| |
About a week ago
Return of Dansh and Dali after the fallout
It had been about a week since Dansh and Dali fell into the chasm and the villagers all strongly believed that they were dead and gone. Each day since had been beautiful, free of any horror of the chance of their or their beloved ones’ demises. The villagers were happy to have their joyous days back again.
But, today would be the worst day of their lives yet. The sun had hidden behind the mountains. The night had reached its halfway point, and the villagers were sleeping in tranquility; some outside their huts on charpoys, the rest inside.
The weather was beautiful. No trace of any storm. No trace of any danger.
Abruptly, the wind whooshed. Sand wafted through the air. Though it was mid-summer, the air turned as chilly as a freezing winter night. The huts began to vibrate as if the stormy wind was attacking them.
A few villagers woke up and tried to rush into their huts to alert their neighbors, but they found it hard to walk even a step against the deathly wind.
In the distance, where the cave had been, something exploded, causing the remaining villagers still outside on their charpoys to jerk awake. A few fell back to the floor as they tried to get up, stumbling into their huts. They all gaped at the storm approaching them in the distance, steadily increasing its speed.
Everyone was awake now. The villagers who were already inside their huts would open their doors but would need to close them immediately as they feared the storm progressing toward them.
But the villagers outside the huts on their charpoys saw something much more terrifying, as Dansh walked out of the storm towards them. He moved calmly, a few feet away from the sand’s tornado, his long wooden stick in his hand. It seemed to them he had full control over the tornado, which was, little did they know, absolutely correct.
Dansh had changed the beautiful weather into a Hell-like storm.
All the while, Dali had stayed quiet in the air above the villagers, enjoying the moment, waiting to bring her terror. Finally, she let out a creepy laugh. The villagers looked around frantically, and Dali’s cackle boomed so loud that the evident horror of her return dangled over every hut.
The villagers who were outside looked up, and about five of them died right there, their hearts ceasing to beat from the fear of finding her alive.
The rest, about ten of them, stayed on their charpoys, trying to communicate with each other using various gestures, though some remained still like statues.
As Dansh continued walking, the tornado beside him began to destroy the huts. It captured every human within and threw them away behind it as it continued to move forward.
Screams.
Screams of help.
Screams of horror.
Screams of hope to survive.
Dansh now stood in the middle of the village, not far away from Dali who was floating in the air.
The villagers began running in random directions to protect themselves.
Before they could escape, Dali closed her eyes, whispered a spell, and an invisible shield trapped them all.
One of the young villagers reached the border before anyone else; he burned in the fire as he touched it.
The rest of the villagers backed off, seeing the shield for a few seconds before it vanished from view. Some picked up rocks and threw them toward the border to check if what they thought they had seen was true, wanting to confirm that this was not an illusion. The rocks fell, turning into ash.
Dali let out a laugh, watching the villagers yearning to survive, yearning to escape the terror ... her terror.
“All of you are trapped here in the village,” she said in a booming voice. She continued to laugh.
Dansh still looked the same even smiled now, feeling proud of what Dali just had done.
Every villager now remained where they stood, watching as the tornado pulled their huts apart, tears streaming down their faces.
Banjeet was sitting with his wife and children, his head down, hand held to his forehead. He felt like a loser. Once again, he had failed at performing his duty as the village’s mukhiya.
The tornado disappeared, leaving only the wreckage and a few bodies—some people who had fainted and others who had not survived the attack.
Dansh looked around, and his eyes stopped on a few huts on the border near the cave. There were still about five standing—he didn’t know how. He flamed four of them in fire using his sorcery skills.
“Why did you leave one?” asked Dali, shifting her vision to him.
Dansh turned around. He looked up at her and said, “To practice black magic, and also ...” He closed his eyes and chanted a spell. The skull in which his soul was protected appeared in his hand. He opened his eyes. The villagers were out of hearing range, still he said in a soft voice, audible to only Dali and looking at the skull, “... to secure this.”
“Will it be safe in your hut?” said Dali, her voice audible to only Dansh.
“No doubt,” said Dansh. “No one will ever dare to enter.”
Dali nodded, agreeing with his answer.
The villagers were lost in their dread. No one was interested in what they were talking about.
Dansh closed his eyes once more and chanted a spell.
The skull disappeared from his hand.
He opened his eyes and smiled. The skull now rested securely in the hut. The only remaining hut.
He looked around at the villagers as they sobbed.
Dali also surveyed the group, a broad smile on her face, feeling proud of the terror Dansh and she had created.
The lightning roared, startling the villagers.
“Where are those two youngsters who dared to fight us?” asked Dansh in a loud voice.
Banjeet now shifted his look to him.
“Where are they? Those who fucking dared to raise their voices against me and my lady,” said Dansh, his voice booming.
The villagers stayed quiet.
“Speak up,” Dansh roared, stepping forward, and thumping his stick on the ground.
Some villagers flinched. “We don’t know!” someone shouted out.
“Tell me the truth or get ready to die.”
Banjeet finally stood up.
Dansh stared at him.
“You tell me, my old friend,” said Dansh through gritted teeth, his voice full of threat. “If you want to survive ... if you don’t want me to kill any of the villagers.”
Banjeet moved his mouth, about to say something, but then he stayed quiet.
“Speak up, my old friend,” said Dansh. “Speak up!”
Banjeet sighed, closing his eyes, trying to suppress his feelings.
The villagers seemed impatient, waiting for him to answer before Dansh killed them all.
Banjeet opened his eyes and locked them with Dansh’s.
“We speak the truth,” he said. “We don’t know where they are. All we know is that they may return.”
“That is satisfying news,” said Dansh.
“Indeed,” added Dali. “Remember! We want them back.”
Banjeet listened to her as she looked at him carefully. Most of them didn’t dare to look at her directly, and some even covered their ears with their hands to avoid listening to her nightmarish voice.
“My lady is absolutely right,” said Dansh. “We want them back. This is a life-threatening warning to all of you, every single one of you. Do not dare to hide them when they arrive here. If you do, I’ll make sure every moment of your life becomes full of anguish.”
Dali laughed.
“Once Rahul and Elisa enter the village, they will not be able to escape,” said Dali. “They will turn into ash just like the man who tried to escape only a few minutes ago.”
Dansh smiled, now understanding why Dali found it so funny.
“I have created an invisible shield around the village,” continued Dali. “The shield will not let anyone leave here.”
She laughed aloud.
The villagers remained in their places, petrified, for they were lost in a nightmare of their death.
“Wait!” said Dansh. “Let me introduce your new friends.”
He thumped his stick on the ground.
The land shook.
Dansh looked toward the cave, and the villagers impatiently craned their necks as, slowly, some people—or some things—began moving toward the village.
Dali was enjoying the moment, waiting for the villagers’ reaction.
When the pishachas were clear to everyone, the commotion echoed all over the village—sobbing and screams, people yelling at everyone to run.
A few ran; some even reached the asphalt road, but all stopped and returned before they could touch the shield. They gaped at the pishachas approaching, trying to come to terms with their hair-raising looks: their rotting flesh, hollowed eye sockets, and two horns on their heads.
“These are the pishachas from the Underworld. Sekiada, the king of the Underworld, has gifted them to us,” said Dansh, his voice full of joy. “They will keep an eye on you. They will always alert us—Dali and me—of any visitor to the village. Soon, they will help us extend our territory from this village to the city, and then from the city to the nation, and then from the nation to the entire world.”
Banjeet, just like the other villagers, remained in his place, staring at the pishachas, the spies of Dansh and Dali.
Dali’s face was shining with a wide smile.
