“No!” said Gamal. “That you must not do! She would return instantly.”
“How is that possible?”
“Once more Landis is at fault here,” said Gamal, sadly. “The Eternal’s Reborns are linked to her. Landis believed the process of the Eternal’s rebirth would be more efficient if there was some way to make the process of soul transference immediate upon the Eternal’s death. As it was we had to locate the Reborn and bring her to Diranan, and the palace, and then perform the exchange. This was obviously fraught with difficulty. What if the Reborn, sensing her fate, chose to run away? What if the Eternal died and was destroyed in the Void by some demon? Landis spent many years attempting to refine the process. In the end, though, it was Memnon who supplied the answer.”
“Memnon?”
“I will come to him, Skilgannon. He has a brilliant mind, and is also possessed of great psychic power. When one of the Eternal’s duplicates was born Memnon had a tiny jewel inserted under the skin at the base of the infant’s skull. This jewel carries a spell. If the Eternal dies, her spirit would automatically flow to the eldest of the duplicates, wherever they might be. As far as I know this has been achieved twice. So you must not seek to kill her. It would be a waste of time. There will be more than twenty Reborns scattered around the empire.”
“I understand,” said Skilgannon. “Now tell me of Memnon.”
“He is the Lord of the Shadows—a Jiamad, but of a unique kind. Landis created him a long time ago. It was part of an attempt to find a formula for longer natural life, to counteract the aging process. Landis had begun to loathe the idea of raising duplicates, only to kill their souls in order for the original to live on. He saw it—quite rightly—as evil. So he experimented with Joinings, seeking one who could regenerate more efficiently than nature might intend. He was very successful. His experiments gave many of us longer, healthier lives. Then, a hundred years ago, came Memnon. At first we thought him a triumph. Despite being created from animal and human he was in almost every way a perfect baby. Not a trace of Jiamad. As a child he possessed rare gifts. He could restore faded blooms to health. He could draw wild creatures to him. An amazing child.” Gamal sighed. “His intelligence was—is—phenomenal. By the age of thirteen he was assisting Landis in experiments. He had mastered the machines of the ancients. By twenty he had moved beyond even Landis. The Eternal favored him, allowing him to experiment on more and more humans. Many of them died terrible, agonizing deaths. None of this concerned Memnon at all. The pain of others passed him by. He has no conscience, no sense of what we consider good or evil. His one redeeming feature is his devotion to the Eternal.”
“One of her lovers, I expect,” said Skilgannon, an edge of bitterness in his voice.
“No, not Memnon. I said he was almost perfect. There is no way he could perform any meaningful sexual act. Landis believed that was the reason for his lack of passion. He never grows angry, or sad. Memnon just is. He created the Shadows. They will be coming after you before long, Skilgannon. Make sure there is always light around you. They favor the dark. Bright light burns their eyes.”
“They are Jiamads?” asked Skilgannon.
“Of a kind. They have no fur. They are skinny—almost skeletal—and they move with bewildering speed. So fast that if a swordsman were to thrust his blade at one, the sword would cut only air. They have two curved fangs, which inject poison into the victim. It is not deadly, but causes temporary paralysis. They also carry daggers, the blades dipped in similar poison.”
“Apart from light, what other weaknesses do they have?”
“They lack stamina. After an attack they will find some safe, dark place to rest. And, as I said, their eyes are sensitive. Their vision is not strong. In the forest you will hear them. They emit loud, extremely high-pitched shrieks. In some way this allows them to see objects. I do not understand how this works. Neither did poor Landis.”
“I take it that he is dead.”
“Yes, Decado killed him. Despite his centuries of life Landis was a romantic. He believed in Ustarte’s prophecy.”
“And you do not?” said Skilgannon.
“The simple answer is that I do not know. I cannot see how one warrior—even one such as you—can end the reign of the Eternal. Even if you did, what would it matter? The artifacts exist. They will always exist. They survived for thousands of years, their powers almost dormant. Nadir shamans found a way to harness the energies radiating from these sleeping machines below the ground. They did not know the artifacts were there, but, like Memnon, they were attuned to the energies pulsing from them. They acted as conduits for that power. All the physical magic in this blighted world emanates from these artifacts.”
“So what changed?” asked Skilgannon.
“The Temple of the Resurrection. An abbot found a way to awaken them. The power in the artifacts swelled. All over this continent and beyond. So you see, Skilgannon, the physical death of the Eternal will do nothing to change the unhappy state of the world.”
“What did he do, this abbot?”
The young Gamal shrugged. “Much is lost in myth now, but he found a passageway inside the holy mountain, and then there was light. I cannot say. I was not there.”
“Then the answer lies at the temple.”
Gamal smiled. “Perhaps it would—if it were still there. Almost five hundred years ago the temple vanished.”
“It was inside a mountain,” said Skilgannon. “It could not vanish. There must have been a more powerful ward spell placed on it.”
“No, Skilgannon. I have walked on the open land where the temple mountain once was. There is nothing there. It is an odd place now. Nothing grows there. The land twists and changes. Metal reacts in a bizarre way. I had copper coins in my pouch. They began to jingle together. I remember feeling nauseous, and could not maintain my balance. My companion and I left the area as soon as we could. Once clear I looked in my pouch. Five coins had somehow welded themselves together. I had to cut my belt loose, for the brass buckle was mangled and bent. Believe me, Skilgannon. The temple is gone. The mountain is gone.”
“But the power remains,” said Skilgannon softly.
“Yes.”
For a while they sat in silence, Skilgannon thinking through what Gamal had said. Gamal suddenly sighed. “It is beginning,” he said. “I can feel the pull of the Void.”
“Are you frightened?”
“A little. My life has not been one spent in philanthropic pursuits. I have been selfish, and my actions have resulted in deaths of innocent people. Yet the Void is not unknown to me. I have traveled there often. It is where you and I met.”
“I have no memory of such a meeting.”
“As I told you, the Void is a place of spirit, and you now live in the world of flesh. The memories will return one day. I wonder if I will find Landis. I was fond of him. It would be good to see him again.”
Suddenly all noise from the waterfall ceased, and the blue sky faded to black. A chill wind blew. Gamal looked fearful, and was staring at a point over Skilgannon’s shoulder. Skilgannon rose to his feet and turned. A tall man was standing close by, dressed in pale robes of shimmering silver. He was dark haired and androgynously good looking. His skin was pale gold, his cheekbones high, his eyes large, dark, and almond shaped, like the peoples of the Chiatze.
“What are you doing here, Memnon?” asked Gamal.
“I have come to say farewell to an old friend,” the man replied, his voice gentle.
“We were not friends.”
“Sadly, that is true. I was attempting to be polite. Go ahead and die, Gamal. It is Skilgannon I wished to speak to.”
“No! He will not die here, Memnon.” Gamal rose swiftly to his feet and reached toward Skilgannon. “Take my hand. Now!”
Memnon’s arm snapped forward. Gamal disappeared. “He chose a pleasant spot,” said Memnon, moving forward to walk past Skilgannon and stare at the towering waterfall.
“Did you kill him?” asked Skilgannon
.
Memnon shrugged. “Let us hope so. And before you consider attacking me you should understand that such violence will have no effect here. There is no pain. No blow of yours will concuss me or damage my form. This is merely a dream place. Would you like to hear the water rushing? I find it an annoying distraction, but if you wish I will restore it.”
Skilgannon stepped in, his left fist hammering into what should have been Memnon’s face. The blow passed through the man. “Ah, I see you are a man who needs to discover his own realities. So now that we understand the situation, let us sit and talk. A fire would be pleasant.” Memnon gestured to the ground and a small circle of stones appeared. Flames leapt up from within them. “The Eternal has spoken of you often. She has such fond memories of you.”
“What is it you want from me?” asked Skilgannon.
“Landis should never have brought you back. It was a mistake. I am here to rectify it. However, your passing will be without pain.”
“How do you intend to kill me?”
“Ah, did Gamal not indicate to you the dangers of these kinds of journeys? How remiss of him. Let me explain. The essence of your life force is now here. For short periods such departures from the flesh can be tolerated. After a few hours, though, the body begins to die. Time here does not flow in the same way as beyond. I would say that your new form is already fighting for life. So what would you like to talk about, in the brief time that we have?”
Skilgannon closed his eyes. He pictured the shallow depression in the rocks where his body lay, and tried to will his spirit to return. When he opened his eyes the dark-haired Chiatze was staring at him.
“You are not as godlike as the Eternal described you,” said Memnon. “True, you have beautiful eyes, but you are merely a man. I suppose that is what legends do. They exaggerate and amplify. However, she loved you, and I suppose that does color the memories. Even so you do not seem like a man who would butcher the inhabitants of an entire city.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” said Skilgannon.
“Quite so. Excuse me for a moment.” Memnon faded from view. Alone now Skilgannon sought again to awaken, but to no avail. He walked to the water’s edge and found a sharp stone, which he tried to cut into his palm, thinking that pain might awaken him. There was no pain. The skin cut and bled, then resealed instantly.
Memnon reappeared. “I apologize for leaving you. I wanted to see how close the pursuers were to your little group. Their deaths will not be long after yours—and considerably more painful I would say.”
H arad was standing on the shelf of rock, staring out over the land, Charis beside him. Askari had left some time before, to scout for any sign of their enemies returning. The sun was setting, the sky red as blood. Brilliantly lit clouds hovered above the western mountains, themselves dramatically colorful with their bases crimson, their flanks a mixture of coral and black, their rounded peaks white as snow. “It is so beautiful,” said Charis, taking Harad’s arm, and resting her head on his shoulder. “Look at those clouds.”
“I am looking at the clouds. I think it will rain tomorrow.”
“Oh, Harad,” she said. He heard the disappointment in her voice and felt a sense of loss as she withdrew her arm and moved away from him.
“They are beautiful,” he said, swiftly.
“You don’t see it, though, do you?” she said, turning toward him. “You look at clouds and you think of rain. A deer is just meat on four legs. A tree is something to chop down to make a table, or a chair.”
“Aye, well that’s all true, isn’t it?”
“Of course it’s true, you clod! There is so much more, though. I wish you could see it.”
“Why? What difference does it make what I see?”
Charis did not answer. She rubbed at her tired eyes, and then pushed her hand through her golden hair, pushing it back from her face. “I am really tired,” she said. “I think I’ll go and rest.”
“I understand beauty,” he said, softly. “When you just brushed your fingers through your hair. That was beautiful. Sometimes, on a cold autumn day, after the rain, when the sun shines through the broken clouds, that is beautiful, too. When you live alone in the mountains you tend to deal in realities, like food and shelter and comforts. Clouds bring rain, deer is meat.”
“Well,” she said, with a smile. “You used up a whole winter of words there.”
“I didn’t want you to go away,” he told her, his face reddening.
“Why did you come after me, Harad?” she asked, stepping in close.
“Thought you might need me.”
“And I did. Not just because I was in danger. I needed you before that. Did you never wonder why I always brought your food?”
“I thought it was because you enjoyed irritating me.”
Her face darkened. “Did it not occur to you that I might have been attracted to you?”
“To me?” he said, shocked.
“Yes, to you, you dimwit! Did I not ask you to the Feast? Did I not promise to teach you to dance?”
Harad struggled in vain to bring his thoughts into focus. It was as if the sea were roaring between his ears. “I’m not a handsome man,” he said, at last. “It never entered my mind that you . . . I don’t . . . I don’t know what to say.”
“Tell me you love me. Or you don’t,” she added, swiftly.
Harad drew in a deep breath; then he relaxed and gave a broad smile. “Of course I love you. When I thought you might have been . . . hurt,” he said, unwilling to voice the real fear, “I thought I would go out of my mind.”
“Then perhaps you should kiss me,” she said, moving in close.
At that moment there came a strangled cry of pure agony from behind them. Harad swung around. The old man, Gamal, was writhing on the ground. His body spasmed, and there was blood upon his lips. Charis ran to him, kneeling by his side. Gamal’s face was a mask of agony. “The swords!” he groaned. “Skilgannon!” Then he screamed in pain. His body convulsed, and more blood sprayed from his mouth as he cried out.
“Help me, Harad!” pleaded Charis.
The axman knelt down beside Gamal. The old man sagged unconscious into Harad’s arms. The big man lowered him gently to the ground.
Charis held her fingers to Gamal’s throat. The pulse flickered briefly for a few moments, then stopped. Charis sighed, and a tear fell to her cheek. “I liked him,” she said.
She began to weep and Harad sat close to her, his huge arm around her shoulder. He felt a touch of guilt, for, despite her distress, Harad himself felt content. In fact more content than at any time he could remember. The woman he loved was nestled in close to him. He could feel her warmth, and smell the scent of her hair. The moment was blissful. For the first time in days the glittering ax was forgotten. All that mattered was that he comforted this woman in his arms.
Charis relaxed, her head against his chest. “He was a kindly old man,” she said. “It was so cruel to hunt him in this way.”
Harad said nothing. The old man had been one of the lords, one of the creators of beasts. Harad had little sympathy for his passing.
“I am so glad you are here, Harad.”
“Where else would I be?”
Charis sighed and moved back a little from him. She leaned in and closed the dead man’s eyes. “Your friend is still asleep. Should we wake him?”
“He said not to.” A sense of emptiness touched Harad as Charis drew away from him. A flicker of anger replaced it. Then she smiled at him, and the anger melted away.
“Where did you find that big ax?”
“It was a gift,” he told her.
“It is a horrible weapon.” She shuddered. “Why do we need such things?”
“What sort of question is that?” he responded. “Without the ax I would have been killed. Then I couldn’t have been here to help you.”
“I meant why do people want to make such weapons. Why do we fight each other?”
“I don’t know. I never know answers to t
he questions you ask. Everything is so complicated when you are around. It makes my head swim.” Yet there was no irritation now. Harad wondered if there ever would be again. He gazed at her face. She had never been more beautiful.
“I’m really frightened, Harad,” she said, suddenly. “All I’ve wanted for the last two years is for us to be together. Now we are. And people are trying to kill us.”
His pale eyes glittered. “No one is going to kill you, Charis. They’d have to get past me. I may not be handsome, and I’m not a great thinker, but I am a fighter. Ten days ago that was not a virtue. Now it is. We’ll get away from here. We’ll find a place. With the Legend people, maybe, to the north. Or high in the mountains, away from Jems and armies.”
Askari came running over the lip of the rock shelf. “They are closing in,” she said. “Around twenty riders and four Jems. Not seen their kind before. They move on four legs, like hounds, but they are big. Almost as big as ponies.” She glanced at the dead man, then at Skilgannon. “Best wake him,” she said.
Harad leaned over and shook Skilgannon. There was no response.
Charis touched his face. “The skin is cold,” she whispered. “I think he’s dead.”
Askari knelt on the other side of Skilgannon and shook him roughly. Charis touched his throat. “There is a heartbeat,” she said. “It is very faint.”
The sound of a distant howl came to them. Charis shivered. “Doesn’t sound like a wolf,” she said. “It makes the blood run cold.”
“Wait till you see them,” said Askari. “Your blood will turn to ice!” She shook Skilgannon again. “We have to get away from here,” she told Harad. “Can you carry him?”
Harad grabbed Skilgannon’s arm and hauled him upright. Askari ran to the edge of the rock shelf. “Too late,” she called back. “The beasts are coming.”
Harad laid Skilgannon down, then took up Snaga and moved out into the moonlight. He followed Askari for some fifty paces to the edge of the slope.
Four huge beasts were bounding up the trail.
Askari nocked an arrow to her bow.
The Swords of Night and Day Page 26
