by Allan Cole
Protarus, the bloodier path does take
Crush spirit and flesh, an empire to make.
Victor triumphant, but victim of war
Honor held captive for cruelty's sake.
Spell-magic and wisdom the potter gain,
While dancers of death whirl ‘neath burning rain.
Swift thief, young girl, bears a talisman strong
A gift to fight fire with love's brighter flame.
Upon the ages-blackened turtle's dome
The map of journey's danger, fiery home
Of Hadin's mountain; hell of earthly end?
Can valor save what Asper saw to come?
Within, the Favorites sleep, then wake to see
Their master, strong Safar, whose prophecy
Demands they heed Iraj's deadly call
The wizard's vision calls relentlessly.
Which high-born son's path must evil beware,
Child of the mountain or war chieftain's heir?
Both stride with power, yet wisdom's undone;
The gyre off-balance, the gods unaware.
Above! Converge the signs of Khysmet's paths:
Demon moon portends empires’ bloody clash,
Sky-borne circus, star-crossed, young wizard bears,
While Hadin's bellows raise the fiery ash.
Iraj, icon of Alissarian
To restore the kingdoms of Two to One
Ensorcels his soul to confound Safar
Can brothers’ blood oath be ever undone?
Demons, cold allies, he marches before
By compact with hell, now bound evermore.
The potter's dreams shaped like clay on the wheel
Lie shattered in pieces by the Unholy Four.
Desert sands to mystic Caluz soon lead,
Place of Hantilia's astonishing deed.
Great turtle, apostate, artifice bent,
The wheel of Hadin's malevolence, Heed!
The wolf's stride lengthens, the chase faster make,
Speed sorcery's evil and sword's bright hate
Sharp as the arrow in Nerisa's breast
And will doom be sealed when the gods awake?
Two paths, divergent, ‘cross sinister seas
Might alchemy meld to one Destiny.
A race to gain mighty Asper's abode
Syrapis’ secrets behind fierce Charize.
Three for the quest to battle Esmir's woe
Banner'd with courage against demon foe
Wizard, warrioress, and magical child
Will only the three be allies enow?
But wait! Now Four! Joins a mysterious queen
Once hostage, once ally, spirit-realm seen;
Her journey now meet, now merge with the One
All to quench Hadin and birth Asper's dream!
Leave mem'ry of past, and future esteem
Soul forfeit if need, the champions deem
To leap to battle, by honor full-armed,
By courage and love, the world to redeem.
And now, tent brightens, the spells lightly fall;
The next act awaits the ringmaster's call.
Biner steps forth, gleaming eye and sly grin:
"Damn everything else, the circus is all!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
TRUMPET OF DOOM
Jooli paused at the end of the song, weary from reliving the memories of her youth.
Safar and the others applauded her, which did much to lessen her weariness.
"If you let Biner hear your voice,” Safar said, making Jooli blush, “he'll recruit you for the circus and make you a star performer."
When they were settled again, Jooli said, “As I mentioned, the time I spent in that magical kingdom was the happiest year of my life."
She took a long drink of wine to restore her energies. “Actually,” she said, correcting herself, “it was only a few minutes in real time. If anything in this world can be called real, that is. But in the spirit world of the mural it was a year. And in that year I was not only healed, but armored against my grandmother's designs."
She shook her head. “I wouldn't have survived if the Spirit Rider hadn't rescued me."
Safar stared at the mural, his mind a meteor shower of thoughts, ideas, questions. Although the mural was only a thin wash of paint on stone, the people portrayed seemed full-bodied and alive. Especially the Spirit Rider, with her haunting beauty and beckoning hand. Posed on the fabulous black mare as if she were about to fly away.
He forced calm on his spirit and turned to Jooli. She was staring at him with an odd look of expectation in her eyes.
"Tell me her name, please,” he said.
Jooli nodded, as if she knew he'd ask this. “Princess Alsahna,” she said. “And her father's name was King Zaman. The last king to rule all Syrapis. And the grandson of the great Alisarrian."
Safar felt like he'd been hit by a chariot-wheel spanner. “By the gods,” he said, “can this be true?"
Jooli started to protest, but he stopped her with a raised hand. “I don't doubt your word, Jooli. Of course it's true. It's only that this revelation makes things so clear, so simple that it..."
He let the rest trail off. Excitement building. Then: “Alisarrian was Asper's student, correct?"
"Correct,” Jooli said, surprised at Safar's intuition. “His teachings were the foundation of Alisarrian's greatness. Not only as a general—a conqueror—but as a sorcerer.
"But later, Alisarrian spurned Asper's ideas. King Zaman said this was the reason for the break-up of Alisarrian's kingdom after his death."
Safar boiled with excitement. He'd learned as a schoolboy that Alisarrian's death had led to the bloody human-versus-demon wars in Esmir. And that Lord Asper, the old demon master wizard, had been part of the committee of wizards who ended those wars by creating the Forbidden Desert that divided the two species for centuries. Ended only in Safar's time when the demon king, Manacia, broke the spell and invaded the human lands. Which led, in turn, to the rise and fall of Iraj Protarus. Who worshipped and emulated Alisarrian as if he were a god.
But then Safar came full circle and his excitement ended with a great emotional crash, plunging him into depression.
What did any of this matter? It only confirmed what the histories already hinted at. Of interest to scholars, to be sure. Except in a short time there would be no scholars, much less history for them to ponder.
Jooli said, “It was while I was with Princess Alsahna that I learned about Hadin. About the end of the world. And about you, Safar Timura."
"I noticed she used my name—and many other names familiar to us all in the song she taught you,” Safar said.
Jooli nodded. “But it was you she mainly spoke of. The princess said you were the only one who could change the course of history. That someday you would come to Syrapis to learn Lord Asper's secret. And that I was to help you find it."
Palimak snorted. “Which secret?” he said sarcastically. “My father's had me studying Asper's secrets since I was a toddler. Why, the first words I learned to read were from the Book of Asper. He might have been a mighty wizard and all. But he makes everything so mysterious that there's literally thousands of secrets. And it's not even that big a book!"
Safar smiled, remembering Palimak's long-ago complaint that the world of magic was unnecessarily vague and complicated.
"If I ever write a Book of Palimak,” the young man said, echoing Safar's thoughts, “every word will be as plain as the nose on your face. And it won't be written in poetry, that's for certain. Why, I'll bet Asper spent more time and energy looking for a rhyme than he did putting down his thoughts."
"You could very well be right, son,” Safar said fondly. “I've often thought the same thing, especially when studying Asper. Whose words are murky, to say the least. The only thing is, poetry does reduce a complicated thought into something more manageable. And as for magic, verse helps focus your mind on the spell."
"If you two don't stop it, I'm goi
ng to scream!” Leiria broke in, disgusted. “Debating the merits of verse in magic isn't going to get us anywhere. Except dead from boredom!"
She pointed at Jooli. “The woman just told you something that to my poor, dull, soldierly mind is pretty damned important. So ask her, please! What secret was she supposed to help you find?"
Jooli rose. “It's easier to show you than tell you,” she said.
She went to the huge coffin of Asper, beckoning the others to join her. She positioned them around the coffin: Safar at the carved head, Palimak at the feet, herself and Leiria on either side.
Jooli grinned at Palimak. “I'm afraid you're going to have to put up with a little more murky poetry,” she teased.
Palimak only nodded. He could feel the magic radiating from the coffin. But it was a very strange sort of magic—whether for good or ill, he couldn't say.
Safar had a different reaction to the magic. To him it seemed amazingly familiar—as if he'd come upon his own footprints in the snow.
He studied the carved features of Asper. They seemed almost lifelike—the long demon fangs, pointed ears, heavy horn over a much-wrinkled brow. Deep-set eyes made of rare red gems that glittered in the torchlight. He seemed so incredibly wise and sad—contemplating a grim future.
Then Jooli raised her hands to cast the spell and Safar bent closer, eager to see what happened next.
Jooli chanted:
"The Gods dream awhile of me and thee:
Demon and Man alike in our Hate.
Come sound the trumpet for all to see:
Darkness and Light, twin rulers of Fate!"
Safar heard a long, deep sigh, like that of an old ghost set free of his bonds. The torchlight dimmed, then flared anew—much brighter than before. Asper's gemstone eyes became two ruby-red spears of light.
Jooli leaned forward, passing her hand through the beams, chanting:
"Yes, come sound the trumpet
Before the Castle of Fate.
And there you'll find Asper
At Hadin's last gate!"
Safar heard a sound like the tumblers of a enormous lock turning over. Then a click! And the red beams vanished and the carved jaws gaped wide. For a brief moment Safar thought the demon had come alive and was about to speak. Then he saw that the open mouth offered a passageway.
He started to reach, then hesitated—looking up at Jooli.
She nodded, encouraging him. “Go ahead. Reach inside."
Safar slipped his hand into the opening, felt something there, and drew it out. Puzzled, he held the object up for all to see.
It was some sort of seashell. About eighteen inches long, spiraling from its finger-wide tip to its bell-shaped opening. Its colors were various shades of orange and white, all very glossy as if the shell had been fired in a pottery kiln. He thumped it experimentally and found that it was hollow.
Then he realized the shell was very much like the conch shell horns the musicians played in Hadin. Except long and narrow like a...
"A kind of trumpet?” he asked Jooli. “Like the one in the spell verse?"
"The very same,” Jooli replied.
Safar started to raise it to his lips, then hesitated. “Shall I try it?” he asked.
"I don't see why not,” Jooli said. Then she laughed. “I've been waiting for this moment since I was a girl at Princess Alsahna's knee!"
In his hiding place, Iraj burned with curiosity. He was anxious to get on with whatever was going to happen next.
Palimak caught a whiff of strangeness. He sniffed the atmosphere with his magical senses, but couldn't trace the source. It must be the coffin, he thought. And turned his attention back to his father, who was lifting the shell trumpet to his lips.
Safar blew and the most wondrous music issued forth. It was as if a whole orchestra of musicians were playing—pipes and horns and silver-stringed lyres. With a single wild wailing trumpet swooping above and through and below all the notes like a glad hawk set free on the winds after a long period of captivity.
On the wall the mural shimmered. Then not only the painting but the entire wall dissolved. Except instead of looking out on a Syrapian night, they were gazing across bright rolling seas.
A tall ship danced over the waves, graceful sails billowing in a balmy breeze. Playful dolphins and flying fishes leaped high in its wake, making the whole a joyous scene. The ship flew a flag bearing the symbol of Asper: a twin-headed serpent, borne on jagged-edged wings. And soaring above it all was the unmistakable silhouette of the circus airship, suspended beneath its two painted balloons.
Safar lowered the shell trumpet, but the music kept playing—growing more haunting, more compelling. Each note beckoning them to follow.
Palimak saw familiar figures moving about the tall ship's bridge.
"Look, father!” he said in awestruck tones. “Don't you recognize them?"
"It's us!” Safar said.
Jooli pointed at a slender figure in armor. “I'm there, too,” she said, pleased and amazed at the same time.
"I wonder where we're going?” Leiria marveled.
Safar indicated the red moon hanging low on the horizon. “There's only one course that puts the Demon Moon so low,” he said. “We're bound for Hadin."
Leiria was startled at how grim he sounded. She looked at him. His face was pale, blue eyes hollowed and bruised.
Then the scene vanished to be replaced by the hard, blank surface of the fortress wall. And the mural of the Spirit Rider was gone.
Safar turned to them, slowly straightening his shoulders as if steadying a weighty burden. “Oh, well,” he said, smiling brightly. “It's not as if I didn't know that I had to go back."
Palimak caught the worry hiding beneath the false surface of cheer. “It'll be different this time, father,” he said. “You were in some kind of spellworld before. It's wasn't the real Hadin."
"I know,” Safar said. But he was shaking his head slowly, uneasy.
"Maybe we're looking at this the wrong way,” Leiria offered.
The world and everything in it could go to the Hells, as far as she was concerned. She'd do anything to spare Safar further agonies.
"How do we know that wasn't a false vision? Something concocted by Charize and her monsters?"
"It wasn't,” Safar said. “To begin with, Charize had nothing to do with the mural. That's clearly Asper's work. Just as it was clearly Lord Asper's intent for Princess Alsahna—whom I've always thought of as the ‘Spirit Rider'—to help me discover a way to keep the world from destroying itself.
"As you can plainly see there is no sense denying—or fighting—our fate.” He drew in a long breath. “We must go to Hadin. And as quickly as possible."
Palimak became frightened. Not for himself, but for his father. Suddenly he saw him as a driven, tragic character. Doom was written all over his features.
"Let's not be so hasty, father,” he said. “I think we ought to look into this some more. You know ... Study the auguries ... Re-read the Book of Asper. After all, Hadin is on the other side of the world! Thirteen thousand miles away. We need to look for other answers before we decide to do something so drastic."
"Palimak's right,” Leiria said. “We can't just abandon everything and everybody in Syrapis. Think of your family and friends. You brought them so far. And now you're going to leave them again."
Desperate, she turned to Jooli. “Tell him,” she said. “Tell him there must be another way. Another answer!"
Jooli gave a sad shrug. She quite liked Leiria and Palimak and was loath to disappoint them. But what could she do?
"Princess Alsahna was quite clear,” she replied. “The only one who can decide is Safar Timura."
At that moment the floor heaved under them. The earth shock was so great that they were hurled flat.
It was like riding a giant bucking horse and they found themselves clinging to any surface they could dig their nails into.
Objects crashed to the ground, shattering. Plaster and stone r
ained around their ears.
Outside, people and animals panicked, screaming and bellowing in fear.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the earthquake ended. And all was still and all was silent as they braced for another shock.
Finally, they realized it was over.
Safar was the first to his feet. He looked around, surveying the damage. Furniture smashed, stone walls cracked, the floor split right down the middle.
"There's your answer,” he said. “We go to Hadin!"
In his hiding place, Iraj knew fear. He'd just escaped from that awful place. He fought for calm.
Safar was right. There was no other choice: they had to return to Hadin.
Part Three
Bound for Hadinland
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE CRY OF THE TURTLE
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.
