The Gods Awaken

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Safar stood on the bridge of the tall ship watching the green rolling seas froth into white spume as they parted before the wooden prow. Hungry birds followed in their wake, filling the air with their gleeful cries as they swooped on fish stunned by the ship's swift passage.

From above he could hear Biner shouting orders to the airship crew. And-more faintly-the roar of the magical engines that kept the balloons taut and the airship aloft. He smiled, remembering just how much fun it was to be a member of the airship's crew. Everyone would be rushing to perform the tasks Biner set, laughing and joking with one another as they sailed through azure skies.

The atmosphere would be the direct opposite of what he'd experienced thus far on the tall ship. The vessel-named the Nepenthe-was the best that Coralean could provide from the mercenary fleet.

Although Safar was no sailor, it certainly seemed sound enough.

But the crew was sullen, the captain harsh and when orders were given the sailors were slow to act. To Safar they also seemed deliberately clumsy-fouling lines, tangling sails and generally making an unnecessary mess of things.

Sooner or later he would have to do something about this state of affairs. However, at the moment he was content just to get the voyage started. He consoled himself, thinking he had thirteen thousand or more miles to bend matters-and the captain-to his will.

Some consolation! By the gods, if there were any other choice he would've taken it. To begin with, he dreaded the voyage's goal. Of all the becursed lands in this becursed world, Hadin was the last place he wanted to visit. Secondly, as far as he knew such a voyage had only been accomplished once before: by Lord Asper many centuries ago when he'd journeyed to Hadin and back again.

No wonder the captain was moody and the sailors unwilling. Safar was paying them handsomely-many times more than they'd ever received before in their seafaring careers. He'd also promised rich bonuses when the voyage was complete.

However, these men had never strayed far from Esmir. Venturing only to the not-so-distant islands, such as Syrapis. They were ignorant men, had sometimes even worked as pirates, and had little knowledge of the wider world. But, ignorant as they were, in their many voyages they'd experienced first-hand what the scholars of Esmir had only speculated about.

Safar watched a great sea turtle swim frantically away from the path of the ship. It was a huge creature-big enough to seat a large man on its broad shell. Possibly a hundred years or more in age.

He smiled ruefully, thinking this was how all but the wisest scholars and priests saw the world they lived in. According to Esmirian myth, the world was borne on the back of a sea-turtle god. In turn, the continents that made up the world were carried by lesser turtle gods.

There were four such continents-confirmed in Asper's voyages. First there was Esmir-which in the language of the ancients simply meant The Land, or The Earth. Then Aroborus, the place of the forests.

The third continent was Raptor, the land of the birds. A place they wouldn't visit until their return voyage.

Last of all was Hadin, land of the fires: a continent shattered by the forces at work there into a vast island chain that crouched at the bottom of the world.

The place, Asper said, where he waited at "Hadin's last gate."

Of course, Safar didn't think Asper would actually be waiting there. The old demon had been dead for a thousand years, after all.

Nor was Safar certain that he'd truly find a solution to the world's ills once he reached Hadin.

However, despite his uncertainties Safar was driven to act. His entire adult life had been devoted to this mission. And many had suffered and died as a result of his obsession to halt the poisonous cloud that was slowly killing the world.

And he had no doubt many more would meet similar fates before he was through.

To accomplish his goal, Asper said Safar would have to awaken the gods. Exactly what this meant, or how he'd go about it, Safar was far from certain. He'd have to wait until he arrived in Hadin to find out.

Safar wondered how his people would fare during his absence. Even if he were successful it was unlikely he'd survive the experience and return to Syrapis to find out. Would they prosper? Would they find happiness again? The happiness lost to them when he'd led them from their ancestral home, Kyrania-the Valley of the Clouds.

As he pondered these unanswerable questions his mind floated back to the last night he'd spent with his family, friends and fellow Kyranians.

Safar had invited all the Kyranians to a farewell feast, although only his closest confidants were aware of its purpose.

Long tables were set up in the main courtyard of the mountain fortress. Colorful lanterns were hung all around giving everything a cheerful atmosphere. The tables were heaped with every dish and delicacy he could manage to assemble in the short time he'd had to prepare. And the finest Timura jugs were set out, full of wine and beer and cold goat's milk sweetened with honey-this last for the children.

First Safar put on a little show to entertain the Kyranians and brighten their spirits. With the help of Biner and the other circus folk he performed many astounding acrobatic feats, spiced with glittering displays of magic.

Biner and Arlain put on their clown costumes and wowed the crowd with their most humorous antics.

Safar also performed horse tricks with Khysmet, showing off the stallion's uncanny abilities.

Finally, when he thought the moment right, he asked them all to gather round for an announcement. There were more than a thousand Kyranians, so he had to stand on a table for all to see. He cracked a magical amplifying pellet so that no one would miss his words.

"My dear friends," he said, "the time has come to speak to you on a matter of the utmost importance."

Immediately his mother and sisters burst into tears. His father, face pale, straightened his shoulders and tried to look stoic. But it was hopeless, for several tears could be seen running down his cheeks. Safar's family had been told of his plans and could no longer hold back their emotions.

Everyone looked at them, a sense of dread chilling the air.

"I stand here before you with a grieving heart," Safar said. "I've known all of you my entire life. And we have been through so much together-good times and ill. So it is with great sadness and much reluctance that I now tell you that I must take my leave.

"Perhaps forever."

There was a stunned silence. Followed by shouts of, "No, Safar! It can't be! Stay with us! We love you, Safar! We love you!"

Safar bowed his head, letting the outpour flow over him until it was spent.

"Thank you, my friends," he said, eyes glistening with barely checked emotion. "But you must understand this isn't something I want to do. When I was a boy herding the village flock through the passes of the Godsa€™ Divide I was given a sacred trust. And I cannot refuse what I have been called to do."

Foron leaped onto the table with him. "Please, Safar," he said. "You must listen to us. You are a great man. Still, you are only a man. You cannot prevent what the gods desire. Forget the outside world.

Remain with us."

He made a sweeping gesture that took in the fortress and the mountains beyond. "This is a paradise, Safar. Just as you promised back in Kyrania. We had to fight for it, to be sure. But this is a wonderful place.

"Look about you, my friend. Look at all the plenty. There are fish in the sea begging to be netted. Forests full of game, rich earth eager for seed and fat herds of goats to be milked or slaughtered. And the mountain air is so clear and clean and sweet it's like drinking wine when you breathe."

"All you say is true," Safar replied. "But there are forces at work that will soon end this paradise. It will be destroyed, just as Kyrania was destroyed."

Foron shook his head. "No one doubts your wisdom, Safar," he said. "But in this one thing I must tell you that you are wrong. I can't believe it's necessary for you to leave us in order to fight whatever evil it is that threatens us all. Again, I beg you-remain with us.

"Allow us to fight with you. And if we win, what gladness. And if we lose, so be it. At least we'll all die together."

The crowd took up a chant: "Fight, fight, fight. Fight together!"

Safar let them chant for a time, then raised his hand for silence. When he got it, he said, "I wish with all my heart that what you said was true. But it isn't. Please let me show you so you can see for yourselves."

He gestured for Foron to step down. When he'd done so Safar said, "First, I beg you to send the children away. What you are about to witness is not a sight for young eyes."

After the children had gone-the babes borne away by the village grannies-Safar called again for everyone's attention. When he had it, he drew the shell trumpet from beneath his cloak. People gaped at it. They'd couldn't imagine the sea creature that had once inhabited the marvelous shell.

As he raised the trumpet to his lips Safar took a deep breath. And then he blew, long and hard.

Once again the sounds of the wondrous magical orchestra filled the air. The Kyranians murmured at the beauty of the music. Then they gasped when they saw the Spirit Rider suddenly appear on the fortress wall, shimmering like an apparition. Then, once again, the mural and the wall dissolved into nothingness.

As the solid stone dissolved there were loud cries of alarm as the Kyranians found themselves looking down on a yawning emptiness. It was as if they were at the edge of a sloping cliff and were about to fall into a terrible abyss.

People clutched each other, the tables, the benches-anything to prevent themselves from plunging into the unknown.

Safar himself didn't know what was going to happen next. And when the music and then the scene changed his nails dug into his palms until they bled.

First came the familiar throb of the harvest drums. The conch shells wailing. The rhythmic slap of bare feet on sand and open palms on naked chests. And then they were looking down on the beautiful people of Hadin dancing before the smoking volcano. Their lovely harvest queen leading them in song:

"Her hair is night,

Her lips the moon;

Surrender. Oh, surrender.

Her eyes are stars,

Her heart the sun;

Surrender. Oh, surrender.

Her breasts are honey,

Her sex a rose;

Surrender. Oh, surrender.

Night and moon. Stars and Sun.

Honey and rose;

Lady, oh Lady, surrender.

Surrender. Surrender … "

Then the volcano erupted and the Kyranians screamed and turned their eyes away as the island people died their agonizing deaths.

Thankfully, the scene finally dissolved, giving way to a myriad of bubbling lights of many colors. The music took on a playful note and when the living picture realized itself, they saw an old sea turtle swimming comically over and through rolling waves of dark emerald.

There were a few giggles of relief. Some of the younger men and women cheered loudly for the turtle.

Another shift in the music occurred as the turtle came to land and painfully climbed onto a black rocky shore. There were birds everywhere, birds of all possible varieties.

A studious young Kyranian made an educated guess and shouted the name of this country: "It's Raptor-the land of the birds!"

Several scholarly men and women in the crowd murmured agreement.

The instruments took on the musical personalities of birds they saw. Some soaring with haunting cries.

Some whistling melodious mating tunes. Some hawking and chattering over rocky nests. And everywhere there was the peep-peep-peep, of new life. Nestlings calling for their mothers and fathers to

"feedmeloveme, feedmeloveme, feedmeloveme…"

But just as people were smiling, nodding in empathy at this feathered life, a huge green poisonous cloud swept over Raptor. Enormous ghostbats, shrilling and hungry flew out of the cloud. Followed by shrieking reptiles on leather wings.

Once again the Kyranians had to turn away at the killing horror that was visited upon the land.

This time no one laughed when the turtle paddled frantically away.

Now came the music of forests and rivers. Innocent song of clear-flowing creeks, mossy ponds and flowered paths that wound through an exotic jungle. Sweet pipes carried cooling breezes through the branches of every sort of tree imaginable. Wise oaks, foolish pines, swaying willows and forest giants lifting their aged heads into the very clouds.

They saw all the things the music spoke of and more. The scholarly youth proclaimed the land as Aroborus, the place of the forests. But no one had to hear him to know the answer.

Their attention was riveted on the turtle, pausing just off a gentle, sandy beach. Its blunt head and sad eyes lifted to the skies. Then the Kyranians groaned as the poisonous cloud swept in, bearing all the horrors they'd seen before.

The turtle paddled away, so weak she could barely negotiate the slow-rolling seas.

Now the music took on a hard, desperately driving note. Shimmering scene dissolved into shimmering scene, one after the other. But each one had the same subject: the turtle swimming and bobbing on endless seas. Sometimes the water was the deep green that indicated of enormous depths. Sometimes it was bright blue and cheery. And sometimes it was slate-gray and forbidding, with glistening icebergs shot with eerie rainbow colors: layers of purple and pink and green and sapphire-blue.

And always, in the background, was the poisonous cloud sweeping over the endless oceans. Fish turning up white-bellied, dead in its passage. Seals and otters and even enormous whales shriveling to the bone as they breathed their last.

Dead birds plummeting from the sky in such numbers that it seemed the heavens had become an avian graveyard, opening up to rain a torrent of feathered corpses.

Finally, the turtle climbed up on a pebbled beach. It barely had the strength to pull itself from the foaming surf. By now, no one was surprised when they recognized the long, curving shoreline. It was the same place where the Kyranians had landed three years before.

Someone-it wasn't the student-voiced the name in a low, drawn-out hiss: Syrapis!

The turtle struggled, using the last of its strength to dig a shallow nest with its flippers. Then it squatted over the hole and began to lay its eggs. Each one membrane-white, turning to ivory as it met the air and fell into the hole. The shadow of an embryo turtle showed through the thin shell.

The turtle covered the eggs as best she could, shoveling pebbles and sand. Then she lifted her head and saw the killing cloud drifting overhead.

A single tear formed, then fell.

And the turtle died.

The music stopped and the fortress wall re-formed itself. Leaving a silence moist and thick and twisted like the rough blankets kicked off in a nightmare that refuses to end. As before, there was no sign of the mural.

All eyes turned to Safar. He thought he'd never seen such haunted looks. Such fearful looks. So much begging and pleading for rescue-for deliverance.

Although not one word was said, the silence was like a shout.

Safar said: "Do you see? Do you finally see?"

And they did.

Safar leaned against the rail, the Nepenthe leaping and bucking under him as it turned and caught the wind for Hadin.

He saw the turtle paddle over a ten-foot wave. Disappear into its trough, then climb the watery incline on the other side.

A light hand touched his shoulder. It was Leiria's.

She watched the turtle's progress with him for awhile. And just as it became a dot on the horizon she whispered, "Gods speed, my friend. Gods speed!"