In the Moons of Borea

by Brian Lumley

  The bully immediately doubled forward, breath whistling from him. His descending chin met the clasped fists of the Warlord as they rose from knee level. It was a rapid combination of blows delivered by an expert; certainly it would have killed many a lesser man. As it was, Harold was lifted right off his feet, stretched out on the sand like a felled oak.

  De Marigny had guessed the outcome of any contest' between his companion and the bullying Viking, and he had foreseen the natural aftermath. Now, as Harold's 1 henchmen made to strike — the one lifting his axe while the other drew back his sword — he cried out: 'Hold . . or be whirled aloft by angry winds and thrown down into the sea to drown!'

  And with that he made a swift motion with his hand, as if casting sand in the faces of the two who threatened the Warlord. On the instant, as their eyes swivelled toward him and their blows were momentarily checked, twin spirals of sand and pebbles grew up from the beach, leaped upon the two and enveloped them, whirling them about and casting them down. For a few seconds, where a mere moment of time ago only a breeze had whispered off the sea, the wind whined its rage and drove sand up the beach in stinging flurries. Then there was quiet again.

  The two Vikings, thoroughly cowed and shaken, carefully climbed to their feet and backed off, then turned and ran, fighting their way through the crush of silent, wide-eyed observers. And not once during the confrontation had the visitors from the skies reached for their own weapons .. .

  The witch-wife, herself amazed at the way things had gone, but quick to take advantage of the situation, cried: `Now lift your blades high and give these men welcome for what they are: true emissaries of Ithaqua, Lord of the Winds!'

  `Aye,' cried Erik and Rory in unison, `here's a good strong arm for Lord Ithaqua's proven emissaries!' And the crowd on the beach joined in, lifting up their weapons and their voices in an accolade which was only cut short by Annahilde.

  `And now,' she shouted above the general babble, 'to complete the day, comes Thonjolf himself.' She pointed out to sea where, from behind the tall rocks at the mouth of the fjord, the dragon prow of a magnificently painted longship had appeared. There, in the prow at the neck of the nodding dragon, stood a man taller by inches than the tallest of his clan; a man whose stature, even as seen from the beach, was obviously that of a giant among giants, his red hair blowing behind him like a mane in the breeze from the open sea.

  'Thonjolf the Red,' Annahilde cried again. 'And what news we have for him, eh, lads? For he's never had visitors such as these before. Men from the skies sent by the Wind-Walker himself — emissaries of Ithaqua!'

  Later, ostensibly as guests in Annahilde's house — a thatched, single-storey affair of two small bedrooms, a kitchen half-open to the sky, and a living room of sorts where now they rested at their ease, or as best they could, on low wooden benches decked with smelly furs — Hank Silberhutte and Henri-Laurent de Marigny held a muted conversation. Outside the door to this crude but comparatively clean shelter, the two brothers Rory and Erik silently squatted like human watchdogs.

  The visitors from Borea were unable to say whether they were under the quiet protection or merely the wary scrutiny of Annahilde's sons, but whichever way it was, at least they each had felt sufficiently secure to snatch a few hours sleep. While it had not been immediately apparent, their hurtling voyage through the void had been both physically and mentally strenuous; now, with a pint of sweet, sticky ale inside them along with a plate of smoky, half-cooked meat of undetermined origin, they felt up to facing their next problem as it presented itself.

  Of the events immediately following on Thonjolf's return to his clan: that had been something of an anticlimax. And little wonder he was occasionally known as Thonjolf the Silent!

  The chief had left his longship with his retinue of a dozen or so men, had briefly inspected the visitors, had grunted sourly at the sight of his son snoring on the beach, and had patiently given ear to Annahilde's shrill outline of events. Indeed her ragged figure and wild-eyed look had seemed to command their fair share of respect from the chief.

  Then, following an aerial demonstration by de Marigny and the flying cloak, Thonjolf had gone off with the witch-wife and several members of the clan into the meeting-house. If the chief had been impressed by de Marigny's triumph over gravity, it had not showed, except perhaps in a slight arcing of his bushy red eyebrows.

  And it was the general response to their coming — or rather the lack of response — that formed the topic of conversation between de Marigny and Silberhutte in Annahilde's house.

  ‘I don't understand it,' de Marigny said. 'I always believed the Vikings to be a fiery, volatile people. The type of folk who would make a lot of an "omen" such as we've provided. Yet here we are, a pair of near-dwarfs, flying in like something out of the Arabian Nights, "emissaries of Ithaqua" and all that; not to mention your knocking the chief's son out cold. I mean, by my reckoning we should either be hanging up by our thumbs somewhere by now, or else occupying Thonjolf's throne — if he has one!'

  Silberhutte nodded. 'Yes, it puzzled me, too, at first. But the more I think of it —'

  `Yes?'

  `Well, to start with, visitors from the skies are by no means unheard of on Numinos, Henri. Ithaqua's comings and goings must be fairly frequent.'

  `Not too frequent, I hope,' de Marigny answered with feeling.

  `And then there's Annahilde and her hallucinatory powders,' the Warlord continued. 'You'll recall Harold mentioned them? If all of the clans come equipped with witch-wives, and if all of them know where to lay their hands on the plants or whatever they use to concoct their powders ... little wonder it requires a lot to make your average Numinosian Viking sit up and take notice! And just suppose Ithaqua had sent us here — how would you react if you were a Viking?'

  'I'd be pretty wary, I suppose.'

  Silberhutte nodded. 'Sure you would — and that was more or less the reaction we got. Except from Harold, who's a pretty stupid bully. And I fancy that even he was only trying to assert himself in his father's absence. As for the chief himself: Thonjolf strikes me as a man with a lot on his limited mind, namely this big meeting he's just back from and the upcoming raid on the Isle of Mountains. What with those things, and on top of them Ithaqua sending us as emissaries to his clan — which must strike him as a hell of a thing despite his nearly negative reaction — and at the same time having to bear the responsibility for the actions of his oaf of a son .

  `I suppose you're right,' de Marigny conceded. 'But it still doesn't get us any closer to finding the time-clock.'

  `No, but unless my ears deceive me, here's Annahilde now. On her own by the sound of it. This could be the ideal opportunity to fill in on background information — and at the same time try and find out about the clock. Let's see what she has to say.'

  The gabble of the witch-wife's voice grew louder as she approached the house, questioning her sons about the welfare of the strangers. They answered her respectfully if noncommittally, and she gave them permission to go down to the meetinghouse. Apparently the building within the stockade doubled not only as a throne room but also as a drinking place. A moment later she came through the door, closing it carefully behind her. Then she cocked her head to one side and listened, waiting for a few moments to ensure that her sons had indeed left their posts as instructed.

  Satisfied, she turned at last and said: Now then, the pair of you, let's have it.'

  'Let's have it?' de Marigny queried, doing his best to look blank.

  `No games!' Annahilde cautioned. `You are not sent by Ithaqua, I know that. I knew it from the moment I touched-you.' She grasped their arms. `See! See! You' — she stared- at Silberhutte —'A, you have known Ithaqua's touch, his carmine gaze, his icy breath in your face, aye. But you are not his. He has chilled your blood, true, but you are your own man.'

  She turned to de Marigny. 'And you — you, too, have met the Wind-Walker, but he has not touched you. Your blood is still warm. No, you are not Children of the Winds .
.. so what are you? I do not even believe you to be of Numinos. But if not Numinos, where else?'

  The two looked at each other, silent for a moment, then Silberhutte said: 'Annahilde, it seems we're forced to trust you. No, we are not Ithaqua's emissaries, and we are not men of Numinos. I am Hank Silberhutte, Warlord of the Plateau on Borea. My people are sworn enemies of Ithaqua. This man' — he placed a hand on de Marigny's shoulder — 'is Henri-Laurent de Marigny, and he is from the Motherworld. I, too, was born on Earth, but Borea is now my homeworld.'

  If Annahilde's eyes had gone wide when Silberhutte spoke of Borea, they became huge orbs at mention of the Motherworld. 'Men of Earth, here on Numinos?' she gasped. 'And not by Ithaqua's hand! But how? Why?'

  `The how of it will have to wait,' de Marigny told her. 'As for why we are here: we seek a . . . a box.'

  'A box?'

  'One big enough to contain a man. A box shaped like this — ' and he drew a coffin-shape with his foot on the dirt floor. 'It's mine, taken from me by Ithaqua. I want it back.'

  She nodded earnestly. 'Yes, I know something of your box -- but only tell me what you want with it, what you would do with it? Of what use is a box?'

  'It is a device for travelling between worlds, for jumping backward and forward through time itself,' Silberhutte told her. 'My friend was questing after Elysia and had barely arrived on Borea when Ithaqua stole his travelling box away.'

  `Elysia!' she seemed astounded.

  `Elysia is — ' de Marigny began.

  But Annahilde quickly cut him off. 'The home of the Great Elder Gods — I know, I know!' Now she grabbed their wrists tight in claws like steel traps. 'I thought when first I saw you flying in off the sea that someone had blown my own powders in my face. Now — ' She shook her head in amazement. 'Yours is the true magic!'

  'Annahilde,' de Marigny urgently took her hands in his. 'Where is the time-clock — my box, I mean? I must find it.'

  Her eyes narrowed and she peered at her visitors cannily before answering. 'Have no fear, you shall know the whereabouts of your box . . . in good time. Before that there is something you must do for me.'

  4 The Witch-Wife's Tale

  `The Vikings have been here for thousands of years; Annahilde began. 'I know, for I am one who can read the old writings. It is all in the Two Books: in the Book of Earth the Motherworld and in the Book of Numinos. The histories were handed down from father to son until later, when Ithaqua brought others who had writing, and then they were written in words in the Two Books.' Here she closed her eyes and lay back her head, so that it was as if she quoted from a book in her mind:

  `And it was Ithaqua brought the first men into Borea, and into Numinos, and many among the latter were Norsemen. This was before the time of the iron swords, but later they too came with men of the Motherworld brought into Numinos by Ithaqua. And the Wind-Walker said unto the tribes that he was their God and they would worship him, and in Norenstadt his pyramid altar was builded where it stands to this day.

  `And the Vikings multiplied in Numinos and the tribes were many; for the Great God Ithaqua' (she spat these last words out, as she did whenever she spoke of the Wind-Walker) 'had filled the ocean with fishes great and small and had carpeted the islands with grasses and peopled them with animals, all for the needs of the Vikings. But Ithaqua was a hard God and cold, and at times he would take the loveliest daughters of the tribes for his own to fly off with them into the lands beyond the Great Ice Wall. Aye, but he rarely brought them back, and those he brought back were mazed and cold and rarely lived long.

  `Among those that lived, several were with child, but such instances were always many years apart. Whole generations of Vikings would go by, and then, again, the Wind-Walker would get a woman with child. When born, all such spawn of Ithaqua were freaks or monsters, and all died with only one recorded exception. This child was so evil of aspect and inclination a black vampire from birth that pulled blood and not milk from its mother's breast — that the chief of her tribe tore it from her and put it down with fire.

  'And lthaqua when he came again to Numinos and when his priests told him what had transpired — then it was that he destroyed the entire tribe which lived in that place; and his wrath and the storms he brought, which lashed all of Numinos, were awful in their might!

  `And yet the tribes knew that the Storm-God himself would have put down his child if he had seen it, for he was desirous of a beautiful child and of human form . . . why else would he choose the loveliest girls with which to mate? Then, because of Ithaqua's unending cruelties — which were such that his comings were dreaded and his goings much applauded in secret and out of earshot of his priests — it came about that the tribes turned against their God and defied him.

  `Parents were wont to hide away their girl-children, especially those of lovely aspect, when they knew that Ithaqua was due to walk the winds of Numinos once more; and the God's chill-hearted priests, even those priests given over utterly to his worship, they became prone to peculiar accidents and fatal misadventures in their master's absence. But in the end the Storm-God knew how his people worked against him, and he waxed wroth indeed!

  `He set the tribes one against the next until all Numinos burned from end to end, and the fires of blazing settlements were hotter than the lava that bubbles on the Islands of Fire. And at the last, when the tribes of Numinos were decimated, the Wind-Walker stood in the sky and laughed. He laughed — then rained down lightnings and sent storms racing across the ravished land and caused the very seas to wash the islands.

  `And so all Numinos bowed down before him, and those who lived swore fealty to him, lest he destroy the Viking tribes forever . . .' Here Annahilde paused and got her breath before going on.

  'These things,' she finally continued, 'are written. It is also written that at last Ithaqua looked on Numinos and saw the tribes were penitent. Then he brought others here who were not Vikings though much like them; sturdy men and women of the Motherworld, they were, whose weapons and culture and tongue were different; and it was seen that the Wind-Walker would change the blood of the tribes, would produce women of great beauty and strength to satisfy his lusts and bear him the offspring he desired .

  They waited for her to go on, but she seemed to have talked herself out. Finally Silberhutte asked: 'And did he ever achieve his ambition? I think not, knowing how Armandra has never totally bowed to her father's will.'

  `No, he did not,' she quickly answered, shaking her head in glad denial, 'though he surely tried. He made it law that the most handsome and strongest youths of the tribes — which were now called clans — could take only the loveliest girls for brides, so that their children in turn would be beautiful and strong and the maidens pleasing in Ithaqua's eyes. So it came to pass that after eleven generations an entire tribe or clan of chosen people had grown up and dwelled upon one especially green and beautiful island. And Ithaqua looked upon the maidens of this wondrous clan and was sorely tempted, yet he held off and bided his time while eleven more generations passed. And now at last there were two couples on the island whose perfection of form and feature was a wonder to behold even in a clan whose least handsome member was beautiful, and both women of these couples were with child. The greatest seers of the time examined them, declaring that the children would be female.

  `Then lthaqua came again to Numinos and went into the beautiful isle. There he set aside certain elders to serve the mothers of his hoped-for future brides, and having done so, he put down the rest of the clan — all of them, man, woman, and child — out of hand!

  'He did this — for what good reason? — and all for naught. There had been much inbreeding in the isle's two and twenty generations, which previously had only shown itself in the infrequent birth of a beautiful idiot. Out of fear, these children the clan secretly put down. But now —

  — Not only were the children of those last two unfortunate women imbeciles, they were also hideous; aye, and both of them girls, as had been foreseen! In a single blow —
a blow delivered perhaps by the clean old gods of Earth — all of Ithaqua's plans were destroyed. And he saw what was become of his dream and went away from Numinos for long- and long. Then, when they thought he was gone forever and those who knew the old legends had turned again to serving the olden gods of the Motherworld, the Wind-Walker returned and brought his fearful oppressions back with him.

  `He put down the worship of the Earth gods and their priests and once again was wont to fly away with and ravish the loveliest maidens, and ever and ever he sought to produce a child in his own and in Man's image. So things stood for an hundred years — until some sixty-three years gone.' Again she paused.

  `Sixty-three years ago?' de Marigny prompted her. `Something happened then?'

  'Aye, for that was when he brought a ship of the Motherworld to Numinos; and in that small ship were a man and wife, two strong sons and a daughter of some twelve years. And they were the first people of Earth that Numinos had seen in over five hundred years. The wife was a lovely woman even in her middle years, the husband handsome, and the sons firm limbed and clever. And the girl-child was lovely.

  'They were brought here, where Thonjolf's grandfather was the then chief, and some few years later the girl married a fine young man of the clan. Thin daughters came of that marriage, aye, and I was one of them . .

  'You?' Silberhutte stared at her, intrigued by her story.

  'Ah!' — I see what you are thinking,' the witch-wife cried. 'You wonder how I could possibly come of such a mating. Let me tell you that in girlhood I was not uncomely, that even now beneath the grime and the lines of age and pain I have beauty. But I am called "hag" and that is the way the clan knows me; it is the way I live, have lived since — ' Abruptly she stopped.