The Seal by J F Mehentee

Author:J F Mehentee [Mehentee, J F]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781912402182
Publisher: P in C Publishing
Published: 2019-07-31T16:00:00+00:00

14

Two hours had passed since Roshan and Yesfir had stepped through a portal and entered Derbicca. Navid shifted his weight from one buttock to the other. Human for only six hours and unaccustomed to sitting cross-legged, his knees, hips and the base of his spine ached.

With the king called away and just Behrouz, Zana and himself waiting for Roshan’s and Yesfir’s return, he didn’t think it necessary to ask permission to stand.

‘There’s no need for all three of us to wait,’ Behrouz said. He appraised Navid, then nodded at the audience chamber’s exit. ‘You’re not used to standing on two feet. Go for a walk; reacquaint yourself with being human again. As soon they return, I’ll send word.’ He gave the dozing manticore a shake, waking him. ‘And take Zana with you. He could do with some exercise.’

The audience chamber was large enough for Navid to walk around and loosen his joints. Behrouz stared at the spot where Roshan had raised her portal. Anxiety lined his brow. Navid decided the daeva was in no mood for conversation and happier if left alone.

‘Come on, Zana,’ Navid said. ‘Let’s go explore the city.’

Outside the palace, sunlight penetrated the vaulted ceiling of sand and filled the cavern with a haze of straw-coloured light. To Navid’s right, pergolas arched between facing terraces. Bougainvillaea, peppered with golden flowers, trailed across them. Navid led Zana towards the paved street, the waterfall thundering behind them, humidifying and cooling the air.

Until they reached a crossroads, the houses on both sides were shuttered and their doors closed. Farther up, Navid heard children playing. Zana’s pace faltered. The manticore recovered and then sped towards the sound. Navid switched pace to keep up with him

Two girls played, their wooden swords clacking against the other. A third child, a boy and like the girls no more than nine years old, leaned against the wall next to an open doorway, a stylus in his right hand. Intent on the tablet resting in his lap, he didn’t see Zana’s approach. The girls lowered their swords and stared at the manticore. They shared the same slim-bridged nose and bow-shaped mouth. Their tunics and leggings were clean but worn in places. The shorter of the two yanked up the arms of her tunic. Her leggings crumpled around her ankles.

The boy glanced up from his tablet. His eyes, rimmed with orange flames, became circles.

‘A manticore,’ he said. The wonder in his voice turned it breathy. The boy recited an invocation over his tablet.

Navid had heard Roshan use the same invocation for the wet clay to memorise her jottings and then clear its surface.

Instead of pressing the end of his stylus into the clay, the boy moved it across the tablet’s surface as if it were a brush on papyrus. While he worked, he droned an incantation.

‘You’re not a very big manticore,’ the taller of the two girls said.

Zana dropped onto his haunches.

‘Have you seen others like me?’ he said, excitement raising the pitch of his voice.

Both girls shook their heads.

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