Horsemen of Old: Book Two

By Krishnarjun Bhattacharya

There will come a time when it will talk to you.' The Darkness?' Yes. And when that time comes, do not answer.' Cat and mouse. Hunter and prey. A desperate flight, in sun and moonless night. A country succumbing to the weight of its politics, bleeding in the shadow of its history. Frozen Bombay, a city of thieves and pirates. Zaleb Hel, an island of secrets. Nemen Sui, the black place. Rajasthan, a burning desert waste where the heart eaters roam. But the sound of hooves. They grow ever near. The beating of drums. The end of days. The Four Horsemen. The Apocalypse. You are powerless to stop this, siblings. You have lost much. Your innocence. Your love. Your greatest ally. All you have now is the blood that ties you. All you have now is each other.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fingerprint Publishing
• Release date: Jun 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9788175994096

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The boy sat silently, watching the Demon eat.

He was terrified, but despite his horror he was connecting the dots. Dots lost to him earlier, dots ignored, dots now recollected through the stench of blood, the filth of innards. This was what he was being prepared for. The books, the callsigns, the dead, dead language. This was what a summoning actually felt like, it felt cold. Clammy. Damp, like the last torch that flickered. Damp, despite fire.

The diagrams of the beasts, the weird scratches, the claws, the horns, the teeth, it was all real. Demons existed. Everyone in the room was dead, everyone but him. It had proceeded to devour the rest. The whole affair had been a hidden ritual, and the boy, even at his age, knew that no help was coming.

The Demon of Shadow ate with a savage delight. It lowered itself onto the dead bodies and ate. Occasionally it would tear away an arm or a leg and eat it separately. Organs lay strewn across the stone floor, washed in blood. A platter. Lungs wolfed down, livers, kidneys, the brain, sometimes a bone or two, mostly the ribs. Skin. Other bones, mostly vertebrae and the skull, ignored, sometimes briefly gnawed on.

It would occasionally glance at the boy, as if making sure he was still there.

The boy did not have a choice but to stay. The door was locked, the key lost somewhere in the pockets of one of those the Demon was devouring. It was in the hopes of spotting the key that the boy watched the Demon eat; it was pulling something new out of a body. A heart.

‘Your heart, it beats like a drum,’ it whispered.

The boy gave a start. The Demon was looking at him. White teeth, sharp. Fang-like, but not quite. The heart, bit into. Blood, black, oozing and running down its hand, black.

‘Name,’ the Demon said.

The boy did not reply.

‘Name!’ the Demon hissed.

‘A-A-Adri,’ the boy stammered.

The Demon gnawed at the heart with a disapproving shake of head. ‘Names, they have power,’ it said, mouth full. ‘Tell me your full name, boy.’

‘A-Adri Sen,’ the boy whispered.

‘Adri Sen,’ the Demon drawled. ‘My name is Chhaya, and I am not going to eat you.’

The boy did not react.

‘Aren’t you . . . glad?’ the Demon asked, its attention back on the feast. Loins. Muscle, often resisting. Chewy.

Silence, again.

‘If you do not speak,’ Chhaya said, ‘then you will never speak again, boy. Your silence makes me impatient.’

‘You would break your word?’ the boy asked, slowly.

‘What word?’

‘You just told me you will not eat me.’

‘There is a story about silence,’ Chhaya rasped. ‘About silence fickle, silence eternal. Thin line between death and silence. But the past is in the past. You seem to have found the voice.’

‘If you will not eat me,’ the boy said, again with thought, ‘then I can talk.’ His voice was strained. It threatened to break at places. This was costing him every ounce of his courage, courage he never knew existed.

‘Ah, old flesh,’ Chhaya said with relish. ‘Tough to chew, but sometimes it has an aftertaste, like a lifelong marination.’ It lowered itself onto a body and breathed in deep. ‘This one was born for me.’

‘You killed them all,’ the boy spoke softly, more to himself. This was death, more death in an hour than he had seen in his life, and now, desecration. It was wrong, the way the Demon ate them. It wasn’t supposed to be. There was no—respect.

‘This old flesh had a name,’ Chhaya said. ‘He was called Mryttik. Do you know why I was summoned?’

The boy shook his head.

‘He wanted me to kill someone. An enemy of his. And after hearing your name, I see you will understand. He wanted me to kill Victor Sen.’

The boy’s eyes twitched. His father. The old Necromancer had wanted to kill his father. He searched for his sympathy for the ones murdered, the ones being eaten. It was still there.

The Demon was watching him again. ‘How does it feel, boy? This could have been the flesh of your father.’

‘Flesh is still flesh,’ the boy replied, unable to believe what he was saying, but transported, his opinions being given temporary freedom.

‘Indeed it is. Wise beyond years, boy? If so wise, then tell me the three rules of summoning our kind.’

The boy snapped himself out of the stupor. A different classroom, a very different teacher. The same questions. ‘Higher Power, The Telephone Call, and Precautions,’ he said with practiced ease.

‘Explain,’ the Demon said, biting into a calf.

‘Demons belong to a higher power,’ the boy said. ‘They are greater creatures than humans, not servants to be summoned and banished. It is this respect that must be remembered at all times, by every Tantric.’

‘Second,’ Chhaya rasped.

‘A summoning is like a telephone call,’ the boy continued. ‘The Demon in question always and always has the choice to either reply, thus be summoned, or simply let it ring.’

‘Last one.’

‘Never summon without precautions. Call a Demon only if you carry the power to send it back, ideally the power to end it if need be.’

‘Yes,’ Chhaya hissed. ‘Yes, nice rules, good rules. Keep you safe. After tonight, do you think they work?’

‘Mryttik broke two,’ the boy said.

‘Yes he did,’ the Demon said. ‘He also called something from a realm which does not answer to your kind, never has. What do you say to that?’

The boy did not know what to say. He had just seen death for the first time. These questions did not suit him.

‘The answer is stupidity,’ the Demon said with relish. ‘Power is tricky, and Mryttik, lost in his fantasies of revenge, forgot the basics.’

It was waiting for a reply this time. ‘May he find peace,’ the boy said softly.

The Demon gave a sharp guffaw and almost choked on something. ‘No tattoo ceremony yet, boy?’

The boy shook his head.

‘Wait for it. They will kill this, this softness. Another question for you, the most important one. Answer this and I will let you leave.’

An opportunity, unexpected. The boy listened, not daring to breathe.

‘How am I inside this circle?’ Chhaya asked.

‘Impossible,’ the boy said. He did not know how. The whole thing defied what the books had taught him. He had noticed it earlier, but the shock had been too much to allow thought. He looked at the circle again, the circle on the stone floor. Most of the chalk had been washed off by the blood, but he was sure it had been flawless. And even if the Demon broke the Pentacle—the star within the circle—it could not step inside the positive circle, where the Tantrics had been. Where it was, right now, eating.

‘Then how am I here?’ Chhaya had turned to face him now.

The boy shook his head.

‘How am I here?’ the Demon hissed again, standing up. It took a step towards him. Then one more.

The boy froze. His brain was shutting down once more, fear gripping him. His throat was dry. Chhaya had almost reached him. It stank of the dead, its black shining.

‘HOW AM I HERE?’ the Demon roared, teeth gleaming in the dark.

A rush of fear. The overpowering smell of fear. Death. No promises mattered for this Demon. The answer did, perhaps. The answer.

‘Because you’re not!’ the boy shrieked.

Chhaya’s fangs were inches from his face. It had stopped.

‘Because you’re not here. You’re not a Demon of Shadow. You’re the shadow of a Demon.’ The boy paused. ‘Another Demon, who is not here.’

Chhaya withdrew. It backed away slowly to the centre of the room, face still on the boy.

‘Another one,’ Chhaya whispered. ‘After centuries, another one who answers. Wise beyond years, truly.’

‘Let me go,’ the boy said.

‘Yes,’ the Demon whispered. ‘But the debt of a life is not so easily paid. If I spare you, you have to remember.’

‘Remember what?’ the boy asked.

‘There is a Game, a Game we must play,’ Chhaya said. ‘There is time, there is a lot of time, but we must play.’

‘What Game is this?’

The Demon opened a palm, something was in it. A small object, gleaming softly in the light of the last torch.

‘One in which choice is but an illusion,’ the Demon said. ‘Take this and I will explain the rules.’

‘If-if I take that, can I leave?’ the boy asked.

‘You will be thinking about the rules all your life, until it is time to play,’ the Demon said. ‘Yes, you may leave afterwards, but listen now, and listen well.’

The boy nodded and reached out. His fingers trembled. Chhaya dropped the object in his palm, cold and heavy. The boy observed it with interest, reading silently from the inscriptions.

‘Why does it say Keeper?’ Adri asked.

Part I

The Dead Who Watch Over Us

1

The ash was like snow, scattering slowly, like motes of dust floating about in beams of sunlight. A body had been there, just there, a living, breathing, talking person only a minute ago; someone Gray had bonded with over a long, long time. And now that someone was ash, scattered to the winds, scattered in some church where God did not care. The statue of the saviour looked on, silent as ever, as the ash stayed in the air, not flying, not settling, finding a permanence in that moment of horror, that single moment when Adri Sen had burned away.

Then Fayne spoke, and Gray opened his eyes, disbanding the vision of the ash and the church.

‘Not far now,’ Fayne said.

The three of them stood on the second floor of a building with a missing wall. A wide, wide road stared at them. An abandoned highway. The skies, red, were now dry. The storm was gone. Everything was still wet, the tarmac glistened. Dawn.

‘Isolation is a funny thing,’ Maya said. ‘It does things to people.’

‘Are you talking about your state?’ Gray asked. ‘When you had gone, you know, all coma on us?’

‘I’m talking about him,’ Maya replied, peering at the roads before them. ‘Damn, wish I had binoculars.’

‘I see everything,’ Fayne said. ‘Tell me of what you would hear.’

‘You are talking about him,’ Gray said slowly.

‘He’s not dead, Gray. Get over it.’

‘He burned like he was nothing,’ Gray said.

‘Is that the tower?’ Maya asked Fayne, pointing.

‘Yes. That is the Convergence, where five highways meet.’

They could see it in the distance, in the haze of the early morning red, something tall, shimmering, a mirage. It was there and then it wasn’t. A trick of the clouds and the light.

‘Magic?’ Maya asked.

‘Strong magic,’ Fayne replied. ‘Ba’al is a mage.’

‘Are we seriously going to sneak into the headquarters of the Free Demons?’ Gray asked.

‘We’ll be walking in through the front gates,’ Maya said.

Gray realised that something had changed about Maya. The cause, of course, had to be Adri Sen. She had gotten progressively grim and moody since Adri’s burning. Just how attached had Maya been to the Tantric? Of course there was the impending Apocalypse and this whole business of stopping it, but Maya’s demeanour did not speak of destiny. It was undoubtedly personal. Not that Gray had a problem with vendettas, but his sister’s seriousness, it was beginning to bother him. The burning had affected him as well, like a bad dream, but Maya clearly intended to do something about it.

‘There are going to be Demon patrols. And gargoyles,’ Fayne said.

‘Let’s walk,’ Maya replied. ‘It’s best if Ba’al knows we’re coming.’

The highway dried up sooner than the grass around it. It was unusual, seeing a highway lose itself in the middle of nowhere, while all around there were only grasslands, the occasional swamp. Gray remembered the stories. There had once been many MYTH buildings here. They were meant to be training centres, but with Ba’al’s rise to power, the Free Demons had razed them to the ground. The rumours said that the Demon Commander had done it himself, with one of his most destructive spells, the fabled Godkiller. Gray tried to imagine the raw power it must have taken to devastate an entire landscape.

‘He’ll kill us,’ Gray said slowly as they walked. ‘He’ll have us for lunch.’

‘Ba’al . . . is different,’ Maya said calmly.

‘What makes you so sure?’ he shot back. ‘I met a Demon once. And all he told me was that he wanted to eat me.’

Maya sighed. ‘Because I have read about Ba’al. And not just in my books.’

Gray’s silence demanded more. She went on.

‘At Adri’s place. His diaries. I took some of them, I’ve been reading them. And yes,’ she continued as Gray’s eyes widened, ‘Adri knows. It was the first thing I told him after I recovered from the coma.’

‘You still have them? I can’t believe this!’

‘They were in my bag, but when I came to, it wasn’t around. I think it’s still in the cave with the Ancients.’

‘Wow, so you trespassed on someone’s memories? Is that how you had those visions in your coma?’

‘It’s more, ugh, more complicated than that.’

‘Real proud of you, sis,’ Gray said darkly.

‘It was necessary. And the only reason I know what to do now is because I read those diaries.’

‘Stop,’ Gray said. ‘Stop walking.’

They stopped. Fayne did not say a word, contenting himself with maintaining a sharp lookout. Maya looked at Gray questioningly, but she knew what this was about. She had always known that there would come a time when she would be asked this question. She steeled herself.

‘Maya,’ Gray began, ‘let me get one thing straight. You do not know Adri Sen. And you do not know who he is. You might know some things about his life now, considering you read up some of the things he decided to write, and we all met his charming father, but you do not know who he is. Right now, and I mean right now, Death is going to see through this deception, this trickery. He’s going to be on our tails, and you know that. The Apocalypse is coming, it’s the end of the world and all that, yes, but that is not why you’re doing this. This, this determination I’m seeing in you? It’s got nothing to do with saving the world, and you know it. So, why are you doing this for Adri?’

A morning wind blew, no buildings, no trees to stop it. A rush of wind, catching them all unawares, whipping Maya’s long hair around her face as she stood facing Gray. Silent.

‘Are you in love with Adri?’ Gray asked.

Maya’s face was unreadable, even to Gray, with all his experience.

‘Gray,’ Maya said slowly. ‘This is not a fucking love story.’

‘That’s not what I asked,’ Gray countered.

‘He saved me, Gray. My stupidity got me into that damned basement in Jadavpur. My will to become a Sorcerer, my weakness in coming to terms with what MYTH denied me. That got me into that basement. That almost got me killed. That made me a corpse you had to carry for so many days, a bloody liability you had to feed and clean and change. How do you think that makes me feel? Special? Cared for? It makes me feel pathetic. I do not feel strong; I feel indebted. I tricked all of you, didn’t I? I didn’t trust you, or Adri, and it landed me in the arms of an Ancient. Adri saved me, and I don’t want to feel saved, Gray. I am an individual, and I will make my own decisions. As for what I’m doing? I’m not in love with Adri Sen. But he needs a good friend, right now more than ever, and what I’m doing, Gray, is stepping up.’

Maya started walking without waiting for a reply. Fayne walked with her, and for a second Gray watched them go, Maya in her muddied jeans and top, Fayne in his weathered, torn robes. He looked down, at how old and frayed his own clothes were. She was right, but they weren’t in any condition to fight. It was easy to forget this at times, but looking at something as simple as his weather-worn shoes served only to remind. He followed them, adjusting his violin case in a hurry.

It was a plain walk, uneventful. Gray was thirsty as the morning gave way to the day. ‘No water’, Fayne had said. Maya did not show any signs of fatigue, or hunger, or thirst, and ignoring a rumbling belly, Gray knew that right now she was the example he had to follow.

They walked for hours before the fortress came into sight.

A red fortress, shivering and blending in and out of the wind and the sunlight, high walls surrounding it, dark shapes patrolling the battlements. Out of the fortress emerged a tower, higher than any building they had seen in the Old City, a tower ripping its way up into the clouds. It was, like everything else, a dark red. Then they noticed it—the Convergence. Five highways, each coming from a different direction, joining at the fortress, having a dedicated gate on each side. There was something grand about the structure, something limitless about the desolation on every side that made it a spectacle worth remembering. Something to easily rival the grand MYTH Castle in New Kolkata.

‘No Demons so far,’ Maya said.

‘Ba’al expects us,’ Fayne replied.

They walked closer, hunger and thirst forgotten. The walls of the fortress, they saw, had runes inscribed upon them, plain and unpolished, radiating secret power. A giant metal gate. A loud creak. Gray was the only one who was taken by surprise as the gate swung open, seemingly on its own; Fayne and Maya walked without breaking stride.

The courtyard. The same red stones on the ground, all aligned neatly in their own grooves, perfect symmetry, echoing their footsteps.

A giant courtyard, and no one to be seen.

They walked up to the base of the tower and stood in silence, looking around. They circled it, a giant behemoth in a giant courtyard.

‘No door,’ Gray said.

‘Fayne?’ Maya asked.

Fayne was quiet as he looked up. ‘Magic,’ he said simply. ‘We are not stepping into the tower unless Ba’al wants us to.’

‘Oh, just bloody great,’ Gray mumbled.

‘Ba’al!’ Maya shouted without warning. ‘Demon Commander Ba’al!’ Her voice echoed in the courtyard.

‘Did he decide to take a bloody vacation? MYTH paid him off to go to Hawaii for a bit, soak up some sun maybe?’ Gray complained.

Maya shouted again. The banners along the battlements fluttered. Fayne studied the mark of the Free Demons once more, something he knew quite well. A Demon head against a broken pentacle.

‘Fatiya,’ Fayne said. ‘Do not shout. He watches us.’

‘He’s watching us?’ Gray looked around. ‘Adri is dead, and this guy is just watching?’

‘Is Adri Sen dead?’ a voice asked.

Maya and Gray had never heard such a voice before. It was small and dry but there was a rumble to it, an authority, like thunder among the clouds. The words had been spoken gently, in perfect calm, yet every syllable had been clear, and in all its clarity the owner of the voice held a sense of power, of promised retribution and death. It chilled Gray to the bone, this voice out of nowhere, and even Maya felt wary.

The Veil is rumoured to have been an ancient spell, one specific to places of old, places of magic, where the very skeleton holding it together is said to have breathed and lived on the mana ever-present in the air. As they stood at the bottom of the tower, the Veil came off, smoothly, on command. Maya, Gray and Fayne looked around with newfound eyes.

The courtyard was deserted no longer. Demons, scores of them, some patrolling the battlements, giant crossbows in hand, stomping from one ballista to the next, others, the worker Demons, hurrying about with books and rolled parchments and locked boxes. Doors and gates appeared. Gargoyles, perched on walls, leering. And the silence, the silence gave way to sound—loud footsteps, whispers and grunts and the hustle and bustle of a fortress ready for war.

In the middle of all this, right in front of them stood a Demon shorter than the rest, shorter than Maya. He wore red and black robes that swirled with the wind, robes that offered no protection. His face was distinctly un-Demon like, the structure almost human were it not for the dark red skin glowing gently and the small horns poking out of his forehead. He was bald, the only hair on his face a light beard, black. His ears were pointed and sharp, wooden earrings gripping them tightly; black tattoos swirled around his eyes, leading to either side, out of sight. The most striking, the most paralysing, however, were the eyes. Again, almost human, had it not been for the piercing carmine irises. He stood before them, this Demon, quietly, his hands folded behind his back, his feet bare, those eyes boring into them, waiting for a reply.

It took Maya and Gray a moment to realise who they were facing.

‘Ba’al,’ Fayne said gently. He bowed. Maya and Gray were startled. The Veil had been disorienting enough, and now Fayne was bowing. Ba’al looked at Fayne for a second, and then bowed back.

‘Alkhatamish,’ he said. ‘I have heard of you.’

‘I helped end your warrior Demon in Hazra,’ Fayne said.

Ba’al’s eyes flashed. ‘I am aware. And I assure you, we shall talk, but for the moment, there is something more pressing.’ He turned to Gray. ‘You did not answer my question, young one.’

Gray was wondering if he should bow. If Ba’al did not bow back, however, it would be an insult. But what if his not bowing was an insult in the first place? Demons were a weird lot. He didn’t remember Adri telling him anything about bowing. Fayne, curse him, had not said anything either.

‘Adri is, err, not exactly dead,’ Gray stammered.

‘Has his body burned?’ Ba’al asked.

Gray stared. ‘Yes.’

‘Do you have his soul?’

‘I do,’ Maya replied. She brought out what she had been holding tightly in her fist, the soul gem from the Araakh. Ba’al looked at the soul within, glowing, travelling the confines of the gem. Adri.

‘The Keeper,’ Ba’al said. ‘You have a long journey ahead of you, human. Rest tonight, eat, drink, regain what little strength you have. I wish to hear more.’

He swept past them into the tower. They stood, flabbergasted, and finally followed.

2

‘Tonight you are under my protection,’ Ba’al said. ‘Nothing touches you.’

The tower was huge, a fortress in itself. There were quarters, halls, and rooms on each floor. Torches burned everywhere, throwing a medieval soul into the heart of the tower. Then came the human skeletons, hanging inside cages, and tapestries which seemed to have been painted on skin—the grisly decoration served to remind Maya and Gray that it was a Demon that had made this tower his home. A narrow spiral staircase, cut out of stone, led upwards. Gray stopped counting floors after the twentieth. Maya wondered if it was magic, if the tower could go on forever.

Ba’al walked ahead of them. He was intelligent, but they were scared of him; something underneath that calm demeanour that spoke of why he was the leader of the Free Demons, why him and no one else. He showed them to their quarters himself; a spacious room with large windows and three beds, a bath chamber of granite and stone attached. He suggested they finish with their ablutions and meet him for a meal on the floor above, but Gray and Maya were famished—the climb hadn’t helped at all—and they chose, instead, to simply wash their faces and hands and go up to the dining hall.

It was huge, the dining hall, surrounded by tower windows. Sunlight gushed in onto a large circular table laden with food. Ba’al was already seated on one of the chairs and he gestured for them to join. Fayne was still downstairs. The minute they sat down, Gray attacked the food noisily; there was beef, chicken, pork, and even dishes of vegetables and fruits. Gray ate indiscriminately; he was too hungry to care about anything. Maya, however, crossed her arms and looked at Ba’al.

‘Would you like to hear of what happened?’ she asked.

‘Eat first, human,’ Ba’al said.

‘The Apocalypse is more important than my lunch, Demon Commander,’ she said quietly.

Ba’al did not react. ‘I know when a human is tired, when a human needs food. I can smell weakness, human. It is a part of knowing your prey.’

‘Can you smell strength?’ Maya asked.

‘If you can manage to not faint from the lack of food, then by all means, tell me what happened,’ Ba’al replied.

Maya began recounting the events of the night. Inside, she grew weaker still, and not just from the hunger. The burning. It was not something she had been thinking about. She had armoured herself to not think of it, to move on and act, to take the next step. But as she recounted, starved, the aroma of food swirling around her, the infamous Ba’al listening silently to every word she uttered, she realised that she missed Adri Sen. She missed the serious Tantric, who, by now, would not only have chalked out a concrete plan, but would also know how exactly to deal with Ba’al. She looked down at the soul gem in her hand as she talked, at Adri. He was with her, he was not.

And then she was done.

‘Betrayed by a Fallen,’ Ba’al said, sitting against the light of the window behind him, his eyes glowing. ‘Adri Sen can see everything, yet he is so hopelessly blind.’

‘Aurcoe will die,’ Maya said. Gray stopped eating and looked at his sister.

‘I will rip the wings off that Angel,’ she continued, her face calm. ‘And I will send him across the River to meet his three brothers.’

‘You and what army?’ Gray muttered.

Ba’al, however, did not contradict Maya. ‘Things will not stay across the River for much longer if Victor Sen has his way,’ he said. ‘He is dirty, he is corruption itself. But he is powerful.’

‘Victor Sen will answer as well,’ Maya said. ‘But first I need to bring Adri back. You said you can protect us tonight. Will you protect us from the Horseman?’

‘The Horseman is a prisoner of his own rules,’ Ba’al said. ‘I cannot defeat him, but he has his weaknesses, ones you will have to exploit.’

‘Weaknesses?’ Gray asked, his mouth full.

‘Explain,’ Maya said.

‘Death can only find akshouthur, a marked soul, one it needs to break the seal. Death’s existence, hollow and broken as it is, is drawn to marked souls helplessly, instinctively. Adri Sen is akshouthur. You three are not.’

‘Are you saying Death can’t track us?’ Maya asked, eyes wide.

‘It will try,’ Ba’al said. ‘But it cannot find the imprint your souls leave. It will resort to other methods. It will ride the earth, raze the cities. It will unleash its messengers, its spies. And when it gets word of where you are, it will track you, kill you, and take the soul you carry.’ Ba’al paused. ‘Take the Ai’n Duisht, and wrap the chain around the soul gem. And you are invisible to the Horseman.’

Wordlessly Maya reached for the locket she wore, the Pentacle of the Crescent Moon, the artefact that had shielded Adri throughout their journey. She would do it right now. A weight had lifted. Something new had entered the room. Hope. Ba’al was quick to crush it.

‘The Ashil Heob, the Impenetrable Fortress, is quite the journey from here,’ he said. ‘It is where the seven seals reside. It is there that the Horseman shall try to break the last seal, although I daresay Death has not discovered the little switch as of yet. It will, soon. Then it will hunt you once more. And it will kill you.’

Maya looked into Ba’al’s eyes, those eyes with fire smouldering within. ‘Do you want us to die? Why feed us? Why protect us and help us at all? Whose side are you on, Demon Commander?’

‘Things are not that simple, human,’ Ba’al said, grim. ‘No amount of warning is enough. The journey you attempt, it is treacherous. I doubt you will make it to the Keeper alive, even if the Horseman does not find you. Both of you are untrained in the arts of war, and the alkhatamish, he alone is not enough to protect the both of you.’

‘You’re avoiding my question,’ Maya said.

‘Adri Sen is bound to me, as I to him,’ Ba’al said. ‘There are things we are connected to, and this bond we have, neither of us prefers it, but it is there, and thus I must ensure that Adri Sen lives. We are part of something greater, something that was in the mist, but now it is clear—we are a part of the impending Apocalypse.’

‘Why had you summoned him, when you had sent the Demon of Shadow to get him? Why?’

‘There is a Game,’ Ba’al replied. ‘A Game Adri Sen and I are bound to play.’ He did not say any more.

‘And what is this Game about?’ Maya asked guardedly.

Silence. The lightest of footsteps. Gray wouldn’t have heard them at all, but walking miles with Fayne had made him recognise the assassin’s stride. Fayne stood at the table, watching them—Gray, who was done with lunch, and Maya, who hadn’t touched her food.

‘Alkhatamish,’ Ba’al said. ‘I have arranged food for you as well. Drink.’

Fayne looked at the goblet waiting by a chair. He did not move.

‘It is fresh,’ Ba’al said further, ‘and treated in the ways of Ahzad.’

Fayne sat down, slowly, and rolled his mask up to his nose. Bringing the goblet up, he sniffed, then took a drink. Keeping the goblet back, he pulled his mask down and nodded at the Demon Commander. ‘My thanks,’ he said. ‘I am done.’

‘I have had more treated for you. You may fill up your flask on your way out tomorrow,’ Ba’al said.

‘You knew Zackhaal?’ Fayne asked.

‘Yes, I knew the Brewmaster. I was on your diet once, when I was younger, until I realised the strength of the body was not something I would depend on.’

‘You ignore the body and tend only to the mind?’

‘I do not ignore anything. I am familiar with the teachings of Ahzad, alkhatamish. I know the balance you maintain. I consider it flawed.’

‘We shall see.’

‘Indeed.’

Maya ate. The conversation was over. Ba’al sat looking at them, and while Gray shifted uncomfortably in his seat, Maya bit into things and drank things, things seeming exceedingly delicious and beyond explanation to her starved self. She ate vicious and quiet.

‘I trust the edibles were satisfactory,’ Ba’al said. ‘Your clothing is in bad shape, and I have sent clothes to your chambers. You shall dress yourselves in these for our evening meal and meeting, when I shall direct you as to where you might find the Keeper. Feel free to look around the fortress. Do not try to enter locked doors.’

He left. The three of them remained, looking at each other in silence.

‘Why did you bow?’ Gray asked Fayne. ‘And you,’ he addressed Maya. ‘How come you’re not familiar with matters of Demon etiquette? I was standing there for half a minute wondering if I should bow!’

‘Bowing is not a part of Demon etiquette,’ Maya snapped. ‘Are you really so thick-headed that you did not see what happened?’

‘What? What happened?!’ Gray exclaimed, clueless.

‘We bow before opponents of rivalling strength,’ Fayne said. ‘I challenged Ba’al to a fight.’

‘You what?’ Gray squealed.

‘I had to talk to you about that,’ Maya told Fayne. ‘You have accepted a charge, Fayne.’

‘And I intend to see it through, fatiya,’ Fayne said.

‘If you kill Ba’al, or worse, if he kills you—’ Maya started.

‘It is doubtful. I think you should see it as more of a spar. I killed his Demon. And now I’m here, under his protection. It does not stand right. My code demands he be given a chance to avenge the death of his soldier.’

‘Assassins have no code,’ Maya said coldly.

‘I did not say that they do,’ Fayne said. ‘It is my code.’

When they went back to their chamber, they found fresh garments kept ready for them. Everyone bathed, even Fayne, and Gray had a vision of Fayne in a bathtub wearing nothing but the mask. He dismissed the thought immediately, but the old question of what was behind the mask came back. The reemergence of this question, though trivial, helped Gray realise that he was better, that he was ready to push forward, that he was beginning to look at the smaller things, the details once more, that his mind was working the same way again. Of course there was no Adri to answer his questions, but weren’t they journeying to return Adri to his body? Gray hummed a small tune as he bathed. He would have liked to have a go at his violin, but now that he knew what the instrument actually was, he dared not. Ba’al would probably kill him if Revenant came knocking.

Maya stood in the bath chamber alone, examining the robes left for her. Various shades of red and red only, all the garments were similar—a gown merged with a military coat, with small Demon horns built into the stitch around the shoulders, like epaulettes, and pants that went with each suit. The material was soft on the inside, tough and leathery on the outside—these were tailored, clearly, for comfortable indoor wear, as well as dusty journeys and rainstorms. Interesting. They looked beautiful, regal. She chose maroon. The garment fit her perfectly. Maya looked at herself in a mirror in the room, at who she had been. She had never been someone concerned with beauty, with maintaining her physical self. She did not visit hair spas and beauty salons in New Kolkata, she was a Demonology student, for heaven’s sake! And yet, she admitted to herself with the smallest of smirks, she hadn’t turned out too bad. Screw the other girls.

A momentary moment, and she was off, walking down the tower staircase, testing the stretch and feel of the fabric she wore. It felt good, especially after the rags she had been wearing. Clean clothes. She sniffed at her sleeve. It may not be a big deal compared to all the dangers she was about to face, but she’d rather die comfortable. She allowed herself a grin this time, and headed out into the courtyard. The Demons ignored her; she supposed they had been ordered to. The war machine chugged on. Somewhere outside the main gates, troops were marching off, doubtlessly heading for the Lake of Fire. She looked around, and stepped aside just in time as a huge warrior Demon lumbered past her with an armload of swords. She wondered which way she should consider walking, when a voice greeted her.

‘Why hello there, missy.’

She looked up. It was a gargoyle, ugly, perched on the pediment of the door behind her. Its wings were folded, the tail curved neatly around, its skin a dark grey stone. It leered at her and continued.

‘Are you a little lost? Surely I can be of assistance somehow?’

‘I’m Maya,’ she said, and realised she had not introduced herself to Ba’al.

‘Legagouar at your service!’ the gargoyle smirked. ‘Would you like a guided tour of the fortress? There is a lot to see here.’

‘No,’ Maya said. ‘But I have heard stories that say Ba’al is a collector of books.’

‘The Demon Commander is a collector of many things, but yes, books are indeed among them! What you speak of is the Septaranium, his library.’ It pointed. ‘The door over there. The librarian is a rather old man called Hermlock.’

‘Thanks,’ Maya said, starting to walk.

‘Not at all, not at all,’ Legagouar preened.

Maya cautiously pushed one of the double doors. It was unlocked. She was allowed. She stepped in, and took a sharp breath. Books. Hundreds of thousands of them. The Septaranium went on for as far as her eyes could see, taking a curve and then bending out of sight. The walls were infested with books lined on neat little shelves of wood, one above the other, leading all the way up to a very high roof. Torches did not burn on any of the walls, they were mounted on stands throughout, a safe distance away from the books. There were a few tables, with chairs neatly aligned around them, but Maya’s gaze sought out the books once more. So many of them! Bright volumes, dark leather bound ones, classics with gold lettering, everything glinting and shining in firelight, calling out. She still stood at the entrance, frozen, until she saw Hermlock shuffling towards her.

‘Who are you?’ he muttered. An old man, a human, wearing light grey robes, with near waist-length hair and a gigantic moustache that drooped downwards, round spectacles that he constantly kept adjusting. And a limp.

‘I’m Maya,’ she said.

He took a moment. ‘You must be the master’s guest,’ he said slowly. ‘Yes, he did mention you were coming. And two others, I believe.’ His voice was old.

‘Yes, they’re here as well.’

‘Good, good. My name is Hermlock, and I look after the Septaranium. So, did you simply wander into the master’s library?’

‘I had heard of his collection of books, yet I had no idea how vast it was. How many books do you have here?’

‘Eight hundred ninety six thousand and two,’ Hermlock said. ‘Haven’t managed to read them all yet, but I know where each one is kept.’

‘My God,’ Maya said, looking around again. ‘Is this the largest library in the world? What kind of books do you keep here?’

‘Oh, the Septaranium comes a modest ninth in the world,’ the old man smiled. ‘The master likes to read. He reads ancient scriptures, hundreds of different languages, philosophy, history, geography, journals, treatises on politics and governance, poetry, even the occasional thriller. Are you looking for something?’

They started walking down the carpeted paths, Maya gazing around in pure wonder still. ‘How did you ever pick up the first book and start reading?’ she asked. ‘Knowing that you would never be able to finish them all?’

‘The first book is the most difficult, young lady. Once you do have the courage to start, though, it is nothing but a journey.’

‘Of course.’

‘Yes, my journey has been here, in the Septaranium.’

‘Victor Sen had a modest library,’ Maya said, before she could stop herself.

‘Yes?’