In the Moons of Borea

by Brian Lumley

  She paused and gasped, her eyes widening, then drew quickly back as de Marigny traced out a sign with his foot in the dirt of the floor. The shape he had drawn was that of a five-pointed star!

  'Are you telling us that the Isle of Mountains is in the form of a star?' he asked.

  'He makes the sign,' Annahilde whispered, pointing at the star-shape, 'and speaks its name!'

  Silberhutte too had drawn back from the abhorred symbol, but now, with an expression of disgust flitting briefly across his face, he quickly advanced and scuffed out the sign with the toe of a fur-booted foot. 'Is my friend right, Annahilde?'

  She nodded. 'Indeed he is. Of all the hundreds of islands in the seas of Numinos, the Isle of Mountains alone is protected from Ithaqua's wrath — by its very shape! That shape is hurtful to him.'

  'That is something we readily understand,' Silberhutte answered. 'But tell me, since the majority of living beings who have known the curse of Ithaqua are similarly affected by the symbol, how is it that the Isle of Mountains is not lethal to them also? How may one seek shelter in a poisoned place?'

  'It is the degree of kinship that accounts for it,' the witch-wife explained. 'The Wind-Walker's priests could not even set foot upon the isle, let alone live there. But warm ones such as Henri and Moreen, and others long fled there, are unaffected.'

  The Warlord frowned but remained silent. -

  'My friend wonders how the Isle of Mountains will affect him,' de Marigny explained. 'He has had much to do with Ithaqua, in one way or another.'

  She shrugged, glancing thoughtfully at Silberhutte. 'I cannot say. I do not know. We can only wait and see . .

  Finally the Warlord looked up, and the frown slipped from his face. He grinned, however ruefully. 'Well, I've had my share of this sort of problem before and come through it. There was a time when we turned the entire roof of the plateau on Borea into a huge star. There's nothing to be gained in worrying about it now. As Annahilde says, we can only wait and see.' He turned to her: 'But how do we go about looking for the Isle of Mountains? Will you give us directions, Annahilde?'

  'No,' she shook her head. 'You will not go on your own. You will be carried there in Thonjoff's longships.'

  'In the longships?' de Marigny frowned. 'Are you saying that the whole clan is defecting?'

  `No, no,' she repeated. 'Oh, there was some such plan once mooted — but soon forsaken.'

  'But why?'

  'Because three years ago when Ithaqua came to Numinos and discovered Moreen fled, he told his priests in Norenstadt that it was his intention in the near future to send all the Vikings against the Isle of Mountains — to kill all therein except the girl — which means that to flee there now is to commit suicide. And the meeting of chiefs from which Thonjolf has just returned confirms the Wind-Walker's intentions. However.,' she paused.

  `Go on, Annahilde,' Silberhutte urged.

  'You two will be there before the Viking hordes. I have convinced Thonjolf that you are come here to lead his clan in the first assault upon the island — that you wish neither to wait for nor to join the main attack under Leif Dougalson — and that in this way, and by fetching Moreen out of the Isle of Mountains, the clan may regain Ithaqua's favour. I said, these things to explain why you are here; also to ensure you reach the island before the bulk of the Vikings.'

  Now it was once more the big Texan's turn to frown. 'Surely we could get there much faster on our own?' he said.

  `Perhaps you could — if you knew the way,' she answered. 'But that is the one thing I cannot tell you. Only the sea captains know the location of the Isle of Mountains, and of course they have always shunned it — except for a trickle of refugees from Ithaqua's tyranny.'

  'And when do the longships leave?' de Marigny asked. 'The men prepare them even now,' she replied, 'and they set sail.at the next Darkhour.'

  'Darkhour?' Silberhutte queried.

  `That is the time when the sun is more than half-eclipsed by Borea. Always the sun hangs close behind Borea, but when the two seem to merge in the sky until the sun is two-thirds obscured, that is Darkhour. On the other hand; `Lighthour' is when the rims of the sun and Borea separate, however fractionally. From one Lighthour to the next is a 'day' on Numinos. According to the old books about one hundred such days are equal to one "year" in the Motherworld'

  Here de Marigny spoke up. 'I know a little astronomy —, a little science, physics,' he said, 'and by all Earthly laws this planetary system can't work.' Then, seeing that Silberhutte was about to voice his usual protest, he added: 'Oh, I know, I know: this isn't Earth, not even the same universe we were born in — but it's baffling nevertheless.'

  `That's as it may be,' Silberhutte mused, 'but what Annahilde says explains a thing or two. Borea and its moons — if they really are moons and not a couple of minor planets — occupy fixed positions on a slightly crooked line, at the inner end of which stands the sun. That's why, seen from Bores, the moons are always partially eclipsed. The plateau must stand just sufficiently far around the curve of Borea to permanently hide the sun from view, which is why the plateau exists in a permanent half-light. When the moons are in Borea's shadow, there's always a false-dawn effect caused by the sun getting as close as it ever comes to rising. And when the sun shines full on the moons, they reflect its light upon Borea, maintaining a sort of balance. If my own knowledge of astronomy had been a little better, I might long ago have realized that there must be a sun. The regular shadow that half-obscures the moons should have told me as much on its own!'

  'But you've always more than half-suspected it,' said de Marigny.

  `Yes, I have. And just think: if on my expeditions I had ever managed to push on a few more miles away from Borea's twilight zone — why — I might well have seen my first Borean sunrise!' He paused for a moment and his expression grew more serious. 'Right now, however, we're more interested in the next Darkhour than in any future sunrise.'

  `That's right,' de Marigny agreed, turning back to Annahilde. 'So we set sail for the Isle of Mountains at Darkhour. And when we get there and find Moreen? And after she translates your letter and tells us where we may find the time-clock? What then?'

  She shrugged. 'That is out of my hands. But Moreen must not be harmed, and she must not be brought back here where Ithaqua can find her. She is a woman now. He would not hesitate . .

  'About Moreen,' de Marigny said. 'There's one more thing I don't understand. One thing about her, and one about Ithaqua.'

  'Say on,' she nodded, 'but be quick. I must report to Thonjolf. Later there will be feasting and drinking, then all will sleep — including you two, for you'll need your strength — and when you next awaken, it will be Darkhour.'

  `Two questions, that's all. How is it that the clan, which you say loved Moreen, now turns so readily against her? And why did lthaqua not take some terrible revenge on discovering that the girl had fled from him? I would have thought he would utterly destroy the clan of Thonjolf.'

  'Ah, but that was some three or four years ago,' she answered, 'and when Ithaqua visited Numinos at that time he had other things to worry about. I was studying the books in Norenstadt when he came, and I saw him. I believe he was wounded!'

  `Wounded?'

  `Aye, for he sat on his pyramid throne and rocked to and fro and he held up a great hand to his eye, from which trickles of carmine fire dripped like vile blood!'

  The Warlord nodded. 'That was my doing,' he said, showing neither pride nor modesty. 'When Ithaqua attacked the roof of the plateau with his kite-warriors, I struck him through the eye with a star-stone-tipped spear.'

  'Your doing?' Annahilde was astounded. 'You struck him? A mere man against the Wind-Walker?' For a moment she was dumbstruck, then she laughed delightedly. 'And did I not say you reminded me of Hamish?'

  Again the Texan nodded. 'You did, but my weapon was far more potent than any sword, Annahilde. Your Hamish was a hero, while I was merely desperate! But in any case you were going to tell us about the clan's change of h
eart toward Moreen. How did it come about?'

  She shrugged fatalistically. 'There were always the jealous ones. Then, after the near-slaughter of the clan and the destruction of the settlement when Ithaqua found Moreen and Garven together — aye, and once she was fled, the sure knowledge that Ithaqua must sooner or later exact an even more terrible vengeance —' Again she shrugged.

  Noreen was a loved one, yes, but the families of the clan have their own loved ones to worry over. It has been four years since I sent the lass away; sufficient time for the clan to transfer all the blame upon her innocent head. They forget that the only one to blame is the one who walks on the wind. But who am I to judge them? Now, with your coming, they grasp at their one chance to redeem themselves in Ithaqua's eyes. No, I do not blame them — I pity them.'

  After pausing reflectively, the witch-wife continued in a lighter tone. 'Now then, before I report to Thonjolf — and just in case no further chance presents itself between now and Darkhour — I have something to give you.'

  From pockets hidden in her ragged clothing she drew out two small skin pouches. 'This one,' she said, passing it to de Marigny, 'is for you. It contains herbs and salts crushed to a powder. Individually the ingredients are of no consequence; as I have prepared them, they form a powerful potion. The powder is to be taken carefully and sparingly.'

  `But what does it do?' de Marigny asked, weighing the pouch in his hand. 'And why do you give it to me and not the Warlord?'

  `He has no need of it,' she answered, 'for he feels only the utmost extremes of cold. You, on the other hand, are a warm one. The powder will keep you warm when the cold would otherwise kill you!'

  Silberhutte eyed the other pouch. 'And that one?' he asked.

  She smiled cannily. 'Ah, this one is a small magic in support of those you already possess. No mage in all Numinos prepares a more effective dreaming powder than Annahilde the witch-wife. Nor is it necessary for a man to sleep in order to dream. Simply blow the powder in the faces of any you would confuse or dismay. Look — '

  She opened the neck of the pouch and took the merest pinch of a blue powder from it, blowing it from her palm into their faces before they could turn away. The powder settled on their lips, in their eyes. It entered their nostrils.

  Then —

  Silberhutte reeled as if struck with a sledgehammer. He threw himself against a wall, weaving, dodging, feinting, his arms and hands a blur as he batted away the myriad axes that flew at him from all directions, hurled by invisible hands. At the same time de Marigny leaped back from a black chasm that gaped open at his feet, where far below he glimpsed needle peaks that seemed to pull at him with a weird magnetism, demanding that he hurl himself to his death! Instead of 'escaping' from the chasm's edge he fell backward over a bench to sit jarringly on the dirt floor.

  For both men the uncanny experience of being removed instantly from Annahilde's house into unknown realms of terror was totally real; so that when, scant seconds later, the powder-inspired visions faded and were replaced by the room they recognized and their laughing hostess, then their astonishment was complete.

  She gave them no opportunity for comments or further questions, however, but clasped their strong arms to assure them that reality had indeed returned, then briefly studied their startled faces with bright eyes. Satisfied with what she saw, she nodded. 'Most effective, yes?'

  Without waiting for an answer, she continued: 'The freedom of the settlement is yours. Only ask no more questions — certainly not of the common folk — for of course you are near-omniscient and therefore need no questions answered.' With that she opened the door and slipped out of the house.

  `A pity,' de Marigny at last managed to say as the door closed behind her.

  `What is?' the Warlord turned to him, fully recovered now from his brief ordeal.

  `I meant to ask her about the bats. Don't you remember? She mentioned them in connection with the Isle of Mountains when first she met us on the beach. "That bathaunted isle," she called it. "Bat wings beating.in the mist — blood and terror and great winds blowing!'

  `Yes, I remember,' the Warlord nodded thoughtfully. `Perhaps we'll get a chance to talk with her later. Then we can thank her for these "small magics" she's given-us .Darkhour . .

  Darkhour, and chill grey mists had come up off the sea, changing the shapes of the grim-faced men who boarded the longships into those of weirdly homed monsters. Leather and metal helmets glistened with moisture, and furs clung damply to brawny backs and arms. The mist seemed to form a film of slime over everything; the timbers of the ships were slick with it.

  The temperature had fallen until it stood not far above freezing; even the ocean, normally slightly warm from the high incidence of submarine volcanic activity, was more chill than its medium. Outlines were soft and blurred, and sounds were muffled.

  The Warlord, where he sat beside de Marigny toward the stern of Harold's ship, had been quiet for some time, had uttered no word since boarding. Now he shuddered involuntarily. He felt no natural chill but an ominous foreboding, engendered perhaps of the quiet, sullenly lapping waters and the leaden mist.

  De Marigny was more cheerful. He was filled with warmth and feelings of well-being, the result of putting his tongue gingerly to the merest pinch of Annahilde's warming powder. The blood flowed in his veins like red wine and his features, pale and waxy since first he set foot on Borea, were now ruddy and seemed almost to glow. He turned to his silent companion.

  `Hank, Annahilde's warming powder is certainly the Great Equalizer where I'm concerned. I never felt so warm and well. I feel almost reborn, well up to anything Borea and its moons may throw my way. Even in the plateau the cold was a damnable handicap — but no longer.'

  As if waking from a daydream, the big Texan had started nervously when de Marigny began to speak. Now he shook himself and nodded his approval. 'Good,' he grunted. 'I only wish I felt as comfortable and as confident.'

  De Marigny searched the other's mist-damp face. Is something wrong?'

  `Several things. For one, I don't like being on Harold's longship. He hates us and it shows. You saw the way he watched us all through that shindig they threw for us? If he can, he'll do away with us at his first opportunity. No, I don't like him; and I don't care much for this mist, either. It hides too much. Also I've a strong premonition of trouble looming. And finally — '

  `Yes?'

  Armandra has me worried.'

  `She's been in contact with you?'

  The Warlord nodded. 'We agreed only to "talk" to each other if there was real danger or something important to say. Well, she too has been bothered by dark premonitions. She thinks Ithaqua is close at hand, standing off in the void and riding the ether wind like a great hawk.

  She thinks he's watching us, that we are his quarry, his prey.'

  `Are we that vulnerable?'

  `We're completely vulnerable. Oh, with luck Armandra might be able to snatch us back to Borea faster than her father could come for us. But on the other hand . .' He shrugged.

  'You mean we might be out of luck?'

  Again Silberhutte nodded. 'Could be. And you'll note that Annahilde's boys aren't coming on the raid? She made damn sure they were to remain with the rear party, didn't she? What does she know that we don't, eh?'

  De Marigny refused to be subdued, 'I'm sure I don't know,' he said. 'But about Ithaqua: personally, I think he's gone off on his wanderings again. I mean, if he were, really interested in taking us and knew of our whereabouts, surely he'd have done it by now. What do you think?'

  The Warlord shrugged. 'I wish I dared seek him out with my mind, telepathically,' he said. 'But if he's close, he might recognize me and track us down by my thoughts. As a matter of fact I think Armandra's right and he is somewhere out there, not too far away. I also think he knows much of what's going on. He won't make his move yet, though, for he holds all the trump cards and he's very greedy.'

  'Greedy?'

  'Sure. Why should he step in now and spoil
it all? Why take us now when he might yet get his hands on Moreen — and the two of us in the bargain? And what a coup it would be if he could lure Armandra herself away from the plateau and Borea.'

  `You think that's his plan?'

  'It makes sense.'

  Suddenly deflated, de Marigny said: 'If it wasn't for my stupidity you wouldn't be in this spot.'

  The Warlord looked at him and grinned wryly. 'Don't flatter yourself, Henri. I'll go out of my way to help a friend, yes, but don't forget that you're the one man who can help me . . . you and your time-clock. That machine of yours isn't just a gateway out of Borea and this alien dimension we're trapped in — where at the moment I'm as surely a castaway as you are — it's also a powerful weapon. The ultimate weapon against the Wind-Walker.'

  'True enough,' de Marigny answered. 'If any weapon can destroy Ithaqua, the time-clock can. Is that what you want, to kill him? Or is it that you want to escape from Borea and get back to old Earth?'

  The other shrugged again. tell you better when we've recovered the time-clock — if we ever do recover it. As for now, it looks like we're on our way.'

  With a shout that roared out from sixteen throats as if from one — a shout whose echoes vibrated eerily through the mist — the oarsmen lifted up their oars vertically, poising them momentarily like twin rows of masts above the deck. Then the oars were lowered into oarlocks and dipped deep into darkly swirling ocean; and flanked by its dragon sisters, as a pacemaker in the mist-wreathed prow took up the beat with his hardwood pounding blocks, the longship pulled sluggishly away from the beach.