The Pearl Saga - Mistress of the Pearl Part 62

33

Island of the d.a.m.ned

With the precision of a surgeon, Riane emerged from null-s.p.a.ce on the blistered sh.o.r.e of the island known as Suspended Skull. Directly in front of her a tidal pool shimmered blue-black in the first glimmerings of dawn. The tide had pulled back sufficiently, leaving in its wake a wide sampling of its infinite bounty: sideways-scuttling crabs, whorled whelks and tiny poni-winkles, three sleek fishlets, trapped now in this enclosed world. All crowned by a twined wreath of sea wrack, dark and podded.

She wondered what Thigpen would make of this. The Rappa did not care for the sea or those things that swam in it. Not that it mattered. She had stayed behind because Amitra had told her that those few Rappa who had tried to land on the island with their Ramahan compatriots had died.

Suspended Skull, a roughly oval tower of tumbled rock and tenacious, wind-lashed mortewood, was the last bastion of land jutting south into the Cape of Broken Meridian. A mean and bitter place, drenched by storms, scoured by wind, the seas all around aboil where the crosscurrents from those two vast bodies of water, the Sea of Blood and the Illuminated Sea, were thrown together.

It was true that Suspended Skull was rarely spoken of, and then only in hushed tones. The Kundalan fishers avoided it because of the razor-sharp reefs and treacherous currents surrounding it. The Sarakkon believed its waters infested with black Chimaera, which the bravest of them hunted but most feared. As for the Ramahan, they had their own reasons for shunning this unlovely ridged pile of rock, for they had knowledge of ancient legends that spoke of a sorcerous pit beneath Suspended Skull, conjured in the Time before Time, that led deep into the bowels of Kundala, where roiled and slunk the spirits of those d.a.m.ned creatures that had lived at the Dawn of Time.

All this was not to say that the Ramahan had never inhabited the island. In point of fact they had, in an age long beyond the memory of even the oldest Druuge. What they had been doing there was anyone's guess-possibly they had gone at the behest of Miina, there to fulfill a specific purpose known only to Her. What was incontrovertible was that on its extreme heights they had erected an abbey of sorts. Riane could see it high atop the looming cliff face, wreathed in mist and rent cloud. It was by more modern standards rather crude, owing as much to the island's lack of natural resources as to the supposed temporary nature of the mission. The abbey-or what roofless ruins remained of it-was known as Loathsome Jaws. Speculation was that the odd and somewhat unpleasant name was related to whatever it was the Rama-han had been sent there to do. All this Amitra had told Riane before sending her on her way.

Riane staring at the tidal pool, the morning sun reflected in its surface, an orange-carmine line drawn as if by a fingernail, saw in her mind's eye the flame from Asir's infinity-blade pushing back hard against hers.

"You have already had some experience in using the infinity-blade against traditional V'ornn weaponry," he said. "But against another infinity-blade the strategy is radically altered."

When Asir said this they had been standing upon a bridge of ice that arced into the mist just beyond the forest. The bridge was so narrow that Riane had had to stand with one foot behind the other. If she lost her balance, she had no idea how far she would fall-a meter or a thousand meters-in the swirl of dense mist there was no way to tell.

"The first thing you must learn," Asir had said, "is that gorons do not work like other forms of energy.

They do not emit radiation as a continuous stream but in rapid bursts. The trick comes in putting yourself in sync with the bursts, moving to their rhythm. Here, I will show you."

He moved forward, engaged Riane's infinity-blade. But as Riane moved forward into the parry, Asirspun. His infinity-blade slid at an angle with him, and Riane's momentum carried her forward, awkward and slightly off-balance because the resistance was not where she had been expecting it. Instead, Asir's blade came at her from the side. She ducked under it, lunged and, again, he spun, using her own momentum against her. His blade struck her wand, and it went flying away into the mist.

"Do you see what I mean?" He held up his hand and the wand reappeared. He flipped it to Riane.

"Now, again, my girl."

But it had been difficult concentrating. He was her father, her father! She could not get the thought out of her mind. It was only after he had disarmed her for the third straight time that he stopped the exercise. "What is it?" he had said. "I know how quick a study you are."

"I want to know . . ." She shook her head. "There is so much about you and Amitra, about my childhood and growing up I cannot remember." She was trembling a little. "And I so want to know . . .

everything."

In two great strides, Asir gathered her into his arms, holding her tight.

She buried her face in his ma.s.sive shoulder. "What am I missing?"

"It's difficult, I know, but try not to be impatient." He kissed the top of her head. "Memory is a tricky thing. The more we try to remember, the more elusive the memory becomes. Now." He held her at arm's length, his great grin seeming to burn away her heartache. "Let's get on with it."

Riane, staring down into the tidal pool, remembering her lessons, hand gripping the wand. This time she would be ready for Lujon. A distant movement picked up in the corner of her eye, made her look up, and immediately she crouched behind a huge basalt boulder. A Sarakkon ship was rounding the headland. On its foredeck, she spied the very one she had just been thinking of: Lujon.

When the Omaline dropped anchor off the western sh.o.r.e of Suspended Skull, Haamadi was there to meet it. The ship, having safely navigated the treacherous underwater labyrinth of reefs and lethal whirlpools that encircled the rocky island, lay to, its sails reefed, while Lujon and three of the crew took a small boat through fanged rocks to the minuscule beachhead.

Lujon, watching the young archon's face, as the small boat wallowed in the angry, swirling swells, was filled with apprehension. He had no illusions regarding the pact he had made with Haamadi, whom he knew to be as treacherous as the local currents. Those in Sintire who saw themselves on an equal footing with the sauromicians were deluding themselves. He, too, held a burning desire to profit from the secrets buried in Za Hara-at; but to prost.i.tute themselves, to become in effect the slaves of the sauromicians, bowing to their every whim, that was too high a price for him to pay. Therefore, he had decided to break with his brethren, to make a pact with Haamadi, the smartest and most ambitious of the sauromician archons, in order to ensure his own survival. He had already proved of use to Haamadi, providing information about Sintire The prow of the small boat grated onto the beachhead, and two of Lujon's crew jumped out. Using ropes, they pulled the vessel farther out of the water. Lujon stepped onto the beachhead, gripped Haamadi's arm.

"Did you get it?" Haamadi asked.

This abruptness, which bordered on rudeness, Lujon had first attributed to youthful exuberance. But further study had made it clear that this was the archon's true nature.

"We taught the V'ornn regent a lesson, Haamadi," Lujon said as they walked up the narrow strand.

"We left him hanging from his heels, dying from a thousand cuts."

This news mollified Haamadi only temporarily. "But what of the ninth banestone?" he hissed. His tallow-colored skin was pulled taut over razor-edged bone, his earlobes unnaturally elongated by polished knucklebones that had been thrust through them. The skin of his forehead was pierced by a ruddy rune. "Do you have it?"

They stood in the shadows of overhanging rock, at the mouth of what Krystren called the Chaos Grotto. The sea surged at their feet, spumed and opaque.

"We were unable to obtain it," Lujon lied. He had no intention of giving away his most valuableleverage against the archons. "Kurgan Stogggul took it from Za Hara-at, but since he had no idea what it was, he soon abandoned it."

"Where?"

Haamadi's face had grown dark, but Lujon was prepared for this.

"Somewhere in the Korrush. He did not remember exactly where. 'One kilometer looks just like the next in that filthy place.' Those were his exact words."

"Bad news comes in packs." Haamadi turned his head and spat into the churning sea. Together they mounted the stairs, which wound in a rising spiral like the sh.e.l.l of a giant sea mollusk. Reflections from the churning waters below cast long fingers that seemed to grasp at them. Lujon watched Haamadi out of the corner of his eye. Broad of shoulder, slim of hip, with a face like an open book and a way of speaking that made you feel as if he were communicating with you alone. His light eyes did not wander, and there was a calmness about him that engendered trust. All of this was a deception, of course, but an impressive one at that. "Both Varda and Caligo are dead, which means our access to the Abbey of Five Pivots is no longer available. Our enemies are arrayed against us."

Though Haamadi made a good show of collegial concern, Lujon was canny enough to detect the light of triumph deep in the archon's eyes. With Caligo and Varda out of the way there was no other sauromician of sufficient strength to challenge him. If he wanted to remain the sole archon to lead them, he would get his wish without opposition. Lujon was still calculating the odds of whether this turn of events would benefit him or not when they were accosted by Per, the young male they had chosen to impersonate the Dar Sala-at. He was flanked by two grim-faced sauromicians who, it was clear as they bowed, deferred to Haamadi. The matter must have been urgent for them to have allowed him to come partway down the staircase that was, for the most part, off-limits to him. Per was a tribal orphan, half-lame, whom they had found in the wastes of the Korrush near the ruins of Za Hara-at. Varda had been on the verge of killing him for his life force. Haamadi's intervention had angered Varda, even after the archons as a group had approved Haamadi's plan to use the boy as the false prophet. Varda collected grudges the way others gathered knowledge.

Per informed Haamadi of a change in the overall demeanor of the Ramahan they had seduced out of the Abbey of Floating White. They were growing restive, querulous, asking questions for which he could provide no answer that satisfied them.

This was cause for alarm, even in Haamadi, because it was his charmed tongue that had persuaded the Ramahan of the authenticity of this false Dar Sala-at in the first place, and through necromancy had performed the sorcerous feats that had maintained the Ramahan faith.

"Is there a leader among the Ramahan?" Haamadi said to Per.

"Sir?"

"One who is more puling than the rest, one who is asking the most questions."

"Yes," the boy nodded. "Nesta."

"Find her, keep her close for a half hour, then fetch her for me," Haamadi said at once. "We will be in my study."

Per nodded and with his escort went to do the archon's bidding.

When he was certain they were alone, Haamadi ascended four more steps. He pressed his palm to an almost undetectable depression in the rock wall. A door opened, and they entered a short corridor, whose gla.s.sy walls and reddish glow revealed its unnatural origin. The corridor led to another cave.

More gla.s.sy walls, a deeper reddish glow. Another hidden door opened in the center of the rock wall against which Krystren had weeks ago fallen asleep.

Within was the thick-walled keep. As the sauromicians had discovered, it was the reason the Ramahan had come to Suspended Skull in the first place. For in the very center of this chamber's stone floor was a bronze-and-copper plate-round, thick, incised with runes that resisted translation by even the sauromicians' most potent necromantic spells. Still, they had managed to open the plate, for it was a door of sorts to a chamber carved deep into the bedrock of the island, a place of heat and fumes, where the sauromicians discovered the bones of creatures whose physiognomy defied a.n.a.lysis. They only knew that the bones were ancient beyond reckoning.Haamadi and Lujon put their feet on the bronze stirrups attached to the square alloy pole, Haamadi pulled the lever, and they descended the vertical shaft at a dizzying rate, slowing just before they came to the bottom.

And there was the Cage, faceted like a mammoth jewel. Within it, Seelin, the Sacred Dragon of Transformation. The creature appeared unmoving, its eyes closed.

"Is it dangerous?" Lujon said.

Haamadi went up to the cage, turned one of the banestones so that the beam of energy emanating from it struck Seelin's head.

"Wake up, you filthy beast!" he shouted.

The Dragon opened her huge golden eyes, stared at him with a terrible hatred. "What do you want?"

Haamadi, if for no other reason than innate cruelty, played the beam over the Dragon's body so that she shuddered in pain.

"Making sure you aren't getting too comfortable," Haamadi said.

Seelin glared impotently at him, so that he laughed.

"Listen to me, beast. The ninth banestone is on its way. When it arrives, you will do whatever I tell you to do."

"Never," Seelin said.

"Never say never." Haamadi manipulated the banestone further, and the Dragon writhed in a crescendo of agony, culminating in her pa.s.sing into unconsciousness. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Haamadi returned the banestone to its previous configuration. He did not want to let go of it.

Lujon peered at the beast more closely. The wingspan alone looked to be wider than the vast chamber itself. "It is not dead, is it?"

"The Cage is not yet complete. We have the Dragon, but cannot yet compel it to do our bidding."

"We see."

"I wonder," Haamadi said pointedly. "You should not have returned without it."

Lujon's training made it easy to hide his anger. "We will set sail again on the morning tide if that is your wish."

"My wish is for the ninth banestone," Haamadi said shortly. "But you already knew that."

Haamadi made a curt gesture, and Lujon followed him up out of the ancient crypt, into the rock caves, and thence to the Abbey of Loathsome Jaws. During their time on the island the sauromicians had rebuilt the abbey to their liking. They had restored the roofs, sh.o.r.ed up the crumbling walls, and used their necromancy to remove what traces remained of Osoru sorcery. On the island, they had no worries about hidden power-bourns-they were free to move about as they liked. They kept the original footprint of the abbey: large wings on the eastern and western ends connected by a central axis of great rooms and temple s.p.a.ces, once sanctified to Miina. The largest of them had been converted into a barracks to house the Ramahan, which was guarded day and night by smiling sauromicians in whose company Per, in his guise as Dar Sala-at, intoned prayers of enlightenment and false hope.

The archon study-now solely Haamadi's-was in the western wing, where half of the sauromicians lived, the other half being housed in the eastern wing, effectively surrounding the Ramahan. It was a low-ceilinged s.p.a.ce, like all the chambers in the wings, with a window overlooking the turbulent sea and fulminating sky. Occasionally, the plaintive cries of cliff-dwelling seabirds could be heard echoing among the guano-sprayed rocks.

The study was spa.r.s.ely but comfortably furnished-a table, chairs, a lone settee no one ever sat on.

The sauromicians, so long exiled to the Korrush, had adopted many tribal habits, among them sitting cross-legged on jewel-toned carpets, drinking ba'du or herbal infusions from cups of hammered bra.s.s.

Now, however, neither of them took their leisure. Haamadi paced up and down, hands clasped loosely behind his back.

"Tell us something," Lujon said easily. "How vital to you is this ninth banestone?"

Haamadi paused. "It is everything. We have already befriended the daemons. Once we free them, they will owe us a debt. And how will they repay this debt?"

"By disgorging the secrets of Za Hara-at, buried for centuries.""Precisely."

"Why should you trust them?"

"Who says I do?" Haamadi smiled. "With the Dragon under my control, I have the power to send them back to the Abyss to rot for all eternity if they do not comply with my request."

Request. Lujon thought bitterly. As if Haamadi was used to making a request of anyone!

At that moment, Per arrived, escorting Nesta into the study. The Ramahan was young and fiery.

Haamadi remembered her as being one of the first to be won over. Her innate intelligence was undercut by an impatient spirit; she wanted to be konara before her time. Haamadi was familiar with the type-there were too many like her in the ranks of the sauromicians.

"The Dar Sala-at tells me that you are unhappy," Haamadi began in his most beguiling tone. "How may I help you?"

"For one thing, you can tell me what happened to our sisters."

Haamadi spread his hands. "But you were already told. There was an accident on the ridge. It was regrettable, but-"

"We never saw them. We were never allowed to bury them or give them a proper funeral."

"They were already buried," Haamadi pointed out in his reasonable voice, "by the mudslide."

"Then we should have been allowed to dig them out, to give them dignity in death. Why did you not give us that opportunity?"

"You never mentioned this before." Haamadi was looking deep into Nesta's eyes. "Why now?"

"We have been talking among ourselves."

"Yes, but what started you talking?"

"I do not know." Nesta shrugged. "What does it matter?"

"Indulge me for a moment, I beg you. What started the talk?"

Nesta shrugged again. "For me, it was a dream."

Haamadi came and stood close to her. Fer stood just behind her, rapt, his eyes locked on the archon.

"What was this dream?"

"I saw my sisters. They were dead in a cave. They had weapons- knives and such-and there was a curious froth on their lips."

"A dream is just that," Haamadi said with some intensity. "A dream."

"This seemed more real," Nesta said defiantly. "A number of the other Ramahan had the same dream."

"Now that is interesting."

"We thought so, too," she said. "We demand an explanation."

Haamadi looked to Fer and nodded. "The Dar Sala-at will provide all the explanation you need."