Chapter 4 : As Fate weaves her invisible thread

Early the next morning, the house was in a ruckus. "You indolent brat!" Iravan was screaming at Vastav.

"Who are you calling a brat you sea demon! Curse you! Curse your tricks! I won't fall for it! I've decided to live! I want life" Vastav held onto the bed pillar as Iravan lay on the ground next to him trying to pull him out.

"Nuisance! Pathetic flesh and blood! A mortal mess! Come outside" he stressed as he tried to pull Vastav out. Rumi, his old housekeeper, came in with the serene smile on his face, lowering a plate adorned with a heavy breakfast down to the bed.

"The child will eat, my lord?" Iravan let go of Vastav. "The child is out of his mind. He won't bathe, he won't even come out of his room. That's just what he is, a child" said Iravan, pouting and turning away from Rumi and Vastav. Vastav, caught in the smell of a delicious breakfast forgot all about the issue and began devouring the meal.

Iravan, getting up, "for the last time. It was a jest. I don't eat children. And even if I did," he said, as he stepped out of the house, his voice as loud as he could manage, "I would never eat the likes of you!"

Old Rumi smiled as he waved and closed the door behind his master.

Iravan walked through the streets he had like yesterday, making his way through the mess of the travelling caravan. "Stupid kid."

A man came up to him from the crowd, speaking a foreign language, and handed him a chit. He observed the man from head to toe who looked like a street urchin. Before he could follow his annoyance to hold him by the collar, the man had vanished.

"Come to Marqaya? What a load of nonsense." he said to himself as he read the chit. He casually threw the chit over his shoulder and continued walking. The streets were colourful with tricks and beautiful mystics. " such a shame they buried the goddesses" he said to a beautiful woman who had set up a carpet shop.

"Does it fly?" he said as he laughed. The woman, charmed by Iravan's oceanic beauty, leaned over the front table, "why would you need a flying carpet? Your enemies have all been slaughtered centuries ago." she said as she smiled. Iravan posed, with good greetings to the lady, he left and walked ahead.

Iravan was always venturing through the streets of any city he visited. Wherever he stopped, he hardly ever spent time within the houses he rented. He would venture by himself, and months after his expeditions and adventures he would write to old Rumi to come stay with him.

Old Rumi was wiser than his ancient years, he knew Iravan's wandering spirit even when he was just a child. He never did like anyone coming along. He never liked putting anyone to the risk of his whims.

Iravan, even as he was lost in thoughts, could feel a set of eyes follow him through the market. In the thick scent of spices and colours that adorned the heart of the market where he was treading, his sense of smell was impeccable for he could pick out every individual, numbered in a hundreds, and state who was standing exactly where.

His powers were food for gossip over the country for centuries, and even more so after the great war where life had taken the form of a market where all and anything was product for a price.

Coming to the sharp turn of the street, he turned quickly as if to escape those pestering eyes. The man, growing impatient, rushed after him, and as he turned by the same nook, his face smashed against a fist that was held out with pure precision of amateurish predictability. 

"Argh!" the man cried. Iravan, with the might of a repulsive child, sat over the man with his legs crossed before he could try to get up. The man saw two burning eyes looking down at him, the sun shining at the circumference of the figure, pale lips that were calm and quivered nothing like the fire in his long faced cheeks. "Hello." said Iravan.

The man looked at Iravan, lost in confusion.

"Why that's quite rude. I was hoping you'd tell me why you've been following me? By the look of the small knife you've brought to fend yourself against me I'm sure you don't know who I am, lest I'd feel exquisitely insulted." said Iravan as he scanned the man and his belongings without moving. He leaped closer to the side of his face, the man could hear sniffing noises, his vision eclipsed by Iravan's overcoat that fell on his face.

"What's this now.. A mortal?" Iravan broke into uncontrollable laughter.

He fell to his side. The man took his chance to crawl up to sitting "you have to help me. You have to undo what you have done" Iravan was indulged in laughter, hardly paying attention to what he was saying.

"Marqaya has been taken." Iravan paused. He looked at the man now as if he had valuable information to share. "Marqaya? So you did send that ridiculous chit." Iravan got up, dusting his clothes, looking over his shoulder he said, "Look boy, Marqaya is safe. He once had me begging for my life. Don't fall for his aged broken back and old man habits'' Iravan walked away. The man followed him.

"Iravan, he has been taken home." Iravan didn't stop. "He has been taken to Mayavari." Iravan froze with white fear. He held the boy close to his face, " This is not a good place to talk.

" They went to Marqaya's abode. Iravan took off his overcoat, something he only did with Rumi around for it was the sign of no danger. He leaned against the wall in his rubrum Kasaya, examining the boy in front of him who was preparing tea. "You're his student. I can see that, but you're"

"Human? Yes I am. Marqaya is like a grandfather to me. He had taken me in as a child"

Iravan laughed. "Marqaya? Take in a child? What a hypocrite!" he said as he recalled his last conversation with Marqaya.

" My name is Izwan"

"Izwan, if you've come to me for help then I guess you know what this means. Marqaya being taken to Mayavari. There is only one person who can do that"

Izwan let out a slight tremble. Tea spilled from his cup. Iravan held Izwan's hand still, "so you know her."

"She has left an unforgettable memory" said Izwan as he lifted his sleeves to reveal his deformed hand. His hand was white with exposed bone, with scarce flesh clinging to it from his wrist to his elbow. There were intermittent places of healed flesh, while all the rest was a hollow nightmare.

"This spell.." Iravan spoke with uneasiness. "You have seen the other side. You were dead."

"Yes. It was Marqaya who revived me." He said as he dropped his sleeve down.

Iravan sat back in contemplation. Revival magic was forbidden even to the forbidden ones. It could only be done at great cost, to one's own life and well being.

" so that's why he's getting old."

Iravan looked at Izwan, "We will go tomorrow. Did you see the people who took him?"

"No. I only came here to see that he was gone. His ring isn't here either…"

"That's enough. We'll leave tonight. I'll meet you at the horse traders."

With that, Iravan had left for home to get some things he hadn't touched for centuries.

Rumi looked at Iravan with inquisitive concern. " I see the time has come," said Rumi as he handed a crescent leather case to Iravan.

"Hey, old man, counting on me to die? Knock yourself out of it. I'll live longer than you" said Iravan as he laughed and jested away, "And tell the boy he's free to go!" Rumi stood in the doorway for minutes after Iravan left.

"The wind is troublesome" he whispered to himself as the temperatures dropped in what was to be the height of humid summer nights. 

Izwan and Iravan prepared to travel to Mayavari. And to get to Mayavari they had to cross the foothills of the mighty ancient mountains of Tantrahimaya along the Mother River Atmatran.It was a journey of nine days by horse. Iravan thought about his quarrels with Marqaya. Perhaps, he was the only person as close to a friend he ever had.

He thought about the woman.

As he lay on his back on the horse, looking at the stars spread across the sky. Izwan looked at Iravan from time to time, as if he thought that Iravan would turn on him at any moment. He didn't trust Iravan. Yet he had no other choice but to seek him.

Two men crossing the plains of tribes through the barren strip of land that came down all the way from the mountains. Lives were being tangled one after another, as if fate was a grand theatre about to explode with its climax.