The Simoqin Prophecies Read online

  The Simoqin Prophecies

  Part One of the GameWorld Trilogy

  By Samit Basu

  Cover Art by Deepak Sharma

  About the Author

  Samit Basu is a writer of books, films and comics. His first novel, The Simoqin Prophecies, published by Penguin India in 2003, when Samit was 23, was the first book in the bestselling Gameworld Trilogy and marked the beginning of Indian English fantasy writing. The other books in the trilogy are The Manticore’s Secret and The Unwaba Revelations.

  Samit’s global breakthrough happened with the superhero novels Turbulence and Resistance. Turbulence was published in the UK in 2012 and in the US in 2013 to rave reviews. It won Wired's Goldenbot Award as one of the books of 2012 and was superheronovels.com's Book of the Year for 2013. Its sequel, Resistance was published in the UK/US in 2014 and was just as well received.

  Samit also writes for younger readers: other works include the ongoing Morningstar Agency and Adventures of Stoob series.

  Samit's work in comics ranges from historical romance to zombie comedy, and includes diverse collaborators, from X-Men/Felix Castor writer Mike Carey to Terry Gilliam and Duran Duran. His latest GN, Local Monsters, was published in 2013. He's currently working on a number of book, TV, film, comics and new media projects.

  Samit was born in Calcutta, educated in Calcutta and London, and currently divides his time between Delhi and Mumbai. He can be found on Twitter, @samitbasu, and at samitbasu.com

  The GameWorld Trilogy

  The Simoqin Prophecies

  The Simoqin Prophecies, first published in 2003 in India, was critically acclaimed and an instant bestseller. It marked the beginning of Indian fantasy writing in English.

  Written with consummate ease and brimming with wit and allusion, it is at once classic sff and subtle spoof, featuring scantily clad centauresses, flying carpets, pink trolls, belly dancers and homicidal rabbits. Monty Python meets the Ramayana, Alice in Wonderland meets The Lord of the Rings and Robin Hood meets The Arabian Nights in this novel—a breathtaking ride through a world peopled by different races and cultures from mythology and history.

  The Prophecies foretell the reawakening of the terrible rakshas, Danh-Gem, and the arrival of a hero to face him. But heroes do not appear magically out of nowhere; they have to be found and trained. And sometimes the makers of prophecies don’t know everything they need to know…

  As the day of Danh-Gem’s rising draws closer and the chosen hero is sent on a quest, another young man learns of terrible things he must do in secret and the difficult choices he must make in order to save the world from the rakshas.

  Praise for The Simoqin Prophecies:

  “Cross-cultural extravaganza” – Locus

  “In Simoqin, first-time author Samit Basu has created a wonderfully detailed alternate world peopled with a dozen species from mythologies of different cultures… And then Basu has topped it by not taking that world too seriously.” – Outlook

  “Numerous delights, great and small… The Simoqin Prophecies is an intelligent, inventive delight. It marks the arrival of a fresh and very original voice” – The Indian Express

  “Childhood fantasies, adult terrors and adolescent derring-do beguile the reader down a twisting labyrinth of adventure that's unrepentantly funny… It is quite simply the most fun book to see in print this year.” – The Times of India

  “Playfulness is the motif of this entertaining novel. Reading it, I couldn't help but think of Kill Bill, Quentin Tarantino's vastly referential exercise in homage - a breathless blink-and-you-miss-it amalgamation of all his favourite movie moments” - Business Standard

  “The best thing about The Simoqin Prophecies though, is undoubtedly the manner in which it straddles (without ever really crossing) the line between being an entertaining fantasy novel and a tender satire on the genre” – Dawn

  “Basu weaves an intriguing tale, full of mystery and suspense, with generous doses of humour and also does a brilliant job of inventing fabulous (and grotesque) creatures.” – The Telegraph

  The Manticore’s Secret

  Being a Hero isn’t easy—but it’s a lot easier than being a Dark Lord.

  Dark forces just aren’t what they used to be in the good old days.

  The Manticore’s Secret is the spellbinding sequel to The Simoqin Prophecies: Part One of the GameWorld Trilogy. Once again Samit Basu creates a mesmeric landscape bursting with weird and wonderful characters and a gripping narrative that’s complex, playful, sometimes sombre but always dazzlingly inventive.

  A mysterious Dark Lord and his grotesque army threaten all that is good on earth… or do they? The heroic immortals who vanquished his rakshas father long ago have returned to do battle with the forces of evil, which is good news… or is it?

  In the shadows a secret society of shapeshifters battles deadly mind-controlling foes who threaten history, humanity and the future of the planet. A beautiful, amoral rakshasi plots world domination while a strangely civilized barbarian fights to save the world.

  But the world is spinning out of control. Because the gods are back. And they want to play…

  Praise for The Manticore’s Secret

  “Wildly imaginative, thoroughly enjoyable” – TimeOut

  “I was blown away by how cinematic some of the passages were… an awesome imagination”- Jabberwock

  The Unwaba Revelations

  Under the all-seeing eyes of the assembled gods, armies are on the move. The Game has begun. And when it ends, the world will end too . . .

  In The Unwaba Revelations, the third and concluding part of the GameWorld trilogy, a way must be found to save the world; to defeat the gods at their own game. A daunting prospect under any circumstances, made worse by the fact that the gods, who control all the heroes, are blatantly cheating by following only one rule—that they cannot be defeated by their own creations.

  As epic battles ravage the earth, Kirin and Maya, guided only by an old, eccentric and extremely unreliable chameleon, and egged on by the usual rag-tag gang, carry out their secret plan; a plan so secret that, in fact, no one involved has any idea what they are doing!

  Monsters, mayhem, mud-swamps; conspiracies, catastrophes, chimeras;

  betrayals, buccaneers, bloodshed—The Unwaba Revelations continues the roller coaster journey that began with The Simoqin Prophecies and gathered momentum with The Manticore’s Secret. Traversing earth, sea and sky, realms both infernal and celestial, worlds both imagined and material, this book will draw you irresistibly into a tantalizing, action-packed, epic race to reclaim the flawed, magical world of its heroes.

  Praise for The Unwaba Revelations:

  “Post-modern, post-racist, disrespectful, assured” – Outlook

  “A romp… unveiling feats of such daring that readers are left gasping for more.” – The Hindu

  “A delicious read” – Mint

  The Simoqin Prophecies

  Part One of the GameWorld Trilogy

  Prologue

  Take an orange, Sambo (if your name is Sambo), a nice round juicy orange. Now take a knife–yes, any knife–and cut it. Cut it anywhere; just make sure you cut it so you divide it into two pieces. I don’t care if they’re equal halves or not. Good.

  Now take one of the pieces, Sambo (is your name Sambo? It doesn’t really matter). Yes, the bigger one, if you must. Now imagine it isn’t an orange. What was the point of taking an orange, then? None–it could have been any round object. An orange isn’t a perfect sphere? Oh, Me!

  Do shut up, Sambo.

  Now imagine the thing you’re holding is a world, Sambo. Yes, a world, full of oceans and trees and rocks and people and other things. Why isn’t it round? It could be round, Sambo, it
could be. You might have just cut off a little bit at the tip, now, isn’t it? The point is that if you were living on this world, you wouldn’t know it was round. All you would know is that it could be.

  Yes, this world does exist, as far as I remember. The problem is, I don’t remember where I put it. It’s a shame, I quite liked it. Excellent lighting.

  What would I call this world? Does that matter? What does matter is what the people living on the world call it, Sambo. And remember that in most worlds, people assume their world is the only one that exists, so why bother to name it? Call it the world, or earth, or something like that. You could, perhaps, call it Slice-world, or Misplaced-World, or Cut-Orange-World, or Maybe-Round-World, to tell it apart from all the others. It’s really irrelevant.

  Why am I even talking about this world? I don’t remember…perhaps something important was supposed to happen there. Or not. Just look around for it, won’t you, Sambo? Whatever it was, it was going to be quite amusing.

  What’s that? Speak up, please. Did I create this world? I think so, yes. I’m not quite sure, though. I remember saying a Word, though I’ve completely forgotten what the Word was…

  

  ‘Lights!’

  Someone poured a bucketful of water on the Alocactus. The dry, shriveled plant started swelling, growing and glowing, a mild light that slowly grew into a dazzling white brilliance that lit up the huge and musty cave. It lit up the wet, bloodstained walls, and the rocks behind which the imps crouched. It lit up the young, handsome, loincloth-clad man standing in the centre, holding a large, shiny, rune-covered sword and a round, battered shield. His noble, square jaw was clenched. His muscular arms held the weapons with practiced ease. He was in the classic warrior’s stance, alert and watchful, his face contorted with a mixture of fear and aggression. He was staring at the long, hollow tunnel to his right, waiting for something. Something big and fierce. Something that liked to fight with and eat young, handsome, muscular, loincloth-clad men.

  ‘Chimaera !!’

  One of the imps flew up from behind a rock, its wings flapping incredibly fast, like a hummingbird’s. The imp was bright blue, about a foot tall, not considering its huge, saucer-like eye, which was another foot across and clamped tightly shut. It flew straight towards the hero, stopping behind him and hovering in mid-air, facing the cave, which was now glowing red. The shadow of some monstrous creature could be seen, walking out of the tunnel slowly. The imp opened his eye.

  The imp’s eye was round, white and bulbous. The tiny black pupil moved from the centre of the eye to the edge, and then suddenly began to move, fast, clockwise around the rim of the eye. As the little black circle became a blur, the whole eye began to shimmer until it suddenly shone, a glowing, circular mirror. If one looked into the eye, one could see a reflection of the warrior, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and in front of him, the tiny circle of fire that was the tunnel, and a sinister black shape coming out of it.

  ‘Eye rolling’ whispered the imp.

  ‘Action !!!’

  The chimaera walked out of the tunnel. Its head and forelegs were those of a lion–hideous snarling face, long drooling fangs, graceful sinewy smooth limbs ending in gigantic talons of death. Goat-like hindquarters, huge ugly cloven-hoofed feet. Its tail was a fire-breathing serpent, lashing back and forth, angry flames spewing from its venomous mouth as it reared up and glared at the warrior.

  A lesser man would have dropped his sword and run out of the cave. But our warrior laughed defiantly in the face of death and raised his sword in insolent greeting. ‘I fear you not, hell-cat.’ he said.

  The chimaera shook its mane angrily, threw back its head and opened its mouth to roar.

  ‘Baaa-a-a-a-a-a-a !!’ it said.

  Many people tend to forget that chimaeras are one-third goat.

  ‘What do you mean, baaa-a-a-a-a-a-a?’ asked the warrior.

  ‘Shut it !!!!’ came the voice from the mouth of the cave.

  The imp closed its eye and buzzed back angrily to the rock. The actors, warrior and chimaera, glared at each other.

  ‘What do you mean, what do I mean?’ asked Nimbupani the chimaera angrily. The serpent-tail stopped breathing fire and began to cough hoarsely, smoke billowing from its sizzling mouth.

  ‘You were supposed to roar,’ said the warrior.

  ‘I did roar, Ali.’

  ‘You bleated.’

  ‘It was the goat’s turn to roar.’ said Nimbupani, wounded. ‘Everyone picks on my goat.’

  ‘It was going all right, Ali’ said the man sitting in the shadow at the entrance to the vast cave. ‘The audience doesn’t hear what we do here, remember? The sounds come in later.’

  Ali looked embarrassed and bowed. ‘Your pardon, Badshah.’

  ‘Never mind. It’s your first time. Ortant, take whatever you saw and show it to the Picsquid. And get back here as soon as you’ve smoked, all right?’

  ‘Yes, Badshah.’ Ortant, the imp who had been hovering behind Ali, bowed and flew out of the cave. Ali, who had never acted in a Muwi-vision before and didn’t know what a Picsquid was, or what the imps really did, looked confused and miserable.

  ‘Can we try that scene again, then?’ asked the Badshah.

  ‘Im sorry, but I can’t do any more tonight. My serpent’s burnt again.’ grumbled Nimbupani.

  ‘Off with you then.’ said the Badshah. ‘Get some rest.’

  The chimaera trundled off into the tunnel.

  The Badshah looked as if he had a lot to say, but just then there was a loud buzzing noise and a black scarab flew into the cave and landed on his shoulder.

  ‘There’s a lot you won’t understand about Muwi-vision in the beginning, Ali,’ he said. ‘But keep going. You must excuse me, I have some work to do.’ He rose.

  The Badshah pressed the scarab’s head and its shell popped open, revealing a neatly folded scrap of parchment. He strode out of the cave, extracted a magnifying glass from the folds of his robe, took the parchment out, and read it.

  He stood still for some time.

  So it was beginning. This would be interesting. Very interesting. Of course, if things went wrong tomorrow…but things rarely went wrong when the sender of the scarab took charge. He wished he could have been there, in far-off Avranti, when it happened. On the other hand, he didn’t like watching people die. And he could always imagine the good bits…

  Book One

  Chapter One

  In a hole in the ground there lived a rabbit. What is a rabbit? A rabbit (Bunihopus bobtelus) is a small, white mammal that loves good food and is anxious when it is late for appointments. This particular rabbit was off for an expedition in the forest. He planned to wander around for a few years and then return home and write a book. There and back again–The Adventures of One Rabbit, he planned to call it. He popped out of his burrow and looked around, sniffing the air delicately.

  He saw a man standing next to a tree, looking up. “Afternoon. Set out. Description of Forest. Many trees, leaves, green. Tension in air, palpable. Man, one, standing next to tree, looking up” the rabbit noted in his mental journal. Attention to detail is the key to holding a reader’s attention, he thought smugly.

  ‘They’ll be here soon.’ the man said. The rabbit took a look at the long sword the man held casually. Forward, to danger and glory? He wondered whether a travel writer’s job was what would bring out his inner rabbit.

  He went back into his hole.

  

  ‘Are you sure this is the place?’ came a voice from above.

  ‘Yes. Three generations of princes have died here, at the feet of this very statue.’

  ‘Is everyone else in position?’

  The man–the one with the sword that had made such an impression on our friend the rabbit’s mind–looked around. The road that ran through the forest was flanked by tall trees on both sides. In front of him, however, was a small, circular clearing. A marble statue of a man, proud-faced, tall, bird-dropping-streaked,
stood in the middle of the clearing for no apparent reason. People coming up the road from the south would see the statue and wonder why it was standing alone in the middle of the forest. They would not, however, have seen any green-cloaked, sword-bearing men and that is what our tree-climber, the Silver Dagger, the great and mysterious leader of a small and mysterious band of men, was concerned about.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘They’ll be here at sundown. It’s tradition. The prince will be beheaded exactly when the sun sets.’

  ‘I suppose we are nothing without tradition, Vijay. Thank you. Go now. Your prince will live.’

  The voice was keen and hard, the voice of someone used to having orders obeyed promptly and without question. But that was what the Dagger was. Secret agent, thief, assassin, right-hand man of the Chief Civilian of Kol. Master of disguise, weaver of complex webs of deceit and intrigue, known and feared all over the world. One of those people with more pies than fingers. No one knew his real name. No one except his loyal band of elite warriors, thieves and spies–the Silver Phalanx–and a few select others even knew what he looked like. He moved through the land like a shadow, quietly and ruthlessly executing every dangerous and delicate task he had set out to do. Not like your standard hero, who would usually send a few cronies to the most popular inns a few days before visiting a town, to say ‘Rumour has it that the Great (fill name here) is heading this way’.

  Sitting on the high branch, the Dagger saw Vijay peering through the leaves, trying to get a glimpse of his face. Fool.