The Guardians of the Halahala (22 page)

Shanku leaped off her steed and darted to the watchtower. Pulling herself up the ladder, two rungs at a time, she emerged on to the platform above in a low crouch. Staying on all fours, feeling the cold roughness of the stony floor on her palms, she scuttled to the edge of the tower to peek outside – when she sensed an uncanny hush descend all around her.

Where moments ago the stomping of hooves, the frantic rush of feet and the shouting of commands had filled the air, now all that remained was silence.

Perhaps the Ashvins have beaten a retreat.

Keeping her head down, she looked up to see the burly soldier who had kept her company earlier standing behind a wall, staring down at the plain. His face was rigid in the glow of the fire, his eyes ringed with astonishment and unease.

“What's happened?” Shanku asked in an urgent whisper, her voice uncomfortably loud in the overbearing stillness.

“They have no mercy,” the soldier hissed back, hardly moving a muscle, fear rattling drily in his throat. “And they... they are...
breaking and growing.”

“What?”

Raising her head cautiously, Shanku followed the soldiers' gaze, her eyes totally unprepared for the bizarre scene unfolding below.

The ground outside the north gate was littered with devas, both dead and dying. However, a good number of the horsemen were unharmed, and with mounting horror, Shanku watched these survivors ride among their fallen mates, slaughtering those mortally wounded, one by one. A powerful thrust of the sword into the exposed neck, a well-placed arrow to the temple or between the eyes – the Ashvins killed their own swiftly, efficiently, without remorse.

Yet, what rattled Shanku even more was the sight of some of the wounded devas shoving their own swords into their mouths and down their own gullets. For a fleeting moment they reminded Shanku of the sword-swallowers from the Southern Kingdoms, whom she had seen performing at carnivals – only here, there were none of the sword-swallowers' delicate touches on display. The devas rammed the blades in with brute force, choking and gurgling as their lifeblood ebbed from them. There was something almost ritualistic about the chilling assuredness with which the injured Ashvins were inflicting death upon themselves.

Shanku felt the bile building inside her. But before she could gag on it, it froze in her throat as she witnessed something even more grotesque. Her first instinct was to put it down to her imagination, but as the fire flared with renewed vigor, lighting up the plain, she knew she wasn't simply seeing things.

As the able-bodied Ashvins went about their ghastly chore, they seemed to grow in size, their bodies swelling and distorting and stretching sideways, as if being pulled in opposite directions by enormous, invisible forces. It wasn't just the Ashvins – even their mounts increased in width, becoming boneless masses of flesh and tissue for a fraction of a second.

Then, as the deformed bodies acquired a mashed, doughlike consistency, each horseman separated into two distinct, identical, fully-formed entities.

They are breaking and growing.

Wide-eyed with shock, Shanku watched the Ashvin cavalry divide and multiply repeatedly, their numbers doubling in the blink of an eye. In no time the plain was again thronging with horsemen – but for some reason, instead of attacking the wall, they chose to retreat into the night. Soon all that remained in the plain were the corpses.

But Shanku knew the horsemen hadn't gone far. They would return shortly, in even greater numbers. She also saw that there would be no stopping this self-generating brotherhood of devas.

Her heart sank in despair for Ujjayini.

Hellfires

T
hey grow their numbers by splitting themselves into two over and over again.”

Vetala Bhatta looked over the battlements in awe. From the light of the big torches that had been lit near the gate and along the base of the wall, he could make out the vague forms of the Ashvin cavalry out in the plain. He could tell that the horsemen were gradually drawing closer to Ujjayini – perhaps an assault on the eastern gate was imminent as well. “So that's how they increased from a mere five hundred to surround us on all sides.”

“And that's why they are capable of killing off their wounded without a shred of sympathy,” Dhanavantri pointed out. “They don't need to nurse their injured back to health. They just replace them with new battle-worthy warriors.”

“I see another reason why they kill off their wounded mates,” the raj-guru said. “For effect – to demonstrate to their enemies how ruthless and fearless they can be.”

An ominous silence ensued.

“If they can multiply at will at the speed Shanku and the troops at the northern gate say they saw, how are we ever going to get the better of them?” the physician pondered slowly.

Instead of answering, the Acharya swung around to one of his commanders. “Has the king been informed about this?”

“A rider is on his way to the south gate to update the samrat, your honor.”

“And what's the latest from the west?”

“The Ashvins are still trying to break the gate down, but Councilor Kshapanaka and her men are holding them back. We have already dispatched some reinforcements, your honor.”

The raj-guru returned his gaze eastward, wondering where they would turn to for reinforcements if the Ashvins chose to attack the other three gates simultaneously. More than ever, he wished Vararuchi, Kalidasa and Varahamihira had been in Ujjayini at that moment.

“No news from Vararuchi so far, I presume?” he asked, without any real hope.

“Nothing, your honor.”

The Acharya sighed and his head sank to his chest. Seeing the old councilor's deflated countenance, Dhanavantri placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“I'm sure they are all right. Vararuchi must have sent a rider with news – he's probably just not being able to approach the city because of the Ashvins.”

Vetala Bhatta nodded. A pishacha army to the south. A multitude of Ashvin horsemen all around Ujjayini. Veeshada's dagger had already begun exacting a heavy toll on the kingdom of Avanti.

Suddenly, a low roar surged from the plain. Looking up, the raj-guru saw the horsemen's shadows begin moving toward the wall to the accompaniment of hoof beats and battle cries. The same instant, another barrage of flaming arrows shot into the air in a parabolic curve.

The east gate was under attack!

***

Unlike the flat, open plains lying to east and the north, the terrain to the south of Ujjayini was hilly, marked by steep ridges and rock-strewn slopes. These ridges afforded an unobstructed view of the city behind its high walls, and it was from here that the Ashvins led by Dasra had launched their brutal assault of arrows, setting Ujjayini's southern neighborhoods on fire and driving waves of terrified citizens into the streets.

And it was down one of these rocky slopes that the cavalry, with Dasra at its head, now charged, making straight for Ujjayini's south gate.

The gate was charred black and smoldering, its rough wooden face studded with the stubs of hundreds of burned arrows, sticking out like spines on a porcupine's back. The wood had burned to ash in many places, embers glowing bright orange around these spots, and gray smoke streamed steadily out of the fissures in the old beams. The gate had received such a battering from the fire arrows that it was ready to give in at the slightest pretext.

Holding his sword aloft, Dasra hurtled down the low gradient, buoyed by the breeze and the war cries of the Ashvins – and the sense of triumph swelling inside him. All his attention was on the charred, smoldering gate, a crumbling bulwark of a proud city that had been brought to its knees. Once past that gate, Dasra knew it was a matter of time before the Halahala was in their possession.

The cavalry had reached the point where the slope leveled out when, almost in millimetric movements, the gate began opening. Dasra reined in his horse, eyes narrowed, wondering what to expect from the beleaguered city.

Careful, brothers! This might be a last token of resistance, or it may be surrender
...

As the gate swung wide open on its hinges, the fires raging within Ujjayini's walls came into view. And framed in that blazing rectangle of light, the Ashvins saw the silhouette of a lone horseman, tall and upright astride a large horse.

Dasra observed the figure keenly. Although it was too far to say for certain, the horseman didn't appear to be bearing weapons. The deva peered into the shadows of the gate, trying to discern the hunched shapes of soldiers waiting in ambush, or preparing to make a sudden rush. But there didn't seem to be any soldiers hiding around or inside the gate either. He looked up at the walls. He was certain there were archers above, but not one arrow had been shot from the battlements so far.

It's probably the surrender after all.

Still, Dasra retained a firm grip on his sword. Despite his non-threatening manner, there was something vaguely menacing about the shadowy horseman.

The Ashvins watched the figure move slowly forward. Riding at a steady, assured pace, the horseman emerged from the protection of the city into the plain. No one followed the rider, and everything appeared quiet about the ramparts.

Convinced that the rider was a messenger or courtier sent to plead a truce, Dasra began relaxing his guard when Ujjayini's gates began shutting behind the rider.

Dasra clenched his jaw. He had been right in his misgivings about the horseman. This was no surrender.

As if in confirmation, the rider pulled to a halt and drew two long swords out of his belt, brandishing them over his head in gleaming arcs. Dasra blinked as the last of the fire from behind the closing gates seemed to catch and burn on the tips of the swords like an illusion – and then it dawned on him that both blades were indeed alight with lambent flames. And although he knew he was imagining it, the deva felt the horseman's eyes boring into his own from across the dark plain.

Attack.

The bowmen on the flanks of the cavalry discharged a volley of arrows at the solitary figure. Humming like hornets, the pinpoints of light homed in on the horseman, sitting rocklike on his mount, arms outstretched, gripping his fire swords tight. At the last moment, when the arrows were nearly upon him, the horseman swung his swords at the converging missiles, cutting and swiping, splintering the shafts and shattering the arrowheads in a coruscating shower of sparks. When the last of the burning barbs fell to the ground, Dasra saw that the rider was unscathed. And far from being cowed by the assault, the warrior spurred his horse into a gallop, riding straight at the wall of the Ashvin cavalry.

Dasra shook his head at this insane show of defiance; it baffled and frustrated him.

Charge, brothers!

Goaded into a rage by the horseman's temerity, the devas rushed across the plain, their swords pointing straight at the charging rider. But the horseman didn't slow down. Instead, he began flourishing his swords in broad, sweeping moves, the flames on the blades tapering and growing in length and intensity with each successive movement of his arms. The flames simultaneously changed color – from yellow-orange to a bright, malignant green. In moments, the fires had assumed the form of long flaming whips, swirling drunkenly over the rider's head.

Dasra watched in fascination as the belts of fire detached themselves from the swords and sailed through the air, constantly growing in size as they snaked across the plain at the Ashvin cavalry. The whips descended with tremendous speed and accuracy, lashing into the vanguard of the devas' attack, hurling the horsemen off their mounts, cutting through their armor and scorching their flesh to the bone.

Agonized screams rent the night and the Ashvins fell back – but the horseman from Ujjayini didn't relent. He kept on riding forward, twirling his swords, sending more and more of the gleaming green whips into the air...

This time, however, instead of seeking out the Ashvins, the whips twisted and coiled like flaming helixes in the night sky. As the devas stared in amazement, the whips magically entwined to form three gargantuan, fire-breathing
churails.
Wailing and screaming, the fiery banshees lunged at the flanks of the cavalry, spewing green flames from their horrendous black mouths.

Dasra's face slackened in disbelief as the rampaging
churails
mowed through his army, setting the Ashvins on fire before they had a chance to multiply. Slowly, he turned his attention back to the rider, who was closing in on the central column of his cavalry. As yet another blazing belt spun out and slapped into the devas, Dasra was seized with panic.

The horseman is the Wielder of the Hellfires.

Dasra shivered at the realization, his sword going limp in his hand.

***

“Are you sure you know what you're doing?”

Dhanavantri's expression was a mixture of doubt and alarm as he peered at the raj-guru in the half-light. They were crouching inside a covered stairway to protect themselves from the Ashvins' arrows, and the physician had to shout to make himself heard over the noise of the cavalry battering against the gate underneath.

The Acharya nodded, bringing his face close to Dhanavantri's ear. “If each horseman is essentially a twin, each capable of dividing infinitely into multiple twins, it means all the Ashvins out there sprang from one original body... and one original
mind.
It's probable that the Ashvins share a common mind, which controls the whole army, deciding things like what should be done next, who should multiply how many times... If that's the case, I want to get inside that common mind.”

“To see what they want? But that's obvious – they want to attack us and take the Halahala.”

Vetala Bhatta shook his head. “I want to enter that mind and try and control it. I want to see if I can influence this army in some way.”

“But how are you going to do that?” Dhanavantri sounded flabbergasted.

“I don't know. I won't know till I use the spell and enter the mind of one of those devas.”

“I don't like this idea,” the physician protested. “It's one thing trying to read someone's mind. Trying to influence it is a completely different game, Acharya. You know better than anyone else that the process can backfire miserably –
your
mind could end up being influenced by the other's into doing terrible things, unspeakable things.”

“I know what I'm suggesting is fraught with risk,” replied Vetala Bhatta, wincing as the gate was rammed by the Ashvins once again. Pointing downward toward the source of the din, he pressed, “But we have to take that chance before that gate is broken down; unless you have a better idea.”

Dhanavantri stared glumly down at the depths of the stone stairway.

“Come then, there's no time to think,” said the Acharya, rising to his feet and grabbing his spear. “Cover me while I cast my spell.”

The two councilors stepped on to the walkway, Dhanavantri in the lead. The physician planted himself firmly along the battlement, gripped his quarterstaff with both hands, and cast an eye over the wall. He swore under his breath on seeing the Ashvin cavalry amassed outside the gate, intent on breaking in.

Positioning himself behind Dhanavantri's bulk, the raj-guru also gazed into the plain. His eyes, however, singled out one particular deva who was sitting astride his horse, waiting patiently for his companions to breach the gate. Drawing himself to his full height, the Acharya closed his eyes and brought his right hand, clenched into a tight fist, to the center of his chest. At the same time, his lips began moving to a wordless mantra.

Moments later, the skulls dangling on Vetala Bhatta's spear, which he held in his left hand, started glowing, the red light flickering and wavering at first, then burning steadily.

In a flash, the Acharya was filled with a raging lust to destroy Ujjayini.

The Halahala will be ours before daybreak.

The Acharya sensed being at the head of a column of Ashvins who were charging at a huge gate. Arrows fell from above in murderous clusters as he threw himself against the barricade, the wood juddering and creaking against his shoulder. One more heave and the gate burst open.

The western gate has fallen. We are inside Ujjayini.

Elation washed over the Acharya like a tide, suffusing him with its warmth as he pushed the gate's wreckage aside and hacked at Avanti's soldiers...

“The gate is down, the enemy is inside,” a soldier hollered. “Sound the alarm bells, sound the ala...” The words were cut off abruptly as Vetala Bhatta slashed open the soldier's throat. Then –