I spent the rest of the day wandering around the place, walking, thumbing down rides or taking buses from one part of North Goa to another. I did not linger in any one place for too long, and it soon became my mission to cover maximum ground. It might have been some subtle suggestion on De Vorto’s part that made me do it, or it might have been my own restlessness and desire to run away from it all. I walked and climbed and trudged over all kinds of terrain that day, trying to exorcise the restlessness with sheer exhaustion. Market-beach-church-café-beach-hill-pub-meadow-beach. The afternoon flew past and I got progressively more tired, and at the same time, relaxed.
As the day came to an end, I found myself lying on a beach - I don’t remember which one - as I saw the sun sink into the sea. The child in me expected a hiss of steam as the blazing ball touched the water. I could hear De Vorto’s faint chuckle at that thought. But it was pleasant and not mean, and I let it pass. The sunset was rather beautiful, and the beach not as crowded as most of the other beaches I had visited. There was a moment of peace as I sank back to my elbows, just appreciating the view without any thought.
“Boy,” he spoke after a long time.
“Do you have to call me that?” I asked, only half-annoyed. All said and done, the man was half a millennium older than me and he of all people could call pretty much anyone a boy. Unless she was a girl, I guess.
“Remember Akto’s invitation? I think you should go. I sense there might be things happening there.”
“Isn’t that reason not to go?”
“It’s time to find some answers, Slick. And neither of us is aware of what’s happening in the world of wordsmiths. Don’t worry about your safety. You’re a powerful wordsmith yourself, and you have me inside you now. And my power too. Between us, I’m sure we can best any wordsmith the Guild or the Free Word can throw at us.”
“Why does this sound like we’re going into a battle?”
“Because we just might be. However, we’ll try and keep it as peaceful as we can. Come now, let’s go.”
I pushed myself up reluctantly. I had quite forgotten about Akto’s invitation. It felt like a lifetime ago. But then, I guess I was better off turning up than not. He still half suspected me of being mixed up with his brother’s murder.
I brushed the sand off and started walking. I stopped to ask someone the way and learned that Ingo’s was north of here. I even hitched a lift to a place half-way there on a dilapidated scooter, the old gentleman in front riding at a speed that made me half-wish I had walked. I was dropped off at a bridge over a quaint little creek. It had gotten rather dark and the bridge was pretty isolated too, with hardly a soul around. I walked along the creek in the direction of the market, as directed by the old man. I soon came to a fork, and took a turn based on an approximate estimation. But with me, approximation and direction are not a good combination. I soon lost track of where I was going. I took wrong turn upon wrong turn, and soon I reached a place where you just have to take a U-turn. I tried retracing my path. But to one genuinely lost, retracing a path is nothing more than an academic concept, almost impossible to execute. I could sense De Vorto’s growing irritation, but I guess he was pretty helpless too.
I reached side-streets and back-lanes and whatever godforsaken paths lie beyond such forgotten places. Darkness ruled here, and there was not a single light to be seen. Even the crickets had gone silent. I was beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable with the way I found darker, scarier lanes with every turn I took. I realised that I had not passed a single house or a cottage for a long time. Apart from some desolate fields on either side of the lanes, and trees on the fringes of these fields, there was nothing else around. I finally saw a silver gleam through a copse of trees. I stumbled through the undergrowth, hoping that it was what I thought it was. It was! I had finally found the shore. I quickly oriented myself and figured out where I needed to go. I knew the direction I had to pursue now (which itself was a great feeling), and decided to walk along the beach until I found an exit road away from the beach. With that rare exultation one feels in such situations, I started singing at the top of my voice as I traipsed along the sand, lost in the beauty of the beach at night, the sand glowing an otherworldly silver.
“Ouch,” said De Vorto.
I ignored him and continued singing. I went through a medley of songs, each song adding to De Vorto’s discomfort as they caromed around my head. Somehow, that made the singing all the more enjoyable. Soon, I saw a sight that added to my joy; a group of people sitting to one side of the beach. Civilisation! I could not be far from a road that would take me to my destination. I increased my pace and soon reached the group. They were locals, and they were drinking beer. This was clearly the main pastime for most people in Goa. I recognised some of the people from outside Akto’s shack. I did not quite like the look of them, but decided to ask for help nevertheless. Any port in a storm and all that.
Most of the guys were looking at me and there were some words being exchanged that were sure to be about me. They were talking in the local language, Konkani, and there was nothing I could understand. I was still dressed in a shirt and jeans, a complete anomaly in the land of shorts, ‘I love Goa’ tee-shirts and beach sandals. I called out to one of them, “How do I get from here to the Anjuna beach road? I need to get to Ingo’s.”
The men ignored me and I repeated my question, slowing the words so that they would understand me. They continued to ignore me, and this irritated me. I shouted at them, repeating my question, emphasising key words like ‘Anjuna’, ‘Ingo’s’ and ‘Night Market’. One of them finally got up and approached me, calling out something to those behind him. There were some chuckles and a couple of others also stood up.
He came up quite close to me and looked me over, head to toe. He was clearly drunk. He was also a brute, built like a prime candidate for the annual ox-wrestling try-outs. He was swaying the bottle of beer he was drinking from side to side, holding it by the neck. His intentions, it was clear, weren’t good. I decided that I had had enough of this situation. I waved a goodbye and turned around to follow my beach path.
“Look out, boy!” De Vorto’s voice rang in my head.
Before I could figure out what to look out for, I felt a hand on my shoulder and I was swung around violently. I staggered a couple of steps and almost fell. I felt the blood rush to my head as my temper rose. I hated obnoxious drunkards and I hated bullies. This man was both. The ox came closer and in my face, his foul breath stinking up all the air I was breathing in, giving me a little mocking shove. That just about did it. I closed my right hand in a tight fist and gave it to him right on the kisser. I felt his nose crunch and his lips flatten under my knuckles. He went down like the losing ox in the wrestling match. For a brief moment, I exulted. De Vorto threw in a ‘well done’ that added to the feel-good factor. It was then that I realised what I had done. Oh shit!
The ox’s friends let out a flurry of oaths. The ones on their feet rushed at me. I backed a few steps, tripped and fell, my arse slamming into the thankfully soft sand. I pushed myself to my feet, waiting for them to come to me, determined to give as good as I got. There was a loud cry then, as someone shouted out something. The guys stopped. I watched, my heart pounding, as the ox staggered to his feet. The situation was rather clear. He wanted revenge, and he wanted me for himself. He looked like he could tear me to pieces with one hand while he swigged beer with the other. I gulped as I realised that I had probably been better off being beaten to death by the others. I had got lucky with my previous punch because he just did not expect it. Now, he was ready. And he looked like he was going to put me through a lot of pain.
As he approached me his wrist flicked and there was the mother of all knives in his hand. Jesus! I could not die in such a clichéd situation!
“What are you scared of, boy? You can take them. You can take all of them down. You have the gift. Let it loose. Let it do what you want it to.”
“What?! After all that talk you gave me
about being irresponsible with my gift, you ask me to let it loose? What do you want me to do? And I have never dealt with anything of this magnitude!”
I saw the ox leering through the blood dripping from his broken nose and split lips as he flicked the knife through some vicious arcs. I could sense the growing desperation and the surge of adrenaline. I needed to do something!
“Damn right you do! You misused your gifts against helpless norms. These ruffians are asking for trouble. It’s your life or theirs. It is a duel to the death! Do not hesitate! Weave, or I shall!”
Oh damn! The last thing I wanted was De Vorto using me as a host to start weaving wordscapes. I had to do something here. The ox was much closer now. Too close for comfort. I had to talk to him! I don’t think he wanted to talk. He was too intent on carving me up. I decided to give talking a shot. It had worked back in the shack. Words! I needed words!
The words came to me as they did before; out of nowhere. I did not need to think. I took a deep breath and shouted, “Stop! Back off!”
Lame, at best. He just grinned wider, his bad teeth made all the more horrible because of the blood. But he did stumble a bit, a frown flitting across his face. Did I do that?
“Go on,” the voice whispered to me. “Talk!”
I took a deep breath and spoke. Strange words came to me, words I did not know, words I did not understand.
“Stop, or I will unleash Sliverette!” I shouted out.
(an invisible tendril curled into existence. it was a powerful name…)
The man stopped for a second, slightly puzzled at my words. I was pretty puzzled myself. What in wide heavens was Sliverette supposed to be?! I am trying to scare a big brute armed with a foot-long knife with made up words!
“De Vorto…?” I called out in my head, my unspoken voice quavering. He whispered to me, “Go on boy, go on. You’re doing just fine.”
With all the desperation of a man pleading for his life before a lynch mob, I plunged on, “Do not come any further. Back off! Sliverette will cut you all to pieces!”
The oaf with the blade smirked and asked in a heavily sarcastic tone, “What is silver?”
“Sliverette, you fool!” I hissed, “Not silver! She is an imp, a wicked li’l imp.” I could see that he did not understand much of what I was saying. But then, I had a growing realisation that I was not talking to him. I was talking to something else out there. I could almost see a shape forming in the air.
“De Vorto, what the hell am I doing? What are you doing?” I asked the question aloud, furiously, spitting the words. The ox frowned, not sure what was happening anymore. De Vorto spoke after a moment of silence, “You are weaving my boy. You are weaving your first real scape.”
Dew
It took me some time to figure out the plan of action. I was searching for two powerful ciphers who were somehow woven into one. I didn’t understand how. But I knew I had to do it. Papa Loon had told me to. I wanted to! In some way they were connected to Andy da’s death. And if that wasn’t enough motivation, nothing was.
I went back to Papa Loon’s memory. Not surprisingly, it was easier to analyse his memories objectively than mine. I ran through it again and again, looking for some clue. For the first time, I let it play to the end, and beyond when he walked out of the shack. Just as Papa Loon was turning around, I saw something that caused my heart to jump to my throat. The mossy tinge…it was there in the memory, even after he had left. Only it was weaker now. More importantly, it was thicker towards the entrance to the shack which is where he had been headed when he had walked out. It led to him!
I quickly dismissed the memory and brought up my scape sign. I knew what I was looking for. I looked through it at the room around me, looking for a light patch where I would be able to see other colours. A white stole was suspended from the hook on the door. As I looked hard at it, I could see a mossy tendril move past, so faint I almost missed it. I quickly started weaving a trace into it. I put in a few power words, augmenting my sight to notice the tinge. Slowly, I saw more and more of it. It was all around my room. And it was streaming in from a crevice in the skylight built into the sloping roof. I had it! I just had to follow the trace all the way to Slick. I stopped to pick up my battle wand and charms. I found the wand and slipped it into my bag. My fingers ran over the words inscribed in tiny letters at the bottom, ‘To Dew, stun away baby’. Andy da. I remembered how I had groaned when I had seen the inscription, at the same time completely thrilled to have my own wand. Before then I had been using an old patched up wand that Andy da had passed on to me when he had made his new one. The one he had died with. I swallowed the lump in my throat. I didn’t have time for this.
I started looking for charms when I suddenly stopped. There were two ciphers here. Each more powerful than even the most powerful wordsmith in the Free Word or the Guild. Who was I kidding by preparing myself for battle! I wouldn’t even dent either of their auras with anything I had on me. My only chance was to somehow lure them to the market, where the Free wordsmiths would be waiting. Together I was sure the Free Word would prove a match for this duo.
I quickly opened the door and stepped out. And gasped. The mossy tinge was everywhere. These two were so powerful that in some way they had managed to taint surroundings for miles around. I let my consciousness become diffused so I could tie down patterns in the mossy striations around the place. It was like looking at a light through near-closed eyes. I could see starbursts of colour here and there, but for the most part, it was just a light hue that tainted everything in that irritating mossy shade, pretty and alive yet somehow decrepit and parasitic. I soon saw a bearing to the north, a pattern that thickened just a bit in that direction. I’d never have noticed it if it hadn’t been for my scape sign and my spell building in an enhanced sensibility to this colour. I kick-started my bike and set off. This would take time, but I was going to hunt him down.
The rest of the evening passed in a tiring blur. It wasn’t as easy as I had thought. The pattern wasn’t always reliable. Sometimes it thickened just because there were trees or water, and at times, the wind moved it around. Towards the evening, I found myself heading west and the glare of the setting sun kept interfering with my light-chasing scape. It was irritating, but it worked, more or less. I found myself bearing north, as I zigzagged towards Chapora and lesser known beaches. The crowds thinned out and there were hardly any people around. Soon it was past sunset and I had only the bike’s light to guide me. What were these two up to in this wilderness? I headed to the only petrol station in the vicinity to tank up. I refuelled and took a few minutes to examine the pattern. With the fading light, the pattern had become clearer. And yes, I could see it pointing north again, towards the beach. I was close. I felt a thrill of fear and excitement. Come on, Dooly! You can do this! I started the bike and set off.
***
I headed straight for the beach this time. The closer I got, the clearer the pattern was. Or perhaps an entire afternoon of searching had just helped me understand and see the pattern more clearly.
I soon hit an offshoot path that led to the beach, and I rode down as far as I could. I saw a motley group of bikes and bicycles. Uh-oh, trouble. This was Vincent and gang. They were the worst locals a tourist could walk into in North Goa. Each of them had criminal records that ran into multiple pages. However, with wordsmiths as powerful as these, I wasn’t sure who I should be worrying for. I quickly parked the bike and took off down the beach at a run.
The moment I hit the beach I knew that my fears were completely justified. The gang was spread out with Vincent at the head. Facing them was Slick, with his back to me. There was no second person in sight, but I somehow sensed that there wouldn’t be someone else lurking around. I could see a blaze of mossy tendrils around him through my scape sign.
I slowed down, but kept walking forward, wondering what the hell to do. The wind brought his words to me, and in the rhythm and the words, I recognised a very powerful scape. It wasn’t one that I
recognised, but then, one didn’t need to know a scape to understand what it could wreak. Ahead of him, I could see his scape sign twisting and flaring. It was the colour of moss on fire, it was his colour. I came to a stop a few feet behind him, afraid of alerting him. I continued listening as he wove his scape to an end. Slowly, the meaning of the scape filtered through. Sweet mother! He was going to slaughter the entire bunch!
Wordscapist: The Myth (The Way of the Word Book 1) Page 15
