Myths of Old: Book Three

By Krishnarjun Bhattacharya

Where is Adri?' 'Hiding, somewhere in the darkness.' 'I am Darkness!' Come forth, come hither. It is finally time. Fairy tales, and spit and blood and bone and venom. Promises of revenge, the smell of fear, the ever long hunt. And the stories. Oh, the old stories. The serpent and the Dragon. The tantric and the horseman. There was time, once. All the time in the world, for the world. Yet you still claw at illegitimate hope; the blade saint, the demigod, the hammer of numen, the paladins of light. Stop. Look. The skies are black, the rivers red. For the last time, the sun sets. The dark master rises. Gaze into his hypnotic coils, for it is here. The end of the beginning. The beginning of the end. Myths of Old brings the long running Tantric Trilogy to a well drawn close. Dark, dystopian fantasy at its very darkest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fingerprint Publishing
• Release date: Mar 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9789390183135

Book preview

Prologue

Something was buried in the dirt, in between the skulls. It twinkled in the moonlight, but he wasn’t looking.

He was a strong man, with thick arms and a huge torso. His hair was long and wild, his beard overgrown. They helped hide the tears on his face. He wore only a dark dhoti, tied firm around his loins and thighs. On his back was a quiver, one almost full.

The woman crept towards him, dressed in black. Leaf shadows danced across her face. She was grim, and beautiful. The man, however, did not notice her, not until she kept a gentle hand on his shoulder. The sleeve slipped back, revealing tattoos.

‘Dhananjay,’ she whispered. ‘What is it?’

She saw a tear glimmer in the moonlight, a single one.

‘They were children, Era,’ the man spoke in his voice of stone.

She caught the teardrop on a finger, brushed it off his cheek. ‘My love . . .’

‘They were eaten,’ the man said. He removed her hand delicately and crouched among the bones. There were many, too many. Slowly, his gnarled hand reached out, moving them. Turning them about in the moonlight. Scratching the ground beneath. Scratch, scratch, scratch.

Era watched the hunter awaken in her husband. He was observing the teeth marks on the bones, the loose scale caught in the tree branch, the vile smelling refuse. His sorrow was still there, very much so, but the hunter could always play his part. She smiled briefly, despite the horrific setting, the skulls in the pale light. She loved him for so many reasons.

‘I should perform the last rites,’ Era said. ‘No one wants a hundred children haunting this forest.’

Dhananjay nodded. Era opened her book and started whispering. He looked at the grass, a dry red, and he mourned the children. Era and he had been late. Once again. It was the same creature. The marks and signs, the very same. When Era was done, he told her as much.

‘It’s eating children now,’ she said. ‘Demons go on that kind of a diet when they reach their third stage. The stomach is too volatile for anything else.’

‘The third stage,’ Dhananjay repeated. ‘You forget I know little about Demons. When I see one, I simply kill it.’

‘Demons have three stages of power,’ Era explained. ‘It takes centuries for them to reach the second stage. The third takes even longer. Whatever it is, it’s ancient. And it just became an Elder Demon.’

‘I’m going to force-feed the creature its own intestines,’ Dhananjay said in a low voice.

Era shook her head. ‘We must reconsider this hunt, my love.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m not sure even the both of us can kill an Elder.’

Dhananjay did not speak. His will was sapped, yet he felt rage. He looked away from his cowardly wife. He would look at anything but her. A twinkle, amidst the dirt. An object, half buried, peeking. He reached for it. It was a small figurine, a little man made of metal, the size of his forefinger, but heavy. His eyes scanned the inscriptions along the thick base: Ekt el ha Vishn us ah Keeper.

‘Why does it say Keeper?’ He handed the figurine to Era.

‘Old magic,’ she said, examining it. ‘Have you heard of the Keeper of Souls? It seems this is one of the fabled Keeper Pieces.’

‘I have heard stories of the Keeper. What does it do, this piece?’

‘It is part of a doomsday prophecy. There is something in the books of the Eyeless Ones, a mention. It is called the Game. The Keeper Pieces are a part of it.’

‘It still carries the Demon’s scent,’ Dhananjay said.

‘I do not know why an Elder Demon would have a Keeper Piece in its possession,’ Era said. ‘But it has something to do with the Apocalypse, and it cannot be good.’

‘All the more reason to end it.’

They took a moment to pay their respects to the dead, and then made their way back to their camp. As they stepped through the protective circle, Dhananjay urged Era to sleep in the tent. He had things on his mind. He knew he would not sleep that night. The Tantric opened her mouth to say something, but then silently entered the tent instead.

Dhananjay made arrows by the fire. A Demon of Shadow, he thought. That was all they knew about it. And that it was probably an Elder now. It was impossible to track a Demon of Shadow by night; they left virtually no tracks. It was the sun that caused them to make mistakes, it was the sun he waited for. First light and he would be off, Era or no Era. He hated her right now; he chose to not think about her.

He thought of Wodan. His son was home, so far away. He hoped Era’s familiar would look after him as well as she had promised. The child did not know fear, father’s blood. And he loved the books; he immersed himself in them all the time. So young and already calling spirits. Good with the sword too. Dhananjay smiled. Wodan was going to grow up a fine lad, better than the both of them. He abruptly thought of the eaten children and the smile left him. They weren’t going to grow up at all.

‘I’m going to kill you, Demon,’ he whispered.

Something moved in the trees. Dhananjay stood up instantly, having sensed it. His right hand was outstretched, his bow had materialised. He nocked an arrow and looked around the clearing, at the circle of trees. Nothing. He called upon Sight and Smell, and his eyes ebbed blue, his nostrils flared. Nothing to be seen save the trees, but there was a smell, a strange smell. Not the corpse he had somehow been smelling since days, that mysterious dead body stink always following him, he could always smell that, but something else. He spun around and saw a branch quivering on the other side.

‘Oh I hope it’s you,’ he rumbled.

Dhananjay hated the protective circle. Era always drew one, and she would not listen. Whatever this creature was, it could not enter. It made the whole thing too easy, took away the thrill. Right now he knew he could not be touched, and that made him feel old, like he needed a crutch.

A whisper emerged out of the darkness. A dry voice, piercing. ‘I come in peace, Hunter.’

‘It does not matter, killer of children,’ Dhananjay said. ‘You court death.’

‘I am not the one you hunt,’ the voice said. ‘I am merely a messenger.’

Dhananjay lowered the bow and sat back down. The creature knew he would not harm a messenger. It knew the rules of the hunt, and that it was being hunted. It knew him. He looked at the fire for a few seconds as the bow disappeared. Then he looked up. It had stepped out of the trees, dark, humanoid, bat-like wings, smooth glass-like skin. Demon.

He started making arrows again. ‘What are you called?’ he asked, knowing the Demon wouldn’t surrender its name so easily.

‘Chhaya,’ it said, approaching slowly.

‘And who is your master, the one I hunt?’

‘He is called Asag.’

Dhananjay looked up. ‘Why give the names? A show of faith? You know I will hunt your master when the sun rises. Its name gives me the means to find it.’

‘My master wishes something from you.’

Dhananjay glanced at the Keeper Piece lying by the arrowheads. ‘Something it dropped?’

‘Hand the piece over and my master will not harm you or your wife.’

‘A Demon’s promise?’

‘He has nothing to gain by lying. He is bound by a hellchain.’

‘A hellchain?’ the Hunter looked amused. ‘How long does this Asag have?’

‘Till tomorrow, midnight. And that is how long you have, the both of you.’

Chhaya stepped into the circle. Dhananjay watched, his smirk gone.

‘Asag is capable of great things,’ the Demon continued. ‘Do not think you can best him.’ It looked at the figurine. ‘What will it be, Hunter? A way out, or more blood?’

‘I’m sure the hellchain will perform admirably,’ Dhananjay said. ‘But tell Asag that though its body might be dragged down to hell tomorrow, its head, that is mine. I’m taking it back to the villages, where we will mount it on a stake and spit and urinate on it before stripping off the Demon flesh and painting the bone. And then, then we will dip it in shit and pin it to a tree. A warning to all other Demons, Elder or not.’

Chhaya gave a sudden, bark-like laugh. ‘The response expected of you, Hunter. But let me tell you this. Era spoke true. He is too great a foe, even for you.’

It backed out of the circle, slowly, and into the forest. Then it was gone. The tent flap rustled as Era came out, grim.

‘You heard?’ he asked her.

‘It wasn’t lying, Dhananjay.’

‘About what?’

‘About Asag. It’s The Asag. Sumerian. Demon of Shadow, Guardian of the Six Keys, Shield of the Blue Flame. The father of all Hush, the one who makes the rivers boil. It’s big.’

The Hunter did not say a word.

‘Dhananjay, we cannot do this,’ she whispered.

‘You cannot do this perhaps!’ he roared suddenly, taking her by surprise. ‘Do not speak for me. I have hunted beasts far greater!’

‘Nothing as powerful as this!’ she protested.

‘I have killed the Serpent!’ the Hunter thundered.

There was a pause. ‘You don’t own the Drakabeshth anymore, my love. With it, yes, we might have—’

‘I will never use the Dragon’s Sorrow again,’ Dhananjay said, calmer now. ‘I forged it for only one purpose, and that is over.’

‘It’s not,’ Era said.

‘The Serpent is dead, Era. Are you trying to anger me again?’

‘Think, Dhananjay! If the Serpent is truly dead, then who put the hellchain on the Demon? I don’t think you killed it; it’s something I’ve been trying to tell you for years. It’s not dead. It simply went back to hell.’

‘Then why isn’t it back? Abaddon was not one to wait across the River.’

Era looked at the Keeper Piece. ‘I think it’s trying to get back. Something has stopped it, but it’s trying. The Apocalypse—it has always spoken of its return. And Chhaya, the Demon was simply trying to get the Keeper Piece back, nothing else.’

Dhananjay considered this. ‘You break my closure, Era,’ he said.

‘I am sorry, my love. But it is something you must dwell on. You think me a coward, but I must ask you to think of our son. Wodan needs you, he cannot grow up with only the books.’

Morning came. The Hunter had not slept. The killing of the Serpent had been one of the most important moments of his life, and now he had to consider that the vile creature might still be alive. Impossible. But there was no one else who could operate the hellchains, and he knew it.

‘How did it step inside the circle?’ he asked loudly.

Era stopped summoning spirits for a moment. ‘I do not know,’ she admitted. ‘I have never seen something like that before. Demons of Shadow can break the rules, but only if you summon them.’

‘There is much that we do not know,’ Dhananjay said. ‘You’re right. But Era, I cannot hand over this Keeper Piece, not when it might have something to do with the Apocalypse, when it might mean the Serpent rising again.’ He looked at her. ‘I cannot, even if it means the death of us.’

‘All the spirits are repeating one word, again and again,’ Era said. ‘Run.’

‘The spirits are wise, but they do not understand. If I allow Asag to get away—’

‘Asag is not getting away. It’s going across the River. If we flee, Dhananjay, with the Keeper Piece—’

‘What happens when we die, Era?’ the Hunter interrupted. ‘Do you want to hand the object to Wodan, ask him to guard it forever, and pass it down in the family until some manner of beast comes looking? What if our descendants are not warriors? Would you want our lineage to wipe itself out because of our errors?’

‘If we are going to hunt Asag, despite my feelings on the matter,’ Era said, ‘we’re not doing it alone.’

‘Demons?’

‘Yes, whatever I can summon in three hours.’

Dhananjay did not like it when she summoned Demons. But marriage was about democracy; he had gotten his way, she had agreed to the hunt. He could not ask her otherwise, not after her compromise. She wasn’t a coward, he thought suddenly. She wasn’t. She was braver than he would ever be. He would console her, apologise for the rushed decisions, make things all right. Now wasn’t the time, however. Right now, he needed her to be focused. He needed him to focus. The hunt. They had until midnight.

The stench of Demons washed the air soon, like fumes from a cauldron of filth. He looked at them, repulsed, as they arrived, one by one, rising through burning pentacles and awaiting orders. Era was good. She made no mistakes; they would be bound well.

They set out before noon. The largest of all the Demons carried their tent and supplies, a very ugly porter with a war hammer. The rest walked in a circle around Era, spreading out and looking for potential stalkers. Dhananjay led them all. He wanted to follow Chhaya’s tracks, but the Demon had left none. It was unheard of, and the Hunter felt doubt rise for a moment. They went through the forest like a pack of predators, the world’s strangest hunting party; their footsteps so quiet that even the birds did not notice. Era stepped on a dry branch and it broke without noise; then she realised Dhananjay had called upon Silence to help them.

The Hunter was flustered, though he did not show it. Evening was coming fast, and there were no tracks, no smells, no bones. Only the smell of that corpse, the one smell that seemed to be following him. He called for a temporary halt near a stream.

The Demons unloaded their packs with grunts, some of them heading to the water to drink. Others took whetstones to their weapons, and some talked in low voices.

‘What do we do now?’ Era asked. ‘It has the advantage once the sun sets.’

Dhananjay shot a bird’s eye arrow into the sky and closed his eyes. Era waited. ‘Nothing, nothing for miles,’ he said. ‘I haven’t been able to find any spoor. No tracks, trails, dragging marks, broken branches, flattened grass. No faeces. The Barik forests have a certain kind of animal in them, a deer. It should have eaten them here to survive, but there are no marks, no blood. And the deer seem fine, we saw a herd earlier. There are hills ahead of us. Tracking gets trickier there. And I’m not even sure if it’s left the forest yet.’

‘I can’t sense it,’ Era said. ‘Neither can the spirits. It’s hiding, and well.’

The Hunter scratched his jaw. ‘You say it’s a large one, right? What, thirteen feet? Fourteen?’

‘Yes, Asag is supposed to be tall.’

‘You can’t move through the forest without breaking a few branches, not if you’re that big. How is it doing that? In lore, is this Demon supposed to be a skinchanger?’

‘Not to my knowledge. I—’

Era stopped. A Demon, one of hers, was sitting by the river, chewing down on a large fish. She walked up to it and peered at the fish.

‘It’s boiled,’ she whispered.

‘It’s good,’ the Demon said.

She turned to Dhananjay. ‘The river’s boiled. Recently.’ They turned and saw the occasional dead fish float by. The Hunter leaned in and dipped a hand in the water. Lukewarm. He nodded. ‘Couldn’t have gone far. The hills.’

They started again, and by sunset they were scaling the foothills. There were four orbs of fire floating around them, throwing flickering light on every stone, making shadows move. It was easy to imagine monsters everywhere, and Era’s Demons were becoming jumpy. She looked worried. Dhananjay finally stopped and looked at her.

‘No,’ she said.

‘It’s the only way,’ he replied. ‘There’s no trail.’

‘If you use the name, it will know.’

‘It already knows, Era. Find it for me. Find it so I can kill it.’

Era paused. Using the name. She knew it would come to this, and she respected him for not asking it before. Still, it did not make a difference. By alarming Asag, they were empowering it. They could very well walk into an ambush. But it was dark, and midnight was a few hours away.

‘Give me the scale.’

Dhananjay had acquired just one, where the creature had feasted on the children. Era looked at the translucent crimson, shaped like a teardrop. So small, yet tough as steel. She closed her fist around it. ‘Asag,’ she called out. The name, the name. There was only one creature in the universe who had that name, and she was holding a part of its skin, and it had been betrayed. Her senses reached out to follow the name, and she knew where it was.

‘There’s a cave,’ she said. ‘Up ahead.’

They journeyed further, climbing soundlessly, scaling the brutal tilt. The rock face was bare, a few plants reaching out for air through crevices, cracks, and these they stepped on without mercy, all for a stable foothold. The largest Demon stayed behind, it was too heavy to keep its balance. It requested Era for dismissal and she agreed. The rest kept climbing, onward, forward, until amongst the dark of the rocks they spied something darker. The mouth of the cave.

Dhananjay called Sight, and then crept in without a second’s pause. Era followed, signalling the Demons to be ready. They seemed hesitant, but they obeyed. Dhananjay followed the walls; the cave widened out within. There was light, somewhere deep, a fire, and as the passage took a sudden turn, he entered the cavern. It was large, claiming chunks of the hill’s hollow, stalactites hanging menacingly like spears. The natural ceiling yawned far above their heads, the walls spread over a generous space. At the far end, against the wall, a fire burned. It wasn’t magical, but carefully made. There were dry twigs gathered beneath, more stacked nearby. A small pool of water reflected the light.

It did not seem like a monster’s lair to Dhananjay.

The Demons died quickly and quietly. Throats were slit fast. Era felt their connection break and turned to see Chhaya executing the last six. She raised her hand and sent spirits, but Chhaya dived into the shadows and the spirits found nothing. Dhananjay looked behind him quietly, arrow fitted to his bow.

Something reared in the shadows beside the fire then. Something that had been a rock a moment before. A figure, rising from a crouched state. The eyes, burning.

Era had never seen a Demon as old, as terrifying. She looked at its eyes, towering above them, those eyes draining her magic, those eyes. She knew Dhananjay wasn’t up to the task. They were mortal. This Demon, perhaps, was something more.

‘For a hunter, you were baited here too easily,’ it spoke, a voice that rumbled, mostly in the throat.

Dhananjay had not raised his bow. ‘I knew what this was,’ he said.

‘Yet you came.’

‘Yes.’

‘I am called Asag,’ the Demon said. ‘I have heard of you, Hunter. And you, Ba’al Ob.’

Era thought quietly of a way out. But she could think of nothing. Dhananjay would not hand over the Keeper Piece. They would die. She called upon her spirits to prepare themselves, but none answered. Of course.

‘It seems we are at an impasse, Demon,’ Dhananjay said boldly. ‘So let me tell you my terms. You have wronged my people, and for that you must be punished. Now this can go many ways, but none of them end with you living. You can either have a quick death, or you can tell me why you want the Keeper Piece and then have a quick death. If you are honest with me, I will not desecrate your skull. It shall be nailed to a village wall, but I will not allow any disrespect towards it.’

‘I will tell you why I require the Piece, Hunter. But I’m afraid you cannot kill me.’

Dhananjay glanced at Era and laughed. ‘It is only the Horsemen of Old who cannot be killed.’

‘I did not say I was immortal,’ Asag said. ‘I merely said you cannot kill me.’

‘This arrow,’ Dhananjay said, ‘I swear it can.’

‘It is the Hunter’s True,’ Asag said. ‘The arrow they all fear you for. Ignores armour, physical and magical. Ignores flesh, bone. Stops bodily functions in moments, and the aftermath energy blocks combustion, explosion, and even resurrection. Some call it the deadliest weapon ever made, but we both know that is not true. The Drakabeshth has that honour, and it remains buried.’ It paused. ‘Your arrow won’t work on me.’

Dhananjay eyed the Demon. He would have fired, but the Demon, almost reading his mind, spoke again. ‘Do not shoot, Hunter. Seeing your deadliest arrow fail you will cost you your spirit. You are noble. I do not wish to see you weak.’

‘It’s not bluffing,’ Era said. ‘I’m drained of power. Somehow.’

‘I apologise, Ba’al Ob. It is not an effect I have control over. Just as I have no control over what I must eat. Men, children, deer. I have been cursed.’

‘And the fact that you’re a Demon has nothing to do with it, eh?’ Dhananjay asked.

‘I would not slaughter your children,’ Asag said. ‘I would not do that to anyone’s young. I would kill myself before I could. But I cannot. My life, you see, is in a little bird made of stone. It sits in a stone cage across the River. The Serpent has it, and thus, he owns me.’

‘The Serpent,’ Era whispered.

‘He’s very much alive. He licks his wounds and waits to come back. The Creator has blocked his path; there are seven seals which he must break. Then will come the End of Days, and he will walk the earth.’

‘And I will kill it again,’ Dhananjay said.

‘He’s clever. He waits for your passing. He will kill your entire lineage, just to be sure.’

Dhananjay’s eyes widened. ‘Wodan,’ he whispered.

‘It has been three weeks since your son’s death,’ Asag said.

The Hunter’s bowstring screamed, the arrow flew. Era closed her eyes. She wanted tears, none came. She opened them again to see the Demon pull the arrow out. She had never seen that before.

Dhananjay looked at the ground; his bow was gone. There were no words. Quiet took the cavern, and somewhere, the sounds of the night crept in. Crickets, birds, and the wind, whistling through the cave walls, dim echoes of their real selves. Era looked at her husband and knew he would know soon. She knew it was over as soon as she had felt the spirits leave.

‘Who killed my son?’ the Hunter asked.

‘Death,’ Asag said. ‘The Horseman of the Apocalypse.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he was akshouthur, Hunter. Wodan was one of the souls the Horseman needed to break a seal. He was made so, made so in a ritual called the Oka Draugr.’

‘And who performed this ritual on my son?’ His voice was strained, threatening to break, yet there was a terrible anger. And then, somehow, in that moment, he looked at Era.

‘I told you not to come,’ she whispered.

‘You knew? Era . . . Era . . . was it you?’

‘It wasn’t her,’ Asag said. ‘It was you, Hunter. The Serpent, you have always and always underestimated the Serpent. He is a murderer, a trickster, the very devil himself. And you did not understand. You could not see.’

‘I . . . I still do not understand. I did not perform any ritual!’

‘The Serpent knew you would kill it, my love,’ Era said sadly. ‘It foresaw the battle in the Ondhokaar. It was young then, it needed to go back across the River. You killed it and sent it back to its own domain, where it would only grow in power. And it planned, my love. It planned its return, the breaking of the seals, even before its own death.’

‘But what of the Oka Draugr?’

‘When you killed the dragon,’ Asag said, ‘it was an accident, but it was meant to be. The darkness the dragon was covered in, it was no mere shadow. It was the ritual, the Oka Draugr. And you killed the dragon, the thing most precious to you in the whole world, and right then it was decided that your seed shall be akshouthur. Wodan became the first seal. The Horseman reaped him.’

‘I will go across the River!’ Dhananjay screamed. ‘Lord help me, I will go and choke the Serpent with my own hands!’

‘You should grieve, Hunter. For your child. And your wife.’

Dhananjay looked at Era in new horror, and then he knew. She looked back at him.

‘How long have you been dead, Era?’ he asked.

‘The Horseman, it killed me too,’ she said. ‘I was in the way, I tried to protect Wodan.’

‘When you travelled and joined me here—’

‘Our son was already dead, my love. And I was reanimating my corpse with over a thousand spirits to help. I would have stayed with you for all eternity, but my flesh decays. You have been smelling it.’

‘Era,’ Dhananjay whispered, hot tears finally emerging.

‘The spirits have left me,’ she said. ‘I cannot . . . I must leave too. I don’t want to, but I must. I must die now, as is natural, as is meant to be. I wish I could cry, my love, but I can’t. But this . . . this isn’t goodbye. I’ll be waiting on the other side, for . . . for—’

The light left her eyes, her body crumpled. Dhananjay ran and caught her. ‘Era, Era my love,’ he wept. ‘I love you, Era. Can you hear me? I hope you can hear me, Era. I love you. I will see you again, I swear. I swear on our son, I swear on my blood.’ He cried and he howled, and he sat with her in his arms. He sat for hours. Kissed her cold lips again and again. The bravest woman he had ever known, his life and soul, everything that he was and more.

The Demon watched.

‘I can stop it, Hunter. The Apocalypse.’

Dhananjay did not speak. Instead, he gathered the wood beside the fire—now he realised why the Demon had stocked it there—and built a pyre. It did not take him very long, and then he kissed Era one last time, one final time in this life, and then cremated her. Asag and Dhananjay, they watched until the flames went out, and then Dhananjay emptied his quiver, scooped up the ashes with it, and buried it in a soft mound of earth.

‘How?’ Dhananjay asked. His voice was stone again.

‘The Keeper Piece is part of a Game,’ Asag said. ‘A Game that can change everything. One needs a Piece to play. I need mine.’

‘What happens if you win?’

‘I win my freedom,’ Asag replied. ‘I was the only Demon to rebel against the Serpent. I was betrayed—I chose my companions poorly—and now I am hellchained. I am a prisoner across the River, Hunter. I broke out to get this piece, but if I don’t have it by midnight, my attempt will have been for naught. Only a few moments remain.’

‘And what will you do when you’re free?’

‘The Serpent must die. He has taken so much already, both from you humans, and us Demons. When I am free, I shall get the stone cage with the stone bird back. And then I can fight him. The Game might happen centuries later, but it will, on the eve of the Apocalypse.’

Dhananjay threw the Keeper Piece and the Demon caught it with a giant claw. It turned the tiny object around and nodded. ‘I appreciate your trust, Hunter. I have been honest with you. In a few moments, the hellchains will drag me back.’

Midnight came, and the hellchains shimmered into visibility. Dhananjay could see them now, bound to Asag’s neck and arms, gigantic shackles of metal and thorn. The chains led into the earth, and they could hear them begin to retract. The walls started to shake.

‘Farewell,’ Asag said.

‘Oh, you’re not going alone,’ Dhananjay said. He leapt on Asag’s arm and crouched on its shoulder, holding on fiercely. The rocks beneath the Demon’s feet were crumbling fast.

‘Very well, then,’ Asag said, holding the Hunter tight, bracing.

The pull came right then, a massive supernatural pull that swept Demon and man into the bowels of the earth. Nothing remained, nothing but a giant black pit, smoking.

1

Kaavsh knelt to pray, and he knew hunger, knew fear. The Creator had made Angels such, such was his design, that they were at their most vulnerable when praying, on one knee, head lowered. Kaavsh had often wondered why. Perhaps because if the enemy were to lop the Angel’s head off, it would be during prayer, when he was closest to his Maker. He did not know for sure, but amongst all the possible answers, this one offered the most solace.

This one did not make their God look cruel.

‘Grant me the strength to carry on through, Father,’ Kaavsh whispered. ‘And if blood be shed, look into my heart and know my intentions.’

He opened his eyes and stood. To his left, the wall was still cracked, the scorch mark still black where Adri Sen had been destroyed. Rearrangement. Compromises. He mulled on the journey of Gray and Maya. He could feel they were divided now. They had changed, both of them. He was disturbed, but he admitted that Adri had been right. They were pieces on the board, all of them.

A flutter of wings. Kaavsh half turned and saw Raven land.

‘Why pick this place?’ the Dark Angel asked, looking around at the destruction. Sunlight lit him through a hole in the roof. ‘This church in the middle of nowhere?’

‘Because it’s lonely and I can kill you here,’ Kaavsh said. He hesitated. ‘If things come to that.’

‘What’s happening, brother?’ Raven asked, his eyes serious.

‘Everyone’s been lying to me, Raven. The entire Angel Order. Merkan died in battle, one of the last good ones. Except, I inspected his body. Wasn’t Demons.’ Kaavsh turned. ‘I know the mark of an Angel Blade. One of our own killed Merkan.’

Raven summoned his Angel Blade and flung it sideways. It buried itself into a wall soundlessly. ‘Can’t have you thinking I’m going to kill you. If we are to talk.’

‘I’m lost, Raven,’ Kaavsh said. ‘Even after all our years, I do not know if I can trust you.’

Raven shook his head. ‘I don’t blame you. I’m not going to plead innocent. I’ve witnessed treason myself, been powerless to stop it.’

‘You’ve always been the outcast. The others have never liked you, never been comfortable with you around. Perhaps that is why I called you to talk.’

Raven laughed. ‘And I have always loved your brutal honesty.’

‘The Creator has sent directives again,’ Kaavsh said, hand touching forehead. ‘Unconditional compliance with MYTH. That means we lick their boots, fight their battles. Why is our Father doing this? What does he expect to gain?’

‘You are aware of the Loom?’ Raven asked. Kaavsh nodded. ‘MYTH is after the Loom,’ Raven continued. ‘It is why the Territory Wars have been raging. It is why our Order sides with MYTH. Our Father wants a slice of the pie.’

‘He is the Creator!’ Kaavsh shouted in his voice of crystal, although some part of him had already guessed. ‘He already has the Loom’s power! Why would he want . . . unless . . . unless of course . . .’

‘He has bound me from saying it,’ Raven said.

‘He . . . can’t . . . create anymore?’ Kaavsh asked. He sat down in front of the statue of the bringer of light.

There was a silence. Dry leaves, sunshine, dust swirling. The Angel’s blue eyes had tears.

‘Do not mourn,’ Raven said. ‘Siding with MYTH is thoughtless and selfish.’

‘You defy him again,’ Kaavsh said, looking at the floor. ‘Remember what happened the last time you did? He cast you down, Raven, down across the River.’

‘Didn’t do it himself. He sent an Angel to do his dirty work, he always does.’ Raven paused. ‘They’re on their way right now, to kill us. Our Father has excellent hearing.’

‘Father wouldn’t kill me,’ Kaavsh said in disbelief.

‘Kaavsh, you fool,’ Raven said. ‘You hurt yourself in your pain, in your loyalty. Our Father will hurt you even more. MYTH thinks it can control us because it controls the Order. I think not. I’ve seen enough. If I must ignore Father from now on, I will. It’s been three days since I’ve gone rogue, Kaavsh. They haven’t told you because I’m meant to disappear as well.’

‘They say the Serpent was once an Angel himself,’ Kaavsh said. ‘And you know how the stories go. Defiance. But we all know the Serpent is evil, pure evil. How are you any different if you defy Father? You’re asking me to join you now . . .’

‘You can FEEL the Apocalypse come!’ Raven thundered. ‘You feel it in you, as we all do! Have the bloody courage to accept it, and accept the fact that our Father wants it, needs it! Then either assist the End of Days and fight me, or stop it, and fight by me. There is no middle path here, Kaavsh.’

Kaavsh pulled at his hair. ‘What of the Free Demons?’

‘They prevent the Apocalypse. Though not for much longer. MYTH has made a new deal with the Horsemen. One year is all we have, Kaavsh.’

‘I . . .’ Kaavsh started, and the church doors burst open. Three Angels stood at the door, swords ready. Raven called his blade and it flew to him.

‘We’re running out of time,’ Raven said, and turned just in time to block a blow. Two Angels swung wildly at him; the third went for Kaavsh, still seated.

‘Gavaan,’ Kaavsh said softly as the Angel approached. ‘Why?’

‘You have desecrated our Order, brother,’ Gavaan said. He raised his sword. Then he fell, Raven’s blade between his ribs.

Raven had thrown the sword; he deflected blows with his wings as he walked backward towards Kaavsh. The two other Angels hacked away, blades biting painfully into the wing bones, desperate to reach flesh. Raven pulled his sword out of Gavaan’s motionless body and parried blows again. His wings were bleeding.

Kaavsh looked at Gavaan, dead, and wondered why this was happening. He did not want to take the call right now, not so quick, not even when he was marked for execution. He knew Gavaan’s Resurrection would be kicking in soon. Raven was right; he did not have much time.

One of the Angels used a lightburst. It did not blind Raven, who retaliated by making a deep cut in the Angel’s armour. Their swords met with loud chinks, glass meeting glass. Black and white feathers rained. ‘You are doomed, Dark Angel,’ one of them shouted. ‘The Order has unleashed the Executioner. And as if that were not enough, the Redeemer is also on his way—’

Shouting took effort, even for Angels. Raven took advantage of that and gutted the Angel before he could finish; he dropped. Giving enemies information was always a bad idea. But then, Angels weren’t supposed to be the enemies. ‘I’ll let you live if you back away,’ Raven gasped.

But the last Angel fought on. Dodge, dodge, parry, sidestep, block, dodge again. He wasn’t the talking type. Raven jumped backwards and brought his wings together, creating a sudden gale—it hurt like hell, but it caught the Angel off guard, and he blinked his eyes. Raven was behind him then, slitting his throat with one clean movement. He looked at Kaavsh, his own eyes watering from not blinking. ‘You heard him. Gael and Virgil are on their way. He was correct, they’ll kill us.’

‘Father will kill us either way, right?’

‘Damn right he’ll try. But you still don’t understand. He won’t smite us from the Higher Place; he can’t do that anymore. He will simply send more Angels. He’s sent two deadly Archangels right now.’

Kaavsh looked at Gavaan, whose chest wounds were beginning to glow. ‘I need to think. Raven, take me somewhere I can think.’

Raven nodded and held the Angel’s shoulder. ‘Blink.’

Two figures entered the empty church. ‘Gone,’ Gael said, a giant, hulking figure. ‘Told you.’

Virgil was tall, thin. He swept his long hair out of his eyes. ‘If we had kept blinking all the way here, dear brother, how would you have the energy to fight?’

‘Done it before,’ Gael grunted.

Virgil sighed. ‘Sometimes I think our Father gave you too much power.’ He looked around at the Resurrection slowly working, at the plants growing where Angel blood had been spilt.

‘Look who’s talking,’ Gael said. ‘Can you find out where they went?’

Virgil walked to the exact blink spot and felt the air. ‘A new direction,’ he said. ‘The Dark Angel never disappoints.’

‘Where?’

‘A beeline. Towards Ba’al’s Tower.’

‘Let’s see if we can catch them before they reach.’

Virgil nodded, and the Archangels blinked out together.

2

Maya sat on the edge of many things, tangible and otherwise. The sun was high, warmer than it had been in weeks, unexpectedly generous. Waves lashed against rocks far beneath the cliff where she sat, and Maya thought of what she had become. She did not feel very alive; there was a hollow, and memory failed to remind her of what had filled it. What she did remember was War, vaguely. Her pathetic attempt to fight the Horseman had happened right here, here at the cliff. The anger surged at her, ready, but she did not give in. She looked at her gauntlets instead, and generated a small spark of electricity. It sizzled and crackled and was gone.

‘Now you know what lies in the heart of magic,’ Daan whispered. The Shade was standing behind her, looking into the distance, at the same things perhaps.

Maya remembered she was a Shade herself. New clothes. They were black.

‘What did you give her?’ Daan asked.

‘The ability to feel,’ Maya answered without hesitation.

‘Shouldn’t have,’ Daan said hoarsely. ‘Perhaps voice, or youth. She might have even agreed to a couple of fingers; she wanted you bad. I could . . . sense it.’ He paused. ‘Always something from the body, Maya, never the mind.’

‘Why tell me now?’ There was indifference in Maya’s question. Daan knew the answer would not matter. Not to her. Not anymore.

‘Because the mirror test forbids this talk earlier. You will conduct the test someday for some prospective Shade, and you will keep your silence as well.’

‘So it’s a legacy, the Shades. I’m supposed to carry it forward.’

Daan sighed. ‘Yes.’

‘So what now?’

‘Now I’m supposed to train you for a year, in the ways of the Shade.’

‘Let’s start.’

Daan was surprised, for a moment. She was still seated, still looking outwards. ‘Fine. We’re going to start with one of your new abilities. A tough one to grasp. The shadowblink.’

‘Teleportation, right?’

‘Longer distances than the normal blink,’ Daan said. ‘You must understand that you are a Shade now. There are three things that amplify your power, any power you have, and any spell you cast.’ Maya looked too disinterested for his liking. There would be enough time to correct that, Daan told himself. She was his disciple now, she had agreed to it. It was probably the change that had made her moody. And the fact that she could not feel anymore. Why was she staring out to sea then? The visual of it? Daan, despite himself, could not imagine an existence without his emotions. He continued, ‘One is rage, the anger you have always felt, the anger which took you and drove you down this path. All Shades have it. I have my own anger, anger from my own mistakes, and it strengthens me. You must draw from this anger whenever you use your shadow magic.’

No nods, no signs she had heard. ‘The second thing,’ he said a little louder, pushing his crippled voice to the limit, ‘is the night. A Shade is twice as strong after sundown. During the day, even shadows of trees or buildings—any shelter from the sun, for that matter—will grant us more power. Are you listening, Maya?’ A small outburst.

‘Every word,’ she replied. ‘What is the third condition that increases my power?’

‘To be revealed later. You have to grasp the concept of distance, of space. The fact that you’re standing here isn’t true. You could be anywhere else at this point in time. You have to come to terms with that, and then restrict this anywhere to a reasonable place near you. And when you think you are there and not here, you will be there. This is difficult to explain, but you need to think about this. Now, if you’re with someone else, they will need to give you leave in order for you to go. They’ll need to shut their eyes for a millisecond, blocking their perception of this space, a time you can use to make the jump. It is a bit like altering reality . . . what is that? Is that a bottle of . . .?’

Maya took a swig from a small glass bottle. Liquid, the colour of amber. Whiskey. Maya had a small bottle of whiskey in her robes.

‘How did you get that? Where?’ Daan wheezed, not hiding his surprise.

‘Frozen Bombay,’ Maya said simply. ‘There was something about the taste that made me want to go back and experience it again.’

‘How did you go? Did you—’

Maya stood up, and Daan stopped. Stowing the bottle back, she dusted her robes, turned around to look at him, right into his eyes. Her eyes were serious, cold. She seemed pale, paler than she had been before the transformation.

‘Yes, I shadowblinked there this morning,’ she said. She pulled out a pocket watch, similar to the one Daan had. ‘You just used the first ten minutes of my training time teaching me something I already know, Whisperer. It seems the shadowblink is mine. Might I suggest we move onward?’

‘What did you do in the city? Just the bottle?’ Daan hadn’t seen this before. The last Shade had taken seven months to grasp the idea of moving instantaneously through space.

‘I also went looking for Charles Ward, but I couldn’t find him.’

‘Why look for him?’

‘I don’t know,’ she spoke truthfully. ‘I’ll know when I find him. Next lesson?’

‘A test,’ Daan said. ‘I will shadowblink and keep my hand on your shoulder. You have to blink away before I do. For as long as you can.’ He coughed loudly. Blood. Ignore it. ‘And one more thing. For this test, both of us blink our eyes rapidly, deliberately.’

He burst into liquid shadow, appearing behind her, but she had burst before he could raise his hand. He felt the air in a split second and knew where she had gone; he shadowblinked again. He appeared and disappeared again, and then again. He could only see mere wisps of her shadowblink still dissolving every time he materialised. She was good. Blinking was one thing, blinking so quickly and under such pressure was another. As if she had been doing it for years. But how? None of the Shades came out like this.

It was the strangest game of tag, two figures appearing and vanishing, leaving squid-like bursts of ink whenever they travelled through veils, portals unseen. The island was a playpen, and they blinked from the cliffs to the rocks below, to caves and forests, atop trees and waist-deep rivers, to the dry hills and the white courtyard. Daan wanted to tire her out, but the more she persisted, the more curious he grew. He would push her now, he would push her till she made a mistake.

Maya made none. She knew he was coming, she knew he would know where she had gone; she never stayed in one place for more than a moment. Of course, she knew the island well enough to picture where she wanted to go, but at this speed? How fast could she really go? Daan broke his rule and stopped blinking his eyes. If she wasn’t fast enough, she’d be trapped if he reached before she left. It was all about milliseconds.

It became frantic. They were zipping across the island, having covered all possible locations. Places began repeating themselves, and Daan was feeling dizziness making its presence felt. This is unbelievable. He had never blinked so fast before, not in combat, never. It was a blur, a blur, he might end up unconscious between jumps; he might make a mistake and blink to the wrong place. He might hurt himself.

Then Maya put a stop to it.

Daan shadowblinked to the courtyard, saw the last fragments of her, and before he could blink, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

‘Please,’ Maya said. ‘Your test is over.’

‘You beat me,’ Daan said, refusing to believe what had just transpired. ‘How . . . is this possible?’

‘I told you I had figured it out,’ Maya replied.

He simply gaped.

‘You will find that I learn things faster than most, Daan.’ Her voice was confident, yet gentle without being patronising.

‘You didn’t even use the rage, am I correct? For this test?’

‘I didn’t need to.’ Again, that blatant honesty.

Daan looked at his watch and took a moment. A deep breath. He did not understand this. Maya was not the same, but she was not supposed to be this after the transformation. Tonight he would ask the Darkness. For now, he just had to treat her like a prodigy, some sort of brilliant pupil he never had before. Someone who had already bested him in the most basic of Shade abilities.

‘Advanced shadow magic, then,’ Daan said. ‘Let me tell you about veins, and how we use them.’

3

The gigantic machine burrowed through the earth. It made many sounds as it did so. It wasn’t one solid entity, but a complex designation of moving parts, carefully crafted, every bit fulfilling a certain end, each part with its own unique call. These parts, summing up the whole, made their own separate noises—the twin drills in the front rotating in many layers, clockwise and anti, the greater arcs whirling around them, grinding the earth, slicing, dicing, moving aside bigger clumps, a constant cacophony of serration. The two hundred vents swallowed the earth with a liquid-like gulping noise, beyond which, the moving bodies spiralled, leaving the earth exhausts at the very end, belching out crushed earth with a grating sound. Within the Ignis Nati, as this submarine was named, these sounds were dull, but not eliminated entirely, giving rise to a central hum that was a culmination of all the individual noises, a low-pitched vibration perceived as a sound that seemed to arise from the metal. Adri spent many hours listening to this hum. He could listen again. His hands could sense the vibrations on the floor, even though they were bound in chains.

The room was small, circular, and there was a beam that ran around the room, the one they were chained to. The walls were dank and moisture-laden, and soft lines of water ran down around them.

Gray had changed. Not just the beard. There had been something about his demeanour, something Adri had taken stock of when he had come back. Something he had noticed in those few minutes before the Sentient had marched in and taken them prisoner. Fayne and Zabrielle were bound on either side of Gray. They were discussing something. Adri filtered the submarine’s hum out. Perhaps he should listen.

‘My blades are gone,’ Fayne said. ‘Can’t cut through the chains.’

‘You had . . . some sort of a lasso around the Alabagus,’ Gray said. ‘What was that?’

‘New weapon,’ Fayne grunted. ‘I have no idea how it works yet.’

‘Even if we were to cut through our bonds, we wouldn’t be able to escape the ship,’ Zabrielle said. ‘The Sentient promised to help us. We have to know why they have taken us prisoner.’

‘It’s evident,’ Adri said, and they looked at him. ‘Not your fault,’ he continued moodily. ‘I needed a body. Where else could you have gone? When I was burning, I was hoping you would find a way. And you did.’

‘What do you mean, evident? What’s happening here?’ Gray asked.

‘The Sentient,’ Adri said, his voice emitting from the speaker holes where his mouth should have been. ‘They’re not who you think they are. They haven’t hidden away from humanity all these years. No, they’ve emerged, and often. To do what they do best.’ Adri looked at the door before them. ‘Make deals.’

‘Deals? You mean—’

‘I mean that this suit I’m in—it has a cost. It is not generosity, not charity. There is a deal involved. They will want something.’ Adri paused for breath, then realised he wasn’t drawing any. ‘They have made hundreds of deals with hundreds of individuals. It is how they survive. Agreements, deals, services rendered. Secrets. They are traders, of sorts.’

‘Damned tin men,’ Fayne swore softly, then looked at Adri. ‘Apologies.’

‘They seemed thoughtful. And vulnerable,’ Zabrielle said. ‘Trying to find their own humanity.’

‘They’re vicious,’ Adri spat. ‘Tremendously calculative, exuding multiple auras. Better manipulators than humans.’ His blue eye, the only one in the centre of his head, flared in the half dark.

‘We wait it out then,’ Gray said. ‘For them to come to us, tell us what they need.’

‘Unless we’re being traded already,’ Adri said. ‘To the Horsemen.’

No one spoke after that.

It was hours before the door opened. It was the leader of the Sentient, Captain Brahms. He looked exactly like Adri, Gray noted, but they sounded different.

‘Greetings,’ Brahms said, a hint of pleasant in his bionic voice.

Fayne rattled his chains ominously in response.

‘A necessary precaution,’ the Sentient said. ‘Until we can talk things out.’

‘Let’s talk,’ Adri agreed.

‘Indeed. The gift of life—that is what we have given you. That is what you came seeking from us, asking for a leap of faith, and we took it. It is a great sacrilege, giving out one of our bodies to a stranger, and hence this has been difficult for us as well. You must understand this.’

‘We acknowledge that,’ Gray said. ‘It was a request on our part, and we’re only too glad that you helped.’

‘Unfortunately, all things have a price,’ Brahms said. ‘The collective feels that this is a debt. You owe us, and now you must pay.’

‘What do you want?’

‘Not a what, but a who.’

‘No,’ Adri said without thought.

‘Why?’ Brahms asked without surprise. He was prepared for the refusal.

‘Because those are rumours. You don’t know if he’s actually there. The Faces have never confirmed his presence in that damned place.’

‘Well met, human. But he is there. We know this. We know the room in which he is kept. The information is accurate. Someone paid for it with his life.’

‘What is this place?’ Gray asked. ‘Who’s this person?’

There was a pause, where Adri contemplated. Brahms turned to Gray. ‘Bavak Bak. It is a prison, in Moonless Dilhi. There sits the last Master. We want him.’

‘The last Master?’ Gray repeated. ‘You mean—’

‘The last of the men who created us, yes. He is imprisoned there. We wish him here, with us.’

‘Why don’t you drill this infernal machine into the prison?’ Fayne asked, though it was clear that he too, knew the answer which was to come.

‘Because the Sentient were not created for war,’ Brahms said. ‘No, there are primordial things guarding that place. No, getting him out is your job.’

‘It can’t be done!’ Adri cried out all of a sudden. ‘Getting in and out of that place—it can’t be done, Sentient!’

Brahms stared at Adri. ‘There are three prisons in the Old Country, Tantric. The Bagchi Prison in Old Kolkata, the Living Coffins in Western Ahmedabad, and Bavak Bak, the Cursed Keep, in Moonless Dilhi. All of them were thought to be impenetrable. Until someone broke out of one of them.’

‘Ah, you bastard,’ Adri mumbled.

‘I know