‘Each Mandala has a unique effect, which is determined by its shape,’ he said, smiling at the boys through the glowing glyph that hovered in the air between them. ‘Activation of Chakras within the body allows its wielder to channel the Elementals in desired frequencies and lengths to produce specific effects through Mandalas. This Mandala should have immediately lighted up the glow-lanterns behind you by using Light, but… well Elementals don’t work any longer.’

‘That was awesome!’ Nala felt dazed after the Mandala pulsed for a few heartbeats before fading to dimness, and then to nothingness.

‘Acharya,’ Varcin asked fearfully, ‘do you know why it all stopped? The Mandalas? The Astras?’

Acharya Vyas shrugged. ‘No one knows. Maybe mortals don’t deserve magic, child.’

3 A traditional gesture of acknowledgment, respect and thanks to the Acharya, which may be monetary but may also be a special task the teacher requires the student to accomplish.

I

If Hastinapur, capital of the Hastina Union, was the Eye of the World, the Eagle’s Crest was its pupil. The Crest, home of the reigning King of the Union, was a vast and imposing acropolis in the centre of the pink city. It crowned a rise like a feast for famished eyes. Five graceful spires rose from the Crest’s corners, their brilliant white stone marbled with some kind of shining sapphire that only glistened when the sun set. Slender arches swooped from one spire to another, soaring through the sky between them. Crafted by the Elder Men, these were wide and strong enough to hold an army. The shimmering arches were the Crest’s only boundaries.

The oldest city in the known world, obsessed with law and justice, opened its arms lovingly to its citizens, provided your pockets were deep enough. At the centre of the Crest was a huge dome with great towers of marble, lined with burnished gold. The golden tips of the towers threw sunlight back in sparkling patterns that seemed to give the dome an ethereal aura. It wasn’t unknown for men and women to cover their faces in awe, to kneel in prayer, to close their eyes and weep, at this marvel created by Man.

Shakuni, on the other hand, felt like barfing.

The streets to the Crest were shelves cut into the arid hillside. Sweat leaked out of every pore of his body as he trudged up to the acropolis. He clung to every trace of shade he could find, but the sun seemed intent on waging a personal vendetta against him. The handle of his cane cut into his palm with every step as he shuffled doggedly on under the Crest’s arches towards the Dome.