Tantrics Of Old Read online

  ‘What was Maya looking for in the basement? What was she after?’ he asked Gray.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that myself, and I really don’t have the faintest idea,’ Gray replied.

  ‘What do they keep down there? Records of what?’

  ‘Well since it was Demonology, I would presume Demons. Encounters, sightings, heritage.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘Adri?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘You think you can save Maya? From the Ancients?’

  They had been walking for quite a long time, and it was almost dawn. They had not met with any encounters since the Demons, and it had been mostly walking and talking. Fayne did not talk much unless spoken to; he scouted ahead or brought up the rear, making sure no one was following them and there were no ambushes in store. They had moved from the main road to side streets. It had gotten increasingly quiet as well, and apart from the odd loud call of some nocturnal bird, their footsteps resounded loudly as they walked down the streets. Fayne’s bare feet, however, refused to make any noise.

  ‘Yes, I think I can, Gray. It’s partly my fault she’s in that mess and I intend to see her out of it. While in Old Kolkata, she’s my responsibility,’ Adri said without looking at Gray.

  ‘And mine,’ Fayne spoke quietly. He was a long way off ahead of them, and he spoke without turning back.

  ‘Yes, your sister’s got a new boyfriend it seems,’ Adri muttered.

  It was madness, breaking into a protected crypt. If there was a curse on it, it was only going to be all the tougher for Adri. Being a Tantric did not grant him any natural immunity against the curse. It merely meant that he was supposed to have been educated in the ways around the curse, or in creating an anti-curse to neutralise its effects. Adri had been in expeditions which had broken into tombs, and he knew there was safety in numbers. He had never attempted something like this before, nor was he eager to. He had never heard of this particular vampire-hunter in his studies or travels, and thus he hoped the curse wouldn’t be something too deadly. Certainly deadly enough to scare the Ancients though; that alone worried him.

  Maya’s fate hung heavy in his mind too, and try as his conscience might to convince him that it was Maya’s fault she had run off, his guilt still stabbed at him a little too often for comfort. He had brought her here and she had trusted him to keep her safe, although he now suspected she had come along for this very errand; that would explain the change in her behaviour after he’d first laid down his proposal, and her interest in seeing the Old City; but Adri had been her protector, and he had failed. Holding back a sigh, he patted his pockets for a cigarette.

  Park Street, once the greatest social hub of Old Kolkata, was still somewhat of a hub, but with all the wrong kind of people. As the rumours went, it was mostly the looters who had control over Park Street; people who, before the fall of the Old City, had amassed a collection of whatever they could get their hands on from all kinds of shops, warehouses, and even homes—a great variety of things they now sold to survivors for large amounts of money or food. The looters were not gangsters as much as they were opportunists; some of them were just simple people with a fear of the supernatural, trying to make a living amidst desolation. There were, of course, others who were always striving for leadership and superiority, for recognition. Adri had been here before, he used to buy a lot of his ingredients for his rites from here. Once a shooter had also caught his fancy, but it had jammed in less than a week and the Gunsmith had stubbornly refused to repair it.

  As they entered the main street, Adri realised that the population had dwindled even more than before. Not surprising, considering the territory wars had moved even closer, but still a visual shock, seeing the place so empty. And empty it was, like the landscape they had traversed so far.

  Skyscrapers surrounded them, uncared for. Bits of buildings were breaking off; traffic lights burned with fire. Giant beacons. Enormous shadows. They occasionally saw movement. People went by; some hawkers closed up their roadside stalls. A group of people smoking cigarettes with confidence stared at them from a corner. They had guns on their laps, Gray noticed, but Adri did not seem to be worried about them. Gray found himself wondering yet again what the deal was with Old Kolkata. He had been taking pictures of the Old City and thinking about it as they walked. He had even remembered to take quick pictures of the dead Demon before they had left, though Adri warned him that possession of those pictures would be illegal once he was back in New Kolkata. Gray wasn’t really thinking about later. He was trying to breathe in the moment, this moment in which he had no clue as to what lay in store for his sister or for him; what kind of trouble they would face in the future, and whether they would even live to get back to the new city. Little mysteries knocked against his head, little questions that formed themselves in queues without him even realising it. Questions about Adri. Questions about Fayne. Questions about the old, unforgiving city.

  The Park Street Cemetery was behind high walls and they could see nothing of it, except for all the foliage that rose above. Now that they were standing at the black gates—locked with chains and padlocked—they could see through the iron bars a narrow cement path that led into the graveyard. There was no one around, either to open the gate or question them. Adri looked up and saw that dawn was approaching. A few birds flew, and the sky was slowly turning into its usual red.

  ‘Is this it?’ Gray asked. He looked up and saw the curving metal above the gate. Park Street Cemetery. ‘Oh right, this is it. What are we waiting for, then?’

  ‘Sunlight,’ Adri said.

  ‘Sunlight?’

  It was Fayne who replied. ‘In the Old City, you do not enter a graveyard until the sun is up, not unless you are asking for trouble. Of course, someone like me could manage that, but this is more than a tourist warning.’

  Adri nodded slowly. That Fayne was someone with experience was quite evident to him, and it kept getting reinforced with Fayne’s composure and the things he chose to say. Adri never liked working with inexperienced people; they were a liability, a burden of all sorts, and he regretted, yet again, having to bring the siblings to the Old City, though momentarily, but yes. He didn’t know what he was going to do next. He was out of all supernatural defences at the moment. He needed to perform his rituals, and they would take time, something he did not have. He dreaded the thought of having to enter the crypt alone, without any spirits backing him up; but then again there was the problem with using spirits—no matter how powerful or useful they would prove themselves to be, they always had to be let go after their charge was complete.

  The three of them sat down with their backs against the gate, looking at the empty street in front. Time had to be killed, the sun was not fast enough. Fayne withdrew a hip flask from a pocket and took a swig. He had pulled his mask back to his upper lip as he drank, and Adri caught sight of a fair, clean-shaven jawline. Fayne did not offer to share the contents of the flask, he merely pocketed it again.

  Gray turned to Adri, who absolutely did not want to entertain questions. ‘The Ancients, tell me about them,’ he said.

  ‘Didn’t I already—’ a weary Adri began.

  ‘I will tell you about the Ancients if you want to know,’ Fayne spoke. ‘Did you see them, or did they talk from the darkness?’

  ‘Saw them,’ Gray replied, shifting in interest.

  ‘They live in darkness as they need no light to see. Vampires as they are, the blood they suck is circulated through the centre of all their bones. That is the essence of the Ancients—they need no organs as their bones have become the organs, the hollow within forming their regenerative system. They move like snakes, except for the human torso at the end, making them fast and vicious in combat. They’re exceedingly strong and equally swift.’

  ‘What’s their history?’ Gray asked, drinking in everything.

  ‘A storyteller would be able to tell you more about legends,’ Fayne replied.

  Storytellers. The men who roamed
the land, the walking compendiums of legend and lore alike, Gray had heard about them, but never met one. It was said they could hold one captive for as long as they pleased, simply through their tales.

  ‘How do you kill them?’ Gray asked.

  ‘Not an easy task. They attack with their bone claws and their fangs, and if you do cut off a part of their bodies, they tend to regenerate it within hours. To kill an Ancient, one will have to first sever their connection with their bone tails, effectively severing the spine. Once this is done, the creature will writhe and twist, but it will still be just as deadly in this stage and killing it properly and entirely will involve destroying its brain inside its skull, for even the undead body continues to receive commands from the brain. Once there is a bullet or blade through the head, the Ancient will still find time to land one or two killing blows if it finds the prey in its range, and then it shall proceed to be silent forever.’

  ‘That was a tad more information than I bargained for,’ Gray said.

  ‘If you happen to be squeamish, I suggest you take that quality of yours and burn it. The Old City is not for those who cringe at the sight of blood.’

  ‘I know the Old City is not for me,’ Gray snapped. ‘Ever since I’ve come here, I’ve had creatures stalk me, had my sister kidnapped, and have been thrown around by Demons. I don’t like it here, and I refuse to see its charm. Do you see it?’

  ‘It is impossible to understand a place without living there long enough,’ Fayne replied. ‘For me, the only place in the world where I find peace is Ahzad.’

  ‘Good memories of growing up?’

  ‘Hardly. I was tortured there.’

  Gray stared.

  ‘But that exactly is my point, ta yeregee,’ Fayne said. ‘Feeling a connection with a place, understanding the soul of a place, it’s not about how good it’s been to you. It’s about how you connect your memories, both good and bad, to the place. It’s not just about the virtues, but also about the vices. Today, if I was fortunate enough to reach Ahzad, I would remove my mask for a moment and take in the freezing air, and it would feel like home.’

  ‘I guess New Kolkata is home for me then.’

  ‘That place is an abomination, a home of puppets forged as an experiment. Your generation grew up as a part of it, thus you will never know what Kolkata actually is and what it was meant to be. The Old City still has all the pieces, but one must pick them up and arrange them to see the whole picture.’

  Gray stared at Fayne. He didn’t know what to say. Fayne spoke without regret or fear. Here was a man who spoke his mind completely, and spoke it like fact. Gray didn’t know if that was a good thing, if he preferred things so simply, so directly. Where Adri had been largely reticent, Fayne was giving him a chance to know more about New Kolkata, about why MYTH had created the new city in the first place. Gray opened his mouth, but it was Adri who asked Fayne a question. A different one.

  ‘So how is it that you’re protecting someone? Isn’t your kind hired to do the exact opposite?’

  If there was a touch of sarcasm or spite in the question, Fayne completely ignored it. ‘The assassins of Ahzad will do whatever the charge dictates; we do not hold boundaries, only the amount of time involved. I have killed countless women and children, babes in arms. There are no ethics. I could befriend you over a decade and kill you in a moment, without a single impulse of hesitation.’ He turned to look at Adri. ‘Do not toy with me, Tantric. I will slit your throat before you realise you need a spirit for your protection.’

  Adri lit a cigarette. ‘No offence meant, assassin. It was, by all means, an honest question.’

  ‘Your questions are welcome as long as they do not turn and pierce my back. If you have something to say, say it to my face. That is what I would prefer, pashlin,’ Fayne said.

  ‘Not all of you assassins are like this. I once knew an assassin from your place, he had a jolly good sense of humour,’ Adri said. ‘Of course, what I mean by that is that I could not have anticipated your taking offence,’ he added hurriedly.

  ‘Who did you know?’

  ‘Kahn of Ahzad.’

  ‘How did you know him?’

  ‘I would like to think he is my friend. We had worked together on a series of . . . err . . . charges. You know him?’

  Fayne nodded. Then all was silent. Gray lost his nerve to ask Fayne anything after his reaction to Adri’s question. He realised Fayne was deadly and remorseless, something Adri had already warned him about. His curiosity could wait, he decided. Who knew what it took to piss the assassin off?

  Sunlight crawled down their clothes. A dagger emerged in the assassin’s hand and Gray glimpsed its red blade briefly as it sliced through the chains; the gates swung open and the dagger was gone. Fayne led the way and they followed.

  The graveyard was vast and they immediately felt a sense of being enveloped as they entered. It was the last place to be maintained here in the Old City, and like Jadavpur, vegetation had taken over the graveyard as well. The pathways were covered with moss, trees spiralled and grew out of normal proportions, and vines crept all over the tombs, covering their existence. They walked softly and as silently as they could, for it was dead silent, and even Gray knew that one didn’t talk too loudly in a graveyard—it was wise to not interfere with the sleep of the dead. A fog that had been there all night was lifting as the sun came up; it swirled and moved out of the way, near their feet, as they approached. They passed grave after grave and Gray finally whispered, ‘Which one is it?’

  ‘The church,’ Adri replied.

  They moved onward, weaving their way in and out through the cracked, silent stones and the grass that had grown up to their knees. The church’s spire was visible between the branches of a tree ahead of them. When it came into view, they saw it was old, like the graves. The stone was cracking and moss lined the walls. A part of the roof had caved in, the windows dark, desolate, glassless. It was a black, black picture, and did not look like a church at all. Gray looked at it and realised that he was scared of going into the building.

  ‘How come it’s in the church?’ Gray asked.

  ‘The Ancients mentioned that the body’s in a crypt. More chances of finding it in the catacombs than elsewhere. Plus, if he was a vampire hunter then the odds are he’d want himself buried in there,’ Adri replied, silently selecting an assortment of bullets from his bandolier.

  Fayne was looking pointedly at Adri’s holsters.

  ‘I’m hoping the underground will muffle the shots,’ Adri replied, defensive. ‘Then again, what is a man to do? I don’t have knives like you.’

  Fayne nodded. ‘If you wake the dead,’ he said, ‘I will make sure they go back to Zahanem, where they came from.’

  ‘Am I coming with you?’ Gray asked, as they neared the church.

  ‘No,’ Adri said.

  ‘Good.’

  The front doors were wood and iron, rusted, rotting; vines spiralled through the carvings and hollows. One door was slightly ajar; Fayne pushed it with a strong arm, and it opened. They crept in. Everything was devastated—the benches had all crumbled and given way to time; one of the support beams of the roof had angled and dropped to the floor. A part of the roof had gutted in, allowing sunlight which lit the hall. Dust swirled lazily in the beam of light. There was no movement anywhere inside the church as they stood near the door, Adri and Fayne checking for any signs of life while Gray took in the moment, the scene in front of him, eyes wide. Then Adri moved towards the fallen support beam, slowly, a revolver in his right hand. He crossed it and saw the slab he was looking for on the floor. He signalled the other two to make their way over to him.

  The three of them caught the slab by its handles, picked it up, and put it out of the way. It was carved out of pure granite and was a good three feet long on each side. It was heavy too, as the trio found out; Fayne did not seem to have much trouble with his side though, and he was the first one to look down at what they had uncovered as the other two recovered, wheezin
g. A small room, right below them, with a door on one side, cut into the stone. With the slab gone, sunlight fell directly into the little room; things were visible clearly. Fayne dropped in gently.

  ‘Is this the one?’ Adri asked from above, still panting. Gray looked at his palms, red from the lifting.

  ‘I think yes,’ Fayne’s voice came up from below.

  Adri joined him. Recovering from the light drop, Adri looked around the room. There were no plants down here, only stillness. Nothing moved, and it felt like they were already in the tomb. The entrance to the crypt lay a few steps ahead of him. A door as old as the church, if not older, made of stone, with old writing on it, preyed on by time, but Adri could distinguish the endings of the word Mazumder. It was, as he had thought, the final resting place of this unheard of vampire hunter. The door bore no other signs, no art, no protective symbols. It was bare, noticeably so, something which gave it a look of immeasurability, of pure strength. A round fixture curved its way out of one side; a handle.

  Adri would have wanted Fayne to come along—his weapons had harsh effects on all kinds of supernatural, Adri was sure. But even the Assassins of Ahzad were not taught the mystics of the Necromancer; the dead-talkers had since long protected their art within their inner circles, whispering it in closed classrooms under supervision of the government which they were a part of. No one else knew, and it had to remain that way; and it was for this reason that today Adri Sen would have to walk in alone through a protected crypt. It also was the reason, Adri mused, that Fayne had let them live and was travelling at their pace.

  ‘Adios, Adri. Hopefully, I will see you soon, with the body,’ Gray spoke. He still hadn’t stepped into the pit.