The Kingdom of Dreams (Chronicles of the Magi Book 2)

by Morris, Dave

Caelestis tugged his sleeve out of the man’s grip. ‘I will just say this much, and then the matter is closed: the captain asked me what I thought of renaming the vessel the World Serpent. I said that the Questing Beast had a more pleasing ring to it. That is all.’

  By now a dozen weather-beaten faces were staring at him. None of them looked remotely convinced by Caelestis’s story.

  At that moment Lazarus, who was up on the poop deck, happened to notice the gathering of men below. He descended to the quarterdeck and came bustling over. ‘What’s going on here?’ he demanded. ‘Get back to your stations, the lot of you.’

  Bildad could not help cringing at the stern tone of command, but with weight of numbers on his side he refused to be cowed. ‘Kenoi says it ain’t whales we’re hunting on this trip...’

  ‘What would Kenoi know? But hang it, men, it’s high time you all were told the glad news. It’s Jormungand the World Serpent I’m aiming to catch. What do you make of that, eh?’

  There was stunned silence at this confirmation of the rumour. Then Bildad raised his voice, saying, ‘Then it’s true! Grab him, lads!’

  Lazarus was astonished to be seized abruptly by two burly harpooners. ‘This is mutiny!’ he cried. ‘Unhand your captain, you bilge rats! Mister Grogram!’

  Bildad cast a glance along the deck to the companionway, where another sailor stood beside a bolted hatch. The man gave him a thumbs up.

  ‘Grogram’s stowed safely below decks for the time being,’ said Bildad. ‘There’s no need for him to get mixed up in this.’

  Blustering wildly, Lazarus was by now so furious that he could hardly speak a coherent sentence. The sailors were in no mood to listen to his protests in any case. ‘He’s madder than a fiend from the Pit,’ said Bildad. ‘Stuff him in the jolly boat and we’ll get shot of him.’

  ‘It’s for the best,’ said Caelestis to Altor as they watched the harpooners thrust Lazarus into the ship’s small rowboat. ‘What if his insane scheme had succeeded? It would have been the doom of us all.’

  ‘Wait a bit!’ cried Bildad, who had taken charge. ‘You two can go for good measure, since you were doubtless privy to the cap’n’s plans.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ snorted Altor. ‘We wanted nothing to do with it.’

  Bildad gave a signal and the sailors spread out to surround them. ‘We’ll have to go quietly,’ muttered Caelestis.

  Altor put his hand on his sword-hilt, but he could see it was useless to protest. Bildad and the others were set against them. There were too many to fight. Caelestis and Altor were taken to join Lazarus in the jolly boat, which was swiftly lowered into the water.

  Bildad and the others leered down from the rail. ‘Begone, you lubbers, and take the madman with you.’

  Altor reached for the oars. Caelestis laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Wait. Can you hear something..?’

  They looked around. The metallic grey expanse of the ocean had fallen flat as a mirror, but now it began to seethe and boil. From far below came a deep resonance, building like the muffled beat of an enormous heart...

  A huge slab of flesh broke the surface, slamming into the Questing Beast. The ship lurched, sending the crew flying across the deck.

  A snake-like coil rose up, slithering out of the depths until it towered over the mainmast in a colossal arch that blotted out the sky. Beneath them in the water they saw an eye—a dark limpid orb bigger than a boat. It blinked once, and then the whole monstrous bulk of the World Serpent’s head rose into view. Its mouth gaped, spewing out a torrent of foul water. Amongst the fangs were lodged the bodies of dead whales—morsels of chewed blubber caught unnoticed in a maw larger than a citadel keep.

  With a roar like the hurricane at the dawn of time, Jormungand the World Serpent breathed the air of the surface world once more.

  Six:

  Dourhaven

  Caelestis and Altor clutched the sides of the boat for dear life. There was nothing they could do. They were beyond even fear. The sight of the giant beast had left them stunned with awe.

  Lazarus crouched in the bows with a look on his face that was midway between triumph and stark terror. The moment that he had dreamed of so long was upon him. Now that it had come, he was left petrified. The sheer size of the creature he’d hunted was beyond the grasp of his imagination.

  Each intake of the World Serpent’s breath howled across the waves, catching the sails of the helpless ship. Inexorably the Questing Beast was sucked closer.

  Scaly coils hung suspended against the heavens for an instant and then crashed down, breaking the ship apart. The jolly boat, caught by the World Serpent’s wake, swirled helplessly and capsized.

  Those huge jaws snapped shut, trapping a dozen shrieking men that to the World Serpent were less than fleas. Among them, Bildad drew his last breath to scream, but had no time before the massive teeth ground him to a pulp.

  Then, as suddenly as it had surfaced, the World Serpent sank beneath the waves, leaving behind a few flailing bodies and splintered driftwood that once had been the proud whaling ship Questing Beast.

  Caelestis’s head bobbed up and he blinked the icy water out of his eyes. The jolly boat’s overturned hull was visible as a turtle-like hump swaying on the swell not far off. As he swam towards it the boat righted itself and a bedraggled figure climbed back aboard. Caelestis hauled himself over the side and came face to face with Captain Lazarus.

  Lazarus wore a look of half-witted zeal. ‘I’m hereby taking command of this vessel, which I name the Dauntless,’ he said.

  ‘Shut up, you lunatic.’ Caelestis turned and scanned the sea. Nearby floated a body, face down. The water beside it was stained red.

  Caelestis jumped back in, swam across, and turned the figure over. It was Altor. A broken spar had gashed his head. Struggling to support his friend’s weight, Caelestis returned to the boat and managed with Lazarus’ help to get him aboard.

  ‘Good thinking,’ said Lazarus. ‘We’ll need every man when the World Serpent resurfaces.’

  This time Caelestis ignored him. Bending over the oars, he began to row. Behind him in the bows, Lazarus fell silent.

  The sun slid unseen across a sky filled with dark clouds. Caelestis had lost any sense of direction. There was no way of telling where the coast lay. He continued to work the oars even though he had no idea where he was going. Fatigue racked his arms and there was a blazing knot of pain between his shoulder blades but he kept going. His only thought was for his friend lying unconscious and bleeding in the bottom of the boat.

  After a time he remembered Lazarus. The madman had been quiet for hours. Caelestis turned to find the bows empty.

  Rather than accept the loss of his ship and his dream, Lazarus had chosen to slip without a word into the secretive depths of the sea.

  Altor was floating.

  He opened his eyes. Eternal space stretched away from him in all directions. There was no depth, no colour, no form in the void. There was no sound.

  How long had he been here? Time meant nothing. Memories roared and swirled away in the recesses of his mind like the surge of a distant sea.

  He remembered the serpent. As he thought of it, an image of scale-armoured coils flared briefly against the nothingness only to break apart and fade.

  Taunting laughter echoed all around, gradually filling the emptiness with a sense of time and staggering immensity.

  A mighty sword now took substance—a giant blade spanning the cosmos, starbursts crackling along its edge, worlds dying in the dark jewel at its hilt.

  Five faces next appeared: majestic lords, huge and mighty, their presence overwhelming his senses. Light radiated from them. Each shone with a single colour—indeed, with so agonizing an absolute of that colour that Altor’s vision stung and swam. But he could not look away.

  On one side he beheld a lord in scarlet, on another a lord in cerulean blue. A third was clad in emerald, another in gold. And the last of the dread company was wrapped in scintillant white.

  The re
d figure spoke first. ‘In the place where mortal voices, though those of strong lords, called the shapers of men’s fates, that place was called in the mortal tongue, Spyte.’

  ‘The walls of Spyte towered high,’ continued the blue lord, ‘for it was not yet at the time that feuds should crack the keystones, nor at that time had ravening flame tasted the ramparts.’

  ‘This long endured,’ said the lord in green. ‘Those who could speak of the first days of the world revealed their lore to mortal ears. Mortal words, though those of lords most wise, were counted from shore to shore as inviolable commands.’

  It was the turn of the golden lord: ‘The brutish thing that lives in the darkness of the belly then stirred, the cursed creature that drives oath-brother to war with oath-brother, that hellish hate that eats from within.’

  ‘From three score who once ruled, now only five await the day that is to come,’ pronounced the white lord. The images began to grow dim, the voices receded. ‘From this pernicious place we shall go, escaping the foul fastness of the void, and return into the living land. And no thing that dwells on earth shall oppose us.’

  Altor was aware of an oppressive weight pressing down on him. As the five lords faded, he struggled to move his torpid limbs. His arm, heavy as lead, rose and reached for the blazing Sword of Life...

  ‘You want to get that blanket off or he’ll suffocate.’

  Altor sat bolt upright. He was in bed. A maid with apple-red cheeks was rearranging the blankets around him. Realizing he was naked, Altor seized the sheets and held them around him as if his life depended on it.

  Seeing him awake, the maid stepped back in surprise. Then her face broke into a grin and she looked down at him with hands on hips. ‘Your friend’s woken up,’ she said with amusement—‘and all ready to protect his modesty as if it were such a precious treasure!’

  There was someone standing behind her, outlined against the sunlight streaming through the dusty window panes. As he stepped forward Altor gave a whoop of delight and leapt out of bed. ‘Caelestis!’

  Caelestis fended off the big youth’s embrace with a smile. ‘Please! I am not in the habit of accepting hugs from naked men. Or any men if it comes to that. Also, you are in danger of losing your... er, kilt.’

  Blushing, Altor clasped the sheet around his waist. ‘I thought the True Magi had got you.’

  ‘The Magi? It was the World Serpent that nearly finished us off.’

  The maid tittered as she primped up the pillows. ‘The Magi, the World Serpent...’ she said over her shoulder as she went out. ‘What dizzy-headed girls you must think us in Dourhaven, to be taken in by such talk.’

  They waited until she had closed the door behind her. ‘Now, what’s this about the Magi?’ demanded Caelestis.

  Altor smoothed back his hair, wincing as he touched the bandage on his cut forehead. ‘It was just a dream. I think. How did we get here?’ Suddenly he stared around in panic. ‘Cael—the pommel stone!’

  Caelestis nodded towards the table in the bay window. The stone lay on the dark waxed wood, its facets transforming the sunbeams into a fractured rainbow. ‘Relax, it was still in your pocket when I fished you out.’

  Altor was doubly relieved to notice his sword propped against the side of the bed. ‘And Lazarus?’

  ‘He decided to go down with his ship.’ A serious look clouded Caelestis’s face, but then he gave a shrug. ‘Let’s face it, he wasn’t a reasonable man. Anyway, we drifted in the jolly boat for a few hours and just as the sun was setting a merchant ship appeared on the horizon. A long overdue stroke of good luck, I call it. The captain took us aboard and was kind enough to bring us here to Dourhaven.’

  Looking around for something to put on, Altor saw that new clothes had been laid out beside the bed: boots of blue leather with large silver buckles, grey leggings, and a suede jerkin quilted for extra warmth. They were rather finer than anything he would have chosen for himself, and the amethyst-studded crucifix that lay beside them was ostentatious to the point of bad taste. He glanced back at Caelestis and for the first time took note of the lavish costume that had replaced his old travel worn clothes.

  Caelestis vainly brushed a speck of dust from the rich black velvet of his new coat. There was a long period of silence while Altor stared at his friend and Caelestis pretended not to notice.

  ‘Where did the money come from for all this?’ said Altor at last.

  ‘Ah.’ Caelestis puffed out his cheeks, glanced out of the window, dabbed at an imaginary mark on the window. ‘Um... Well there’s a lot to tell you, in all honesty—‘

  ‘In all honesty.’ Altor gave a short laugh. ‘There’s a phrase that doesn’t sit well on your lips. Have you been up to your old tricks, Caelestis?’

  ‘Thievery, you mean?’ Caelestis took two steps back in a theatrical display of outrage. ‘Do you suppose I’d go out slitting purses while you lay ill in your bed? Not a bit of it. I’ve been here by your side night and day for all this last week. When would I get the chance for thievery?’

  Altor nodded, stung to shame by his friend’s devotion. ‘Of course. Sorry.’

  He could hardly ask now where Caelestis had got the money for the clothes. Perhaps a loan from the merchant captain who’d rescued them? Well, it could wait until later. He got dressed.

  Altor’s legs felt quite weak, as Caelestis must have seen by the way he propped himself against the table while buttoning his jerkin. ‘Are you sure you should be getting up?’

  ‘Exercise is the best thing for a speedy recovery.’ Altor strapped on his sword. ‘A walk along the seafront will do me the power of good.’

  They went downstairs. Here a few sailors sat with lunchtime drinks beside a crackling fire. Sunbeams reached like melting icicles from the tiny window panes. A gross tabby cat lay stretched at the bottom of the stairs and showed no intention of moving. Stepping over it, Caelestis tried to guide Altor swiftly to the door, but the landlord of the inn spotted them from behind his serving hatch.

  ‘Sir Caelestis!’ he cried, rubbing his hands on his apron as he came around from the back. ‘Griselda told me the glad news. So the duke is feeling better?’

  ‘The duke?’ said Altor. ‘What duke?’

  The three looked at each other.

  ‘A memory lapse,’ Caelestis blurted out. ‘Because of the blow to the head.’

  ‘What are you blathering about, Caelestis?’ demanded Altor.

  The landlord’s smile was fading fast. ‘But he remembers your name...’

  ‘Indeed, that is precisely why the case is so puzzling. We are going to the doctor now. Do not fret, he will soon be cured.’

  Before the landlord could say any more, Caelestis had bustled Altor outside into the street.

  The cobblestones were dusted with snow and a raw wind blew down from the north. After the near-stifling heat of the inn, Altor felt numbed. Bewildered, he allowed Caelestis to lead him through the busy streets. Something didn’t seem quite right—but maybe that was just the after-effects of his fever.

  He stopped and looked back down the street. The landlord stood now outside the inn, staring after them with a worried look.

  Caelestis took him by the arm and pulled him down a narrow side street. ‘This is a short cut to the harbour.’

  ‘Why are we going there? I’d sooner have a stroll up the coast a way.’

  ‘We need to book passage to Port Lukvess,’ said Caelestis, still tugging his friend along by the sleeve.

  ‘Port Lukvess? But we’re going to Wyrd across the pack ice.’

  ‘Ah, precisely!’ said Caelestis in a familiar tone which Altor recognized as meaning he had just that moment thought of it. ‘And the route from Lukvess is far more convenient.’

  They emerged from the alley onto another bustling street. Altor planted his feet firmly, jerking Caelestis to a halt. ‘You may think my brain is still addled from fever, Caelestis, but this fresh air has cleaned away the cobwebs. I can see very well that you’re up to no good.’<
br />
  ‘As God is my witness I swear I have committed no act of theft while we’ve been in Dourhaven.’ Caelestis looked him squarely in the eye, the very picture of honesty. ‘Now, can we please get to the harbour?’

  ‘In a bit.’

  Nearby, nestling under the eaves of a warehouse, was a puppet booth. Attracted by the little cardboard figures and high fluting voices in which the puppets seemed to speak, Altor strolled over. ‘What is the play?’ he asked one of the audience cheerfully.

  The man turned and scrutinized him. ‘I see from your accent that you are a foreigner—or an “infidel fiend” as we call them in Dourhaven. No offence.’

  ‘None taken.’ Altor folded his arms, taking no notice of Caelestis’s obvious agitation.

  A puppet clothed in tattered strips of paper emerged onto the tiny stage. ‘This is one of the distinctive kokrexi, or “Paper World” displays, of eastern Krarth,’ explained the man. ‘See how the little figures are so skilfully made to seem like great wizards and noble knights from myth. Delightful!’

  Caelestis cast a quick glance at the booth. ‘It puts me in mind of the sort of thing a mildly imaginative child might devise given very limited resources.’

  The man frowned sidelong at him. ‘The essence of the kokrexi is the distillation of traditional themes using formalized characters and situations. Such is the basis of all great art.’

  ‘If I understood what you just said I’d happily comment,’ said Caelestis. ‘Now, Altor, shouldn’t we be going?’

  Altor stubbornly continued to watch the puppet show. ‘What’s the story behind this particular performance?’

  ‘Actually, I don’t know. It might be pure whimsy,’ said the man with a shake of his head. ‘A pity. If you saw one of the commonly approved plays you couldn’t fail to appreciate its subtle qualities.’

  The play had begun by depicting a flooded world, an effect which the puppeteer accomplished by letting out streamers of blue and green silk to dance in the breeze in front of the booth. The people moved to and fro under the water like fish. Next the Saviour descended from heaven on a flying cross and caused the waters to recede. The streamers were slowly pulled back into the interior of the booth in a way that really did evoke the draining of a flood. It was simple but very effective, and the onlookers applauded politely.