by J F Mehentee
I heard a sneeze and left Biyu to examine the doorframe. I squatted beside Cubchick, the light from under the door turning his fur white and his watery eyes milky.
The little fella, as Mr Lee liked to call him, looked as if he’d inhaled some of the dust. Unable to raise his head, he turned one eye in my direction. His brow creased. I ran my open hand over him. Cold air brushed my palm.
I remembered Toojan’s warning, but Cubchick was fading. The qi tablet I’d given him before we’d landed wasn’t helping. I unbuckled my shoulder bag. Cubchick let out a pathetic meow. I pulled out the sceptre.
‘Sanjay,’ Biyu hissed. ‘What are you doing?’
I winced under her angry gaze.
‘We’ve reached Arlanga,’ I said. ‘He’s got worse. If we don’t try something now, he won’t live past the next hour.’
Back in the vault’s laboratory, Cubchick had licked the replica sceptre.
I held the sceptre close to his muzzle. It was like holding a magnet close to a piece of iron—I could feel the attraction, the pull as the sceptre vibrated in my hand. Cubchick’s jaw fell open. His tongue, bluer than pink, flicked out and touched the sceptre’s bulb-shaped end. The effort must have exhausted him, because he closed his eyes.
I ran my palm over him again. A hint of warmth had replaced the sharp coldness I’d experienced earlier. Still weak, the sceptre’s magic had helped to stabilise Cubchick. I told the scowling Biyu so. She nodded and then waved me over.
‘These wards are based on the common ward language,’ she said.
I shook my head. I wasn’t sure what she was getting at.
‘That’s good isn’t it? You can read them—can’t you?’
Her third eyelids swept across her eyes.
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘But that’s kind of the problem.’ She traced the outline of the doors with the torch. ‘Magic’s preserving the wood. I’m guessing from their appearance and the age of the magic I can smell, they’re three to four hundred years old.’
She stared at me as if she were a teacher waiting for me, the student, to solve the problem she’d set.
A worm of worry wriggled around in my stomach.
‘The wards used to seal the doors are older,’ I said, and waited for Biyu to confirm I’d followed the correct trail of thought. She nodded. ‘According to the age of the doors, the wards should be contemporary and specific to the ones used on this island.’
‘That’s right,’ Biyu said. ‘It’s as if whoever made the wards wanted to make sure they’d be interpretable.’
I’d only begun studying wards five years ago, when we first started our relic hunting expeditions. I still had a lot to learn, but the wards Biyu shone the torch over could have belonged in a first year relicology textbook.
‘Whoever set them wants anyone with a basic understanding of wards—anyone who isn’t Anganeran or Arlangan—to be able to unlock the doors.’ I paused and gazed at Biyu. ‘Think it’s a trap?’
Biyu shrugged.
‘Whoever opened these doors had arms three times a human’s span. Or, there’d have to be two people to activate each ward at the same time.’ She flashed the torch at a ward in the upper left corner of the doorframe and then at another in the upper right corner. ‘They have to be touched simultaneously.’
I was about to point out to Biyu that if she changed size, she could do that on her own. But then images of three puzzle boxes filled my mind: the wooden box my father had made for my mother, the giant stone box in Kazera and the golden box containing Anjaneya’s daughter staff.
‘It’s like these doors are supposed to be opened by you and me,’ I said. Biyu shot me a quizzical look. ‘I’ll explain later. I don’t think all this is a trap. Just as we were meant to collect the sceptre, we’re meant to be here, and we’re meant to open these doors together.’ I raised my hand. It covered but didn’t touch the right ward. ‘We should try.’
Biyu stood on tiptoes and hovered her hand over a ward.
‘On three,’ she said.
I screwed my eyes shut on her count of two and slapped my palm against the ward on three.
My skin tingled. The hinges screeched and probably alerted anyone outside of our arrival. The doors swung outward.
Rain clouds filled the sky. Their greyness made it difficult to tell colour of a distant airship and whether it was Leyakian or Zadrinesian. Biyu handed me the torch and gathered up the sleeping Cubchick. I took a tentative step outside and found we were on top of a hill. Behind me loomed a whitewashed bell-shaped monument mounted upon a circular wall—a shrine. Just in front of me stood two ornamental pavilions. Hardwood shingles covered roofs that rested on pillars of teak turned grey by the elements.
The pavilions and the surrounding compound seemed deserted. I took several bold strides towards a split gate and stopped when I reached more stairs. Down below was another compound with a scattering of similar pavilions. Beyond the lower compound, I spied a circular body of water. Its surface reflected the gathering rain clouds. An equally circular grassy island occupied the centre of the manmade lake. And in the exact middle of the island rose a whitewashed pagoda-shaped tower.
‘I didn’t expect a hellmouth to look like that,’ Biyu said. She stood beside me carrying Cubchick. She’d removed both of their cloaks. ‘And down there,’ she added, ‘we have a welcome committee.’
A group of men had gathered at the foot of the stairs. A monk had given Anjaneya the sceptre. Could this place be a monastery, and could those men below be monks? They wore sarongs and flattened turbans with an ear of fabric poking above the front. They were all armed with swords and knives. No one carried a gun. Farther back from them, I saw more men running into the compound.
‘If those are their only weapons,’ I said, keeping my voice low, ‘and if the Leyakians make it across the bridge, they don’t stand a chance.’
Biyu began to descend the steps.
‘Then we better get down there and show them the sceptre.’
Halfway down the fifty steps between us and the monks, I noticed how most of the men focussed their attention on Biyu. One of them pointed and I thought I heard him say, Ragna. The men drew their swords, causing Biyu to halt.
The demoness, this morning, I explained, she said her name was Ragni. If her father’s name was Ragna, then they think you’re a demon. Best stay up here for now.
I continued down the stairs. Another monk pointed, again in Biyu’s direction. He called out, ‘Barag.’
Some monks shook their heads.
While I could understand why a monk might mistake Biyu for a demon, I had no idea if Barag was a word or a name.
From among those who’d entered the compound, a man dressed in a sarong of deep orange and red pushed through the gathering and mounted the first two steps.
‘I am the abbot of this monastery,’ he said in Zadrinesian. ‘Go back! The lake is warded, and the door will not open.’
I pulled the sceptre from out of my shoulder bag and raised it above my head. With my other hand, I gestured at Biyu.
‘She is not Ragna. A demon going by the name of Ragni is coming. We’ve brought the sceptre. We’re here to stop her opening the hellmouth.’
The abbot’s brow furrowed, and he raised an eyebrow. Rather than being grateful for our presence or bothered by the sight of the sceptre, he squinted at me and wrinkled his nose. He swished his hand at me.
‘Take him,’ he said.
From behind me came a loud roar. I glanced behind and saw Biyu launch herself into the air, Cubchick cupped in one foot.
‘Keep your distance,’ I called out to her. ‘And give me a minute. He doesn’t recognise the sceptre.’
9
The abbot and the monks behind him watched as Biyu soared over and beyond us. She landed halfway between them and the compound’s exit and close to one of its side walls. After she’d carefully deposited Cubchick on the dirt, she shrank. The air surrounding her darkened and shimmered.
‘We’re he
re to help,’ I said. I descended the last few steps and stopped before the group, the sceptre raised. The abbot turned back. Shorter than the other monks, he stared at the sceptre with the same confused expression he’d had when I’d first held it up. ‘This belonged to Ragna,’ I explained. ‘Destroy it and his daughter, Ragni, can’t open the hellmouth.’
The abbot’s eyes met mine, and he tilted his head as if to express his condolences. Before he spoke, I saw how the sceptre was of no consequence to him. I thought I’d imagined the chill of the sceptre against my palm as a sign of my disappointment. But now that I no longer stood on the shrine’s steps, I felt power pulsing through the ground, a cold slithering energy that made me shiver. Condensation covered the sceptre. My proximity to the hellmouth repelled the power the sceptre contained.
‘You don’t need that piece of metal to unlock the Door to Hell,’ the abbot said. ‘It will open for any demon royalty who recites the correct incantation.’
The sceptre’s iciness had crept up my wrist and made my forearm ache. Unable to bear its touch, I dropped it into my shoulder bag. I ignored the hands that grabbed my upper arms. Another hand shoved me into a march away from the shrine and towards the compound’s exit.
The demoness had tricked us. None of this, from the moment a poisoned Rahmat had entered the practice until now, was about the sceptre. Ragni had wanted the staff, or rather she’d wanted a way to cross from Anganera to Arlanga, a way that avoided wards. She’d shown the Leyakians how to neutralise the wards on Anganera. As for the wards surrounding this compound and the hellmouth, I doubted they’d prove much of an obstacle if she could channel the power coursing beneath my feet.
Sanjay. It was Biyu. I, the abbot and the other monks headed in her direction. What’s happening?
I told her about how the demoness had duped us. She listened, though I sensed something distracted her.
Biyu. You’re not listening, really listening.
She held Cubchick, her back to me.
I heard you. But there’s something on these walls you should see.
My being captured and monks heading her way didn’t bother Biyu. She didn’t move, and she wouldn’t until she’d shared whatever it was she’d seen.
All right, tell me, quickly.
She described four panels that ran along the inside of the compound’s wall. On the first panel, a demon stood before the hellmouth, a sceptre in his hand. On the second, the hellmouth began to open, an army of demons just visible beyond the opening doorway. An azu appeared behind the demon. The third panel depicted a battle between the demon and the anzu. The demon tried to crush the anzu’s head with his sceptre. On the final panel, the anzu loomed over the fallen demon, the sceptre lying at the demon’s side and the hellmouth closed again.
What do you make of that? Biyu said.
Confusion caused my temples to ache. We had the demoness and her slyness to thank for being here. Until Biyu had described those panels, I’d forgotten about the puzzle box and Toojan’s insistence that we return the sceptre to Arlanga. From Biyu’s description, I’d got the impression the panels depicted a battle between the demon king, Ragna, and an anzu. Ragna had used his sceptre, possibly the one in my shoulder bag, as a weapon. And a monk had recognised our anzu and called it Barag.
I think we’re meant to be here, Biyu said.
She faced the approaching monks, her scales a defiant dark brown. Her nakedness in front of so many men didn’t embarrass her. The anzu she cradled opened its eyes.
The abbot halted. If not for the monks holding me, I’d have bumped into him. The abbot pointed.
‘Barag,’ he said, sounding incredulous. ‘But that one is an infant, and we did not summon it,’ he added with a tremor in his voice. He spun round and gazed at the shrine we’d emerged from. His eyes fell on me. ‘The demon, it’s coming. Isn’t it?’
‘We have to hold that door,’ I said in answer. ‘A royal demoness is coming, and she’s bringing Leyakian soldiers with her. They have guns. Your swords will be useless against them.’
The abbot shook his head vehemently.
‘The monastery is warded.’ He pointed at the lake. ‘The island is warded.’
I twisted so I could pull back a shirt sleeve.
‘I am a healer. My qi, my energy, powers these tattoos.’ I let them burn white. My muscles tensed as I allowed the power flowing under my feet to enter my body. The tattoos turned the colour of clotted blood. My muscles tightened further until they were steel-like: invulnerable and capable of crushing any threat with the brush of a hand. That power sought to possess me, wrestle me from myself until my thoughts weren’t mine. I pushed down the power and waited for my qi to purge me of the foul energy. The effort left me dizzy. Thankfully, the monks holding me prevented me from falling. ‘The demoness will use the power from the hellmouth,’ I said. ‘The same power that changed my tattoos will neutralise your wards.’
The abbot’s face blanched.
‘Last time, we called an adult Barag,’ the abbot said. ‘Why did you bring an infant to fight a demon?’
10
Before I could tell the abbot we hadn’t brought Cubchick to fight a demon, an explosion shook the ground. My captors let go of me, and we all turned to face a plume of black smoke rising from the hill. An irregular sooty hole replaced the shrine’s double wooden doors. Figures in off-white armour, half their faces hidden by the visors of their conical helmets, streamed out of the ruined doorway. Most of them carried lightening rifles.
Without prompting from the abbot, two-thirds of the monks unsheathed their swords and dashed back to the shrine.
‘Leyakians,’ I said to the abbot. Behind him, Biyu had grown and taken to the air, her scales red. ‘You need to protect the hellmouth and call Barag.’ I pointed at where Biyu had been. ‘That anzu isn’t Barag.’
The abbot waved the rest of his monks towards the island and its pagoda.
I heard shots. Leyakians poured out in such numbers, they carpeted the stairs in off-white. Below, the monks who’d arrived at the shrine started to fall as the descending soldiers fired at them. I ducked for cover. Useless without a weapon, I wanted to scream at the slaughter.
Biyu hung above the shrine. Thirty feet long, she cast a shadow over the steps. She pulled back her head and dragonfire poured from her mouth, splattering the topmost steps. I cheered. In the same instant Biyu roared. Leyakians, their armour on fire, toppled down the stairs and knocked over those who hadn’t succumbed to the flames.
I glanced up at Biyu. All four of her feet were empty.
‘Cubchick’ I yelled.
I spun round. There was no sign of the anzu.
Biyu, I called, where’s Cubchick.
I faced the shrine again.
Don’t worry. I hid him inside a pavilion.
Before I could ask which one, I cried out.
A Leyakian with a rocket launcher stepped out of the shrine’s entrance and pointed it at Biyu.
Biyu must have seen him. She opened her mouth. The Leyakian fired. A ball of yellow lightening flew up and struck Biyu as she exhaled. Orange and red Dragonfire struck the shrine’s entrance a second time. Biyu’s sinuous body straightened and stiffened, a black smudge with a fiery edge between her forelimbs. Biyu twisted once, plunged backwards and away from the shrine. She crashed onto a pavilion, her size reducing it to matchwood.
Sickened, I shouted her name as qi burned my tattoos white. Desperate to reach my wife, I sprinted to the ruined pavilion. My left arm swelled and became twice as large as my right, its crook a shield for my face and the top of my head. I stiffen my skin as I plunged into the rain of bullets the bastards fired at her fallen, vulnerable body.
Bullets pummelled me, each one a wallop that pushed me back an inch and slowed my steps. I screamed in frustration and to let Biyu know I was coming, to hold on. My shirt shredded. Some ten feet from the pavilion, I hurled myself into the air, splayed my arms out in front of me as if I were about to start a press-up and land
ed over a humanoid Biyu.
Shielding her drained my qi. A bullet penetrated the thinning skin around my right calf, its impact driving my knee into the ground. I gritted my teeth, wrapped my arms around Biyu and rolled us clear of the smashed shingles. My left shoulder hit a wall. It stopped us from rolling any further. Pinpricks of light filled my vision as I stood, and more bullets slapped against me. The brick wall was only two-feet tall. I scooped up Biyu, threw her over it and followed her.
Bullets struck the wall as I pressed my ear to Biyu’s chest and listened for a heartbeat above the gunfire. I shoved aside the memory of losing her two days ago. Now wasn’t the time for such thinking. I detected a regular but weak heartbeat and blinked back tears. Careful not to raise my head too high and risk being hit by a bullet, I examined the burn under Biyu’s left armpit.
Charred flesh and scales formed a crust around a transparent membrane. Beneath it, muscle fibres snaked towards each other and joined. Blood vessels did the same—some turning red as blood flowed into them. The peripheries of the damaged tissue, thinned, curled and blew into the air. Biyu’s body healed itself, but it was taking too long and she’d likely run out of energy before she made a complete recovery. If she could just lie here and rest, she’d pull through. I dug into my shoulder bag and pulled out the pouch containing the qi tablets. I shook out two of them, swallowed one and put the other on Biyu’s tongue.
Biyu, I said, swallow the tablet. It’ll help you get better. Biyu didn’t swallow or move. Bee, swallow the tablet. Make yourself smaller. You’ll get better faster, and I can carry you.
She’d been badly injured, and her mind had shut down. A bead of sweat rolled down my nose, and I shivered. If I wasn’t careful, I’d go into shock and I’d be of no help to either of us.
A bullet pinged off the top of the wall. I took a peep and saw how the Leyakians had made it to the base of the stairs. Some cleared away the heap of fallen monks. Over by the compound’s entrance, I saw more monks arrive. These reinforcements carried bows and arrows.
