The Changing Land

by Roger Zelazny

  Jelerak followed it outside, the ground trembling slightly beneath his feet. It moved now toward a rough semblance of a trail leading downward among rocks toward the place occupied earlier by a pond, where now a small mountain was reared. A cold wind whipped his cloak about him as he hastened with nimble-footed stride down the alley of boulders.

  Partly down the face of the slope, the letter drifted upward to the right, moving across an irregular, sharply angled slope. Jelerak hesitated only a moment and began climbing after it.

  Staying close to the slope, it continued its southward drift. Then, abruptly, it vanished.

  Jelerak increased his pace, moving rapidly until he caught sight of it again. It had moved around a boulder and now hung in the air before a cleft in the rocks. A faint light emerged from the opening.

  As he drew nearer he could see more and more by its glow; until finally, when he stood before it, a blaze of baleful light reached his eyes. The bright rune moved from side to side as if reluctant to enter there. Jelerak spoke another word, however, and it proceeded into the opening.

  He followed it, and the rune vanished again, around a bend to the left. When he had made the turn himself, he halted and stared.

  A wall of flames completely screened the way before him—dark red, almost oily, braiding and unbraiding itself, silent, feeding upon nothing visible, a faint odor of brimstone about it. The rune hung unmoving once again, several paces before it.

  Jelerak stepped forward very slowly, hands upraised, palms outward. He halted when they were about a foot away from the curtains of fire and began moving them in small circles, up and down and to either side.

  " 'Tis not the Old One's, my pet," he addressed the letter. "Not an emanation, but a bona fide spell, of a most peculiar sort. However… Everything has its weakness, doesn't it?" he finished, curving his fingers suddenly and plunging his hands ahead.

  Immediately, he drew his hands to either side, and the flames parted like a slit arras. He gestured with each hand in turn, rotating the wrists, clicking the fingers.

  The fires remained in the parted position. The letter flashed past him.

  Stepping forward, Jelerak regarded the sleeping white horse and the sleeping blonde-haired girl he had rescued from glassy statuedom for Dilvish. The letter had affixed itself to her brow and was now beginning to fade.

  He knelt, lowering his face to scrutinize her more closely. Then he drew back his hand and slapped her.

  Her eyes flew open.

  "What… ? Who… ?"

  Then she met Jelerak's gaze and grew still.

  "Answer my questions," he said. "I last saw you amid shining towers with a man named Dilvish. How did you get here?"

  'Where am I?" she responded.

  "In a cave, on the slope near the castle. The way was screened by a very interesting protective spell. Who raised it?"

  "I do not know," she said, "and I've no idea how I got here."

  He peered more deeply into her eyes.

  "What is the last thing you remember before the awakening?"

  "We were sinking—in the mud—near the pond's edge."

  " 'We'? Who else was there?"

  "My horse—Stormbird," she said, reaching out and stroking the sleeping animal's neck.

  "What became of Dilvish?"

  "He crossed the pond with us, was stuck with us," she said. "But a demon came and dragged him free and bore him off up the hill."

  "And that was the last you saw of him?"

  "Yes."

  "Could you tell whether he was taken into the castle?"

  She shook her head.

  "I didn't see that."

  "Then what happened?"

  "I don't know. I woke up here. Just now."

  "This grows tedious," Jelerak said, rising. "Get on your feet and come with me."

  "Who are you?"

  He laughed.

  "One who requires a special service of you. This way!"

  He gestured back along the route he had come. Her mouth tightened and she rose.

  "No," she said. "I am not going with you unless I know who you are and what you want of me."

  "You bore me," he said, and he raised his hand.

  Almost simultaneously, she raised hers in a gesture closely resembling his own.

  "Ah! You do know something of the Art."

  "I believe you will find me as well equipped as many."

  "Sleep!" he announced suddenly, and her eyes closed. She swayed. "Open your eyes now and do exactly as I say: follow me.

  "So much for democracy," he added as he turned away, and she fell into step behind him.

  He led her out into the night and along the steep way to the trail, by the light of the changing land.

  They followed Lorman, and Lorman followed the emanations. Up the shadowy stairway and across the rear of the hall, pausing only to survey the ruined form of their late demonic tormenter with a mixture of dismay and delight, they made their way along a narrow passage, turning right at its farther end.

  They passed a stairway and continued on, working their way to the front of the building and heading in a northerly direction.

  "I am beginning to feel it," Derkon whispered to Hodgson.

  "What?" the other asked.

  "The sense of an enormous, mad presence. A feeling of the great power that the thing is pouring forth, rocking the land outside. I—it's frightening."

  "That, at least, is a feeling I share with you."

  Odil said nothing. Galt and Vane, holding hands, brought up the rear. The walls shimmered, growing transparent in places, and ghostly shapes danced within their depths. Clouds of green smoke puffed past them, leaving them gagging. A huge furry face regarded them solemnly through a hole in the ceiling, vanishing moments later with a flash of fire and a peal of laughter.

  At the first window they passed, they viewed the changing land without, where skeletal horsemen raced their skeletal horses through the swirling smoke in the sky.

  "We draw nearer!" Lorman croaked, in a voice the others considered overloud.

  They came at last to a gallery whose long row of windows afforded numerous views of the altering prospect. The gallery itself was an empty, quiet place, free of the unnatural disturbances they had witnessed during their long walk. Immediately they entered it, all of them were stricken by a sense of the presence Derkon had felt earlier.

  "This is the place, isn't it?" he asked.

  "No," Lorman replied. "The place is up ahead. There mad Tualua dreams, sending his nightmares to ravage the world. There are two other connecting galleries, it seems. The northernmost may actually be best for purposes of our operation. It will mean passing through his chamber to reach it. But once we have done that, the way should be clear before us."

  "If we succeed and live," Odil inquired, "are we going to try to kill him during the disturbance that follows?"

  "I would hate to waste all of that power…" said Vane.

  "… when we've been through so much for it already," said Galt.

  "We've the oath to keep us honest," said Lorman, giggling.

  "Of course," said Derkon.

  Hodgson nodded.

  "So long as I have a say in it," said he, "some of it will be used properly."

  "All right," said Odil, his voice wavering.

  They moved through the gallery, slowing as they passed the windows to view the fire-shot disorder. Coming at last to the Chamber of the Pit, they stayed near the wall as they moved through. An occasional splashing sound occurred within its depths.

  They glanced at one another, backs to the wall, as they sidled along. No one spoke. It was not until they had passed beyond the Chamber and reached the entrance to the far gallery that some of them realized that they had all been holding their breath.

  They retreated quickly along the farther gallery, turning the first corner they came to, to put the Chamber out of sight. They found themselves in a large, dim alcove across from another bank of windows which let upon a lower, more
lava-filled aspect of the changing land.

  "Good," Lorman announced, pacing about the area. "The emanations are strong here. We must form ourselves into a circle. It will be a fairly simple matter of focusing, and I will take care of its direction. No. You—Hodgson—over here. You will speak the final words of Undoing. It will be best to have a white magician for that. Derkon, over there! We will each have our parts in this thing. I will assign them in a moment. We will become a lens. Over there, Odil."

  One by one, the six magicians took their places in the glare of the burning land. A headless wraith, followed by portions of five other portents, drifted past the windows, the final one beating upon a drum in time with the eruptions below.

  "Is that a good omen or a bad one?" Galt asked Vane.

  "As with most omens," the other replied, "it is difficult to be certain until it is too late."

  "I was afraid you'd say that."

  "Attend me now," Lorman stated. "Here are your parts…"

  Dilvish was propped on one elbow. Semirama smiled up at him.

  "Son of Selar," she said, "it was worth whatever may come, to meet you and know you, who are so like that other." She adjusted the bedclothes and continued. "I do not like believing what I now believe about Jelerak, who has always been a friend. But I had come to suspect as much before your arrival. Yes, cruelties were common in my day, too, and I had long grown used to them. And I had no other loyalties in this time and place…

  "Now—" She sat up. "Now I feel that the time has come to depart and leave him to his own devices. Before long, even the Old One will turn upon him. He will be too occupied then to pursue us. The transport mirror has been cleared. Come flee with me through it. With your sword and certain forces I command, we will soon win us a kingdom."

  Dilvish shook his head slowly.

  "I've a quarrel with Jelerak which must be settled before I depart this place," he said. "And speaking of blades, I could use one."

  She leaned forward and put her arms about him.

  "Why must you be so like your ancestor?" she said. "I warned Selar not to go to Shoredan. I knew what would happen. Now to find you, then to have you rush off to your doom in the same fashion… Is your entire line cursed, or is it only me?"

  He held her and said, "I must."

  "That is what he said also, under very similar circumstances. I feel as if I am suddenly rereading an old book."

  "Then I hope the current edition has a slightly improved ending. Do not make my part any harder than it is already."

  "That I can always handle," she said, smiling, "if we are together. If you attempt this thing and succeed, will you take me away with you?"

  He regarded her in the strange light which was now entering through the windows at his back, and as had his ancestor an age before him, he answered, "Yes."

  Later, when they had risen and repaired their costumes and Semirama had sent Lisha to locate a weapon, they drank a glass of wine and her thoughts turned again to Jelerak.

  "He has fallen," she said, "from a high place. I do not ask you to forgive where you cannot, but remember that he was not always as he is now. For a time, he and Selar were even friends."

  "For a time?"

  "They quarreled later. Over what, I never knew. But yet, it was so, in those days."

  Dilvish, leaning against a bedpost, stared into his glass.

  "This gives rise to a strange thought," he said.

  "What is it?"

  "The time we met, he might simply have brushed me aside—slain me on the spot, cast me into a sleep, turned my mind away from him as if he were not there. I wonder… Might it have been my resemblance to Selar that caused him to be particularly cruel?"

  She shook her head.

  "Who can say? I wonder whether even he knows the full reasons for everything he does."

  She took a sip of wine, rolled it about her mouth.

  "Do you?" she added, swallowing.

  Dilvish smiled.

  "Does anyone? I know enough to satisfy my judgment in the matter. Perfect knowledge I leave to the gods."

  "Generous of you," she said.

  There came a soft knock upon the door.

  "Yes?" she called out.

  "It is I. Lisha."

  "Come in."

  The woman entered, bearing something wrapped in a green shawl.

  "You found one?"

  "Several. From an upstairs chamber one of the others had shown me."

  She unwound the shawl, revealing three blades.

  Dilvish finished his drink and put the glass down. He moved forward and took up each of the weapons in turn.

  "This one's for show."

  He set it aside.

  "This one has a good guard, but the other is a bit heavier and has a better point. Though this one's sharper…"

  He swung both of them, tried them both in his sheath, decided upon the second. Then he turned and embraced Semirama.

  "Wait," he said. "Have some things ready for a quick journey. Who knows how this will all fall out?"

  He kissed her and strode to the door.

  "Goodbye," she said.

  As he moved along the hallway, a peculiar feeling possessed him. None of the creaks or scratchings which had been present earlier were now to be heard. An unnatural stillness lay upon the place—a tense, vibrant thing, like the silence between the peals of a great-throated bell. Imminence and impendency rode like electric beings past him; in their wake came panic, which he fought without understanding, his new blade half drawn, knuckles white as he gripped it.

  Baran uttered an oath for the seventh time and seated himself upon the floor in the midst of his paraphernalia. Tears of frustration rose in his eyes and ran down on either side of his nose, losing themselves in his mustache.

  Couldn't he do anything right today? Seven times he had summoned elementals, charged them and sent them into Jelerak's mirror. Almost immediately, each had vanished. Something was keeping the mirror open now. Could it be Jelerak himself, getting ready to return? Might not Jelerak appear within it and step out of the frame at any moment, his ancient eyes staring unblinking into his own, reading every secret of his soul as if they were all branded upon his brow?

  Baran sobbed. It was so unfair, to be caught in one's treachery before it was brought to a successful conclusion. Any moment now…

  Yet Jelerak did not appear behind the glass. The world had not yet ended. It might even be that some other force was responsible for the destruction of his elementals.

  What, then?

  He shook his mind free of the feelings, forcing himself to think. If it was not Jelerak, it had to be someone else. Who?

  Another sorcerer, of course. A powerful one. One who had decided that the time had come to enter here and take charge…

  Yet no other face than his own regarded him from the glass. What was that other one waiting for?

  Puzzling. Irritating. If it were a stranger, could he make a deal? he wondered. He knew a lot about this place. He was an accomplished sorcerer himself… Why didn't something happen?

  He rubbed his eyes. He hauled himself to his feet. This had been a very dissatisfying day.

  Crossing to a small window, he looked out. It was several moments before he realized that something was not right, and several more before it struck him as to what it was.

  The changing land had again stopped changing. The land lay smoking but still beneath the racing moon. When had this occurred? It could not have been very long ago…

  This stoppage signified another lull in Tualua's consciousness. Now might well be the time to move in, to take control. He had to get downstairs, get hold of that bitch queen, drag her to the Pit—before someone came through the mirror and beat him to it. As he hurried across the room, he reviewed the binding spell he had outlined.

  As he reached toward the door, a strange tension came into him, and with it a return of his vertigo in a key at which he had never experienced it before.

  No! Not now! No!
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br />   But even as he flung the door wide and rushed toward the stair, he knew that this time it was different. There was something more to it than a recurrence of all his old fears, something—premonitory, which even his earlier spells were now seen as leading up to. It was as if the entire castle were, in some sense, holding its breath against a monumental occurrence the moment for which was almost at hand. It was as if this—foreboding—had in some measure communicated itself even to mighty Tualua, shocking him into momentary quiescence. It was—

  He came to the top of the stair, looked down, and shuddered. His entire nature seemed, at the moment, riven.

  He ground his teeth, put out his hand, and took the first step…

  Monstrously ancient structures of an imposing nature are not in the habit of having been constructed by men. Nor was the Castle Timeless an exception, as most venerable cities trace their origins to the architectural enterprise of gods and demigods, so the heavy structure in the Kannais which predated them all, and which had over the ages served every conceivable function from royal palace to prison, brothel to university, monastery to abandoned haunt of ghouls—changing even its shape, it was said, to accommodate its users' needs —so it informed with the echoes of all the ages, was muttered by some (with averted eyes and evil-forfending gesture) to be a relic of the days when the Elder Gods walked the earth, a point of their contact with it, a toy, a machine, or perhaps even a strangely living entity, fashioned by those higher powers whose vision transcended that of mankind—whom they had blessed or cursed with the spark of self-consciousness and the ache of curiosity that was the beginning of soul—as mankind's surpassed that of the hairy tree-dwellers counted by some as his kin, for purposes best known only to those shining folk whom it at least served somewhere, somehow as an interdimensional clubhouse before those beings absented themselves to felicity of a higher order, leaving behind the unripened fruits of their meddling in the affairs of otherwise satisfied simians; fashioned, in the opinion of some metaphysicians, on a timeless plane out of spiritual substances and, hence, not truly a part of this grosser world to which it had been transported, consisting as it did of equal measures of good and evil and their more interesting counterparts, love and hate, compounded with a beauty, therefore, that was both sinister and beatific, possessed of an aura as absorbent as a psychic sponge and as discriminating, alive in the sense that a man with only a functioning portion of his right hemisphere might be said to live, and anchored in space and time by an act of will imperfect because divided, yet superior to normal earthly vicissitudes for all the unearthly reasons the metaphysician would not care to recite a second time.