Resplendent in his white military uniform, white turban and black waist sash fastened with a gold clasp in the image of the mother goddess Fareeka, a spiritual relic of the ancient Ranu empire, A Ahmud Ki stood atop a six-wheeled metal and wood motorised vehicle surrounded by eight of his hand-picked bodyguard with their shining peacemakers visible to all. His entourage of eight vehicles, their steam drivers clattering and clanking as they turned the cogs and pulleys to rotate the wheels, wound along the main thoroughfare of the Kalan capital towards the grey facade of the palace. The crowds packed along the roadside clapped and cheered and threw handfuls of the blue petals of the king’s tears flower, the Kalan national emblem.
I am more than a Dragonlord could ever be, A Ahmud Ki decided, seeing the joyous faces and hearing the happy shouts of so many people, people his army had conquered. I am a god.
He looked up as a flight of white dragon eggs soared above the palace. Once I would have commanded a flight of dragons, he mused, and chuckled to himself at how the world had so radically changed and yet his ambition was still fulfilled.
After the signing of documents and making of speeches, and the official recognition of the interim Kalan government by the Ranu republic, he had to attend a clandestine meeting with his generals. The Kalan objective completed, the next target for his military was to erode the control of the leadership of the two neighbouring nations, Ma-Tareshka and Jaru, in preparation for the next phase of expansion. His advisors calculated the operation would take up to two, perhaps three, years at most. Ma-Tareshka was a large land ruled by tribal chiefs who formed a coalition whenever the nation was under threat. Like Kala, it would quickly collapse in the face of Ranu efficiency and technology, although the vast distances it covered would pose a challenge to policing it in the transition phase. The Ranu army had faced a similar challenge years before when it invaded the Vasilo empire, but the Ranu’s technological advances since then made A Ahmud Ki’s generals confident that Ma-Tareshka would fall with greater efficiency.
The Jaru nation posed a thornier problem. Although it had a king as its nominal head of state, it was a democratic nation with a central government of elected regional representatives. Essentially free people, the Jaru would almost certainly fight to retain their freedom. A purely military acquisition of that nation would be costly and would require years of post-war suppression as nationalist terrorists continued to fight the invaders. Instead, the Jaru nation would have to be politically infiltrated and undermined from within—a much more delicate and intelligent operation and one very much to A Ahmud Ki’s liking because it represented a complex challenge.
He was startled by a bodyguard slumping against him. Someone shouted above the din of the cheering crowd. Then he felt a thump against his shoulder, another against his back, and his legs gave way as the entire world tilted inexplicably to the left.
Creeper waited nervously at the corner, his hands sweaty, his heart racing. He could hear the crowds in the main street several blocks away, but his street was almost empty, everyone having gone to see the parade. A man in a white Ranu robe appeared at a corner thirty paces on, looked furtively over his shoulder and walked swiftly towards Creeper.
‘Well?’ Creeper asked as the man reached him.
‘Three hits on him. Two on his bodyguards.’
‘But is he dead?’
‘He has to be.’
Creeper looked over his shoulder along the street. ‘Where’s Baker?’
‘He’ll be here.’
‘And the ship?’
‘Leaves this afternoon.’
Creeper grinned. ‘Good job, Harez.’
‘There’s Baker,’ Harez indicated, and Creeper turned to see another man in Ranu dress approaching quickly.
‘Where did you leave your peacemaker?’ Baker asked as he reached his comrades.
‘Down a shithole,’ Creeper said. ‘No one will find it. You?’
‘Under some roof tiles.’
‘Time to go,’ said Harez, and he led the assassins across the empty street towards an alley. The shadow of a dragon egg drifted over them as they entered a small building. Baker and Creeper slipped out of their Ranu disguises and into shirts and trousers, storing their knives in their belts and possessions while Harez waited patiently.
‘What’s the name of the ship again?’ Creeper asked as he tightened his belt.
‘The Princess,’ Harez replied.
‘Schooner?’
‘No. An old barque.’
‘And the shipmaster knows we’re coming?’
‘He’s one of your countrymen.’
Creeper grinned and winked at Baker. He turned back to the dark-skinned Kalan and said, ‘Thanks for helping us these past three days.’ He fished in his pocket. ‘You’ve earned your payment.’
Harez smiled as Baker moved past him towards the door. ‘It is a pleasure to help you rid my people of a foreign parasite,’ he said. Then his eyes popped wide and his mouth gaped in shock as Baker stabbed him from behind.
Creeper grabbed the man’s robe at the neck and slid his knife across Harez’s throat, saying, ‘Again, thanks. You’ve been a real help.’
Shipmaster Gaffer of The Princess was a man of Jarudha, so when King Shadow announced the new Jarudhan order he embraced the change enthusiastically. He immediately enforced on his crew the ritual of praying three times daily, insisting that because the ocean was Jarudha’s domain sailors had to pray for permission to cross the waters safely, and were beholden to thank Jarudha every day for letting them do so.
He praised the clampdown on thieves, tricksters, gambling, alcohol and prostitutes—all of which had played havoc with his crews and his capacity to trade over the years—and he had no qualms about the strict penalties being meted out to transgressors of Jarudha’s laws. That he should receive a highly secret commission from the Seers to oversee the demise of two notorious cut-throat murderers he was to take on board in the Kalan capital port, men who spat upon Jarudhan law and order, came as an unexpected blessing and he was both keen and determined to ensure that the job was done well.
The letter that brought the commission described where and when he should collect the men and urged him to ignore anything they might say to try to save their miserable, sin-polluted lives. It ordered that the men should be imprisoned immediately they set foot upon The Princess, and then should simply disappear at sea, neither buried nor cremated—an appropriate punishment for their corrupted souls. The letter also instructed that when the commission was done, Shipmaster Gaffer was to return to Port of Joy and deliver the news directly to Seer Deeds, who would be waiting at the temple in the Southern Quarter. The privilege of meeting a Seer in person gave Gaffer hope that he might himself be on the path to everlasting life in Jarudha’s Paradise.
He stared at the two bound, gagged and blindfolded prisoners kneeling on the deck before him, and felt his anger rise. It is not for me to punish them, he remembered, tempering his feelings. Jarudha will determine their eternal punishment.
He ordered his crew members to hoist the two prisoners onto the railing and turn them to face him. When they were perched on their precarious seats he stood before them and said perfunctorily, ‘May your souls not suffer too long in the hells,’ and gave the signal for his men to shove the prisoners overboard.
Duty done, he gave the order for the midday prayer to be held, and murmured, ‘Jarudha be praised,’ as he headed for his cabin to pray in solitude.
Walking on land never quite felt right to Gaffer, but his legs were buoyed by his excitement. Jarudha had singled him out for reward, had given him a glimpse of Paradise by sending to him the commission to rid the world of two despicable creatures. This afternoon, fresh in port, he was hurrying towards the temple in the Southern Quarter. By his estimation, he would arrive in time to speak with Seer Deeds and then be able to join the local congregation for the evening prayer session. He had never prayed in a temple, in a house of Jarudha; only at sea, either in his cabin or on the r
olling deck with his crew.
Neither had he ever spoken with a Seer. The holiest of holy men were beyond the common reach of ordinary people, and even when they appeared in public they remained aloof, apart, as if listening to Jarudha’s voice above the cackle of the crowds of sinners. Yet he was about to meet a Seer personally, who wanted to thank him for serving Jarudha faithfully. His life was truly blessed.
He ignored the stares of people he passed in his rush to meet the Seer. He stopped twice only, to ask soldiers for directions to the temple in the Southern Quarter. Crossing a small market square, he was momentarily distracted by a hawker who tried to force a ceramic pepper pot into his hands, but he evaded the man and hurried into the narrower streets of the Southern Quarter, heading in the direction of the old docks.
When a blond street urchin ran into his path and grabbed at his sleeve, he beat the boy off with a flurry of hands.
‘Are you Shipmaster Gaffer?’ the boy said.
Gaffer stared at the boy. ‘I am.’
‘You have to come with me,’ he said, and tugged at the shipmaster’s sleeve again.
‘Why? Who are you?’ Gaffer asked warily, annoyed to be interrupted in his quest.
‘I’m nobody, but there’s a Seer wants to see you.’
The soldiers had told him that the temple was in the square near the head of the old docks region, which was further on, so Gaffer was suspicious that the boy was trying to lead him astray, but it was too coincidental that his ploy concerned a Seer. No one else knew why he was ashore.
‘Seer Deeds?’ he asked.
‘Yes. That’s him,’ the boy said.
Gaffer followed the boy down a narrow lane into a vacant lot between ramshackle buildings. The lot was overgrown with weeds and cluttered with rubble but at its centre stood a blue-robed Seer, hood up, waiting. ‘That’s him,’ said the boy and he dashed back up the lane.
His excitement returning, Gaffer straightened his shoulders and slipped off his baggy blue seaman’s cap to smooth down his greying hair. He took a tentative step towards the Seer.
‘I take it you are Gaffer the shipmaster?’ a deep voice asked from within the hood.
Gaffer bowed his head deferentially and answered, ‘Yes, Your Holiness. I am he.’
‘Lift your head so that I can see your face,’ the Seer instructed. Gaffer lifted his chin obediently. The Seer’s face was shadowed by the hood. ‘Is the deed you were asked to complete done?’
‘Yes, Your Holiness,’ Gaffer replied, allowing a little pride to seep into his voice. ‘The sinners are receiving judgement.’
‘Did they tell you anything?’
‘About what, Your Holiness?’
‘Their business in Kala.’
‘They babbled something about having booked my ship, but we tied them up and gagged them so their blaspheming tongues were silenced. They went into the deep that way.’
‘Were you followed here?’
Gaffer chuckled. ‘No, Your Holiness. I wouldn’t let anyone else spoil this moment for me. I didn’t even tell my crew where I was going.’
‘Then your work is good and you have earned your reward.’
Gaffer’s heart raced with expectation, but when he saw the metal muzzle of a hand peacemaker appear from within the Seer’s robes his anticipation turned to confusion and fear. A shot echoed in the enclosed space and Gaffer fell.
The Seer stepped up to the dying man and fired a second bullet into his head. Then he lowered his hood and stripped off the robe, revealing a wiry frame and a shaved head. After neatly folding the robe over his arm and tucking the peacemaker in his belt, he headed for a gap between two derelict buildings, satisfied with his work.
PART THREE
‘I marvel at how gullible people can be, especially when they think someone is showing them an easy way to glory or salvation. People are inherently selfish and want a religion that is about themselves. The art in our religion is not how to open the eyes of the people to greater truth, but how to blind them with their own salvation so they follow our teachings with nothing but pure, unquestioning faith. Once we achieve that, we have what all worldly conquerors crave.’
FROM LETTERS TO JARUDHA BY HIS EMINENCE, SEER SCRIPTURE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The failure of her portal spell puzzled Meg. She focussed again on her memories of her bookshop and again willed a portal to form between a pair of sapling gum trees. Nothing happened.
‘What’s wrong?’ Swift asked.
Meg shook her head. ‘It’s as if I can’t make a connection.’
‘Try connecting somewhere else,’ Chase suggested.
‘I don’t have any other places to try. I’ve only ever lived in my bookshop or in the palace.’
‘What if I describe my home to you?’ Chase asked. ‘Would that work?’
‘I’m hungry,’ little Jon complained.
Chase scooped up his nephew and tweaked his nose. ‘We’ll eat in a little while. It’s not even breakfast time yet.’ He turned back to Meg. ‘Would that work?’
The old woman shrugged. ‘I don’t know, I’ve never made a portal like that before. Normally I can only connect with some place I’ve been.’
‘Try it,’ said Swift, and she held out her arms to take Jon from her step-brother.
Chase closed his eyes and described the tiny cottage he’d shared with Passion and his nephew, beginning with the faded blue front door, the square table in the common room, the little window that looked onto the lane, adding as much detail as he could recall. Meg listened carefully, trying to form an image in her own mind. When he’d finished, he asked, ‘Can you see it?’
She nodded, and returned her attention to the sapling gums. She focussed on Chase’s description as she conjured a portal, but the space between the saplings remained dark. She sighed.
‘I can try to give you more detail,’ Chase offered.
‘No. It doesn’t work like that. I’ll have to make a portal to an open space just outside Port of Joy and hope no one sees us appear.’
‘I have a suggestion,’ said Wahim. ‘When we were in the ruined library I heard you talking to Erin about spells that allow you to see inside another mind. Is that possible?’
‘Yes,’ said Meg quietly. A Ahmud Ki had once enticed her to enter another mind, and she vividly remembered the young prisoner’s fear when she did so.
‘Can you do it?’ Swift asked.
I was inside your mind when you were close to dying, Meg thought. ‘I can do it,’ she said, ‘but it can be scary for the person whose mind I enter.’
‘It won’t scare me,’ said Chase cockily. ‘Try it. I’ll think about the house.’
‘Are you sure?’ Meg asked, uncertainty in her voice.
Chase grinned. ‘Ready.’
‘If anything goes wrong I’ll stop,’ she assured him.
Chase’s mind was immediately receptive, unlike her previous experiences, and she floated through random images—memories of family, of his sister Passion, of little Jon, of an old man in a dark cell. There was someone else, a youngish, handsome man with dark blond hair, the feelings surrounding him associated with the concept of father. His face reminded Meg of another man she’d known. And then, to her surprise, Chase, or at least a representation of him, was beckoning to her and pointing. She followed his finger and saw a small cottage with a faded blue door and a curtained window in a narrow lane clustered with other cottages. Three children were kicking a football in the lane and a brown dog was curled on a doorstep. Chase’s image led her through the door into a small common room, sparsely furnished but homely, with a fire in a cooking hearth and a door leading to a room beyond. Meg was satisfied. I can see it very clearly, she projected and she withdrew from his mind.
Chase was staring at her, eyes wide, smiling. ‘That was amazing!’ he exclaimed. ‘I could see you. No, it was something that made me feel like it was you,’ he corrected. ‘Oh, that’s amazing!’
‘I know what your home looks like now,
and where it is,’ Meg told him. ‘Let’s see if it helps.’
She turned to the saplings again, tuning out Chase’s excited description of his experience to Swift and Wahim. The first wash of sunlight spread across the gum tree canopies. Magpies chorused and kookaburras chortled across the bushland to a background symphony of other birdsongs. A blue glow appeared between the two young trees.
‘It worked!’ Chase exclaimed, and he retrieved little Jon from Swift. ‘Look at that!’ he said, directing the boy’s attention to the blue haze. ‘We’re going home.’
‘Let me go through first,’ said Meg, tempering Chase’s eagerness. ‘Just in case. Wait a short while before you enter. I’ll only close the portal when the last of you comes through.’
Meg stepped through the blue haze. A small black shape followed her.
The room was smaller and darker than Chase had remembered it. The table was overturned, the floor was littered with debris and the window letting in the morning light was broken. Whisper sniffed at the door that went deeper into the cottage. Meg couldn’t hear anything, so she carefully eased the door open. Beyond it was a dark room that reeked of animal. Three shapes growled and then barked menacingly as Meg shut the door again. She looked for Whisper and found that the rat had prudently clambered onto a shelf above the dead cooking hearth. She laughed.
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