Age of Shiva (The Pantheon Series) (19 page)

Somehow I didn’t mind. It felt right. It felt preordained. It was the way it had to be.

What I did mind was that Rama had just unshouldered his bow and nocked an arrow. And was aiming it directly at me.

“Is this any way to treat your – ?” I began, and then Rama let loose the arrow and it was flying through the air.

I had never known an arrow move so slowly. It twanged away from the bowstring at normal speed but decelerated almost immediately, as though piercing an invisible wall of jelly. I watched it approach, feeling a sort of bemused fascination. I could even see the feather fletchings rippling and the shaft rotating as the arrow inched across the twenty feet between Rama and me. It was a simple thing, stepping out of its path. A feat on a par with avoiding a pensioner in a mobility scooter.

Rama sent another couple of arrows my way before the first reached me. Hitherto I’d marvelled at the uncanny speed with which he could shoot, reload from his quiver and shoot again. He could loose a dozen arrows in a handful of seconds.

Yet now he seemed inordinately leisurely-paced about it, as though he was barely trying. The second and third arrows sailed along their flight paths at protracted intervals. I counted my heartbeats between each. Seven at least.

Having dodged the very first arrow and then the first of the subsequent pair, I thought I would have some fun with the third, so I snatched it from midair and lobbed it back at Rama. A look of alarm crossed his face, and I sensed I had made a mistake. What if his reflexes, so rapid in matters of bowmanship, weren’t as good when it came to evading missiles?

Parashurama’s battleaxe descended with an almighty
swoosh
, chopping the arrow in half before it could rendezvous with Rama. As the two pieces fell harmlessly to the ground, the axe changed direction and swung towards me, scything at my head. I reared away, bending over backwards so that the blade cut only thin air.

Parashurama adjusted his stance and grip in order to bring the axe down vertically. He was grinning but his eyes were deadly serious. For all that this was a kind of hazing-the-newbie ritual, the Avatars weren’t pulling their punches. They were playing rough, playing for keeps.

I somersaulted out of the axe’s way. The impact of the blade shattered a paving stone.

Parashurama was fast. With him there was none of the time dilation I’d experienced with the arrows. He was operating at the same heightened rate that I was. He recovered his footing and sprang at me with the battleaxe held aloft.

Instead of evasive-manoeuvring again, this time I leapt to meet him. I danced higher off the ground than he did, so high that I landed a foot on his shoulder and used him as a stepping stone to propel myself even further into the air. Parashurama crashed to earth. I came down light as a feather.

We pivoted to face each other.

“I have no idea how I’m doing this,” I said. “It’s mental. It’s like it’s the most natural thing in the world – and completely fucking
un
natural at the same time.”

“You get used to it,” Parashurama said. “You never stop being aware of it, but you stop noticing. If that makes any sense. Now stand still for a moment...”

He attacked, axe to the fore. I, of course, did not stand still. I’m not stupid. I darted to the nearest palm tree and shinned up the trunk to the top as easily as a – I’m going to say it – monkey.

The tree had a crop of young green coconuts at its crown, and these said just one thing to me:
ammo
. I plucked them one after another and flung them down at Parashurama like cannonballs. He sliced each one to pieces before it could hit him. The coconuts exploded in a spray of water and yellow pulp, some of which spattered Korolev, who was spectating nearby.

“My shirt!” he cried in dismay. “Is vintage Aloha from nineteen-fifties. Dry clean only. Very delicate.”

“Looks better now, if you ask me,” I said. “You’ve improved me; I’m returning the favour by improving your shirt.”

“Ha ha, not very funny, I think.”

“May not be for you, but me, I’m laughing my
arrruuuullllp
!”

A pair of giant hands had clamped around my torso and hoisted me off the palm tree. Vamana. I’d been so busy mocking Korolev, I hadn’t noticed Vamana sneaking up from behind. As much as a twenty-five-foot-tall dwarf can be said to sneak.

Vamana held me up in front of him, suspended by my wrists.

“Not so hilarious now, is it?” he sneered. “Struggle all you want, monkey boy. You’re not going anywhere.”

“Struggle?” I said, going limp. “Who’s struggling? I’d much rather just hang, dude.”

“It takes more than a bit of ballet and chucking some coconuts to be an Avatar. It takes sweat, dedication, talent, a few hard knocks... You can’t just waltz in and grab it. You have to earn it.”

“Aren’t you confusing being a deva with being a diva?”
³

“God, what an annoying little turd you are.” Vamana brought me closer to his face. “I’d snap you in two like a wishbone if I thought I could get away with it.”

“Don’t bother, your breath is killing me as it is,” I said, wincing and cringing aside. “Don’t they sell mouthwash in giant-size bottles?”

Vamana bared his teeth in indignation, and it was just too tempting a target to resist, so I kicked him. Right in the upper incisors.

He recoiled, dropping me. Thrashing backwards, clutching his mouth, he collided with an outdoor table and chair set. His feet tangled up in them and he fell flat on his backside with a thunderous
thump
.

He was up again in no time and raging towards me.

Korolev could see the situation was turning nasty and barked, “Enough!”

Vamana ignored him and continued to make for me. He swiped at me with clenched fists, each as large as a beer keg. He wasn’t anywhere near as quick as Parashurama, or as me for that matter, so I had no trouble staying unhit. I kept taunting him as I pirouetted again and again out of his reach. Lots of heightist gags. “Tall order.” “It’s a small world after all.” “Oh, no! Enormous Oompa-Loompa on the loose!” Which only infuriated him further. Which made him attack with even greater frenzy. Which meant Korolev’s repeated instructions to stand down were all the harder for him to heed.

Eventually Rama stepped in, putting himself between me and Vamana. His bow was drawn taut, arrow aimed unerringly at Vamana’s eye.

“Calm down, Vamana. Don’t make me shoot you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” the Dwarf growled.

“Try me and see.”

“I’ll swat you.”

“Not before this arrow enters your brain.”

They faced off for a good thirty seconds. Vamana was the one who blinked.

“This is not over,” he said to me as he began to shrink to normal size. “Not by a long shot.”

“Bite me, munchkin,” I replied.

Vamana started to grow again, almost as if anger was inflating him, but Rama’s arrow was still trained on his eye. Reluctantly, sullenly, he resumed shrinking.

As Vamana sloped off, escorted by Parashurama, Rama turned to me.

“You should not antagonise him,” he advised in his lilting French accent. “Not if he is to be your ally someday. Hatred between comrades-in-arms does not win battles.”

“Can’t help it. Guy rubs me up the wrong way, or I do him. One or the other.”

“Well, as for me, I am impressed.” Rama stowed his bow over his shoulder. “You are fast. You are agile. You improvise well. You amuse. I look forward to working with you.”

He extended a hand, and I would have shaken it, but all at once I was woozy, and the world seemed to be heaving up and down like a ship in heavy seas. I had to sit on my haunches and put my head between my thighs. It was the only way to make everything stop swaying and lurching, and even then it wasn’t wholly successful.

“Korolev. Korolev!” Rama called out. “Hanuman is unwell. It looks like a siddhi crash.”

Korolev came plodding over. “
Da
, is siddhi crash all right. He has overexerted. I should have realised. Too soon. Metabolism is still adjusting. He needs amrita dose. Help him up. Follow.”

¹
I have my father’s Scots ancestry to thank for that. Also for my ginger-tinged hair.

²
Oh, and go through a purgatory of excruciating pain. Let’s not forget that.

³
I’d been sitting on that pun for ages. Couldn’t wait to use it.

23. FAITH ENERGY

“A
MRITA
,” K
OROLEV SAID,
withdrawing the hypodermic from the crook of my elbow and sticking a cotton wool pad onto the injection wound. “Consists of tweaked fibroblast cells taken from salamander. Promotes growth of connective tissues and nerves, like in salamander which can not only regrow lost tail but also other parts like retinas and intestines. Using siddhis causes progressive physiological damage, especially if body is unaccustomed and unprepared. Like running marathon without proper training first. Drain on body’s repair systems leads to symptoms you are experiencing – nausea, dizziness. Amrita is quick fix. Rejuvenating cocktail.”

“Like a vodka Red Bull in a needle,” I said.

Korolev deadpanned me. “Were you always wiseguy?”

“You bring it out in me, professor. I just love to see your face light up with that winning smile of yours.”

The amrita swiftly took effect. I could feel it coursing through me. In the hypodermic it had been an innocuous-looking pale pink serum; inside me it was a warm golden glow that spread from my arm to my chest and onwards and outwards until it suffused me completely. My head cleared. The world’s pitching, yawing motion settled down, the “waves” calming.

“It is the one drawback of being a deva,” Rama said. “You become exhausted very quickly when in action. You can overtax yourself if you are not careful. A half-hour of full siddhi usage is the safe maximum. More than that and you are in danger of doing yourself permanent harm.”

“Amrita helps,” said Korolev, “but is not cure-all. Do not rely on it if you suffer catastrophic siddhi crash. It may not be enough. Better not to run risk in the first place. Start to feel weak in combat, withdraw. Do not carry on. At worst, result could be respiratory failure and cardiac arrest.”

“Don’t overdo it, or die,” I said. “Gotcha. I knew there had to be a catch. You don’t get something as cool as this without strings attached. With great power comes great drawbacks.”

Rama patted my shoulder. “You are learning already, my monkey. Tell me, when you were in the Induction Cocoon, what did you see?”

“Apart from the Hanuman Channel, you mean? Nothing, really.” I paused. “Unless you’re talking about the lotus.”

“The lotus is precisely what I am talking about.” Rama looked satisfied. “Did you hear that, Professor Korolev? Unprompted, he mentions the lotus. It can’t be coincidence.”

“What about the lotus?” I asked. “What’s it signify?”

Korolev grunted something in his mother tongue. You didn’t have to speak fluent Russian to understand what he said. It was basically an elaborate
harrumph
.

“Each of us Avatars saw the lotus while in the Cocoon. It wasn’t on any of the screens. It came from within, an image in the mind’s eye only. The lotus is the crucial symbol in Hindu mythology. It is central to everything. It is known as ‘padma’ and it represents purity and divinity. The Vedas say that Brahma, Creator of Mankind, was born inside a lotus which arose from Vishnu’s navel. The flower itself stands for the expansion and development of the soul. It is rooted in the mud of mundane things but rises above. It hardly seems to touch the water it floats on – that is how ethereal it is, how apart from the rest of existence. It is a state of oneness with the universe, of godhood.”

“Blimey, have you been talking to Aanandi? This is just the sort of thing she loves to spout off about.”

“As a matter of fact I have. I am quoting Mademoiselle Sengupta as best I can. I consulted her on the subject of the lotus after I became curious about it. Why would all of us devas see it during theogenesis? It cannot be just some random delusion or hallucination. We would not all have shared it if it was. It must have manifested to us for a reason.”