The Iron Khan (28 page)

There was a curious thing: a boat, marooned on a hillside, miles from any waterway that Inari could see. And standing on the deck was someone who was not at all unfamiliar.

Inari rarely raised her voice, but her shout echoed across the steppe. “Wei Chen!”

•

Several reunions later, Chen, Inari, and her companions sat in a round chamber high above the city, with Roerich and the Enlightened woman named Nandini. Inari had the impression that there were others in the chamber, too, but when she tried to look at them directly, no one was there.

“The world is breaking apart.” Nandini spoke calmly, but Inari could see the tension in her face.

“Do we know what’s happened to the cities of Earth? To the people?”

“We believe they have been shifted to the place known as Between,” Nandini said. Inari had visited Between, while dead. She had not thought all those people would fit. Perhaps it was bigger than it looked.

“So they have not been — unmade?” Chen asked.

“No. Whichever way you look at it, altering the timeline would effectively have resulted in wholesale murder. So the Book seems merely to have moved them at the times at which it decided to change things. Don’t ask me how this affects folk who are already dead: presumably their spirits reside in Heaven or Hell or in their reincarnations.”

“And Zhu Irzh?” said Chen.

“Somewhere. Somewhen.”

Agarta might be home of the Enlightened Masters, Inari reflected, but it seemed that not even the Enlightened knew everything.

“What happened to the Empress?” she heard herself say. Years ago, Inari might have been too timid to raise her voice in such august company, in case she caused them to lose face, but those days were long gone, eroded by experience and time and the child growing within her. The Empress had struck out at Inari once, and the baby, and Miss Qi, and badger. Enough was enough; Inari would not tolerate it again.

Chen turned to her reassuringly. “She’s incarcerated here in the city. As soon as things are set right, she’ll be returned to the Sea of Night.”

“Speaking of which,” Robin said, “has anyone heard anything from my fiancé?”

“We have sent dispensation to the Night Harbor,” Nandini said, rather stiffly, “petitioning to enter Heaven.”

Jhai snorted. “Might I suggest a large bribe?”

“Agarta does not encourage corruption,” Nandini replied, now icy.

“Whether you encourage it or not,” Jhai said, “even in this remade world, it would seem that the Night Harbor remains reassuringly the same.”

Nandini was too serene to glare, but she came close to it.

Inari was still thinking about the Empress. She’d broken out of the Sea of Night, and then Banquo’s capture. Inari did not think that these calm rose-growers were likely to hold the Empress hostage for long, whatever Chen may think. Then, ashamed of her own disloyalty, she told herself that Chen was no fool and had defeated the Empress once already.

“Agarta is at its limits,” Nandini said now, as if reluctant to admit such limitation. “We can travel no further. The Book has circumscribed our world.”

“But the Book has been unsuccessful,” Chen argued.

“I agree,” Jhai said. “You said yourself — the world is breaking down. Why not test those limits? You’re the only one who believes in them.”

Nandini was silent.

Inari saw that Roerich was staring at Nandini, his dark gaze unblinking, and it was as if she had read his mind. The Masters want others to act for them, now. Agarta’s time is passing. Then, with a sigh, Roerich spoke.

“You have to try,” he said.

The swarm of ifrits still circled at the boundaries of the cliff. How did the spirit that was the Buddha see them? Zhu Irzh wondered. As gnats, or fleas? Or, in his limitless compassion, simply as themselves?

But the demon didn’t really care what the Buddha thought of them. They were vermin and enemies, and he wanted them gone. Frustrated, he watched them circle against the velvet sky. Raksha had spoken of another way out of here, and he was waiting for her to return. The shaman had taken to adversity with surprising effectiveness for someone raised in an earthly paradise: perhaps she retained memories of her alternative Tokarian self, the one in his own timeline. Mulling it over, Zhu Irzh decided that he preferred Earth as it had been; it kept you on your toes, somehow. Heaven seemed to make you either soft or mad.

Raksha materialized at his shoulder, coming cat-footed out of the dark.

“Any luck?”

The shaman assented. “There’s a tunnel which runs through the cliff — looks like a natural cave.” She looked out at the ifrits, eyes narrowing. “Do you know much about those things? How good is their sense of smell?”

“I’ve no idea. I wouldn’t put much past them, though. They’re predators. Where does this tunnel come out?”

“Into the grassland somewhere.”

“The wound in the world,” Zhu Irzh said. “I think that must be where the spell was activated.”

“It’s a place where something is badly wrong,” Raksha agreed. Zhu Irzh sighed.

“A good starting point, then.” Even with the Khan and his troops milling around. Now that Zhu Irzh thought back, out of the mists of panic, there had been something odd about those warriors: not men, he thought, but if not, then what? Had the Khan been recruiting in Hell? “We have to find out what the Khan is planning to do.”

And hopefully, reverse a paradisiacal spell.

•

The tunnel was bone dry and dusty underfoot, running in a series of twists and turns beneath the hill. Even down here, Zhu Irzh could sense the presence of the Buddha: a great calm pervading the place like the hush and rush of the sea. Not quite calm enough, however, to stop him from worrying about what might be waiting for them at the other end.

Raksha was silent. The demon had no idea what was going through her head, but he was grateful for her presence. Not to mention her abilities. He wondered about the others — where Roerich might be, or Omi. And then there was Chen — had he been edited out of this revised future? Zhu Irzh was aware of a substantial indignation. He was tired of people playing God. Even if they were gods.

The tunnel was widening. Raksha carried a small torch, a flaring thing of pitch, but unless it was his imagination, the light was growing. Next moment, Raksha caught him by the arm.

“We’re coming to the end of the tunnel. Be careful.”

The demon did not need telling twice. He flattened himself against the wall at the end of the tunnel as a draft of cool, grass-scented air blew inward. There was no sound from outside. Zhu Irzh checked his instincts: they were telling him it was safe. Cautiously, he peered around the side of the tunnel.

Outside, the land sloped gently down to the gleam of water. A stream snaked between low, grass-fringed banks. Above the hills, the moon hung huge and golden. No sign of the Khan or his men, yet the demon’s senses told him that the land was not as empty as it looked. Next moment he darted back as something sprung out of a thicket of scrub.

Raksha, however, didn’t hesitate leaving the tunnel.

“So, it is you!” she said.

“It is I,” the hare said. It sat back on long, folded legs and gazed up at her with eyes like the moon. “There are strange things out in the grass.”

Looking at the hare, Zhu Irzh caught the fleeting shadow of a girl, golden-eyed, with long fawn hair. Human and animal had not been so distinct once in the world’s history.

Raksha sat down on her heels, making herself level with the hare. “What kind of strange things?”

“Men. Or not men — I do not know what they are. There is one with them who smells of blood.”

“Where are they?”

Zhu Irzh cast an uneasy glance at the sky, but there was no sign of the ifrits, only the round moon riding in clear air.

“At the bend of the river. They have made a camp. The place stinks of blood.” The hare shivered. Raksha turned to Zhu Irzh.

“What is your plan?”

Ah. That plan thing. “I need to find out what the Khan’s doing, and then find this spell. Or maybe the other way around.” The trouble was, even if he located the spell and managed to reverse it, he had no way of knowing whether it would set the world back to the way it should be. Maybe the Tokarians would be as they had been before, eking out an existence in the bleak expanse of the desert, or maybe you couldn’t switch these things back once they’d started, and an entirely different world would result.

“The Khan’s camp is some distance from the wound,” Raksha said. “It would be safer to find this spell first.”

Cowardice was, frankly, a greater compulsion than strategy. Zhu Irzh was not eager to face the Khan, and anything that served to put that off for a bit, perhaps indefinitely…

“All right,” the demon said with sudden decisiveness. “Let’s revisit the wound.”

•

It looked different under the moon, less of a gaping mouth, more of an ancient scar. Perhaps this revised earth healed swiftly, or perhaps time worked in a different way. Or maybe it was nothing more than moonlight. He said as much to Raksha as they peered over the top of the bluff, down into the dark rip.

“It is wrong,” was all that the shaman said. Zhu Irzh agreed. Now that they had time to consider the wound in calmer circumstances, the smell of magic surrounding it was strong, and it was no magic that the demon recognized. It did not taste either of Heaven or Hell, nor of anything earthly, and he supposed that this was a function of the Book, so much older than the world around it.

“We need to get closer,” Zhu Irzh said.

They followed the river, keeping close to the trees that banded it. The hare came too, bounding along beside, a creature of silver and moonlight.

“How will you reverse the spell?” Raksha breathed into Zhu Irzh’s ear. Her apparent confidence in his abilities appalled him.

“Not quite sure what I’m going to try yet,” he told her, attempting to sound as if he knew what he was doing. In fact, he had no idea. The magic around the wound was making him dizzy. The only positive note was that there was no sign of the Khan, or his warriors, though distant cries suggested to Zhu Irzh that they could not be far away.

Who are you?

The voice, when it entered his ear, was startlingly loud, making the demon jump.

“What was that? What did you say?”

Raksha eyed him askance. “Who are you talking to?”

“Did you say something?”

“No.”

“Nor I,” the hare said.

“Well, someone did.” He looked suspiciously around him, but there was no one to be seen.

Who are you? It was more insistent this time; the kind of voice that demands answers.

“My name is Zhu Irzh.”

Raksha was staring at him. He made an impatient gesture, motioning her to silence.

What kind of thing are you? The voice sounded bemused.

“I’m a demon.” No point in lying. Instinct told Zhu Irzh that fabrication would not be wise. “From Hell.”

What is a demon? And where is Hell?

It was impossible to tell who the voice belonged to. The wondering note in it sounded like a child, yet there was a timbre and quality to it which suggested a far greater age. It was more male than female, but this, too, could have proved mistaken.

“Why don’t you come out and take a look at me?” Zhu Irzh suggested. “Then you can see for yourself.” And we can see who you are, too.

I cannot move.

“Why not?” And then the demon suddenly realized who he was talking to. “It’s you!” he said inanely. “You’re the spell.”

My name is Book.

This was not, Zhu Irzh realized, wholly true. “Book” was the word he understood, but the word that had been spoken was different. He remembered Roerich saying that the Book was far older than printed text — could only be, in fact, since the word came from humans and Celestials, and this thing had appeared before both; it was the creator of all.

“I’m coming down,” the demon said.

“Be careful,” Raksha hissed, and the hare’s long ears flattened in alarm. Zhu Irzh broke cover and set off down the hill toward the wound.

When he reached it, he saw that it pulsed faintly, as if alive. The demon frowned: it was disturbing, somehow, to witness this gentle heave of the land. He’d had too much experience of earthquakes… Memories of chunks of masonry hurtling into the streets of Singapore Three were still vivid in his memory. He might be supernatural, but even the demonic prefer not to be flattened. Or buried alive.

A thread of magic, a thin filament, coiled out from the dark maw in the earth. Zhu Irzh willed himself to stay put and not run: this was a test, a probe, not an attack. He hoped so, anyway. The thread snaked around his head; he felt it poking into one ear. Not a pleasant sensation and the demon gritted his teeth as the thread filtered through his mind, observing with a distinct sensation of curiosity the demon’s powers and memories. Then, suddenly, it was withdrawn.