Chapter 2 The Doom Close By
A thin plume of orange lava shot into the air, past the dense gray cloud of smoke that hovered atop Mount Meru.
Prince Veer of Rajgarh stood at the mouth of the cave, that opened onto the crater’s edge. Disbelief was evident across his soot smeared face as he took in the scenery.
The snowy peak of Meru had always been covered in ice, but now it had melted, revealing a craterous depression at the top.
On his way to the peak Veer had observed the snow drifts that draped over the upper slopes of the mountain, interspersed with the usual patches of wildflowers, but at present, they also sported red veins of molten lava, visible through the natural fissures in rock.
A mountainous village near the borders of Rajgarh was decimated by an ash rain last month, that had left them scratching their heads as to the cause.
Then, a few days ago, a sage had appeared at the gates of the palace, cautioning his father, the king of Rajgarh, of imminent explosion of Meru in a year’s time.
Veer had been skeptical, listening to the sage’s tale about a magical mechanism atop the Meru that could prevent it from happening, prompting him to make the trip to verify for himself.
But as Veer's eyes went past the vapor from random steam vents to the shadowy outline of a strangely shaped structure, protruding from the center of the crater, he came to the grim conclusion that it was all true. Meru wasn’t an ordinary mountain like they’d all thought.
It was a volcano, a formerly quiescent one, that was now showing signs of activity.
Overhead, the screech of a kite resounded across the mountainous peaks.
Veer’s coal-black eyes changed, turning the rich yellow of the kite’s eyes as he summoned the bird to his side with nothing more than a thought.
Vihari, his winged companion—a Brahminy kite to be exact—alighted on his shoulder, docile as a mouse.
He stepped out of the paradoxically icy cave onto a metal bridge that led to the strange structure.
Veer tested his hand on the railing, expecting to feel scorching heat, but instead found it cool to the touch.
His boots clanged against the metal as he made his cautious way on it, finding the bridge to a better vantage of the landscape, as it traversed from the lip of the crater to the mechanism, raised above the surface by several feet.
The crater was a rough oval bowl, its uneven lip formed a sharp, steep bank with a gentle slope dented with boulders from the explosions.
The floor of the caldera, towards the center, was cracked, revealing angry red bowels of the earth underneath.
Scattered cones rose across the interior, sprouting magma, bubbling gases and compressed steam.
He kept a wary eye out for those random eruptions, but they seemed few and far between, and he was safe enough on the bridge, that was miraculously repairing itself from the abuse the lava and heat caused.
A sudden squall dispersed the smoke that hung thickly in the bowl of crater and provided a brief but good glimpse. The bridge he had been on wasn’t the only one that led to the mechanism. Veer could see several others, radiating from the strange structure.
As he went closer, a strong vibration climbed his legs, increasing in intensity and he realized it was coming from a central cylinder. Massive in girth, made of onyx hued metal and perfectly smooth all around, it formed the main part of the mechanism.
The metal itself might be cool, but there was no way to escape the heat of the volcano this close, a fact that became apparent when he peered down to where the cylinder’s shaft bored into the heart of the mountain.
A strong gust of hot air blew up, almost singeing his nostrils.
He stumbled back, bracing a hand on the smooth surface of the cylinder, and realized that parts of it were rotating.
The longer he stood, the more apparent it became. A barely detectable, disconnected clunk interrupting the smooth symphony of interlocking gears and nuts, hinting that something was amiss.
Veer remembered Sage Aswi’s words, caught in the tail end of the wind as he had flown his bird towards the Vindhyas.
For a thousand years or more, unbeknownst to man, this machine, built by a race of magical beings, had worked to keep the volcano in check, preventing any eruptions.
But now it was nearing a time where it needed to be keyed again to keep functioning.
A star-shaped opening in one of the lower panels of the cylindrical column, came into focus. It had a long shaft protruding from it, like a key left in a keyhole.
Delicate, teardrop-shaped petals encircled the shaft at its base, where it was inserted into the column, as if a lotus flower in full bloom had been lodged into it, but more than a few petal slots were empty.
He grabbed hold of the shaft and gave it a few experimental turns. It didn’t budge. He pulled on it instead, and it came off smoothly, like a well-oiled key, dragging the petals at the base along with it.
A blue iridescence enveloped the lotus before the petals closed, folding in on themselves, hiding the base of the key and he was left holding a lotus bud, complete with the stem.
Veer stared in wonder at the most unique looking key he had ever seen and tucked the precious object safely in his robes.
Mission complete, he turned away and moved to the edge of the crater.
Vihari took flight from his shoulder and burst into flames, enlarging his size to that of a condor, large enough to carry a man on his back.
Veer glanced back, once, imprinting the sight onto his eyes, a cold determination solidifying in his heart. They needed to make this machine work. It was their only hope of salvation.
He let himself fall backward, weightless, down the mountain. Vihari dived in after him with a screech that was heard all the way to the foothills of the Vindhyas.
* * *
King Bheesmala, ruler of Rajgarh—the most powerful kingdom of Saptavarsha—paced the length of the hall, paying little mind to the expensive carpets covering the marble floors or the velvet drapes that hung from the large arched windows open to the bracing mountain wind.
The rose-perfumed air from the blooms on the trailing vines failed to calm him today.
He stopped under the awning of a chattri, a domed pavilion, which opened out to a wide balcony, and watched the sky, shading his eyes against the sun’s glare.
Behind him, he heard the hushed murmurs of a group of his closest courtiers.
An air of disquiet hung over the meeting.
He would have joined them, but he was anxiously waiting for news from his only son, Veer, who had gone on a mission to check if what Sage Aswi said was true.
Bheesmala glanced back toward the sage, who stood removed from the discussion, his hands folded over the top of his magical staff made of a twisted piece of wood, his eyes closed in repose.
His snowy beard reflected his advanced age, clashing with the saffron robes he wore.
The sage’s two disciples hung back at a respectable distance.
Even now, Bheesmala was finding it hard to believe the news the sage had imparted when he showed up at the palace gates and demanded to be granted entry.
“You built a city in the wrong place, O’ King. Unless you find a key to make the mechanism on top of Meru work again, in a year’s time, the volcano will erupt, encircling your city in flame and destroying your kingdom to rubble.”
A giant shadow momentarily blocked the sunlight, bringing his ruminations to a halt. A long gong sounded from the guards stationed on the crenellated fortress walls surrounding the city, signaling Veer’s return.
“Finally,” breathed Bheesmala in relief.
Through the wide arches of the hall, they all had a clear view of what was happening outside. A dark speck hovered high against the blinding blue of the sky, its appearance resolving into that of a giant bird as it swooped down into a dizzyingly rapid spiral.
The warbly cry it let out bounced against the walls of the palace. Brown, burnished feathers gleamed in the sun as the Brahminy kite eased into a smoother flight, circling the citadel, the rider on its back now clearly visible.
King Bheesmala hurried out into the open balcony, his courtiers trailing behind him.
Bheesmala was proud of his son. Not only was Veer heir to the throne but also the esteemed general of the western borders of Rajgarh, who had built himself a formidable reputation as a fierce commander.
Sharp talons clattered as the kite, easily the height of four grown men, landed on the massive balcony, leaving deep gouges on the economical dark stone constructed for the very purpose of landing, amid the more expensive marble.
Veer slid off from between the shoulder blades of the bird, dropping to one knee before straightening to his great height. Wind blew long strands of dark hair into the handsome features of his face, hidden behind the dust and the dark growth of a beard.
The only thing denoting his rank was a gold-and-amethyst brooch of two eagles in opposition, holding his cloak closed. A red stone adorned the forefinger of his left hand.
He walked up to his father, then bent and touched the king’s feet in blessing.
“Father,” he greeted as he straightened. King Bheesmala read the answer he feared in his son’s tired eyes, which still had the traces of yellow-gold rim around each iris as he continued to exert control of the giant bird behind him.