The Sailor on the Seas of Fate

by Michael Moorcock

  He tried to visualize the city as it had been before it was deserted. The streets had been wide, there had been no surrounding wall, the houses had been low and built around large courtyards. If this was, indeed, the original home of his people, what had happened to change them from the peaceful citizens of R'lin K'ren A'a to the insane builders of Imrryr's bizarre and dreaming towers? Elric had thought he might find a solution to a mystery here, but instead he had found another mystery. It was his fate, he thought, shrugging to himself.

  And then the first crystal disc hummed past his head and smashed against a collapsing wall.

  The next disc split the skull of a crewman and a third nicked Smiorgan's ear before they had thrown themselves flat amongst the rubble.

  “They're vengeful, those creatures,” Avan said with a hard smile. “They'll risk much to pay us back for their comrades' deaths!”

  Terror was on the face of each surviving crewman and fear had begun to creep into Avan's eyes.

  More discs clattered nearby, but it was plain that the party was temporarily out of sight of the reptiles.

  Smiorgan coughed as white dust rose from the rubble and caught in his throat.

  “You'd best summon those monstrous allies of yours again, Elric.”

  Elric shook his head. “I cannot. My ally said he would not serve me a second time.” He looked to his left where the four walls of a small house still stood. There seemed to be no door, only a window.

  “Then call something,” Count Smiorgan said urgently. “Anything.”

  “I am not sure...”

  Then Elric rolled over and sprang for the shelter, flinging himself through the window to land on a pile of masonry which grazed his hands and knees.

  He staggered upright. In the distance he could see the huge, blind statue of the god dominating the city. This was said to be an image of Arioch—though it resembled no image of Arioch Elric had ever seen manifested. Did that image protect R'lin K'ren A'a—or did it threaten it? Someone screamed. He glanced through the opening and saw that a disc had landed and chopped through a man's forearm.

  He drew Stormbringer and raised it, facing the jade statue.

  “Arioch!” he cried. “Arioch—aid me!”

  Black light burst from the blade and it began to sing, as if joining in Elric's incantation.

  “Arioch!”

  Would the demon come? Often the patron of the Kings of Melnibone refused to materialize, claiming that more urgent business called him—business concerning the eternal struggle between Law and Chaos.

  “Arioch!”

  Sword and man were now wreathed in a palpitating black mist and Elric's white face was flung back, seeming to writhe as the mist writhed.

  “Arioch! I beg thee to aid me! It is Elric who calls thee!”

  And then a voice reached his ears. It was a soft, purring, reasonable voice. It was a tender voice.

  “Elric, I am fondest of thee. I love thee more than any other mortal—but aid thee I cannot—not yet.”

  Elric cried desperately: “Then we are doomed to perish here!”

  “Thou canst escape this danger. Flee alone into the forest. Leave the others whilst thou hast time. Thou hast a destiny to fulfil elsewhere and elsewhen...”

  “I will not desert them.”

  “Thou art foolish, sweet Elric.”

  “Arioch—since Melnibone's founding thou has aided her kings. Aid her last king this day!”

  “I cannot dissipate my energies. A great struggle looms. And it would cost me much to return to R'lin K'ren A'a. Flee now. Thou shalt be saved. Only the others will die.”

  And then the Duke of Hell had gone. Elric sensed the passing of his presence. He frowned, fingering his belt-pouch, trying to recall something he had once heard. Slowly, he resheathed the reluctant sword. Then there was a thump and Smiorgan stood panting before him.

  “Well, is aid on the way?”

  “I fear not.” Elric shook his head in despair. “Once again Arioch refused me. Once again he speaks of a greater destiny—a need to conserve his strength.”

  “Your ancestors could have picked a more tractable demon as their patron. Our reptilian friends are closing in. Look...”

  Smiorgan pointed to the outskirts of the city. A band of about a dozen stilt-legged creatures were advancing, their huge clubs at the ready.

  There was a scuffling noise from the rubble on the other side of the wall and Avan appeared, leading his men through the opening. He was cursing.

  “No extra aid is coming, I fear,” Elric told him.

  The Vilmirian smiled grimly. “Then the monsters out there knew more than did we!”

  “It seems so.”

  “We'll have to try to hide from them,” Smiorgan said without much conviction. “We'd not survive a fight.”

  The little party left the ruined house and began to inch its way through what cover it could find, moving gradually nearer to the centre of the city and the statue of the Jade Man.

  A sharp hiss from behind them told them that the reptile warriors had sighted them again and another Vilmirian fell with a crystal disc protruding from his back. They broke into a panicky run.

  Ahead now was a red building of several stories which still had its roof.

  “In there!” Duke Avan shouted.

  With some relief they dashed unhesitatingly up worn steps and through a series of dusty passages until they paused to catch their breath in a great, gloomy hall.

  The hall was completely empty and a little light filtered through the cracks in the wall.

  “This place has lasted better than the others,” Duke Avan said. “I wonder what its function was. A fortress, perhaps.”

  “They seem not to have been a warlike race,” Smiorgan pointed out. “I suspect the building had some other function.”

  The three surviving crewmen were looking fearfully about them. They looked as if they would have preferred to have faced the reptile warriors outside.

  Elric began to cross the floor and then paused as he saw something painted on the far wall.

  Smiorgan saw it too. “What's that, friend Elric?”

  Elric recognized the symbols as the written High Speech of old Melnibone, but it was subtly different and it took him a short time to decipher its meaning.

  “Know you what it says, Elric?” Duke Avan murmured, joining them.

  “Aye—but it's cryptic enough. It says: ‘If thou hast come to slay me, then thou art welcome. If thou hast come without the means to awaken the Jade Man, then begone...’ ”

  “Is it addressed to us, I wonder,” Avan mused, “or has it been there for a long while?”

  Elric shrugged. “It could have been inscribed at any time during the past ten thousand years...”

  Smiorgan walked up to the wall and reached out to touch it. “I would say it was fairly recent,” he said, “the paint still being wet.”

  Elric frowned. “Then there are inhabitants here still. Why do they not reveal themselves?”

  “Could those reptiles out there be the denizens of R'lin K'ren A'a?” Avan said. “There is nothing in the legends which says there were humans who fled this place...”

  Elric's face clouded and he was about to make an angry reply when Smiorgan interrupted.

  “Perhaps there is just one inhabitant. Is that what you are thinking, Elric? The Creature Doomed To Live? Those sentiments could be his...”

  Elric put his hands to his face and made no reply.

  “Come,” Avan said. “We've no time to debate on legends.” He strode across the floor and entered another doorway, beginning to descend steps. As he reached the bottom they heard him gasp.

  The others joined him and saw that he stood on the threshold of another hall. But this one was ankle-deep in fragments of stuff that had been thin leaves of a metallic material which had the flexibility of parchment. Around the walls were thousands of small holes, rank upon rank, each with a character painted over it.

  “What is it?” Smiorgan
asked.

  Elric stooped and picked up one of the fragments. This had half a Melnibonean character engraved on it. There had even been an attempt to obliterate this.

  “It was a library,” he said softly. “The library of my ancestors. Someone has tried to destroy it. These scrolls must have been virtually indestructible, yet a great deal of effort has gone into making them indecipherable.” He kicked at the fragments. “Plainly our friends—or friend—is a consistent hater of learning.”

  “Plainly,” Avan said bitterly. “Oh, the value of those scrolls to the scholar! All destroyed!”

  Elric shrugged. “To Limbo with the scholar—their value to me was quite considerable!”

  Smiorgan put a hand on his friend's arm and Elric shrugged it off. “I had hoped...”

  Smiorgan cocked his bald head. “Those reptiles have followed us into the building, by the sound of it.”

  They heard the distant sound of strange footsteps in the passages behind them.

  The little band moved as silently as it could through the ruined scrolls and crossed the hall until they entered another which led sharply upwards.

  Then, suddenly, daylight was visible.

  Elric peered ahead. “The corridor has collapsed ahead of us and is blocked by the look of it. The roof has caved in and we may be able to escape through the hole.”

  They clambered upwards over the fallen stones, glancing warily behind them for signs of their pursuers.

  At last they emerged in the central square of the city. On the far sides of this square were placed the feet of the great statue which now towered high above their heads.

  Directly before them were two peculiar constructions which, unlike the rest of the buildings, were completely whole. They were domed and faceted and were made of some glass-like substance which diffracted the rays of the sun.

  From below they heard the reptile men advancing down the corridor.

  “We'll seek shelter in the nearest of those domes,” Elric said. He broke into a trot, leading the way.

  The others followed him through the irregularly shaped opening at the base of the dome.

  Once inside, however, they hesitated, shielding their eyes and blinking heavily as they tried to discern their way.

  “It's like a maze of mirrors!” Smiorgan gasped. “By the Gods, I've never seen a better. Was that its function, I wonder?”

  Corridors seemed to go off in all directions—yet they might be nothing more than reflections of the passage they were in. Cautiously Elric began to continue further into the maze, the five others following him.

  “This smells of sorcery to me,” Smiorgan muttered as they advanced. “Have we been forced into a trap, I wonder?”

  Elric drew his sword. It murmured softly—almost querulously.

  Everything shifted suddenly and the shapes of his companions grew dim.

  “Smiorgan! Duke Avan!”

  He heard voices murmuring, but they were not the voices of his friends.

  “Count Smiorgan!”

  But then the burly sealord faded away altogether and Elric was alone.

  Chapter 6

  He turned and a wall of red brilliance struck his eyes and blinded him.

  He called out and his voice was turned into a dismal wail which mocked him.

  He tried to move but he could not tell whether he remained in the same spot or walked a dozen miles.

  Now there was someone standing a few yards away, seemingly obscured by a screen of multicoloured transparent gems. He stepped forward and made to dash away the screen but it vanished and he stopped suddenly.

  He looked on a face of infinite sorrow.

  And the face was his own face, save that the man's colouring was normal and his hair was black.

  “What are you?” Elric said thickly.

  “I have had many names. One is Erekose. I have been many men. Perhaps I am all men.”

  “But you are like me!”

  “I am you.”

  “No!”

  The phantom's eyes held tears as it stared in pity at Elric.

  “Do not weep for me!” Elric roared. “I need no sympathy from you!”

  “Perhaps I weep for myself, for I know our fate.”

  “And what is that?”

  “You would not understand.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Ask your gods.”

  Elric raised his sword. Fiercely he said: “No—I'll have my answer from you!”

  And the phantom faded away.

  Elric shivered. Now the corridor was populated by a thousand such phantoms. Each murmured a different name. Each wore different clothes. But each had his face, if not his colouring.

  “Begone!” he screamed. “Oh, Gods, what is this place?” And at his command they disappeared.

  “Elric?”

  The albino whirled, sword ready. But it was Duke Avan Astran of Old Hrolmar. He touched his own face with trembling fingers but said levelly: “I must tell you that I believe I am losing my sanity, Prince Elric...”

  “What have you seen?”

  “Many things. I cannot describe them.”

  “Where are Smiorgan and the others?”

  “Doubtless each went his separate way, as we did.”

  Elric raised Stormbringer and brought the blade crashing against a crystal wall. The Black Sword moaned but the wall merely changed its position.

  But through a gap Elric now saw ordinary daylight. “Come, Duke Avan—there is escape!”

  Avan, dazed, followed him and they stepped out of the crystal and found themselves in the central square of R'lin K'ren A'a.

  But there were noises. Carts and chariots crowded the square. Stalls were erected on one side. People moved peacefully about. And the Jade Man did not dominate the sky above the city. Here, there was no Jade Man at all.

  Elric looked at the faces. They were the eldritch features of the folk of Melnibone. Yet these had a different cast to them which he could not at first define. Then he recognized what they had. It was tranquillity. He reached out his hand to touch one of the people.

  “Tell me, friend, what year...?”

  But the man did not hear him. He walked by.

  Elric tried to stop several of the passers-by, but not one could see or hear him.

  “How did they lose this peace?” Duke Avan asked wonderingly. “How did they become like you, Prince Elric?”

  Elric almost snarled as he turned sharply to face the Vilmirian. “Be silent!”

  Duke Avan shrugged. “Perhaps this is merely an illusion.”

  “Perhaps,” Elric said sadly. “But I am sure this is how they lived—until the coming of the High Ones.”

  “You blame the Gods, then?”

  “I blame the despair that the Gods brought.”

  Duke Avan nodded gravely. “I understand.” He turned back towards the great crystal and then stood listening. “Do you hear that voice, Prince Elric? What is it saying?”

  Elric heard the voice. It seemed to be coming from the crystal. It was speaking the old tongue of Melnibone, but with a strange accent. “This way,” it said. “This way.”

  Elric paused. “I have no liking to return there.”

  Avan said: “What choice have we?”

  They stepped together through the entrance.

  Again they were in the maze that could be one corridor or many, and the voice was clearer. “Take two paces to your right,” it instructed.

  Avan glanced at Elric. “What was that?”

  Elric told him.

  “Shall we obey?” Avan asked.

  “Aye.” There was resignation in the albino's voice.

  They took two paces to their right.

  “Now four to your left,” said the voice.

  They look four paces to their left.

  “Now one forward.”

  They emerged into the ruined square of R'lin K'ren A'a.

  Smiorgan and one Vilmirian crewman stood there.

  “Where are the others?” Av
an demanded.

  “Ask him,” Smiorgan said wearily, gesturing with the sword in his right hand.

  They stared at the man, who was either an albino or a leper. He was completely naked and he bore a distinct likeness to Elric. At first Elric thought this was another phantom, but then he saw that there were also several differences in their faces. There was something sticking from the man's side, just above the third rib. With a shock, Elric recognized it as the broken shaft of a Vilmirian arrow.

  The naked man nodded. “Aye—the arrow found its mark. But it could not slay me for I am J'osui C'rein Reyr...”

  “You believe yourself to be the Creature Doomed to Live,” Elric murmured.

  “I am he.” The man gave a bitter smile. “Do you think I try to deceive you?”

  Elric glanced at the arrow shaft and then shook his head.

  “You are ten thousand years old?” Avan stared at him.

  “What does he say?” asked J'osui C'rein Reyr of Elric. Elric translated.

  “Is that all it has been?” The man sighed. Then he looked intently at Elric. “You are of my race?”

  “It seems so.”

  “Of what family?”

  “Of the Royal line.”

  “Then you have come at last. I, too, am of that line.”

  “I believe you.”

  “I notice that the Olab seek you.”

  “The Olab?”

  “Those primitives with the clubs.”

  “Aye. We encountered them on our journey up-river.”

  “I will lead you to safety. Come.”

  Elric allowed J'osui C'rein Reyr to take them across the square to where part of a tottering wall still stood. The man then lifted a flagstone and showed them the steps leading down into darkness. They followed him, descend­ing cautiously as he caused the flagstone to lower itself above their heads. And they found themselves in a room lit by crude oil lamps. Save for a bed of grasses the room was empty.

  “You live sparely,” Elric said.

  “I have need for nothing else. My head is sufficiently furnished...”

  “Where do the Olab come from?” Elric asked.

  “They are but recently arrived in these parts. Scarcely a thousand years ago—or perhaps half that time—they came from further up-river after some quarrel with another tribe. They do not usually come to the island. You must have killed many of them for them to wish you such harm.”