Zara walked to the front of the row of six magi facing Widow’s Peak. She entered the sea, the breeze blowing her hair around her face as she stood with her ankles in the water and raised her staff high.
Everyone on the shore fell silent. Even the dragons cleared the skies, retreating from the open sea and the region of the Lost Souls.
Zara’s staff began to glow.
For a moment nothing happened, but then, looking overhead, Palemon saw the clouds all moving, as if tugged in strange directions. They weren’t following the same path: some scattered up the coast, some inland, others out to sea. But they were all moving away from the sorceress’s staff.
A strong wind began to blow.
The six magi then lifted their staffs. Silver fire lit up every conical swirl at the tip of every pole. Palemon felt the hair rise on the back of his neck as the gusts of wind gathered pace.
Zara stepped forward until the water was at the depth of her calves. She lifted her staff still higher and cried out. The magi behind her then entered the shallows and began an eerie humming chant.
The sky was now entirely devoid of clouds. From slave to soldier to sorcerer, wind was blowing hair wildly and whipping clothing against bodies. Gripping the throne’s arms so tightly that the wood creaked, Palemon leaned forward. He glanced down at the king of Xanthos and saw that he’d been looking up at Palemon, rather than at the sea.
‘Watch,’ Palemon said, his voice only just audible above the wind.
Zara now tilted her staff, lowering the tip inch by inch until it was horizontal, and then she was bringing the glowing silver cone down to the water. Palemon watched as a wave formed in front of her. It grew from nothing to become a towering crest as big as those he’d seen on the open ocean while sailing from Necropolis. The wave sucked up the water around it, becoming taller and fuller, drawing away from the sea bed underneath. It was growing by the instant, swelling into a towering wall, suddenly fifty feet high.
One moment Zara was calf deep in the water, the next she was standing on open ground.
Three of the sorcerers behind Zara peeled to the left, the other three to the right. Those on the left lowered their staffs and pushed the water to the left, while those on the right did the same in the other direction.
Zara now started to walk forward. Her hand danced around the silver cone at the top of her staff, and occasionally her high-pitched cry could be heard above the howling. The waves now grew to the size of mountains, looming cliffs of water a hundred feet in height . . . then two hundred.
The sorcerers continued forward. The wind flattened Zara’s dress against her body and pulled at her long hair. The group descended, losing height, soon hundreds of paces from shore. When they were a mile out, on both sides of a cleared sea bottom, blue walls rose up as the magi held the sea at bay. Fish leaped from the slick walls of water to plop onto the sand that had been covered by ocean a moment ago. Crabs skittered. Seaweed hugged the hulk of a fishing boat that sank long ago.
Palemon thanked the gods for the gift of the sorceress. No one else had her skill, or her ambition. Who else would be bold enough to attempt something like this?
With each step Zara and her brethren took, the walls of water on either side of them grew, until they were so tall that Palemon could no longer judge their height. Blood was roaring in his ears; he was flushed with excitement, and he had yet to see the ancient city.
The magi were now far from shore. When they were a quarter of the distance to Widow’s Peak, two sorcerers, one on either side, stopped to hold the wall of ocean while the others continued.
There was now a pathway along the downward slope of the sea bed. Zara continued and eventually another pair of magi stopped and put their backs to each other as they faced the tall waves.
Unable to sit any longer, Palemon rose from his chair and stood with his fists bunched at his sides. In the distance, he could see the small figure of Zara walking down the ocean bed. On the narrow pathway, near one of the standing sorcerers, a sleek shark as big as Palemon himself writhed on the ground, mouth gaping as the thin slits of its gills sucked at the air. A school of baitfish shot out of the liquid wall, in the open air for a moment before plunging into the wall opposite. Three magi on either side of the path now held the sea at bay. Past Widow’s Peak, a waterfall tumbled and foamed like the pale eruption of a volcano.
Zara was no longer walking; she was climbing a gentle slope. Ahead of her, water continued to recede from the terrain. Leaving behind the last pair of magi, she raised her staff and a blinding white light rolled out in a concussive wave.
Finally the sea parted to reveal the lost city of Aleuthea.
Every man and woman at the cape watched with mouths open as they looked upon a place that hadn’t been seen in three hundred years. What was recently a mysterious sea was now a city filled with majestic structures of stone, all covered in dripping ocean growth. The city was lopsided; when it collapsed it fell at an angle. The worst damage must be on the far side, obscured by Widow’s Peak, for what Palemon could see was surprisingly well ordered, although it was like a painting that had been ripped to shreds and then haphazardly put back together. Long jagged cracks had torn avenues in half; steps looked like something from a madman’s dream; statues had fallen and tumbled down the hill.
Widow’s Peak was now a mountain, spearing the sky between the two walls of water. Towering sheets of liquid, pushed back by magic alone, had peeled away from the Great Tower and were pent in place as if held back by the arms of the sea god.
The Great Tower was mostly intact, although a section of the top half had crumbled away. On lower ground was an even taller tower, tilted alarmingly but revealed in all its glory: the Lighthouse. Both were small in Palemon’s vision but unmistakable. He felt a thrill course through him.
Palemon glanced at Kyphos, who was staring open-mouthed at the result of Zara’s spell.
‘Kyphos,’ Palemon called over the wind.
Kyphos shook himself. He waved an arm and cried out, ordering the soldiers and slaves to head for the ancient city. Leading from the front, he became the first of a long line of people, all following the path between the high walls of parted sea to head for Aleuthea.
Palemon knew the danger, and couldn’t help wondering how long the spell could last.
But despite agreeing to stay behind, he wished he were going with them.
From a rocky hollow on Widow’s Peak, a hiding place that faced the mainland, Chloe and Liana suddenly found themselves looking down on the remains of a city. In an instant their island became a sharp peak overlooking the dripping structures. Their location gave them the perfect vantage to watch the breathtaking power of the sorcerers.
On either side of the path to the cape, impossibly tall waves loomed as if frozen in time. The crests curled inward again and again, only to be thrown back by the wind before repeating the cycle.
‘How long can they hold back the sea?’ Liana asked, raising her voice to be heard above the howling wind.
‘I don’t know.’ Chloe shook her head. She saw one of the six sorcerers stationed to maintain the spell moving, and then realized that the silver spiral at the end of his staff had crumbled away almost to nothing. The radiant light faded, but he was ready, and reached into a satchel to pull out another device and fix it to the end of his staff. A moment later a silver glow shone from the new spiral. ‘It can’t last forever.’
‘Look, here they come.’ A thin line of slaves and soldiers now walked along the path that had recently been ocean bed. Liana cast an anxious glance in Chloe’s direction. ‘You can break this spell?’
‘I . . . I think so.’ She nodded decisively. ‘I can.’
Chloe could feel the magic coursing through the air. The fire inside her welled up; with so much wind around her, she knew she wouldn’t have any difficulty summoning her power.
‘When?’ Liana asked.
‘Finn said Palemon would be watching from the shore. Dion will be with him. Just
be ready.’
Chloe watched the long column of armored soldiers as they herded the ragged slaves up the slope and then through the city, weaving around fallen blocks of stone and climbing slippery steps, always heading toward the tall tower below.
She knew that if she could break the spell she needed to catch as many as possible when the sea rushed back. If the water enveloped them when they were burdened with the artifacts they’d come for, there would be no chance they could ever be recovered again.
Zara was down there, and the hunchback, Kyphos. She could see them both clearly. The raven-haired sorceress was the first to reach the tower.
45
Puffing and panting, far from the events at Cape Cush, Finn followed the shore as he rounded a tall headland. Leaping from rock to rock, scrambling across a gully where the sea surged below, he finally climbed a crest and on the opposite side saw the familiar cove.
He cursed.
They’d thought the Calypso would be safe on this small sandy beach obscured by rock on all sides; even the approach from the sea was partly hidden. But neither Cob nor the Calypso was anywhere to be seen.
He climbed down to the beach and then paused, hands on his hips as he bent from the waist, chest heaving as he regained his breath.
He scanned the area. The sand had been broken up by the footprints of many men. A long gouge, unmistakably made by the Calypso’s keel, led directly to the water.
He decided to climb higher to gain a vantage.
It took him a long time, slipping and scrabbling at the rock, scrambling on all fours, but finally he reached the top of the headland and gazed up and down the coast. He was too far from Cape Cush to see what was happening, but there was an eerie feel to the air, and he saw clouds moving, telling him the great spell was underway. He had to hurry. His friends needed him.
Turning, he shielded his eyes, gazing in the other direction, away from the cape and further up the coast. The headland gave way to a long beach, and as he squinted, he realized he could see a cluster of dark shapes. A thin stream of smoke rose from a fire. Some kind of camp. That lump could be a boat . . .
He began to scrabble down, ignoring the stitch in his side.
Finn approached the camp boldly, chin held high, despite being unarmed.
The desert clansmen were in the throes of a festivity.
At least a dozen men were seated around the fire, clapping and singing. Farther away, a tribesman wrapped in loose cloth was urinating against the cliff. The sand was soft underfoot and made a fine bed for those who’d already drunk their fill of fermented mare’s milk, sleeping and snoring in the sun.
As he neared, Finn glanced past the camp to the sailboat pulled up high on the beach. The Calypso looked whole and undamaged. It was a valuable vessel, sleek and beautiful. These men weren’t going to give it up lightly.
Nor would they give up their captive.
Finn’s eyes were now on Cob. The old man was circling the fire, dancing a strange jig to the raucous calls of the clansmen.
Cob’s shoulders were slumped as he stumbled around the narrow patch of sand between the fire and the onlookers. He kicked a burning log, wincing as he hopped on one foot for a few steps. His round face was bruised; he looked exhausted. He was barely able to dance from foot to foot, but every time he slowed someone shot an arrow into the sand at his feet and he wearily lifted his head to keep moving.
The music came from a man resting against a log and playing a warbling melody on a flute. Beside him, a companion flicked a rhythm on a drum held between his knees. A wineskin passed from one clansman to another. Clapping in time to the music, the revelers were singing some strange tribal tune, chanting with guttural voices and swaying from side to side. Someone occasionally let out a yip.
Finn scanned the group and saw that there was one clansman who wasn’t singing. He had a hooked nose and a neatly trimmed beard, and unlike the others he sat on a carpet. Rather than drinking from the skin, he held a silver goblet that he sipped from sparingly.
Finn put a scowl on his face and walked through a gap between two of the seated men. He stood beside the fire and faced the man leaning back on the carpet.
The singing came to a halt. The clapping stopped. Cob sank to his knees, panting.
Finn ignored the mutters and stares and brought his eyebrows close together as he met the headman’s gaze directly. He slowly lifted an arm to point at Cob.
‘That man,’ he said, ‘is a thief.’
The headman shrugged, picking at his hooked nose. ‘He stole from you. We stole from him.’
‘No,’ Finn said, shaking his head. He put an expression of indignant anger on his face, although deep within he was utterly terrified that he was going to get both himself and Cob killed. ‘He didn’t steal from me. He stole from the king. That vessel over there is the king’s boat. And I am here to get it back.’
‘King?’ The headman ceased picking his nose and leaned forward, raising an eyebrow. ‘Which king?’
Finn nodded in the direction of Cape Cush. ‘The great King Palemon. Look at that boat. You think it belongs to an old dwarf?’ He sneered in Cob’s direction. ‘It is the king’s personal craft. He cares about it more than his favorite concubine. It is his joy, the one great love of his life. It gives him more pleasure than anything else in this world. And he wants it back.’
The headman looked at the Calypso and then at Finn. He licked his lips.
‘Janko,’ one of the onlookers said, ‘we saw the army—’
‘Silence,’ the headman interrupted. He considered for a time. ‘The king sent you to find it? Alone?’
‘No,’ Finn said, lowering his voice. His eyes drifted to the nearby cliff, high above the beach. ‘Not alone.’ He stopped talking, knowing that it was more powerful to let the headman come to his own conclusions.
‘The king . . .’ The headman began to look nervous. ‘He won’t punish us . . . ?’
‘That depends on one thing,’ Finn said. ‘If I can give him the thief who took his beloved vessel.’ He pointed at Cob. ‘Alive.’
The headman’s brow furrowed as he pondered. Finn turned his expression of disdain into a glare.
The headman suddenly climbed to his feet, spreading his arms and smiling. ‘Of course the king may have it back. We were merely safekeeping it for him. Tell him that Janko of Negara is his loyal servant.’
‘I will, Janko of Negara,’ Finn said. ‘Now someone bind him up for me. And get this boat launched. I’ll sail it to the cape myself.’
Janko clicked his fingers, and his men leaped to do his bidding. Finn’s heart was racing, but he kept his expression slightly irritated, watching with arms folded until the Calypso was being dragged to the water. He followed as they launched the vessel, throwing Cob, tied and bound, up front.
Only then did he nod to the headman and enter the shallows himself. He climbed aboard as the clansmen gave the boat a push and then they exited the water, watching from the shore.
Feeling the eyes of the desert men on him, Finn whispered urgently. ‘How do I sail it?’
‘Unwrap the ties around the sail,’ Cob said hoarsely. ‘Loosen that rope there, on the cleat.’
Finn followed Cob’s instructions, knowing that the tribesmen were still standing on the beach and the waves were threatening to push the Calypso back to shore.
‘Now pull on the rope to hoist the sail,’ Cob wheezed. ‘Harder! Quickly now! Good. Tie it up again.’
Finn leaped from one task to another, trying to appear calm rather than frantic with haste.
‘Now take the tiller and keep us angled out to sea,’ Cob instructed.
The sail crackled, stretching as it pocketed the wind, and Finn let out a sigh of relief as he finally left the watchers behind. As soon as they were out in deep water he found a knife and sliced through Cob’s bonds.
‘Now,’ Cob growled, sitting up and rubbing his wrists. ‘Not a word of this. To anyone. Ever.’
‘Of course,’ Finn said s
eriously. ‘But I have to say, where did you learn to dance with such grace—?’
Cob lunged forward, and the boat tilted dangerously as Finn leaped out of the way.
46
His gaze fixed on the Great Tower, which loomed over the ancient city like a grave marker, Kyphos walked on the slippery paving stones, leading the thin line of soldiers and slaves from the front. He climbed step after broken step and passed through a stone arch, seaweed draping from it like a curtain, still standing despite all its years underwater.
Following an ancient road, the hunchback looked around himself in wonder. He saw stout houses and gutters on the sides of the streets, larger temples, and even a grand edifice of four stories.
A final set of wide steps led up to the tower.
A stout cylinder, it was as tall as the Sky Tower in Malakai but far wider, made of immense bands of fitted stones one on top of the other. It was discolored from its time under the sea, and a wide gouge was broken from its summit, but it was so similar to the tower in Malakai that its purpose was unmistakable.
Long ago, the inhabitants of this city had forced eldren into dragon form and caged them underneath this tower. When called to battle, the dragon riders of Aleuthea had poured forth in multitudes from the open top. Able to fly from one end of the Realm to the other, nothing had stood in their way.
Raising his head as he climbed the steps, Kyphos saw Zara standing outside the tower’s entrance, staff in hand, looking out at the walls of water on either side. Now that the spell was established, only the six magi on the path to the cape were needed to maintain it.
‘Sorceress!’ he called out. She ignored him as she entered the arched opening at the base of the tower and vanished inside.
‘Come on!’ Kyphos called to his men, hurrying now.
He finally reached the top of the broken steps and checked behind him to see that the soldiers and slaves were still on their way. Calling out to the sorceress, he peeled aside the draping lengths of ocean growth and plunged into the darkness of the tower.
Copper Chain (The Shifting Tides Book 3) Page 28
