Echoes of the Great Song

by David Gemmell

  It was a monumental achievement.

  Anu had earlier thanked his workers and sent them towards the north to hide in the hills above the stone quarries. “The enemy is coming now,” he said, his voice so weak that the closest to him had to echo his words for the men behind who could not hear them. “The enemy will not seek you. They will come to the pyramid and then they will depart in their golden ships. I promise you this. You will return to your homes, and you will receive every part of the fortune promised you. Go now with my blessing.”

  Yasha stood alone now outside the hut of the Holy One. Anu had asked him to wait while the others fled. The burly foreman cast his gaze over the deserted shacks that had housed the whores and idly wondered how many women he had enjoyed during the timeless decades that he had worked in this place.

  The door of the hut creaked open and Anu moved slowly and painfully into the light. He was carrying several rolls of papyrus. “Thank you for waiting,” he said.

  “We must be going, Holy One,” said Yasha. “I will carry you.”

  “I am not leaving, Yasha. But you can carry me.” With a trembling hand he pointed to the pyramid. “Take me there. To the peak.”

  The ladders were still in place and Yasha lifted the old man and carried him across the open ground. Then he took Anu on his back and slowly climbed to the top of the pyramid. The peak was flat, for Anu had insisted there be no capstone. Yasha found this strange, for the pyramid was perfect in every other detail.

  Anu sat down on the golden stone and together the two men looked around the valley.

  “A long time ago I made you a promise, Yasha,” said Anu. “I said that this pyramid would not be just for the Avatar, but for the world. When it sings its song it will deliver us from evil. The enemy will be no more.”

  “It is a beautiful building,” said Yasha. “It will stand for eternity.”

  “No,” said Anu. “It will stand for less than a year. The Music I have made is very powerful. Once begun it will eat away at the blocks, turning them to dust. The winds will scatter that dust over the earth. Nothing will be left.”

  “Why, Holy One?” asked Yasha, appalled.

  “We sit upon a vast and wondrous source of power, Yasha. And as with all power it can be used for good or evil. If I had left it standing there would have come a man—or a woman—who could reshape the Music.” He smiled sadly. “As it is there will be many attempts in the centuries to come to duplicate what we have achieved here. Perhaps one will succeed. I am not so arrogant as to believe I am the only man who will ever be blessed by the Source.” He patted Yasha’s arm. “Now, time is slowing down, Yasha, and there are matters we must discuss. There are few Avatars left in the cities and control has passed to a Vagar council. With the terrible destruction they have suffered they will not feel inclined to honor an Avatar promise. Especially one that would empty the Treasury. The workers will arrive back in the city to discover there is no payment for them. My man, Shevan, is telling them this even as we speak. He is also telling them that you will see to their payments. That you will honor my promise.”

  “And how will I do this, Holy One?”

  Anu passed him the two scrolls he held. “The first is my will, and I bequeath all that I have to you. It may be that this also will not be honored. I cannot say. The second is a map, showing where I have buried twelve chests full of gold coin. Enough to pay every man who worked here. And every whore who still carries tokens.”

  “You would be a fool to trust me with all that gold,” said Yasha. “Why did you not give it to Shevan?”

  “I have been foolish in my life, Yasha. No man who draws breath can say otherwise. But in this I am right. You are a proud man and an honorable one. I might not trust you with my wife or my daughter, but this is only gold. You will see it paid, and you will do it with scrupulous honesty.”

  “Aye, I will,” admitted Yasha. “I will do it for you, Anu.”

  Tucking the scrolls into his shirt he sighed. “Why is it that you wish to remain here?”

  “I must. I am the capstone. I am the last of the Music. And now you must go, Yasha. Leave me.”

  The big foreman rose, then leaned forward and kissed the old man’s brow. “You will not be forgotten, Holy One.”

  “Yes I will,” said Anu, with a smile. “All men are. Go now!”

  Yasha moved to the ladder, took one last look at the white-bearded old man sitting on the stone, then climbed back to the valley floor.

  Talaban, his zhi-bow completely discharged, leapt from the boulder into a group of Almecs. His sword slashed out, slicing through the neck of the first man, his dagger plunging into the chest of a second. Touchstone ran from hiding with several Anajo warriors and together they tore into the Almec ranks.

  The suddenness of the attack dismayed the Almecs, who fell back down the trail. Talaban swept up a fallen fire-club and discharged it into the fleeing group. Then he flung it aside.

  Glancing up at the sky he saw dusk was approaching. They had held the Almecs for almost a full day and a night. Only three Avatars remained alive and fifteen Anajo. The defenders had been pushed further up the mountain and almost forced out of the narrow trails. One more push and they would be on the exposed flank where they would be swiftly overrun.

  Blood was running into Talaban’s left eye, seeping from a cut on his brow. He wiped it away and moved forward to the line of boulders that marked the end of the trail. As he peered round them several shots rang out, smashing into the stone close to his head. Talaban swore and ducked back. “They are massing again,” he told Touchstone.

  One-Eyed-Fox moved alongside them. He spoke to Touchstone. “What did he say?” asked Talaban.

  “Need hold till dawn.”

  “Dawn is a long way off.”

  “Time for new plan,” said Touchstone.

  Talaban gave a grim smile. “That’s true. What do you suggest?”

  “Attack!” said Touchstone.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  And so Star Woman and the Goddess of Death came face to face on the Last Day. The Goddess was powerful, but Star Woman had with her Storro, the Speaker of Legends, to guard her heart, and Tail-avar, the god of wisdom, to defend her body, and Touch the Moon to protect her soul. Aya! When will we see such heroes walk again?

  From the Sunset Song of the Anajo

  High on the southern flank of the mountain Sofarita pulled herself over a wide ledge then sank to her haunches. Ro hauled himself up alongside her. The wind was bitter here and he wrapped his cloak around Sofarita’s shoulders. They were finally above the towering black wall stretched across the land, and Ro could see the lights of a distant city flickering in the distance.

  “Can you feel her power?” he asked Sofarita.

  “I can feel it.” Throwing back the cloak she stood and stretched her arms out wide. It seemed to the Avatar that she began to glow. Within moments he could feel heat radiating from her. Her limbs stiffened. She was like a statue now, her skin gleaming as if coated with ice. He reached out for her, but her voice sounded in his mind.

  “Do not touch me, Ro. This is my destiny. I will die here.”

  Her words were a dagger in his heart and he slumped to the rock wall, his head in his hands.

  With a hundred men Cas-Coatl stood at the northern edge of the mist barrier. His engineers were working furiously to find ways to break through. All had failed.

  Cas-Coatl waited calmly. The army besieging Pagaru had been evacuated to twelve golden ships, which were now heading back across the ocean, their holds packed with chests full to the brim with charged crystals. Once these had been fed to Almeia her strength would return and she would sever the spell that sought to drag them back to an icy doom.

  The setbacks here in the east were temporary. When next he came there would be no Avatars to destroy his supplies. But first he must capture Anu and force him to reverse the magic of the pyramid. Failing that he would destroy the pyramid itself. He glanced back at the score of wagons c
ontaining the last of his powder.

  A cool wind whispered across the valley. Cas-Coatl shivered. His face always ached with the cold. Lifting his hand he stroked his fingers across the smooth hard glass of his cheekbones.

  Crystal-wed.

  He had been horrified when the disease took hold. His parents had taken him to Almeia’s resting place and had prayed for him throughout the day. Almeia herself had appeared to him in a dream, promising to save him. The promise had been kept and, with joy in their hearts, his parents had sacrificed sixty slaves to the goddess.

  Cas-Coatl’s hand rested on the huge emerald set into his belt. It linked him to the goddess in a special way and its power held at bay the onset of crystal death.

  There had been a price for salvation. Almeia had never allowed Cas-Coatl to take a wife or sire children. He was to be hers alone for all eternity. Cas-Coatl had paid that price willingly.

  He was less sure of his actions now. The Almecs had always taken some prisoners to the Ziggurat for sacrifice. It was pleasing to the goddess. But never before had Cas-Coatl been instructed to butcher entire populations. Yet even this he had done, in the expectation that with the completion of Anu’s pyramid the slaughter would cease.

  What now, he wondered? Is this to be my life, scouring the earth for fresh victims to murder?

  “Lord,” shouted an engineer. “The mist is lifting!”

  “What did you do?” demanded Cas-Coatl.

  “I would like to take credit for it, lord. But it was not my doing.”

  The breeze picked up, dispersing the mist. Now Cas-Coatl could see the valley beyond and, at its center, the towering pyramid. Ordering his men forward Cas-Coatl marched into the valley.

  As he came closer to the deserted site he saw a movement at the pyramid’s peak. A bearded old man was staring down at them. Turning to his soldiers he sent two to apprehend him. From a pouch at his side he drew a large green crystal. Attuning himself to it he held the gem towards the pyramid. He could feel the energy being drawn from it. But the process was incredibly slow, the loss of power infinitesimal. Moving back some fifty yards he tested the crystal again. There was no loss now.

  Cas-Coatl laughed. All his fears concerning Anu’s pyramid vanished like the mist in the breeze.

  There was no threat from it.

  Relief washed over him. Was there any point in locating Anu, he wondered? The man was a failure. He had built a golden mountain that could not drain a single crystal. And yet … Almeia had been so sure of his talent. She had observed the construction and had told Cas-Coatl of the movement of giant blocks as if they weighed no more than a hollow box of wood. Surely someone with that degree of skill could have created a more potent weapon.

  The sound of music filtered down to him. The old man on the pyramid was playing a flute, the music sad and wistful. Cas-Coatl felt the emerald at his waist begin to vibrate. With a shock he realized the old man was Anu and he was still casting his spell.

  “Kill him!” he bellowed, his voice ringing out. The two climbing soldiers glanced back at him. “Kill the old man. Do it now!” The men steadied themselves on the ladder and lifted their fire-clubs from their shoulders. At that moment the music stopped, the old man stepping forward to the rim of the peak and standing, arms outstretched, as if beckoning death. At first Cas-Coatl was relieved, for the climbers still had some way to go to reach the summit and who knew what magic Anu could still summon. But as he watched the holy man greet his killers with open arms a terrible fear struck him. Cas-Coatl was a man raised in the principles of blood sacrifice and the power it could bring.

  In that one dread moment the Almec general knew that death was what Anu required. He needed his blood to fall upon the stones. He sprang forward and screamed out a single word.

  “No!”

  The fire-clubs boomed. Anu crumpled and fell back. For several heartbeats nothing happened. There was almost time for Cas-Coatl to wonder if he had been wrong.

  Almost.

  The crystal at his belt began to tremble and shake. Then it shattered into a thousand pieces.

  The Almec stood stock-still, his joints stiffening, his skin pulling tight. Terrible pain smote his chest and belly, as if red spiders were inside his flesh tearing at his organs. He wanted to scream but his face had set. His left leg shattered and he fell to the grass. His right arm broke off. After that Cas-Coatl ceased to exist as a thinking living creature. The silent music of the pyramid swelled over his crystal corpse. Cracks appeared all over his body, widening, growing like spiders’ webs. Then he imploded, and all that was left upon the ground was the hollow shell of his armor, his helm, leggings and boots.

  Bereft of leadership the Almecs moved back from the pyramid, frightened lest it should turn its wrath upon them.

  Leaving the powder wagons behind they fled for the river and the ships that would take them home.

  The One-Eyed-Fox gathered his men about him, moving to each and laying his hands over their eyes. With each man he chanted a few words before moving on. At last he came to the Avatars. Talaban guessed the tribesman was singing a prayer song of power to aid the warriors.

  He was right—but not in the way he expected. The darkness around them was almost absolute, thick clouds obscuring the moon. But when the One-Eyed-Fox lifted his hands from Talaban’s face the Avatar found he could see as clearly as if it was noon. It was bizarre. There was no color around him, merely a sharpness of black, gray and white.

  The shaman summoned the men to him. “The blood seekers will try to attack us in the dark. But we, like mountain cats, can fall upon them. They will be as blind men.”

  The fourteen Anajo men and Suryet hefted their bows and their arrows of flint and melted away into the undergrowth. Talaban made to follow them, but the One-Eyed-Fox stepped in front of him. Touching Talaban’s brow he closed his eyes. His voice echoed inside Talaban’s mind. “You make too much noise, my friend. Wait here with your brothers and kill any who reach the end of the trail.”

  Then he was gone.

  Talaban drew his sword and dagger, signalled his three men to stand with him, and positioned himself at the crest of the trail. More than a hundred of the enemy would be climbing the mountain. Even with the advantage of superb night vision the Anajo could not stop them.

  I am going to die here, he thought suddenly. I do not even have the week that Anu promised me. Fear struck him and he felt suddenly nauseous. I don’t want to die on this foreign mountain, he thought. I have no sons to carry my blood like a gift into the future, and no wife to mourn for me. He thought of Sofarita. He had accepted Anu’s warning of death, but had hoped that Sofarita’s power could save him. But she was not here. For the first time in his life Talaban found himself wanting to run away. Yet he did not. Could not. He looked at the man to his right. The shock jarred him from his melancholic thoughts. The Avatar’s eyes were wide, the pupils slitted like a cat. He saw from the surprise on the soldier’s face that he too must look equally sinister. Talaban grinned suddenly. The man responded, then reached out his hand. Talaban gripped it, then turned and shook the hands of each of the warriors.

  “Not as glorious as the last ride,” he said. “But we lived like gods and we’ll die like men. It is enough, I think.”

  The screams of wounded men sounded from down the trail, and several fire-clubs were loosed.

  Talaban hefted his sword.

  Back in the city of Egaru fat Caprishan knelt in his luxurious bed-chamber emptying bags of fully charged crystals into two chests. He had declined Rael’s invitation to ride out against the Almecs and was now trying to estimate how much life these crystals would allow him. Like all Avatars his mind was skilled in calculation. There were over 2,000 crystals, each one capable of keeping a normal man healthy for months. Caprishan was not a normal man. His immense weight and his prodigious appetite had weakened his heart, and he could exhaust a fully charged crystal within six days. Twelve thousand three hundred and sixty days. Less than thirty-four years!


  Disappointment seized him. “Better than being dead and rotting on a field of battle,” he told himself. “And who knows, perhaps there are more crystals to be found?”

  He sat staring into the chests, watching the light glitter on the gems. Much could happen in thirty-four years.

  A crystal vase on his windowsill suddenly shattered. The sound made him jump. Pushing himself ponderously to his feet he waddled to the window, looking out to see who had thrown a stone. There was no one in sight. A strange popping sound came from behind him. He swung, and saw green dust spraying out from the chests. He stumbled back and fell to his knees. The crystals within were writhing and splitting. “No!” he shouted, digging his fat hands into the first chest, closing his fingers around the few remaining gems. But even inside his grip he felt them shatter and turn to dust. The red gems in the rings on his fingers exploded.

  Caprishan began to weep piteously. One of his servants ran into the room.

  “What is it, lord?” he asked.

  “Leave me alone!” shouted Caprishan. The man backed away. Caprishan pushed himself to his feet and walked to the balcony.

  He could wait for the six days to pass, and die slowly and horribly.

  Or he could …

  His fat body sailed through the air and smashed onto the stone path beside a fountain.

  And the music of the pyramid swept out over the ocean.

  Serpent Seven was close to the shore when all power vanished. For a little while the black ship struggled on, carried by her momentum and by the inrushing tide. But then she began to wallow in the waves, tipping and rolling.

  On the journey back Methras had ordered the crew to strip the cabins and holds of everything that would float. Several rafts had been made, and makeshift oars. The men had thought the orders strange, but they had obeyed them.

  The ship swung broadside to the land and tilted perilously. “Over the side!” yelled Methras. The crew began to throw empty barrels into the sea, then the rafts were hurled after them. One by one the men jumped into the ocean. The strongest swimmers set out for the shore. Those unskilled in the water clung to the rafts or other floating debris. Methras saw a crewman go under. He dived and grabbed at the man’s collar, hauling him up. The Vagar struggled and almost pulled them both down, but Methras spoke to him calmly, then helped him to a floating barrel. “Hold on and kick out with your feet,” he advised the man. “The tide will carry you in.”