Yama's Lieutenant and The Stone Witch Read online

  As if that did not suck enough, he had lost Varu too. Twice. She had been his twin, and he doubted he would ever get over her loss. Worse, his acceptance of the fact failed to bring him even a tiny measure of peace, contrary to what a self-proclaimed wise soul had once told him. Mino, the kritya, screwed-up but well-intentioned wielder of Earth Magic who had partnered him on their quest, had been unstinting in the dispensation of sage counsel.

  ‘There are things that will always remain beyond our control, whether we like it or not,’ she had intoned in solemn tones befitting a pagan high priestess, though she had taken his hand in a surprisingly comforting gesture, ‘and there is no sense in obsessing over them, wishing it were not so. Acceptance of all the crap in your life makes for a bitter repast, but it will ultimately give you peace. It will take time, but please do try to move on and let it go . . .’

  To be fair to himself, he had tried to let it go before letting that go as an exercise in futility. Besides, the way he saw it, Varu had not seemed to have let go of him either—in spite of death, the barriers of hell and whatever lay beyond. The proof of it lay in his tattered grey backpack, which incidentally had been a gift from her.

  Taravarsha, the aged healer who patched him up whenever he found himself at the wrong end of a savage pummelling, had been more practical, ‘I could tell you not to worry too much about Varuna, because she is a tough one and in a better place than you are, strange as that may be to comprehend, but I won’t. Time is the best of healers and can be trusted to dull the sharp edge of your pain even if it can’t be removed entirely. In the meantime, keep busy and that will help you maintain your sanity. And believe me, it is highly unlikely that Yama’s lieutenant will find himself sitting on his hands without a thing to do.’

  She was right, of course. He was still Yama’s lieutenant, though he had entertained the idea that an early retirement might be in order, but he was busier than before. The visions returned in all their technicolour glory and Agni went wherever they led him. They were not his favourite things in the world. Known to descend upon him without warning, they forced themselves into his consciousness, taking possession of every one of his senses till his entire being was focused solely on the terrible portents they conveyed, leaving him sweating and shaking, as if suffering from a severe seizure. Often he had woken up in a puddle of his urine or choking on his vomit.

  The things he saw were not for the faint of heart. In fact they were not suitable for those who did not have a death wish, or even those with half a brain. What he saw were events from the ever-changing entity that was the future, and it was his job to identify, track down and eliminate or mitigate all threats that could make the doom of civilization a reality.

  Agni had always felt strongly that his superiors needed to come up with better ways to communicate with him, ways that were not so frustratingly nebulous or involved him befouling himself. But it was not his place to ask questions.

  He had sworn to serve, after all, the silver goddess who remained as elusive and mysterious as ever, a presence too close and too far for his liking. Besides, he suspected that this was the price demanded of him for the magic given to him to wield. It was hard to become too full of yourself when you were forced to wear adult diapers. And so he kept his demanding job, with only the nightmares and doubts for company.

  He had his questions but could not voice them. Not that there was anybody to demand answers from. The silver goddess would summon him when needed but other than those rare occasions she was content to ignore him. It wasn’t the worst thing, because when she did summon him, it was to place the weight of the world on his shoulders and make impossible demands of him. Knowing that did not dull the resentment.

  The days blurred indistinguishably into each other and saw him running down all manner of dastardly demons who sought to destroy the delicate balance he had been tasked with preserving. Mercifully, there was precious little time to brood. But he did so anyway. And then there was the book . . . Varu had left it with him shortly before she herself had been taken.

  It was all that remained of his twin and was a gift that kept on giving. In his battle against the necromancer, the book had given him invaluable assistance and he was sure it would continue to do so. In the manuscript Varu had left him a note after the last chapter. It had seemed so final, and his heart had broken at the thought that he might never hear from her again. But he should have had more faith. Varu would never abandon him.

  All of a sudden it had happened. Just like that. More words penned by her dear hand had appeared in the book he had thumbed through within an inch of its life. More words. And then some more. He refused to seek an explanation or analyse too deeply how such a thing was even possible. As far as he was concerned, it was the nature of the magic wielded by the one they both served. That and the mystical bond they had shared which went beyond life and death. Varu’s continued presence in his life, in whatever form, was the only thing that made it possible for him to go on. And he would never ever let go. Varu’s story would never end as long as he kept her safely in his heart.

  Shaking himself from his reverie, Agni tried to focus his wayward thoughts. The Rodhana had been restored and the arakshas had no choice but to stay put in their allotted torture chambers, deep in the bowels of the underworld. But even so, all the evil in the world could not be swept up and dumped behind that barrier forged from the blood, bones and life essence of the itvaras, who sought atonement and had been prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice for it. This was the unfortunate reason he still had a job.

  Agni shifted uncomfortably in his second-class seat on the train, which lurched along, rattling his teeth. A plus-sized woman sat next to him, occupying a third of his allotted space. He could feel her fleshy hips and forearms slick with sweat. She carried a big basket of dried fish on her lap, beady eyes restlessly prowling their compartment, alert for petty thieves. The smell was making Agni nauseous, but he held his tongue, preferring not to get into an unpleasant exchange.

  It started to rain and, of course, Agni’s window wouldn’t shut all the way despite his best efforts. So he sat there as the water trickled in, soaking through the fabric of his jeans, inhaling the pungent fumes from his neighbour’s basket. Worse, he needed to pee but he did not fancy using the train loo and risking an infection. Also, thanks to the latest injury he had sustained on a recently concluded assignment, which had left him bereft of a meaty chunk from his thigh, standing and walking held little appeal for him.

  Even so, his encounter with this particular upakshina, one of the lost ones, had not been typical or entirely irksome. Unlike the arakshas, they were not escaped creatures from hell, rather they seemed to stick around for the mere purpose of vexing him and the rest of his species. The lost ones were not hardened sinners like the arakshas. Had they been, the yamaduttas, Yama’s soldiers, would have shepherded them to the punishment they deserved at the time of their death. But these were usually victims of tragedy who had not been able to sever their ties with Mother Earth for various reasons.

  Some just hung around watching over their loved ones, unable to bring themselves to say goodbye or become a part of their lives again. They were mostly harmless and did not deserve the attention of Yama’s lieutenant, but others were more dangerous. They leached power from the core of Mother Earth and used it to vent their ire on the living: those who wronged them or the ones who made them jealous. Sometimes they did not even need a reason. If they grew powerful enough to do some real damage, they showed up on his radar.

  Agni had tracked this one down to a remote paddy field deep in the southern hinterland, of all the places on earth! It was a moonless night, but his night vision had always been good. He walked, feeling almost content, which was surprising since he was tracking a lost soul who stood accused of the base slaughter of men, women and children.

  Agni was not one to brag, but those who knew him best would say that he did not lack courage in any way. Even so, his bowels turned to water when he turned sud
denly to find her inches away from his face. The stink of her—a combination of ripe pus and spoilt meat—was a sledgehammer to the nostrils, making his gorge rise in response. Suppurating sores and leaky lesions pockmarked every naked inch of her body, and ghastly warts had erupted all over her sagging breasts.

  Worst of all were the mangled remains of her eyes, which leaked pus, and the hole where the mouth should have been. Unkempt hair, twisted and thin, whipped across his face, and he could feel the maggots land on his own body, crawling over his lips and eyebrows, making for his scalp. His stomach heaved and Agni turned over and regurgitated the partially digested remains of his light dinner. The smell mingled with the stink of her and he retched again, bringing up nothing but black bile that burnt acidic in his throat.

  ‘I am so sorry . . .’ he heard himself say, though why exactly he was apologizing to a monster escaped him. It was hard to think straight with the nausea assailing him.

  With a gargantuan effort, he rose, danda in hand. He registered that she was no longer unspeakably grotesque, and he stayed his hand, suddenly unsure. A ravishing creature stood before him, clad in gossamer-thin silks that hid nothing, all smooth-limbed and cream-complexioned, with long tresses finer than silk. Agni would have been spellbound but he could still taste the vomit at the back of his throat, which ruined the effect somewhat.

  He stared at her with a measured gaze and raised the danda warily. This one seemed familiar with the art of transmogrification peculiar to the vyaktas. To the best of his knowledge, they were adept in the art of camouflage, changing their shape to resemble just about anyone, and were psychopathic killers to boot, if Dharami, his guardian angel and self-appointed critic, was to be believed. He wondered what this creature was playing at.

  Shrill laughter hammered his eardrums, making his ears ring. ‘I’ll say this for you,’ the beauty-and-the-beast told him, honeyed words spilling from perfectly formed, luscious lips, ‘you are not half as bad as the rest of the male species. It must be admitted that while you are not the first to throw up the contents of your stomach on seeing my evil mien, you are certainly the first to apologize for being a churlish pig. And everybody becomes rock-hard when they see me in my naked splendour, but your masculinity could not be more flaccid if it tried! Tell me the truth . . . Are you cursed with impotence?’

  Agni did not bother to reply, especially since she was overplaying the shock-and-awe tactic. But when her mocking laughter burst over him, he wondered if a dignified silence had been entirely appropriate. The comfortable weight of the danda in his hands was reassuring. His ears were still ringing, and the ground seemed to be spinning. Sharp pangs of pain assaulted his armpits and his knees were buckling. It was a struggle to remain on his feet and hold his ground. This one was powerful. Beings such as this thrived on their victims’ weaknesses, he knew, and it was up to him to make short work of her if he wished to see the morrow.

  The living were anathema to the upakshinas, although it did not stop them from growing fat on the blood of their victims and gnawing on their bones. They siphoned away the life essence of those they preyed on, parasitic in their fell purposes. He had oftentimes wished for them to suck out every bad memory and feeling he had ever had. But they were contrary creatures, the upakshinas, and liked to feed on choice morsels like hopes and dreams, nuggets of happiness, in addition to the lifeblood and all the best things that made one human.

  ‘Or perhaps you are not impotent but poorly endowed!’ she teased. ‘And that staff you are brandishing so vigorously does not smack of overcompensation at all!’ The shrill laughter sounded again and Agni had to ignore the impulse to shut his ears. That was when the twisting roots tore through the ground, snaking their way up his limbs swifter than he would have thought possible, and held him fast. Agni did not bother to struggle. It would do him no good, he knew.

  He supposed he ought to panic. Something was seriously wrong and his strength was leaking out of him. But he was calm. Agni Prakash was not afraid to die. In fact, on most days he prayed for it.

  His visions were annoyingly amorphous things on the best of days but this one had been even vaguer than usual:

  She was a terrifying creature. Long tresses billowed behind her, falling almost to the small of her back. It was hard to see her face. But there was no disguising the hatred in her eyes or the aura of rage she exuded. Blood and death were the gifts she bore, wherever she went, and when she left, nothing remained but misery and ashes, which was all that was left of her soul as well. And the endless silence that was somehow worse than the heart-rending wails she had orchestrated.

  Agni found himself making his way towards her reluctantly amidst the swaying fields. He could still not see her face, though he squinted hard and long. So he advanced, striking out blindly.

  Agni had almost resolved to ignore the damned vision and would have successfully done so had it not plagued him relentlessly, leaving him weak and shivering and bringing him dangerously close to an unhappy situation in which he almost bit off his tongue and choked to death on it. So he had been left with no choice but to follow the blood trail.

  The fiend was looking at him curiously. There was something in her gaze that made him more uneasy than the ropes that continued their serpentine coursing up and down his body, tightening ever so purposefully, cutting into his exposed flesh and ripping his clothes.

  ‘You are mine to do with as I please, and you would do well to bear that in mind,’ she murmured throatily into his ear, making his heart hammer loud enough for her to hear and rub it in his face. ‘But it must be admitted, this is very disappointing! I did not think it would be quite so easy to bring Yama’s lieutenant to his knees.’

  It isn’t, Agni thought dispassionately to himself. Chandu bounded into her then, his creamy coat a blur in the darkness, sleek muscles rippling across his hindquarters. He savaged her with the ferocity that always made Agni wonder if he was being properly fed in Yama’s domain: he tore out chunks of her rotting remains, flinging them aside, where they writhed like snakes, before launching back into the fray, latching on to his powerful back. All the while she shrieked loud enough to wake up the dead.

  A massive paw that could have easily smashed an elephant’s skull pinned her at the jugular and he made ready to tear out her soul. She fell silent then. Suri materialized next to her brother, the gold in her honeyed coat glinting, onyx eyes—there were four of them—glinting darkly as she growled in warning, taking in the grisly remains that still flopped around. Not many could tell, but Suri had always been the more dangerous of the two. More measured, yes, but infinitely more menacing.

  Chandu and Suri were the legendary four-eyed hounds of hell, offspring of Sarama, who had been gifted to Yama by Indra. Massive creatures built for speed and strength, they towered over the tallest of men, and could move faster than the speed of thought. Agni loved them dearly, and not only because they had bailed him out of sticky situations more often than he could count.

  The roots disappeared to whence they had come from, and Agni rubbed his body, trying to restore circulation, biting his lip as pain flooded his being. Blood oozed from where the damned things had bitten into his exposed skin.

  His nemesis lay small and wretched, dwarfed by the gigantic hounds of hell, no longer the wanton temptress. She looked a frail thing, and young. So young. Slender of frame and guileless of eyes, she looked every bit the commonplace village girl she had once been. But that was before she began struggling again, endless rage and madness stamping out better sense.

  Shrill curses rent the air as she fought the hounds of Yama’s hells, attacking them with clawed talons. Their blood was up and they would have torn her to pieces between them, but Agni flung the pasha around her and tightened the noose of gold till she quieted down again.

  ‘Do your worst! But I will never consent to being locked away in the accursed prison of the lord of corpses whom you serve. No force in the three worlds will be enough to hold me captive while the minions of the one you serve
scourge my flesh and impart pain for the rest of eternity! Not a shred of decency amongst the lot of you! I judge Yama and his lieutenant as unworthy sadists who deserve to sup from the dish of suffering a lot more than those they have condemned to the same fate!’

  She was crying by then, sobbing as if her heart had been cruelly shattered by the wicked world out to get her. She sounded so unhappy that for the life of him Agni could not tighten the pasha just a little bit more, which would have assured her direct entry to Yama’s dreaded abode. The one she was so terrified of.

  ‘I won’t be condemned to Yama’s thousand hells! I won’t! It is an accursed fate, one that nobody with a real heart would wish on their worst enemies. What do you know of the horrors of Yama’s hells? You sit pretty amidst the bounty of Mother Earth and condemn miserable, unfortunate souls to those rank chambers! How dare you? What gives you the right?’ Her terror and despair were palpable.

  Suri lost control then and tore off a limb of the creature, which went on to join the wriggling mess amidst the greenery of the field, even as her brother made ready to do what Agni was suddenly too weak to do. Another heartbeat and Chandu would have ripped out her agonized soul and dragged it to the fate that awaited her. The fiend shrieked then, a sound of distress that tore at his own heart. Agni barked an order and Suri came sullenly to his side. Chandu still had her pinned down and the upakshina was whimpering, staring aghast at her phantom arm that had reattached itself.

  Agni knew he ought not to hesitate. To do so meant death or worse. The visions had shown him the things she had done, the abhorrent creature she had become. But he could not bring himself to do it. None of the terrible creatures he had hunted had cried like this. And she was wrong about one thing. He had been shown what went on in the hells of Yama. And he remembered.

  How could he forget the yamaduttas with their whips, which they employed freely to turn the sinners’ backs to a bloody pulp even as carrion creatures feasted on putrefied flesh, the river of dread, Vaiterani, overflowing its banks with the pus, blood and rotting remains of the deceased, and the torture chambers with the ingenious implements designed to mortify the flesh and prolong suffering to the point where agony was at its most excruciating. And then there were the hellish red flames that made death by burning in the fire god Agni’s flames seem as pleasurable as a lover’s warm embrace by comparison.