Iron Khan Page 15

  “I don’t know how it will affect him,” Roerich said. “I share your unease. It’s more likely to be a problem when he has to leave, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s at the Council chamber, apparently—I haven’t seen him yet. We’re to join him there.”

  “The Council?”

  “The Council of the Masters. Which includes Mistresses, by the way—you’ve met one of them, Nandini.”

  When they stepped outside the pavilion, Zhu Irzh saw that it had become significantly lighter, with a morning softness to the air. “Nicer than the desert,” he remarked, as they walked through the rose garden.

  “It’s got its own microclimate,” Roerich said. He pointed to a distant turret. “That’s the Council chamber.”

  Now that dawn was coming, the demon was able to get a better sense of the city itself. Its harmoniousness was still evident, but its construction was certainly curious: it possessed no one form of architecture, but seemed assembled from all manner of buildings. Low-roofed cottages sat side by side with towering fortresses; pagodas sat next to humble dwellings. It should not have worked and yet, it did.

  “The Masters are from all over the planet, remember,” Roerich said when the demon pointed this out. “They have the homes they knew in life.” He gestured to a temple held up by Grecian columns. “It mirrors our own history.”

  “Weird.” But it worked, which was more than Zhu Irzh could say for Hell.

  The way to the Council chamber led down a long, narrow street lined by marble walls. At the end of this, steps climbed in a semi-spiral up toward an ancient door: it looked like the medieval turrets Zhu Irzh had seen in pictures. Nandini stood on the steps, smiling.

  “You’ve found it, good. I’m glad my instructions were adequate, Nicholas.”

  Zhu Irzh was aware of a sudden, acute nervousness, occasioned, he was sure, by being in the wrong place. He told himself that he’d hung out with the Emperor of Heaven; after all, they were friends. So why feel so uncomfortable now? Nandini was watching him with a penetrating dark stare.

  “You can’t help what you are,” she said. “You can help what you do with it.”

  “Did you just read my mind?” Zhu Irzh demanded.

  “I didn’t need to. It was clear from the expression on your face,” she said gently.

  That obvious, eh? But the demon felt that whatever he tried to hide, these people would see through it. Nandini was different from the Celestials he had met—sharper, despite her outward serenity. More human, probably. Just be honest, the demon told himself. It didn’t come naturally, but anything less would be a mistake.

  “Are you ready to go in?” Roerich asked.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  It was hard to see, at first. Nandini led them up a wide stone staircase, plain and without ornamentation, and this was clear enough. But then they were shown into the Council chamber itself and Zhu Irzh found it impossible to focus on any one thing. Later, in memory, it became a little clearer. He thought there were tall windows, arched and looking out onto a vista of snow-capped mountains, even though he knew that the city had been sitting in the middle of the desert. He thought, too, that there had been stone flags beneath his feet, and a round table, surrounded by high-backed chairs. And he seemed to remember that sitting in the chairs had been a variety of people, of many races and ages, but in memory their faces were blurred, like the photos used in news reports to protect people from being identified.

  Nandini was clear enough, and so was Roerich—and so was Omi, sitting in a chair beyond the Council table, underneath an open window. He approached Zhu Irzh, smiling, and the demon was surprised to discover how relieved he was to see the young warrior.

  “I owe you an apology,” Omi said in an undertone. “I shouldn’t have gone off like that—I put you both in danger.”

  Zhu Irzh could tell that the young man was genuinely ashamed, so to save Omi face he said, “No worries. It turned out all right in the end. And if you hadn’t gone off, then we might all be under several feet of sand by now. Who knows?”

  “Even so,” Omi said, but fell silent at a glance from Roerich. Zhu Irzh blinked, ducked his head, but still could not see the Council properly. He felt suddenly very small, like a child allowed at an adults’ dinner party. It had been a long time since Zhu Irzh had been a small child—several hundred years, in fact—and he did not relish the sensation.

  A voice came from the Council table. “Demon, ghost, warrior.”

  “That would be us,” Zhu Irzh said, overcompensating for nerves by flippancy.

  “You’re carrying a spell,” the voice said.

  “I won it in a fair fight,” Omi said, defensive.

  “Can you help us take it to its rightful place?” Zhu Irzh said.

  “You don’t understand,” Nandini said. “You see all that is around you, and you know that we saved you from the sand. But our power is limited.”

  “That wasn’t what I understood,” the demon said.

  “That is because you don’t know the wider picture. We are being rewritten.”

  “What?”

  “The Book of Heaven has come to Earth,” Nandini told him. “Omi has spoken to it, done its bidding.”

  “Was that wrong?” Omi asked. “I thought it was helping us against our enemy?”

  “It is. But it has its own agenda. It has become displeased with its home in Heaven. It thinks that things need to be—revised. The spell that you’re bearing will accomplish that—when you release the spell, it will enter reality and change it. Like throwing a stone into a pond—ripples will spread outward through time. The Khan may be removed, he may not, but what is certain is that the relationship between the worlds will be altered. The free concourse between the worlds will no longer be so open. You’re likely to find yourself back in Hell.” This last comment was directed at Zhu Irzh.

  “Let me get this straight,” Zhu Irzh said. “This spell is our best chance of defeating the Khan, and you’re telling me that it’s likely to permanently alter the entire world?”

  “Effectively, yes.”

  Across the room, Omi shifted uncomfortably.

  “Great. You said it could close the ‘concourse between the worlds.’ Why would this book want to do that?”

  “Because Heaven’s become corrupted,” Roerich said. “The Book is one of Heaven’s guardians.”

  “But I know the Jade Emperor. He’s a friend.” Too late it occurred to Zhu Irzh that having a demon as a personal acquaintance might not reflect all that well on Mhara, in the view of either the Book or Council. “Anyway, whatever. He’s an exceptional person.”

  “But he has changed things,” Nandini pointed out. “And the Book doesn’t seem to approve of change.”

  “Neither did the old Emperor. Look what happened there.” The demon stole a look at the Council, but found that his gaze slid off them, as if gliding on ice. His thoughts were moving too quickly for him to organize them properly, but one thing seemed relatively clear. “If the spell will have the effect that you think it will, then we can’t use it. We’ll have to think of something else.”

  Without your help. Zhu Irzh had the wit not to express this thought aloud, but the whole situation reminded him of Chen’s dealings with Kuan Yin, in the earliest days of their working partner­ship. Then, Chen had only recently been cast out from the Goddess of Compassion and Mercy’s protection—a punishment for marrying a demon—but it seemed to Zhu Irzh that it was a similar issue. All of these deities, these masters and mistresses, wanted you to do their dirty work for them, without actually sullying their pristine hands. And if you failed, or didn’t conform to the strict dictates that they set, then you were history, even if it hadn’t been your fault. Hell was at least more honest, the demon thought, as he had considered on a number of occasions before.

  Roerich wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty, though. Zhu Irzh turned to his companion. “Nicho
las. What do you think about all this? The best thing would be not to use the spell, yes?”

  “I’d have agreed with you,” Roerich said unhappily, “if it hadn’t been for the fact that, as Nandini has just informed me, it’s already too late.”

  30

  “You’re sure that’s it?” Chen lowered the telescope from his eye. The war-junk rode at anchor, behind the lee of a reach of rock.

  At his side, Li-Ju nodded. “I’ve only seen it once before, but it fits the specifications. It’s the Empress’ ship.”

  Chen didn’t have a problem believing this. The black boat slid over the sparkling surface of the sea like a spectral vessel. Even in what was clearly a Hell, it did not belong in this world of sunlight and ocean. If he squinted slightly, it was almost possible to see the islands through its form.

  “She’s found a way out,” he remarked.

  “Yes. But with what end in mind?”

  “She’s also found allies, it would seem,” Chen said.

  “Or coerced them.”

  “Inari’s on that ship. And Miss Qi, and the badger. We need to have a plan of action.” It was all Chen could do not to suggest that they immediately storm the vessel, but impatience had proved the parent of disaster on more than one occasion. They needed a strategy.

  “Not knowing the lay of the land—or sea, in this case—makes things difficult,” Li-Ju said. “I suggest we follow, at a safe distance. If we can do so out of sight then so much the better.”

  “If she does see us,” Chen asked, “is there anything that will mark this as a Celestial boat?”

  “No. We stripped it of its banners before setting out from Heaven.”

  “So unless she’s got someone on board who knows all the craft of this Hell, this could be just another ship,” Chen said, aware of the triumph of hope over experience. They were clearly a warship, after all.

  “Only one way to find out,” Li-Ju said, with a fierce and un-Celestial grin.

  They kept close to the shore, hugging the island as closely as they could without running afoul of the sharp rocks that fanged out from under the surface of those deceptively calm azure waves. The black ship sailed ahead, also curving close to shore. Chen wondered what its ultimate destination might be. The island itself showed no signs of habitation, although a skein of immense birds wheeled around its craggy summits. Had the Empress found her way here by chance, or had she sailed here by invitation? There was nothing about the ship’s course to indicate where it might be bound.

  Then the black ship started to tack out from the coast, her sails veering into the wind. They had a choice: either skulk beneath the cliffs and hide, or follow her out into the open ocean. Li-Ju chose to follow.

  “The boat’s not armed, although the Empress has her own spellcraft.”

  “Have you taken precautions against that?”

  “Yes. The boat’s heavily warded. But then, so was Kuan Yin’s boat. This is a warship, however, and has more effective protection.”

  At least, we hope so, Chen thought. They pulled out from under the cliffs, fully visible now. But the black ship did not falter in her course. She continued to tack out into the wider ocean, her sails hissing in the wind of an unknown Hell.

  31

  “A land of our own,” the Roc said. “Or it’s no deal.”

  “I can’t promise you that,” Inari told it, leaning perilously out of the window. She did not like being so close to the Roc’s ferocious bronze beak; nor did she like the gleam in its molten eyes. But the great bird was, thus far, their best chance of getting out of captivity, if not this Hell itself, and it had proved more willing to negotiate than the shark-demons.

  The Roc ruffled its metal plumage. “In that case …”

  “Wait,” Inari said, anxious that it would simply take off and not return. “Don’t go. We can’t contact our friends. But I am close to the Jade Emperor. My husband’s colleague is the stepson of the Emperor of Hell and about to marry a demon who has connections with the Hindu levels. She’s also wealthy in her own right,” Inari added, thinking of the acres that Jhai owned in China, the places where her secret labs were said to be situated. “Why, even now she’s in Western China, buying land.”

  She did not hope to convince the Roc, but it seemed that she’d done a better job than she’d thought.

  “Indeed?” the bird said, with bright-eyed interest. “In that case … They will be happy to have you back, will they? They didn’t decide to dispatch an inconvenient little demon down to somebody else’s Hell in the first place, did they?”

  “Certainly not! We were kidnapped,” protested Inari, but Miss Qi added icily, “Besides, I am a Celestial warrior. If you know anything of my kind, you know that we cannot lie. My friend is telling you the truth.”

  “I’ll need something in writing,” the Roc said.

  “I don’t have a pen.”

  “Blood will do.”

  They had no weapon, and neither wanted the potential bondage of a touch from the Roc’s razor claws, but the bird dived in a clatter of wings and plucked a thorn from one of the bushes in the ravine below. Inari and Miss Qi drew a drop of blood from each wrist, then watched as the liquid hissed into a word upon the air and faded. Inari had seen enough to know that although it had left no trace, it was as binding a promise as any inscribed upon a piece of parchment.

  “Now,” the Roc said. It stretched its wings, a twenty-foot span or more. “Let’s ride.”

  Scrambling out of the narrow window and bundling the badger through the gap, Inari was sure that the shark-demons would not be far behind them, but the building lay in silence as the Roc rose up, spiraling on the warm wind. The hut soon fell away beneath them, revealing a courtyard that they had not seen on the way in: pillars, and half-rotted statues of misshapen forms.

  “It’s a temple!” Inari said.

  “To sea demons,” the Roc told her over its shoulder. “Things come here when their worship on Earth is long forgotten.”

  Well forgotten, Inari thought, glancing back. She did not like the look of those gaping piscine mouths, too reminiscent of the shark-demons. Perhaps they worshipped themselves.

  “And you?” Miss Qi asked. “Who worshipped you?”

  The Roc’s beak yawned, in what might have been a laugh. “I was not worshipped, though maybe I wanted to be. I do not remember. I was a political adviser to a well-remembered dictator. A world of car bombs and hand grenades, not swords and bows. I am not long dead. I was sent here, in the form of a rapacious, predatory bird. No doubt I deserved it.”

  Inari was silent. No doubt he did.

  “I should like the same kind of power, without the risk,” the Roc went on. “My colleagues—I cannot call them friends—would agree.”

  “In this form?” Miss Qi asked, and Inari knew that she was wondering what kind of creature they might be unleashing upon some unsuspecting realm. “This one, or another?”

  “Let’s see when the time comes,” the Roc said smoothly, and winked a glowing eye.

  Over the ocean, and beyond. No one came after them. Inari, who did not like heights, forced herself to look down on a couple of occasions as they flew, and saw boats as tiny as matchstick vessels, sailing upon that endless sea. But there was no land other than islands: this Hell was, in its way, almost as featureless as the Sea of Night. At last, though there was no visible curve to the world before them, a dusky twilight began to fall.

  “Heaven’s too far,” the Roc said. “Earth will have to do. It will be interesting to see Earth again. I doubt it’s changed much.”

  Inari doubted that, too. “If you can just fly to Earth,” she asked, “why haven’t you done so before now?”

  “Because I couldn’t. The key is your blood. Someone had to freely pay, in blood, to liberate me. People weren’t exactly queuing up.”

  “Glad we could help,” Inari said, looking down again. The sea had darkened, until it truly resembled the Sea of Night. Then she realized that it actually was the S
ea of Night: somewhere back there, they had left Banquo’s Hell behind and were heading into the realms between the worlds.

  “Ah!” said the Roc, in a gasping cry. “Earth is waiting!” And there was a gap in the clouds ahead, with light pouring through it.

  32

  In Agarta, Omi replayed the memories over and over again. He knew he should not have left his companions, but the call of the city had been too strong. Omi barely realized when he rose quietly from his watch-place by the fire and headed out into the desert. The stars ahead spun in their courses, moving too fast and too far, and the air slammed into his lungs as he stumbled up and down the dunes. It was like being drugged, or losing one’s mind. Occasionally, memories of Roerich, of the demon, of the spell that he still carried inside his coat rose to ambush him with guilt, but Omi thrust it aside and carried on.

  Halfway up the next dune, he saw his grandfather standing at the summit. The old spirit was insubstantial: Omi could see the stars through his body.

  “Omi, what are you doing?” Grandfather said in distress. “This is not where you should be. What about your friends, your mission?”

  Omi’s mouth opened, but no words came out even though he tried to speak. He gaped like a fish, gasping for air, struggled on up the sand. He pushed his way through Grandfather’s form and the old man’s body dissipated in rags and tatters onto the desert wind. Only then did Omi cry out. He knew that Grandfather was a ghost, but what if he had hurt the old man so greatly that he would not want to return? Omi fell to his knees at the top of the dune and put his face in his hands. When he next looked up, there was an oasis below him.

  It was like, yet unlike, the oasis of the crescent moon lake. There was a pavilion—a much smaller one—and a low pool of water, but the place smelled stagnant and dead, and there was no sign of movement around it. The scroll that contained the spell leaped inside Omni’s pocket, and for a moment he forgot the city. His vision sharpened and cleared. Somewhere, he thought he heard his grandfather’s voice, but when he looked round, no one was there. The scroll was speaking, however, strongly and without words, a liquid fountain-fall of sound, and it impelled him into movement. He sprang up and ran down the dune toward the oasis.