Nine

Shobha Nihalani

Description

261 BC: After his bloody battle with Kalinga, the Mauryan emperor Ashoka, overcome with remorse, swore never to wage another war. And to make sure no one else did. His Navratnas the Nine zealously guarded their powers and knowledge, handing them down through millennia and generations to ensure lasting peace. EXCEPT THAT IT WAS NOT TO BE! From the corpses of the Kalingan warriors rose an angry spirit bent upon avenging the Kalinga empire, destroying the Nine and using their hidden knowledge to rule the world and change its destiny. PRESENT TIME The bloodthirsty warrior has possessed the body of a young man, making him hunt down and kill the Nine one by one. It is now up to the chosen Trinity nurse Tara, DJ Akash and forensic expert Zubin to stop him. This first book in a trilogy of fantasy thrillers churns up an astonishing tale from the depths of ancient times!

Sujets

• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Thriller
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: Penguin Books Ltd
• Date de parution: 15 juin 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9789351180852
• Langue: English

Extrait

SHOBHA NIHALANI

Curse of the Kalingan
NINE BOOK ONE
Contents
About the Author
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Acknowledgements
Follow Penguin
Copyright
PENGUIN METRO READS
Nine
Shobha Nihalani is the author of The Silent Monument . Her debut novel, Karmic Blues , was translated and published in Denmark. She has worked as a freelance journalist, copywriter, bookkeeper, English teacher and salesperson. She lives in Hong Kong with her family. Read more at www.shobhanihalani.com .
The world depends on souls of heroes
- The Mother
Prologue
Kalinga Modern Bhubaneshwar, Orissa 261 BC
The odour of decaying flesh coiled around the Kalingan s dying body. He heard the piercing cries of circling and swooping carrion birds. Torn limbs lay scattered, some corpses still clutched weapons and others were crushed by the weight of elephants. The air was thick with the metallic smell of blood. It came from his body and those of his clan. Pain, like a thousand spikes, gutted his spirit. If there was hell on earth, then this was it.
The human body is weak compared to the arrogant power of its ego, to its desire to win. The sun and the earth bore witness to such horror of mankind. How shameful, how despicable the human heart must appear to the gods! His throat was clogged, a ball of regret and anger swelling within him. Death hovered. He could feel his breath struggle, holding on to a carcass. There was solace in the skies, he should let go. But he wasn t ready yet. There were others, battered and waiting for death. He sensed their restlessness. They wanted to fight and shout out the battle cry, their lives lingered between this hell and freedom. He heard moans from the dying and then the flapping of wings-the carrion birds were perched and waiting. Their claws sharp like daggers, ready to sink into soft flesh. Stone-black eyes surveying the area-they waited. Instinct as primitive as time kept the creatures patient. Death must claim their meal first.
Aware of each inward and outward movement of breath, he waited for release, and slowly his mind seemed to melt into the stillness of time. The battle sounds roaring in his ears disappeared. His inner senses heightened. With his one good eye he blinked and saw mist swirling in the distance.
The Daya River flowed red. A strange mist rose and rolled towards the hills. There was more to see-a hundred thousand broken bodies spread across the battlefield in the valley. His men, the Kalingan warriors, had fought bravely. He wished he could move this useless flesh and muscle, stand up and lead them to victory. But it was too late. He willed himself to get up, but only managed to drag one arm, a lump of clay, towards his face. He twisted himself on his side, his head half sank into the wet soil. Caked in mud, he saw that his third finger was bent at an odd angle, and a jagged red line oozed blood where his thumb had been sliced. The palm of his hand was covered with cuts and calluses from driving his spear into the enemy. A deep rumbling sound emerged from his throat. He pressed down on the earth, it gave easily. His vision turned dark; there were tiny rivulets of blood dripping down his battered face, and the earth absorbed the liquid, turning a fiery red. The Kalingan felt his strength seeping out but he willed himself to stay alert; he cried out, his hand pressed down, harder and harder.
Deep in his soul, he felt the scream erupt, loud and coarse with anger and tears, he cursed the Mauryans-their king. His spirit was wild with fury. He was not one to give up; the blood of the Kalingan clan that flowed through him had fought the Mauryan dynasty for generations. I swear by the Kalingan blood on this earth, he cried, I will get my revenge! Then he fell on his face. His scream had taken all his strength. He heard the flapping of wings and felt the birds talons sink into his flesh. He closed his eyes for the last time.
1
Hong Kong, China 2008
Previously, it would take Vayu King hours to get into the zone. But this time within five minutes he felt the power surging like waves through his senses. He focused on it until he was the energy and nothing more. He knew he had the power, and that he was more than just an ordinary human being, meant for a greater destiny. He had been given a new lease on life and it meant something. Vayu was at one with the ancient mystical energy, connecting with a life force, like an antenna tuning into the right channel. He focused on his inner energy centres. The seven primary chakras revolved at amazing speed, and located along the central vertical axis of the spine, formed a single white column of light emerging from the crown of his head. After one of his marathon channelling sessions, he felt such incredible strength that he once struck a five-foot brick wall and cracked it right down the middle. Yes, he had the power! And he was meant to achieve great things, it was in his destiny.
There was an oddity about the present moment. He felt another power in the vicinity, like a buzzing fly that broke the centre of his focus.
His body was still, his breathing controlled, his mind was in a state of deep, conscious awareness. And in the stillness, the subtle sound was clear.
Vayu surveyed his room through the narrow line of his lashes. His futon bed was folded and tucked in one corner, and the rolled up straw mat leaned against the wall. The spent syringe lay some distance from the mat. The sparse furnishings included one small stool and a side table for his basic necessities. The office table and chair were pushed to the corner. The unusual humming sound was perceptible; there was no electronic appliance connected, he always made sure of that. Lead-lined rods circled him like a fence. He used them to trap white noise , including random thoughts of others. A crisp fresh breeze of dewy air wafted through the small window, bringing in an odd metallic aroma. Nothing was out of place and no intruder was physically present. Then, in a split-second back-flash, he was aware of what was here. Memories were not a slave to time: a blink of an eye, and an entire scene from the past came to light.
A sensation hit him like a gut-wrenching punch. There was nothing but pure red-hot emotion in that room. His heart raced in unison with the anger that flowed like a wild gushing river, pushing into him harder, it pressed, forcing his mind to relent. This was his destiny, he understood the ancient force was waiting until he was ready.
And he let it take over. Still seated in the lotus position, he felt a warmth in his hands. He looked down at his upturned palm. In the centre, he saw the lines deepen and curve. Blood pooled and like tiny tributaries filled and flowed between his fingers. Vayu didn t shift. He closed his eyes.
The Kalingan finally took over Vayu s mind completely. It didn t take him long and Vayu continued to meditate, to slow down the energy, to compress the anger.
Then his mind was drawn to painful memories from his teen years.
Vayu was fifteen when he d almost died. He d suffered terrible aches in his stomach, so bad that they had brought him to his knees. The pain, along with the diarrhoea, vomiting and fever, interrupted his life. His parents had tried everything. He d lost a lot of weight and would miss school often. Doctors couldn t figure out why-they d tried all kinds of medication. And most times the symptoms got worse. His father presumed it was black magic at work. He had a gambling debt growing at such a rate that strangers threatened him on the street. His mother, a lawyer, didn t believe in the occult, nor was she aware of her husband s addiction.
Despite medication and other treatments, Vayu became weaker and weaker. One by one, his organs shut down. In a few months, he was in the intensive care unit, hooked up to tubes and machines. His parents wept helplessly in the corner, watching him die.
His guilt-ridden father had tried alternative treatments, crystal therapy and spiritual healers while his mother scoffed at his primitive beliefs. For her, science was God and there was nothing else that could save her son. Then Vayu s father wanted to try one more extreme ritual:psychosurgical healing. His mother threatened to sue him if he let a barbaric witch doctor touch her son. Vayu could only watch, wishing he would die so they would stop their arguments. But finally his mother relented. She was never the same again, Vayu realized.
Very late that critical night, Vayu saw his father leave. He followed him. It was an odd sensation-Vayu was as light as air, weaving in and out of his room; sometimes he watched from the ceiling. He stood face-to-face, but his father didn t seem to notice his son. Vayu felt a sense of anguish and fear spread through him. He was a ghost floating away from his lifeless body. But somewhere, Vayu understood he still had a chance: his body was still alive, the heart pumping blood.
He wished desperately to be alive. And promised he would do anything in return. Vayu noticed his father moving quickly past the hospital gates towards a car waiting by the road. He spoke to the driver. And the rear window slid down.
There was a thin-framed old man in the car. He looked ancient with wrinkled, dark skin and pale eyes, hair as grey and wild as his eyes. The man turned his head slowly and looked out of the window-at Vayu s ghostly form.
He smiled directly at him.
Then