The Adventures of Mr. Maximillian Bacchus and His Travelling Circus by Clive Barker, David Niall Wilson, Richard A. Kirk

the precious silver box.
    “Tom O’Bedlam!” cried Mr. Bacchus,
    “Forth from my sad and darksome cell,
    “Or from the deep Abyss of Hell,
    “Mad Tom is coming to view the world again.”
    Mr. Bacchus’ booming cry was too much for the Khan’s brother. Agonized, he drew from his belt an ice dagger, and aimed it at Bacchus. Even as the blade left his hand, Bathsheba, seeing her opportunity, leapt from Malachi’s tail onto the birdman’s back. He shrieked horribly as the orang-outang tugged at the mask. With a tearing of hessian and feathers the head came free from the face of the Khan’s brother. The dagger, meanwhile, was flying unerringly towards its victim’s head. But it did not reach its target. Mr. Bacchus merely stretched out his hand and caught it. At his touch, the ice turned to rain.
    By now Kuyuk had fallen to his knees, and as he did so, he let the box and its burning fragment drop into the Alph, where with a great deal of hissing, it was borne away down to the waterfall, to light, at last, the sunless sea beyond. As for the Khan’s brother, he knelt at the edge of the river by the fading light of the sun, sobbing pitifully. The scene was frozen for an instant. Bacchus mopping his brow, the Clown, crocodile and Orang-outang standing gazing at their feet, and the agonized tears of the Khan’s brother falling onto the unmelting ice. Then, accompanied by Angelo, his neck bound with silk bandages torn from her robes, the Princess emerged from the tunnel, and though Kuyuk was turned from her he raised his head as if knowing she was there. Though his face was gaunt, and his beard long and filthy, the Princess recognized him immediately.
    “Father!” she cried. “Father!”
    Kuyuk drew his hands from his face and gazed upon his daughter, as if seeing her for the first time. At that moment the look of madness sank from his eyes and he embraced her. Even as he put his cracked lips upon the Princess’ forehead, from down the tunnel there rose a thunder. The great cavern, its walls cracked by the tumult, at last collapsed upon itself, and all Xanadu shook with the violence of its death. Even as the thunder died, Hero returned with a dozen of the Khan’s soldiers and a makeshift bridge was hurriedly constructed across the river, by which the company crossed the roaring Alph. Then, amid great celebration, they climbed the stairway up into the throne-room, still lit by bonfires, where Kublai Khan sat in state. The brothers embraced each other with many tears, and Angelo, speechless, now and forever, because of his wounded throat, embraced the Princess.
    The Khan spoke, his voice severe. “Youth,” he said to Angelo. “She is the daughter of the Khan’s brother. She cannot belong to anyone.”
    “He is not anyone,” replied the Princess.
    “Are you an Inquisitor then?” demanded the Khan. Angelo shook his head. “An archbishop, perhaps, or a son of an archbishop?” Once more Angelo had to shake his head. Then, bowing, he pointed to the door, and walked down the throne-room and out into the cold night air. “What is the youth intending?” said Khan.
    “Your Majesty,” replied Mr. Bacchus. “The fragment you broke from the sun is now lighting some nether-sea, and Xanadu is in darkness. When you have burned all your willow-screens and felled all the trees in the pleasure dome, the darkness will be eternal.”
    “Indeed,” said the Khan.
    “Then follow the youth, Your Magnificence,” said Mr. Bacchus. “We may yet see a miracle.”
    Unsmiling, the Khan rose from his throne, but his heavy robes prevented him from taking a step.
    “Allow me,” said Hero, lifting the Khan onto his shoulders, and led the way outside, followed by the performers and courtiers.
    Out in the bleak night the Khan addressed Angelo from Hero’s shoulders.
    “Youth,” he said. “Your miracle.”
    So Angelo threw back his head, and from out of his eyes two pillars of light poured into the sky, and as they touched the