The City of Stars (Chronicles of the Magi Book 3)

by Dave Morris

The abbot was standing on the parapet to meet them. As soon as he saw the sapling, he clapped his hands together and shut his eyes in a brief prayer.

  ‘Am I dreaming?’ he said as they stepped down from the jinni’s hand. ‘Has the devil sent a vision of vain hope to torment me in my sleep? No, this is real. I can feel the green wood, smell the scent of the sap... The final assurance is to pinch myself. Ow! Neither wine nor honey-cake could be as delicious as the pain of that pinch, for it tells me I am awake and the sapling is back in safe hands.’

  ‘Think nothing of it,’ said Caelestis loftily. He had wrapped one of the fire cultist’s robes around him like a toga, giving himself the appearance of a rakish young patrician of the Old Selentine Empire. ‘This sort of thing’s all in a day’s work for us,’ he added, still refusing to accept that there had been the slightest hitch in their mission, much less that he himself had been fatally injured.

  Altor decided that further argument was worthless. ‘Whatever may be so, the whole venture will come to naught if we don’t recover the blade we seek. Without that, the Magi will return to earth and there will be no Second Millennium.’

  ‘You mentioned an ‘astral gateway’,’ said Caelestis to the abbot. ‘Could we use it to reach Hakbad?’

  The abbot shook his head woefully. ‘It was created by Brother Pereus, who had been a wizard before he turned to the True Faith. But the cyclops ate him, God shrivel her soul in torment, and I know only how to use it to return to the monastery. Now I must bid you farewell. I pray you will be delivered safely to Hakbad somehow.’

  He shook hands with them and, with the sapling in his hands, went over to a section of wall where they could just make out a shimmering in the air. ‘Lord, excuse me this witchery,’ he said. ‘I employ it only to do good in Your name. So then: vestigia nulla retrorsum.’

  With those words, he stepped into nowhere.

  Altor and Caelestis fought the urge to rub their eyes. ‘That’s a handy little trick,’ said Caelestis after a moment. ‘If only we had one of those “astral gateways”, eh?’

  They went back out to the parapet and were a little surprised to find the jinni waiting, standing stolidly in the sea doing his best to ignore the gulls flying around his head.

  ‘The abbot has gone, I take it,’ he said. ‘I hope he appreciated the effort we went to on his behalf.’

  ‘He did indeed,’ said Altor. ‘But why are you still here? I thought you’d be in a hurry to leave now the three wishes are used up.’

  The jinni sucked at his moustache pensively. ‘In point of fact, I was about to leave when it struck me that in a sense I still owe you half a wish, as I cannot deny I got some satisfaction out of whipping those Tammuz priests. Thus I have decided to take you on to Hakbad as originally agreed—but mark my words, this is the last service I’ll perform for you.’

  ‘We can ask no more,’ said Caelestis cheerfully. ‘On, then—to Hakbad.’

  The jinni scooped them in his hands and once more began the journey east. Though he took to the air and sped through the clouds, the dusk overtook them and by the time they were descending towards Hakbad it was against the velvet backdrop of night.

  The full moon had risen, and in its light they saw great palaces and domed temples spread out below them. Unlike the crowded cities of the north, with their buildings crammed one upon the other between narrow streets, Hakbad sprawled for miles. Between the rooftops and the fire-lit windows lay long tracts of orchard, empty necropolis and dusty scrubland.

  ‘See how Hakbad sits at the confluence of several rivers,’ remarked the jinni, quite as if he were conducting a tour. ‘In the early days there were numerous smaller settlements on this spot but, as they grew and merged, the City of Stars took shape.’

  Caelestis saw the look in the jinni’s eyes as he studied the streets beneath them. ‘Do you know it well?’

  ‘There was a time, now more than seventy decades past, when I was accustomed to take the form of a dog or merchant in order to stroll these very avenues.’ As he descended to the ground they saw the jinni was shrinking, and by the time he had set them down he was no taller than the palm tree that stood behind him.

  ‘Your magic is very versatile,’ said Caelestis. ‘You wouldn’t care to exert yourself to find out where the blade of the Sword of Life is located, I suppose? I could offer you... well, this magic ring, for example.’

  The jinni gave a laugh that became a bark as he shrunk into the shape of a large black hound with glowing coals for eyes. As he ran off across the park, he called back: ‘I said I’d do no more service for you or any mortal, but I will give you this last advice. Now you both have tasted death and lived again. The next time your souls travel to the afterlife it will be for a far longer stay—so beware, and farewell.’

  They son lost sight of him among the trees. Caelestis turned to Altor. ‘Was that useful advice? It just sounded ominous to me.’

  ‘And cryptic, since I’ve never died.’

  ‘Nor I.’

  Altor considered resuming their argument and decided to drop it. He pointed to a gravel path that led out of the park. ‘Sussurien said he’d wait for us—where?’

  ‘At the House of the Desert Breeze. We need to find someone who can tell us the way.’

  They followed the path to a wide tree-lined avenue bathed in moonlight. No-one was about. The buildings in this part of the city showed no light at the windows. They loomed against the stars like shadowy mausoleums, seemingly abandoned.

  Caelestis suddenly bent down and started searching for something in the gravel of the path.

  ‘What are you up to?’ said Altor.

  Caelestis pocketed a couple of pebbles. ‘Just an idea I had. I’ll tell you about it later. Ah, here’s someone.’

  Down the avenue towards them came an old dervish carrying a heavy pack. Altor raised his hand to hail him. ‘It’s late to be out on the streets, good sir,’ he said.

  ‘Late or early,’ replied the dervish.

  Seeing the puzzled look on Altor’s face and realizing that a discussion of philosophy could easily ensue, Caelestis stepped in. ‘Do you know the way to the House of the Desert Breeze?’

  ‘It is close by. Follow this avenue to the end, then look to your left. You will know the place you seek as its tower will be framed within the constellation of Arachnae the Spider.’

  They soon identified the House of the Desert Breeze from the dervish’s description. It was a low building faced in grey-green marble, enclosing a pair of courtyards. From a central structure between the courtyards rose the tower the dervish had mentioned: a thin spire covered with intricate carvings and surmounted by an iron-clad turret. The constellation known in Ta’ashim astronomy as the Spider did indeed seem to halo the tower. And something else as well—a milky opalescent bauble that hung low and louring among the stars.

  ‘White Light,’ said Caelestis. ‘Can the other Magi be far behind?’

  Altor straightened his shoulders. ‘Let’s deal with Sussurien first. Then we can worry about the Magi.’

  They were kept waiting in the stairwell of the tower for several minutes, then a servant came with a lantern to escort them up. Sussurien’s chambers were at the very top, beyond a red-lacquered door deeply carved with leering demon-faces.

  The room had a cloying air of musky incense. Dozens of thick candles stood on tall bronze stands, casting an uneven mix of light and shadow around the room. A mural along the opposite wall showed the pre-Ta’ashim gods of the region in scenes of sybaritic abandon. They looked almost alive in the flickering glow.

  A curtain was flung aside and Sussurien swept into the room. He was dressed in a beige gown and white satin over-robe bordered with tassels of gold and sea-green. A pearl the size of a duck’s egg glinted in the centre of his turban.

  He smiled languidly. ‘I expected you sooner. You have the Hatuli’s eyes?’

  Caelestis shrugged and reached into the folds of his toga for the eyes, but Altor remained defiant. ‘What assura
nce have we that you won’t double-cross us?’

  ‘Assurance?’ Sussurien spread his hands. ‘What assurance can I give you? We are allies. I have the Hatuli, you have its eyes. Only by co-operating can we achieve what we desire. Our interests do not conflict in any way. I have no use for the Sword of Life, any more than you have for the Sword of Death. Our goals are diametric, and there is surely no better guarantee against treachery than that.’

  ‘There’s one better.’ Altor patted his sword. ‘Remember that.’

  Caelestis held out the emeralds. They reflected bright green slashes of light across Sussurien’s face as he stooped to examine them.

  ‘Excellent, excellent,’ he breathed. ‘They are still redolent of Saknathur’s sorcery even after so long.’

  He fetched the Hatuli from a cabinet and placed the emeralds in its empty eye-sockets before setting it down in the middle of a small table. Next he produced a brush and painted a gold spiral around it. Lastly he arranged twelve engraved onyx counters in a pattern at the edge of the spiral and intoned a brief spell.

  Altor was watching Sussurien like a hawk, but Caelestis had his eyes on the Hatuli. He blinked. At the moment Sussurien completed his spell, he could have sworn he’d seen the grotesque little thing stand to attention.

  Sussurien looked around, smiling broadly. ‘The Hatuli is activated. It will take a few minutes to recharge its energy from the cosmic flux before it is able to move. Then it will find the Sword of Death for me.’

  ‘Interesting,’ said Caelestis. He stepped across to take a closer look, but caught his foot on the rug. Stumbling, he barged into the table and several of the onyx counters fell to the floor.

  ‘Clumsy dolt!’ snapped Sussurien, glowering at Caelestis as he recovered the counters.

  ‘Sorry.’ Seeing the Hatuli had been knocked over, Caelestis set it back on its feet.

  As suddenly as it had flared up, Sussurien’s irritation vanished. Or was it only that his mask, having briefly slipped, was back in place? He turned and pointed to the mural. ‘See this? It was found in a temple buried under volcanic ash. It predates the Ta’ashim faith, as you can see. Half a millennium ago, many of the people living in what is now Outremer and western Zhenir worshipped the gods depicted here.’

  Altor glared at the mural. ‘Did people really ever worship such vile and unclean monsters? I think they only feared them.’

  Sussurien was delighted by Altor’s reaction. ‘You Coradians are so squeamish! But you are right, these deities were not loved. They were the devils of the old myths. When I said they were worshipped—well, in a way do you not worship the Devil of your own faith? His power is real because you believe in it. It is the strength of the myth that counts.’

  ‘Preposterous. When can we get going? Is the Hatuli ready yet?’

  ‘—And so impatient. Look here: this serpentine creature with the three human heads. It is Azidahaka, the demon of destruction.’ He pointed to another picture that showed a wizened man with the roots of a tree growing out of the top of his head. ‘This is the Yazir, demon of deception and trickery. And here—here is Nasu, my favourite. She is the demoness of decay, depicted here as a bloated corpse with the head of a fly. If a man died from eating rotten food, the chances are that Nasu would be at the bottom of it.’

  ‘Sussurien,’ said Altor. ‘Your mural is distasteful and the ‘gods’ shown in it are rank fiends. You yourself are sinister, if not openly depraved. So, if the Hatuli is now ready, let’s take it and find the swords. Then we can bring this odious alliance to an end.’

  Sussurien paused with his fingers on the mural, then slowly turned to regard Altor. There was still an unruffled smile on his lips, but his eyes flashed with menace. ‘I had not realized you held me in such contempt.’

  Altor met his gaze squarely. ‘You’ve been exiled from every country in which you’ve lived. That rather speaks for itself.’

  Caelestis tried to defuse things. ‘Why quarrel? We are poles apart—our goals diametrical, as you just said.’

  Sussurien nodded. ‘In fact you are right. I have no real argument with the two of you, beyond the dislike I have for all your race and my scornful abhorrence of all self-righteous prigs. My motive is not malice, then, but curiosity.’

  ‘Your motive for what?’ growled Altor.

  Sussurien gestured again at the mural. ‘I have certain theories I wanted to test—theories about the nature of myth and reality. I believe that just as lenses can be used to form images of distant objects, so it should be possible to use focussing spells to create images of mythical beings. A image projected from the myth plane onto our own, so to speak. Do you find these concepts difficult to understand? Ah, you Coradians are so simple-minded. Allow me to demonstrate.’

  He touched the pearl on his forehead and uttered something in a sibilant foreign tongue. The air immediately became stifling, laden with menace like the oppressive atmosphere before a storm. The candles guttered low, threatening to plunge the room into darkness. As they flared up again, Altor and Caelestis sensed something was wrong, but it took them a few seconds to grasp what it was.

  Something stirred in the furthest corners of the room. Three huge shadows reared up.

  It was then they realized what had changed. The three demons were no longer in the mural.

  Sussurien’s magic had brought them to life.

  Thirteen:

  The Sword of Life

  Altor’s sword sang as it left its scabbard. Cleansing light flashed from the blade. In the sickly yellow glow of the candles it was like a thread of pure quicksilver.

  A heavy shape weaved forward, and Altor saw three narrow heads sprouting atop a long body of glistening black scales. The demon that Sussurien had called Azidahaka. As it reared up, three human mouths opened with a hiss. The tongues were thin slivers that dripped with poison, the teeth needle-shaped fangs.

  Ignoring the hypnotic stare of those six bejewelled yellow eyes, Altor thrust his sword at the point where the necks joined the body. It struck the hard scales -

  And broke in two.

  Altor stood aghast with the stump of the blade in his hand. The gift of an elf sorceress, his sword had belonged to a legendary hero. He had grown to rely on its magic power. Certainly he had never imagined that anything on earth had the power to break it.

  ‘Watch out!’

  Caelestis grabbed Altor and pulled him out of the way just as the three demonic heads shot forwards. There was an angry hiss as Azidahaka’s jaws snapped shut on thin air. Poison splashed in a fine spray of droplets. One drop struck Altor on the back of his hand and he gave a cry of pain as it burned his skin.

  The pain helped him recover from the shock of seeing the sword shatter. Throwing the broken haft at the demon, he whirled to face Caelestis.

  ‘Run?’ said Caelestis, before Altor had even opened his mouth.

  Altor nodded, and the two of them smashed through the red-lacquered door and flung themselves down the long staircase. From the room above them issued a cacophony of shrieks and howls that echoed to horrible effect down the interior of the tower. It was a sound that had not been heard on earth since ancient times. The sound of immortals hunting human prey.

  Halfway down they heard a jeer of laughter and paused to look back. Three vast dark shapes formed baleful shadows on the stonework, slowly descending. On the landing above stood Sussurien, fingertips resting lightly on the iron frame of the balustrade as if he were merely gazing at a scene of casual interest.

  ‘There can be no escape. My creatures are tireless. Wherever you flee they will pursue. When your legs are like water and your breath comes in fiery gasps, they will come relentlessly on. And at last they will seize you, ripping your frail flesh...’

  They did not wait to hear more. Dashing to the bottom of the stairs, they emerged into the courtyard. A tableau of soft blues and violets surrounded them, the palette of predawn twilight. It was strange to look with pounding hearts on such a tranquil sight.

  ‘Go
t a plan?’ gasped Altor.

  ‘Sure,’ said Caelestis sarcastically. ‘We find three nice gods and get them to beat up Sussurien’s lot.’

  ‘Very helpful.’

  ‘They broke your magic sword, for Heaven’s sake! There’s no plan that’s going to work except running for it.’ Caelestis started towards a narrow passage at the back of the courtyard. ‘Come on, they’re too big to fit through here.’

  As they reached the passage there was a rush of musty air. A screech of inhuman bloodlust split the stillness of the night. Altor felt something snatch at him. Talons caught the back of his jacket but the fabric ripped. He ran on without looking back.

  The passage opened into a street. Directly opposite was a building with heavy locked doors and no windows.

  Caelestis turned his gaze up to the symbol above the building’s door. It was an embalming house. ‘You’ve got to admire God’s sense of irony,’ he said bitterly.

  Altor glanced back along the narrow passage to the courtyard. He had a glimpse of three hunched, hulking shapes that stared sullenly at him in the gloom. Then a gust of wind blew dust in his eyes, and when he looked again they were gone.

  Caelestis was hammering the door of the embalming house and cursing bitterly. Altor ran over, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him off along the street.

  Another gust of hot wind blew down the street from behind them. They looked back as they ran. The three demon-things were there, looming against the paling sky.

  ‘Do you think sunrise might get rid of them?’ said Caelestis.

  ‘Faint hope,’ said Altor. ‘Sussurien wouldn’t overlook anything so obvious.’

  A howl drew their attention to a nearby side-street. They looked in time to see a black dog lope off along it.

  They dived into the side-street without thinking. The three demon-gods came shambling, slithering, gibbering in pursuit.

  The walls were twenty feet high on either side. Caelestis, who had once boasted he could scale a wall of polished glass, saw no handholds—and there was no time to stop and look in any case.