The Perilous Sea (24 page)

“When in fact she committed suicide years ago.”

“In our home, no less—she and my grandmother had been friends at school and she had shown up at our door after the rebellions had failed. We told Amara everything. The next few days were a blur—that was what delayed my return to Britain.”

Titus nodded. “And is there a particular reason you chose to tell Fairfax about your prophetic dreams?”

“Fairfax is an odd case. I was hoping you'd be able to tell me more, since it was always understood that he was your friend. But while I know he had never been here before the beginning of last Half, what I cannot decide is whether you put him here, or whether Atlantis put him here and you must do your best to tolerate him.”

Titus stared at Kashkari. He worried about many things and concocted endless possible scenarios to defend against, but it had never occurred to him that anyone would see Fairfax as a possible agent of Atlantis. “Why do you think Atlantis put him here?”

“Because for two people who are supposed to be friends, sometimes you certainly seem as if you can't stand each other.”

Sometimes Titus forgot the great falling-out between himself and Fairfax at the beginning of Summer Half. The divide between them had seemed an abyss—completely unbridgeable. Which they nevertheless managed to bridge.

Did this mean there was hope for them this time as well?

“Have you mentioned your suspicions about Fairfax to anyone, anyone at all?”

“No. However he arrived at our midst, he has been nothing but helpful all around.”

Inner beauty. That was what the boys had responded to in Fairfax from the beginning, her kindness, her comfortable company, her easy acceptance of them as they were. “I would go on saying nothing of Fairfax.”

“I understand. And Mrs. Hancock?”

Mrs. Hancock was a very different problem. Titus had no intention of ever trusting anyone with the maelstrom symbol on her drawer pulls. “Let me ask around.”

They bade each other good night and Titus walked to the door. As he was about to let himself out, however, Kashkari spoke again. “Your Highness.”

Titus did not turn around. “What is it?”

“You may say nothing of what you believe, Your Highness, but remember my powers,” said Kashkari, his voice quiet and cool. “I have seen who you are, and that is the only reason I have risked my life and the lives of all those I love by telling you the truth. Someday I hope you will return that trust.”

CHAPTER
21

The Sahara Desert

HALF AN HOUR HAD PASSED
since Fairfax brought down lightning and buried the armored chariots, half an hour untroubled by minions of Atlantis. The sun beat down, white and relentless; the sand rippled, like the surface of a wind-driven sea. The sand wyvern, a hardy creature, had largely recovered from the electric shock it had received, and flew steadily at speeds in excess of eighty miles a hour. But Titus did not dare let his guard down and kept scanning different parts of the sky with far-seeing spells. Once he and Fairfax had been found, it became much easier for Atlantis to establish a new search range. Its forces no longer needed to comb every inch of sand in every direction from the original blood circle, but could concentrate on a sharply reduced area.

Sure enough, before another five minutes went by, he spotted a trio of albino wyverns. They were several miles behind, but they were faster—smaller, sleeker creatures were often swifter in flight.

Besides, the trouble was not in those three wyverns, but in all the others that were sure to come, now that he and Fairfax had been spotted again.

After studying the riders more closely, however, he changed his mind about their not being his biggest concern. The riders had released a net behind them, which resembled an impractical-looking hood worn on an invisible head.

A spell accelerator: they were about to deploy distance spell-casting.

In distance spell-casting, the party in pursuit was at a disadvantage, as the target kept moving away, which meant a spell had to travel farther. While a certain amount of distance was necessary for the strength of the spell to build—three miles was generally considered the optimum distance—beyond that the spell began to weaken again.

But a spell accelerator boosted both the power and endurance of the spell, which portended trouble for two fleeing fugitives.

Titus pulled out his wand—the Atlanteans were not the only ones familiar with distance spell-casting. He focused, steadied, and locked his own aim, spells leaving his lips one after another.

He could see what they were doing and they were no doubt aware of his action. But neither party dodged, each determined to deploy as many spells as possible, in case most of them, just a hairsbreadth off in aim, would fizzle into nothing somewhere high in the atmosphere, or against the surface of the desert below.

At the last possible moment, Titus sent the sand wyvern into a near vertical dive.

Behind him, the trio of albino wyverns, who had been flying in close formation, responded to the slumping weight of their riders and veered off in different directions.

 

The sand wyvern pulled out of the dive and began gaining altitude again.

“What's the turbulence?” Fairfax mumbled, her eyes closed.

“We dodged some distance spell-casting.”

“My hero. But can't a girl sleep in peace around here?” There was a hint of a sly grin at the corner of her mouth.

He kissed the top of her head. “Of course. I will personally guarantee a ride as smooth as that of a square-mile flying carpet.”

But the sand wyvern did not want to cooperate. The moment a tiny oasis appeared on the horizon, it headed straight for the grove of date palms. And Titus, despite his best effort, could not dislodge it from its course.

He could only aim a spate of pacification spells at the train of camels standing nose-to-tail just beyond the palm trees.

The camels masticated and stared placidly at the sand wyvern, as the palms swayed in the current generated by its massive wings. The humans, however, possessed no such equanimity. Of the four bearded, sun-browned men, one fainted outright, two reached for their rifles, and one for his Koran.

Titus dismounted and led the tall-as-a-two-story-house beast to the puddle at the center of the oasis.

“
Assalamu alaykum
,” he said to the three men who were still conscious.

Peace be upon you
.

The older man with the Koran opened and closed his mouth several times, but no words came out.

A young man in a dusty-red keffiyeh rasped something, but as Titus's grasp of Arabic was restricted to a few phrases of courtesy, he did not bother to respond.

Another young man in a brown turban cocked his firearm, but the old man put a hand on his arm. The wyvern drank and drank and drank. When it was done, Titus persuaded it to pull down a date palm branch, so he could cut off a large cluster of dates.

With another “
Assalamu alaykum
” to the caravanists, still agape, he urged the sand wyvern to take to the sky again.

 

After another hour or so, Titus set down the sand wyvern about a mile away from a low rocky hill. The hill looked barren, but any shade in the desert, anywhere water could condense and collect, played host to life. He sent out the two lengths of hunting rope still in his possession to find the sand wyvern a good supper and crouched down to give Fairfax some water.

She drank with her eyes closed. “Did I fall asleep
again
?”

“With panacea, even when you stop sleeping all the time, you will still sleep a great deal. Besides, you exerted yourself when Atlantis found us.”

Which could impede her recovery. Ideally it should be nothing but rest for her, until her sleep pattern returned to normal.

“Did more dangerous things happen after the distance spell-casting?”

“Not to us, but there are some caravanists who will have stories to tell their grandchildren. They will probably weave in elaborate details about the sand wyvern eating half of their camels, while the demonic, horned rider laughed.”

She tittered. “That
does
sound like you.”

“I am very proud of my forked tail, but I will deny the existence of horns to my last breath.”

Now she half opened her eyes. “All I see is a halo.”

“Your compliment made my tail fall off. Now look what you have done.”

She laughed again, softly. “So did the sand wyvern get enough water?”

“I think so. And that was pure greed on the sand wyvern's part—they can go ten days without.”

“It'd be nice if we could, though I'm not sure I want my skin to look like that.” The sand wyvern was very nearly invisible when set against the desert floor, its exterior resembling exactly a pile of small boulders half-buried in sand.

“I hate to tell you this, but that is how our skin already looks.”

She closed her eyes again. “Your looks are no doubt suffering.
My
beauty, however, is as indestructible as the Angels' wings.”

“Well,” he said, “you do look very nice . . .”

Her eyelashes fluttered.

“. . . ly shriveled.”

Her lips curved. “May I remind you that you are speaking to someone capable of smiting you with a thunderbolt?”

“Is there any point to flirting with a girl who is not capable of that?”

“So this is your idea of flirting?”

He cradled her hand in one of his to check her pulse. “Whatever I call it, your heart is beating fast.”

“Are you sure that is not a residual effect of the panacea?”

He rubbed his thumb over her wrist. Her skin was as soft as the first summer breeze. “I am absolutely certain.”

Her breaths quickened. Her lips part slightly. And suddenly his own heart thumped, blood rushing in his ears.

The next moment he was knocked flat by a returning hunting rope, wrapped around a still-writhing snake.

She laughed and laughed as he wrestled with the hunting rope, trying to loosen it without getting bitten by the snake, while the hungry sand wyvern growled with impatience.

With the sand wyvern at last enjoying its afternoon snack, he returned to her side. She was already almost asleep again.

“Well,” he said, “at least this time we were not interrupted by a sand wyvern.”

“No,” she replied, her voice barely audible. “I thought we might create some sparks together. But now I know nothing we do will ever rival the passionate embrace between a hunting rope and a snake.”

She fell asleep with a smirk on her face. He looked at her a long time, smiling.

CHAPTER
22

England

WINTERVALE'S BALANCE AND MOBILITY REFUSED
to improve. A week after he woke up from his long sleep, he still could not stand upright on his own, let alone slide down the banister with a thump and a triumphant whoop, as he used to do.

To walk to and from classes, to have his meal in the dining room, even to go to the lavatory, someone else had to accompany him. That someone was almost always Kashkari, who had taken to sitting in Wintervale's room, so the latter did not need to shout at the top of his lungs if he needed a biscuit from his cabinet or felt like opening his window for a breath of fresh air.

But that was not the only thing different about Wintervale.

He had always been more open with Titus than with the other boys, more frank about the frustrations of his life: his fragile mother, his homesickness for the Domain, and, more obliquely, his fear that he would not live up to the great Wintervale name.

Glimpses of an inner life. Fleeting glimpses, as Wintervale was determined to enjoy himself to the maximum and quite adept—or so Titus suspected—at burying any emotional turmoil beneath a new round of fun.

The new Wintervale still maintained that outward appearance of bubbly conviviality. But now, when they were alone—infrequently since Kashkari was his near-constant companion—Titus found him to be quieter and more inquisitive.