Nine: Vengeance of the Warrior (10 page)

The Ojaa woman had given her hope.

When she had returned to Mumbai after her trip to Assam, she found her flat had been ransacked. A warning on the wall threatened that she would die a torturous death if she didn’t sell her property to Karl.

The sky darkened and there was a thunderclap loud enough to burst her eardrums. It brought her back to the present. The sky rumbled, mirroring her feelings. There was a distinct odour of ozone, then a blinding flash of lightning streaked across the horizon. Tejaswi was momentarily disoriented. The severity of nature’s anger was unusual. Despite the histrionics, there was no rain. Siem Reap was a small mild-mannered town with a big tourist attraction and pleasant weather. The angry clouds seemed like an unwelcome sign. Tejaswi welcomed the superstitious feelings and glanced at her watch.

Seven minutes. She tapped her foot restlessly, mobile phone in hand, ready to call someone and give them hell. And then five taxis came in a row. The queue moved quickly. She was next. Dumping her bag in the boot, she hopped inside. The driver smiled and asked her where she wanted to go. He was a diminutive man with a wrinkled face. She told him the address of a three-star hotel. Thunder struck again and lightning followed, splitting the sky in sharp streaks. The driver stepped on the accelerator with vigour.

Tejaswi leaned back. The interior of the car was shabby and had a faint aroma of cigarettes and lavender. She checked her iPhone, there were messages from Anita. Hers had been the first shoulder she had cried on. Anita had been a great confidante and they had bonded. However, as the trauma had weighed on her, Tejaswi had toughened up. She had begun to keep her distance when Anita had pressed on, calling her, pushing her to meet. Anita had been upset when Tejaswi had asked her not to write about the incident with Karl. It was better that Anita stayed away, Tejaswi mused. Lately, Tejaswi was nothing more than a ball of hatred, snapping at everyone. She was probably better off without friends.

She closed her eyes and sighed. The storm outside seemed to reflect the turmoil within her. She had to wait for it to settle down.

8

Anita

Anita was feeling the drowsy effects of the afternoon. She had a deadline for the most boring article she had been assigned to write. And lately, she was spending much of her time on her passion—researching Ashoka’s super guys, the Nine. The experience in Ujjain had been life-changing and what she had discovered had encouraged her to renew her efforts to keep digging. She chewed on her pen, then threw it on her notepad and leaned back. She stared up at the high ceiling. The library was deserted. People didn’t read books any more. When reading material was available in a pencil-slim gadget, why would anyone come to visit these hallowed halls? Anita loved the library, its atmosphere of seriousness, of discipline and of old schooldays. Libraries evoked memories of achievements, rewards and many fun moments with friends. Amongst rows and rows of books was where she got her best work done. As she continued to stare into space, she mused. Two things topped her priority list: find the Nine and get justice for Tejaswi.

A few months ago, Anita had received a call from a woman crying over the phone. From what Anita discovered, Tejaswi had been through hell, her father had been brutally killed. She was completely broken. Her plight had burned a hole in Anita’s heart. She was itching to write the story. It would be revealing and describe the injustice suffered by women at the hands of land grabbers. Then Tejaswi backed out and told her not to publish the story. Anita fumed. She couldn’t let this story go. The man had to be punished, if not by the police, then by the media. The police were paid off to do nothing. Anita had gone over to Tejaswi’s home unannounced with a bottle of tequila. They drank, laughed, cried and bonded. Tejaswi had taken the usual route of self-pity, fear and anger, and she was now poised to wield a weapon and kill the man herself. Anita would speak to her every day, helping her out of her distraught state. Then suddenly, Tejaswi disappeared for a few days. Anita called her frantically, but her phone was switched off. When she returned, Anita asked her why she had not informed her before leaving, but Tejaswi was unapologetic. In fact, she was cold and secretive about her trip, claiming it was just a retreat. Anita noticed the change in her demeanour: she was pushing people away.

Anita turned her attention back to the dusty tomes on the table. Her visit to Ujjain had been fruitful and it was a sign that she was on the right path. More research on recent global events had resulted in a breakthrough. Anita had stumbled upon reports about an unidentified man who was found murdered in one of the Angkor temples. There were bullet holes in the man’s chest and he had died of his injuries. It was a small article in a local Siem Reap newspaper. Sitting in the large library, she flipped through the microfiche for more information. There was nothing else, no follow-up news since the incident. Anita checked police reports in Cambodia and read up about the crimes that had taken place in Siem Reap.

The Nine. They were the most mysterious of all—as elusive as the lions of Gir, endangered species that would probably become extinct in the span of a decade. Anita had written a feature on this. But unlike the Nine, she was able to trace the big cats’ whereabouts. She sighed and sipped on her cup of tepid tea. The unusual passion was oppressive and she really didn’t want to bother with the Nine, they could go do what they wanted. But something egged her on. They were living history. These superhumans were a legacy that had survived through centuries and to actually be a witness to their descendants would be really something, Anita imagined. The interesting thing was that for the most part, no one seemed to believe that Ashoka’s secret society existed.

The voice was soft but distinct. Anita stood up and looked around. In the stillness of the deserted library, she heard it again. The librarian was nowhere to be seen. Anita had taken the desk at the far end of the hall. ‘Is anyone there?’ Anita asked, walking hesitantly past the pillars and the shelves stacked with books. There was no response. She figured it was the combination of the creepy atmosphere of the ancient library and the lateness of the day that was making her hear things. Time to head home. Then she heard the voice again. It sounded as though words were being mumbled but she couldn’t understand them. She paused. Should she call the librarian or go investigate? There were pockets of darkness, shadows lurking and the obscure spider dangling from cobwebs. Anita didn’t want to appear like a coward in front of the stern librarian and chose to investigate the sound herself. She walked to the back wall, the last row of book racks. Searched left and then right and, before she could retrace her steps, she saw a man in a suit appear out of the shadows. Anita hesitated. He faced her, still, staring at her with hard eyes. ‘Who are you?’ Anita asked.

‘Why do you want to know about the Nine?’ the man responded.

‘I … want to know what happened to my grandfather.’

‘Your grandfather should have stopped hunting, he should not have made contact,’ the man replied. ‘You, too, must stay away from them.’

‘Why?’ Anita asked, flabbergasted.

‘Because you must respect their privacy. They help this world survive. The world is illusory, magical and full of energies that affect the minds of people. The Nine are strong and have to protect those whose minds are weak, their destinies are prewritten. I advise you to stay away or it will not be good for you.’

‘You cannot tell me what to do!’ Anita hissed. ‘I’m not afraid of you.’

The man stared at her. ‘You don’t want to know about the Nine. It will only bring you grief, Anita. Stay away from them.’

‘Why should I listen to you?’

The man suddenly grinned. There was blood on his teeth. Then he raised his hand and pointed, the nails were long and twisted with age. Anita felt a scream catch in her throat. The man’s face had shrivelled up. Anita blinked rapidly, her pulse racing. He spoke again. ‘Be careful. Don’t delve into the world of the unknown, you don’t know what evil lurks beneath.’ And then, as if by magic, the strange being walked back into the wall.

Anita sank back, trembling. ‘The Nine unknown men,’ she mumbled to herself as she stumbled back to her seat. It was a crazy warning. They must have done the same to her grandfather. Still unnerved by the strange incident, Anita quickly packed up her books and notes and slipped them into her bag. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. And more determined.

Anita fumed and murmured obscenities. She was one woman who had carved out a successful journalistic career on the power of her inquisitiveness. If she didn’t know or understand something she hammered it out with research, slammed questions and hit hard with reasoning. Yeah, she had a reputation—not that great, though—because while men were seen as ambitious when they got ahead, women were termed bitches for being overly pushy. Chasing history was like detective work, sometimes one would find evidence of a story and sometimes one would have to accept the bizarre links. This incident was linked to her research, it convinced her that even the spirits knew she was getting closer to the truth.

She headed out of the hall and walked through the shadowy corridors fearlessly. The librarian was at her desk, whispering on her mobile. Anita didn’t want to mention the incident, it was pointless. Instead, she waved and hurried out of the building. The face of the man from the library was going to haunt her for a long time, probably forever.

The Senior Six

‘The Nine must always remain unknown. It is the primary truth of the Ashokan legacy. The identities of those who work to benefit mankind must remain invisible.

‘Mankind has evolved but their minds are disconnected from the universal truth. They live on the strength of superficial senses. Their ego is far stronger than the energy of their soul. The power of the Nine is sought after and if history repeats itself again, like it did thousands of years ago, like the lost civilizations of Atlantis and Rama, this world will be close to annihilation.

‘The protectors have been informed about the woman. They have instilled fear in those who are too inquisitive. For the benefit of mankind, they must not know of the Navratnas, the Nine gems of this world. They must not interfere in their destiny, or affect it in any way.

‘Anita is a good soul, her motives are not evil, and precisely for that reason, she must not probe any more. Like her grandfather, she has been warned. I did that today.

‘The Kalingan has risen again. He will possess a human and it will be another karmic debt to fulfil. The world has found solace in negative energies. I must guide the Three. Violence is justified in their minds and, indeed, it is necessary to overpower the Kalingan. The gems are pure and perfect, but to survive in this world they must be tarnished.’

9

Raakin

Raakin was early. The morning sunshine filtered through the windowpane, casting warm rays on the stone floor. Besides him, Jake was usually the early bird. It gave him time to review incoming reports from the electronic surveillance systems that patrolled the Internet, focusing primarily on Nine-related research or communication. The data-mining check provided information on individuals whose search frequency deviated from the average. He had put on his analyst’s hat and taken a break from the police department. Whenever the Nine was researched or discussed, the data was collected, compiled and sent through an encrypted link to Raakin.

There was one particular person who was posing a threat. She was delving deep into the workings of the Nine. He read her background details. Anita Nair. Her name sounded familiar. Nair. He leaned back and stared into the distance. The name rang a bell. He buzzed his intercom. ‘Jake? Find me something on Anita Nair.’

Why was she interested in the Nine? He noted her occupation. Journalist. That could be it. But in what context was she going to write her story? There were dozens of online articles about the oldest secret society and that they may exist to this day. A lot of conjecture but not enough evidence.