Tantrics Of Old

by Bhattacharya, Krishnarjun

  The witches began to scream, all of them. Together. They screamed and screeched as if in torture. They threw their heads back and writhed in agony. Transformation. Their old papery skin ripped apart, as did their clothes. Old shaky limbs gave way to strong, bony ones underneath. Fangs emerged from under broken and rotting teeth; claws slid into place where there had once been dirty fingernails. It was as if the human body had been but a cocoon, hiding the monster underneath. The real witch was out now—lean, immediately falling to all fours like the predator it was. No burning eyes; a blank patch of tight, rotting skin where the eyes should’ve been. They were larger than normal witches, and looked stronger. They would have sniffed across the cavern looking for intruders if Gray had not chosen that very moment to bite the cookie. It was like an alarm siren that the thirty Dynes could perceive at the same time. They ran, they scampered, they charged in a beeline for Gray.

  The spell broke when Gray took the bite; he realised he had done exactly what he shouldn’t have.

  He looked up and everything seemed to freeze in time for him. A witch was running straight at him, saliva dripping from her fangs—his death in person. He stared at the witch, not able to believe what a magnificent and terrifying hunter she was, not being able to believe that this creature was the end of everything for him. Something caught his eye above. A figure, hanging in mid-air, directly above the witch. An assassin, poised with both arms raised, red blades gleaming in gloved hands, tied hair flying around his suspended body like a lean whip, glassy eyepieces reflecting Gray’s amazed face.

  Then reality kicked in. Fayne landed on the witch when she was mere inches from Gray, and simultaneously sank two daggers into her throat. He used the witch as a cushion for his landing; literally bouncing off the bleeding creature he plunged straight into the pack of oncoming witches. His hands held blades again, which he swept in exact arcs, catching one witch in the throat and another in the face. Each time, he left the blades in the wounds; when he faced a new enemy, his hands, almost magically, held fresh daggers. Parrying claws with the flat sides of his blades, Fayne used the momentum of the oncoming horde as a matador might to strike deadly and exact blows in lightning flashes of speed.

  Gray was frozen stiff, until a mercury round whistled past his ear and into a witch. He recovered and found his legs. Staggering, he hastily unhooked the shotgun from his back and looked around. Adri was walking towards him, firing away from both guns. His face was grim. He knew the odds. None of them were getting out of here alive. It was a sacrifice; their plan had never been good enough. Living by the edge could only take one so far. The alarm had already been sounded throughout the Hive. The screeches of war, the screeches of death were loud, echoing into the other caverns, as was the gunfire. They were up against thirty elder witches, not counting the hundreds that were probably on their way by now. This wasn’t the way to die, to pull three others to the grave with him. It hadn’t been his intention, no, it hadn’t been what he had started out for. There was nothing to do now, nothing to do with his guilt but face it, face it like the witches, riddle it full of holes. His teeth were grit. Bloody hell. Everything done so far, useless, fruitless, bloody hell. Die, die, die. Die, cursed creatures. Die. He did not want to die far from home, but here there was no escape, no measures he could take, no twenty-four hour time limit, no pentacle to shield any aura. Here there was only death, and by lord, he would take some with him. At least the soil was of Kolkata, Old Kolkata, the Old City, his Old City.

  Gray was confused. Cauldrons were overturning. Screeches and death knells. Shadows and the light. Chaos. Terror. And in the midst of it all was the assassin of Ahzad, who wasn’t letting a single witch pass him by alive. The witches that skirted him were being picked off by Adri. Gray raised his shotgun nervously, looking for a possible target. There were too many and Gray shifted targets like a madman, unable to decide who to pull the trigger on.

  Fayne stopped in the middle of a fatal thrust for a fraction of a second. ‘Watch your fire,’ he said and continued.

  ‘Close range only, Gray!’ Adri yelled. ‘You might hit Fayne, those bullets will spread!’

  A witch leapt for Gray that very instant, but he somehow managed to pick her off in mid-air. A couple of full-blown mercury shotgun rounds—the Dyne wasn’t getting up again. The witches were still too many, Adri realised as he saw four Dynes running for him. He backed away, firing with both hands. Gray reloaded as fast as he could. For a second he looked up, and for the first time saw Fayne covered in blood, still fighting. He did not know whose blood it was, and before he had time to think a claw swiped his back.

  ‘Yaargh!’ Gray screamed, dropping the shotgun. The witch clawed him again and then leapt onto his back, dropping him to the floor. She was heavy, Gray realised. He found himself unable to move. Knowing he had seconds, he struggled madly, but he could not overturn the witch. His shotgun was a few feet away, and he reached out in a futile attempt.

  Fayne was killing witch after witch. The Dynes came at him from every side and he did not care. It was almost as if he had eyes on all sides of his head; even with the restrictive vision of the mask, he kept countering their attacks with smooth moves. Bodies were piling up incredibly fast.

  Adri saw the witch on Gray’s back; instinctively, his last two rounds were fired between the oncoming witches, right on mark. The witch collapsed on top of Gray and Adri heard him cry out in pain. Good, that was one problem solved. Now he had to deal with the witches that were almost on him. His guns were empty and there was no time to reload. Adri turned around and started to run—he knew he could not outrun a Dyne, but still he ran—and then, right in front of him, he saw a sight that made him stop. Witches. Dynes. Hundreds of them. Pouring in, from every hole in the wall, from every passage, from every exit. Like a scourge, like a plague, like so many ants. A swarm. A wave. Scuttling on the walls, on the ceiling, on the floor in front of him, headed at him. At the three of them.

  He realised he had stopped. He turned and saw the three elder witches right behind him, panting, ready to pounce. They hadn’t because they wanted to give him that last moment of awe, that satisfaction of gazing upon the might of the witches, not something to be trifled with. Something for which he was about to pay with his life. He turned and saw Fayne standing similarly still, witches surrounding him in a circle.

  He was observing the coming horde as well, dealing with the unsuccessful fulfilment of his charge.

  And for the first time since the fight had begun, the Wraith spoke.

  Let me through.

  Adri did.

  His eyes burst into blue flames. His shirt burned in a blue blaze and exposed the tattoos within, which were afire. ‘Aargh!’ Adri screamed and swept his hand in a wide arc, releasing pure spirit flame. It stung the elder witches around him and they burned and backed away. Adri ran towards Fayne, who had moved to where Gray had fallen. He burned his way through the circle of Dynes, surrounding them, and stopped in front of them, hands raised, blue fire burning in both palms. Adri spun the fires around like a giant blue whip, keeping the witches at bay while the assassin watched silently and Gray looked on with unbelieving eyes.

  ‘Are you a God or something?’ Gray gasped.

  ‘Zimakh. Rubbish. The pashlin has harboured a Wraith,’ Fayne replied.

  Adri knew he could not keep this up. Spirit fire was not something that killed witches; he could only keep them away for now, but he knew the cost of this transformation. He was being drained of energy at a phenomenal rate, and he probably wouldn’t be able to even stand once he was done. Not that it mattered. He had no plan whatsoever—the Wraith had suggested something and he had done it. The Wraith, however, had not taken control of him, merely lent him its power. Adri found it curious, but now was not the time to ponder over this.

  ‘Mazumder! What now?’ Adri shouted, spinning the fire.

  Fayne was examining his wounds.

  ‘So, the guy from the tomb?’ Gray murmured, still trapped beneath the dea
d witch. ‘Hey Fayne, how about a hand here?’

  ‘Pointless,’ Fayne said, but he stooped and pulled the witch off. Gray stood, dusting himself.

  I do not know. Vampires were my thing, to be honest.

  ‘Beautiful,’ Adri said darkly.

  It will be my end as well, Adri. Pity you do not have the energy to make my powers last longer.

  Adri did not reply. His mind raced. Think. A possible way out, any single possible thing that could be done. Nothing came to him. He drew a complete blank, and he felt tired and stupid. His energy was running out. Gaps started appearing in the fire. Adri gritted his teeth and kept burning. The witches were observing them hungrily. Apart from the elder witches, normal Dynes were also there by the droves—they were surrounded by hundreds of witches on every side. And with his spirit vision Adri could see them all, every single detail about every single witch. They had no chance. They would be ripped apart. Adri kept on pushing, but now he was weak, weak in the knees. Maybe it was time to accept the end.

  ‘Stop,’ Fayne said quietly. ‘There’s nothing we can do.’

  ‘Gray,’ Adri said, ‘I’m sorry.’

  His fire flickered, and so did the other fires in the cavern. Adri noticed it because of his spirit vision, but did not understand. The fires under all the cauldrons, some of them raging, flickered again. There was no wind down here, no sudden draught that could whisk away a burning flame. The witches too, had begun to notice something was amiss—the entire army of witches was shifting in its place, and uncomfortably so. They were looking around, at the ceiling and the walls. The next moment, every flame in the cavern, except the one burning in Adri’s hands, went out.

  The witches screeched, and screeched together. The sound was deafening, and caught everybody off guard. All hands went to ears except for Adri’s, who heard even the Wraith cry out in pain. They recoiled to an amazing, unbelievable sight: the witches were retreating. All the witches were heading out of the cavern—scampering, running, growling in low voices, shrieking in high ones. Within minutes they were alone in the cavern. The witches had left without looking back.

  ‘No,’ Adri said.

  ‘What-what the hell was that? What’s happening?’ Gray asked, looking at the empty cavern bathed in blue light.

  ‘Light a fire now,’ Adri said. Urgency.

  Gray looked around for anything that could be used. Nothing.

  ‘Matches in my pocket,’ Adri said.

  Gray walked to Adri and took the matches out. Spotting a wooden plank close to him, he struck the match obediently, trying to burn the wood. ‘Need paper or something,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘But Adri, what was that?’

  Fayne looked at the surroundings. ‘Something witches fear,’ he said. ‘Something that would scare a witch, something you know, Tantric.’

  No one said anything, and silence reigned. Then Fayne spoke again. ‘It’s in here with us.’

  Gray managed to light the fire at last. The flame started small, but gradually caught; Adri let the Wraith’s powers go. His eyes turned normal and were hit by darkness, and as he had expected, his body collapsed. He was awake and conscious, but he could not move, and he lay on the ground, panting. Fayne looked at him, then at Gray—hunched over the wooden plank, trying to increase the size of the fire—and then at the vicinity. He could sense the creature. It was watching them.

  ‘Can-can you see it, Fayne?’ Gray asked.

  ‘No,’ Fayne said.

  Fayne spoke true. Even with his eyes, the creature was not something he could see. That disturbed him. He did not need to know how dangerous it was; the witches had done all the explaining.

  The fire had begun to crackle louder now, and Gray headed over to Adri to make sure he was okay. He found Adri still panting and trying to breathe, not able to say a single word. But he could also see that Adri was recovering.

  Adri sat up soon. Everything was quiet and Fayne had still not sighted the creature. Then Adri spoke.

  ‘I can see you, you know?’

  It laughed. The laugh was high and had an underlying screech, a hiss to it, like nails grating across a blackboard. Adri recognised it immediately. A laugh from his nightmares. A laugh he had heard time and again, a laugh in whose mortal fear he had lived for years. A laugh which had haunted him in the past. A laugh which still did.

  The Demon formed itself slowly, drawing shadow from everywhere. Like liquid. It formed itself a small distance away from Adri. In the semi-darkness, they saw that it was like a gargoyle—a strong bestial entity standing on two legs, with gigantic wings folded behind it. There was no beginning and no end to it, nor were there any details in the smooth, flawless shadow that was the Demon’s skin. It stood there, facing them, not moving.

  ‘Chhaya,’ Adri said slowly.

  The Demon of shadow snickered loudly, and Adri caught a glimpse of white fangs. ‘Not a name you can forget, eh, boy?’ it hissed. ‘Remember.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘The smell of your flesh. Same as before.’ The Demon’s voice reflected a savage longing.

  Adri got impatient in spite of his weakness. ‘Al Mashith!’ he shouted, and the word hit the Demon and burned its existence for a brief second. It hissed in pain and recoiled, taking a half step back. ‘Come to the damn point, Demon,’ Adri growled.

  ‘So the rat claws at the kite,’ Chhaya said in an amused tone. ‘Does it not realise that at the end of the day, blinded by the sun, all it sees—as it scurries desperately across the open field, towards its lair—is a shadow?’

  ‘I have seen the shadow of death,’ Adri said, ‘and it does not have anything to do with you. So, why are you here?’

  ‘I work for the great one now, the Demon Commander,’ Chhaya said. ‘He wants to meet you, boy.’

  ‘Ba’al will have to wait,’ Adri said. He tried to keep his voice from shaking.

  The Demon shook its head. ‘He is not used to waiting,’ it said.

  ‘Ba’al knows me,’ Adri said. ‘Tell him that while the life of an innocent is at stake, we cannot meet.’

  ‘You think I’m a messenger?’ Chhaya laughed in the same scratchy voice. ‘I’m here to take you to him.’

  ‘I am not helpless here, Chhaya. If Ba’al gets to know about anything you have forced me to do, you know he will not react most-ah-graciously. After all, it’s me he will be meeting.’

  ‘You cannot threaten me,’ the Demon said, all laughter gone.

  ‘No. You cannot push me into a corner. I am here for a reason. I will finish what I have started.’

  ‘So what—’

  ‘You will go back to Ba’al,’ Adri cut the Demon short, ‘and offer him my apologies and tell him he will have to wait for a while. I will have the audience with him. I know what it’s about.’

  The Demon looked thoughtful. ‘I don’t know, boy. You do not have any power over me. All that has ever stood between us has been that stone pillar. Perhaps it is time to come out from behind the pillar, boy, and face me.’

  Adri was sweating.

  ‘I have been ordered to take you to the great one,’ Chhaya drawled. ‘Writhing, struggling. If I do choose to follow my orders, I will not be blamed. I couldn’t care less about the innocent life. Screams. They will haunt you some more. Besides, you collect nightmares, don’t you?’

  Adri’s mind raced. ‘Ba’al will care. You know that.’

  ‘For a human?’

  Adri withdrew his revolver from its holster.

  Chhaya looked at it curiously. ‘Ah, don’t tell me. Fire and light, is that it? Are you going to amuse me by shooting at me? Feed me some metal?’ Chhaya laughed again.

  Adri stuck the barrel under his chin. ‘Mercury, but a bullet nonetheless,’ he said, talking fast.

  ‘You won’t kill yourself, you love yourself too much for that,’ the Demon said.

  ‘If I pull this trigger I’m useless to Ba’al and only you are responsible.’

  There was silence.

  ‘You�
�re bluffing!’ Chhaya hissed.

  ‘I’ve been pushed to the edge,’ Adri sniped back, breathing very fast.

  Silence. Only Adri’s breaths, rapid. And his mounting heartbeat.

  ‘Fine!’ the Demon exclaimed at length, sitting down on the ground. ‘I will tell the great one what you told me. He will not be pleased.’

  Adri slowly lowered the empty gun. Of course he had been bluffing, but that was a chance the Demon couldn’t have taken. Not when Ba’al was involved. He looked at the creature of shadow sitting in the distance and tried to keep calm. He felt stabs of fear whenever the creature looked at him, an old fear, resurfaced, which he had to fight all the time. He turned to the others who had been silent witnesses. Gray was holding a bunch of Aujour in his hand. He wordlessly handed to it Adri.

  Ooh, time for the Tantric to get cooking, the Wraith said.

  ‘Chhaya,’ Adri said. ‘I have to brew something, a draught. Your presence would keep the witches away while we are here.’

  ‘Witches!’ Chhaya rasped. ‘Excellent, I was rather hungry. This hunger, it pains me. Insatiable, she is.’ It laughed. ‘I’ll be around.’ The Demon melted back amidst the shadows.

  Adri started brewing the draught, while Fayne and Gray brought Maya down to the ground level. Goatskin bags held clear water that the Dynes used in their cooking, and emptying a cauldron was all Adri had to do. He kept a careful watch on the brew, adding certain measured amounts of ingredients at exact times. He stole a glance at Maya when he could afford it and knew she was dying. Her skin was a pale blue, the poison having reached her very lips, draining them of colour. She lay as lifeless as always.

  ‘Her breathing is getting shorter! Adri!’ Gray shouted.