Overhead, the stars hung meek in a thundering sky but cast enough light to tinge the three hooded figures who scurried through the streets of the ghost town, a few leagues from Mathura. It was blackened and smoky, with skeletal corpses hanging from trees to welcome passers-by. The temples, schools, and merchant houses had all been torched. The Yaksha did not believe in subtlety.

It was easy to miss the sign of the bear singed into the lintel over a tiny door in one of the meanest alleyways. The nightsoil of the town had once flowed through this alley to the river in happier times. It had been noisome with the stink of pigsties, mixed with the sour stench of winesinks. Even now, it smelled like an unwashed whore. Whatever the reason, the Yaksha had ignored this door in his rampage of destruction through the town, and for that Mathura was grateful.

One of the hooded figures rapped a complex code on the wood, the imprinted bear barely discernible above his head. An iron hatch opened and a suspicious eye peered out.

‘The owl was snared by the rat,’ uttered Krishna

‘Yet the rat remains blissfully un-wise,’ intoned the voice on the other side of the door.

‘For the rat did not eat the owl’s brain,’ countered the visitor.

There was a pause, broken only by the sound of one of the visitors impatiently fiddling with her sword. ‘Oi!’ she called impatiently to the one within, but there was no response.

‘My error, Storm,’ the leader said. ‘For the rat did not eat the owl’s mind,’ he corrected.

The door opened. Satyaki let out a yell and drew his sword while Storm put a palm on Krishna’s chest, pushing him behind her. From the darkness behind the door emerged a massive bear, upright on two legs, draped in a long cloak. Lightning chose that opportune moment to blaze in the sky, and in that light, the hirsute face flashed horrifyingly. His eyebrows hung down like a walrus moustache, his eyes barely visible. His tufted ears poked through a shaggy, reddish-brown mane.

Storm drew her daggers. ‘Yama’s sweet breath! What is that?’

The bear-man shook his head and led out a sigh that would have embarrassed a bull in heat. ‘How the humans have fallen since the Lankan War. Ignorant and impolite,’ he lamented with a deep, sad voice. ‘

‘May you always have doubts,’ Krishna greeted the bear-man with a traditional greeting. ‘Forgive my companions, Jambavan. They do not travel much,’ said Krishna.

Jambavan’s smile returned, exposing sharp pointed canines. ‘May your answers be questions,’ he returned the greeting. ‘Welcome, my son. It’s about time! We are starving.’

This revelation did not help make things less tense for Storm and Satyaki, who stepped back warily again.

‘Apologies for the delay,’ Krishna said. ‘The Armistice has finally allowed me to bring you your supplies without worrying about running into unfriendly Magadhans.’