"I hear people," Pruthvi whispered, indicative sounds buzzing in his ears.
Walking a bit through the open space of the cave was of utmost importance to Shourya. Pruthvi didn't have to ask; he self-realized that the idea was to avoid running into Shashi and that Shourya had to maintain continuous mindfulness throughout his waking hours.
Shourya had opened the Gates in an anonymous location which led them both to a giant wall with two lava tubes. Pruthvi spared no time in choosing one of those tubes, given that the low chaotic murmurs dinned continuously in his ears, like being attracted by a great hubbub of the crowd. He took a step forward staring at the faint flicker of light turning on and off in the distance and inhaled a strong sense of iron in the air. The other tube was dark, as dark as the inside of a tunnel, and he disregarded it.
Pruthvi felt his calves aching a bit, but the rest of his physique was overwhelmed with the thought that he was getting nearer to the clan. With Shourya in front of him showing the way, he trotted placing gentle footsteps against the ground and listening to the steady murmur that increased in its volume with every passing moment. A straight tube, and the glimmer of the light bouncing off the walls, it seemed strange to pass through an easy path. A minute passed by and another, Pruthvi began to sense an echo of the footsteps that did not belong to him.
A strong smell of sweat and blood and things he refrained from imagining wafted up to his nose making him gag. He ignored the others but had his mind linger on the scent of metal and iron in the air. There was so much blood, fresh blood spilling somewhere and it reminded him of the carnage he had seen before locating the caged Makara. His heart choked.
Without facing any hindrances, they crossed the tube, only to go deeper into the cave. A single torch hung on the wall with dancing fire allowing them to locate a stone door flanked by ghostly aisles running adjacent to it. The door was locked. Shourya frowned at the weird object working as a locking system and turned about to see Pruthvi, his expression hinting for help. Pruthvi sighed and without hesitation, he burst the door open.
"Ah!" Pruthvi gasped, feeling restless and heavily disturbed by the pungent most acrid smell of blood and sweat.
Shourya pinched his nose as well, and with his other hand, he popped one on Pruthvi's shoulder, smilingly. "Get used to it already," he said, before stepping inside.
Pruthvi followed. As difficult as it was, he compelled himself to be fully present and alert with his exaggerated senses. He was oppressed by the premonition of either something incredible or extremely lackluster happening. There was no other feeling like it.
The concrete low-ceiling cave was crawling with throngs of people packed into tight quarters. The place was a large real-time capsule, a trippy mix of strange stone formations, expert craftsmanship, and a perfect place to perform dark magic. The large and wide area included waist-high stalagmites in a sprawling stretch. It was also shrouded in a bit of mystery, wrapped up in the legends that characterized Shashi's work. How he built so many varieties of caves and hideouts without anyone's knowledge was beyond anyone's guess.
The clan was currently in both human and hound forms, bustling and jostling for better space and position. Despite their frantic, fevered rushing back and forth they still seemed to be living in harmony. There were poles sprawled about for every fifty feet which seemed like the branches of trees, rising high up to the ceiling. Lanterns and torches were suspended sparkling dimply, like golden dots in the pitch blackness.
"You should leave Shourya, now."
A voice with sonorous firmness came from beside them. An old man with a gray raggedy beard and white eyebrows, wearing the same clothes as Shourya stepped up front from the shadows of huge, battered clutter of dark stones. A pack of hounds strode from behind him. They corralled and herded until they crouched across all the jumble of stones, sitting as though a panel of guardians. Their tails wagged ominously; eyes twinkled in the dimness staring expectantly at Pruthvi.
YOU ARE READING
(Book 6) Hayden Mackay and The Third-Eye of the Pancharatna
Fantasy"Mrs. Zutshi, how different was Zarina Khan from you? She was a clairvoyant, that makes her a witch too, right?" "Mages have their own history, Hayden. They have categories too. Since the time of Lady Chandrika's authority over the sections of the p...
