About the Book:
Twisted myths. Discretion advised.
Fight fate, or succumb to destiny?
In the dark Age of Kali, the Soul Warrior alone stands guard over
the Human Realm, protecting its denizens from evil-willed asuras or demons.
When a trick of fate appoints him guru to a motley crew of godlings, he agrees
to train them as demon hunters against his better judgment. Suddenly, Lord
Karna is not only battling the usual asuras with sinister agendas, but also
rebellious students and a fault-ridden past.
Spanning the cosmic realms of mythic India, here
is a tale of a band of supernatural warriors who come together over a singular
purpose: the salvation of Karna’s secret child.
About the Author:
Falguni Kothari is a New York-based South Asian author and an amateur Latin and Ballroom dance silver medalist with a semi-professional background in Indian Classical dance. She’s published in India in contemporary romance with global e-book availability; Bootie and the Beast (Harlequin Mills and Boon) and It’s Your Move, Wordfreak! (Rupa & Co.), and launches a mythic fantasy series with Soul Warrior (The Age of Kali, #1)
I’m embarrassed to admit how many social media accounts I own :
Excerpt:
CHAPTER ZERO
DWANDA-YUDDHA: THE DUEL
The
Himalayan Mountains.
Five
thousand years ago.
Absolute
darkness shrouded the Human Realm, and had for three days and three nights.
Some believed the occurrence was prophetic, like the prolonged amavasya or new moon night that had
heralded the Great Kuru War two thousand years ago. The war had given birth to
the dark Age of Kali, the age of asura.
In contrast, hope was ripe that this event would trigger the Age of Light. But
the Bard wasn’t here to succumb to superstition.
The first day
without the sun’s light had spread confusion and chaos across the realm. The
second day had brought desperation in the breasts of humans and fear in the
belly of Celestials. The third day—today—was a feast for the asuras. Death lay everywhere.
The human world
burned without its sun. How soon before the Heavens went up in flames?
The Bard’s
troubled eyes reread the last line. Then he deliberately scratched it off,
lifting his long, pointed talon from the parchment made of dry palm leaf. With
a sigh, he rested his aching hand on his trembling thigh. He would spare a
moment to ease his body, and his mind from the strain of observation and due
recordkeeping. If he didn’t, he’d forget his duty as Witness of the Cosmos, and
begin to question fate.
Despite the fire
that crackled close to his right knee, and the feathered form of his upper
body, he was cold. An icy wind had settled around the Pinnacle of Pinnacles,
where he sat cross-legged on a seat made of rock and snow. He’d chosen this
perch because it gave him an impartial view of the events happening in the
world. He was the Bard, entrusted with keeping the Canons of the Age of Kali,
just as the Soul Warrior was entrusted with keeping the Human Realm safe from asuras. Would they both fail in their
duty today?
The Bard shook
off the heavy despair the darkness had brought into the world. He mustn’t
judge. He shouldn’t question. He would sharpen the talon on his forefinger, dip
it into the vessel of ink kept warm by the fire, and write this tale. That was
all he could do. Be the witness to history.
So he raised his
feathered hand and began to write again while his eyes, sparked with power,
knowledge and magic, saw clearly events unfolding from great distances. A
thousand kilometers to his right, Indra, the God of War and Thunder, fought the
Dragon. Indra did not fare well. But that didn’t concern the Bard as much as
the clash between the Soul Warrior and the Stone Demon. Over and over, his
eagle eyes were drawn to the duel taking place in the heart of the world, not
only because it was a magnificent battle to behold, for it was, but because its
outcome would decide mankind’s destiny.
The Soul Warrior
was more than a great warrior. Karna was a great soul. Fair, honorable, brave
and resilient, he was the perfect protector of the Human Realm. Of course,
there were other reasons he’d been chosen to fill the office of Soul
Warrior—there always were when Gods and demons were involved. But Karna’s
existence was a testament to righteous action and if anyone could bring back
the day, it would be him.
But how did one
vanquish stone, the Bard wondered?
Avarice and
cruelty, two nefarious desires, had made Vrtra and Vala attack the Human Realm.
Three days ago the Dragon had swallowed the Seven Rivers in the north, and the
Stone Demon had imprisoned the Sun God, his daughter, and all the cattle of the
region in his cave.
The Bard paused
his writing as a thin vein of lightning winked across the skies, but without
the accompanying roar. Indra’s strength waned. His thunderbolt hadn’t left Vrtra screaming in pain
this time. The Bard spared a moment’s attention on the duel, just enough to
note that the Maruts, the Celestial Storm-gods, waited in the clouds to rescue
their god-king in case of a calamity. Indra would survive even in defeat. Of
that, the Bard was sure.
But Karna had no
one at his back. His might and god-powers had depleted without the sun’s
healing warmth and light. His divine astras,
weapons, had not slowed the Stone Demon down, at all. Only the conviction that
he could not fail his godsire, his sister, and the innocents under his
protection drove him now. His birth family had once abandoned him to his fate,
but he would not abandon them to theirs—such was the greatness of Karna.
The Bard crossed
out the last observation. No questions. No judgment. No praise, either. The
canons would be free of all emotion. He wasn’t here to embellish history or
glorify the history-makers, as some bards were wont to do.
It wasn’t
embellishment to write that the foothills of Cedi were drenched in the Soul
Warrior’s blood. Or observe the gushing wounds on his body, despite his armor,
that would make the hardiest of warriors bellow in agony, but not him. It
wasn’t embellishment to write that the Heavens were empty for the Celestials
had come to Earth to watch the battle, firelight cupped in their palms to light
the warrior’s way.
The Naga, the
Serpent People, also looked on, hissing from the mouth of the portal that led
to their underground realm beneath the hills. The Serpent King will not choose
a side. Vrtra and Vala were half Naga, after all. All across the Human Realm,
demons roamed free, taking advantage of the darkness and preying on human flesh
and human souls. It was a terrible moment in history. The asuras had the upper hand in the eponymous age of Demon Kali.
Vala did not
have arms and half a leg, but still he came at Karna. He had an ace up his
sleeve. There were plenty of creatures about, an entire mountain close at hand.
He began to chant the spell of soul transference. It was the darkest of all
magic, the possession of another’s soul. Soon, he would be whole again and
stronger than before.
Battered and
bleeding, the Soul Warrior veered away from the Stone Demon. He leapt over
boulders and charred vegetation. The onlookers called him a coward. Had he
forfeit the duel? Has he forsaken mankind?
Karna dove for Manav-astra, the spear of mankind, he’d
thrown aside yesterday after his bow, Vijaya,
had shattered under repeated use. In one smooth motion, he rolled, picked up
the astra, coming up in the
spear-thrower’s stretch. His tattered lower garment billowed about him as a
gust of wind shot through the air. His muscled torso glistened with blood and
sweat, tightened as he pulled the arm holding the spear back.
He meant to
throw Manav-astra at Vala. A futile
attempt, to be sure? As long as Vala was made of stone, broken or not, his body
was impregnable. Karna should have waited for Vala to transfer his soul to an
onlooker. Then Karna should have vanquished the possessed creature.
Taunting laughter
reverberated through the foothills of Cedi. Vala had reached the same
conclusion. The Celestials looked at each other in angry silence, unable to
interfere. A dwanda-yuddha duel was
fought between two opponents of equal size and strength alone. The humans
hadn’t stopped screaming in three days, the din simply background noise now.
The Bard
scribbled the observations onto the parchment in no particular order. He wished
he was a painter, for surely this was a picture worth a thousand words.
The demon
hobbled toward the warrior, who stood still as stone with his arm drawn taught
behind him. Then finally, with a roaring chant the Soul Warrior shifted his
weight from his back leg to his front and let fly Manav-astra at the Stone Demon with all his remaining might.
Karna didn’t
wait to see the ramifications of his action. And there were plenty to come. He
ran into the mountain cave to free Vala’s hostages. Within moments the rock
face rent in half, and bright streams of light speared through the terrible darkness.
A new day had dawned on the Human Realm after three days of perpetual night.
The sun’s power
was too bright, too full of hope. Yet, the Bard looked on pensively, wondering
if the Soul Warrior knew this wasn’t a victory. It was merely a reprieve.
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