The Geomancer Read online

  Greyfriar marveled at the magnificence of the panorama; it was so different than anything he had seen, stark and frigid. In all his travels, he had never flown so high. Ice crusted the handrail where he stood. Crewmen hammered at the frozen rigging to keep it clear.

  Adele shivered beside Greyfriar, wrapped in heavy wool and thick furs, her face barely visible. Even the fierce winds that swept across the swaying ship would not deter her from such an impressive sight. On the icy deck stood her stoic Harmattan, pillars of red serge and steel undaunted by the vicious conditions.

  Anhalt limped carefully across the frosted quarterdeck, leaning on his cane, to join them at the rail. The man’s face was grey under his fur-lined hood, and his breathing was even more labored than Adele’s. They both relied on breathers to ease their straining lungs in the oxygen-deprived air. The device was fixed over the nose and mouth, and a small brass canister nestled under the chin. Most of the crew carried them, particularly the topmen, who climbed the icy shrouds and lines overhead. Originally they were for use on the new higher flying ironclad steamnaughts, but Anhalt wisely made sure the Edinburgh was equipped with them in advance of this perilous journey.

  Adele carried her camera on a strap around her neck, but found its limited scope ill-suited to capture the incredible majesty of the mountains under them. The lens was icing up too, making her fearful that it would shatter with no replacement. She raised it one last time and snapped a photograph of the ship’s officers huddled on the wind-ripped quarterdeck.

  Captain Hariri stood at the icy binnacle, where pneumatic tubes and speaking horns led to all parts of the ship, including the tops and the chemical deck below. He shouted into a speaking tube and ordered buoyant gas pumped into the dirigible at a rate that would be dangerous closer to the surface. The diminished air pressure at this altitude allowed him to overinflate, to drive the airship up into the thin atmosphere.

  Fortunately, the Edinburgh only needed to stay this high long enough to traverse the first impenetrable range of the Himalayas. Hariri consulted an old map of the region; it was not a navigation chart, but it was the best he had. He watched the sails overhead as they grew stiff with ice and the brig sank back into the clouds. He could pour no more gas into the dirigible, even flying this high, without guaranteeing an explosion.

  Mountain peaks loomed on every quarter. The clouds rose past them to form their ceiling. They were in a high mountain valley. Rocky cliffs broke over the highlands like cresting waves and in their shadow stretched deep narrow river gorges. The land far below was frozen under a thin blanket of snow. Crystal lakes glistened, fed by glacial streams with icy rivers that stretched like arms.

  Adele exclaimed, “Such majesty. I’ve never seen . . . its like.” Her words came in ragged gasps through the filter in the breather facemask.

  Greyfriar pointed out the distant tiny shapes of goats perched precariously on the sides of a treacherous slope.

  General Anhalt gazed about in awe, but labored for breath. “It’s said that . . . gods live . . . in these mountains, bringing well-being . . . and prosperity. According . . . to the amount . . . of veneration. I suppose.”

  “I’m praying . . . very hard, trust me,” Adele told him.

  A down draft battered the Edinburgh, and everyone at the rail staggered as the ship dropped sickeningly. Greyfriar steadied Adele and grabbed Anhalt, who had lost his footing. If it weren’t for the swordsman’s steel grip, the old soldier would have sprawled hard to the deck. A mountain reared up beside them.

  “Hold on!” shouted Captain Hariri.

  The long masts extending from the dirigible overhead scraped against a cliff. Snow and rocks tumbled and the masts creaked. Yardarms snapped and sails shredded. Ice shattered off the rigging and pelted the deck in a shower of frozen knives. Greyfriar flung his cloak over Adele. Most of the glittering shrapnel bounced off harmlessly, crackling against the deck, but a few daggers struck crewman.

  The ship swung wildly and bounced back into the vast chasm between the mountains. Orders were shouted and signal flags dispatched. Heavy thrashing sails were slowly brought under control and hauled back, lashed into place.

  Adele kept her face calm, but she watched Captain Hariri closely as officers came and went with reports. Eyes constantly went upward. Finally, the captain stepped over to Adele at the rail and gave her a quick salute.

  “Damage is minimal, Your Majesty. We should be able to continue. We can affect repairs when we put down.”

  Anhalt held the rail, bracing himself against more untimely jolts. “I survived two air crashes only to be nearly killed colliding with Mount Everest.”

  Hariri smiled at his old friend. “Then you will be happy to know that’s not Everest. That is.”

  He pointed to a mammoth mountain off their port side. Its immensity shamed all others as it jutted up into the clouds. Necks ached as their gaze followed sheer rock and snow up into the swirling mist.

  The Edinburgh steadied under their feet as the winds went from gale force to mere occasional gusts. Still it remained a bumpy ride, with the vessel shuddering against the mountains’ breath. Every inch of her creaked under the strain.

  Adele found the air a little easier to breathe. She reached into her pocket and removed a sheet of heavy paper. Unfolding it, she revealed a strange arrangement of lines, some intersecting on dots of varying size, some running off into lonely space.

  Hariri leaned next to her, staring at the peculiar chart. “How much longer until we reach the village do you reckon, Your Majesty?”

  “The sooner the better,” muttered Anhalt to Greyfriar.

  “It’s hard to say.” Adele ran her fingers along several of the lines. She tapped the chart. “I think we’re here. We’re close.”

  “Ah. I thought as much.” Hariri rolled his eyes sarcastically. “Forgive me, but I can’t make heads nor tails of your . . . map.”

  “It’s geomancy. These are ley lines and those dots are nodes where the rifts come together. This chart was made by Selkirk himself when he traveled in this region years ago.”

  “Yes, you explained it to me before, but I must just trust you to direct the ship while I do my best to keep it from crashing into a mountain.”

  Anhalt snorted and Hariri gave him a sharp glance. Adele put a finger to her lips thoughtfully. “All right. It should be . . .” She pointed a few degrees right of the ship’s bow. “That way.”

  “That way.” Hariri nodded with a blank face. “If that’s what we are resorting to, very well. That way, it is. If we may trust the directions given to you by your lunatic, I’m sure we will be there soon.”

  The ship turned two points to starboard. Adele folded her map and shoved it in her pocket. A man in the tops shouted down through a megaphone and signaled to starboard. Adele went back to the rail and looked over to see a fairly flat patch of land, dusted with snow. Near it was a small stone village surrounded by a meager wall, a speck of life in the wide desolation.

  Adele turned around and grinned at Captain Hariri. The captain returned a gesture with his hand across his forehead, lips, and heart. He bowed to her.

  “The plateau seems very small,” Greyfriar said. It was perhaps only the size of several small farm plots. However, buoyant gases were already venting and sails furled. The ship dropped. Soon, her hull scraped along the snow, sending up a great wake of white. Field anchors dropped overboard to gouge the frozen land and slow the ship, but still, the Edinburgh crept forward toward the edge of the plateau. Mooring lines were tossed over the rails and scores of men went over too, sliding down the lines to hit the ground running. They seized the flopping cables in groups and dug in their feet with groans and curses at the ship and each other. Between the bite of the spiked anchors and the straining, muscled backs of the mooring gangs, the ship finally lurched to a full stop.

  Adele took Anhalt’s guiding hand and descended the gangplank after it slammed noisily to the ground. Greyfriar could tell it was she who was keeping Anhalt steady
instead. They passed among the men who worked furiously to stabilize the Edinburgh in the winds that swept across it, pounding thick posts into the icy ground and lashing her down.

  The snow was so dry it swirled about in sparkling granules with the least disturbance of boots. The air was dry too, and the cold sun broke through the cloud layer to coat the expanse with rich sunshine.

  Lifting a hand to block the glare, Adele stared at the village in the distance. “I hope that’s the right one.”

  This was the first real settlement they had seen in hundreds, perhaps thousands, of miles of endless mountains. They heard dogs barking. The village itself had nothing particularly striking about it. The buildings were smeared with mud and grime. There were small structures built against many house walls, which Anhalt explained were sanctuaries dedicated to local divinities. Lines were stretched between all the buildings and draped with colorful strips of cloth, prayer flags that sent supplications heavenward with each flutter of wind. Bright material of crimson and yellow streamed from houses.

  A few people appeared at the low stone wall around the village, peering at the approaching strangers and craning their necks to see the airship in the distance. Greyfriar wondered if these people had had any contact with outsiders before. While most of the villagers hovered by an open gate, five men marched out toward Adele’s small group of Greyfriar, Anhalt, Major Shirazi, and two Harmattan. These greeters appeared to be elders. They wore thick sheepskin coats and fur-topped boots. Greyfriar didn’t fail to notice some of the villagers near the gate carried muskets. Antiquated guns, but he would think still effective. He could hear snatches of their language as those at the gate chattered excitedly among themselves.

  Anhalt stopped when the elders were a few yards away. He bowed and said, “We seek shelter.” He spoke Hindi, hoping that the trade language still found purchase this far in the mountains.

  The elders replied back in kind. “You are welcome to the warmth of our fires.”

  Anhalt bowed to them again. He informed Adele of their welcome and then introduced the party as an expedition from Equatorian territory in India. He purposefully left out Adele’s title. By the lack of response to even the name Greyfriar, it could be assumed the hero’s exploits had not traveled this far.

  The chief elder followed suit with introductions, calling himself Gyalo. He then waved the outsiders to follow him back to town. They were soon wading through curious crowds that lined the narrow streets and followed the foreigners, laughing, whispering, and gaping at them. The men almost all wore fur-lined hats and long, heavy coats. Full-cheeked women stood behind them. The stone houses were clustered together into blocks.

  Gyalo led them to a building on the far side of the village where they finally left the bustle of curious onlookers behind. The interior was dark and smelled overpoweringly of something that Greyfriar couldn’t identify. Despite the suddenly rancid stench, everyone kept their expressions neutral and pleasant.

  Adele breathed out a sigh of relief as they entered a large room with a small fire burning at the center. Compared to the frigid outside, this place almost felt warm. She slipped back her hood and loosened a button on her coat. The floor was dirt and the walls, blackened by the smoke, were covered with intricate paintings of landscapes and gods. Gyalo invited everyone to sit on wooden frames covered with a cushion or two.

  A woman, most likely Gyalo’s wife or daughter, with her hair done in multiple tight braids, bustled about the fire and soon was dispensing some sort of hot liquid that Anhalt informed them was po-cha, or yak-butter tea. Greyfriar easily identified it as the source of the rank smell. Still, the thick tea seemed to be traditional and expected, so they all took a sip. From Adele’s pinched face, it appeared to be an acquired taste. To Greyfriar, it tasted like any human food or drink. Bland. General Anhalt drank it almost eagerly, obviously familiar with the beverage.

  Once the tea was finished, Anhalt conversed with Gyalo for a few minutes. He then leaned over and informed Adele that the elders were happy to have visitors. They took it as a good omen because they were preparing to celebrate a festival and would like the foreigners to ­participate.

  “Festival?” Adele asked. “That sounds nice. I don’t know that we have time to enjoy it. Could you ask him about the monastery? We need to know if we’re in the village Selkirk talked about.”

  Anhalt repeated Adele’s questions back to the elder. The leathery face hardened with suspicion. He spoke harsh words to Anhalt. Major Shirazi slid his hand toward his sidearm, but Adele kept her polite face directed at Gyalo.

  Greyfriar had already begun to grasp elements of the language, and he could tell that Anhalt’s calm reply offered great deference to the elder. In the face of the general’s respect, Gyalo seemed embarrassed by his outburst. He continued in a more pleasant tone. Greyfriar could sense that Anhalt was drawing the village elder out with questions and amazed reactions, creating a bond of respect with Gyalo. He couldn’t understand exactly what the two were discussing, so he settled back to wait patiently for the translation.

  Finally the general nodded to Gyalo, then said to Adele, “Well, this is the right village.”

  Adele frowned at Anhalt’s curious expression. “Is there something else, General?”

  “Perhaps.” Anhalt’s lips held an odd bemused look. “He did inform me that the monastery is actually a fortress of demons. They are apparently very dangerous and will devour any human without provocation because they protect an ancient power. Gyalo considers us very foolhardy for seeking them out.”

  “Foolhardy?” Greyfriar intoned drily. “Us?”

  “We appreciate his concern,” Adele said with a cool glance at Greyfriar but had excitement in her voice at the mention of an ancient power, “but will he give us specific directions to the demon fortress?”

  “He will do better than that,” Anhalt replied, his expression turning serious once more. “He will show us the Demon King.”

  CHAPTER 18

  The eager group of Adele, Greyfriar, Anhalt, and Shirazi trailed Gyalo through the village. All attempts to discuss the monastery had been rebuffed by Gyalo and the other elders. They didn’t deny it existed; they simply had no interest in talking about it further. The festival however was another matter. Preparations were already stirring the whole village into a frenzy of excited activity. The elder spoke over his shoulder to the foreigners, explaining everything to Anhalt, who translated even as Gyalo continued to talk.

  “The festival will begin in earnest tomorrow and will culminate in a ceremony at sunrise two days hence where they will execute their most dreaded enemy. The Demon King.”

  Gyalo led the outsiders to a stone hut in a rough courtyard. The windows had been mortared up, and the only entrance was a thick wooden door flanked by two formidable guards. He nodded imperiously to the sentries and swept inside with the foreigners on his heels.

  The darkness inside made everyone falter a moment, except Greyfriar. He scanned the small entry room while Gyalo lit yak-butter lamps and led the way through an open doorway. The soft lamp glow fell on a hunched, naked figure bound with thick rope and by chains whose links were interwoven with prayer scarves. The Demon King’s arms were yoked behind his back. A short length of chain ran from his neck to his bound knees as he knelt upon the rough dirt floor almost as if in forced prayer. The silver-haired head didn’t even try to lift as they entered.

  Greyfriar studied the prisoner and looked at Adele. They both knew that this demon was a vampire. If the old figure had ever been some sort of king, he was certainly brought low now. The prisoner’s eyes were closed and his breathing was even, as if his discomfort was minimal. Despite his obvious age, the vampire seemed fit and muscular.

  Gyalo boasted proudly over the prone vampire and kicked him hard in the ribs. Now the prisoner opened his eyes but didn’t react as Greyfriar expected. Instead of hissing in outrage, the vampire remained placid. Gyalo leaned down and snarled maliciously at the demon, who persisted with his
serene countenance.

  As Gyalo strutted around the prisoner, Anhalt translated the man’s great pleasure in capturing the prize. “Apparently, the Demon King was no match for the villagers. Their might overwhelmed it weeks ago. The demon was wandering alone, as it sometimes does, seeking to steal into the village and prey on their elders or a child.”

  Gyalo took that moment to kick the vampire again, spitting out a string of vile words.

  “It failed,” Anhalt related. “The villagers were too fast, too strong. No one was killed as they captured it, and now its death will be a message to its brethren.”

  “Ask Gyalo how to they intend to execute him?” Adele said, but Anhalt already had the answer.

  “He will be beheaded. Then the body will be cremated. They would feed it to the vultures but they’re afraid it might turn the vultures into demons.”

  Adele winced, surprised at her sudden sympathy for the vampire. “How many has the demon killed here in the village?”

  Gyalo replied with wild gesticulations. Anhalt translated. “He says that for generations the demons have been responsible for all of the sickness and death in the village, both human and animal. But when the king dies, the other demons will scatter, and all the village’s troubles will end.”

  “How fortunate for them.” Greyfriar’s brows knitted together. While vampires might certainly have preyed on this village, Gyalo’s ideas were superstitious nonsense. Vampires didn’t drink animal blood and were unlikely to have caused illness; death, certainly, but not illness. Greyfriar’s gaze slipped again to the bound vampire who remained quiet. The prisoner’s chest rose and fell slowly. There were fresh scars and welts on his naked body, no doubt from frequent beatings by the triumphant villagers.