Until the Stars Burn Cold

by Nicole Hurley-Moore

  “Shuri, we must away,” he said as he caught her hand.

  “I should stay. It would be better for you if we forgot each other,” she said quickly as she dropped his hand and stepped away. “You are giving up everything, Jinn, everything, and you should not have to. If you were to forget me, you would have a rich life.”

  He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tight. “Shuri, I love you and only if we are parted will I have lost everything. Come we must leave.”

  She closed her eyes and took a breath, inhaling in the spicy scent of his skin. She knew that she was too weak to let him go. Whatever the future would bring they would face it together. Raising her head she looked into his eyes. “Let us fly and leave Adwan behind. I love you. I will always love you.”

  “Then it is just as well I brought this,” Jinn whispered, slinging the thin coil of rope off his shoulder. “We will leave by the balcony. If you trust me not to drop you?” he asked, laughter dancing in his brown velvet eyes.

  “I trust you,” she answered without hesitation. Then her lips softened into a smile. “But you had better not drop me.”

  “Then if you are ready we will depart this forsaken house,” he said turning back to the balcony. “Unless there is something that you wish to take with you?”

  Before he finished speaking, Shuri released his hand and hurried over to her table. She opened an intricately carved box and withdrew a sparkling sapphire and pearl necklace. “I need take only this. It belonged to my Mother. It is the only keepsake I have to remember her by. When I wear it, I feel she is still with me,” she said, holding it out to him. “Would you keep it safe?

  “Of course. It is a beautiful thing,” he answered, staring at the sapphires in the shimmering necklace. The stones flashed with blue fire in the soft light and the fat pearl drop glowed. Jinn carefully placed it inside the pocket of his jerkin, next to the small bag of gold coins that would fund their new life in Al Basrah.

  “They say that it is charmed.”

  “Who says?”

  “The women of my family, at least that is what my mother said. The necklace is very old, it is handed down generation to generation. It is said that it protects and creates understanding,” Shuri said as she placed her hand over his heart.

  “How?”

  “I do not know, I wear the necklace because it belonged to my mother and it was her favorite,” Shuri said with a shrug.

  “I swear I will keep it safe. Come my love, the night grows late and we should put some distance between us and your Uncle’s house.”

  Together they slipped out to the balcony and Jinn quickly tied the end of his rope to the sturdy stone balustrade.

  “Jump up onto my back and hold on tight,” Jinn said. “Just remember there is nothing to fear, I will not drop you.”

  “I am not afraid,” she answered as she settled herself on his back, kissing his ear.

  Jinn took a deep breath and lowered himself off the balcony. “Please Shuri, this would be far less precarious if you’d stop that!”

  Shuri smothered a laugh, but refrained from breathing softly into his ear until they had almost reached the garden below. As his feet touched the ground she slid off his back, but before she had a chance to move away he pulled her into an embrace and ravished her mouth, he kissed her long and hard until their breathing quickened and they began to melt into each other.

  “Come,” he said as he pulled away, retrieving the two cloaks he had hidden behind the jasmine. “We should not linger, let us make for the side gate.” He threw a slate blue, hooded cloak about her shoulders and fastened it at her throat, his eyes smoldering with longing as he looked into hers.

  The sound of approaching footsteps broke them apart. The dense jasmine scratched her back as Jinn pushed her back against the wall. Hidden in the shadows, Jinn held his finger to his lips. Shuri held her breath as a group of four guards marched by. The moments lagged into each other. Then, grasping her hand, Jinn pulled her away from the wall.

  Turning together they ran through the roses, beyond the grove of almond, apricot and cherry trees, past the delicate pavilion where the honeysuckle and wisteria climbed and beyond the pool of reflection until they came to a small wooden door embedded in a high stone wall. Jinn turned the heavy lock and silently the door sprung open. Without a backward glance he pulled Shuri through the door into the darkened streets of Adwan.

  Chapter Two

  Ghost Gum Creek

  Mia sat on her carved wooden seat in her small, walled garden as a warm breeze ruffled her hair. It brought the scents of her flowers and a hint of distant rain. She loved her garden, it always imbued her with a deep sense of peace; it gave a place to potter about and to smell the clean air. Ghost Gum Creek had just come through several years of drought, and the once green town had become brown and dusty as water restrictions were enforced. The surrounding bush was tinder dry, and with each passing summer the inhabitants feared that summer lightning would cause a fire. But Mia’s garden was green and lush, with every drop of grey water to ensure the survival of her beloved botanicals; a bright green jewel in a faded land.

  With great satisfaction she viewed her private domain by the soft glow of the Middle Eastern lanterns that were suspended on the porch, and solar lights that were dotted around the edges of the beds. Jasmine climbed over the porch supports and the balcony iron work, as well as on either side several dense rose bushes all covered with dark blood red blooms, the scent was heady and romantic as it filled Mia’s night garden. In its center a tiered fountain bubbled clear water, and beyond that several steps led down to a small cobbled courtyard which was surrounded by apple, cherry, lemon and plum trees. In the center of the courtyard was a circular, raised bed that held parsley, sage, thyme, basil and mint.

  A small stab of loneliness took her by surprise. It was an unusual feeling. Most of the time she was too busy to notice, but tonight there was a quiet longing that unsettled her. She loved her life and her job at Templeton Antiques, but every once in awhile she wondered what it would be like to have someone to share her life with. Mia was blessed in many things; she had her health, her grandfather, friends, her house and a thriving business, but the one thing Mia never seemed to be able to hold on to was love. From the time she had her first crush in high school, to her two serious relationships as an adult, everything always went pear shaped and ended up imploding before she realized what was happening, Gary Stevens had been the perfect example of that. Nothing lasted, and sometimes she wondered if she was cursed. Abbey always spoke about destiny, true love and happy endings. She was the ever hopeful romantic who looked for the magic to happen. But for all her talk, it still hadn’t stopped Jason McCreedy breaking her heart when, in a moment of madness, he went off with another woman. Mia had long since disregarded true love as a myth. She quelled the feeling; true love was a childlike ideal which only happened in fairy tales, and she was far too old to believe in them.

  The house, which had once belonged to her parents, was situated at the end of a quiet street on the very edge of town. It sat on an acre plot and backed onto the creek that the town was named after. It was a two story, Victorian brick dwelling that had been one of the many pubs sprinkled throughout Ghost Gum Creek back when the town had been founded. Back when there had been gold. Many a town or a city in the central highlands of Victoria owed their birth to the gold rush that had swept through the area in the 1850’s; Ballarat, Bendigo and Castlemaine to name a few, and Ghost Gum Creek was no different. People had flocked there for the gold and a better future, and when the gold petered out some stayed to build a town and a community while others left to chase the gold and the dream.

  Her phone shook her out of her solitary thoughts. It would be her grandfather, they had arranged that he would call at the exact same time each night. Mixing business with family obligations, James Templeton had spent the last three and a half weeks in England.

  “Hello Granddad. How’s everything going in London?”

 
“Hello dear, everything is just great. I’ve found some excellent pieces for the shop; a very nice 19th century desk, a lovely armoire, several chairs and some Victorian jewelery,” he said. “I know how fond you are of it. Now, are you all right? No problems or anything?”

  “No, everything is fine,” she answered with a laugh. “The shop has been steady, maybe not quite as busy as we would like it but okay. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m sure that Templeton’s Antiques is in very capable hands. Listen dear, a chap has been in touch; apparently he got my name through John and is selling up his grandmother’s house in Cornwall.”

  “That sounds interesting.” Mia replied. “How is Uncle John?”

  “Who, John? Oh he’s all right, same as ever I suppose - bad tempered and crotchety. He does however send his love to his favorite grand niece.”

  John was Granddad James’s younger brother. He had no family, but refused to move to Australia. He stayed in London running Templeton’s Auction House, which had been founded in 1836 by Augustus Templeton, who had been a bad tempered and crotchety ancestor. James had always said that his brother had inherited not only the family business, but also the family traits.

  “Tell him I love him too. Now what’s all this about Cornwall?”

  “This chap wants me to go down and see if there is anything that interests me. He’s selling nearly everything, and it could be a treasure trove. I’m traveling down there this afternoon and I’ll ring you as soon as I’ve seen the house.”

  “I’m jealous, it sounds great!”

  “Well we can only hope. I’ll talk to you soon dear. Take care, and I love you.”

  “I love you too, bye Granddad,” Mia said before she snapped her phone shut.

  ~* * *~

  Adwan, 776AD

  Farrokh Kasim sat back on a pile of fat, colorful silk cushions and regarded his guest with curiosity. Farrokh had a pleasant face, with dark, brown hair and a muscular build. He was approaching his thirty-second year, and had amassed a fortune through selling silks and spice from the East. He was rich and influential, yet as he sat opposite Kansbar he felt a shiver of apprehension dance along his spine. There was something about the older man’s cold grey eyes that made Farrokh nervous; they held an intensity which couldn’t be ignored, as if the older man was staring into Farrok’s soul.

  Kansbar was a tall man with a thin build that possessed an ageless quality. All of Adwan had speculated how he could not be Shuri’s uncle, as she was a rare dark beauty whereas he was pale with light brown hair and a small beard. Yet he had come with a proposition that Farrokh could hardly refuse. Kansbar had come to offer the one thing that Farrokh desired above all else, the one thing he thought that coin could not buy. As he listened to Kansbar’s proposal, he idly rolled a small glass ball between his fingers.

  “I do not understand, Kansbar why you would want this worthless bauble? Yet if it secures Shuri as my wife, take it with all my blessings,” Farrokh said as he tossed the ball towards Kansbar.

  Kansbar snatched the talisman midair, holding it before his eyes for a closer inspection. It was a perfect circle of clear glass, but in its depths there was a gathering storm of grey, misty, billowing clouds, ever changing and boiling within the sphere.

  “Then the deal is struck. She is yours, my friend,” Kansbar answered as he slipped the sphere beneath his voluminous, midnight blue cloak and stood. “We will arrange the details soon, but now you will forgive me as I must return home.”

  “But the hour draws late, stay as my guest.”

  “My thanks but I must return home,” Kansbar said, taking several steps towards the door before turning around. “I should tell you that Shuri believes herself to be in love with Ranjinn Ladarius. She will do my bidding and marry you, however she may not come willingly.”

  “She will learn to love me.”

  “How?” Kansbar asked, narrowing his eyes with interest.

  “Through kindness,” Farrokh said with conviction.

  Kansbar’s lips curled into a cynical smile. “Then I wish you luck,” he said, inclining his head before he exited the room.

  ~* * *~

  Kansbar felt the elation course through him as he stood in the darkened street. At last after eight long years of waiting, he possessed one of the fabled Jetae Shamsheara stones. He had first learned of the legend when he was in service as a boy to Ralliba the mystic. Closing his eyes, he remembered discovering the ancient scroll amongst his master’s possessions. The tale was of a magical necklace that had been conjured by an Ifrit to please a goddess. But the nature of the Ifrit was dark, and his love quickly turned to desire and possession. For months he forged the necklace in a cave under a mountain, and the stones were imbued with dark power and binding. Once the necklace was around the goddess’s neck she would belong to him forever. But when it was presented to her, the goddess felt the power it held. She cast the Ifrit from her court and broke the necklace up to diminish its power.

  From that instant Kansbar had been enthralled by the power of the Ifrit and his stones. In secret he read all of his master’s scrolls on magic and when he had learned all he could, he ran away and searched out more. He had spent his life gaining knowledge in the ways of enchantment, and he had turned his back on the light long ago.

  Catching a hint of a rumor, he arrived in Adwan eight years ago and discovered that Farrokh’s family had one of the stones in their possession. The Jetae Shamsheara stone had been difficult to obtain; the stone could not be swindled or stolen away from its guardian. Kansbar had to plan and bide his time until he could secure it. Posing as Shuri's long lost uncle, he tricked his way into her mother’s home and waited for his chance.

  The Jetae Shamsheara would only be exchanged for a heart’s desire, and once a deal had been struck there was no going back. For if the deal was not upheld, the stone would find its way back to the home or bloodline of its guardian. Shuri was Farrokh’s heart’s desire, and Kansbar would do anything to make sure their marriage would take place.

  Turning, he walked through Adwan’s narrow streets. The cold night breeze swirled about him and tugged at his cloak. A smile curved his lips as he saw a man stand in his path. Kansbar’s eyes scanned the street, two more men were hidden in the dimness between the houses.

  “Salam Master.”

  “Salam,” Kansbar said.

  “A dark night to be walking alone,” said the thief. He was a small man with rags for clothes. His face was pointy and reminded Kansbar of a rat. Since Adwan had become prosperous, it had fallen prey to several bands of thieves. They worked the town during the day as pickpockets and at night their actions turned more violent.

  “I do not fear the darkness.”

  “You should. That is a beautiful akinaka at your side, but can you wield it?” the man said as his two friends pushed away from the shadows, their long knives glinted silver in the moonlight.

  Kansbar’s hand ran over the hilt of his short sword. He felt the warmth of the bone handle and the crevices of the deep carving beneath his fingers. “I do not need this akinaka to protect me.”

  “Then perhaps I’ll take it off you. Are they rubies and sapphires set into the scabbard?”

  Kansbar shrugged his shoulders. “You can try.”

  “If you were to give us your sword, your coin and the pretty bauble I saw you holding… then maybe we would allow you to go.”

  “Allow me?” Kansbar’s smile widened, his white teeth shone in the darkness and his expression resembled a snarl. “You actually believe you have the power to rob me?”

  “You are outnumbered, master. Give us the coin and you will be unharmed.”

  “No.”

  “The choice was yours,” the thief said before signaling to his accomplices. The men surged forward, intent on slitting his throat.

  “I-n-gun-en, digir gal-gal-gu-ne-ra,” Kansbar mouthed as he watched the men surround him. “I stand before all my great gods.” He raised his arms and the three men rose in the air, th
eir feet dangling a yard above the ground. They looked like disjointed puppets as they thrashed about in mid air, as if they could escape.

  “Master, forgive us – let us go!” the rat face thief said as his eyes rounded in horror. “Forgive us! Release us!”

  “Of course,” Kansbar said dropping his hand. The men sank down and hovered a few inches above ground level. He waited until the expressions of terror faded from their faces, only then did he continue his chant. “I-n-dim-es…girru. And I create fire.”

  One by one each thief was consumed by a strange green fire. They writhed and struggled and their cries echoed through the empty streets of Adwan. But the flames were ferocious, and they ate their way through rags and flesh until all there was left was ash. Kansbar circled his hand in the air and a strong wind blew through the alleys and streets of the town. It swirled in front of him before gathering the three piles of ash and carrying them away into the night.

  ~* * *~

  Rowan House – Cornwall.

  James Templeton stood at the open window and looked down at the craggy rocks to the surging, grey-blue sea beyond. At sixty-three years of age he still cut an elegant figure in navy pants and a heavy woolen overcoat, a shade under six foot, with a thick head of silver hair and warm hazel eyes. The winter wind from the sea was icy and James latched the window. Rowan House was a sturdy brick home which sat between the two towns of Perranporth and St. Agnes. It had been built in 1843 according to the stone plaque situated above the front door. It had five bedrooms, several reception rooms, an attic, an overgrown garden and spectacular views of the rolling sea.