Quest for the Sun

by V M Jones

  A smile twitched the corner of Karazeel’s mouth, as if he could read my mind. One hand flicked up. A whirr — a rattle — something huge and heavy dropped from above. Faster than a striking snake a gleaming metal cage settled on the floor, enclosing us in a circle of steel bars.

  ‘I have waited long for this moment,’ whispered Karazeel. ‘Welcome, children — welcome back to the world of Karazan. I know where you come from, and I have plans for your world. The world beyond the Cliffs of Stone … the world to which another child was taken, more than fifty spans ago. I did not know that then — but I know it now.’

  The tide of rage had drained away, leaving me trembling and dizzy, the room spinning. I clung to a thin thread of hope. Karazeel didn’t know who I was.

  ‘My memory is long. You do not steal from King Karazeel and live, though I have replaced what was taken.’ He was talking about Tiger Lily, who we’d magicked away from the dungeons of Shakesh. But how could he have replaced her? There were no cats in Karazan. ‘You will be punished for the theft of the Mauler.’ He smiled. ‘Fate has a pleasing symmetry, as you will see.’

  As he spoke he was pacing slowly round our cage, staring in. Jamie and the girls stood in a petrified huddle, not daring to look at him; Rich shot him an occasional glare from under glowering brows.

  I’d been turning in a slow circle to keep Karazeel in view and keep an eye on Blue-bum. All pretence had vanished. Staring at his contorted face, I couldn’t believe he’d been able to take us all in so completely and for so long. During his circuit of the cage Karazeel had somehow managed to ignore the hunched figure on his shoulder jabbering in his ear; but now Blue-bum grabbed a handful of the king’s hair and gave a sharp yank, almost dislodging the twisted crown.

  Karazeel’s face darkened, and I had a second’s wild hope he might lose his temper and throw Blue-bum out of the high window, along with everything he knew. But the frown was replaced by a chilling smile. ‘Why yes, my furry friend,’ he crooned, ‘you have a report to make, do you not? I shall be most interested to hear what you seem so anxious to tell me.’

  We watched as Karazeel crossed to his throne and reached down to a low table. A rack of crystal phials rested on its surface, a canister the size of a salt cellar beside them. It was full of a transparent liquid that looked like water. Karazeel picked it up and set Blue-bum down in front of the throne. I stared at the two figures, so focused on what was happening I hardly noticed the shrill screeches coming from the parrot’s cage.

  Karazeel upended the canister and shook once, twice. A fine spray of droplets landed on Blue-bum’s fur. He twitched and jerked as if he’d been burned, his monkey mouth stretching into a mockery of a grin. He gave a last chittering shriek; then his back arched and he fell backwards, his furry head connecting with the flagstones with a crack. His body jack-knifed. Beside me I heard Kenta give a choking sob, and I put out one arm and hugged her close. ‘Don’t watch,’ I muttered … but I couldn’t take my eyes away.

  For a second I thought the liquid must be acid, or some kind of poison; that Karazeel had decided to kill Blue-bum. But as the tiny body twisted and writhed, I realised what was happening. I saw the limbs straightening, elongating … the scraggy fur melting away. The face flattening, the nose lengthening, the tail sucking itself back into the body.

  A pool of purple rippled out around the huddled shape on the floor like blood; it gave a last convulsive twitch and a rattling cry. There was a long silence. Slowly the prone figure levered itself up onto its elbows, moving as stiffly as an old, old man. His back was to us, and at first all I could see was a cloak and a tangle of hair. In a series of arthritic lurches, the figure struggled to its feet. Turned and hobbled towards us, cackling and cracking its knuckles.

  Not Weevil.

  Evor.

  The magic of destruction

  It wasn’t possible … yet it explained everything. Blue-bum hadn’t looked different because he’d been tortured; he’d looked different because he was different. He had been Evor all along — ever since we found him half-dead at the edge of Chattering Wood. And he had been half-dead … hadn’t he? It had needed the healing potion to bring him back from the brink of death … hadn’t it? I remembered the dried blood we’d sponged from his matted fur, the cuts and lacerations we’d assumed the potion had healed, but never actually saw …

  Evor peered up at me from his nest of grizzled hair. ‘Well?’ he croaked. ‘Worked it out yet? A simple matter of having you followed from Arakesh; then a sip of water from Chattering Stream, a little glonk-blood here and there … a scatter of kindling to lead you to the bait. A little acting … and you children did the rest, in your pathetic eagerness to believe the best of everything.’ He leered at Kenta. ‘Thank you for the cuddles, little girl. I almost grew to like them.’

  He hobbled round to face me again, his eyes glittering. ‘The only one I feared might guess the truth was you … Prince Zephyr.’

  There was a long beat of silence. Karazeel advanced on the cage, his eyes fixed on me so hungrily I felt they were sucking at my soul. ‘So … that which was prophesised has come to pass. But this is where the legend ends. There will be no triumphant entry into Arakesh for you, nephew. Like the winged horses of Karazan, you will soon be nothing but ash and dust, a forgotten name breathed on the dying wind. But I am one of the mighty, the lords of destiny who shape the future and bend it to their will. Nothing can hinder my rise to greatness.’

  In one stride he was beside the massive machine; grabbed a lever and pulled. An electronic humming filled the room. The stars in the vast window began to rotate, faster and still faster, spinning into a vortex of whirling light. Karazeel wheeled to face us, face blazing and demented. ‘You see? I have harnessed the power of skyfire. Night and day are at my command. Soon the very galaxies will be in my control; my forces are as legion as the stars.’

  He crossed to the golden lectern and raised both hands above it. There was something on its sloping surface … something flat with raised buttons that glittered like jewels. A keyboard … and the massive box must be a computer, though I was betting most of it was show — the guts would be the microcomputer we’d left behind in Shakesh. With a few modifications thrown in, I thought grimly.

  ‘It’s not a window,’ whispered Jamie. ‘It’s a computer screen.’

  The whirlpool of stars shattered and fragmented. Jamie was right. It wasn’t a window with a view of the stars, it was a screen saver — and now, like a camera, it panned to a sweeping panorama of the mountains below. A dizzying hawk’s-eye view of the range, a sleeping dragon blanketed in darkness. The camera panned, tipped and swooped downwards, taking us with it on a roller-coaster ride into the swirling depths of the cauldron.

  I’d been wrong: it wasn’t bottomless. The Cauldron of Zeel was a seething mass of monstrosity. Here were the hordes of Zeel — computer-generated maybe, but like Karazan itself, transformed into creatures of flesh and blood, with gleaming fangs and burning eyes. We skimmed low over a horde of dog-armadillos, past a legion of slavering shrags … and when their forms melted into the wavering grey ranks of the Faceless I closed my eyes and turned my face away. I’d seen enough.

  ‘When the Cauldron is full to overflowing I will give the command. It will be soon, very soon,’ crooned Karazeel, stroking the glittering gems encrusting the keyboard.

  ‘Alt Control Delete — the magic of destruction.’

  Suddenly Kenta was beside me. I’d always suspected there was more to gentle Kenta than she let on, and now she proved me right. She gripped a bar in each fist and gave a furious shake. The McCracken whiplash was back in her voice and her eyes were snapping fire. ‘That’s what you think! Call yourself king? You’re nothing but a crazy upstart! So you think you’re going to take over the world? Well, you’re wrong — we’re going to stop you!’

  Karazeel’s mouth dropped open. ‘I —’

  ‘I haven’t finished!’ snapped Kenta. ‘I knew Blue-bum would never betray us — I never d
oubted him for a second. Where is he? What have you done with him?’

  ‘Kenta, for goodness’ sake shut up!’ hissed Rich.

  Evor was hobbling forward, with a smile I didn’t like. Hobbling to the birdcage in the corner and flicking the cover off with a flourish. There, blinking in the harsh fluorescent light, crouched Blue-bum. His fur was as smooth and silky as ever, his monkey-face unlined and almost chubby-looking compared to the wizened mask of Evor. His paws were wrapped tight around the bars of his cage in a mirror image of Kenta’s — the smooth, nimble-fingered monkey-paws I remembered. But it was when I looked into his bright, inquisitive eyes that I knew for sure it was really him.

  Evor unlocked the door of the birdcage and grabbed Blue-bum by the scruff of his neck. Sidled over to where we stood staring stupidly out and shook him in our faces. With a fumble and a chink, he unlocked a small door set into the bars, opened it a crack and slammed it shut as Blue-bum sprawled on the stone floor at our feet.

  ‘There is your little friend,’ hissed Evor. ‘You can all die together.’

  ‘But not tonight.’ There was a different note in Karazeel’s voice — one that drew our eyes to him like a magnet. The wild frenzy had died away; he had sunk down onto his throne, his skin a sickly greenish-grey. ‘The largest part of pleasure lies in anticipation … and now, Evor, it is time for my potion.’

  ‘Wait!’ What had got into Kenta? She was at the bars again, hugging Blue-bum in her arms. ‘If we’re going to die anyway, why not give Blue-bum some of that sprinkle stuff and change him back into a boy?’

  ‘Yeah,’ snarled Rich. ‘Be more fun to watch a boy die than a chatterbot.’

  ‘What a sensitive insight, Richard. But alas, it cannot be done.’ As he spoke, Evor selected a phial from the array on the table and held it up, as if checking how much was left. The contents fractured the light like a prism and I caught hints of yellow, red, green and violet. It should have been beautiful, like a rainbow, but the colours were somehow dirty and putrid-looking. The yellow had the sickly cast of pus, the red was the crusty crimson of dried blood, and the green and purple the colour of an old bruise.

  ‘You see,’ Evor continued, ‘the antidote will only work once. We have turned your little friend into a boy once before — a most talkative and knowledgeable boy, as it happened, once his tongue had been loosened by a drop of Truth Potion. No, your friend Blue-bum will remain a chatterbot for the rest of his life.’

  ‘You’re lying! There has to be a way!’

  Evor’s eyes flickered. ‘There is one way he can be restored to his original form, but from what we have come to know of William Weaver, it might as well not exist. And now, my lord King …’

  ‘Wait.’ The merest croak, but enough to stop the phial before it touched Karazeel’s lips. ‘First, bring in the Mauler. It can guard them while I sleep … and the perfume of their terror will scent my dreams.’

  Rich and I exchanged a glance. Last time, in Shakesh, the dreaded Mauler had turned out to be nothing more sinister than Hannah’s little Tiger Lily, curled smugly on a velvet cushion. My heart gave a skip of hope. Weird things happened in Karazan. Could it be possible …

  A faint hum came from the door we’d entered through. The elevator was making its way up from the levels below. It seemed to be struggling. The hum grew louder, and louder still … then stopped. The curved silver door slid smoothly to one side to reveal the dark interior. There was a subtle shift in the shadows, as if the darkness itself had moved.

  A figure backed out: a youth, tall and broad-shouldered. He was moving very slowly, with exaggerated caution. Thonged sandals were on his feet; leather greaves protected his shins and forearms. He wore a short tunic and a pleated skirt of pliable leather, with a moulded leather breastplate covering his chest. His head was bare, and even from behind I could see the cow’s-lick of brown hair sticking jauntily upwards. Kai — our friend, and the Keeper of the Mauler.

  In one hand he held a leather whip, the base as thick as my wrist, tapering to a point as thin and supple as a serpent’s tail. In the other hand was a trident. He eased backwards in a slow shuffle, his whole attention fixed on whatever was inside the chamber. His body was tensed, leaning slightly forward as if poised for instant flight. The skin on his back between the wide straps that held the breastplate in place was slick with sweat.

  I was conscious of a peculiar smell, a fetid stink like algae in a stagnant pool. I darted a glance at Karazeel and Evor. If the Mauler, whatever it was, was so dangerous, then surely …

  Behind the throne was what I’d thought was an ornamental golden screen, but now I realised it had a more practical purpose. Karazeel and Evor had retreated behind the protective barrier and were watching from safety, eyes fixed avidly on the open door of the elevator. Suddenly I felt sick.

  Kai’s whip snaked out with a crack like a rifle. There was a shuffle, a guttural, grunting roar — and a dark mass of muscle leapt out of the blackness and smashed into our cage with a force that carried it halfway across the room. Steel shrieked on stone; the air shook.

  We cowered at the back of the cage, guts quaking.

  The creature was scrabbling for a foothold, trying to heave itself on top of the cage. I saw a pulpy expanse of pinky-grey belly — webbed feet bigger than flippers ending in hooked claws that scraped uselessly against the metal. The thing flopped to the floor and squatted there for a second, then gathered itself into another lurching leap that shoved the cage back into the computer casing with a crunch.

  ‘No!’ bellowed Kai, brandishing the whip. ‘Get down! NOW!’ His voice cracked. The creature was trying to force its head through the bars. Strings of drool stretched like slimy cling-wrap between the metal and its gaping jaws; mottled lips peeled back from fangs the size of butcher’s knives. Bulging eyes the colour of custard stared at us … then the mouth opened and it roared: a bellow that blasted our faces with the stink of rancid drains. It turned its head sideways, clamped its teeth on the bars and shook. The massive metal structure creaked and juddered; again, the whip cracked. The creature’s head twitched as if it had been stung. It released the cage and waddled slowly round … and its eyes locked on Kai.

  His whole being was focused on the Mauler, the force of his will bent on it. Three, maybe four paces separated them … one bound, and it would be over. Kai raised the trident and took one menacing step towards the crouching beast … then another. ‘Down.’ A snarl of a word; the growl of a dominant predator.

  For a second the muscles of the great haunches seemed to bunch and flex … then slowly the great body lowered itself to the floor and squatted, slimy hide glistening, the dangling dewlap pulsating.

  ‘It’s a toad,’ croaked Richard in disbelief. ‘A mutant toad!’

  Kai eased forward and clipped a thick chain to the metal shackle circling the creature’s front leg. His hand was shaking; it took three tries before the bolt snicked home. Slowly he backed away, the toad dragging itself after him, the chain grating on the floor. Slowly, slowly, without taking his eyes off the Mauler, he groped for a heavy metal retainer in the wall and snapped the other end of the chain home. Then he turned to the king and bowed. His knees were trembling, but his voice was steady.

  ‘I am at your service, my lord King.’

  Karazeel’s eyes were glazed, his skin like dirty dishwater. ‘The Mauler … has it eaten?’

  ‘Not these three days, my lord.’

  The grey lips twitched. ‘It will dine well tomorrow. Good night, children — I wish you pleasant dreams.’

  Candlewax

  The tower room was still. The flame of a single candle hung suspended in the darkness, a drop of molten gold surrounded by a dusty halo of radiance. The only other light came from the white pinpricks of the stars on the giant computer screen. I’d been gazing at them for what seemed hours, trying to memorise the unfamiliar constellations. Even though I knew it wasn’t the real sky, I found it somehow comforting … yet at the same time it gave me the unsettling feel
ing of being inside a giant computer, staring outwards, as if the window was a star-spangled screen between two worlds. On one side of the screen, I was Adam Equinox … on the other, Zephyr, Prince of the Wind.

  And Q, who’d invented the Karazan computer games … here, in the world he’d created, what did that make him? Which was reality — Karazan, or what I still thought of as home? Or was reality a time, not a place … wherever I happened to find myself, now? But even time was flexible, not fixed; Karazan had taught us that. The only certainty was inside myself; the only reality was me. And in this moment — now — I was Zephyr. I felt it in every beat of my heart.

  Some time after sunrise, Zeel and Evor would return. There was no doubt what would happen then. The vast shape against the wall snuffled and stirred as if it could smell my thoughts; a slit of pale light blinked open, then vanished. Between now and then, a plan must be made.

  ‘Told you we shouldn’t trust anyone …’ Rich had muttered bitterly before he fell asleep. ‘We should never have told Blue-bloody-bum anything …’

  It was hard to see how we could be worse off than we already were. And anyhow, I thought with a bleak half-smile, there was nothing left to tell; no one left to trust. Only the motionless huddle of the others, exhausted by a day that seemed to have gone on forever — and would almost certainly be our last.

  I was in no hurry for it to end.

  My eyes jerked open. The kaleidoscope of stars had shifted. Time had passed; I must have slept. Had I dreamed it? No — the sleeping hum of the computer had deepened into a new note: a swelling buzz. It wasn’t the computer. It was the elevator.

  The hum snapped abruptly into silence. I sat still as stone, the bars digging into my back, staring past the candle — lower now, guttering in a puddle of wax — at the closed door of the lift. It slid open.