I will not let Marul die in vain, he thought. I will cast this spell and get back to Earth. He looked at Caleb. Without him.
Rana was murmuring, “Marul Menacha, The Witch Who Gives Demons Pause. Eyes as green as Ketef, the summer star. A nose like a mountain and a smile like the sun. Marul Menacha, The Witch Who Gives Demons Pause. Eyes as green as Ketef . . .”
Elyam approached one of the dead Bedu. Zimri, Elyam’s son, was alive and huddling with the other priests, a look of shock on all their faces. Elyam put a hand on the dead man’s head and whispered a prayer. He turned to Daniel. “He was a good man. An honest man.”
Daniel didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”
“Shall it all be for naught?” Elyam said. He gave Daniel an accusing look. He approached the second body and prayed over it too.
Daniel held his throbbing arm. The priests huddled together, murmuring. The Mikulalim surrounded their dead kinsman, Dranub, Havig’s son. Would they eat his body as was their custom, even Havig, his father?
“Beside the Abyssal,” Caleb said to Havig, “that expanse of flat sand.” He pointed to a shallow depression beside the chasm edge. “That’s where we cast our spell. With the witch dead, my brother is the only one left who can show us how to make the Merkavah.”
“And the quorum of ten?” said Havig. His words had become heavy, slow. “I count only nine. Four Bedu and five Mikulalim.”
“I will be the tenth,” Caleb said.
“Yes, my lord.”
No, Daniel thought, I cannot let that happen. He had to get back to Earth without Caleb.
“Havig,” Caleb said, “do you have the powder?”
Havig patted a satchel at his belt. “Yes, my lord.”
Caleb snatched it, then turned to the great fissure and shouted, “I summon thee, Azazel, from the black depths. I call forth the ancient one from his slumber and demand conference.”
The words were not in Wul. They sounded vaguely Hebrew. Perhaps Aramaic.
The sound of his voice echoed through the valley, winded its way through folds of rock, and up the steep mountain cliffs. Sand whorled at the fissure’s edge as Caleb’s voice thundered over it. The mountains regurgitated the sound, and the echoes came back distorted, perhaps with new words added, others missing.
The desert was quiet, but Daniel sensed that a vile, ancient force had just awakened. At the Abyssal’s edge, something skittered. A shadow leaped from rock to rock.
“The Black Guide comes,” Caleb said, holding his ribs.
A four-legged creature leaped onto a nearby stone. As large as a bear, its silhouette rose before the stars. It had the body of a jaguar, with two tails, and its fur was as dark as the cliffs. On its dragon-like head, its long mane was braided and well tended. Its eyes were large, dark, almond-shaped. A line of yellow drool hung from its lips.
The beast peered down at them as its twin tails whipped about.
“You woke me from my sleep,” the animal droned. A female voice, seductive, sly, measured. But her words were oddly disheveled, as if she had spoken them out of order and they had fallen into place only as an afterthought. She yawned, revealing sharp rows of golden teeth. She sniffed the air. “My dreams were foul, but you are fouler.”
“Messenger of the Bound One,” Caleb said, “take us to Azazel.”
The cat yawned. Her hot breath reeked of meat. “The Bound One shall not be disturbed by a rabble of fools.” She lowered her head to examine the party. Drool splattered on the stone and a drop landed on Daniel’s arm. It burned like acid and he struggled to wipe it off.
“What a bloody lot, you are,” the Guide said. “You make me hungry. Why not offer those corpses to me? Maybe I’ll let you flee with your skin.”
“Do you not recognize me?” Caleb said.
“I recognize a fool when I see one.” She raised herself up and bared her teeth, hissed. “Your wounds smell delicious.”
She leaped for him, but he threw the gray powder from Havig’s satchel into her face. She froze, sneezed, and phlegm exploded from her mouth. The stones smoked where the phlegm had landed. She mewled like a cat in heat. “What is this foul-smelling dust, and why do I feel so . . .” She yawned. “. . . so sleepy?”
“You inhale the ashes of a cock, slaughtered in Azazel’s name. You are compelled to take us to your master.”
“Damn you!” she said. “I was looking forward to a good meal.”
She quickly adopted the body language of a friendly house cat. Daniel half-expected her to start purring. “Very well. You win this round, but I cannot carry all of you. The Merkavah will fit only four, including myself.”
“The Merkavah?” Caleb said, stirring. “You can craft one?”
“How else shall we descend to the Bound One? To walk the stair would take days!”
“Can you craft a Merkavah to take us to Earth?”
The Guide snickered and more drool fell. “If only! It has been so long since I’ve traveled to Earth. I used to be worshipped as a goddess there, you know? I would give one of my tails to go back, but my master needs me here. No,” she said, shaking her head mournfully, “the Merkavah I create is small, fragile. Not strong enough to traverse the Great Deep. Only strong enough to float down into the dark before popping like a soap bubble.”
Daniel winced at the Guide’s odor. She clearly knew little of soap.
Caleb frowned. “These two, Daniel and Rana, will come with me.”
“Come with you where?” said Rana.
“Down the Abyssal. To see my brother, Azazel.”
“Why do you need me?” Rana said.
“I don’t need you. I want you. You are a Gu, Rana. You gush with the force of creation. Your creativity has caused great upheaval in your life. But who has ever shown you what you truly are? Come down the Abyssal with me, and I’ll show you what you’re capable of.” He held out his hand.
Rana’s lips mouthed her mantra again. Marul Menacha, The Witch Who Gives Demons Pause. Eyes as green as Ketef. She looked at the dead bodies. The glittering snow had ceased. Ash twinkled from her hair like diamond dust. Her lips stopped moving.
“I want to know,” she said, stepping forward. “Show me what I am.”
Caleb smiled as he led her to his side. He turned to Daniel, “Come, Daniel, and we’ll have Azazel remove your curse.”
Daniel wanted his curse removed so much that he trembled. But if he went down the Abyssal with Caleb, he wouldn’t have time to prepare the spell. And if Caleb came back to Earth with him, how many more would die? It had to stop, here. He had to go on alone.
“No,” Daniel said. “I’m staying here.”
“Staying?” Caleb said. “What in Abbadon for? Do you want to remain cursed?”
“I’m staying here.”
Caleb leaned forward, cradling his wound. The cuts on his face bled. “Why?”
“Because I’m done with you, Caleb.”
“Do you forget?” Caleb said, snarling. “If not for me, you’d be dead! You owe me, Daniel!”
“I owe you nothing.”
“You need me to get home!”
“Then I’ll wait here for you. I’m not going down there.”
Caleb’s face turned bright red. “Don’t be stupid! If you’re cursed you might not be able to uphold worlds any more. You may no longer be a Pillar!”
“I’m not coming,” Daniel said, backing away from him. “And that is final.”
“You chose this place, here, to become proud?” Caleb said, flaring his nostrils. “Daniel, I need you.”
“My lord,” Havig said, stepping forward. “We know our own kind. Daniel is not a Mikulal. He’s still very much a Lamed Vavnik. We sense his sustaining power even now. Go see Lord Azazel. I am sure he will give you something to cure Daniel, which you can bring back with you. Lord Azazel is, after all, all-knowing and wise. I’ll keep watch over Daniel. He will be here when you return from below. You have my word.”
Caleb examined them, a suspicious look i
n his eyes. Gritting his jaw, he shook his head. “I hope you’re right, Havig. For the sake of the Cosmos, I hope what you say is true! And what a great shame, Daniel, that you’ll never see the majesties below. Make sure you are here when I return, or we all die.” He turned to the Black Guide. “All right, cat, let’s go. I need respite from these fools.”
The Guide took her time finding the right spot before sitting on her haunches. “The Merkavah mustn’t be rushed.” She closed her eyes, and her disordered syllables tumbled into sequence. “Ye. Ye. Ye. Ye. He. Ye. Ye. He. Va. Ye . . .”
It was much like the spell Marul had taught him, but the phrasing was a bit different, and he feared he might conflate the two and forget the original. He wanted to cover his ears, but that would have tipped off Caleb he was up to something. He had no choice. He had to listen.
“That pattern,” Rana said. “I’ve seen it before, in a dream.”
Daniel knew it too. In Gram’s books, the Tetragrammaton, the four-letter name of God, arrayed in a Fibonacci pyramid, the source of the Golden Ratio that was woven into nature in the spiral of nautilus shells and the blossoms of sunflowers. The Greeks had used it in their architecture, and thousands of mathematicians across history had delved into its secrets.
The Guide held out her sharp-clawed paw, pad up. A point of light appeared above it, blossomed into a golden pyramid. Its facets sparked and glimmered as it turned.
The Guide raised her other paw, and a second pyramid formed above it, inverted and spinning in the opposite direction. Their facets blinded like mirrors in sunlight, and as Daniel looked into the light he longed for something lost. The light promised an impossible comfort that would eradicate all fears forever. It shone like a primordial home.
The Guide brought her two paws together. A flash of light exploded in all directions, climbed over the mountains, and tumbled into the chasm. The two pyramids had merged into a star. A ghostly sphere formed around the Guide, and the star expanded to fill it. A thousand polygons turned inside it, spinning into dijointed dimensions, whirring in occult rhythms, a clock of cosmic gears.
“Step beside me,” the Guide said.
Taking Rana’s hand, Caleb took his place beside the Guide. The gears moved through their bodies unimpeded, and Rana’s mouth hung open as she reached out for the spinning parts.
As the sphere hardened it gave a faint reflection. Rana rapped on it and it rang like glass. She stared wide-eyed as the Merkavah rose from the ground and floated away toward the Abyssal. Shadows leaped from the stones as the vessel receded, a bright star above the sands. Then the Merkavah slipped down into the fissure, taking the light with it.
Daniel blinked away the spots in his vision. He was consumed with a feeling of dread as the weight of his task pressed upon him. He looked at the nine men, Mikulalim and Bedu, broken all. He’d have to convince these sworn enemies to work together, against Caleb, and help him cast the spell and get him home. A spell he could barely remember.
There was much work to do.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Caleb floated down into the dark with Rana at his side. How long had it been since he’d visited this Abyssal of Lost Hope? A millennium? Two? It had changed little in all that time. The Guide steered their Merkavah using verbal helices, cosmic ratios. Rana stared, her pupils wider than the chasm. She had wounded him gravely, and he was slowly bleeding out. But if he had his way, all would be healed soon.
Golden light from their vessel shined onto the wrinkled walls, and thousands of albino bats scattered from their light. Armies of yellow spiders scurried further into the darkness. A ragged strip of stars tore across the sky above the chasm, shrinking quickly as they fell.
An impenetrable gulf yawned beneath them, as dark as the Great Deep. The murky air smelled of sulfur and tears. The dust of eons slept uneasily here. Rana trembled beside him as she stared down.
They passed caves that opened into large chambers, where precious gems curled over emerald walls. On curving parapets and balustrades of gold, torches spat blood-red flames. Crowded on their edges, a crowd of lanky beings watched them fall. Tall, hairless men puffed pipes from lipless faces. Five women, breasts as large as melons, dangled their feet over the edge as they plucked tendon-strung psalteries. Their music echoed discordantly from the walls. “Who are they?” Rana whispered, but her voice echoed loudly across the space.
The musicians paused and gave her scornful looks. She had ruined the performance. Caleb waited until they had descend another dozen stories before he said, “Those were the Nephilim, a hybrid of human and demon. They once covered the Earth. This is their last refuge.”
The broken music resumed as they fell, until it slowly faded. They passed a cavern brilliant with gold. Moans spilled from its wide mouth.
“Mielbok lives there,” Caleb said, “son of Baalberith, Master of Flies, and his servant, Atleiu.” Rana stared into the cavern, as if she could discern its secrets.
An arch of amber stone framed another cave. Purple light pooled on a terrace. “There is the home of Obyzouth the Limbless, who speaks the language of rocks.” And of a dark cavern, its insides thick with fog, Caleb said, “And that is one of the many homes of Astaroth, who knows how to impart life to dead matter. But that is all I shall speak of him, for to say more would endanger us.”
They fell into a realm crowded with eyries. Huge featherless yellow birds roosted on black eggs. Their nests were fashioned from leather and bone and had been built on jutting stones. Their red eyes were like huge drops of blood.
“Lorbria!” Rana exclaimed. “My pet bird . . . she was one of them!”
“The Children of Ziz,” Caleb said, “a bird whose wings span continents. They adore Mikulalim music.” Their blood-red eyes twinkled in Merkavah-light as they fell.
Deep below, glowing filaments reached across the chasm, sinews of light binding the walls together. As they fell toward them, the filaments grew to mammoth proportions. Their huge arcs of fire spanned the gap, and at each end, wide tunnels led to deeper caverns. The bridges roared, deafening as they burned.
“The Bridges of Fire,” Caleb said. They descended through their hot webwork, and though a billion fiery tongues licked hungrily at the air, their shapes remained fixed. The Guide weaved a steady course between the dancing flames. One touch and they would be ash. Caleb wiped sweat from his brow.
“How,” Rana said, resplendent in the firelight, “how do you build a bridge of fire?”
“Anything is possible, Rana, with the right knowledge.”
“But how do the flames stay together?”
“By will. All is will. You are used to thinking in human terms, in stone and mortar. But you will do so much more. Compared to what you can do, The Bridges of Fire are child’s play.”
The Bridges receded above them, and their roar ebbed. They had descended into darkness for many minutes, when a faint light appeared. Phosphorescent blue mold clung to the walls, and the air here was humid, almost tropical. Dew dripped from the many cracks. A blue rainbow arced across the mist, winking as they fell. On one wall a giant effigy of the demon Agchonion had been carved in the Assyrian style, helmeted and with spear. Lesser demons crowded his leather boots. Above his head was a cracked egg, and a thousand terrified figures poured out. Agchonion treaded on a shell fragment—a Shard—victorious.
“Goddess, it’s fifty stories tall,” Rana said.
“One should not mention her name in this place.”
Rana didn’t seem to hear. “How did they carve such a large effigy all the way down here?”
“Piddling stuff, Rana. Amateur. You will do so much more.”
“You keep saying that. So what can I do?”
“What was your job in Azru?”
“I was a mason.”
“An apprentice?”
She nodded.
“What a travesty! How many buildings did you design?”
She considered for a moment. “Thousands.”
“And how many of
these designs did you actually get to build?”
“Well, none.”
“You were always building another’s design?”
She looked across the chasm. “I added highlights, when I could.”
“What a waste! Here you were dreaming up cities that touch heaven, monuments that would last for nine eternities, but you were only allowed to build brothels for a fat king and outhouses for his overfed guests. They denied you your dreams.”
“What do you know of my dreams?”
“Everything, because I share them. Rana, I want to build something that lasts for nine eternities too, something that touches heaven. Something far greater than any city. You and I can build it. Together.”
She squinted at him, her eyes scintillating in the Merkavah-light. “I don’t understand. What can we build that’s greater than a city?”
He paused. “A universe.”
Her breath had become quick and sharp, and blood vessels were pumping at her temples. She was about to speak, when the Black Guide said, “Prepare yourselves. We’re arriving at the master’s house.”
Below them a mirrored floor stretched like a silver sea toward dark horizons. They fell toward their own brilliant reflection like two atoms about to collide. A gargantuan ziggurat came into view, squeezed between the cliff walls.
Built from titanic basalt blocks, the ziggurat’s levels were each several stories tall, but shadows obscured its full dimensions. A steep terrace led up to a large entranceway, which flickered with faint green light. There were no guards outside, for who would be fool enough to enter the Lair of Azazel without invitation?
They would.
He coughed up blood. The pain had worsened. He had little time left. They touched the mirrored floor and their fragile Merkavah exploded in a shower of light. Sparks corkscrewed into obscure dimensions and vanished. The faint green light from the entrance was the only illumination. Their shadows reached into dark corners, where unseen things tittered and laughed. Perhaps they knew something he didn’t.
“Come,” the Guide said. Her voice returned from the distant walls in tatters. Water dripped loudly into pools, stirring up the dust of centuries. Something large splashed nearby as the Guide scampered up the steep steps. She paused to wave them on before leaping inside.
King of Shards Page 33
