David Gemmell - Echoes of the Great Song

The smell of burning flesh hung in the air, and the other sailors stood by, horrified. Questor Ro was furious.

Taking a rope he looped it over the corpse, dragging it clear of the chest.

The Vagar team clambered aboard. They too stood in stunned silence, staring down at the body. Flames still flickered and his clothing was smouldering. 'Move yourselves!' roared Questor Ro. The Vagars, their fingers once more protected by the wooden thimbles, righted the chest. Questor Ro replaced the poles and ordered the men to carry it to the rear of the ship. Here he examined the chest for any cracks or breaks. Finding none he watched as the Vagars placed it inside a larger chest lined with lead. This was then carried below to the store room.

Two blood-smeared tusks had been laid here, which brought a new flicker of annoyance to Questor Ro. This was also his workroom, and he was less than pleased to find them here. Most especially since they had been unceremoniously dumped upon his desk and blood had smeared upon several of his papers. 'Remove them,' he ordered two of the Vagars. 'Put them in a corner somewhere. And clean the blood from them,' he added.

'Yes, lord,' said one of them, bowing deeply.

'And send for Onquer,' he said. 'We have work to do.'

'Lord,' said the man, bowing low, 'I regret to tell you that Onquer died. He was dead before we reached the ship.'

This was really too much. Questor Ro had spent eight years training the Vagar. Now he would have to find another assistant and waste valuable time initiating him in the rigours of research.

He said nothing more to the Vagars and made his way to his cabin.

Two chests were full, a third was in place. All in all, it had not been a bad day.

The coal oil lantern flickered, its light casting deep shadows upon the walls of the windowless Heart Room deep in the belly of the Serpent. Talaban watched the four Vagars carefully lower the chest into the carved recess at the centre of the room. Once they had done so he dismissed them. As the door closed behind them Talaban moved to a panel beside the recess, which he slid open. Within were two small bronze wheels. He slowly turned the first. Two copper cups inside the recess inched towards the bronze spheres at the front of the chest. Talaban spun the wheel until the cups covered the spheres. The warrior could feel his excitement rising as his hands moved to the second wheel. This he turned two full circles. At the rear of the panel was a second, hidden recess.

Talaban opened it. A long sheet of shining mica met his gaze. There were six deep indentations in the mica and in one a solitary white crystal glowed. Talaban opened the pouch at his side and from it took five more crystals, which he laid in the remaining indentations. Sliding closed the lid, Talaban took a deep breath — and gave a final turn to the second bronze wheel.

Instantly light flared from the two crystal globes set into the wall. Talaban's spirits soared. Blowing out the lantern he stepped into the corridor beyond, locking the door behind him. All along the corridor there was clean, bright light. Climbing the circular stair to the central deck Talaban leaned over the port rail. Serpent Seven was no longer bobbing in the bay. She sat, calm and proud, free of the pull of the sea.

Climbing to the upper deck he saw his sergeant, Methras, and a group of soldiers sitting by the port rail, staring up at the lights which had appeared all over the ship. The men were Vagars, and had never seen a Serpent under full power. Talaban summoned Methras to him. Methras bowed low. He was a tall slender warrior, fair-haired and balding. Despite the harsh race laws there was every indication that Methras had Avatar blood.

Highly intelligent, he was the best Vagar sergeant Talaban had known. This alone would not have stirred Talaban's suspicions, but the man was also fully ambidextrous and this was the one trait that separated the Avatar from the other races. All Avatars had this advantage, and the allied ability to work simultaneously with both hands on different tasks. Talaban had mentioned the sergeant's skills to no-one. To do so might have alerted the officers of the Council, and threatened the man's life.

'What a fine sight, sir,' said Methras, pointing at the lights.

'Fine indeed,' agreed Talaban. 'Fetch axes and saws from the store room and rid this ship of those damned masts.'

'Masts, sir? Sails and all?'

'Sails and all,' said Talaban.

'Yes, sir,' said Methras dubiously.

'Fear not,' said Talaban, with a broad smile. The Serpent will sail faster without them. And I promise you there will be no motion sickness upon the return journey.'

Talaban returned to his cabin. Touchstone was waiting for him there. The tribesman was sitting on the floor, his face tense, his eyes fearful. 'What is wrong?' asked Talaban.

'Wrong? Nothing wrong,' said Touchstone. 'I am well. Very strong.'

Talaban moved to his desk and sat down, gesturing for Touchstone to rise and sit in the chair opposite. The tribesman did so. 'Speak,' said Talaban. 'I can see you are concerned over something. Was it the death of the sailor?'

'No. It is demon lights. So bright,' admitted Touchstone. 'No flame. Little suns in glass.' When the lights had first flared Touchstone had screamed — a fact he would admit to no-one. He had been sitting on the floor, but had surged to his feet in a panic. He had run into the door, then wrenched it open, flinging himself into the corridor beyond — only to find that the globes there had also filled with light. His heart had thumped like a war drum and he had difficulty catching his breath. Then a sailor had come walking along the corridor, seemingly unconcerned by the demon light. He had grinned at Touchstone and moved past him.

Still trembling, the tribesman had returned to the cabin. Steeling himself he approached a globe, staring hard into it. This had made his head ache, and for a while almost blinded him. He had retreated to the rug at the centre of the room, squatting down and closing his eyes, awaiting the return of Talaban.

'There is nothing demonic about them, my friend. And you are quite right to call them little suns, for that is what they are. The power of the sun held in glass.'

'How you trap sun?' asked Touchstone, seeking to appear only mildly interested.

'Everything traps sunlight,' said Talaban. 'Every living thing. We are all born of the power of the sun, every man, every plant. We hold the sunlight within us.' Touchstone looked sceptical. Talaban rose from his desk and moved to a shelf on the far wall. From it he took a jar of sugar. Opening the lid he reached inside and scooped out a handful of white granules. This he tossed into the coal brazier. Instantly flames roared up. 'The sugar stores sunlight. The coals released it, and it reverted to energy. The coals themselves were once trees, and filled with sunlight. When we light them we free them to return to what they once were. Fire from the sun. You understand?'

Touchstone did not, but it seemed that he should and so he nodded, adopting what he hoped was an expression of enlightenment. Talaban fell silent. Touchstone felt he should say something wise. 'So,' he said at last, 'dead sailor was sunlight.'

'Exactly. The power chests store energy. They must be handled with great care, and certainly never touched by human flesh. The sailor inadvertently drew power from the chest, and it released the sunlight within him.'