Portrait of Shade

by Benjamin Ford

  Jabir nodded. ‘I believe that to be the truth. The two men of whom you speak must be the Great Visionary’s Observers. You had better come with us – it is unsafe for an intruder to roam the corridors of the Palace.’

  Jabir let go of Sibylla’s arm and walked to one of the huge ornately decorated tapestries that stretched from floor to ceiling on the left hand side of the corridor. He pulled it to one side to reveal a blank area of wall, and the others watched as he pressed a section of the wall, which swung open to reveal a flight of steps leading down into pitch-blackness. ‘Inside,’ he hissed, waving them through, ‘before someone comes.’

  They passed through the doorway, which Jabir closed behind them, and as they descended a few steps, the stairs turned sharply to the right, illuminated by flickering candles placed in alcoves every dozen steps, which offered just enough light to see where they were going.

  ‘This is one of several secret passages that lead down into the catacombs of Old Byzantium,’ Jabir said as he took the lead. ‘Few know of their existence.’

  ‘They must get through a lot of candles,’ whispered Makdil.

  Jabir smiled. ‘As I learnt the last time I was down here, nothing is ever quite as it seems. These candles burn no lower with the passage of time. Nothing may extinguish them.’ To demonstrate this he blew one out, and seconds later it spluttered back to life.

  ‘It is magic!’ whispered Makdil fearfully.

  ‘Merely one trick of many conjured by a sorceress!’

  Makdil stopped in his tracks. ‘Cassandra is a sorceress then?’

  Jabir turned and smiled at him. ‘What do you think?’

  * * *

  Dušan stood in the passage, staring curiously at the hanging tapestry that still swung slightly as if caught in a breeze. Having followed Jabir, Abbas and Sibylla out of curiosity, he had seen them disappear through a door hidden behind this tapestry. He was in two minds, unsure whether he should follow, or return to his chambers and tell Konstantin.

  Making his choice, right or wrong, he swung back the tapestry, located the opening catch after some fumbling, and disappeared into the inky depths beneath the Palace, uncertain why he was descending, unmindful that he might be in mortal danger.

  He had no idea what lay ahead of him, but the unknown no longer frightened him. He instinctively knew great danger lay down in the catacombs, but not for him. It was the others who had gone ahead who were in danger, and something reawakened in his mind to tell him he would not be able to save them.

  However, he knew he must try – whatever the cost to himself.

  * * *

  In her Inner Sanctum she sits upon the throne from which she rules her domain, smiling. She can sense them coming. She can sense them all.

  Ammar and Khalid: her two old Observers, whom she now decides have both outlived their faithful usefulness.

  Makdil: he will unwittingly become her new Custodian.

  Abbas and Jabir: they will become her new Observers, willingly or not.

  Dušan: he who is so important to the scheme of things must be protected, for his time has not yet come.

  And Sibylla: none is more important than this girl with no tongue.

  ‘Galina, Isis, come to the inner sanctum!’ The use of her lips to form words is unnatural to Cassandra. It is the first time in many centuries that she has spoken aloud. She smiles. If all goes to plan, she will bring words once more to the lips of the poor child Sibylla, so she must practice vocalisation.

  She sits in the darkness within her chamber, awaiting the arrival of her two loyal mute handmaidens. Their minds linked to hers to allow communication, she can sense their confusion at hearing her call to them aloud. When they appear in the cavern, darkness evaporates and Cassandra is bathed in gentle light.

  You called, Mistress? the blonde haired girl of impossible beauty thinks.

  ‘The time approaches for the retirement of my Observers, Galina,’ says Cassandra. ‘You both know how to take care of Ammar, but leave Khalid to me.’

  The darker girl, even more beautiful than Galina, nods. It shall be as you ordain, Mistress.

  Cassandra smiles. ‘Of course it shall, Isis. Am I not your mistress? You do as I ordain, or suffer the consequences. Now you may both leave. I await my guests.’

  Galina and Isis depart and darkness descends once more.

  * * *

  Khalid was inside Cassandra’s Inner Sanctum before he realised Ammar was no longer with him. Enshrouded in cold darkness, he had never felt more alone.

  On its raised dais at the far end of the cavern, the throne on which Cassandra sat was bathed in the unearthly golden light that came from the flaming brazier set before it. Cassandra was smiling, just as Khalid had known she would be.

  ‘Where is Ammar?’ he asked.

  ‘I have retired him,’ Cassandra said.

  It was a few moments before Khalid realised that the Great Visionary had spoken aloud. In all his many years as Observer to Cassandra, he had never once heard her voice anywhere other than in his head. Knowing what form of retirement she meant, Khalid was suddenly very afraid. ‘What of me, Great Cassandra?’

  ‘You shall be spared. I have freed you from the bonds that tie you to my service. You will age naturally and die in peace.’

  Khalid knew better than to question why he had been spared, so he thanked her most humbly for her generosity and for having granted him the privilege of serving her in the first place.

  ‘I have one final task for you, old friend. This is the last time I shall use these lips. My time of transition has come.’

  Khalid understood what she meant and nodded. ‘I shall remain to assist.’

  They approach, Khalid. Be seated beside me.

  Jabir entered the chamber first, followed by Sibylla and Abbas. Makdil held back, afraid to enter, until sudden movement behind him spurred him into the cavern.

  A dreadful mournful moaning echoed around the chamber, like the despairing last breath of a dying man, unwilling to surrender to death’s unflinching grasp.

  The three newcomers huddled together for comfort and watched as two half-naked young women appeared from a gloomy corner and settled on the dais beside the throne, upon which sat a woman of such familiarity that they were all left speechless. On the other side of the throne sat Khalid, who rose to his feet in horror as he recognised his neighbour.

  ‘What are you doing here, Makdil?’ he croaked. He turned in anguish to Cassandra. ‘Please, you must let him go free, Great Cassandra. He has a young wife and family. I beg of you, do not make him a part of your plan.’

  You know my laws. None may look upon my countenance and live!

  ‘What was that awful noise, Khalid?’ demanded Makdil, overcoming some of his fear.

  Come closer, Makdil. Let me look upon you!

  Makdil frowned. The voice had appeared in his mind, and it seemed none of the others had heard it. It annoyed him that Khalid had ignored his question. He took a couple of steps closer. ‘Khalid, tell me what is going on!’

  ‘Cassandra has retired Ammar, and I have my freedom now too. These eunuchs shall replace us as the Great Visionary’s Observers.’ He indicated Abbas and Jabir, who suddenly found themselves incapable of moving. ‘You should get away while you still can. She will have you killed.’

  Cassandra silenced Khalid with a wave of her hand.

  Enough of this foolish banter. None here today shall perish. Abbas and Jabir shall retain their lives and their memory, but they shall become my Observers, and they will be loyal to me. You, Makdil, shall replace Hafiz as my Custodian. You shall become my protector, but I shall allow you to remain with your family. I am not the heartless sorceress some believe me to be.

  ‘What about me?’ said Sibylla. She clamped her hand over her mouth, and the two eunuchs stared at her in open-mouthed shock. ‘I can speak. How is this possible?’

  That is my gift to you, child, a gift to myself, for that is who you are in reality, child: me!

 
; None had failed to notice that Cassandra and Sibylla looked so alike they might have been twins. ‘I do not understand,’ whispered Sibylla, shaking her head in confusion. ‘How can that be so?’ She moved towards the dais, and no one could move to stop her.

  Khalid stood and assisted Cassandra to stand, and slowly eased her voluminous robes from her body. Everyone looked at the blackened, sagging and emaciated body beneath the youthful head in disgusted horror, except Sibylla who, as though in a trance, walked towards the abomination unfalteringly, her movements jerky and awkward as if she were a puppet – and Cassandra the puppet master pulled the strings.

  At that moment, Dušan appeared in the entrance to the cavern behind Makdil and the two eunuchs. He froze as he took in the tableau before him.

  Spiridon, welcome – we meet again at last.

  ‘As was foretold twelve and a half centuries ago, Cassandra, Protectorate of Atlantis.’ He smiled as he entered the cavern, all vestiges of confusion finally eradicated his mind. ‘I see your new body awaits you at your time of transition.’ He turned to the others, who still could not move. ‘Be not afraid. Cassandra means no harm to this girl. You see, Sibylla is merely a projection of Cassandra. She does not really exist as a whole person. She is a vessel, awaiting the transition of her true spirit. The Great Visionary is timeless, ageless, and shall live on forever through each of her new bodies. Sibylla has been, and always shall be, Cassandra.’

  He returned his gaze to Cassandra briefly while the transference was completed. The others watched as Sibylla walked up to the dais, around the flaming brazier that surrounded Cassandra in a golden aura, until she stood before the throne. Cassandra placed her hands upon Sibylla’s shoulders, drawing the girl closer, and as the captive audience watched, the golden glow that bathed Cassandra became brighter, enveloping the pair until their bodies merged, became one. As the age riddled body disappeared, only Sibylla remained, as naked as the day she was born, radiating the beauty of youth.

  You see… one and the same.

  ‘Release them from the bonds of silence, Cassandra.’

  As you wish, Khalid.

  Still unable to move, the unwilling spectators found themselves at least able to speak.

  ‘Dušan, what have you done?’ cried Jabir. ‘The Great Visionary has killed Sibylla and stolen her body.’

  Dušan held up his hand for silence. ‘What I said about Cassandra and Sibylla being the same person is true. Just as, in a way, I am Spiridon as well as Dušan.’

  ‘As Dion Taine has become someone else?’ gasped Abbas, comprehending suddenly.

  Dušan nodded. ‘He is Diocletian, a dangerous criminal from another time and place. If Cassandra will allow, I shall explain.’

  Cassandra nodded her approval, and Dušan told his tale.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Eudora listened carefully to Spiridon as he explained various Ottoman customs, and tried her best to learn as much of the language as possible. She felt as if she had been imprisoned within the painting for months, though she had not slept or eaten, and as she came to realise that time had no meaning in this prison, she began to empathise more with Spiridon’s plight.

  Having noticed that like her, he too wore the triad of gold and amethyst jewellery, she asked how there could be two sets of jewels.

  Smiling as ever, Spiridon shrugged. ‘How can there be two of anything? There are two of me – one here in the painting, and one in Constantinople before my imprisonment.’

  ‘Don’t forget the original Spiridon, back in the Fourth Century!’

  He nodded. ‘I see you begin to understand the complexities of time travel, but it goes back further than my lifetime in the Fourth Century, Theodora, as you will ultimately discover. But it is not yet time for you to remember that.’

  ‘Remember it? I don’t understand. How can I remember something that has nothing to do with me?’

  ‘All in good time, Theodora, all in good time. It is better that you just accept what I say for the present. That is the best way to avoid anomalies.’

  ‘Anomalies?’ asked Eudora. ‘Such as?’

  ‘You could meet your parents before you are born or your grandchildren after your death. You might even meet yourself, but it is best to avoid such a meeting.’

  ‘I see. So do these jewels give you the power to travel through time?’

  Spiridon shook his head. ‘I come from an advanced culture many years from now. We have the ability to travel through time. It is our duty to protect the timelines. Trapped as I am within this painting, I retain my ability to travel through time, but only during the lifetime of the painting, from the day it was completed using the Dark Arts, to the time of its destruction.’

  ‘Which is?’

  Spiridon sighed. ‘Moments after I rescued you, it seems.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Diocletian was told that imprisoning me within the enchanted painting and then destroying it was the only way to kill me. He does not remember his past.’

  ‘You could have fooled me. It seems he remembers you and Constantine, and how you couldn’t forgive him.’

  ‘Diocletian and Constantine come from the same civilisation as us, Theodora.’

  ‘What do you mean, us?’ Eudora demanded.

  Spiridon ignored her question and held out his hand. ‘Come. It is time.’

  ‘Time for what?’

  ‘Time to witness events as they happen, in Constantinople of 1568 – the birthplace of this prison.’

  Suddenly, in front of them an area of the swirling colours dissolved away completely, replaced by an image. It was the painting, yet somehow in reverse – as if they were looking at it in a mirror… or from behind!

  ‘We are in the painting!’ gasped Eudora incredulously.

  The image of the painting disappeared too, replaced by a real life image. It was like looking through a window into another world.

  Eudora turned to Spiridon. ‘Is this Constantinople?’

  Spiridon nodded. ‘It is one of Dion Taine’s rooms within the Seraglio.’

  Paintings adorned each wall. A few were familiar to Eudora, others she did not recognise, but each utilised Dion Taine’s unique distinctive brushstroke. Pushed against one wall there was a large bed, smothered in garishly coloured silk-covered cushions.

  And then through the beaded curtain adjacent to the bed came a man with sandy coloured hair. He was familiar to them both.

  ‘Behold, Dion Taine… Diocletian!’

  ‘Dino Clayton!’ gasped Eudora, for indeed Nola Clayton’s father was whom this man closely resembled. No, she thought as she overcame her shock at seeing him. It was no mere resemblance: they were the same person!

  Dion came to stand over near the painting, grinning in some kind of perverse triumph. He peered at the painting, and Eudora stepped back instinctively.

  ‘Have no fear,’ said Spiridon, ‘he cannot see us within the painting.’

  ‘Can he hear us?’

  Spiridon shook his head. ‘He has cast the incantation to bewitch the painting, but he has yet to imprison me. He has no idea that we are here.’

  Eudora stepped closer to the window on the strange new world, and would have stepped right through had Spiridon not held her back.

  ‘You must be mindful, Theodora, you almost stepped out of the painting, and it is not yet time for that.’

  ‘Then why are we here, at this precise moment in time?’

  ‘We must observe Dion Taine, and witness events as they transpire. We must be ready for the moment of your release from this prison.’

  ‘To do what, exactly?’

  Spiridon pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. ‘All in good time, Theodora.’

  In renewed silence, they waited.

  * * *

  ‘Is there still no sign of your brother?’

  In the vast and imposing audience chamber, Konstantin stood before the Sultan, who sat on his gold throne high upon a raised dais, and sadly shook his head. ‘A month he
has been gone. As you are aware, he disappeared on the very day Dion Taine returned, a changed man.’

  ‘As you continue to remind me, my friend,’ replied Selim. He stood and slowly descended the steps until he was eye to eye with Konstantin. ‘Surely you do not still persist in this ridiculous claim that it is coincidence? In my opinion, Dion Taine must be responsible for Dušan’s disappearance. I cannot understand why you will not allow me to interrogate him.’

  There was anger in Selim’s eyes and impatience in his voice. He could not understand Konstantin’s obstinacy in defending Dion. When he had discovered the Captain of his Janissary dead and Dion Taine back in the palace, he believed the latter to be the murderer, and it was only at Konstantin’s feverish behest that Selim issued a stay of execution.

  Then, when Dušan was discovered to be missing along with Dion’s two faithful eunuchs and the impudent girl, Sibylla, Selim’s priorities changed. He loved Dušan not like a son, not like a father – nor even as a lover; he just loved him, completely, and he worried for the young man’s safety.

  ‘Why will you not allow me to question Dion Taine?’ demanded Selim.

  Konstantin sighed. ‘Excellency, such a move would put my very life in danger, and that of my brother.’

  ‘But why? I do not understand. If you fear Dion, and if you still wish him to have his freedom, I could have my men watch him constantly. He would not come near you. I cannot understand why you begged me to allow that man to remain in my palace!’

  Konstantin smiled benignly. ‘There is much you do not yet understand,’ he said, not unkindly. ‘When my brother returns, as I am certain he will, then we shall explain to you as much as possible. You must maintain an open mind, Excellency. For now, please accept my word that Dion Taine is far more dangerous than you could imagine, and keeping him within the walls of your Seraglio is the best way to keep a close watch on him.’

  Konstantin’s deliberately vague and evasive answers infuriated the Sultan. If Dion Taine were really so dangerous, surely it would be better to have the wretched man executed immediately?

  As it was, he declined his natural instincts, deciding instead to join the search he had personally instigated. Comprised of experts in tracking and hunting fugitives, his Janissary were well-trained soldiers and if anyone could possibly locate Dušan, they could. Selim silently vowed to offer any help he could to get his beloved friend back. He would lead them in their quest down into the catacombs beneath the palace, the only place within the Seraglio walls that had yet to be searched.