Tantrics Of Old Read Free Page B

today,’ Death concluded. ‘As per the rules, and my personal touch of sympathy, I give you twenty-four hours to make your peace with the Gods, to say goodbye to your loved ones, and to undo your wrongs. I will be where you are tomorrow to take what is mine.’
    Adri stared as Death turned to leave, hunching to avoid the skull lamp. At the doorway, it paused and turned around. ‘Oh, and I guess your
plan
was to shoot me with your concoctions, which would not have had any effect on me whatsoever, then jump out of the window, crashing rather painfully, I might add, in the alley below, pick yourself up along with your broken bones, and
hobble
away from
me
? Laughable.’ It started on its way, but Adri interrupted.
    ‘Horseman,’ he said, ‘I need more time.’
    ‘That’s what they all say,’ Death replied.
    It bent down and moved out of his doorway. Adri heard it descending the staircase, the chains rattling. Beyond earshot then. Beyond sight. Whatever. How did Horsemen travel anyway?
    He heard a loud neigh and wanted to kick himself. Horsemen. Right. Adri did not move. He needed to think. Lighting another cigarette, he lay back in his bed.
    The young Tantric was not typically handsome, but he did have a rugged sharpness to him that warranted a sly, second look. He was slim and muscular, apart from the slight belly trying to burst out, that is; luckily, he was good at holding his breath, managing to pull his stomach in at the most crowded of places, not that he looked the social type. His hair was long, dark, and unkempt, and he was mostly always unshaven. He was tall and lean, old writing tattooed all over his arms, curling serpentine towards his back. He caught the attention of women at times, but he never allowed things to go beyond that. Ever. Tantrics couldn’t afford to form intimate bonds with too many women—the very mention of a Tantric was enough to make anyone nervous. But Adri’s quiet, reserved demeanour helped him blend in with people who weren’t Necromancers. The tattoos were a dead giveaway, of course, but Adri mostly wore full sleeves.
    He slept naked though, and he looked down at himself now with sudden horror—he had been naked all this while in front of a mysterious, ancient entity. Had he glimpsed rotten teeth beneath the grates? He hurriedly gathered his bedclothes about him, trying very hard to shrug off this feeling of embarrassment. There were more important things that needed to be taken care of. He needed to save his own life, for one.
    Until this morning, he had not known that Horsemen truly existed. He knew nothing really of their weaknesses, nothing of their powers. There were, of course, the old books, the ones that spoke about them in the occasional reference, as ghosts, as monuments forgotten—but they offered no real knowledge. And as it was with every being he had ever fought against, knowledge was the first step. He needed to know more. And he needed to know
why
. Death had dropped certain keywords, certain phrases that indicated that its presence in his room was more than the usual
I-have-come-to-take-your-life-away-mortal
grind. While the words did not make sense to him, they might just do so to another. Someone he knew. An old being, not of this earth, but the only one who could possibly help him now.
    Stubbing the cigarette out, Adri got up. Tick-tock, tick-tock. He was living on borrowed time. He had no intentions of saying any goodbyes to anyone just as yet. No. He had no choice, he would have to turn to this being, and seek him out.
    Adri hurriedly got dressed—jeans, the usual kurta, the lockets around his neck clinking against each other—and picked up his shooter. Walking to the wooden box at the other end of the room, he took out a fistful of bright red bullets, tucked three of them into the hollow grooves of the shooter, and stuffed the rest into his pockets. He put the shooter inside a leather sling bag, flinging it over his shoulder before slipping into a pair