Mage's Blood

33

Southpoint

Shaitan

The King of Evil in the folklore of Antiopia, Shaitan and his hordes of afreet (pale-skinned demons with magical powers) plague the virtuous, but are constantly defeated as they are powerless against men of faith. Though the myth of Shaitan and the afreet predates the advent of the Rondian magi into Antiopia by millennia, the parallels that the people of Kesh and Dhassa draw are obvious.

ORDO COSTRUO, HEBUSALIM CHAPTER

Hebusalim, on the continent of Antiopia

Jumada (Maicin) 928

2 months until the Moontide

The Rondian Imperial Envoy, Belonius Vult, had flown home in high dudgeon. Negotiations between the Rondians and Salim continued, but without Ordo Costruo input, which was frustrating Antonin Meiros. Meanwhile Governor Betillon was losing control of the streets. Casa Meiros could not keep out the sounds of marching soldiers and distant shouting; sometimes stones struck the walls. The air was smokier and the carrion birds more plentiful.

As Jumada ended, Meiros told Ramita that he had a surprise for her. ‘There is something I wish to show you, Wife, whilst you can still travel. Prepare yourself first thing in the morning for a day and a night away. You need pack only clothing; I will take care of all else.’

Ramita was puzzled and intrigued, but the prospect of getting out of Casa Meiros was wonderful. The whole household was preparing for evacuation to Domus Costruo, which meant their home would probably be looted, but even her husband could not guarantee their safety if they remained here once war began. Eventually, a concerted assault would break through.

Despite this, Meiros was almost light-hearted when he came to her courtyard the following morning. There was a gentle breeze blowing, and Luna was sinking in the west, kissed pink by the rising of Sol. Ramita wore a red and yellow salwar, a silver nose-ring and ruby-studded rings and bangles. Her hair was plaited down her back. Her belly was subtly rounder, but she felt well.

‘Are you ready, Wife?’ Meiros enquired kindly. ‘Then come to the lower courtyard.’

Huriya took Ramita’s arm, not because she needed the help, but because Huriya was nervous at letting her go. ‘Ramita, what if this is some trick to lock you away somewhere he thinks is safe?’

‘I’m sure he wouldn’t do that, and anyway, I would insist you were with me.’ She kissed Huriya’s forehead. ‘We’ll be back tomorrow, he says.’

In the central courtyard a strange sight awaited: an old carpet, fully twenty feet long and eight wide, had been laid out on the stone. Its deep maroon, black and white patterning was faded but still beautiful. At one end was a small pile of blankets and baskets. Olaf had just finished placing a wine bottle inside a bag. Jos Klein was leaning against the wall, his bullish face unhappy.

‘My dear, please take a seat,’ Meiros said to Ramita, indicating a pile of cushions in the middle of the carpet.

Puzzled, Ramita settled herself on the cushions, wondering what was happening. Were they going to picnic here in the courtyard? It seemed very odd. Meiros sat beside her, patting her knee, his lined face boyish with anticipation. She caught a small glimpse of the child he must once have been and a foretaste of the children in her belly … if they were his.

‘Well, Wife, are you ready?’

She nodded, still not understanding, and he raised a hand, which held a gemstone she had never seen before. She felt a tremor and a rippling, and then suddenly the carpet rose into the air, bearing them both and all of their luggage. She gasped and clutched her belly in terror. ‘Husband!’ she heard herself shriek, and her stomach lurched as the ground fell away. Huriya was yards below already, staring upwards with round eyes and open mouth. Meiros gave a laugh of sheer delight, made a twisting gesture with the gemstone and suddenly they were soaring, up and away.

‘Don’t worry, we are perfectly safe,’ he shouted.

Ramita clung to him, her eyes screwed tightly shut, until, eventually, she found the courage to open them. They were impossibly high, though she scarcely felt the air rushing by, as if it were being deflected by some unseen shield. The carpet barely rippled; their stack of baskets and blankets lay unmoving, and only the tassels whipping furiously indicated that they were moving at all. But below them, the city unfolded in incredible detail, receding further with every second.

They appeared to be making for the hills to the north, which were many times higher than they were flying. Ramita finally had the courage to pull away from her husband’s protective grip and look around properly. It was wonderful and terrifying, and when she looked back at Meiros’ face, intent but merry, she lost her fear and began to enjoy the sensation. They went rocketing past flocks of birds that swooped away, startled. An eagle soared past and called out, and when Meiros mimicked it, the great bird turned aside disgustedly, making them both laugh.

‘My second wife made this for me,’ Meiros told her. ‘Edda was an Air-Mage and I am not. She made this linking-gem: it channels raw energy and converts it to Air-gnosis. Such things are very inefficient, but they work. Occasionally I take it out and fly on my own.’

‘She must have loved you,’ Ramita said, wonderingly.

‘On a good day.’ He laughed. ‘She was like a tempest: she had a terrifying temper and a restless nature. She could sulk for months, then suddenly all would be forgiven and there was nothing she would not do for me. But it could be wearying.’ He smiled at her. ‘She was as unlike you as I can envisage.’

How could he ever have wanted to marry me after someone like that? She was surprised to feel a twinge of jealousy. I would never be able to give anyone so wondrous a gift.

Meiros stroked her shoulder. ‘She died a long time ago. You bear an even greater gift inside your womb, my dear wife.’

Ramita smiled dutifully, but thinking of the children inside her led to other thoughts too frightening to ponder. She closed her mind down and concentrated on the journey.

They were flying northwest, faster than galloping horses, and Meiros made the carpet swoop on the updrafts and dart through the narrow valleys. Shepherds tending flocks in the rocky dry lands peered up at them in disbelief; camel-drovers gaped while their herds chewed phlegmatically. They followed a pass through the hills to a huge sloping plain and she heard a thunderous sound ahead that rose like a distant storm. A pale blue star twinkled ahead, and at last she understood: Meiros was taking her to see the legendary ocean – and the Leviathan Bridge!

She clutched his hand, afraid again, as Meiros piloted the flying carpet above a wide road where tiny shapes travelled: camel-carts, wagons, galloping messengers, all heading towards the white tower that rose before them. He talked to her as he flew, instructing as always: ‘The Bridge needs concentrated energy to withstand the seas, drawn from two sources. One is the land itself. The closer we get, you’ll see less vegetation and no birds at all. But most of the power comes from the sun. There are huge clusters of crystal inside each tower that trap solar energy – in fact, they draw energy from any living thing, so no one can remain there long. The Ordo Costruo magi who look after the Leviathan Bridge work in shifts, making sure all is well. The Imperial Inquisitors oversee us,’ he added bitterly.

The shimmering white tower was so tall – a mile high – that it could not be real. It terrified her. But she also felt grateful to see it, this wonder of the age. She squeezed her husband’s hand, thankful for the gift of this flight and for his reassuring presence.

Meiros was perspiring freely. ‘Edda’s gem burns energy like nothing else – but we’re nearly there.’ He guided them about the tower in a spiralling descent. She saw robed magi on a balcony two-thirds of the way up, waving to him, and he called out greetings, then they were off again, swooping down the ramp on the north side of the tower and into a wall of wet mist. She clung to him, crying out in alarm as the roar she’d heard before amplified tenfold. Then they broke through the mist and she almost screamed. They were over the ocean.

She stared at the tortured seas of Oceanus pounding the walls of the land. The sight left her full of mute dread and awe: towering cliffs formed a rampart against the seething waters, a sheer black wall that had stood for eternity. But the ocean hammered ceaselessly at the defences, and everywhere there was evidence of its gains: rock falls, carved gullies, undermined ledges.

Meiros pointed, his eyes alive with pleasure. ‘The ocean gains only a few yards each year, and we have ways of repairing the cliffs. As long as we are vigilant, the tower will never be swallowed by the sea.’ He took them in another swooping arc, almost skimming the giant waves, and then up, up and over the ocean. He pointed downwards to her right and she saw the dark line beneath the waves, hundreds of feet below the water level and yet, when the waves troughed, clearly visible. ‘There she is,’ shouted Meiros. The pride in his voice was unmistakable. ‘The Leviathan Bridge, rising from the deep. The pressures it withstands beneath the waves would level mountains. But the power of the gnosis and the skill of the engineering keep it strong.’

Ramita gazed, open-mouthed. I am just a market-girl from Baranasi. How is it I am here?

‘The Bridge rises from the sea for two years in twelve,’ Meiros shouted. ‘The moon has an irregular orbit, and this, together with other influences we still don’t understand, exerts greater and lesser pressure on the globe and its pull upon the oceans. Every twelfth year, that pull creates extreme low tides in this region, allowing the Bridge to be revealed.’

‘What is a “globe”?’ Ramita asked.

‘A globe is a sphere. That is the shape of the Urte.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘No; the world is flat, like a disk. Guru Dev told me. It is known.’

‘Your guru needs to come to the Ordo Costruo for some higher education,’ laughed Meiros. ‘The Urte is round, and is circled by the Moon.’

‘And the Sun?’ Ramita frowned, perplexed.

‘Oh no, we circle the Sun.’

That made no sense at all.

‘Trust me, Wife: these cycles are well-established. The Bridge may be traversed during a two-year period, one year either side of absolute low tide,’ Meiros continued as he swung the carpet back towards the shore.

‘Why ?’ Ramita asked curiously, hoping it wasn’t a silly thing to ask.

‘That is a very good question.’ He stroked her shoulder affectionately. ‘Back in the 700s, the demand for windships outstripped supply – they take years to build, and they have a very small capacity, which limits supply and causes runaway prices. The merchants monopolised trade and gouged everyone. They behaved like despots.

‘I had been studying the possibility of a bridge, but I ran into many problems – the engineering was hard enough, but the politics were worse. The windship merchants didn’t want the competition, and neither side wanted a land-link at all. But I convinced the Pontic High Council and the Sultan of Hebb that both would benefit from it.

‘Of course, I wanted to build a bridge higher than the highest tide, one that would be constantly open, but when we did the calculations, we found we couldn’t. The bridge could not stand without Earth-gnosis, which meant it had to be anchored to the earth. To keep the bridge open all the time would require underwater pillars a mile high in places, but we could not build them so tall, not with enough strength and suppleness to bear the stresses. To draw enough power from the earth they had to be shorter. This meant we were limited to working with the twelve-yearly absolute low tide. We utilise five of the giant crystal-clusters to absorb energy, and this sustains the Bridge against the waters. There is an undersea ridge that runs from Pontus to Dhassa – without that, it would have been impossible. We built three more towers on a small archipelago roughly halfway across. The High Council and the sultan were all happy enough with a temporary bridge, and the land-based traders were delighted. The windship merchants weren’t too pleased, but they get by well enough regardless. So really, the Leviathan Bridge was a compromise of engineering and politics.’

Ramita didn’t really understand it all, but she was content to let him talk. It was enough to have seen Southpoint Tower and the dark shape beneath the waters; it was enough to hear him so proud and paternal. Inside, she tried to suppress the turmoil she felt, caught between her love for Kazim and his passionate wildness and her growing fondness for her young-old husband and the wonders he showed her. Who was she, Ramita Ankesharan, to have walked the halls of Domus Costruo and seen the Leviathan Bridge from a flying carpet? Who was she, to have conversed with Rondian emissaries and shared the life of a living legend? She struggled with the growing feeling that she could never go back and be a simple wife in Baranasi.

Abruptly she was angry with herself. You are being seduced by riches and wonders, you fool! This old man only wanted you as a broodmare – it is Kazim you love … Oh please, oh Gods, please, let him be miles away, travelling home with Jai. She huddled in the crook of her husband’s arm and tried to quell her fears. ‘Husband, may we return to land now?’ she asked in a small voice.

‘Is flying not to your taste, dear wife?’

‘I think I could come to like it,’ she admitted, ‘but I have had enough for now.’

He chuckled sympathetically and sent the carpet whooshing back towards the cliffs.

Meiros took them a mile inland, some two miles from Southpoint Tower and landed gently. He staked blankets over the flying carpet in a small steeple-walled tent shape, open at one end, looking out at the sands. Gulls circled, their hard black eyes glinting in the sun, calling constantly, until their voices and the pounding of the waves lulled her to sleep.

When she woke, it was to him kneeling beside her, gently shaking her shoulder. It might have frightened her, not long ago, to have him leaning over her, but now it did not alarm her at all. It was dusk, and the light was slowly melting away.

‘Wife, come: there is something we must do.’

She sat up and stretched, and he pulled her to her feet. ‘What is it, husband?’

He grinned, almost boyish, and winked conspiratorially. ‘I need to show you something.’ He nodded at the mighty pinnacle of Southpoint. ‘Something to do with the tower.’

He led her a little way off, then after looking around somewhat furtively, he waved a hand and she gasped as the sand and rocks were suddenly scoured away by a tiny swirl of wind. Then she almost swore as she saw a trapdoor set into the desert floor, about a foot below the surface. She looked at him as he stilled the winds. ‘What is this?’

‘A secret.’ He blew away the last of the sand. The door was wood, carved with filigree silver lines. There was an intricately carved knob on the left-hand side which reminded her of the security knobs at Casa Meiros. ‘This is the beginning of a tunnel that runs all the way to Southpoint. As yet, the Inquisitors do not know of it.’ He took her right hand, the hand not scarred already by the Casa Meiros security. ‘This will hurt – I am sorry, but you have felt the sensation before.’

She nodded, bracing herself, and voluntarily placed her hand on the knob.

It stung, but she held firm until Meiros gently withdrew her hand. He didn’t give her salve this time but instead exerted his powers, leaving the palm numbed and the scars already looking weeks old. ‘Look about you, Wife,’ he said quietly. ‘Mark this place in your mind. There may come a time when you need to come here on your own.’

On my own? ‘Why, lord?’

‘I do not know, precisely, but I believe it important that you know this. Beneath Southpoint is a chamber from whence the flow of energies supporting the Bridge is controlled. Within it is a silver globe that channels the solar energies of the tower and turns it into the Earth-gnosis required to power this Bridge. Only an Ascendant can withstand the energies of that chamber. Only one of my blood can alter the energy flows.’ He smiled grimly. ‘Even the Inquisitors cannot unmake that connection.’

Is he telling me this for our children to know? Does he think he will not tell them himself? The thought gave her an uneasy chill, but she dared not voice it. ‘Is this related to your prophecy?’ she asked meekly.

He looked at her measuringly. ‘I have told you that I have foreseen our union resulting in children whose lives are integral to the restoration of peace and justice. In those divinations – they are not prophecies, just predictions – knowledge of the chamber beneath Southpoint Tower is vital. I don’t know why.’

Ramita nodded dutifully, not understanding at all.

He stroked her head affectionately. ‘Do you think you can remember this place?’

She looked about her and waggled her head confidently. ‘Achaa.’

He smiled and waved his hand, strewing the deep pile of dust and rocks back over the trapdoor and covering it. ‘Then that is all we can do for now. There are Inquisitors inside the tower and I would not reveal either this tunnel or you to them.’ He took her hand. ‘Let us go and eat – all this plotting and intriguing has made me hungry.’

Back at their camp, he fussed over the food while letting her doze again. Hours later she woke to the smell of slowly roasting lamb, turning of its own volition above an open fire. It smelled wonderful. Meiros sipped wine, gazing away towards the tower. It was the last week of the month; the darkmoon, and the stars glittered above in the moonless sky, diamonds on sable.

‘How may I help, Husband?’ she asked, sitting up.

He turned towards her, looking more relaxed than she had ever seen him. ‘All is done, I believe.’ Plates and cups were laid out beside the fire, where little wicker baskets of fruit and salad and cheese waited, covered with cloth. ‘Come and sit with me.’

She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and joined him. They talked of small things, like favourite foods of childhood, and watched the stars. ‘See how bright they are with Luna on the far side of the globe,’ he told her.

‘No, the moon is dark because Parvasi drinks its light to give her hair lustre.’

‘Does she just? Who is this Parvasi again?’

‘I have told you this before,’ she scolded good-naturedly. ‘She is the goddess of fertility and devotion, and it is to her and Sivraman that I prayed for children.’

Meiros touched his cup to hers. ‘And your prayers were answered.’

‘Of course. Parvasi hears the prayers of the dutiful wife,’ she answered automatically before inwardly cringing. Perhaps these children were Parvasi’s punishment upon her for her infidelity – but how could new life be a punishment? Please, Parvasi, permit me to raise these children, whoever their father.

‘Parvasi is a very gentle goddess, like my good wife?’ Meiros enquired kindly.

‘Parvasi is kind, but when there is peril, she has other aspects far more terrifying. When the lands are troubled by evil, she takes the form of the warrioress Darikha, who rides a tiger and has many arms filled with weapons. She is very fierce.’ She lifted her chin slightly. ‘Lakh women are dutiful, but we are courageous, like Darikha-ji.’

He studied her face. ‘Yes, there is fierceness too, not easy to spot, but sometimes you unmask it. Determination. Courage. You have many qualities that will serve you well as a mage.’

She shuddered at the thought, but Meiros perceived her fear. ‘You must not be afraid. The gnosis is an extension of who we are, and you will learn to embrace it, I promise you.’ He stroked her arm. ‘When you assume the mantle of mage, I will teach you how to be both Parvasi and Darikha.’

She swallowed and looked away. Too many emotions pounded her. Why is it that I respect you so much, even care for you, when I love Kazim and yearn so much for him? How am I going to bear this, whatever happens?

‘You look sad, Ramita.’

She looked up at him. He had called her Ramita, not simply Wife as he normally did. Ramita. She swallowed a small knot of emotion. ‘I’m not sad, just … overwhelmed. There is so much happening – children, a strange land. Some days I don’t know where I begin and end.’

He drew her against him and kissed her forehead. ‘Ramita, I have grown very fond of you. I am proud of how well you have adapted to so much. I know you must chafe, to be left alone so often and unable to go out. I promise you, when this Moontide is over, you and I will take the children to Baranasi to meet your family. We will go to places where there is safety and you can walk around freely. I know that you have given up much for this marriage. Everyone else gained from it but you – you lost, yet you have given me so much. I know that it is too much for an old man to expect the love of a young woman like you, but please believe me when I say that I will protect you and care for you until the day I die. I am more than fond of you, my dear.’

Her eyes were heavy with tears. She blinked them away. ‘The meat is ready,’ she said huskily.

They ate, and afterwards lay in the tent, she cradled against his body, his arm around her, his body the warmest thing in the cool of the night, his hand upon her belly, his breath on her neck. He slept, his breathing soft and regular. She wondered what he had been like when he was young, or even middle-aged: wise and strong, feared by kings.

I like him. I never thought I would, but I do. And he cares for me. Would he forgive me if he knew I had been unfaithful to him? Because I swear, if he did, it would never happen again, even for Kazim, who gave me nothing but brief madness and a full womb. I wish you had never come, Kazim, my love.

They breakfasted late on eggs with bread and onions. The coastal desert was at peace, empty of all but a few birds, the constant rumble and crash of the water softened by distance. He pulled her down beside him under the open sky and made love to her, cradled in the same position they had slept, lying behind her and inside her, a slow and lingering pleasure. ‘The healers say it makes the birth easier if conjugal relations continue throughout the pregnancy,’ he assured her. ‘Or at least, that’s what I paid them to say,’ he added with a chuckle. He could have been thirty in that moment. She wished that they could stay here longer.

But they had to return, flying all afternoon in the blazing sunlight, battling a headwind, though they still raced along faster than horses, and soon the Hebb Valley sprawled beneath them. Meiros grimly pointed out six windships in a row outside the city walls. ‘Six Rondian Warbirds. Betillon has reinforcements.’ He increased the speed of the flying carpet, swooping south towards his gleaming, needle-like tower. The air of the city had a rank smell from above, like a smoke-filled latrine, and Ramita wrinkled her nose in distaste. The desert air had been so clean.

They alighted in the courtyard just before sunset, and she realised she felt profound regret at being back. Just for one day and night, her life had been almost perfect, the world of the magi filled with more wonders than terrors. She let him kiss her lips and hugged him tightly in return.

He stroked her brow, his voice apologetic. ‘I am sorry, Ramita, but I must go to the Domus Costruo and find what the advent of these warships means. Dine judiciously, and sleep well. I will see you in the morning.’

Huriya was full of questions, but she did not want company that night and eventually Huriya took the hint and left sulkily. Soon after Ramita heard Huriya’s door click as she admitted someone, probably Klein. But Ramita could not sleep, torn between guilt for a young lover and yearning for the safe arms of an old man of whom she was more than fond.