Worm Winds of Zanzibar (The Alex Trueman Chronicles Book 2)

by Martin Dukes

  “I fear I will be going no further,” he said, his voice feeble and his eyes glinting in the gloom.

  “He’s going to be alright, isn’t he?” she demanded, glaring from face to face. “Someone tell me he’s going to be alright!”

  The expressions in the faces that looked back at her offered her no such assurance. Her own face crumpled. She wept. “Nooo!” she moaned, gripping his hand more tightly in both of hers. “You’ve got to be alright!”

  “You must go,” said Rakesh grimly. “We have bought a little time for you, but others will soon come. I will stay with my brother.”

  “We’ve got to take him,” insisted Kelly. “Get him on Zoroaster’s donkey.”

  Rakesh shook his head adamantly.

  “This is not a debate. Jemail will not move from here. You must go now. These things are not open to argument. Go now!”

  “Come on,” said Henry tugging gently at her shoulder. “Rakesh’s right. We’ve still got a chance.”

  “I had entertained such hopes,” breathed Jemail. “But perhaps it was meant to be. You will go. I shall stay. We were always bound to be parted… I love you,” he said, his voice almost inaudible now.

  “I know,” she said between sobs. “I know.”

  There were other things she wanted, needed to say, but her mind was an agonised whirl of confusion, her tongue paralysed, heavy in her mouth, even as Henry pulled harder at her.

  “‘Bye Jemail. It’s been good to know you, mate,” he said. And then, more insistently still to Kelly, “Come on!”

  She leant forward, kissed Jemail’s forehead and looked one more time at him, a look intended to fix this moment indelibly in her memory. His eyes were wide and anguished, his face pale. And then she was away, sobbing, Henry’s hand on the back of her arm urging her through the door and out into the road, where a wounded man still lay moaning. Zoroaster was already on his donkey, Tanya at his side. Will and Amjad were looking anxiously back towards the harbour, from where there were no more sounds of conflict. The horizon was beginning to lighten in the east now.

  “I know this country,” said Amjad. “My uncle has land in these parts and I spent many summers here when I was small. I know the road to Tattash. It will take us three hours, if we hurry,” he said as he glanced back along the road. “Just as long as we are not forced to stop or hide along the way.”

  “Let’s go then,” said Henry, glancing at the bodies in the road. “I guess these guys’ pals’ll be turning up soon.”

  Alex found himself exactly where he had visualised he would be – standing next to the podium on which the Dodekakephalon was raised, the pale bone of the skulls and the precious metals glinting in the broad shaft of light that streamed in from the oculus high above. The skulls, clustered in their tight circle, grinned at him, the dark voids of their eye sockets made darker still by the glinting jewels that studded the surrounding bone. The gap where his own skull might now be placed seemed to yawn wide like a chasm. At the thought of this, a tiny prickle of horror rippled across his scalp. The skulls were placed in carved and jewelled settings, with twisted threads of gold and silver snaking amongst them. There was undeniably a certain grim beauty to what he surveyed. Alex was reminded of pictures of Aztec temples and carvings he had seen in books; gruesome, blood-soaked rituals celebrated by the skills of artists who would, themselves, someday tread the steps to the sacrificial knife. He blinked, the baseball bat dangling loose in his hand as he peered around into the shadows between the columns. The sanctum was empty, his breathing the only sound. Specks of dust danced gracefully in the air before him and the sinister mass of the stone sacrificial table loomed darkly at his side. He shuddered. How many of these skulls had been parted from their living owners on that slab? Who had they once been? What spirits had they once sustained, these pale vessels of bone? He imagined their owners, trembling on the slab with necks tilted back and throats exposed to the grim black sword. What terror had they felt? Bile rose in Alex’s throat and he turned away. He knew exactly what terror they had felt. He felt revulsion now. They were just bone, he told himself, just bone that should moulder in the earth and turn to earth, or crumble to ashes in the funeral pyre. The Brothers were wrong. The skulls meant nothing. They had no life or meaning of their own, any more than cut fingernails or the trimmings of hair on the barber’s floor. The spirits that had once animated them had long departed. Keep a low profile, Malcolm had said, but as he took a step towards the shadows between the columns on the far side of the hall, it became apparent that this wasn’t going to be an option.

  The double doors were suddenly flung open and Ezekiel advanced purposefully towards him, an attendant at his side, a pace behind. It was too late to hide now. A momentary surge of panic ebbed away to be replaced by a feeling of congestion in his throat, a trembling in his hands that he recognised as anger. He stood his ground, Alex Trueman, fifteen years old of Cardenbridge, England, versus Ezekiel, archangel of the heavenly host and as old as time itself. It was a somewhat unequal contest, as the gloating expression on Ezekiel’s face made clear.

  “So,” he said. “You have returned to play your part, after all.”

  The attendant threw back his hood to reveal himself as Garek.

  “We’ve been worried sick about you,” he laughed nastily. “Such a fuss there’s been; folks rushing about all over trying to track you down, Brothers searching throughout Elysium. And here you are. You must tell us how you pulled that little trick. Mortals aren’t supposed to be able to do that kind of thing. Tut, tut! Naughty boy!”

  “You have powerful friends,” said Ezekiel taking another step forward. “We presume that it was they who spirited you away. That will not happen again, Alex. We shall be watching.”

  Alex nodded. So they didn’t know what he was capable of. He pressed his lips hard together, regarding the archangel with an unwavering gaze.

  “And we do have unfinished business, don’t we, Alex?” said Garek grinning. “It’s good to feel part of something bigger than yourself, don’t you think?” he added with a chuckle.

  “We must summon the Brethren,” said Ezekiel. “But I think we must take measures to ensure that our young friend does not abscond a second time.” He raised a hand towards Alex, who brought up the baseball bat instinctively in front of him. The hand wavered as Ezekiel laughed.

  “Oh, Alex,” he said. “How pathetic you are. Do you really think you could harm me with that?”

  “No,” said Alex grimly. A toxic gout of hatred leapt within his breast. “But I bet I could harm this.”

  Before Ezekiel could do anything more than open his mouth and eyes wide in speechless horror, Alex took a step sideways and swung the bat at the circle of skulls. There was a satisfying bony crunch. Fragments of skull flew up in the light shaft and jewels skittered across the floor. Ezekiel screamed, a surprisingly shrill, inhuman sound that thrilled Alex’s soul with a fierce joy. A strange, delightful power coursed through his veins.

  “Noooo!” screamed Ezekiel and Garek in unison as the baseball bat hurtled down a second time and another skull exploded in white flying shards, a jaw spinning to rest at Ezekiel’s feet.

  And then they were upon him. Alex was ready, his mind already prepared for the next move he must make. He felt momentarily as though a huge fist had seized him in an iron grip, but it was too late. The grip closed on empty air, the space where he had been. Now he was on the other side of the Dodekakephalon. The bat rose and fell once more, even as Ezekiel and Garek span to locate him. Another skull, struck by a glancing blow, cracked and split, a jagged, saucer-sized section flying up into Garek’s face.

  “Summon the Brethren,” roared Ezekiel, eyes blazing as he raised his arm towards Alex. Once more the iron grip closed upon him, and once more Alex evaded it, squeezing out like a bar of soap and reappearing at another point on the Dodekakephalon’s circumference, smashing, slashing frantically. Garek disappeared. Bone splinters flew and Alex heard his own voice laughing, taunting trium
phantly as he played a deadly game of catch-me-if-you-can with the archangel. And then, suddenly, he was exhausted, physically and mentally. He reached out, but the dark portal evaded his grasp. He lurched against the podium, dropped the bat and the invisible hand closed about him vengefully, lifting him off his feet and squeezing the air out of him. The Dodekakephalon lay shattered in jewel-studded chaos beneath him, a ruin of bone and gems and precious metal strewn across the dark flagstones.

  Groggily, Alex heard that Ezekiel was speaking, if raging and screaming could be described as such. There was no pattern to it, a torrent of hurt and frustration and fury that no form of words could adequately convey. Others were appearing all around him, their faces filled with horror and anguish. A great wail of lament reverberated around the sanctum as the Brothers regarded the ruin of their holy of holies.

  “Now you die!” Alex heard dimly as the grip grew tighter and he span in the air. “The Maker shall crush your spirit and we shall crush your skull as you have crushed the others. Damn you in all eternity. Damn you!”

  An unbearable pressure was upon his head, chest and abdomen. He felt as though his lungs would burst, his head explode. He was on the brink of oblivion, the darkness reaching up for him, when a huge voice suddenly filled the sanctum.

  “Put him down,” it commanded in tones that carried an authority that could not be defied.

  The grip relented a little and he ceased spinning. Alex gasped and opened his eyes. A brilliant radiance filled the space, a radiance that streamed from the body of a tall young man. He had shoulder-length blond hair that rippled in some unearthly breeze, and he was dressed in a flowing white shift that likewise rippled around him. He was indescribably beautiful, so much so that tears sprang to Alex’s eyes and an involuntary sob wracked his body.

  “Put him down,” said the voice again more gently, but in a musically resonant voice, and Alex found himself lowered slowly to the floor.

  He slumped to his knees and suddenly Dave was at the glorious vision’s side, bathed in his light. It was not a juxtaposition that flattered Dave, and indeed he looked rather awkward as he came forward to help Alex to his feet, supporting him as he stumbled gasping away from Ezekiel and the Brothers. Ezekiel looked dumbstruck, his eyes narrowed against the brilliant light and his mouth working wordlessly for a moment before speech would come. Malcolm and Armand appeared too, Armand nodding sagely and Malcolm grinning broadly and making the ‘okay’ sign with thumb and index finger.

  “What do you want, Michael?” Ezekiel asked, his voice quavering with emotion. “What do you know of any of this?”

  “I know enough to know you are a misguided fool,” said the being that Alex had to suppose must be the archangel Michael. “You and all your brethren. I know more than enough to take you before the Council.”

  He stepped forward, almost too brilliant to look at, and stirred half a skull with his foot, a foot that was transparent like a shrimp.

  “What is this nonsense?” he asked. “Why do you hide yourselves away and play games with bones?”

  “It is the will of the Maker,” said Ezekiel. “The will made manifest in holy threads of wisdom, threads that we have woven together year upon year under the guidance of his spirit. The wheel turns full circle. The Universe must be complete. Completion is termination. The Dodekakephalon is the circuit that must be complete, the key that initiates the end of days. I say again, it is the will of the Maker.”

  Michael smiled seraphically and tilted the skull fragment upward with his toe.

  “And is the Maker omniscient, omnipotent, the director of all things?”

  “You know he is!” spat Ezekiel.

  “Then this is his will,” said Michael simply.

  “You lie!” raged Ezekiel, his face darkening.

  “And it his will, no doubt, that you be confined until you can answer for yourself before Council,” continued Michael smoothly.

  “No,” shouted Ezekiel, “I will not…”

  What Ezekiel would not do was to remain a matter of speculation, because at that moment Michael raised his hand and each of the Brothers was encased in a shimmering cocoon of light that grew in intensity until Alex had to shade his eyes. There was a shrill whirring sound, almost like a scream of gathering pitch, and then the lights suddenly disappeared. There was silence except for a metallic clatter as twelve small ovoid objects dropped to the floor, rolling amongst the shattered remnants of the Dodekakephalon.

  “Containment vessels,” observed Malcolm, picking one up and holding it up for Alex to look at. It was like a dull metal egg of some pewter-like substance. “Think of it as a like a genie bottle.” He gave it a tap. “Except I don’t think this particular little genie is going to be offering you three wishes any time soon.”

  “Indeed not,” said Michael, a half-smile appearing momentarily on his perfect lips. He came across to Alex, placed a glowing finger under his chin and tilted his face upwards so that he could stare into Alex’s eyes. The archangel’s pupils were large, and looking into them was like looking into deep dark wells, dark wells in which the beginning of the Universe and all the ages in between looked back at him. He felt that Michael looked at him, through him and in him, a gaze that took in every atom of his being.

  “You are a talented child,” he said in that clear, resonant voice, a voice that was as much inside his head as in the sound waves that rippled through the air around him.

  “Oh, er, thanks,” said Alex in a small voice.

  “And you have done well, all of you,” said Michael glancing around at Malcolm, Dave and Armand. “It shall be recorded.”

  And then he was gone, and so were the containment vessels, leaving a space that seemed suddenly dark, despite the sunlight streaming in through the oculus above.

  “Wow! That was so cool!” said Dave, refuting Alex’s notion that he and the others must be used to this kind of thing. He punched Alex cheerfully on the shoulder. “You did good, pal. You did real good.”

  “You did too!” said Malcolm, giving him a hug and glancing around at the skull-strewn chaos. “Look at this, now. You’re one angry little guy when you get going, aren’t you?!”

  “What if they’d been right?” said Alex slowly, feeling suddenly deflated. “I mean, what if I just destroyed something really holy… powerful… sacred?”

  “Nonsense,” said Dave, giving one of the larger skull fragments a kick that sent it skittering into the shadows. “You just smashed up a bunch of stupid skulls.”

  “I think the moment for self-doubt has been and gone,” said Armand with a wry smile. “You have struck a blow for reason.”

  “Quite a few blows, by the looks of it,” said Malcolm, picking up his baseball bat and handing it to Alex. “Here,” he said. “Looks like this is your weapon of choice.”

  Alex realised that the archangel’s touch had revitalised him in some way, that his body felt healed, light and refreshed and his mind freed of the numbing fatigue that had afflicted it so heavily.

  “I gotta go,” he said, swinging the bat absently at his side. “My friends need me. You know what we agreed. You need to get us all out of there.”

  “We need to get the lockdown lifted first,” said Armand. “But that should happen quite quickly now that Michael has intervened.”

  “I hope so,” said Alex grimly. “Because I don’t know what I’m going to find down there.”

  “You don’t even know you can get there yet,” said Malcolm wagging a finger. “Just because you can phase yourself around in Elysium doesn’t mean you can zap yourself around the Universe exactly as you please.”

  “I can,” said Alex simply, calling Kelly’s face into his mind’s eye.

  “Where’s that Garek guy?” he heard Dave ask, but before he could hear the reply, he was gone.

  Chapter Twenty

  The party made good progress as the eclipsing moons faded and sank behind distant mountains. Dawn coloured the clouded skies of the eastern horizon with angry reds and purpl
es. The road that led westward to Tattash was hardly more than a track, but once they had crossed the main north-south route it became wider, with farms and villages set at intervals that became larger as the terrain became more arid. The land was quite flat but there were woods too and stands of trees, and twice they were obliged to hide in these as the Sultan’s horsemen rode past.

  “Do you think they’re looking for us?” Tanya asked Amjad as he peered out through dense undergrowth as the last of a column of mounted warriors cantered past.

  “I’m sure of it,” said Amjad, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Thank you, donkey,” said Tanya softly to Zoroaster’s mount, giving its nose a stroke. This was a beast that had little understanding of the need for stealth and had set up a loud and insistent braying last time they had had to hide from their pursuers. Fortunately, they were close to farm buildings at the time and the riders had taken no notice. Tanya had had stern words with the donkey after this episode, and it seemed to come to an appreciation of the error of its ways. It had learned the value of restraint. It now regarded her with a wary respect. Certainly, it gave no more than a contemptuous snort and a whinny as the latest group of riders passed out of sight.

  Kelly had said nothing since leaving Jemail and Rakesh to their fate. For the first few miles she could hardly see for the tears in her eyes, hardly breathe, hardly place one foot before the other. Will helped her along, casting anxious glances at her and encouraging her when her sobs seemed likely to stop her altogether.

  “He’s going to die, isn’t he? They’re both going to die,” she said to Will at last, when they took a brief rest just after dawn in a coppice of scrubby, stunted trees beside a drainage ditch.

  Will took her hand and squeezed it, but he could think of nothing to say.

  “Yeah, they’re going to die,” said Henry flatly. He might have been going to add, so get over it, but thought better of it and bit his lip, nodding slowly. “But we’re not, yeah? Jemail and Rakesh gave it all up so we could get away. We owe them that. That’s what they wanted, yeah?”