Note to readers: “2200 Blues” is a novel in progress, and each chapter is an early draft in its unfolding journey. Your thoughts and reactions are invaluable, guiding its evolution and refinement. 2200 Blues © 2024 by G.R. Nanda. All rights reserved.
Rishi’s smile faltered as he turned his head from side to side, gauging the patrolmen. They stood closer to him now. The two at the center held their blades so close that the tips grazed Rishi’s billowing robes. Akela stood slightly behind them. Rishi had stepped back when the patrolmen had drawn their daggers and formed a defensive line, distancing himself from Akela, who, without moving, now stood behind the patrolmen, leaning toward Rishi.
The edge of Rishi’s mouth curled into a smile. He was less visible now, partially obscured by the squatting patrolmen and their hovering blades.
“So be it, then,” Rishi said coolly, giving a soft laugh. Some of the patrolmen stepped closer, bringing their blades nearer to him. Rishi bowed his head and turned around, tucking his robe into folds in his hands. Nickel saw his eyes flicker over the tips of the blades as he calmly whirled and pulled his hood over his head.
The patrolman to Nickel’s left scraped his feet forward, maintaining his stance and adjusting his grip on his dagger, pointing the blade farther out at Rishi as his robes swirled and he walked away. The other patrolmen remained poised, ready to spring into action.
A gentle rustling of Rishi’s robe echoed as he slowly trotted away into the fog, his back turned to the Thraíha as though he had never seen them. The patrolmen stayed still, their defensiveness unwavering. Nickel moved closer, trying to catch a clearer view of Rishi as the fog began to swallow him. Akela still stood where he was, half a foot from the patrolmen, watching Rishi with a worried expression. His mouth was constrained in a small frown, his eyes glazed over, betraying his anxiety.
Nickel edged forward, moving between two patrolmen but stopping just short of the reach of their blades.
Rishi took slow, deliberate steps, each swing of his leg expanding the girth of his robe below his waist, making it appear almost like the skirt of a dancer. With each crunch of gravel beneath his feet, the strange, willowy figure in dark robes—so smooth they seemed liquid—became further shrouded in the orange fog.
Suddenly, the fog rippled behind Rishi, forming a thick curtain of orange air that slipped over him, causing him to vanish.
Nickel flinched, staggering back a few steps, startled. He frowned, squinting into the fog, and rushed forward, stopping where the patrolmen gripped their dagger hilts.
“Where did he go?” Nickel muttered. Rishi was nowhere to be found. There was no sound of footsteps. The patrolmen remained still and silent, their faces strained with concentration, eyes bulging under deeply furrowed brows from paranoia.
The only sound Nickel heard was his own feet dragging slowly against the earth. Before he could turn to see Akela’s reaction, the fog in front of him began to swirl in a violent torrent of air. From beyond, the swirling orange fog took the form of a serpentine column, moving toward the patrolmen like a sea serpent.
“Father Hawk’s mercy!”
The patrolmen cried out in horror. The sound of daggers clattering to the ground filled the air. The patrolman next to Nickel barely maintained his stance, breaking it to skirt backward. Their blades quivered in the air. The formation collapsed into a scraping disarray as most ran back, leaving just a few standing guard at the original line.
The swirling air grew thicker and more solid, drawing in the fog. In its wake, the orange mist thinned around it. Beyond the source of the cyclone, the air grew translucent, losing its orange hue as it morphed into the current.
From within the cyclone, the air cleared completely, leaving behind an emptied world, free from fog. The tan dirt of the canyon rock materialized, lit by a moon high above. A ghostly night sky illuminated the earth below. In the center stood Rishi, unhooded, his long black hair flying back, his chest adorned with a large vest embroidered with strange golden runes and symbols, running down a lighter red fabric than his robe. The ends of his robe billowed behind him like a cape.
The moonlight struck Rishi’s face, transforming him from the whimsical old wanderer Nickel had seen moments ago into a majestic warrior, staring down at Nickel and the Thraíha. His face was hard, with bony lines running along his cheekbones, his beard whipping to the left against his robe.
He frowned, eyes wide and alert, holding his hands out as he harnessed the force of the fog and the cyclone of torrential air.
“You will remember me!” Rishi boomed, his voice echoing throughout the Atlantic Canyons. “I have witnessed the rise and fall of Hedonim. I have seen the transformation of the Past World into the death and rebirth of the Atlantic Canyons.
“I see into and through the embers of the Ether and the spirit of the soul. I’ve traveled to and from the final plane of the spirit.
“I know where the unyielding currents of the world go and from whence they will return. If you don’t return my disciple into my care, the Thraíha will pay the price at the hands of the Death Riders and the soulless pilgrims of the Past World to Hedonim. I will not be there to save you. That is my final warning.”
Rishi’s eyes glinted, reflecting an inner fire as the cyclone of orange fog expanded from his hands, ripping across the earth, knocking Nickel and the Thraíha off their feet.
Nickel staggered back, falling onto his back as the orange fog surged, replacing the purified air in a violent wave. He entered a coughing fit as he rolled onto his side.
“Reinforcements!” shouted Rishi. “Up! Up! On your feet!” The patrolmen, now scattered across the rocky plane, got to their knees, dusting themselves off as they slowly rose.
Nickel bent a knee, turning to face Akela, who still stood, though at a distance.
“Where is he?” called a patrolman from the far right, still on his knees. “Where is he? Where did he go?”
“Rishi can’t hurt you. Up!” Akela roared, waving his hands in the air, motioning for everyone to stand.
“Nickel, Vorum—come with me!” Akela shouted. “Everyone else, stay here until reinforcements arrive. Constant patrol starts now!”
Nickel dusted himself off and ran after Akela, joining Vorum, feeling completely disoriented. “Follow!” Akela called, running toward the Thraíha settlement where a certain disciple of Rishi’s was surely hiding. Nickel and Vorum ran after him.
G.R. Nanda 