The Gods Awaken

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Kalasariz floated above the golden-tiled plain, which stretched away from him on all sides for what seemed like an enormous distance.

For the first time in what seemed like eons, the spymaster was without pain. He felt strong and confident-mind as sharp and clear as it had ever been.

He knew that he was still quite small; that the plain was actually a table, with a tiled center. And that the enormous face bent over him was that of a normal-sized human woman. A witch, actually. Who at this moment was mumbling the spell that would break the last link of the magical chains that had imprisoned him for so long.

Beside him, Luka and Fari were whispering to one another. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he had no doubt that they were conspiring against him. Prince Luka and the Lord Fari disliked one another intensely. But as demons they were united in their hatred of all humans-especially Kalasariz, who had been their rival from the beginning.

The moment the witch cast her spell, they would attack him. If Kalasariz had possessed a face, he would have smiled that thin cold smile that tens of thousands had feared for so many years.

For the spymaster had plans of his own. Plans that included Luka and Fari only in a small, but possibly delicious, sort of way.

It was a pity things had to be as they were, Kalasariz thought. Although he loathed the two demons, it wouldn't have prevented him from working with them as an equal. Unlike Luka, he'd never envied Iraj Protarus his throne. Nor had he ever shared Fari's jealousy of Safar's former title of Grand Wazier to the king.

All his adult life the spymaster had been content to remain in the background. Letting others wear the trappings of power, while he steered the course. The only person who'd ever aroused the green-eyed beast in his bosom had been Safar Timura. And that was because Safar had quite different ideas on how Iraj should rule his kingdom. Nor did Safar's plans include Kalasariz in any role-especially not that of the power behind the throne.

Complicating Kalasariza€™ enmity for his rival was the strange hate/love relationship between Safar and Iraj. Before they fell out the two had been boyhood friends. Blood-oath brothers. But so what? What was a blood oath when a grand kingdom was at stake?

As the spymaster thought about these things it suddenly came to him that perhaps the reason he'd failed in his fight against Timura was because of Kalasariza€™ own lack of ambition. Maybe he'd been a fool all those years being content to be the power behind the throne.

Perhaps by relying on kings to do his work, instead of acting directly on his own behalf, he'd sown the seeds of his own failure.

The spymaster started getting excited. What a new and interesting way of looking at things!

Above him, the witch shifted position and Kalasariz put these thoughts aside to be examined more fully later. He had to keep his wits about him for what was coming next.

Although the spy master's smallness prevented him from clearly making out what the witch was up to-all things were so enormous that he couldn't see past the immediate details in front of his face-he smelled burning incense and guessed she was moving to the next part of her spell.

Beside him, Luka and Fari stirred restlessly. They were silent now. Conspiracy completed, he suspected.

Waiting their moment.

Kalasariz had no idea how he and the others had come to this place. When Iraj had grabbed onto Safar's magical robe-tails, Kalasariz had instinctively followed. Leaping into the trough of his sorcerous wake, carrying Luka and Fari with him.

Then Iraj and Safar had disappeared and Kalasariz had found himself hovering between darkness and light, Fari and Luka mere specks of existence floating nearby. For some reason they were even smaller than he was and quite weak. And so when they heard the witch's voice summoning them, it was Kalasariz who had answered. And it was Kalasariz who had negotiated with the witch.

She would give them substance. A place in this world. In return, they would join her in her struggle against her deadliest enemy-Palimak Timura. The three agreed most enthusiastically. For wherever Palimak was, they'd find Safar. And wherever Safar was, they'd find Iraj-their errant brother of the Spell of Four.

Iraj had broken the spell's link, condemning them to puny existences that the most insignificant insect would not envy. Their only hope was to find Iraj again and bring him under their power.

Fari, who had been a master wizard in his previous existence, had explained that this time the bond could be reformed differently. Since Iraj had violated the Spell of Four, it was no longer necessary to make him the kingly center.

"All we require is his essence," Fari had said.

"His essence?" Kalasariz had puzzled, not certain what he meant. "How do we accomplish that?"

If Fari had owned lips, he would have smacked them. He answered, "We eat him!"

This answer had inspired the glimmerings of what Kalasariz now believed was turning out to be the greatest plan in his career.

The witch's indistinct mumbling ended. The huge head drew back, long hair stirring like a great forest in a summer storm.

"Make yourselves ready," she commanded.

She gestured, mountain of a hand slicing downward.

But as it descended, Kalasariz whipped around to confront Luka and Fari. He had time to see them coming forward, then there was a white-hot flash that blinded him. Even so, he didn't hesitate but surged forward.

There was a slight sting, then another, as he engulfed first Luka, then Fari.

Thunder boomed and he felt an enormous weight crushing downward. The weight eased. Became …

normal? He opened his eyes and found himself staring into the glittering eyes of the witch. They were at his level.

The spymaster looked down and saw he was kneeling on the table. The golden-tiled center almost completely covered by one knee.

He was gripped by a delight so fierce it verged on hysteria. For a moment he considered stepping off the table and removing the witch before she became too much of a bother.

Then he thought better of it. From the negotiations, she hadn't seemed the type to leave an opening.

"I can put you back the way you were with a snap of my fingers," Queen Clayre warned. "So I wouldn't move too quickly, if I were you."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Kalasariz said with a smile.

The queen grimaced. "Where are the others?" she asked.

Kalasariz covered his lips as he burped politely. He said, "I ate them."

The queen frowned at him a moment, head turning to one side, ear cocked as if she were listening. The frown turned to a smile. Then a laugh.

"Oh, that's very good," she chortled. "You've consumed your enemies, but they still exist inside you.

They're your slaves now. With no will of their own."

"We didn't get along very well," Kalasariz replied. He hesitated, then decided it was best to be truthful.

"Circumstances forced us together. But when you were working your spell I got the rather strong impression that they were planning to end our partnership."

"But you acted first," Clayre said.

"It seemed the prudent thing to do," Kalasariz said.

He glanced about the room, noting with mild surprise that everything was in disarray. Chairs were knocked over. Broken glass and clay jars were scattered across the rich carpets, which were also stained by spilled liquids. A shelf of books had been dumped over. And everything was covered with a thick, fine dust.

"What happened here?" he asked.

The queen shrugged. "Nothing to concern yourself about," she said. "Just an earthquake." She waved a dismissive hand. "I was anxious to work the spell, so I didn't bother getting a few slaves in to clean the mess up."

Kalasariz thought this was a very interesting admission. Obviously, time was of the essence to the witch.

It was a good thing to know. If she was facing some self-imposed deadline, then he could drive a harder bargain.

"What exactly is it you want me to do?" he asked.

"Help my son regain the royal mantle he deserves," she replied.

The spymaster smiled. "You've certainly come to the right person for that," he said.

Palimak sat by his father's bedside all that night. Safar's breathing was labored. Sometimes he would twitch and moan. But mostly he was still, dragging in each breath, then letting it go in a long sigh as if there were a heavy weight on his chest.

Twice he became suddenly rigid, the pulse in his throat visibly throbbing. He'd whisper, "Khysmet!" And then his body would relax and the labored breathing would begin anew.

Outside, even the nightbirds and insects were silent. Everyone and everything had been exhausted by the earthquake. Fortunately, no one had been killed and although many had been injured, those injuries mostly consisted of cuts, scrapes and minor bruises. The damage to the buildings was spotty. Some walls had collapsed in the fortress and several homes had been destroyed.

However, the earthquake had arrived at a lucky time. It had been a fine day and most of the Kyranians had been outside. Now everyone was so weary from cleaning up the debris and treating the injured that they were fast asleep.

Palimak studied his father's sleeping form. The Demon Moon was shining through the window, bloody red light pooling on Safar's chest as if he were horribly wounded.

He thought about his father's sudden appearance in the doorway after the earthquake. His wailing cry that Hadin wanted him back. Instinctively, Palimak knew these were not the mad ravings of a sick man. If someone had asked him what Safar had meant, he couldn't have answered. Not precisely, at any rate.

But he strongly sensed that Coralean's report of the waterspouts in the Great Sea and the desolation overcoming Esmir had something to do with it.

As did the earthquake.

For the eighth time that day, he withdrew the Book of Asper his father had entrusted to him when they had parted three years before. He placed the book's spine in one hand and let the pages fall open as they pleased.

He peered down at the page that had presented itself. And, just as it had seven times before, the same poem showed him its face:

There is a portal,

Through which only I can see.

There is a secret,

I dare not breathe.

Under the Demon Moon there

Is thee and me.

And then there is no more

Of me and thee.

Frustrated, Palimak snapped the book shut. The eighth appearance of the poem in as many attempts was certainly no accident. But what in the hells was that damned Asper getting at? And how could he have conjured such a reoccurrence from the distance of a thousand years or more?

If only his father would awaken and explain to him what the poem meant. A wave of self-pity swept over him. He thought, It's not fair! I'm only thirteen years old. Other children my age spend most of the day at school, or at play. Or doing minor chores, like tending the animals. He brushed away a tear. Then steadied himself. It just was, that's all.

Fate had decreed it long ago when the parents he'd never known had met and had fallen in love. A human father and a demon mother. Both dead now. Mercifully, perhaps, all things considered. At least they wouldn't be forced to witness the end of the world.

And then he thought, And they don't have a chance to save it, either.

He felt a tingling sensation and his gaze was drawn to the window which framed the evil face of the Demon Moon.

It seemed to be summoning him. Calling him. He heard a harsh voice whisper, "Pa-li-mak! Pa-li-mak!

Pa-li-mak!"

The moon's pull grew stronger. So strong it felt like his scalp was being lifted from his skull.

His head ached with a rhythmic pounding hammering from within. And with each drumbeat-for that is what the hammering seemed like-the pain intensified until he thought he could bear it no longer.

Then once again he heard his father moan, "Khysmet!"

Safar shifted in his bed. There was a metallic ring as the silver witch's knife fell to the stone floor. To Palimak's pain-intensified senses it sounded like a sword clashing against a shield.

Joints aching, he retrieved the knife, then found his gaze drawn to the red moon-glitter reflecting off the blade.

They'd found the knife while undressing him and had placed it under his pillow. It was Safar's most prized possession-given to him by Coralean for saving the caravan master's life. Palimak started to slip it back under the pillow, then hesitated when an image caught his eye.

Once again he peered at the shiny surface of the blade. He saw eyes staring back in the dagger-shaped reflection. For some reason they didn't appear like his own. Still, they seemed familiar.

The pain in his head was so intense it was difficult to think. His emotions were as dull as his thoughts. The rhythmic pounding made everything seem distant, unreal. He turned the blade and saw other portions of the reflection. A slash of a wide forehead. Another of what seemed to be a square, bearded chin.

How strange!

He blinked and the reflection seemed to shift and then became a mirror image of himself.

The pain vanished. It was as if all the agony had been contained in a cask of water and then someone had knocked out the plug and it had quickly drained away.

Now the knife shone silver instead of red. Palimak looked up and saw the Demon Moon had risen above the top of the window frame. The soft glow of the morning sun gleamed through.

Palimak was surprised he hadn't noticed the passing of so many hours. One moment it had been late night. Then he'd stared into the knife's surface and all that time had collapsed.

He didn't remember falling asleep. How could he have, with all that pain-and its sudden, blissful release?

But it seemed to be the simplest and therefore the most logical explanation. It also accounted for the strange image he'd thought he'd seen reflected in the knife blade.

Yes, that was the answer. He'd fallen asleep.

With dawn's arrival, Palimak started putting his plan into action.

First he got out the little stone idol and summoned the Favorites. The boys were usually cranky in the morning, but he had some sweets ready for Gundara and some very old cheese for Gundaree. They munched on the treats, quarreling with one another between bites, but he kept pulling tasty bits from his pockets until they were more or less settled down.

Palimak turned his attention to the task at hand, fishing various magical items from a leather purse: six tiny pots filled with special oils; small packets of sorcerous powders, each of a different color; a jar of an alcohol-based elixir, in which he'd dissolved powder made from ground ferret bones; and finally, a little mirror.

He drew magical symbols on the floor, using a quick-drying paint for ink. While he worked, Gundara and Gundaree hopped up on Safar's bed.

"The old master looks pretty sick," Gundara observed in cheerful tones.

"Maybe he'll die," Gundaree put in, partly stifling a yawn with his hand.

"You two are such ungrateful wretches," Palimak said. "Three weeks ago he saved your worthless lives.

Now you're all but getting ready to bury him."

"I only said he looked sick," Gundara protested. "Gundaree was the one who talked about dying."

Gundaree put hands on his slender hips. "What's wrong with that?" he demanded. "Death happens, you know. When you get to the bottom of the Scroll of Life, that's it!"

He made a cutting motion across his throat. "Finished. End of story. It's the same for everything that lives.

Fish do it. Sheep do it. People do it. And demons do it. Although I suppose fish and sheep don't have very interesting stories on their Scrolls."

Gundara leaned against Safar, relaxing. "I don't know about that," he said. "I met a fish once who had a pretty interesting life. It was maybe six or seven hundred years ago, not long after we were stolen by that witch."

Gundaree shuddered. "Why do you have to bring her up?" he protested. "That witch was a terrible mistress. Maybe the worst ever. You're going to spoil my whole day by making me think about her."

"I was talking about a fish, not the witch," Gundara said. "That great big fish they served up at her birthday banquet. It was still alive, remember? And they were cutting off strips to make fish bacon."

Gundaree grinned. "That was great bacon," he said, licking his chops as he fondly recalled those fishy snacks.

"I wish you'd stop interrupting my story," Gundara grumped. "While you were eating that poor fish, I was talking to him. About how he used to live at the bottom of the sea and had more female fishes than you could shake a fin at. And all the adventures he had fooling the sharks and the sea snakes."

He shook his head, marveling at the memory. "What a fish he was!" he said. "A fish above all fishes."

"You ate him too," Gundaree said. "After you made friends with him and promised you'd free him. You got in there too and ate the fish bacon as fast as the cooks could fry it up."

"It seemed like the polite thing to do at the time," Gundara said. "I didn't want to insult him. Let him think he didn't taste good."

Gundaree hopped up on the bed with Gundara. He studied Safar's face for a moment. "I still think he looks like he might die," he said. Another yawn. "If I weren't so sleepy, I'd feel bad about it."

Palimak did his best to ignore them. They were what they were and there was no way anyone would ever change them, much less warm up their cold little hearts. Usually they didn't bother him that much. In fact, their dark humor appealed to the demon side of him.

He couldn't help but smile at his own hypocrisy. The truth was, if they hadn't been talking about his own father, he might have found their conversation pretty damned funny.

The rueful smile made him relax. He arranged the pots on the floor, making a six-pointed star with the mirror in the center. He sprinkled powder from each of the packets into the oil pots, then lit them with a candle.

Multi-colored smoke hissed up, filling the chamber with a sweet, heady odor. Gundara and Gundaree made gagging sounds of protest, but he paid them no mind.

Next, he took out his father's dagger, reversed it, and rapped the mirror with the butt. The mirror shattered. He rapped again, breaking it into smaller pieces. Then he stirred the glass bits with the tip of the knife, mixing them up.

Palimak squatted back on his haunches. "All right, boys," he said. "I'm ready for you now."

Grumbling, Gundara and Gundaree hopped back down on the floor.

"This isn't going to work," Gundara said. "He's too sick."

"You might kill him," Gundaree added. "Did you ever think of that?"

"Besides," Gundara said, patting his little belly, "I'm too full to work."

"Enough!" Palimak barked, finally letting his weariness get the better of him. "I've fed you, pampered you, and listened patiently to your mewling."

His eyes glowed demon yellow. "If you don't want to work, then by the gods I'll seal you in your stone house and throw it into the deepest part of the sea I can find. And you can argue with each other and the damned fishes for a thousand years, for all I care!"

The two Favorites went through an instant change in attitude.

"We were only jesting, young master," Gundara said, flashing his white fangs.

"Yes, yes, only a joke," Gundaree put in. "We'll help you all we can."

"And, I must say," Gundara added, "the old master really is looking much better."

Palimak motioned, and the Favorites leaped up on his shoulder and shrank to flea-size specks.

He concentrated on the bits of shattered glass, breathing deeply, taking the incense smoke deep into his lungs. The spell he'd chosen came from a poem of Asper's his father had recited to him long ago.

Palimak chanted:

"Wherein my heart abides

This dark-horsed destiny I ride?

Hooves of steel, breath of fire-

Soul's revenge, or heart's desire?"

Suddenly, the shattered glass reformed into a mirror. A swirling image appeared on its surface.

Palimak felt dizzy and he gripped his knees as if he were about to fall.

He heard his father whisper, "Khysmet! Where is Khysmet?"

There came a thunder of hooves.

And Palimak was swept away.