Author: Kirk Straughen
Synopsis: An ambitious scholar plans to steal the magical treasure from the aerial tomb of an ancient sorcerer in this black tale of greed, treachery and revenge. Will his nefarious scheme succeed? Only by reading this strange tale will you discover the answer to this question.
Edit History: Minor changes were made to this story on 4 June 2021
Triple moons of amethyst hue rose with stately majesty against the starry tapestry of heaven and cast their purple radiance upon Makshan, city of a thousand gods, and inestimable mysteries. The ancient metropolis slumbered, tinged with heliotrope moonlight that lent a strange aura to the monolithic buildings, fantastically ornamented, that brooded in timeworn quietness beneath night’s dusky firmament.
The city, built upon a high hill, descended in terraces to the precipitous cliffs where the running sea thundered her foamy waves against the rugged shore. Here, the gusting wind caught the spray and swept it up upon the cliffs where two figures, looking across the watery depths, were bedewed by the flying mist. The man and woman waited expectantly, eyes fixed upon the levitating Mausoleum of Inimicus, the last and greatest wizard-king of Makshan‘s ancient past.
Zagan, the scholar, gazed with calculating eyes upon the aerial tomb, oblivious to the chill of the wind and the damp of the flying spray. Tall was the Makshanite, narrow of face and body, economical of speech and movement, mysterious and tinged with strangeness as are all the children of that antique race whose very bones are steeped in occult lore.
But the magic was dying, Zagan knew. The lopherim - the mineral crystals from which all wizards drew their power - had slowly weakened with the passing ages. Now most were bled dry of thaumaturgic energy and as worthless as the common stones found within a field. Ah yes, the days of Great Magic were long gone, and perhaps within a mere generation the art of sorcery would be no more.
The end of magic! Zagan’s mind rebelled at this disheartening thought. He fervently hoped the ancient and obscure text he had discovered could be believed – that the Mausoleum of Inimicus contained a hoard of virgin lopherim whose vibrant power was undiminished by the hand of any sorcerer.
“The wind has shifted. It is now blowing out to sea, and I judge strong enough for the task at hand,” spoke the girl beside him, her voice a gentile whisper against the risen breeze and thundering surf.
Zaganna’s words nudged his mind, and the man turned towards his twin with a gentle smile. She was much like him, but softened slightly in face and form by the essence of youthful womanhood. They kissed, but not chastely, for Thebris is a strange world, and its people stranger still.
The pair gently separated. Zagan moved quietly towards the huge box kite now caught in the grip of the risen wind. It swayed above the man, straining at its cable like some monstrous creature of the sky, eager to gain its freedom by mounting heaven’s airy height.
Zagan caught the swaying harness hanging from the kite; strapped it about his lean frame and made sure his sword and double barrel flintlock pistol were secure. Then, with a languid wave that belied his inner feelings, he signaled to his sister all was in readiness.
Zaganna nodded in acknowledgement and began to slowly play out the cable of the winch mounted upon its heavy cart. The girl watched anxiously as the kite ascended, and her brother with it. It soared up upon the breath of sky, and in but moments was small with growing distance as the wind carried it across the heaving swells of the Xibian Sea, and towards the tomb hovering a thousand feet above its midnight depths.
Excitement rose in Zagan as he ascended in heady flight. His heart was pounding like the raging surf, now far below. His invention was working perfectly as he knew it would, and a satisfied smile curved the scholar’s sensuous lips as the floating mausoleum drew near.
His golden eyes traced its swelling form – an aureate cube whose sides measured two hundred yards, with a slightly smaller pyramid mounted on every face. Six thousand years ago it had floated high in the planet’s stratosphere, safe from the profaning hands of tomb robbers and the like. But the energizing lopherim of its levitation engines had slowly weakened with passing centuries, and it had gradually drifted lower and nearer to the shore - a fate even Inimicus, with all his wisdom, had not foreseen.
Closer and closer came the mighty vault and a sense of thrilling exaltation filled the man as he drew near its strange geometry. Suddenly, the wind shifted – a downdraft caught the kite. It plummeted. A pyramid rushed up. Zagan cried out - its point leaping at him like a rushing spear.
Zaganna gasped as she saw the danger and quickly reversed the winch. The kite jerked back, but Zagan’s harness swung forward like a pendulum. He screamed as hard metal gashed his thigh. Then the fickle zephyrs changed their course, and his strange craft rose safely passed the jutting point.
The world gyrated madly for an endless moment as he spun dizzily one way, then another. Slowly, creation stilled as did his reeling senses. Looking down Zagan saw he was now passing above the tomb’s upper face – gold, tinged purple by the moons, with the looming pyramid casting a blacker shadow upon its plain.
Zagan breathed deeply to steady his shaken nerves. His thigh ached abominably where the metal had struck – it was badly bruised, but no bones were broken, and he offered up a silent prayer of thanks to Hauom, god of fortune, that he’d escaped more serious injury.
Again, the scholar signaled to his sister. Zaganna saw the flash from the phosphorescent disc strapped upon his wrist. She smiled with relief as she stopped the winch. The wait had seemed an age of agony, not knowing if her lover was alive or dead.
The kite hung swaying in the wind. Zagan drew his pistol, fired. The weapon thundered and vomited forth its barbed projectile in a spew of smoke and fire. The miniature harpoon struck the pyramid’s base in a shower of flying sparks. It held fast. Slowly, Zagan began to reel himself in by hauling on the barb’s metallic line.
His feet soon touched the upper face – solid and unmoving as a mountain. After securing the kite with the harpoon’s line, the Makshanite reloaded his weapon and began a careful exploration of the sloping sides of the soaring pyramid. Upon its shadowed flank he found his goal - the tightly sealed door.
The enigmatic portal was ten feet tall, and three in width, all etched with mystic symbols and mysterious forms - a solid bar to the tread of vulgar men. But Zagan was no mere commoner. From the pocket of his quilted jacket he removed a glowing gem – a tetrahedron of emerald fire no larger than his smallest fingernail.
It was a lopherim, this radiant jewel. Only the dregs of power were locked within its sparkling form, but nonetheless of sufficient strength for his nefarious scheme. Zagan placed the crystal against the door, then upon the gem a bag of gunpowder. With flint and steel he lit the fuse protruding from the deadly sachet. Then, despite his injured leg, ran as if pursued by ravenous skar.
But the gunpowder detonated prematurely and shattered the lopherim, thus releasing all its energy in a mighty blast. Green actinic fire blossomed in the night with volcanic force, and the wild explosion sundered heaven’s silence with its furious blast.
Zagan stumbled as he was caught in a gust of burning acrid gas. He fell, rolled towards the edge; slid over. One clawing hand caught the glass smooth metal. He hung suspended by one arm above a yawning chasm of terrifying darkness, knifed through by wild fear as his sweat slick fingers began to lose their tenuous grip.
Lashing out he caught hold with his other hand, heaved with strength born of utter terror, and pulled himself to safety upon the narrow ledge. He lay for a time, trembling, soaked with the sweat of fear, and oblivious to all but the mad pounding of his throbbing heart.
Great gain often entails great risk, as the aphorism runs, thought Zagan as at last he stirred himself to action. Best I survey my handiwork to see if it is gifted with success.
Indeed it was – the mighty door had been felled by the fearsome blast. The way was open and he cautiously stepped within, his boot heels crunching ominously on shards of sundered and smoldering metal.
Before him was a kind of balcony that overlooked the vast and shadowed spaces of the mausoleum’s hollow interior. Below, in the centre of the mighty structure he saw a smaller silver cube, braced with massive crystal cylinders projecting from smaller truncated pyramids facing inwards from the apex of their larger cousins, and in these cylinders spun silver discs surrounded by coronas of ethereal fire – the fabled levitation engines of Inimicus.
A narrow catwalk of glass bridged the gulf between the balcony and a lucid disc-shaped platform surrounding the vertical cylinder of the pyramid, and upon this slender bridge Zagan carefully stepped, pistol in hand, to make his cautious way towards the distant podium.
Upon arrival at the further side he beheld with wonder the mighty sarcophagus of Inimicus – an octahedron of alchemical diamond in which the wizard-king’s body could be dimly seen, preserved against the ravages of time for all eternity.
Upright stood the jewel, braced within its platinum tripod and Zagan, with a sharp intake of breath, froze when he drew near its dimly glittering form, for in the shadows at its base he now beheld the hunkering and sinister shape of the crystal demon - the slumbering guardian of the wizard-king’s final resting place.
The thing’s snarling visage was raw savagery delineated in smoky glass - the quintessence of cruelty and depravity deeper than any mortal could ever know. Its broad shoulders were hunched with the head thrusting forward aggressively. Its dusky form: squat, massively muscled, the arms long, hands viciously clawed, spiked phallus obscenely erect.
Zagan glimpsed engines of brass, much resembling intricate clockwork within its body, and he knew this man-made construct was merely a vehicle for the demon’s essence - the invisible presence trapped within the mechanism’s vitreous form.
The thing’s eyes - pits of ruby light - slowly opened and cast their chill gaze upon the frozen man whose knuckles whitened with tension upon the pistol’s grip. All Reality seemed to hold its breath as the two confronted one another in that timeless moment. Then the spell was broken - the demon leapt with appalling swiftness, its crystal body as supple as living flesh.
Zagan ducked, rolled beneath his adversary’s hurtling form. The thing landed upon the narrow bridge with feline grace, spun about. It leapt again, wicked claws extended for the bloody kill.
The scholar fired, hurled himself aside. The demon’s claws grazed his neck as it hurtled madly passed, then stumbled and fell heavily upon the floor. It staggered upright, blinded by the liquid compound, now hardened, that had been contained in the hollow projectile that had burst between its synthetic eyes.
Zagan smirked as he stealthily backed away. The being couldn’t be killed, but it could be blinded, and he had prepared well for the possibility the tomb was guarded by such a thing. Crouching in the shadows he watched with cruel amusement as the demon howled its fury in brassy peals. Madly, it rushed about, one clawed hand blindly slashing empty air as it vainly sought the lurking man, while with the other it tried to clear eyes, but without success.
Satisfied he was safe for the moment the scholar swiftly looked about, his avaricious gaze searching eagerly for the wizard-king’s hoard of priceless lopherim. But of these magic jewels there was no sign. Had all his careful plans been for naught, the ancient text a lie? With a worried frown he again focused upon the vault’s hapless guardian.
The thing had stopped its wild rushing and now stood still, sensitive ears swiveling, searching carefully for the slightest sound that would betray the presence of the rash intruder who dared defile its master’s eternal rest. The squat body slowly turned towards the man, and Zagan saw something he had missed before - within its dusky belly was a drawer from which green light faintly spilled.
Elation, more potent than the wine of narsis filled the man, for now he knew where Inimicus had hidden his priceless treasure - the lopherim whose possession would invest him with the power of an ancient wizard-king. But then despair arose like a bitter aftertaste, for the gems were secreted within the fearsome guardian who, though blind, could still kill him if he dared approach.
The scholar sat for a moment, deep in thought. An idea came - where brute force fails, guile may succeed. He smiled as a cunning plan arose within his subtle mind. Carefully removing a small dagger from his belt, he cast the weapon so it fell upon the very edge of the vitreous platform.
Instantly, the demon rushed wildly towards the ringing sound. Intent on tearing its enemy limb from limb it gave no thought that it might plunge over the platform’s very edge.
“Step no further least you fall“, cried Zagan, tensely, knowing he risked his very life with this betraying cry.
The thing stopped, confused. Why was its assailant warning it of danger? The demon stood still, paralyzed; its puzzled mind attempting to analyze this seeming contradiction.
Zagan smiled a self-satisfied smile - the hypnotic forces enslaving it to Inimicus had weakened with the passing ages, for not even magic can resist the hand of time: The demon was thinking, rather than blindly obeying orders and attacking. Clearly, it now possessed a degree of volition that might enable him to parley with it.
“Your master is long dead,” continued Zagan, quickly pressing his advantage. “I can grant you freedom. Being a mighty sorcerer I can break the chains of magic that bind you to his corpse.”
Freedom! The thing quivered at the word, its sharp ears pricking forward with attentive eagerness, for it still thought itself enslaved. And yet there was also hesitation, for bitter experience had shown men’s hearts were often filled with darkest treachery.
Its voice rasped like a file upon iron and in it could be heard hope struggling with suspicion: “Can I trust you, dare I trust you?” it ruminated.
“What choice have you, blinded thus?” replied the scholar in a steady voice. “It is either that or an existence of eternal darkness.”
The demon’s hands clenched, unclenched. It threw back its head and roared with a fury multiplied by cascading echoes. The being was thrust through with the bitter truth of these unwelcome words. Then it looked at Zagan with an intensity which pierced the scholar like a sword, and he quailed though he knew it blind.
“And your price?” it snarled.
“Your solemn oath you’ll not harm me, and also the lopherim within your body for I need their power to free you from enslaving sorcery.”
Again the demon’s hands clenched, its body trembled. Zagan tensely watched the silent drama of its inner struggle - suspicion contending with the hope of long sought freedom. The thing’s hands slowly crept to the drawer within its belly, fell back in hesitation, rose again. The scholar held his breath expectantly, like a gambler fixed upon tumbling dice.
Once more the demon’s hands slowly rose, but this time it firmly grasped the knob. There was a slight click, the drawer slid out, and the being lowered it gently to the floor.
“My solemn oath you have, and the jewels,” it rasped. “I’ve kept my word, now keep yours and free me from this magic servitude.”
“Step back a little, for I need room to work,” replied Zagan, craftily. “I’ll tell you when to stop.”
The scholar crept stealthily towards the glowing lopherim as the demon backed away. It reached the platform’s edge, hesitated. Too late it sensed foul treachery - Zagan dashed forward, leapt. He struck its chest with both heels. A howl of fury erupted from the demon as it fell. The being tumbled through the shadowed spaces of the mausoleum and struck a horizontal cylinder of the levitation engine with a booming clang. There it lay, as still as death, its body engulfed by streamers of aural fire.
Zagan quickly stuffed his pouch with all the lopherim, then departed, leaving only his mocking laugh to echo coldly within the silent tomb - a callous requiem for the demon who had placed its trust in him.
**********
The night was at its darkest hour, blacker still for thick clouds had obscured the moons, as if to hide men’s wretched deeds from the eyes of heaven. Zagan freed himself from the kite’s harness, approached his twin. Her form was a lighter shadow against the ebon world, strangely still.
Zagan stopped mid stride, a welcome greeting dying upon his lips when he saw the demon materialize behind his sister, one clawed hand about the slimness of her throat, a merciless smile upon its crystal lips. The girl screamed, the being’s chill touch burning her like fire. She struggled wildly, but to no avail. Zagan ran forward, halted as the thing’s claws tightened warningly about his sister’s neck.
“The substance that obscured my vision was disintegrated by the aural fire,” explained the fiend in its strident voice, now tinged with frightening cruelty. “You tricked me, betrayed my trust …”
“Your oath,” cried Zagan, the rictus of naked fear upon his narrow face.
“Does not extend to the girl,” growled the being. “My oath is binding. I can’t harm you, and yet by cunning there’s a way.”
Again Zaganna screamed in utter fear as the demon, with its other hand, ripped away her heavy robe.
Zagan looked upon his trembling sister, the bloody marks upon breast and belly where the demon’s claws had torn her raiment. His anxious gaze met her fear wide pleading eyes. The man sank upon his knees, sickened to the depths by what he could foresee.
“You’d save her?” asked the demon maliciously as it intimately caressed the whimpering girl. “I think you know the price that I desire.”
Could he trust the thing, or would it prove as treacherous as himself? Zagan didn’t know. He only knew he had no choice if he was to save his beloved sister from that horrid fate. With a trembling hand he raised the pistol, pressed its coldness to his temple, and with a final despairing cry that he’d never know Zaganna’s fate, slowly squeezed the trigger as the helpless girl looked on in utter disbelief.
THE END