Legends from the End of Time: Elric at the End of Time lfteot-5

by Michael Moorcock

  "Do, please, get in, " she said. "I am here to rescue you."

  " Shaarmraaam torjistoo quellahm vyeearrr ," said the stranger in an accent that seemed to Una to be vaguely Scottish.

  "Damn, " she said, "that's all we need." She had been anxious to approach the albino in private, before one of the denizens of the End of Time could arrive and select him for a menagerie, but now she regretted that Werther or perhaps Lord Jagged were not here, for she realized that she needed one of their translation pills, those tiny tablets which could "engineer" the brain to understand a new language. By a fluke — or perhaps because of her presence here so often — the people at the End of Time currently spoke formal early twentieth-century English.

  The albino — who wore a kind of tartan divided kilt, knee-length boots, a blue and white jerkin, a green cloak and a silver breastplate, with a variety of leather belts and metal buckles here and there upon his person — was vehemently refusing her offer of a lift. He raised the sword before him as he backed away, slipped once, reached the bank, scrambled through snow and disappeared behind a rock.

  Mrs Persson sighed and put the car into motion again.

  4 In which The Prince of Melnibone Encounters Further Terrors

  Xiombarg herself, thought Elric as he slid beneath the snows into the cave. Well, he would have no dealings with the Queen of Chaos; not until he was forced to do so.

  The cave was large. In the thin light from the gap above his head he could not see far. He wondered whether to return to the surface or risk going deeper into the cave. There was always the hope that he would find another way out. He was attempting to recall some rune that would aid him, but all he knew depended either upon the aid of elementals who did not exist on this plane, or upon the Lords of Chaos themselves — and they were unlikely to come to his assistance in their own realm. He was marooned here: the single mouse in a world of cats.

  Almost unconsciously, he found himself moving downwards, realizing that the cave had become a tunnel. He was feeling hungry but, apart from the monster and the woman in the magical carriage, had seen no sign of life. Even the cavern did not seem entirely natural.

  It widened; there was phosphorescent light. He realized that the walls were of transparent crystal and, behind the walls, were all manner of artefacts. He saw crowns, sceptres and chains of precious jewels; cabinets of complicated carving; weapons of strangely turned metal; armour, clothing, things whose use he could not guess — and food. There were sweetmeats, fruits, flans and pies, all out of reach.

  Elric groaned. This was torment. Perhaps deliberately planned torment. A thousand voices whispered to him in a beautiful, alien language.

  "Bie-meee … Bie-meee …" the voices murmured. " Baa-gen baa-gen …"

  They seemed to be promising every delight, if only he could pass through the walls; but they were of transparent quartz, lit from within. He raised Stormbringer, half-tempted to try to break down the barrier, but he knew that even his sword was, at its most powerful, incapable of destroying the magic of Chaos.

  He paused, gasping with astonishment at a group of small dogs which looked at him with large brown eyes, tongues lolling, and jumped up at him.

  "O, Nee Tubbens! " intoned one of the voices.

  "Gods! " screamed Elric. "This torture is too much! " He swung his body this way and that, threatening with his sword, but the voices continued to murmur and promise, displaying their riches but never allowing him to touch.

  The albino panted. His crimson eyes glared about him. "You would drive me insane, eh? Well, Elric of Melnibone has witnessed more frightful threats than this. You will need to do more if you would destroy his mind! "

  And he ran through the whispering passages, looking to neither his right nor his left, until, quite suddenly, he had run into blazing daylight and stood staring down into pale infinity — a blue and endless void.

  He looked up. And he screamed.

  Overhead were the gentle hills and dales of a rural landscape, with rivers, grazing cattle, woods and cottages. He expected to fall, headlong, but he did not. He was on the brink of the abyss. The cliff-face of red sandstone fell immediately below and then was the tranquil void. He looked back:

  "Baa-gen … O, Nee Tubbens …"

  A bitter smile played about the albino's bloodless lips as, decisively, he sheathed his sword.

  "Well, then, " he said. "Let them do their worst! "

  And, laughing, he launched himself over the brink of the cliff.

  5 In which Werther de Goethe Makes a Wonderful Discovery

  With a gesture of quiet pride, Werther de Goethe indicated his gigantic skull.

  "It is very large, Werther, " said Mistress Christia, the Everlasting Concubine, turning a power ring to adjust the shade of her eyes so that they perfectly matched the day.

  "It is monstrous, " said Werther modestly. "It reminds us all of the Inevitable Night."

  "Who was that?" enquired golden-haired Gaf the Horse in Tears, at present studying ancient legendry. "Sir Lew Grady?"

  "I mean Death, " Werther told him, "which overwhelms us all."

  "Well, not us, " pointed out the Duke of Queens, as usual a trifle literal minded. "Because we're immortal, as you know."

  Werther offered him a sad, pitying look and sighed briefly. "Retain your delusions, if you will."

  Mistress Christia stroked the gloomy Werther's long, dark locks. "There, there, " she said. "We have compensations, Werther."

  "Without Death, " intoned the Last Romantic, "there is no point to Life."

  As usual, they could not follow him, but they nodded gravely and politely.

  "The skull, " continued Werther, stroking the side of his air car (which was in the shape of a large flying reptile) to make it circle and head for the left eye-socket, "is a Symbol not only of our Mortality, but also of our Fruitless Ambitions."

  "Fruit?" Bishop Castle, drowsing at the rear of the vehicle, became interested. His hobby was currently orchards. "Less? My pine-trees, you know, are proving a problem. The apples are much smaller than I was led to believe."

  "The skull is lovely, " said Mistress Christia with valiant enthusiasm. "Well, now that we have seen it…"

  "The outward shell, " Werther told her. "It is what it hides which is more important. Man's Foolish Yearnings are all encompassed therein. His Greed, his Need for the Impossible, the Heat of his Passions, the Coldness which must Finally Overtake him. Through this eye-socket you will encounter a little invention of my own called The Bargain Basement of the Mind…"

  He broke off in astonishment.

  On the top edge of the eye-socket a tiny figure had emerged.

  "What's that?" enquired the Duke of Queens, craning his head back. "A random thought?"

  "It is not mine at all! "

  The figure launched itself into the sky and seemed to fly, with flailing limbs, towards the sun.

  Werther frowned, watching the tiny man disappear. "The gravity field is reversed there, " he said absently, "in order to make the most of the paradox, you understand. There is a snowscape, a desert…" But he was much more interested in the newcomer. "How do you think he got into my skull?"

  "At least he's enjoying himself. He seems to be laughing." Mistress Christia bent an ear towards the thin sound, which grew fainter and fainter at first, but became louder again. "He's coming back."

  Werther nodded. "Yes. The field's no longer reversed." He touched a power ring.

  The laughter stopped and became a yell of rage. The figure hurtled down on them. It had a sword in one white hand and its red eyes blazed.

  Hastily, Werther stroked another ring. The stranger tumbled into the bottom of the air car and lay there panting, cursing and groaning.

  "How wonderful! " cried Werther. "Oh, this is a traveller from some rich, romantic past. Look at him! What else could he be? What a prize! "

  The stranger rose to his feet and raised the sword high above his head, defying the amazed and delighted passengers as he screamed a
t the top of his voice:

  "Heeshgeegrowinaz! "

  "Good afternoon, " said Mistress Christia. She reached in her purse for a translation pill and found one. "I wonder if you would care to swallow this — it's quite harmless…"

  "Yakoom, oom glallio ", said the albino contemptuously.

  "Aha, " said Mistress Christia. "Well, just as you please."

  The Duke of Queens pointed towards the other socket. A huge, whirring beetle came sailing from it. In its back was someone he recognized with pleasure. "Mrs Persson! "

  Una brought her air car alongside.

  "Is he in your charge?" asked Werther with undisguised disappointment. "If so, I could offer you…"

  "I'm afraid he means a lot to me, " she said.

  "From your own age?" Mistress Christia also recognized Una. She still offered the translation pill in the palm of her hand. "He seems a mite suspicious of us."

  "I'd noticed, " said Una. "It would be useful if he would accept the pill. However, if he will not, one of us…"

  "I would be happy, " offered the generous Duke of Queens. He tugged at his green and gold beard. "Werther de Goethe, Mrs Persson."

  "Perhaps I had better, " said Una nodding to Werther. The only problem with translation pills was that they did their job so thoroughly. You could speak the language perfectly, but you could speak no other.

  Werther was, for once, positive. "Let's all take a pill, " he suggested.

  Everyone at the End of Time carried translation pills, in case of meeting a visitor from Space or the Past.

  Mistress Christia handed hers to Una and found another. They swallowed.

  "Creatures of Chaos, " said the newcomer with cool dignity, "I demand that you release me. You cannot hold a mortal in this way, not unless he has struck a bargain with you. And no bargain was struck which would bring me to the Realm of Chaos."

  "It's actually more orderly than you'd think, " said Werther apologetically. "Your first experience, you see, was the world of my skull, which was deliberately muddled. I meant to show what Confusion was the Mind of Man…"

  "May I introduce Mistress Christia, the Everlasting Concubine, " said the Duke of Queens, on his best manners. "This is Mrs Persson, Bishop Castle, Gaf the Horse in Tears. Werther de Goethe — your unwitting host — and I am the Duke of Queens. We welcome you to our world. Your name, sir…?"

  "You must know me, my lord duke, " said Elric. "For I am Elric of Melnibone, Emperor by Right of Birth, Inheritor of the Ruby Throne, Bearer of the Actorios, Wielder of the Black Sword…"

  "Indeed! " said Werther de Goethe. In a whispered aside to Mrs Persson: "What a marvellous scowl! What a noble sneer! "

  "You are an important personage in your world, then?" said Mistress Christia, fluttering the eyelashes she had just extended by half an inch. "Perhaps you would allow me…"

  "I think he wishes to be returned to his home, " said Mrs Persson hastily.

  "Returned?" Werther was astonished. "But the Morphail Effect! It is impossible."

  "Not in this case, I think, " she said. "For if he is not returned there is no telling the fluctuations which will take place throughout the dimensions…"

  They could not follow her, but they accepted her tone.

  "Aye, " said Elric darkly, "return me to my realm, so that I may fulfil my own doom-laden destiny…"

  Werther looked upon the albino with affectionate delight. "Aha! A fellow spirit! I, too, have a doom-laden destiny."

  "I doubt it is as doom-laden as mine." Elric peered moodily back at the skull as the two air cars fled away towards a gentle horizon where exotic trees bloomed.

  "Well, " said Werther with an effort, "perhaps it is not, though I assure you…"

  "I have looked upon hell-born horror, " said Elric, "and communicated with the very Gods of the Uttermost Darkness. I have seen things which would turn other men's minds to useless jelly…"

  "Jelly?" interrupted Bishop Castle. "Do you, in your turn, have any expertise with, for instance, blackbird trees?"

  "Your words are meaningless, " Elric told him, glowering. "Why do you torment me so, my lords? I did not ask to visit your world. I belong in the world of men, in the Young Kingdoms, where I seek my weird. Why, I have but lately experienced adventures…"

  "I do think we have one of those bores, " murmured Bishop Castle to the Duke of Queens, "so common amongst time travellers. They all believe themselves unique."

  But the Duke of Queens refused to be drawn. He had developed a liking for the frowning albino. Gaf the Horse in Tears was also plainly impressed, for he had fashioned his own features into a rough likeness of Elric's. The Prince of Melnibone pretended insouciance, but it was evident to Una that he was frightened. She tried to calm him.

  "People here at the End of Time…" she began.

  "No soft words, my lady." A cynical smile played about the albino's lips. "I know you for that great unholy temptress, Queen of the Swords, Xiombarg herself."

  "I assure you, I am as human as you, sir…"

  "Human? I, human? I am not human, madam — though I be a mortal, 'tis true. I am of older blood, the blood of the Bright Empire itself, the Blood of R'lin K'ren A'a which Cran Liret mocked, not understanding what it was he laughed at. Aye, though forced to summon aid from Chaos, I made no bargain to become a slave in your realm…"

  "I assure you — um — your majesty, " said Una, "that we had not meant to insult you and your presence here was no doing of ours. I am, as it happens, a stranger here myself. I came especially to see you, to help you escape…"

  "Ha! " said the albino. "I have heard such words before. You would lure me into some worse trap than this. Tell me, where is Duke Arioch? He, at least, I owe some allegiance to."

  "We have no-one of that name, " apologized Mistress Christia. She enquired of Gaf, who knew everyone. "No time traveller?"

  "None, " Gaf studied Elric's eyes and made a small adjustment to his own. He sat back, satisfied.

  Elric shuddered and turned away mumbling.

  "You are very welcome here, " said Werther. "I cannot tell you how glad I am to meet one as essentially morbid and self-pitying as myself! "

  Elric did not seem flattered.

  "What can we do to make you feel at home?" asked Mistress Christia. She had changed her hair to a rather glossy blue in the hope, perhaps, that Elric would find it more attractive. "Is there anything you need?"

  "Need? Aye. Peace of mind. Knowledge of my true destiny. A quiet place where I can be with Cymoril, whom I love."

  "What does this Cymoril look like?" Mistress Christia became just a trifle over-eager.

  "She is the most beautiful creature in the universe, " said Elric.

  "It isn't very much to go on, " said Mistress Christia. "If you could imagine a picture, perhaps? There are devices in the old cities which could visualize your thoughts. We could go there. I should be happy to fill in for her, as it were…"

  "What? You offer me a simulacrum? Do you not think I should detect such witchery at once? Ah, this is loathsome! Slay me, if you will, or continue the torment. I'll listen no longer! "

  They were floating now, between high cliffs. On a ledge far below a group of time travellers pointed up at them. One waved desperately.

  "You've offended him, Mistress Christia, " said Werther pettishly. "You don't understand how sensitive he is."

  "Yes I do." She was aggrieved. "I was only being sympathetic."

  "Sympathy! " Elric rubbed at his long, somewhat pointed jaw. "Ha! What do I want with sympathy?"

  "I never heard anyone who wanted it more." Mistress Christia was kind. "You're like a little boy, really, aren't you?"

  "Compared to the ancient Lords of Chaos, I am a child, aye. But my blood is old and cold, the blood of decaying Melnibone, as well you know." And with a huge sigh the albino seated himself at the far end of the car and rested his head on his fist. "Well? What is your pleasure, my lords and ladies of Hell?"

  "It is your pleasure we are anxiou
s to achieve, " Werther told him. "Is there anything at all we can do? Some environment we can manufacture? What are you used to?"

  "Used to? I am used to the crack of leathery dragon wings in the sweet, sharp air of the early dawn. I am used to the sound of red battle, the drumming of hooves on bloody earth, the screams of the dying, the yells of the victorious. I am used to warring against demons and monsters, sorcerers and ghouls. I have sailed on magic ships and fought hand to hand with reptilian savages. I have encountered the Jade Man himself. I have fought side by side with the elementals, who are my allies. I have battled black evil…"

  "Well, " said Werther, "that's something to go on, at any rate. I'm sure we can…"

  "Lord Elric won't be staying, " began Una Persson politely. "You see — these fluctuations in the megaflow — not to mention his own destiny… He should not be here, at all, Werther."

  "Nonsense! " Werther flung a black velvet arm about the stiff shoulders of his new friend. "It is evident that our destinies are one. Lord Elric is as grief-haunted as myself! "

  "How can you know what it is to be haunted by grief?" murmured the albino. His face was half-buried in Werther's generous sleeve.

  Mrs Persson controlled herself. She rose from Werther's air car and made for her own. "Well, " she said, "I must be off. I hope to see you later, everybody."

  They sang out their farewells.

  Una Persson turned her beetle westward, towards Castle Canaria, the home of her old friend Lord Jagged.

  She needed help and advice.

  6 In which Elric of Melnibone Resists the Temptations of the Chaos Lords

  Elric reflected on the subtle way in which laughing Lords of Chaos had captured him. Apparently, he was merely a guest and quite free to wander where he would in their realm. Actually, he was in their power as much as if they had chained him, for he could not flee this flying dragon and they had already demonstrated their enormous magical gifts in subtle ways, primarily with their shapechanging. Only the one who called himself Werther de Goethe (plainly a leader in the hierarchy of Chaos) still had the face and clothing he had worn when first encountered.