Crystal Doors #3: Sky Realm (No. 3) (7 page)

“It is a matter of honor. In Irrakesh, blood runs hot when dignity is not properly addressed.”

Jabir continued to explain, “The Sultan is in constant danger, so we use wards and spells to identify any poison in his food or drink.”

“Sounds like you needed to do a better job,” Vic muttered.

“The assassin did not use a poison that could be detected. The Sultan consumed an in ert powder during an extravagant banquet, after which the assassin worked a catalyst spell to convert the innocuous substance into a powerful venom. The Sultan would have died that night, so potent was the deadly chemical, but once the toxin was activated I detected it and concocted an antidote —”

“Then why is my father not cured?” Sharif demanded.

“Alas, Prince Ali, the antidote is but temporary. It can only neutralize the venom for a short time. Poison has sunk its claws into your father’s system. It cannot be removed. Each day he must consume more of the antidote just to function.”

“Just to stay alive.” From his bed, the old Sultan coughed. “The assassin belonged to a noble family, many of whose sons had been killed in previous skirmishes with the aeglors. They would rather see Irrakesh crash to the surface in utter destruction than forgive the aeglors.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Gwen said. “They sound like fanatics.”

“They are deeply offended. Their priorities are not comprehensible to outsiders.”

“They are not comprehensible to me,” Sharif snapped, “and
I
am not an outsider.”

Jabir shook his head. “No, you cannot afford to be, Prince. You must be one of us now, completely. The people of Irrakesh do not yet know that the Sultan is poisoned. We cannot afford panic or dismay. When he consumes the antidote, he is strong enough to perform his court functions . . . for a time. You must be crowned before the people can fear that they will be left without a Sultan.”

Before the young prince could argue, loud bells rang outside. Men shouted from atop the tallest towers and minarets. Others banged gongs. The streets became a flurry of activity and Gwen rushed to the open balcony of the Sultan’s bedchamber.

Vic hurried to her side. “What now, Doc? Are we under attack?”

“Sounds like an alarm to me,” she said.

In the crowded streets below, the people were pulling out awnings, uncovering cisterns. Families and children rushed about, setting out broad pans in the streets. The food vendors and merchants worked to tie down the fabrics of their awnings, covering their wares, their grills. Tiaret and Lyssandra joined them, but Sharif barely seemed to notice the commotion. “It is just a cloud. We are about to go into a cloud.”

The bright blue sky suddenly became clumped with dark cottony mist. Irrakesh drifted toward a billowing cumulonimbus mass, and soon the city was wreathed in grayish fog. As they traveled deeper into the cloud, flashes of lightning appeared all around them.

Then the downpour began. Sheets of sudden rain dumped out of the cloud, washing the paved streets, running down in gutters, filling up cisterns and pans and pots, everything the families had set out.

“That is how we gather our water,” Sharif said.

The dusty streets quickly became clean. Children ran about laughing in the rain, their loose clothes drenched. Droplets blew back from the balcony, spraying the loosely hung curtains. Gwen drew a deep breath of the fresh-smelling air. She could hear the staccato pattering of heavy raindrops across all the tiled roofs, splashing in puddles in the streets, running in rivulets from statues and pointed turrets.

In only a few minutes, as swiftly as it had begun, the rain stopped, fading away into thick fog. Then Irrakesh burst out of the cloud and into dazzling warm sunlight. Within moments steam began to curl up from the fresh water on the streets. Brilliant sunlight reflected from stained-glass windows. There was a lull in the conversation and background noise outside, but the activity gradually picked up as vendors reopened their stalls. People emerged from doorways and shelters to continue their business.

Gwen found it amazing, but the people of Irrakesh took it entirely in stride.

The Sultan coughed again, demanding Sharif’s attention. “I do not have long, perhaps as much as a month, perhaps less. You are my only son now, Ali. My beloved Hashim is dead. Murdered by Azric . . . but you survived.”

Piri flitted in the air, flashing between an agitated orange and the electric green of worry.

To Gwen, the Sultan’s words sounded like an accusation, as if Sharif had greatly disappointed his father by not dying in his brother’s stead. “Therefore I need to rely on you. We must prepare you for your vital role. There is no more time for dalliances on Elantya, or praktiks in subjects that have no bearing on ruling Irrakesh. Your whole life now belongs to our city. That is why you were born.”

Sharif stiffened, struggling to find an argument. “That is why
Hashim
was born. I never expected —” The old Sultan’s face turned ruddy with anger, but before his father could shout at him, the young man raised his hand. “I know, I know, Father. Do not upset yourself.” He sounded deeply sad. “We came here to ask for help for Elantya, but now I must suddenly become an expert in statecraft and court bureaucracy.”

“We’ll help,” Gwen said.

Lyssandra, Tiaret, and Vic all stood close to the young man at the old Sultan’s bedside.

“Don’t worry. We’ll all do what we can,” Vic said.

“You will do what you must,” said the Sultan, then collapsed back on his pillows.

8

EVEN AFTER THE SULTAN’S shocking news, Gwen could not help but be fascinated by everything around her as the Vizier led the five apprentices down palace halls, through a slender, arched doorway in a narrow turret, and up a spiral staircase that seemed to go on forever.

“What is with these people and their stairs?” Vic muttered behind her.

Sharif, who was just ahead of Gwen, seemed to be accustomed to the climb, while Piri danced above his head, twinkling turquoise with excitement. “These towers were built by my people in honor of the Air Spirits,” Sharif said. At this, Piri flashed white with pride.

Gwen, who was familiar with her friend’s moods and could hear in his voice that he was troubled, asked, “Didn’t you tell us you had turned your back on the Air Spirits?”

Hearing the comment, Jabir shot a sharp look back at the friends, and Piri’s light dimmed to the dull green of uncertainty. By the djinni’s light, Gwen could see Sharif’s face flush with chagrin or perhaps guilt.

“For the most part,” he admitted. “But not entirely.”

“Despite Sharif’s misgivings, Piri seems excited to be in the tower of the Air Spirits,” Tiaret observed from the rear of the group.

Lyssandra, who was between Vic and Tiaret, said, “That is because Piri is herself an Air Spirit.”

Vic sputtered. “She’s
what
?”

Gwen stopped abruptly on the stair above him, which made him bump into her. She looked from Lyssandra to Sharif to Piri, and back at Sharif again. “Piri’s an Air Spirit, and you never told us?”

The nymph djinni’s orb flickered a color dangerously close to red. Avoiding all of their eyes for the moment, Sharif reached down and took Gwen’s hand and started back up the stairs again. “She is not an Air Spirit. Not quite yet.”

His friends, who were already out of breath from the climb, did not ask him more questions until they all emerged at the top of the minaret onto a balcony that circled the entire tower. The outermost portion of the balcony was protected by a balustrade and gold-wire netting that ran from the stone railing up to meet the edge of the copper roof that sheltered the balcony. Large potted plants with bright flowers filled the open space, and unseen creatures stirred the fleshy leaves.

“What do you mean Piri isn’t one of them
yet
?” Gwen could barely talk as she heaved in long, deep breaths of fresh air.

“He means,” the Vizier answered for Sharif, “that she has not yet matured entirely . . . though she is close.” From one of the potted plants, Jabir picked up something that looked like a plump, furry brown snake and stroked it. Gwen stepped forward to pet its glossy furred back as Jabir continued, “Piri is no more one of the Air Spirits — or djinni, as they are sometimes called — than this minkworm is a carrier moth.” At this, he lifted one hand and a trio of the brightly colored giant moths that the apprentices had seen when they flew over the city landed on the Vizier’s arm. Gwen glanced around the balcony and noticed for the first time that dozens of the beautiful, brilliant moths were perched everywhere inside the mesh-enclosed area of the high tower.

“That’s a
caterpillar
?” Vic asked, stepping forward to get a closer look at the minkworm. “It’s as long as my forearm.”

Lyssandra, placing a hand on his wrist to draw the thought from his mind, said, “Yes, it is very similar to a caterpillar, though carrier moths in Irrakesh have much greater intelligence than most moths.”

“This minkworm will become a carrier moth.” The Vizier gave a whistling chirp, and moths flew down to perch on each of the apprentices’ shoulders. “The moths are very clever,” he said. “They deliver messages and small items around the city much as skrits and aquits do in Elantya.”

“Cool.” Vic touched a jewel-toned wing of the moth that sat on his left shoulder.

“Piri does not resemble a minkworm,” Tiaret observed. “We were discussing Air Spirits.”

Jabir agreed. “Her eggsphere is closer to a cocoon or chrysalis in which she will transform into an Air Spirit.” He looked more closely at the orb-encased sprite. “She has changed greatly, matured far more quickly than she should have in the past year.”

“It was the lavaja,” Sharif said. “The accursed Orpheon threw her into the lavaja cracks as a punishment to me.”

“But she survived,” Gwen said, squeezing Sharif’s hand when she saw his flash of sorrow. By the anxiety on his face, she could tell he was not troubled only by this memory, but worried about his father, as well.

Tiaret tapped her quarterstaff on the stone floor. “Piri grew stronger and wiser from her ordeal, as we all did in our captivity.”

Again, the Vizier nodded. “This explains much. Please sit.” He indicated the stone bench that ringed the tower. The moths fluttered away as the five apprentices sat and gazed out through the mesh across the vast and beautiful city. Remaining standing, Jabir studied them in silence for a time, stroking his braided golden beard. Several moths settled on his sleeves, shoulders, and head, but he ignored them. Finally his eyebrows twitched upward in surprise and his mouth formed a silent O.

“I did not realize. I am in the presence of more than just a reluctant prince, four children, and a nymph djinni.” He bowed — not just to Sharif, but to all of them. “The prophecies speak of this. You are the Ring of Might.”

The apprentices exchanged surprised glances.

“Viccus and Gwenya are the children of the prophecy — a very important Elantyan prophecy,” Lyssandra began.

Tiaret said, “We require Sharif to assist us in defending all worlds. He is part of the Ring.”

“I do not wish to disappoint my father or my people,” Sharif said, “but each of us here has a special power that we must learn in order to defend every endangered world — not just this one.”

Soon they were all talking at once, explaining the Elantyan prophecies, Azric’s plan to release his armies, the special bond among the apprentices, and how they had all recently been forged into a single Ring of Might.

“I am not simply a Key to the door of Irrakesh and a prince in waiting,” Sharif concluded. “I have a new obligation. And I cannot protect my people unless I protect all people.”

“I understand,” Jabir said, while he wrote a hasty message on a scrap of silken paper. “You have both a responsibility and a higher duty. The demands on all of you are great.” He gave the message to an obedient moth, which carried it up to the corner of the filigree net, and Jabir released it to the open sky. “I carry a heavy burden, as well.” His lips twitched into a wry smile. “I, too, am more than just Key to the crystal door of this world. Neither am I a simple Vizier. I hold both power and influence as the Grand Vizier of Irrakesh.”

“In other words, he’s their Ven Sage,” Gwen whispered to Vic. “Like Rubicas.”

“I am also a
Master
Key. I can open the door to any world that is not sealed. And as our people say, ‘The blessing of a gift comes not from possessing it, but from using it to benefit others.’ I remember all too well how Azric used
his
gifts — to deceive and murder, to gain power, and to change his shape to escape punishment. Thus does evil betray its true nature. I serve the Sultan and my people, and if the five of you must defend
all
people to preserve this city, it is my duty to help you however I can.”

Sharif sat up straighter, looking less troubled than Gwen had seen him since he learned of his father’s illness. “It would be most helpful if you could assist us in learning more about our abilities.”

“In that case, I believe it would be wisest to do some research in the Grand Library. We must do it today, for tomorrow the Prince and I shall stand at the Sultan’s side while he holds court and signs a treaty with the aeglors.”

“Then we will go to the library,” Sharif said. To his friends, he added, “The Grand Library of Irrakesh is renowned throughout the worlds.”