Crystal Doors #1 (8 page)

As the dock workers spread out the debris retrieved by the newly arrived ship, Vic touched his cousin’s arm and pointed in uneasy disbelief at the long deep grooves that had been gouged into the hull planks of the destroyed ship. She immediately recognized what they were.

Claw marks.

VIC’S IMAGINATION CONIURED UP plenty of frightening images from the wreckage of Captain Argo’s ship. Sea monsters? Scales from something the size of a dragon? Claw marks? He swallowed hard.

Rumors swiftly circulated around Elantya’s harbor. Lyssandra set the aquit’s basin in the middle of the crowded dock and had the chameleon messenger repeat its story in the form of Captain Argo. Watching the image, Vic realized that the desperate man was almost certainly dead now. Hearing the terrible news, many of the captains, sailors, merchants, and robed Keys grew anxious. Restless, Vic paced up and down the waterfront, eavesdropping wherever he could.

“And you are sure you spotted no survivors? No sign of Captain Argo?” one of the sages asked the captain of the newly arrived ship. “How much wreckage did you find?”

“A lot of flotsam and jetsam, and most of it looked
chewed.”
Many workers muttered uneasily. “Even without the threat of the merlons, the currents around the Ophir reefs are treacherous, swift, and erratic. I was not going to let my ship be pulled onto the razor coral. I ordered my crew to get away from there fast.”

“We saw thick planks and masts that had been snapped in two,” said his first mate. “What if the merlons are using sea serpents again? We did not dare search for long.”

“And then a line of dark clouds came from the horizon,” said a third sailor. “So we decided to make for Elantya as fast as possible.”

“Couldn’t there still be somebody in a lifeboat? Or clinging to wreckage?” Vic asked.

Lyssandra closed her blue eyes briefly, then opened them wide. “Yes. In my dream, there
was
someone….”

The captain looked at Vic without recognition. “Considering what we saw and all the time that has passed, it is not likely. The currents out there are harsh. Even without sharks or merlons, the reefs could grind you into sausage meat.”

“But you don’t know for sure unless you look.” Vic grabbed Sharif’s white silk sleeve. “I’ve got an idea! You and I could go search for anyone floating with the wreckage. Your flying carpet can carry a couple of extra people, can’t it?”

“Indeed it can.” He gave Vic a skeptical look. “Though I seldom accept passengers. Flying carpets are very rare. Right now, mine is the only one in all of Elantya, a gift —”

“Whoa, flyboy. Search now, brag later, okay? We need to hurry. What if someone’s floating out there hoping to be rescued?
With my good eyesight, I can help you look. I promise not to spill anything on your expensive upholstery.”

Considering the matter as if he were a wise judge, the boy from Irrakesh unrolled his carpet on the dock. “Yes, this I can do.” He knelt on the woven surface, neatly spreading and arranging the tassels. “And this would be a good time to see how fast it can go — provided Viccus does not fall off.”

Lyssandra looked uncertain. “Should we not consult the Pentumvirate? We have no authority to make such a decision.”

Vic groaned. “I don’t know how it works here in Elantya, but where we come from there’s an important first rule of emergency protocol: Act now, discuss later. Better to apologize afterward — if you
have
to — than to waste time waiting for permission.” He stared at the mangled wreckage, imagining what some poor victim might be facing right now.

Biting her lower lip, Gwen surprised him with her support. “Normally I’d say Taz — Vic — is too impulsive, but this time I have to agree. Lives may be at stake. Though I think a bit of Vic’s motivation may come from wanting to ride on the magic carpet.”

Vic shrugged an eyebrow. “Does it matter if I have a little fun while I’m doing the right thing?”

“No, I suppose not. Good luck. I wish I could go, too.”

“At most I can take one person to help me search,” Sharif said quickly.

“Right. We need to save room for any survivors.”

Lyssandra had no choice but to accept the decision. “I will inform the Pentumvirate.”

Sharif sat at the front of the carpet and looked over his shoulder as Vic situated himself at the rear.

“I don’t suppose this rug has safety belts?”

“Sit cross-legged, and you will keep your balance better.”

Gwen turned to Sharif. “If you fly too fast, can the wind blow you off the carpet?”

“No. On my carpet the wind never feels stronger that a light breeze.” He glanced back at Vic. “If you fall from the carpet, I will try to catch you. But it would be more beneficial if you did not fall.”

“Got it,” Vic said. “I think I can handle that.”

Gwen still looked worried. “You
sure
you want to do this, Taz?”

Crossing his legs, Vic smiled reassuringly.
“Someone
has to do it.”

“Just be careful!”

“Tell that to
him.”
He tapped Sharif on the shoulder. “He’s the pilot.”

Sharif put Piri’s crystal sphere into its open-weave pouch and hung it around his neck, so the glowing djinni could see better. He traced his fingers along the complex patterns of interwoven gold thread. With flares and sparks, the carpet’s embroidery began to shine in different illuminated patterns, like a shifting neon sign. Vic thought the rug’s design looked like the circuit paths of a personal computer’s motherboard. There were far too many interwoven designs for him to study them all without getting dizzy.

Gently, as if they were sitting on the palm of a giant hand, the rug lifted into the air, its gold tassels dangling down. As
they gained altitude, Vic suddenly thought of the fact that only a thin rectangle of fabric separated him from a long drop. His stomach lurched.

Several sailors waved at them, but most continued their tasks without glancing up, as if seeing a flying carpet were nothing surprising. For them, maybe it wasn’t.

The carpet rotated to orient itself on a new course, then sped forward, gliding silently across the air currents. Vic laughed as breezes blew through his thick hair. “Does your djinni use fairy dust to make us fly? Should I be thinking happy thoughts?”

“As you wish,” Sharif said. “Our flight is driven by the spells embroidered into the rug with threads of sun aja.”

“Ah, that makes sense.”

The carpet soared out of the harbor toward the open ocean in the direction from which the new ship had come. Vic could barely sit still as he peered over the side at the long plunge. If he did fall off, Sharif would have some time to swoop down and intercept him — but he didn’t want to test his new friend’s reactions or flying skills.

Elantya’s inner harbor was filled with fishing boats, cargo vessels that had sailed through crystal doors, sailboats, sharpprowed guardian galleys, even training vessels filled with students. Bright orange sails with yellow and red markings made them look like tropical fish from the aquariums at Ocean Kingdoms.

The upthrust island was covered with white buildings, stacked like barnacles one upon the other. A spectacular lighthouse tower on an extended spit of land shimmered with
dazzling green flames to guide vessels to a safe haven. While Sharif piloted the carpet, Vic got a good view of the windward side of the island where big waves crashed against wet black cliffs. Trickling white rivulets ran down into tide pools. Weeds and flowers grew from crevices, and seabirds swooped to snatch insects from the air.

As the carpet increased speed, the breeze remained steady and refreshing.
Kind of like riding in a convertible on a warm day,
Vic thought. The carpet’s gold tassels fluttered. Vic felt more exhilarated than frightened.

Sharif bent low as they raced over the ocean, far faster than most ships could sail, and the djinni globe swung forward in its mesh pouch. Glowing blue with earnest concentration, Piri pressed herself against the curved side of her eggsphere and stared down at the water where seabirds skimmed the waves in search of fish.

Soon, the island dropped far behind them, dwindling to a tiny smudge on the horizon. Then even that was gone.

“Sharif!” Vic raised his voice to be heard above the constant breeze. “Do we have a map or a compass? How will we find our way back?”

“The embroidery in the flying carpet carries all the maps and charts we could need. It is very sophisticated. I have already traced in our destination for the Ophir reefs. I could easily fly back to Elantya with my eyes closed.”

“Well don’t close them yet, or we might miss any survivors.”

Sharif chuckled. The heavy globe pendant around his neck shimmered white, and the tiny djinni moved her hands, signaling.
“Ah, Piri reminds me that she could also lead us back, if need be. She has a good sense of direction.”

The open seas stretched out blue-green as far as he could see, and Vic began to realize how isolated the island of Elantya was. Was it the only speck of land on this whole planet? Yet it was at the center of all the crystal-door gateways.

After about an hour of fast flight, Vic found himself shifting restlessly on the cushion of fabric and air. Ahead he spotted a white foamy patch where waves churned around black rocky reefs that were mostly submerged.

They descended, circling low over the rocks. As they had expected and feared, Vic and Sharif saw broken driftwood and a long floating mast with a tangled blue sail. From his high vantage point, Vic could see tiny chunks of wreckage drifting in all directions, as if the ship had exploded and sprayed debris out into the ocean currents.

“The reefs stir up the water,” Sharif said. “Any survivors may have been driven far out on the open sea.”

“Good thing your carpet can cover a lot of distance,” Vic said. “Spiral outward, and maybe we’ll see something. With both of us watching —”

“And Piri,” Sharif said.

“— how can we miss anything?”

As they cruised over the reefs, Vic could hear the churning sounds. Anyone trying to swim in that maelstrom would have been caught and smashed. Farther from the dangerous rocks, Vic and Sharif discovered another part of a mast drifting slowly by. Large, predatory shapes swam about beneath the water. Giant sharks, perhaps? Or prehistoric sea monsters?
They probably would have devoured any helpless person floating in those waters. How could there be any survivors?

But Vic didn’t say that out loud. He was an optimist, after all.

Sharif circled farther from the Ophir reefs. By the end of two hours, they saw no more debris, but they continued to spiral outward, making sure. When they were on the verge of giving up, the boy from Irrakesh saw something on the water’s surface.

“It’s another piece of debris.” Vic shaded his eyes and squinted into the bright sunlight. “No, wait! There’s a
person
on it!”

Sharif urged his flying carpet to greater speed, skimming just above the choppy waves. Piri’s sphere glowed an urgent orange.

As they came closer, the two young men made out a floating yardarm from the ruined ship. Sodden ropes dangled in the water, and a single dark-skinned woman clung to the wood with one arm while struggling and thrashing against an underwater enemy.

“Looks like she’s fighting something,” Vic said.

“She is fighting for her life. Hang on.”

Spray splashed into the air, and the flying carpet closed the distance.

The female survivor gripped a long polished wooden staff. One end was pointed like a spear, while the other end was crowned with a polished stone as large as a billiard ball, adjacent to a curved hook. The girl jabbed her spear into the water, lifted it out dripping a mixture of sea water and red fluid. Blood? A gray torpedolike snout rose out of the water and
opened a huge maw of sharp teeth. The girl twirled the staff and brought it down with a hard smack.

“We’ve got to save her. Those look like sharks!” Vic said. “We, uh, didn’t happen to bring any weapons, did we?”

Sharif cast him a haughty glance. “We have speed. That will have to do for now.”

The bedraggled survivor did not panic as she fought. Vic didn’t think she had seen her rescuers coming yet. Sharif glided to a spot above the girl whose arm still hugged the floating yardarm. Their appearance scattered the prowling sharks. The waterlogged survivor looked up at them, her large eyes drooping with utter weariness. Vic could see sharp fins cutting the water as the startled sharks immediately began circling back in.

Sharif brought the magic carpet low, and Vic leaned over the edge, reaching out to take the girl’s outstretched hand. “I hope this thing doesn’t tip over. Come on!”

With lithe grace, the survivor pulled herself out of the water as the sharks approached. She kicked off against the slippery floating yardarm for leverage, pushed with the wooden staff in her other hand, and sprawled across Sharif’s embroidered carpet.

Three angry sharks raced in with open jaws, but Sharif had already touched the golden threads, and the carpet ascended out of reach of the snapping teeth.

As if it were a perfectly normal occurrence to be picked up by a piece of flying cloth, the bedraggled dark-skinned girl pulled her lean legs onto the carpet, arranged herself at the center so as not to overbalance them, and laid the wooden
staff across her lap. Panting and dripping and weary beyond words, she looked at her two rescuers. “Thank you,” the girl said in a hoarse, parched voice.