Back in the city of Egaru fat Caprishan knelt in his luxurious bed-chamber emptying bags of fully charged crystals into two chests. He had declined Rael’s invitation to ride out against the Almecs and was now trying to estimate how much life these crystals would allow him. Like all Avatars his mind was skilled in calculation. There were over 2,000 crystals, each one capable of keeping a normal man healthy for months. Caprishan was not a normal man. His immense weight and his prodigious appetite had weakened his heart, and he could exhaust a fully charged crystal within six days. Twelve thousand three hundred and sixty days. Less than thirty-four years!
Disappointment seized him. ‘Better than being dead and rotting on a field of battle,’ he told himself. ‘And who knows, perhaps there are more crystals to be found?’
He sat staring into the chests, watching the light glitter on the gems. Much could happen in thirty-four years.
A crystal vase on his windowsill suddenly shattered. The sound made him jump. Pushing himself ponderously to his feet he waddled to the window, looking out to see who had thrown a stone. There was no-one in sight. A strange popping sound came from behind him. He swung, and saw green dust spraying out from the chests. He stumbled back and fell to his knees. The crystals within were writhing and splitting. ‘No!’ he shouted, digging his fat hands into the first chest, closing his fingers around the few remaining gems. But even inside his grip he felt them shatter and turn to dust. The red gems in the rings on his fingers exploded.
Caprishan began to weep piteously. One of his servants ran into the room.
‘What is it, lord?’ he asked.
‘Leave me alone!’ shouted Caprishan. The man backed away. Caprishan pushed himself to his feet and walked to the balcony.
He could wait for the six days to pass, and die slowly and horribly.
Or he could …
His fat body sailed through the air and smashed onto the stone path beside a fountain.
And the music of the pyramid swept out over the ocean.
Serpent Seven was close to the shore when all power vanished. For a little while the black ship struggled on, carried by her momentum and by the inrushing tide. But then she began to wallow in the waves, tipping and rolling.
On the journey back Methras had ordered the crew to strip the cabins and holds of everything that would float. Several rafts had been made, and makeshift oars. The men had thought the orders strange, but they had obeyed them.
The ship swung broadside to the land and tilted perilously. ‘Over the side!’ yelled Methras. The crew began to throw empty barrels into the sea, then the rafts were hurled after them. One by one the men jumped into the ocean. The strongest swimmers set out for the shore. Those unskilled in the water clung to the rafts or other floating debris. Methras saw a crewman go under. He dived and grabbed at the man’s collar, hauling him up. The Vagar struggled and almost pulled them both down, but Methras spoke to him calmly, then helped him to a floating barrel. ‘Hold on and kick out with your feet,’ he advised the man. ‘The tide will carry you in.’
Methras swam to a raft. Several men had clambered aboard and they pulled him up.
He sat down and turned to watch the Serpent. Like a sick whale it rolled and pitched. Then it tipped completely and sank beneath the waves.
‘What happened?’ asked a Vagar seaman.
‘Ami’s magic,’ he said.
‘I thought he was on our side.’
‘He is,’ said Methras. ‘The golden ships will be sinking just as we did.’
‘He could have waited another hour,’ grumbled the man. ‘We’d have been in port by then.’
As the dawn rose over the sea Ro felt a strange sensation rippling through him. Attuning his mind he focused on it. It was music, whispering on the wind. It was discordant and yet … it made him feel a part of everything, the earth, the sky, the rock beneath his feet.
A strangled cry came from Sofarita. He turned to her and saw her begin to tremble. Rising he threw his arms around her, holding her stiff body close. She fell into him, almost carrying them both from the ledge. Ro struggled to stay upright. Sofarita’s arms were outstretched, still stiff, her joints locked. She was trying to speak, but her tongue could form no words. ‘I am here,’ he said. ‘I am with you. Remember the rituals. Join with me.’
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