blow up in the thing’s face.’

  Jack looked up. Saleem was standing now, clenching and unclenching his fists. His face was chiselled and in the dim light it even looked as though he’d lost weight – in a matter of a few hours, the baby fat in his cheeks seemed to have disappeared.

  ‘You think that’ll make up for everything?’ Jack asked.

  Saleem’s bottom lip trembled and he bit down to still it. ‘No. But I made a mistake. I want to fix it.’

  Jack snorted. ‘It’s all right. I’ll do it.’

  ‘But I want to. I won’t let you down.’

  Jack searched Saleem’s face for a second. Despite his obvious fear, the boy wanted to fight. Jack couldn’t deny it was an act of courage. But all the same, he knew he had to be the one who threw the bottle – he couldn’t trust either Charles or Saleem. There was only one chance now and he had to be sure they made the most of it.

  ‘No, I’ll do it.’ His voice was softer now.

  Saleem’s mouth drooped and he looked at his feet.

  ‘But we’ll still need your help,’ Charles said to Saleem. ‘Isn’t that right, Jack?’

  Jack looked away and nodded. He could have said something to console the lad, but held back. He didn’t want to let him off the hook that easily.

  ‘You see,’ Charles said. ‘Jack agrees. We’re all in it together. We’ll fight this thing and get out of here.’

  Jack and Charles sat cross-legged, facing each other, on a mat they’d made out of a piece of sacking.

  ‘Back straighter,’ Jack said, and Charles adjusted his posture. ‘Keep your palms open, face down. That’s better.’

  Jack led Charles into a battle meditation, going deeper and deeper, layer by layer. He’d been surprised at Charles’s poor technique – standards were obviously slipping in the army – but the lad was learning quickly.

  When they finished the meditation, they did a series of yoga exercises. The spirit realm drew close. The terrible reek, the pit, the refuse and the bones were all distant and they hardly noticed them. They were also distant from themselves, coolly observing this world of pain and illusion.

  Then Charles took out his beads and silently worked his way through the rosary. Saleem said his own prayers.

  Jack crossed his legs again and was going to meditate on the regimental standard, but then stopped. He couldn’t bring himself to picture the three lions. Instead he said a few Hail Marys under his breath, repeating the words in the traditional Latin.

  Finally, they put out the lantern to conserve oil and sat in the dark, each with his own thoughts. Saleem and Charles slept, but Jack stayed awake, staring into the blackness.

  His mind formed phantoms in the dark. He sensed shifts in the air and felt invisible presences come close and recede. Once he lit a match and stared about him to reassure himself there was nothing there.

  Would the bomb work? He’d tried to sound confident in front of Charles and Saleem, but he wasn’t sure.

  If he’d learnt more yantras, had more powers, then he might have been better placed to fight the avatar. But he would have to make do with what he had.

  What about the yantra he’d taken from Jhala’s office? Should he try it again now? After all these years would it finally work and give him some power he could use against the avatar?

  Of course it wouldn’t work.

  But all the same, he shut his eyes and focused on it, bringing to mind every detail. It wavered on a black background and soon locked into place, shining a dazzling white.

  But, as always, nothing happened.

  He breathed out, slumped a little. The wound in his chest throbbed an
d his head swam.

  Jhala was right, Europeans couldn’t learn the higher powers. The native siddha yantra was the only yantra they could use.

  And yet, was this true? Hadn’t Jhala himself once said something that offered a different explanation for Jack’s inability to use the stolen yantra?

  Jack hadn’t often thought about Jhala’s words that night, about a decade ago, but they had always been there at the back of his mind. Hadn’t he, in fact, been trying not to think about them? Hadn’t he shrugged them off whenever they’d popped into his head?

  The regiment had been on campaign in Denmark and about to march into Swedeland – this was shortly before Salter’s death. Jack had been meditating beside the campfire after the other men had gone to bed. Jhala had appeared and sat across from him. They spoke a little about yantras and siddhas, and Jack soon realised that Jhala had been drinking opium.

  Finally, Jack said, ‘Sir, can I ask something?’

  ‘Of course.’ Jhala’s voice was slurred.

  ‘You’re a siddha but I’ve never seen you use a power.’

  Jhala frowned, picked up a stick and used it to poke the embers of the fire. He was silent for a moment. ‘You’re right. My powers are limited. I only have a few and none of them are military. I used a power too soon, you see. That stopped me.’

  ‘Stopped you?’

  ‘It’s the law of karma. Every action creates a reaction.’ As if to demonstrate his point, he jabbed the stick into the fire and sparks flew up in response. ‘Using a power is a drastic action – it entangles spirit and matter – and that means there’s a drastic reaction. The reaction is that you cannot develop any further powers. You stop progressing. You can study yantras, memorise them, call them to mind, but you can never use the associated power. You’re blocked. Your learning is over.’

  There was an edge of bitterness to Jhala’s voice. He snapped the stick and threw it into the flames.

  ‘Sorry to hear that, sir.’

  Jhala looked up. ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter. Old news. I had to use a power to save my life. No way out of it.’ He smiled. ‘Obviously I wasn’t meant to be a great siddha – a mahasiddha. Of course, if I was a mahasiddha I wouldn’t be using any powers anyway.’