by Chris Ward
Gryfnor smiled at the children and entranced them with his magical arts. So many different tricks, so much laughter and happiness. The adults stood back and nodded their heads approvingly. This was the man for them. But Gryfnor was seething within and soon he dismissed the crowd and retreated into his tent. There in the solitude he gave vent to his anger once more.
The Wrythers had come with the news. Svalbard had fallen. Zydor was no more.
The beast within the magician now appeared and roared in anger.
‘How can this be? Zydor is almost immortal. He is my kin.’ He turned upon the ecstatic Wrythers. ‘You saw this?’
‘No my Lord,’ they replied, ‘but all that remains is a vast lake. The Horn of Svalbard is no more.’
‘And then how do you know that Zydor has perished?’ roared the beast.
‘The great Lord Ungarit informs us,’ replied the Wrythers in dreadful unison, and waited for a reaction. The beast stood still and could not speak. Not for a very long time. Finally it managed a simple statement.
‘Then Lord Ungarit approves.’ The Wrythers cackled gleefully and whispered to each other.
‘The beast is fearful. This is a great day for fear.’ And the beast was indeed truly fearful.
‘Why does Ungarit betray us?’ It complained bitterly. ‘Zydor and I have done his bidding always, yet the land still sinks and my promised kingdom is being lost to the sea each day.’ It was silent and then roared. ‘Why!’ But the Wrythers just danced their dance and were happy, in the manner of their happiness.
But now only I remain, thought the beast. I lost my place with Zydor but now I am great and he is gone. Perhaps Zydor gifts me the realm. And these thoughts pleased the beast greatly.
‘There will be no more Diabules,’ the Wrythers said, and hoped for a response to feed their evil joy.
‘I need no more,’ the beast said into the air, still thinking of its sudden elevation. ‘The people have all come over to me.’ It paced about then and decided upon what next to do. ‘I will increase the sacrifice. If Lord Ungarit is pleased with me then I will show him my worthiness. Yes that is what I must do. More sacrifice. Then he will save the land for me.’
‘Of course,’ the Wrythers cried in evil unison for the thought of more spilt blood was like fine music to their ears.
And then Gryfnor appeared once more and he went outside and invited passersby to step in and take a Diabule from the store which he still possessed, and he explained in silken words how to find true happiness after the manner of the mighty Lord Ungarit.
By the time the first snow came Orcxyl had made himself very comfortable. The onions and taters had done well and great bundles were piled in a dry corner. There was enough firewood to burn all winter stacked in neat rows all around the cabin adding to the thickness of the walls, and he had dried meat in some extra measure but he still hoped to hunt if the weather was not too severe. Throughout the autumn he had cut the grasses, using his somewhat reduced knife lashed to a bent pole as a scythe. The hay was bound in great bunches and sat upon rocks above the ground on the down weather side of most of the standing stones, for this was the best he could manage to keep it dry.
The marks upon the tomb door were added to each day, row upon row, and he knew the ordeal was almost half done, but he now worried greatly about the horses for they shivered in the night and he knew they would perish without shelter. He had thought of taking them to KingsLoss and indeed was well prepared to do so, but then he had an idea which if successful would not require such a journey. The ghost had returned over time and would sit with him by the fire in the cabin. For a long time it would not speak much but in the end it had started to talk and so a strange friendship had grown between the man with the supernatural sense and the apparition, for he knew it was lonely trapped in its strange world between life and a proper death. It had finally accepted that Zydor had fallen and so its great lust for revenge had been lost as well. You have no purpose ghost, Orcxyl thought often as they sat together whilst he would talk and the ghost listened sadly.
‘You love the horses,’ he said one night after a snowfall had covered the ground and dropped the temperature so that ice formed in the puddles, and the ghost became suddenly quite animated.
‘They are beautiful steeds. I know that my people lost them long ago and it caused a bitter war to try and find them, but then they never were. We though, even in Svalbard, thought they were gone forever until KingsLoss was discovered.’ The ghost nodded. ‘I would have given much to have just one such horse.’ And Orcxyl let the ghost think upon these things for while and then he spoke.
‘They are going to die,’ he said sadly and kicked the fire so that a cloud of sparks rose up the chimney. At this the ghost sat up and looked startled.
‘Why?’ said the ghost. ‘They are healthier than any horses I have ever seen.’
‘But you are a ghost,’ Orcxyl replied, and you forget the winters, for you do not feel the cold.’
And then the ghost understood.
‘The snows will kill them,’ it whispered in some distress, and Orcxyl nodded sadly. ‘Is there nothing that can be done?’ the ghost asked, but Orcxyl shook his head.
‘I cannot build them a shelter large enough.’
‘You have no ideas?’ the ghost continued and Orcxyl was encouraged by its concern.
‘Well,’ he replied, ‘only one, but it will not please you.’ And at this the ghost was immediately suspicious.
‘What idea do you have?’ it asked. Orcxyl took a breath.
‘The only empty tomb is yours ghost,’ he said, and the ghost recoiled.
‘Impossible,’ it retorted. ‘Tombs are for the dead. I cannot share my tomb with any other.’
‘Then the horses will die.’ Orcxyl said softly, ‘and you will add more regret to what you already carry.’ And at this the ghost tried to show its displeasure but found it could not for it was faced with truth.
It took six more days. Days in which the horses shivered and lost condition, and Orcxyl did not hold back in pointing this out to the stubborn ghost. In the end it came to the man as he carved another mark into the door of the tomb.
‘If I open my tomb for the horses,’ it said, ‘can I ride one?’ And Orcxyl laughed loud and long.
‘I am sure ghost, that will be easily arranged.’
And so it was, and first the ghost rode with Orcxyl until the horse grew used to the sense of the apparition upon its back, and then a mighty sight was seen in the Valley of the Kings, for those with the gift to see. A huge steed upon which rode a strange translucent figure, thundering up and down the Valley as other horses galloped beside snorting and cavorting in the fresh snow.
The ghost would not reveal how it opened the sealed tomb, but the door was high enough to allow the great horses entry, and there was room enough deep down in the vault below for all six with a little to spare for hay. Orcxyl did not step inside the tomb for fear of being trapped; he did not yet fully trust the ghost and so he gave the task of feeding the animals and caring for them to the ghost which seemed almost grateful to be asked, such was its love of the magnificent creatures. And thereafter Orcxyl knew the ghost had changed. It was once a king but now it was a stable hand, and seemed so much the happier... as far as he judged a ghost might show happiness.
The winter passed with deep snow and hot fires. Orcxyl spent long days making a tunic for Rayven from the wolf skins. He had a new knife which the ghost gave him and he used the sinews from the lynx cat which he hunted when the weather was fine, to sew the tunic together. He laboriously scrapped off all the wolf fur and then rubbed in oils from the cooking of the animals he killed for food. In the end he was proud of his work and the ghost took it down into the tomb where the five slept endlessly and laid it upon the woman. On its return it reported that it seemed to be a good size for her, and so it was hung in the dry from a wall by the fire to wait the time when it might be worn. The horses were allowed out of their shelter as often as the weather perm
itted and the ghost lost no opportunity to gallop madly about his small realm, and to Orcxyl it even seemed now to laugh at times, especially when it fell headlong, for it could not be hurt.
When the spring came Orcxyl created a new and bigger garden in which he planted more taters and wild onions and many herbs from the forest, not to mention blackberries and wild strawberries. These were nourished from the piles of steaming horse manure which the ghost had brought up from its tomb, and Orcxyl often wondered what the horses thought when seeing things all about them happen with no one visible at all. But they seemed contented and did not shy or baulk when the ghost was close or riding them. For the first time there were small animals in the Valley; this was noted by the ghost and Orcxyl suggested that it was because it was now less ghost and more human, which caused the ghost to ponder the matter for many days.
They talked now as if they were just two men. The evenings became a time of happy banter and the ghostly eighth King of Svalbard revealed many things about his life and times, which Orcxyl matched with stories of his hunting and the great grasslands by the Gnabi desert. But he said nothing of Freya, for that was not something he wished share, and besides there was a darkness to the ghost, for by its own admission it had approved the sacrifices and allowed Zydor a place in the kingdom in Svalbard. Orcxyl could not reconcile these things, but in the end allowed that the ghost’s previous life had long since come to an end, and there was a justice in its lonely predicament and some redemption in its present circumstances. And so things were left unsaid, and they found this best.
When the summer arrived and the horses no longer went into the tomb for shelter, Orcxyl knew there was one last problem for which he had no answer. He had no means to open the tomb and release the sleepers when the Solstice arrived, and the ghost had refused all attempts to talk about how this might be achieved despite it clearly knowing how. And so Orcxyl found himself giving more and more attention to the problem but it was beyond him. The careful marks he carved upon the tomb door each day without fail now made a clear statement of the ordeal of those within. When the rows of the marks came to seventeen, and each one a full score, he knew that there was but one row to complete, and then a handful after that. Eighteen score and one hand of days he had been taught as a child from solstice to solstice, and it drew quickly nearer and without any solution to the problem.
One night soon after, Orcxyl sought once more to find a way to get the ghost to reveal its secret about the opening of the tomb. They sat by a small fire which was more for light than heat for the days were warm and the nights barely less. They had talked of hunting and Orcxyl had explained to the ghost what his gift offered him, and why he always returned with a kill. The ghost was fascinated for it seemed the man lived partly in the world of the ghost to see such things.
‘The sleepers will wake soon ghost,’ Orcxyl said suddenly, changing the subject, but the ghost turned away and would not talk further.
‘I must get them out of the tomb ghost, surely after all this time you would not see them trapped and die within the vault.’ But the ghost shook its strange head and remained silent.
‘Then I will dig them out,’ Orcxyl went on angrily. The door might be enchanted and I cannot cut through stone, but I can dig through the side. I will start tomorrow for it will take me many days.’ At this the ghost gave an evil smile and shook its head even more vigorously.
‘You cannot do that,’ it said.
‘Why not ghost,’ Orcxyl replied. ‘What will stop me?’ The ghost then looked at Orcxyl and he thought he saw defeat and frustration in its ethereal face.
‘You do not understand man,’ the ghost continued. ‘These tombs are enchanted. They were built by Ungarit for the Kings of Svalbard. You cannot disturb them, for they heal themselves.’ At this Orcxyl sat back in surprise. He looked at the ghost which did not speak further.
‘We will see then,’ Orcxyl said finally, and then turning his back on the unco-operative ghost he went and lay on his bed, shut his eyes tight and thought long about his predicament. Sometime later when he looked about his cabin, the ghost had vanished.
In the early morning after he had made his usual mark upon the door of the tomb Orcxyl took his axe and the simple hoe and spade he had made, and five paces from the sealed door he began to dig into the tomb. He first prised loose a large stone and heaved it aside. Then another. Behind these he found more stones and these too he removed with great effort. Soon he had a breach in the stone wall a cubit wide and four cubits high. He then encountered smaller rocks, and these seemed easy to remove, so within a short time he had several large piles lying next to the larger stone he had removed at the start.
‘You cannot do it,’ a voice said suddenly from close by and Orcxyl looked up and saw the ghost sitting above him on the burial mound, watching.
‘I seem to be doing a fair job ghost,’ Orcxyl said, and indicated the piles of stone and rock, but the ghost just laughed.
‘You will see, man,’ it said and fell quiet, but seemed most interested in what was to come.
Orcxyl continued with his work and found the rocks and then the earth behind to be soft enough to dig quite easily. He worked without a break until exhausted. He stood back breathing hard. He had now made a short tunnel some three cubits deep into the side of the tomb. He stood back and surveyed what he had done.
‘This will take me a day at most ghost,’ he said. ‘You have sought to trick me.’
And with these words of quiet triumph Orcxyl walked to the stream and washed off the dirt and drank deeply. He stood and watched the horses gambolling and grazing in the sun further down the valley. He sat for a span and recovered his strength, and then went back to work afresh. The ghost sat in the same place and watched him come. Orcxyl took up his spade and stood before the place he had worked so hard all that morning.
But he stood open mouthed and aghast.
The tomb was undisturbed. Not the slightest evidence remained of anything he had done. The side of the tomb was as evenly dressed in the large stones as elsewhere. He could not even detect where first he had made his mark upon them.
‘What have you done ghost?’ Orcxyl cried in anger. ‘What fell magic have you wrought to defy me?’ But the ghost just shook its head.
‘I told you man, you cannot do it.’
Orcxyl ignored it, and grabbed at a large stone. He pulled it free and dragged it back some paces from where it had stood. Breathing hard as much from frustration as anything else he then sat by it and watched it like a snake might watch a mouse. The ghost too watched with great curiosity, but its interest was in the man and not the stone.
The man waited, hardly breathing. One span passed and then another. The man blinked the sweat from his eyes, and then it happened. The stone moved. It slid slowly across the turf and twisted and rose up and fell back into the place from where it had been removed. And Orcxyl cursed loudly and the ghost laughed even more.
‘Do you remember man when you found the tomb door shut and the rock you placed there to hold it open was gone?’ And Orcxyl remembered and looked at the ghost, and suddenly knew the truth of it.
‘The rock removed itself,’ Orcxyl whispered. ‘I thought you did it ghost.’
‘No, it was as you have seen, the stone removed itself and the door shut. I did not do it.’
And Orcxyl felt a mad rush of anger. He took his tools and stormed back to his cabin, hoping the ghost would leave him alone, but it did not and came and sat by him as if wanting to see what next might come to pass.
‘If you will not open the tomb then I will take the flat stones off the shafts on the other tombs,’ Orcxyl threatened and was greatly surprised when the ghost replied without any agitation.
‘That too will no longer work man,’ it said with smile.
‘Why... what has changed?’ Orcxyl demanded. ‘You once were terrified that I might do this.’
‘I was,’ the ghost replied, ‘but now it is too late, the time has passed and the other ghosts a
re gone.’ Orcxyl glared at the ghost.
‘I do not understand,’ he said.
‘Why would you?’ The ghost replied and they both fell silent, but now Orcxyl refused to speak and it was the ghost after a very long time that broke the silence.
‘This place... this Valley of the Kings was planned for torment. The tombs were not meant to hold us. All the Kings, and I the last of them were to be trapped here with eternal regret and hostility our only outlet. When I arrived due to murder and betrayal at Zydor’s hand I found seven other ghosts and they like me were full of angry revenge and vile emotions. The truth is man we all came to power by spilling blood. I slew King Svalbard the seventh and he before him took the throne with murder. So you can imagine the way we fought. Bitter accusation and vitriol filled this valley and prevented any living thing from remaining long.’ The ghost paused and Orcxyl sat enthralled at such an amazing story.
‘We all sought the worst for each other but we could not end it for we were ghosts. Torn between remaining to cause hurt and dying full to be released to rest is a terrible thing.’ The ghost looked at Orcxyl then and seemed to be distressed. ‘To be consumed with revenge and thoughts of violence which cannot be fulfilled is torment indeed. This Valley at night was a terrible place. And by day the tombs were some refuge for we faded in the sun although I least of all and so I had more freedom that the others.’
The ghost then pointed to the roof of the cabin where the massive leaning stone was covered in the neat lines of ancient runes. ‘It was I who read these and found the answer to our release, for these were here long before any murdered kings began to haunt the valley.’ And Orcxyl looked up and shivered, as the ghost continued its sombre story. ‘The shaft in the tombs gave air which revived the resting ghost which returned to their bodies in the day or as often as they wished. Close the shaft and the ghost is trapped, if the shaft is kept closed for long enough. It is part of the enchantment of the tombs, and you have seen, man, something of this today.’ They looked at each other then and Orcxyl knew the ghost spoke truly.
