The Thief of Kalimar; Captain Sinbad; Cinnabar

by Graham Diamond

  Bloodied knife in hand, he glanced around the field of battle. Yes, his forces were clearly routing the enemy and winning the conflict as he had hoped. But as he looked about now, there was no sense of joy or pride in his hard-fought success, only a deepening sense of the insanity of the conflict into which he had been drawn. Cinnabarians and Hellixians were slaughtered; fathers and husbands and lovers would never return. And for what? — for an ancient enmity gone out of control.

  “Sir, the valley is taken. The Outland is ours again.”

  Aladdin wheeled his pony around to face the beaming young adjutant who panted before him. The soldier’s face was blackened with smoke and dirt; blood stained his uniform. “The enemy is retreating,” he added, pointing, as he stood amid the smoke and rubble of human flesh. Squinting, Aladdin peered through watery eyes to see the remaining rabble of the Amphib army fleeing over the barren hills, running helter-skelter with no direction from their slain officers, and heading, he supposed, for the second level of locks, where they might reach the safety of the sea. But the saltwater would never wash clean the stench of what had happened here today, he knew. It would be ingrained in their hearts and memories forever — a new bitterness added, a new reason for hating...

  “Damn you all,” Aladdin muttered in disgust.

  “Sir?” asked the adjutant.

  Aladdin scowled. “Regroup our forces,” he said. “Bring our dying out and get them back to the transports. Our next step is to consolidate, and march toward Cinnabar’s perimeter. Tamerlane’s too tricky a general to let go now, when he’s come so close. We’ll have to be careful.”

  The adjutant saluted, turned his pony around, and raced off to give Aladdin’s orders to the battle commanders. As for Aladdin, he spurred his frightened mount away from the gully and headed for the heights where Christóbal and his archers were waiting. As he rode, he saw the last of the retreating sky hunters. The predators shrieked through the air in disarray, tattered and beaten by Cinnabarian fire power. His pony trampled over scores of slain men and birds, and as he approached the big Spaniard, he likewise saw little to cheer about in Christóbal’s face.

  “We’ve done it old friend,” he said wearily, pleased to see the bear of a man virtually unscathed by the stinging attack from the air.

  Christóbal spat upon the ground. He scanned the dreadful scene in the valley, the long columns of smoke rising into a windless sky, the scattered fires and pungent stink of burning human meat. Glumly, he nodded. Cinnabarian surgeons were dutifully treating the wounded archers, applying balms and salves and bandages to blinded soldiers, victims of sky hunters’ claws. One pitiful youth was crying in pain as he was taken away, his eyes gouged out of their sockets, his face cut and slashed almost beyond recognition.

  “I do not want to fight this war, capitán,” the Spaniard said solemnly. “I want to go home.”

  It was easy to understand his feelings, and to curse both sides of this shameful madness. But, as always, there was no choice.

  ‘These Amphibs won’t take this loss lightly,” said Aladdin. “They’ll find another way to retaliate.”

  “For certain, capitán. From what you’ve told me of this Tamerlane, we can expect the unexpected...” The very ground beneath Christóbal’s feet began to quiver. The Spaniard tottered, as Aladdin’s pony reared and cried out. The Outland sky began to darken and as it did so, the weary veterans in the valley stared up, and then began running.

  “Santa Maria!” cried Christóbal.

  Aladdin’s jaw hung low as he looked up in wonder. In the distance it had begun to — to rain. Water was pouring down over the hills and spreading in every direction. But rain — at least as a surface man knows it — was impossible in the subterranean world beneath the sea. Unless... Unless the rain was water from the sea.

  An avalanche of salty liquid from the flat lands flooded into the road to Cinnabar.

  “By the beard of the Prophet!” called out Aladdin. “Tamerlane’s fish men have punctured the Outland air bubble!”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The brightness of whitetime in the Cinnabarian sky began to dim. Horizons became obscured by dark shadows, as the first of the tremors was felt. Then the sky rumbled with a strange and hitherto unexperienced cannonade of thunder. Air pressure was dropping rapidly, and as the first rain began to hail over the magnificent skyline of the greatest city the world had ever known, the blinkers began to flash and the sirens wailed. Frightened citizens by the thousands rushed into the streets, staring up at the bleak sky, watching fearfully as saltwater splashed onto the streets. The complacent hum of the generators became a sputter, sending panic into the hearts of Cinnabar’s masses. And the sirens continued to whine. Lighted glowlamps flickered, and through the gloom of the day, waves of heavier air, coming from outside the carefully controlled climate zones, began to descend heavily over the city — a great and terrible weight. Only one conclusion could be drawn: the fish men had done the unspeakable. They had managed somehow to break the stringently guarded perimeters of the Inner Circle and damaged the life supply of air. The foremost fear of the populace was being crushed from the sea pressure’s collapsing upon them. But that was not what was happening. Cinnabar’s soldiers and scientists had fought back, and stemmed, at least momentarily, the fate of instant death, and they struggled to repair the damage. But that damage was irreversible. The fish men had done the unthinkable, the impossible.

  Fighting broke out swiftly. Wave after wave of Amphib units pounded the city’s outnumbered defenders and broke through the sacred gates. Hand to hand the battle was fought, amid the blare of sirens and the tumultuous rain. The battle was taken across every avenue and byway, plaza and promenade. Mothers ran with their children, blindly, wildly, seeking some refuge. The ground shook with tremors. And standing alone at the windows of the grand Pavilion, the greatest structure in the Cinnabar Empire, was Shaman, watching in silence.

  His broken figure was exaggerated by his crumpled robes, his ashen features, his eyes which were dull with pain and no longer held the shine of hope. In a remarkable pose of indifference, his face was turned to the sky. Ever the fatalist, knowing and accepting the end, which he had for so long fought against. The sea, the eternal sea, was closing in upon his world, smashing its weight against the fragile bubble above, reclaiming what was its own, washing away thousands of years of victory over and defiance against her. He was not aware of the fighting on the lower levels, or the havoc reigning throughout his once impregnable empire. That Cinnabar’s troops were still valiantly trying to maintain their positions across vast reaches of ocean, that brave lads at this very moment were fending off murderously superior hordes of fish men at vital points of the Inner Circle, he didn’t know. Nor was he aware of the terrible pains that wracked his chest, squeezing the very air out of his lungs and causing him to gasp for life. All he was conscious of was his own quiet fatalism. A lifetime of struggle and toil had been for naught. He and so many of the others of Cinnabar’s noble leaders had failed in their ultimate duty. Governed badly, now they were paying the price. How many thousands of years of science and civilisation and advancement were to be lost in this single holocaust? How badly he and all the rest had served their people! His frail body wracked with shame, Shaman bowed his head. There were tears in his eyes as he thought of his proud ancestors whose names and deeds had lived for so long, of his daughter Shara and the grief that these rash, foolish actions had brought upon her. He was not frightened of death. Rather, he welcomed it. But for the rest of his people, for the children who had still to understand, for them he felt grief as he had never known it before. He shook a frail fist at the raining heavens and cursed this fate.

  Fools one and all — Rufio, Damian, the Privy Council, the smug assemblage of soldiers and politicians who for so long were motivated by ambition and greed. He loathed them all and himself as well. And as much as he despised Tamerlane and everything the fish man stood for, he also admired him. If only, at some point, they might
have met, even as Aladdin had, and somehow sought a way — another way — to put an end to the strife before it came to this.

  There was a clash of weapons outside the Pavilion sky chamber now; guards were bravely fending off the advancing cold-blooded water-breathers who had stormed the compound. The glowlamps flickered on and off, dimming as the power died all over the city. Brightness was extinguished. Shaman clutched his hands and stared at the white knuckles. If only he had had a little more time ... If only he could have brought Aladdin sooner, and used the surface stranger to negotiate, instead of prepare for war... If only...

  He heard the jubilant cries of advancing Amphibs and could picture in his mind the webbed fish men, harpoon guns in hand, breaking into the countless Pavilion chambers. He was hardly aware of the enemy warrior bursting into the sky chamber, and felt nothing as the weapon struck. Shaman sank to his knees, a faint smile upon his lips.

  *

  Aladdin and Christóbal ran madly through the once austere halls. No more did magenta light spill through the lattice windows. The walls of coral no longer glowed with the brittle shades of the sea. The dream world had turned into a nightmare. Marble statues of heroes lay cracked or smashed across the mosaic floor. Pale blue columns were chipped and smeared with the blood of fallen defenders who lay at their bases. Carnage was everywhere. Aladdin panted and paused for breath at the bigger-than-life statue of the woman-nymph, which had so captivated him upon his arrival. Shara’s image had been defiled by the howl of war around her. Her lifted right hand was broken, and the lamp she held no longer shone. As he peered into that ethereal face, he was sure that somehow her features — although unmarred — had changed. He stepped up to the pedestal and stared. In the darkness, it seemed as if tears had formed in her eyes.

  “Capitán, we must hurry.” The strong voice of the Spaniard pulled him from his mesmerised state. Reluctantly, Aladdin nodded. Then he followed the Spaniard away from the hall.

  They could still hear the noise of fighting in the streets. Below, across the great plaza that bisected the city, a terrible fight was raging. Hundreds of Cinnabarian soldiers were valiantly fending off a new attack by fish men. The seawater rain was growing harder now; he could feel the weight of atmospheric pressure as the bubble sky pressed down lower. Tremors in the earth were rapidly increasing, exactly as they had done minutes before the Outland had been flooded and returned to the sea. There wasn’t much time left.

  “This way,” called Christóbal, nudging the panting adventurer to follow him. They ran from chamber to chamber in search of Shaman and his daughter, hoping against hope that their belated arrival was not too late. Two Amphibs leaped from the dark corridor at the next landing. Aladdin plunged his humming knife into one and withdrew the blade, as the warrior spun and began to smoulder. With his overpowering strength, Christóbal dispatched the second attacker, breaking his spine. The fish man crumbled at the Spaniard’s feet while, behind, the imploding first attacker burst into flame. Up the steps and onto the next landing, Aladdin and Christóbal raced, until they attained the level of the sky chambers.

  They stepped into the eerie corridors. Shadows cast grotesque shapes as they made their way in. Christóbal stopped near the corpse of a Cinnabarian. “I hear noises, capitán,” he growled. “There.”

  Aladdin lifted his humming knife. The blade, still hot from the last encounter, vibrated in his grasp.

  The light spilling from a single glowlamp broke the darkness. Aladdin moved to the chamber’s threshold, ready to pounce. When a figure moved out from the darkness inside, he bolted forward, raising the blade. Then he froze, motionless. Before him was Shara.

  “Aladdin!” she cried, flying into his arms as she sobbed. He held her close and glanced around at the devastation. The opulent sky chamber was in shambles. “I never thought I’d see you again,” she wept as she clung to him. “The fish men... Tamerlane’s forces... everywhere, everywhere.”

  The adventurer didn’t need to hear her say it. His own journey back to Cinnabar had been fraught with danger. The entire Outland had been flooded and returned to the sea. He and Christóbal had barely escaped with their lives. The last transport returning to the city had been nearly overwhelmed by Amphib swimmers. They’d barely made it through the city locks before they fell into enemy hands. Every street, every plaza had been the scene of fierce fighting. That he and the Spaniard had successfully reached the Pavilion unscathed was a miracle.

  He held the girl at half-arm’s length and forced her to look at him. Her eyes were pained, red, and overflowing with tears. “Praise Allah I found you alive,” he said. “We haven’t much time. We have to leave Cinnabar immediately.”

  “You shouldn’t have come back for me, Aladdin. I prayed that you would, but you shouldn’t have come. It’s too late for us. For all of us. Tamerlane’s fish men have smashed their way through the Inner Circle. They’ve already punctured the air bubble. It’s only a matter of time before our generators fail completely and we are crushed.”

  “Where’s Rufio? The High Command?”

  Shara bit her lip and looked away. “He’s dead, Aladdin. Took his own life in the War Room...” The shock on Aladdin’s face increased when she added, “and all the rest are dead. The Amphibs have gained control of the Pavilion.”

  There was the noise of more fighting coming from the lower levels. Christóbal glanced at Aladdin sharply. “Take her with us, capitán. We cannot linger here any longer.”

  “Where’s your father?” said Aladdin to the girl. “I must find Shaman before we leave.”

  “There’s nothing he can do, Aladdin. He’s been speared. I found him here as I escaped the assault.” Lying sprawled beside the smashed windows was the crumpled body of the ambassador. Aladdin left the girl in Christóbal’s care and kneeled beside the figure. Rain poured inside the chamber where Shaman lay in a pool of his own blood. Aladdin felt for a pulse. There was one, but so faint it could hardly be felt. Shaman was still breathing, but barely. His glassy eyes stared up at Aladdin, watery and wracked with torment. Shara sobbed again and trembled as Aladdin cradled his head in his lap.

  “For — Forgive me,” wheezed the dying man, feebly. He clutched at Aladdin’s soiled sleeve, his cracked lips moving slowly as he formed the sounds. “Shara was right... They were all right. I should not have forced you to come to Cinnabar — should never — ” He coughed up blood, a dark trickle at the side of his twisted mouth. Aladdin wiped it away.

  “I need your help, Shaman.”

  Shaman shook his head. “Too late... too late. All is lost. Tamerlane has won.” His eyes rolled in their sockets as he fell into delirium.

  “Let him be, capitán,” came the concerned voice of Christóbal. “There is nothing more to be done.”

  Aladdin grabbed Shaman by the shoulders and shook him in anger. “Don’t die!” he raged. “Not now, not yet!” He clutched fiercely at the prism dangling from his neck. “What about your word? What about Fatima?” He tried to force the dying man back into consciousness.

  “Capitán.” The Spaniard’s hand was on his shoulder. “We must go — now.”

  “No!” Aladdin refused to budge. Tears welled from his eyes with his burning anger for the man who had caused him so much grief. “The secret of the prism, Shaman! Tell me the secret! The antidote.” He shook him again.

  Momentarily, Shaman’s eyes opened. He stared up incoherently at the face he no longer recognised. But as his dilated pupils caught the reflection of the prism’s dancing colours, a spark of remembrance came into his fevered brain. “The sea,” he whispered. “The waters of the sea — ”

  “What about the waters of the sea? Speak! Tell me!”

  Shaman was trying desperately to say something when the next spasm overtook him. His frail form convulsed; he gasped, then slumped over as the last air was expelled from his being.

  “Father!” cried Shara. She tried to run to him but Christóbal held her fast. Aladdin was distraught with anguish. Shaman had been trying
to unlock the prism’s secret for him, he was sure. But now it was too late. The old man was dead. And gone with him was the answer to Fatima’s plight. He stood over the motionless form, trembling. He stroked the prism with his Fingertips and, as the din of rain and sirens and Fighting grew louder all around him, he realised the emptiness of his vow. He had failed miserably in everything. But he had been prevented from keeping his word by circumstances far beyond his control; only an utter fool would have thought he could change such destiny. There had never been any hope of saving Fatima, even as there had never been any real hope of saving Cinnabar from its own fate. In that regard, perhaps, he and Shaman had much in common. Idealists to the last; even when the odds were overwhelming. But perhaps it was better this way. Perhaps the sleeping princess was blessed in her fate. At least her death would be a peaceful one. Dreaming in her gilded prison, she would be unaware of the carnage she would face should a return to reality have proved possible.

  “Who’s left to command?” Aladdin wanted to know. Somewhere in the distance a harpooned Cinnabarian screamed above the wail of sirens.

  “Flavius, I think,” muttered the shaken girl. Shara stared down at the corpse of her father. “He’s tried to rally support to regain the seat of government.”

  “And Damian? The Privy Council?”

  “Scattered as the fighting broke out. Probably most are dead.”

  Aladdin glanced around with growing anxiety. Outside, the air pressure was dropping more rapidly; breathing was already becoming difficult, as the bubble sky descended with downpour. “We’ve got to find some way out of here before the floods.” He made Shara face him again.