Thomas Harlan - The Gate of fire

By a trick of the design of the upper surface of the Engine, the roaring of the wind within the cavity was reduced to a dull, basso rumbling. The sound came more from the iron heart of the machine than the air whipping past. The man popped his ears with narrow, long-fingered hands and pulled one of the ropes across him, securing it to a stout bronze clasp set into the metal skin.

"Lord Prince, you don't trust your power so far?"

The young man smiled wryly at the young woman seated opposite him and shook his head. "No, I must be awake and aware to rebuild skin, bone, tissue, the vital humors. A fall from this height would kill me as surely as you or anyone."

The young woman smiled back, a little, but there was a guarded reserve present in her face and the line of her body that pricked at him. He returned her smile with a greater one of his own, genuine and filled with warmth. For a moment the cold cast that governed his features faded, and he seemed the amiable young physician she had first met, neither the Prince of the Realm nor the power that he had become. Despite a deep distrust, she replied in kind, and her own features-a little longer than the classical oval, but marked by striking dark eyes and rich lips, framed by a barely restrained mane of rich dark brown, nearly black hair-were transformed as well. The man felt a pang in his heart to see her so, beautiful and elegant, sitting sideways on the bench in a thick furred cloak, with neat leather gloves on her hands, and her svelte legs covered by Persian-style silk trousers.

"Don't you get cold, sitting up here all these hours?" he asked.

The young woman's face became guarded again, and she looked away, out over the long, dark pinion of the Engine. It soared between pillars of cloud, bright sun shining on the delicate iron bones of the wings. The metallic fabric that covered them rippled and shimmered in the clear afternoon sunlight. The omnipresent vibration of the Engine filled the world, transmitting itself through the decking to bone and skin. The tail, long and tapering, weaved languidly behind them in the air, its surface gleaming with thousands of tiny carefully fitted metallic scales. The young woman leaned a little to one side as the Engine banked around a vast white tower of cloud, its wings casting a hurrying shadow across the ivory field. The air was crystal clear between her and the brilliant white surface. Deep in the crevices of the thunderhead, lightning muttered and wind howled. The woman looked back at the Prince. "It seems like a different world, here, close to the heavens. Islands of cloud in a sea of air, and we in a ship, voyaging among them. Do you ever think of it, when you look out, what it would be like to stand at the edge of a cliff of cloud, surrounded by billowing white? To see down, a thousand feet to the land below, tiny and perfect?"

The Prince shook his head. Too many matters weighed upon him to spend time gazing out from the green-tinted windows of the Engine, even those great circular ones mounted at the head.

"No," he said, a faint bitter edge in his voice. "There is too much to prepare-too much to discuss with Gaius and Alexandros. Krista, we return to a dangerous situation! One moment of-"

She raised a hand and looked at him squarely for the first time since he had clambered up out of the hatchway. "Lord Maxian, I feel death at my shoulder as closely as you do. More, as I cannot protect myself. You spend your time plotting and planning with those two dead men and your other servants. That has nothing to do with me-I am your property, a slave, a convenience when you are lonely or in need of comfort. Up here, I can find some space for myself, some peace." She dropped her hand, though her eyes were smoldering with a near-hot anger.

The Prince swallowed, taken aback. He leaned back against the cold iron, thinking furiously. With a sickening feeling, he realized he did not know what to say or do.

Krista watched him, keeping anger in her face, hoping that he would not see the fear and acid terror that threatened her composure. She hated the close, hot confines of the Engine, filled with the woken dead and the servants the Prince had accumulated on his long journey in the East. There was a strange smell about the rooms below, cloying and sweet. Krista did not feel safe, save when she was alone, or surrounded by her Walach boys. The others-particularly the homunculus Khiron and that ancient lecher Gaius Julius-watched her constantly with hungry eyes. Still… all within lived or died by the will of the Prince, and she retained some influence over him. She almost smiled to see the struggle of emotions and thought on his face.

Krista unsnapped the restraining rope around her waist and stepped over to the Prince's side. With a deft hand, she caught a band and locked it to the same restraining bolt that the Prince had used. Held close by the rope, she settled into his side, her leg falling over his. He shifted and put his arms around her narrow waist. Krista clasped his hands to her stomach, feeling the tension in them. "My lord," she said, letting her head fall back into his chest and the curve of his neck, "do you know what you are going to do now?"

Maxian stirred, and she felt him mentally veer back onto familiar ground. Something about him had changed, finding confidence and direction. "Yes," he said, and even his voice had changed, becoming almost regal. Inwardly she cringed, hearing echoes of Alexandros' commanding baritone in his. In the time since they had abandoned the crumbling ruins of Dastagird and the ancient secrets of the fire priests, she had watched her master adopt more and more of the mannerisms and patterns of speech of his two advisors.

"We will return, in secret, to the Egyptian House outside of Rome. With the power inherent in Alex and Gaius, I believe-no, I know-that I can break the power of the curse. It will be difficult and as dangerous as before, but now I know that it can be done."

Krista frowned and turned a little so that she could see his face. "You nearly died in your last attempt, my lord. Does Alexandros represent so much power that you can win through this time?"

Maxian smiled down at her, his teeth bright in his pale face. So much time spent in the dank tombs and catacombs of the ruined Persian city had leached the nut brown tan from his skin. Krista stroked the back of her hand along his cheek, feeling its smoothness. Much better than some damned bushy beard always tickling my nose, she thought, distracted for a moment.

"My love," Maxian said, "I have learned a little-no, a great deal-since we went to the East. I nearly died before trying to drive the curse, this corruption, out of that soldier with raw power. That was very foolish. The curse is not a single thing, or a man, that can be overwhelmed by me, or anyone, in single combat." Maxian turned so that he could face her. His face was alight with eagerness. "When I bent my powers upon the old legionnaire, or the stolen child, I tried to drive out the corruption of the curse one organ at a time-from the bones, the heart, the brain. It was fruitless! Even if I expunged every trace of the contagion from a single organ, it would flood back in, tearing at bone and blood. I could not remove it because it was everywhere, all around us, in everything, like trying to hold back the sea with a spade. Impossible." He paused, taking a breath.

Krista almost laughed aloud at seeing him as an excited child, showing off the muddy frog he had found by the bank of some stream.

"But what is possible-if we can find the crux, the anchor, the focus of this thing-is to destroy it utterly. Somewhere in the old Imperial archives there must be a record of the first working that made this thing possible. We will find it. The tomes of the old priests contained many secrets, and one of them is perfect for what I intend."