“How will you move among the ships?” asked Sungui. “Can you hide even your absence from His Holiness?”
“Alas, no,” said the Panther. Her face drew close to Sungui’s, as if she would dare to kiss her too in full view of the rest. “I will remain here, where my spell continues to blind Zyung. My spirit will approach your brethren in ways my body cannot. I will taste the bloodflower and draw each of them into the Red Dream, where we will speak of regaining lost power. When next we gather, many others will join us. Those who remain beyond our reach will not recall my presence. Dreams, above all other dangers, are most easily forgotten.”
“Tomorrow we reach Shar Dni,” said Bahlah. “How many Seraphim can you visit in the few hours before dawn?”
“All of them,” said Ianthe.
The conspirators nodded, exchanging pleased glances.
They departed as one, dispersing to their individual cabins and ships. Sungui longed to lie with Ianthe again, but the Panther would be far too busy tonight working her dreamspell. So Sungui went instead with Gammir and gave herself again to the Wolf’s embrace. Gammir’s lovemaking was only a taste of the blood and fire and chaos that was to come. When the Living Empire was carved into pieces and the Old Breed walked the earth in their full power once again, every night would taste like this.
I serve mankind, as mankind must serve me.
There is love at the core of all my crimes, sins, and devastations.
This world must be made whole, and I make it so.
Zyung’s justifications rang in her ears still.
She drowned them in the rush of Gammir’s hot blood, the fire of his caress, and the pleasures he rained upon her body like blows.
Somewhere nearby, Ianthe crept through the doorways of a thousand dreams.
10
The Maker of Mountains
The chamber is of black stone and carved from the island’s native rock. Its door is iron, inlaid with runes of protection in silver, beryl, and opal. Outside its triple lock the most faithful of my children stands alert and ready to rouse me if any hostile force threatens the manor. Eyeni possesses the strength of a Giant in her leonine body. One would never guess the truth of her gentle nature from the size of her claws.
The eyes of her girlish face see not only the physical world, but also the world of spirits and ghosts. Her nose can scent the strands of any alien sorcery on the island, and her delicate ears can hear wind in the sails of ships up to a league offshore. Yet there are very few alive who would brave the ring of storms that surrounds my remote citadel. I expect no interruptions to the weaving of this great spell.
I have posted other servitors among the towers, gates, and courtyards, all of them less visible, less intelligent, and far more dangerous. Eyeni will be their eyes and ears, sitting before the door of my spirit chamber like a marble effigy before an Emperor’s tomb. She will protect the living bodies of four souls about to leave the flesh behind. We will make a journey to a place where our physical selves cannot go. I would trust our security to no other being.
Sharadza lies on her back, the soles of her feet pointing toward the northern land of her birth. Vaazhia rests directly across from her, clawed toes aiming southward. Alua lies perpendicular to them both, as do I. Between our four pairs of feet the central mandala glows brighter as it anchors our spirits together. I have removed the Flame of Intellect from about my neck and placed its silver chain at the hub of this circle of power.
Before taking my place as the fourth spoke of the spirit wheel, I poured glyphs about the floor with a beaker of sea salt, then again with rich earth from a garden bucket. Finally, I wove strands of my own breath into lines of frost to complete the circuit. Fire, Water, Earth, and Air are now configured in their proper places. Now our bodies lie inside the circle, the last of its essential elements.
“Why can we not go directly to Udgrond?” Vaazhia had asked me. The white flame had carried us a short distance across the sea to my tiny island. “Surely this flaming sphere can carry us below?”
“Such a journey would take longer than you know,” I had explained. “And it would be far too dangerous. The fires of the deep earth belong to Udgrond himself. Alua’s flame would not burn there, at least not with its full power. There are places that have no entrances for physical beings, and we must defy all of them to reach the Maker of Mountains in his den. The great pressure and heat at the center of the world would destroy our flesh, sending our spirits back to our separate sanctums and scattering us for days, weeks, or months. And if we were to try it again, we would be caught in a loop of destruction and rebirth. The only way to approach the one we seek is through the spirit corridors, where physical dangers cannot harm us.”