DUM DA DUM DUM!!! Here it is! Chapter 5. Oh and if you have no idea what's going on, I suggest go to my fictionpress site and skim through my previous chapters: www.fictionpress.com/~linguaXmachina

^_^

Shroud

He’s almost home.

Well, Harun’s home at least.

Rohit’s golden eyes stare at the dying sun falling behind the crest of a small hill. His body sways back and forth to his steed’s stride. A breeze blows, sending ripples through the plain’s grassy expanse around him.

“Rohit,” Harun’s voice reaches his ears, he looks over at him. The man’s armor glistens in the orange light, his blood red cape fluttering slightly in the warm sigh of wind. His garments contrast with the intricate folds and wrappings of Rohit’s isha armor; black as shadows, it’s as if the boy is constantly within the embrace of night.

“…you still haven’t told me how you attained the Mu’Tasim.” Harun says.

“You have it don’t you? Isn’t that all you wanted…?” Rohit’s eyes seem defensive at first.

Their age must not come.

“Yes, but…”

“You ask so much, Father.” Rohit lets the faintest glimmer of a smile show on his face. His heart swells at Harun’s concern, he isn’t used to such careful attention.

Their age must not come.

Such is Harun’s way, always seeming to worry.

It was how Rohit had always known the man the called “father”, though he was not kin.

Rohit’s past has been shrouded in mystery to many of the Eminent’s men. The boy was simply considered partly supernatural, a lone spirit in need of company or a being sent from the gods. Whether he was a curse or blessing…no one could tell. But this of course, was simply rumor among the men. Harun could guess the boy’s history, he poked here and there through the fog that was Rohit’s personality and when he struck something he took note of it.
It was in the south-western village of Kanapoor that the troop had first come upon the boy, three years back. They had traveled there because it was a holy site, the birthplace of Durga, a much revered speed divya of times past. Harun had hoped that his search for the Mu’Tasim would end there, but not surprisingly, it didn’t. Upon arriving, the troop was immediately informed of mysterious events and a menacing being.

The Lion-Eyed Curse.

Men in the troop laughed, what superstitious people these were! After two nights of inquiring the village elders and priests, Harun and his men were given a task in exchange for information.

Find the curse, and kill it.

Harun agreed, for he was eager to move on from village folk, so the small troop and a few priests set out to the surrounding forest so as to end this foolishness once and for all. The men armed with bows, swords and the like, the priests carrying wards and instruments. It hadn’t been long until it was found.

Him.

He was a being that seemed to move as fast as the wind. One moment he was a dark blur, another and he wasn’t seen at all. To Harun and his troops surprise, the priests sat on the forest floor and began to sing, accompanied by the beating of tala drums. What at first seemed stupid became awe-inspiring, for the priests summoned two avatars of earth. A battle ensued: curse versus summons.

The rakash destroyed them both.

Harun and his men stood armed and ready, watching with wide eyes a battle between priests and the unknown one. After the avatars had fallen in mounds of dust, all the priests had thrust out their hands and a powerful gust of air blew the exhausted rakash back into the trunk of a massive tree. Harun ordered his men to fire their arrows into the gaping hole. After a moment, a young boy had stumbled out of the tree, impaled on his torso and a leg by only three of ten arrows. Wisps of long dark hair fell over fierce eyes.

Eyes filled with bloodlust.

With a heart-wrenchingly human cry, he had turned into a dark gust of air again and killed one of the priests with the shaft of an arrow. Then he fell to the ground. As the troop surrounded him, Harun could see tears fall from tawny-gold eyes that stared helplessly up into a cloudy afternoon sky. One priest had made an effort to kill the boy then and there, claiming that this wasn’t the true form of the being. But Harun stopped him, knowing that the boy was anything but supernatural.

On that day, Harun had bought a son.

50 dirua.

In the months that followed the boy, whom when he finally spoke called himself Rohit, miraculously healed. Harun was protective of him at first, but found that the boy could take care of himself, after he’d injured a headstrong soldier in self-defense. No one in the troop messed with Rohit after that, not even in jest. Though isolated during the day, Harun came to sit with him at night, bringing food and asking many questions. Rohit left many unanswered, but slowly Harun began to thread the boy’s story together.

Apparently, the village of Kanapoor was once the stronghold of one of Durga’s two sons, Jalal. House Isra was an honorable house, and brought the village prosperity and contentment. The family was renowned and respected in the surrounding area for their use of the speed bloodline as mercenaries, though they were also skilled as assassins. Their rule was disrupted however, by the priesthood. They came without warning, proclaiming House Isra as heretics to the Throne. This began the struggle for power in Kanapoor.

House Isra was nearly demolished.

The priesthood killed almost everyone, wielding a surprising range of abilities not seen in the Fringe villages. Young Rohit survived only because an elder brother sent him into hiding within the surrounding forest.

Such wary exile for an innocent boy.

The priests eventually proclaimed the heretics eradicated, and through grand speeches began to sway the people into a fear and contempt for their previous rulers. Thus in the years that went by, speed divya became something of myth as things settled down and the people became accustomed to the enforcement of national religion. Superstition set in and Rohit’s random attacks and sightings through the years branded him as a curse; perhaps invoked by Jalal in one last dying breath. The priests fed this story, twisting to their ends over the years.

Such had been Rohit Isra’s plight.

Until now.

Nightfall is upon the plains. A bonfire crackles and leaps in the middle of the encampment like some giddy, fluttering child of sunlight. Harun’s men heartily drink and eat a wealth of provisions attained from both hunting and villager stock. Rohit sits outside of the circle of men, firelight barely reaching his dark form. Only the full moon’s silvery outline hints at his presence. He’s thinking of Siraj. His battle with the young noble had been intense, but not as exhausting as the fight with the avatars years ago. But then again, he did have the aid of vengeful bloodlust back then…

Suddenly Rohit felt a pang of regret.

The look in Siraj’s eyes before he died, so aware…almost warning.

Their age must not come.

Was Rohit just like the priests in Kanapoor now? Barging in, changing people’s lives, leaving destruction in his wake? Siraj was only trying to protect something of importance. Something that rightfully belonged with him.

Yet Rohit had killed him.

It was strange how things seemed to move on, seemingly unchanged. The current of the world seemed to simply flow around Rohit and onward, as if his newfound question was nothing but a small rock in a stream.

What am I?

Such confusion, these feelings.

-

A few days journeys pass, and finally the small troop comes upon the small city of U’dashir. As the procession of warriors make their way through the main road up to the Raja’s palace, the usual whispers of curious passerby reach Rohit’s ears. He’s learned to ignore them by now and stares straight ahead. He finds himself trying to notice the city major features in an attempt to map it out…no need for that now. Rohit looks over at Harun, who also gazes onward, his gold breastplate shining in the afternoon sun, cape flowing to his horses gait. It doesn’t seem that there will be another task. Rohit relaxes then, settling a little in his saddle and letting his eyes wander to soak in his present surroundings.

Finally, the Raja’s palace. It was opulent enough for an average city; minarets jut up from various parts of the hulking structure, attempting to pierce the afternoon sky. A tall, decoratively carved wall circumscribes the palace. As the troop nears the gate, a guard begins to stop them to inquire, but hesitates as Harun flashes the Devi’s Signet. Upon smoothly entering the courtyard, the men’s presence set off a small commotion among the guards and servants. Harun stays on horseback, regally observing the tumult. Rohit leans down to calm his horse, stroking its muscular neck. After a few moments a man briskly walks out of the palace, arms outstretched in welcome.

“Eminent! Welcome!” the man says a little too enthusiastically. He’s quite portly, sporting a cream colored turban adorned with a ruby on his head. A matching robe is enclosed by a maroon silk sash, weighted with more gems. Jewel-encrusted hands rise and fall from the forehead in honorary greeting.

“Raja…” Harun starts, not sure of the man’s name.

“Subhash, Eminent, Subhash…” The Raja bows once more and looks up at Harun like an obedient dog.

“Ah, yes, Raja Subhash, my men and I are weary of travel from the Eastern Fringe…Might you be able to spare a few rooms?” Harun asks as if he didn’t know of his infinitely higher position.

“Oh-oh yes, yes of course! Yes, please allow my servants to see to your horses!” Subhash claps his hands and a wave of servants swarm towards the men, all bowing profusely. A girl saunters up to Rohit, and bows only slightly, then looks straight into his eyes.

Come.

For a moment, it seems as though Rohit hears a voice in his head. He stares back into the girls brown eyes, which appear eerily blank. Retrieving his belongings, Rohit steps down off his horse and hands the reins to the girl, who then turns to coo his stallion without so much as a second glance. Though slightly unsettled, Rohit’s face is stern as he turns to walk at Harun’s side. As the men enter into the palace, the Raja excitedly attempts to probe Harun through conversation as to the reason for their visit. No answers are gleaned, but the man hides his annoyance admirably.

Amidst the buzz of conversation, Rohit keeps feeling something.

A presence.

Smooth glances behind him don’t provide comfort, he feels as though someone-something- is watching. The Raja leads the troop to a lounge, promising food and entertainment shortly. Rohit seperates himself from the others and approaches Subhash.

“May I be shown to a room?” He asks with a quiet gaze. Subhash’s eyes fill with questionably genuine concern.

“You do not wish to enjoy-“

“No.” Rohit interrupts. A flicker of offence is seen in Subhash’s light brown eyes, then a bright smile pervades his face. He calls out and a servant materializes from down the hallway. As they walk closer Rohit sees it is the same girl as before. Her blank eyes seem to focus in on him for a moment, then go glassy at the Raja’s beckon.

“Show him to a room.” Subhash commands in a loud voice, as if the girl is dumb. She simply walks past Rohit and onward. Raja Subhash hisses.

“You must excuse her she is-“He starts, but Rohit ignores him and follows the girl. She leads him through a few corridors without a word. Her steps are silent as she glides past halls and passageways. She suddenly stops in front of a door and turns around. Rohit’s heart thumps. No has ever been able to hold his gaze before, yet this girl does, with hardly a blink. Rohit opens the screen and enters his quarters. He places his things down in a corner and begins to unpack. After a moment he turns around. She is still there, staring. She abruptly turns to leave, and as she walks Rohit hears what seems to be a sigh coming from everywhere accompanied by a voice.

Finally.

-

Another day passes, and Rohit finds himself exploring the city on the second day’s evening. U’dashir wasn’t that impressive upon further inspection, there were a few splendid houses and admirable gardens and courtyards, but nothing as grand as Aurangezeb. Inevitably he finds himself back that the palace, all unsettled because of something he feels inside. There’s no way to explain it, no way to reveal the sudden mystery about this place. The palace courtyard is empty, evening sunlight barely glints over the surrounding wall. Rohit enters the palace, a servant crosses slowly at the far end of the hall.

YOU!

Rohit immedeatly dashes forward to where the servant had been.

A whisper. Follow. The servant is nowhere to be seen, only another empty corridor stretch before the young man. He decides to obey, his heart thumping hundred-fold with each step. There seems to be a nudging inside his mind, leading him past the palaces many hallways and into places less traveled. Soon, he was taking furtive steps down a stairway devoid of any light. As he went down further he found that there was a dim light emanating from somewhere below. Closer, and the roar of flames could be heard. Finally Rohit’s eyes gaze upon a corridor lined with many ledges along the wall. Flames burn along these ledges, tracing a flaming path to a large altar at the far end. Upon this altar a lone pole stood.

A man hung from this pole.

Arms tied above his head, head hanging. A tattered black lungi streams from his lower body. His torso is dripping with sweat and covered with a large red intricate marking. A black mask covers his face, contrasting with his slightly pale skin. Yet another crest in red is scrawled upon the face-covering. Rohit new the markings on the mask too well. An agni-chuda, explosion seal. Most likely anyone who touched the mask would set off the seal, killing both prisoner and possible liberator. Rohit doesn’t know why he feels so compelled to walk up the altar steps, his heart is beating furiously as he works the knots loose and frees the man. He doesn’t know who could be under that mask, but anyone with an explosion seal attached to them is bound to pose some danger. The man falls to his knees. Silent hangs in the air for a moment, and only the fluttering voice of the flames can be heard around them. Rohit silently steps around the man, giving him a wide berth. As he steps backwards down the steps the mans head slowly raises.

Shadows slowly curl up like smoke around him.

Suddenly, serpentine streaks of black weave and curl throughout the room like a dark living mist, eating flame. The entire room goes pitch black. A voice emanates seemingly from everywhere.

“Many thanks, rakash.”

Then, an earth-shattering explosion of fire and sound.
:ph43r:

Excellent stuff, LXM. Sorry it took me so long to read it.

There's one thing i love about your writing, other than your effective use of the present tense, and that's the way that the reader gets the sense that there's a long, colourful history to your world, but i can't quite put my finger on what gives me that impression.