Quick as a viper’s tongue, the enemy blade was slashing at him again. Aladdin caught the arm of the attacker and yanked it as hard as he could. The Hellixian was thrown off balance momentarily. Before Aladdin could take advantage, though, the gilled man was back in a vertical position, bearing down. The humming knife punched out, throbbing, dragging Aladdin with it. It touched the rubbery green wet suit. That was all that was needed. The blade punctured then tore into flesh. The Hellixian froze, his features turned rigid for an instant; then his puckered mouth opened wide and the gaping chasm emitted what Aladdin could only assume was a scream. It was a droning whine, not unlike the sound made by whales, an ear shattering nasal tone that floated across the water. Aladdin felt the heat of his blade. Red hot. White hot. Near panic, he let it go. With arms flailing, in the throes of being burned to death from the inside, the Hellixian soldier made one last lunge for the shaken adventurer. The long knife missed Aladdin’s throat — but it did puncture his air hose. Aladdin gasped for breath. As the Hellixian’s body smouldered and started to turn darker shades, a dark bile poured from its mouth in regurgitation. The stinking vomit spilled in a torrent over the adventurer; its hands grabbed forcefully into Aladdin’s shoulders and wouldn’t let go. They began to sink together, faster and faster, while the battle raged around them. Aladdin fought with all his strength to break loose. Holding his breath, he prayed that somehow Christóbal and Crispin would be close, see his predicament, and come to his aid before his lungs burst and he drowned. But he could see nothing — nothing save the savagery continuing to rage everywhere. Floating corpses, whizzing torpedoes, heat-seeking harpoons, and the overhead barrage of arrows. The water world was growing dim around him. The hull of the great Academy was close enough to touch, and he saw it pass by as he slipped farther into the deep, the frying Hellixian still clinging to his back. It would not be long until he, too, was dead.
In those precious last seconds of consciousness, he made his peace with God, and cursed himself for having failed in his pledge to both Fatima and the Sultan.
Aladdin didn’t see the life-saving rescue dolphin come for him, nor was he aware when Christóbal reached him and thrust the mouthpiece of his own air hose between the adventurer’s blue lips, forcing him to inhale. For Aladdin it had seemed too late. His world had gone. There was nothing but darkness.
Chapter Eighteen
In his dreams, he was standing before the statue again, the captivating, timeless face of the ancient woman all Cinnabarians revered. And in her ethereal presence he felt warm and safe. Like an infant, basking in the all-powerful love and care of his source of life. Her face was radiant, as golden as the sun, her eyes alive with wisdom and knowledge. The knowledge of the universe, perhaps. Sage-like, she stared down at him, this puny mortal from the surface who had dared to brave the fathomless depths and so foolhardily — but bravely — risked his being in a cause that belonged to another world. Soundlessly, she chastised him for his impetuosity, but, in her subtly intuitive way, forgave him his foolishness and drew him to her like the errant returned. The prodigal returned. Come back at last to where he belonged...
“Is he all right?” asked the yellow-haired girl.
The military physician nodded sullenly, his severe features showing increasing strain during these past hours. Ceaselessly he had tended to the wounded and the dying, providing what little aid and comfort he could, until he and his fellow physicians had become numb from the lack of sleep and the endless stream of faceless men crying out for help. The battle had been long and costly. There would be much grief and mourning in Cinnabar this day. But the battle had also been won; the enemy again repulsed; the Academy Labouratory was safe and in friendly hands.
“Do not wake him,” the physician said.
Shara glanced from the dark-robed man with the bloodstained apron to the peaceful figure resting comfortably on the infirmary bed. “I won’t,” she whispered. “But with your permission, I will remain beside him, for a while; tend to his needs — ”
The physician nodded. As he closed the draperies surrounding the cubicle, he paid no attention to the paramedics carrying out, on stretchers, the lifeless bodies of soldiers who had not survived the night.
Shara, sitting herself in the small swivel seat beside the bed, looked long and hard at the countenance of the perspiring figure. “Foolish hero,” she muttered. “I told you it was a mistake to have come.” For a long while she remained like that, at his side, her slim hands clasped, her breathing heavy and laboured. It was a miracle he was alive, she knew. By all rights he should have been dead, drowned in the shallows of the sea, buried among the corals and flowers of the plateau like so many of the others. Somehow, though, he had survived. As if a divine hand had directly intervened and kept him from his fate. What was it the adjutant had told her? That he had unselfishly fought the Hellixian when he could just as easily have avoided the confrontation, fled, while some other nearby soldier took up the combat. And, as he was seen sinking, with the immolated enemy riding his back and clinging like some consumed jellyfish, he had not panicked even then. Screaming would have been the death knell, as water would have filled his lungs and robbed him of life before either Crispin or the giant called Christóbal could reach him and administer emergency aid. The happenstance of the dolphin rescue had also been an incredible piece of luck. A thousand-in-one chance, considering the circumstances. Then, that his friends were able to wade through the heat of battle and reach the safety of the Academy’s belly hatch was another miracle. Truly, the fates guiding him had smiled kindly on this surface stranger, she thought. Even the tending physician had been amazed, muttering superstitiously that an aura of fortune glowed around him.
Shara shook her head in perplexity. When, in the throes of a bad dream, Aladdin’s hand began to tremble, she took it in her own and stroked it tenderly. She mopped his fevered brow, and watched over him intently, unsure as to what had compelled her to be here with him — his foolish bravery or something more. In her own state of confusion and exhaustion, she knew only that she, too, was fortunate to be alive today. The enemy forces had caught the Academy guard by surprise; she and everyone else within the steel structure had been beset on all sides by enemy swimmers. Barely in time, they had managed to shut the hatches and barricade themselves inside. When the Hellixian swimmers had then appeared at the safety screens in overwhelming numbers, her own death seemed certain. Yet here she was, alive, and thankful for it. Perhaps remaining here with the surface stranger who called himself Aladdin was in some small measure her way of saying thank-you to those who fought and died to save her and her fellow scientists.
The whooshing of the air-cooling system overhead lulled her like Cinnabarian bells. She nestled deeper into the cushioned chair and let the long lashes close over her eyes. She wondered if fate had played a role in sparing her, as well as Aladdin, on this day, giving them another chance, a little more precious time before —
Sighing, she opened her eyes and looked down at the sleeping stranger. No, he never should have come. No matter what rash promises and assurances her father had made. It had been a mistake. A tragic one — for them all.
Wrapped in her slender arms, she fell asleep. How long she slept she didn’t know.
*
She sensed his stirrings and awoke.
Aladdin’s eyes were wide; he looked hard at the yellow-haired girl. “Shara,” he whispered.
The girl brushed some hair from her face and leaned closer. Aladdin groggily tried to lift himself up on his elbows.
“You’re safe, Aladdin. The fighting’s over and you’re alive.”
“Where... Where am I?” he asked, glancing around the antiseptic cubicle.
She touched the side of his face. The fever was gone. “At the Academy. Our infirmary. We’ve turned this deck into a makeshift hospital for the wounded.”
“Wounded?” He shut his eyes and let out a long breath of air. His thoughts were too confused to sort out properly, but he had no trou
ble distinguishing the sledgehammer pounding inside his head. It reminded him of the sickness he’d endured after Passage.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
Weak, he managed to wave a hand, and said, “Not so good. Sick. Pains all over.”
“I don’t suppose I have to tell you how fortunate you are just to be alive. When you first arrived, we had little hope. You were unconscious and barely breathing.”
“How did I get here?”
“Thank the passing rescue dolphin. It brought you to safe hands. Your friends. Crispin and Christóbal. The giant passed his air hose over to you and forced you to breath.”
He massaged the side of his head, lost in memories, unable to separate the real from the fanciful. “I can’t recall any of that,” he said. “All I remember is the explosion — ”
Shara nodded. “One of our submersibles took a direct hit. It crashed on the plateau bed and created an enormous shock wave. We even felt it here.”
“The fight,” he muttered, trying to think more clearly. “There was this — thing that attacked me. Came at me faster than a shark. We grappled. I lunged, stabbed it with my humming knife. I could feel the heat, tried to shake myself loose. But it clung to me like a sponge. All over me, dragging me down. My hose was cut — ”
“Crispin explained what happened. But you shouldn’t be talking. The physicians say you need rest. Sleep.”
“Where is Crispin? And Christóbal?”
“They’ve taken a transport back to the city. Don’t worry. They’re both well and safe, I promise. You’ll have to stay here with us for a while, though. Until you’re fit enough to return.”
Aladdin’s lip turned down in consternation. He must be a fine sight. Bedridden. Helpless. He — the great adventurer, the soldier-of-fortune, who had come to this place to save a whole people from annihilation — being wet-nursed by the pilot of a turtle, Shaman’s daughter.
“I must seem like a fool,” he growled.
“You can’t be blamed. You weren’t ready for it, yet, that’s all. If there’s anyone to blame it’s Crispin. He should never have allowed you to leave the city during the emergency. And you can be sure that Rufio himself will take his adjutant to task for it.”
“It wasn’t the boy’s fault. I made him do it. Forced him to take me to the battle. Especially when I learned it was the Academy under siege.”
She looked at him oddly for a moment, and Aladdin felt embarrassed. She suddenly realised that she was part of his motivation for coming.
“Nevertheless, Crispin should have known better. He countermanded a basic rule, that no one ill-prepared for our warfare can at any time leave a safe area. He broke our code.”
Aladdin frowned, looking sharply at the grey-eyed woman. “I seem to recall your bending a few rules as well.”
“Not during an emergency situation. In any case, I don’t have to answer to the military for my actions. He does.”
“What will Rufio do?”
She shrugged, focusing her attention on the soft glare of the glowlight beside the bed. “Discipline him in some way. Maybe relieve him of his duties for a while. Who knows?”
He felt awful for getting the good-natured youth into so much difficulty, and only hoped that when he was well he could speak quietly with the stringent Legion Commander and persuade him to make matters right. From the way he was feeling now, however, that meeting seemed far-off indeed. He listened only half-heartedly as Shara went on to recount the final stages of the battle, and how the forces of Hellix were Finally driven off. Despondent, he was about to try to go back to sleep when suddenly he remembered the prism, the crystal in which he’d entrusted his word. He jerked himself up, perspiring profusely, and began to look around furtively.
Shara leaned forward with some worry, looking at him expressively. “What’s the matter?”
Aladdin didn’t reply. It was lost! It must be lost! Fretfully he tried to reconstruct his last hours of consciousness, when he’d seen the languishing princess in her gilded prison.
He bit his lip. “I must find it!” Then he tried to get off the bed, but dizzily fell back in a sweat.
The pilot of the turtle seemed more concerned than ever. “What is it, Aladdin? Shall I fetch the physician?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head, swearing under his breath like a sailor. “Where’s Christóbal?” he demanded. “Can you send for him immediately?”
“Impossible, Aladdin. I told you. He’s gone back to the city.”
He sighed in resignation. The big Spaniard was his only hope. If Christóbal also was unaware of the whereabouts of the crystal, then surely it was gone. Dropped to the bottom of the sea, never to be found. It was all his fault. All his fault.
“Listen to me, Shara,” he said, his eyes imploring. “I — I’ve lost something of great value to me. Enormous value. Please, help me get out of here. Now. I must find it. Locate it before it’s too late.”
The girl stood and peered down at him quizzically. At first she was sure that her surface companion was still suffering from the bends of the deep and hallucinating. But then she smiled. Aladdin looked on helplessly as she turned, knelt down, and poked her hand beneath his fluffed pillows.
“Is this what you were after?” she asked, displaying the cubed object in her open hands.
“The crystal!” Aladdin reached out weakly and took the prism from her. An enormous weight had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders. He stared inside the cut glass and saw the princess sleeping soundly, undisturbed throughout the battle. Thank Allah! he mumbled.
“You were clutching onto this for dear life when we found you,” she explained. “When a tending physician tried to take it away, you nearly became delirious. It took three strong men, including your giant friend, to calm you. Finally you were subdued.” She sighed with wonder at the memory. “I never saw a man so near death come back to life so fast. It must be very important.”
“It is.” Aladdin fondled the crystal for another moment, then placed it close beside him. “It is the reason for my journey to Cinnabar,” he admitted. “The only cause for which I agreed to come.”
Shara’s thin lips moved soundlessly as she said, “Fatima.”
Aladdin winced. “How — how did you know?”
“My father,” said Shara. She continued to stand and look down at the weakened stranger. Now a veneer of wetness showed in her deep grey eyes. “He told me what happened. How he was forced to coerce you.”
“Then you know everything?”
She nodded dispiritedly. “The truth, yes. There are few things Shaman would keep from me.”
Aladdin said nothing. Why was it, he wondered, that each time he came into contact with the lovely Cinnabar girl he never could bring himself to think of her as the flesh and blood of his avowed enemy — the man he had sworn to destroy?
“Shaman told me days ago about your bargain,” she went on. “The deal you struck. The one-year agreement, after which both you and the princess would be freed.”
He watched her as she spoke, sure that the wetness in her eyes was about to develop into tears. “I’m sorry for all of this, Aladdin. Truly I am. Shaman is a good man at heart. He loves our nation, loves it far more than his own life. And that love has forced him to do things he would never do otherwise.”
“I have vowed to kill him when the year is done,1’ Aladdin said openly. But even that didn’t shock the girl.
“I know. Unless he kills you first.” A tear did fall and she wiped it away. “My father is a proud man. Too proud at times. I tried to talk him out of this foolish journey to the surface. He wouldn’t listen. Told me it was the only way. The only possible way to save us from disaster.”
“You didn’t agree?”
Her shallow laugh was bitter. “Save us, Aladdin?” she said. “I mean no insult, but an army of Aladdin’s could not keep us from our destiny. No, my surface adventurer. I didn’t agree then, nor do I now. Believe me, if I could, I would take my turtle this v
ery darktime and return you and your friend to the surface. At whatever risk or penalty to myself.”
“Why?” he said simply.
“Because there is no need for you to die.”
“Are you that certain that I will?”
Her shoulders sagged as she looked away from him. Her profile more than ever reminded him of her namesake, the captivating statue in the Pavilion.
“You don’t understand us,” she said at last, not looking his way as she spoke. “I doubt if you ever shall.”
“I’ve been a fast learner. Crispin, old Flavius, and Damian have been good teachers.”
Another bitter laugh came from her lips. In the shadow cast by the glowing globe, she was the picture of loveliness. A child, yet a woman. A woman unlike any he had known before.
“Oh, Aladdin. You know nothing. Nothing. The military, the Council, they don’t even see it themselves. They’re like my father in that respect. Blind and obdurate. Refusing to see truth even when it burns before their eyes.”
“I don’t think I understand you,” he said.
She stared at him sharply, eyes cold now, and flashing with wetness. But there were no more tears. “What you’ve learned has been their viewpoint, their perspective alone. Sightless men teaching another to see in their ways.”
“And you? You see it differently?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, anymore. It’s been too long. Too much has happened. Hatred is all that’s left. That’s all that’s left for any of us.”
He struggled to sit up, pleased to find he was able to do it with a minimum of effort. “Then teach me, Shara.” His gaze met hers, wide and honest. “Teach me your way. Show me what I’ve not understood before.”
The Thief of Kalimar; Captain Sinbad; Cinnabar Page 95
