Down to the Sea Read online

  “Which is?”

  “Faith. A faith in a god of our creation. They are the Shiv, the elite of the elite, and when the Republic faces their Shiv legions, they will die.”

  “And what of us, then?” Jurak asked, a cold shiver of fear coursing through him when the full enormity of what he had just heard struck him.

  Velamak smiled. “He of my order, who I suspect even now is moving toward final control, he will guide the way.” Jurak lowered his head. For the first time since meeting this envoy he felt at last that he understood what was hidden beneath. This man wasn’t just an envoy, he was a fanatic, a believer, who had come to prepare the way for the madness to come.

  “So you survived after all, Hazin.”

  Hazin smiled, bowing low before the Grand Master of his order. He could see the wary gaze, the shift of the Grand Master’s weight as he leaned forward ever so slightly, ready to spring if Hazin should make a threatening move.

  “My master, I must protest the indignity of a personal search before entering your quarters,” Hazin replied. “I would not be so disloyal as to strike you now.”

  There was a sarcastic grunt of bemusement. “The whole city has been in turmoil since your ship docked, wondering what news you bring.”

  Hazin chuckled. So they weren’t sure. Good.

  “Hanaga is dead, as you ordered.”

  There was an exhale of relief.

  Ah, so he did fear the plot within a plot. Fine, that would have diverted his thinking for the moment. “There was no sense in keeping the news hidden. I’ve already sent one of our acolytes to the palace to give his most exalted highness the good news. I thought it best, however, to report to you personally.”

  The Grand Master stirred. “Are you certain he is dead?” His voice was filled now with menace.

  “If you doubt, fetch the Shiv who were aboard the ship and put to them the question. They disposed of the body after we were done.”

  “You should have kept some proof for the satisfaction of Yasim.”

  “The acolyte bears a basket containing Hanaga’s head. Is that proof enough, my master?”

  There was a chuckle of bemusement. “He’ll most likely vomit at the sight of it.”

  “And vomit again when you press for payment,” Hazin replied.

  The Grand Master nodded, picking up a dagger resting on his desk to examine the blade.

  “He’ll pay. He knows the result if he doesn’t.”

  “Yasim might appear a weakling on the surface. But is he?”

  “He’s a fool. Hanaga was different. Once the civil war was decided, we all knew he would turn on us. We were the one threat left to the Golden Throne. Yasim will be too afraid of us to strike. That, besides the wealth offered, was good enough reason to switch sides and support him.”

  “The war, however, is all but finished now,” Hazin replied. “Playing one against the other was our own path to power. The remaining Banners will submit. And then what?”

  “We consolidate our hold. With the payment offered we can expand our temples, gather more recruits. In ten years the cycle of struggle for the throne will start again, and yet again we shall play the game. This new emperor is morally a weakling, but he is lusty enough in his private chambers. Soon enough he will breed the next generation for us to play with.”

  Hazin nodded, though he did not agree. The Master was old, the fire was going out of him. He was thinking now like an old one, seeking security, warmth, a comfortable seat by the side of Yasim at the banquet table and amphitheater.

  He did not know the full measure of the one he had just placed on the throne. For that reason alone he should die, and for the simple fact that he was in the way.

  “The journey has been a tiring one,” Hazin replied. “May I have your permission to withdraw?”

  The Master nodded, then held up his hand just before Hazin backed out of the door, motioning for him to close it.

  “One question.”

  Hazin kept his features expressionless.

  “Your order was to kill Hanaga. It is rare indeed for one to survive such an assignment.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Yet you obviously arranged it so you would.”

  “Yes.”

  The moment has come, Hazin thought. If he has any wisdom, he should kill me now, this very instant.

  “You knew my intent in assigning you.”

  “Yes, to ensure that I would die as well, but I did not.”

  “And?”

  “You could kill me now and find out the result, or let me live and find out the result.”

  There was a long moment of silence, the master holding the dagger in his hand. At one time, long ago, this one had been his first mentor in the order. Hazin had loyally followed him, because that loyalty had been properly rewarded with advancement. Now he had only one step left to achieve—the final rank within the order, and the master knew it.

  Hazin finally looked straight at him. “Better the threat you know than the one you don’t,” Hazin whispered. “For someone else to get at you, they will still have to contend with me.”

  There was a subtle nod of agreement.

  “The dynamic between us will keep the balance. If there is another rival within the order, such as Grishna or Ulva, they know that if they strike you down I will still take revenge, and if I should be stricken, then you will mete out revenge. As long as we are careful, we can both survive.”

  “Are you pleading for your life, Hazin? I always thought better of you than to sink so low.”

  “No, rather suggesting that we both can live or we both will die. I know why you assigned me to kill Hanaga. That was the business of our order, and I could accept it.”

  He pitched his voice carefully. The master had trained him in the reading of the finest nuances of expression, the slightest change in tone, the flicker of an eyelid, the ever so subtle glancing away when a lie was spoken. That was yet another power of the Order, the training to be a truth sayer, one who could detect a lie in another, no matter how carefully crafted.

  He thought of the human Cromwell for an instant, the sharp honesty that was so easy to read, and yet so difficult to penetrate. Then he pushed the thought aside. He had to remain focused.

  “I assigned you to Hanaga to get rid of you. The needs of the Order are changing now that the civil war is ending. You, Hazin, thrive on conflict and manipulate it to your own advantage. I am not sure if you can survive now that it is ending.”

  “We must still contend with the human rebellion to the north.”

  The master snorted. “Time enough later.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why?”

  “We encountered a ship of theirs.” He briefly explained the battle with the Gettysburg, but left out the detail of taking the two prisoners.

  “Trivial.”

  “An opportunity. We know that the Golden Throne is increasingly suspicious of the Shiv. The fact that we breed thousands more than will ever be needed for sacrifice, that we have trained them in war, and that they have fought to victory in every engagement makes the emperor nervous. Unleashing them against the human Republic will give us millions to rule and can perhaps reveal as well the location of a Portal.”

  The Grand Master openly laughed. “You and that mad dream of leaving this place. Is not scheming for one empire enough?”

  Hazin could see that the true focus of the conversation had wandered. His own life still hung by a thread.

  “I want to ensure the survival of the Order, of our own personal survival.”

  “Our survival or yours, Hazin?”

  “My staying alive guarantees yours as well, Master.”

  “Is there a threat in those words?”

  “A statement of reality,” Hazin said quietly, his voice cool, even, without a hint of emotion.

  The master stared at him and then ever so slowly put the dagger back down.

  “For the moment, then, we shall leave things at that.” Ha
zin bowed and turned to open the door, using his left hand, which he had kept concealed in the folds of his robe.

  Leaving the master’s chamber, he hurriedly went down the open flagstone corridor, past one of the pleasure gardens where several of the new initiates loitered, drifting in their hazy drug-induced visions, and entered his chamber, sweeping past the Shiv guards, careful to open and close the door to his room with his right hand.

  Once alone he gingerly put a glove on his right hand, careful not to touch anything with his left. When his right was safely covered, he peeled off the dark, flesh-colored glove on his left hand and threw it into a charcoal brazier. Then went through the same ritual again, putting another glove on the opposite hand before using it to remove the other.

  Finally he peeled off the robe he had been wearing, careful to not let the folds around the cuffs touch any skin.

  The Grand Master was alone in his study. The ceremony for the ending of day would occur within the hour, and he would, as required, go to attend. The poison on Hazin’s left glove, placed on the door handle, would still be damp and should penetrate the skin of the palm. It was subtle. He would not even notice it against the cool metal.

  Death would take awhile, a day perhaps, but then the convulsions would come, mimicking a brain seizure. Of course, he would carefully avoid going anywhere near him. No one would suspect, or if they did, they would never dare to speak without definite proof.

  Hazin realized he was shaking for the first time in years, and he felt a surge of anger against himself for such lack of control.

  The old one had sealed his fate on two points. First, he had been foolish not to kill Hazin immediately once he was in the room. Having sent him once to his death, he should have seen it through to the conclusion. That was a sign of hesitation, perhaps even of sentiment, a feeling unworthy of a Grand Master. Second, he had not seen the true danger that came with peace. If Yasim, who had masterfully engineered his plot over years of conflict, no longer had someone to plot against, he would now turn on the Order. He would do it subtly, cautiously, and then strike with blinding fury.

  A diversion would have to be offered, one that would refocus the attention of Yasim, and all the others of the Golden Family, and Hazin realized that fate, if such a thing existed, had dealt him the perfect choice.

  It was paradise.

  A voice whispered to him that it was all illusion, drugs in his drink and food, but the sensations were so intoxicating that he no longer cared.

  Occasionally the one with the blue eyes would come, smiling, speaking softly, reasonably, explaining how clear and simple his course; to submit fully to the Order, to become one of the Shiv and, most tantalizing of all, to one day return home to rule, to no longer be the forgotten son.

  How Hazin knew these things Sean was not sure. It was hard to tell what he had actually said, what Hazin already knew, and what he could somehow sense, for he now knew that Hazin’s powers were beyond that of anyone he’d ever met, human or Horde.

  Someone touched his shoulder and, half rolling over, he looked up at her and smiled. He didn’t know her name, he wasn’t even sure if she was the one who had come to him the night before, but it didn’t matter.

  What she said was unintelligible, but that didn’t matter either. She was above any dream of loveliness he had ever hoped to know, almost inhuman in her perfection. He wondered if she, like him, had tasted of the lotus.

  The land of the lotus eaters, he remembered his mother telling him of that myth.

  Perhaps that is where I am now. He looked past the compelling green eyes of the woman to the garden. The riotous bloom of flowers had an iridescent quality to them. They actually seemed to glow with their own inner light. The sight of them made him laugh, and she laughed with him.

  She stood up and walked ever so slowly—to his eyes she seemed to float. She plucked a flower and returned, offering it to him. He almost wept with the beauty of the precious violet and red blossom. She leaned over and peeled off a petal, holding it up, brushing his lips with it, then slowly ate it.

  He smiled and did the same. She went to fetch another, and he waited with anticipation, feeling a stirring of desire, dreaming of what he would do next with her even as she floated across the garden.

  A gentle whisper of a voice, and she seemed to disappear into a cloud, replaced by Hazin.

  For a moment he wasn’t sure if he had drifted off to sleep, whether he and the green-eyed girl had made love or not. It was hard to remember now.

  “I could send you away from here,” Hazin said, sitting down by Sean’s side.

  He felt a flash of panic, but then, looking into those impenetrable blue eyes, he knew that Hazin would not be so cruel. Why would he grant such a gift only to take it away?

  “But you know I would not, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You can leave at any time. In fact, I give you your freedom, O’Donald. You can awake in the hour after dusk. I will give you an airship and you can wing off to home, to your people, to the land ruled by your father and his friends.”

  The way he said it made the mere contemplation of it revolting. Sean felt light-headed, his stomach knotting.

  “That choice would always haunt you, though, wouldn’t it? To know that this paradise is here, to be tasted at any time. Instead you would live in a land of barrenness, where those who passed behind you would cover their mouths and whisper, ‘There goes the son of the drunkard, the senator who is only thus because he hangs on to the power of others. There goes the son of the uncouth, the loud mouth, the braggart, and fool. And he shall one day be the same’.” Sean lowered his head and began to openly weep. “Your mother endured that, you know, and you were powerless to stop her from feeling that pain, weren’t you?” Sean could not even answer. He merely shook his head as the tears continued to flow.

  “Stay with me,” Hazin whispered. “Stay with me, and I promise that you can one day return to right such wrongs, but do so on your own terms.”

  Sean looked up at him.

  Hazin reached out and lightly touched Sean’s shoulder, tracing a finger along a still open wound from the torture. “Unfortunate, that, and I apologize.”

  “Apologize?” Sean was confused. It was as if this one before him now was someone else, not someone to be feared, but to be trusted, followed, even to be loved.

  “A mistake. As soon as I realized who you were, I had to make amends, which I am now doing.”

  Sean could not reply, overwhelmed with gratitude.

  Hazin offered him a cup, and he drank the golden liquid, which was sweet but laced with a touch of bitterness.

  “That should ease any unfortunate pains you still might have. Soon you will awake, but you will remember. Do you know where you are, Sean O’Donald?”

  Sean struggled to focus his thoughts. What did the question actually mean? Here, was that the question? He remembered coming off the boat, the vastness of the city, its gleaming temples, spires, arches, and columned buildings. It reminded him somehow of the stories of how Roum might have looked before the destruction of the Great War, a destruction that his own father had taken part in.

  .. Was that what the question was?

  “Kazan. We are in the Imperial City of Kazan,” he finally replied, even as the world about him began to drift in a soft, diffused light.

  Hazin laughed softly. “So literal in your thoughts, even now. A sharp intellect, which is good at certain moments.

  “No, I mean here, now.” He extended his hand, gesturing to the garden, the walls embedded with precious gems that caught and bent the sunlight, the fluttering curtains of silk, the lush green grass upon which they sat, and the bubbling fountains that splashed and played a soft musical chant.

  “Paradise,” Sean finally replied, and Hazin smiled approvingly.

  “Yes. You are enjoying paradise and I hold the key to it.”

  “You?”

  “Yes. I can open the gate wide to any who so desire it, or close it
forever and cast those who fail into the fire of eternal suffering.”

  As he spoke, he extended his hand, almost covering Sean’s eyes. Terrifyingly, a vision seemed to be concealed within that open hand—of fire, of agony, of eternal longing for bliss never again to be tasted.

  Sean cried out and turned his head away.

  “Do you believe what I just told you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Look back at me.”

  Sean turned to look back and was startled, for Hazin was gone, disappeared, a swirling cloud of sweet-scented smoke obscuring all around.

  The smoke drifted and curled, slowly parting, and someone else appeared before him. He had never seen such eyes, the palest of amber, her skin a milky white, hair raven black, coiling in a long, wavy cascade that covered the nakedness of her breasts.

  “Her name is Karinia.”

  It was Hazin’s voice, but where he was Sean could not say.

  “I have chosen her for you, Sean O’Donald. Look into her eyes and see paradise. Fail and know that you will never see such love again.”

  Sean could not turn away from her gaze. Her features were flushed, and he sensed that somehow she was afraid. He reached out and lightly touched her cheek.

  “You will stay and serve?” Hazin asked.

  Sean could not answer. Some voice whispered to him that here was the moment that would forever define his life, who he was, what he would live for. But all he could see were her eyes and the actual feel of the garden of paradise, as if all of it had merged into his body and soul and would be part of it in pleasure, or torment, forever.

  “I will serve,” he whispered.

  “Then she, all of this, is yours forever.”

  He heard a soft laugh, a rustling, and knew that Hazin was gone.

  “I’m of the Shiv,” she whispered, “and though not born to it, you are now of us.”

  Startled, he realized that she was speaking English, though her words were halting.

  “Is this what you desire?” he asked.

  She laughed softly and, leaning over, kissed him.