Djinn City, page 41
CHAPTER 49
The Six Million Tattoo Man
The branding was not interesting at all, it was just bloody painful. Each of the djinns had their own ritual, complete with exotic-looking stone chops threaded with power, pincers and stamps, intricate needlework, assorted acids, snake venom, and other nasty surprises. Mother Davala gave him peyote and Givaras some rare arctic frog slime, and this combination of strong hallucinogens, plus the tab of acid he kept saved for emergencies, lasted him well through the process.
By the time he gained any kind of lucidity, the worst of the damage was done. His entire torso was now covered in giant, elaborate marks, the djinn trying to outdo one another on his skin. Memmion, starting first, had etched a giant circle on his lower back, intersected by the symbol of ancient Mammon, a cross of stylized lines, and further embellished by his totem bull, an invisible sigil discernible only to djinn.
Beltrex and Elkran took one arm each, moving from shoulder to forearm and trailing lines to his wrists. Beltrex, who had once been called Barkan, the King of Carnelian and the Gold Castle, in the time of kings, carried for his sigil the planet Mercury, etched in blue, and the runes of thunder, and finally the mark of the city itself, long reduced to rubble. Elkran, who wore no honors, used merely the mark of the sword, a thin black blade that curled around Rais’s arm.
Mother Davala took his stomach with her three-headed crone, flying snakes for hair, darkness seeping from it like a suppurating wound. Givaras the Broken took pride of place on his chest with the Eye of Horus, his ancient symbol, found etched on the stones of Egypt, on the secret bricks of freemasons everywhere, and the U.S. dollar. Lines of light radiated from it, visible when eyed askance, so that at an angle his chest shone like a star.
For Bahamut, they had left the prime real estate between the shoulder blades, the most favored place for the mark, and Givaras had traced a stylized snake symbol there. It was a dull thing, without runic power, for Bahamut himself would be required to bring it to life.
“You look like a biker,” Maria said, when they finally let him go.
“Fucking djinn,” Rais said. “I asked for it, I suppose. They could have made the tats smaller.”
“Your mom’s gonna freak,” she said. “Are you seriously planning to walk into that castle?”
“I think I have to,” Rais said.
“You know, you’ve become a lot braver than you used to be,” Maria said.
“Don’t worry, I’m scared shitless inside,” Rais said. “And I’ve got a big white flag.”
“You should take the knife,” Maria said. “In case things go bad.”
“I don’t know how to use it,” Rais said. “And anyway, Matteras has already started drowning Bengal. Even if I somehow killed him, we’d be fucked. We actually have to convince him to stop.”
“So good luck then.” Maria gave him a hug, halfway between friendly and something more, and it was time to go all of a sudden, even though his feet felt a hundred pounds each.
At a signal from Memmion, the guns of the Sublime Porte stilled, and silence filled the tundra. The quiet was beautiful. Rais had a last swig of Elkran’s single malt, hoisted his flag as high as he could, and started the long walk. His body nicely numbed by drugs and the effects of six djinn brands, it was actually a pleasant trek, the permafrost blindingly white, devoid of human intrusion, much the same as it had been for a hundred thousand years.
As he got close the bands of power surrounding the castle made his hair stand up. The earth was scorched and pitted around the perimeter, despoiled by cannonballs and shrapnel.
Kuriken’s home was made of stone, a medieval keep in the Turkic style, the merlons over two man heights in length, the ground in the approach subtly lowered, so that anyone standing at the base of the walls felt even smaller. Despite these impressive fortifications, it was clear that without the djinn force field, the guns of the dreadnought would indeed have reduced the keep to ruble. The real defense of the place was its splendid isolation, the sight lines for hundreds of miles, the runes crowded thick on the ground like a murder of crows, singing dire promises. Rais wondered how Matteras could possibly have taken Kuriken by surprise.
The gate was wood banded with iron, reinforced with a portcullis, both of which stayed resolutely shut as he approached. He could sense rather than see Matteras, studying him from the murder holes, possibly about to douse him in burning oil.
“Lord Matteras!” Rais shouted. “I come to parley, in accordance to the Conventions of War as laid out by the Sublime Emperor Ashoka. Such conventions stating that should a besiegement of a fortified area last beyond two cycles of the sun, a state of war can be said to exist between the parties, and as such all regular wartime conventions should apply.” He then stripped to his waist, as advised by Givaras. The sunlight hitting him turned his body into a kaleidoscope.
After a few long moments, the field winked out, the portcullis rose halfway, and a small side door creaked open. Matteras stepped out, looking tired and irritated. Shielding the entire castle, and keeping Kuriken subdued, was no easy task, apparently.
“You again!” he snarled as he recognized Rais. “Am I never to be free of your accursed family?”
“I’ve come to negotiate,” Rais began.
Matteras was staring at his chest, though, mesmerized by the Eye of Horus, the mark of the Broken leaking milky light.
“He’s lives then?” the djinn asked quickly. “He got out?”
“Evidently, although I don’t know the details.”
“It’s impossible,” Matteras said, mostly to himself. “Impossible.”
“He’s the one who brought them all here.”
Matteras stared at the distant airship. “How many have come?”
“Mother Davala, Beltrex, Elkran, and Memmion,” Rais said. “And the Broken.”
“And they have each given you their mark,” Matteras said.
“I am therefore the Emissary Primus in this world, and I propose an arbitration—”
“You fool!” Matteras snarled. “They haven’t sent you to arbitrate! You are the message. It is unheard of, for multiple elder djinn to patronize an emissary at the same time. Only an extreme unity of purpose would call for this, a unity of purpose never before witnessed by our race. Am I to consider myself that much of a threat?”
“I-I’m supposed to negotiate a cease-fire…” Rais stammered.
“They answer the call of Horus like dogs brought to heel,” Matteras said. “Djinns who have not gathered in millennia lay siege to my door. They mark you and send you here. When has Memmion stirred from his sky house? When has the Old Hag Davala answered the call of the djinn? They are all but confirming what I have said exists: the conspiracy of the elders.”
“What?”
“Think, Emissary Primus,” Matteras said. “What are they doing here? Why oppose me with such verve? How have I done anything detrimental to djinnkind?”
“You did nail Kuriken to a cross,” Rais said.
“He betrayed me,” Matteras said. “Always talking, agreeing, instigating, never quite following through. Delaying, confusing, splitting the conservatives… Why? We are natural allies… his proclivities are well known. He has depopulated entire kingdoms in these northern lands. You call me a mass murderer, but Kuriken is extinction for humans. Why is he against me? Why is it that every time I want to do something, I am forbidden by the fucking Lore?”
“Look, I can understand you’re feeling miffed,” Rais said. “Why not have a sit-down? What can be the harm? If it fails, we can go back to pounding your castle for the next hundred years.”
“I can grab that floating bag of gas Memmion is so proud of and smash it into the ground,” Matteras said. “Elder djinn.” He spat on the ground. “I piss on all of them.”
“Yeah, he said the same thing about your castle,” Rais said. “Look, I get the feeling we’re all missing information here. Let’s try to figure shit out. Fuck arbitration. Can we agree to meet at least? Your terms.”
“They must disarm that flying monstrosity and come into the castle unarmed. You will give me Givaras. I will put him, along with Kuriken, in a negative field generator. We will meet in a room that is protected by two-thousand-year-old spells. Anyone twitches, and we are all vaporized. Then we talk,” Matteras said. He laughed. “They will never agree.”
“They don’t have to. They’ve authorized me, even if in bad faith, and I will do my job,” Rais said. “What agreements I make are binding on them. To say otherwise is to overthrow everything—the Celestial Courts, the Lore, the very idea of auctoritas.”
Matteras shook his head. “You’re woefully inadequate, emissary. But there is something relentless about you.”
“How about this? We all come to the parley: humans, djinns, dogs, cats, our entire camp. You get one hostage. Not Givaras. He leads them, and I have a feeling he can clear up a lot of things for us,” Rais said. “We’re on your ground, we sit in your room; at the very least, it’s a mutually destructive situation.”
“You don’t understand, emissary, you will learn nothing good from him. Givaras the Broken does not make anything better. Ever.” Matteras rubbed his face. “I am tired of this. Fine, bring them. Let us have one last parley with each other.”
Kuriken looked gray and withdrawn in the stasis chamber, swapping his cross for the dull iron clasps of the device. It was, ironically, his own invention, a negative generator that created a null space, devoid of the field, a slow death for djinn. Next to him was Elkran, who had drawn the short straw, except that Givaras had held the draw, and it was well known that he cheated. Always. Kuriken’s field flickered on and off, a feeble pulse, trying to fight the debilitating effects of his prison. If the concord went on for too long, it was entirely possible that he would expire altogether. Elkran was the shadow of death, their best swordsman, but Givaras had not come here to fight. His sacrifice was symbolic.
Matteras sat alone on a raised chair, a throne in all but name. His face was strained, power kept tightly clenched, his outline smudged beneath the miasma of forces anchored to him, a virulent, reckless air about him. The room was thick with runes, ancient spells promising annihilation, and he held them on a hair trigger. They snapped like wild dogs at his feet, like wolves baying at the moon.
“Welcome to Kuriken’s castle,” Matteras said, when they sat before him. “Our host is indisposed. Apologies for the tepid welcome.”
“He’s going to be pissed when he gets out,” Memmion said. He had brought his own chair, dragging it in one melon-size hand, trailing a furrow through the dust.
“Fuck him,” Matteras said. “And fuck all of you.”
“As charming as ever,” Givaras said.
“Once again you enjoy my hospitality, Broken,” Matteras said.
“I can’t say that it has improved much,” Givaras said.
“How did you get out?”
“I walked out wearing Risal. You should never have sent her to me.”
“I thought you could use the company.”
“Did you think that little bit of fire would hold me?”
“It has certainly improved your looks,” Matteras said.
“These two will go on forever if we let them,” Mother Davala said. “Get this thing started already, emissary.”
“Right, ah, Matteras, we would like to propose a de-escalation,” Rais said. “Let your hostages go, we declare a truce for twenty years and settle this in the courts. How about it, eh? Oh, and also kindly stop the earthquakes in the bay.”
“What the hell for?” Matteras looked at his fellows. “Truce? Here are my terms. You so-called elder djinn surrender unconditionally. Givaras goes back into his bottle like a good fucking boy. I will flay this emissary so I can hang his skin on my flagpole. And Bahamut’s little ruined city gets flattened. Then the rest of you can fuck off and do whatever you want, I’ve got no fight with you.”
“Feisty little djinn, ain’t he?” Memmion said admiringly.
“Now, Matteras, be reasonable,” Rais said. “You’ve not got the auctoritas to fight all six of my masters. Your treatment of Kuriken alone will lose you half the conservative party.”
“Will it?” Matteras asked. “Check again. I’ve already taken the Hub. The Great Pyramid of Giza is mine. Hazard is now laying waste to Mohenjo Daro as we speak. Bengal will soon drown. Lhasa is days from falling. And I occupy Kuriken’s castle. It is not a question of my auctoritas, emissary. I can do whatever the fuck I want. It’s a question of where exactly your pathetic group of patrons intend to hide when I allow them to leave here. Because let me assure you, there are none of the old places left.”
“Lhasa too?” Memmion asked, aghast.
“The Ghuls have declared for me,” Matteras said. “Turns out they’re tired of being slaves to the Lore. A sentiment I can sympathize with. I will free them from service. Your precious airships can go hang.”
“Beltrex, Beltrex,” Givaras said. “How did things get so vulgar?”
“What? Taking Giza? Freeing Ghuls? Matteras, have you gone mad? You are unraveling the Lore, you fool!” Beltrex said.
“The Lore? I’m so fucking sick of the Lore. I started this because I just wanted a few acres of empty space. Every step I took, I hit Seclusion! Laws! Treaties! Ahimsa! The fucking Lore! Everything designed to make us smaller, to rein us in. You sneer at me and call me a conservative? You are the conservatives, sniveling old djinn hiding behind nonsensical traditions. I am the divine wind. I am the scourge of God! If you won’t give me space, then I’ll make my own. I’ll scour this fucking earth of man.”
“That’s not quite true though, is it, Matteras?” Rais asked.
“Shut your mouth, you insignificant shit!” Matteras said.
“He is our ambassador,” Givaras said. “And as such, he speaks for us. Do you think I came here empty handed? I would let him continue, if I were you.”
“He will not leave this place bearing that title,” Matteras said. “And I do not fear you, Broken.”
“You fear me more than anything else in this world, boy.”
“You say you wanted space, isn’t that right?” Rais said, interjecting hastily. “That’s the party line. Living space. Go back to the way things were. Make room for those endless vistas you djinn love so much. Except you had some personal stake in it. Something in Bengal was bothering you. How do I know? Bahamut told me.”
“What is he prattling on about?” Beltrex asked irritably.
“Hush,” Givaras said. “This is interesting.”
“Bahamut is a school of fish,” Matteras said. “He hasn’t spoken to anyone in five hundred years.”
“I know, I visited him,” Rais said. “I accidentally rammed the pillar of Gangaridai. There was a mark there, a serpent eating its own tail, a rough circle. It looked familiar. I thought it was his sign. Later, at your Assembly, I caught a look at Dargoman’s arm. His mark has faded, but it’s still visible. I guess those things never really go away. It’s close, but not quite the same, is it? Bahamut’s mark is more like a horizontal infinity sign. The serpent crosses over itself in a figure eight.”
“What of it?” Matteras asked.
“I remember, long ago, seeing my cousin’s back. Kaikobad marked him, you know. We all thought it was Bahamut’s mark, that he was drunk and desperate, trying to protect him with patronage. But that wasn’t it. He marked him with the sign of Gangaridai. Why? Why would he put the mark of the First Empire on his son?”
“What hubris,” Matteras said. “Kaikobad was never humble. What relevance is it, this touching story of your damned family?”
“It’s your family too, though, isn’t it? Indelbed was your nephew.”
“Djinn do not have human kin.”
“Well, that’s not true either, is it?” Rais asked. “I think there was a time when djinn did indeed have human kin. Sometime before the war. Bahamut told me where to look.”
“Bahamut seems to have said a lot of things, for a fish,” Givaras said.
“Probably lonely down there—no visitors, you know,” Beltrex said.
“There are no records left of the Great War,” Rais said. “No documents, no history books. Strange. Someone else was interested. Risal. She disappeared too. She was in the murder pit with Givaras. Right?”
“She was, for a brief period,” Givaras said. “Rather confused, really, on what she was doing there.”
“She must have been,” Rais said. “She didn’t perhaps appreciate the full implications of her research. I think Kaikobad was the instigator in all of this, once he got involved. She had the evidence, though, a collection of books on the war, including the Register of Kings. It was probably the last surviving copy. Destroyed now, of course.”
“She also had the Compendium of Beasts,” Beltrex said.
“I know, I sent it to her,” Givaras said. “She asked for it. I must confess, I did not realize why at the time.”
“I had Kaikobad’s notes, but they were almost gibberish. I had her journal, which gave small hints. I read the Compendium, which is what must have inspired her research in the first place,” Rais said. “It was like looking at a picture just out of focus.”
“You are building castles in the air, Emissary Primus,” Matteras said.
“Risal must have found something,” Rais continued. “Something about the Great War, which she was researching, except all of her sources and all of her notes were gone. It made me think about my cousin. Kaikobad knew something, and Risal knew something, and my cousin did not know anything, yet you went out of your way to take him—so it must have been something intrinsic about him. Kaikobad marked him with a royal seal.
“So maybe he was telling us that Indelbed was from the line of Gangaridai. Your line. What are you, Matteras? What blood do you carry in your veins? What did they find out about you? Something from long ago, something from the war, because no one recalls it, no one knows, no one wants to talk about it.”
“Except me,” Givaras the Broken said.
