Doom-Quest of Ara-Karn 4 Darkbridge

by Adam Corby

  In front of his death-barge, a little flat rock broke from the sea.

  A human figure stood waiting on the rock. He looked upon her and saw that she was Alastaphele, clad in her barge-raiment even as he had last seen her on the Ocean of Death.

  ‘Is it not beautiful?’ she asked.

  All about her the flickering stars wheeled on unseen spheres, and the great funnel of dark-stained air within the rising lights pressed down about them both. In answer to that pressure the swells ran outward from the rock in ever-widening rings, each within and without the rest. But of all this he was scarcely aware. He was looking at her.

  He knew again the sweet curve of her neck, the way she held her fingers over her breast, and the way the breezes lifted the strands of hair about her visage. These and other sights, so well known and so long lost, pierced him with longing. He wanted to step forward upon the rock and hold her. But he could not.

  ‘No,’ she said softly, ‘you may not yet join me upon this land. But we may speak; that much has been granted. Tell me then, and say truly, why have you done all these things so unlike you?

  ‘It was for you.’ Even as he said it he knew it was a lie.

  She smiled. ‘You followed, and have found me. But my love, I do not blame you. And now you may tell me, where is Kar Belthus, and what has become of him?’

  He looked from the glory of her eyes, in which he could see the starry sky, to the hem of her robe where it shuddered and caressed the wet round rim of the sea. He found he knew the answer to her question.

  ‘He is dead, and lives no more,’ he answered. ‘All his ambitions won him nothing but a violent end. Even as he reached for the power he craved, that influence and strength he had before was cut from him as by a scythe.’

  She nodded gravely. ‘And do you love her very much?’

  ‘You and she,’ he answered, ‘you are the same.’

  ‘Ah,’ she said, ‘but no. You yourself said it, to the old priests in the caves. “The flesh is the woman.” How then could we be the same? You know better.’

  ‘Yes.’ He bent his head.

  ‘Return now. We shall not see each other more. Be happy and at peace, my love. It was not you who caused my death.’

  Tears burst like blood from his eyes, and the hairs upon his head pricked up from the scalp. He knew the truth then, and the cause of all this, and the blame. And it was taken from his body suddenly, like something physical: he knew the release of it and the loss. She turned and walked beyond the island. But before the last radiance burned out in the air, he called after her.

  ‘Farewell, Gold,’ he called. His voice was shaking and faint.

  ‘Farewell. Farewell.’

  And she was gone, finally and forever.

  He turned about, and beheld rising above him the Tower of God, which was jade and iron and a black, black stone. It spanned in its girth an area as great as the city of Tarendahardil whole. It rose into the wind and rain, the rain that never stopped from falling here in the black world. It rose into the clouds and faded from sight, and he felt dizzy to look at it, for he guessed at what illimitable heights that tower climbed, like a handle to the Earth. And he sensed somewhere in the utter reaches of his soul, how at the topmost reaches of that tower something reached out into the void above. And it called, and the Green Star came, that star that the gods had named the Second Lodestar.

  And his were the first mortal eyes to behold the Green Star since the Sixth Fall of the World. For none might see it now unless they stood far within the dark side of the world, near to this midmost point, where no mortal might walk and live.

  And he saw then three stars that hung about the Jade Tower in the clouds, and each of those globes of light shone with a different hue and brightness. There were souls within those stars, strange hearts with nothing human about them, and they spoke to him, straight into his soul so that his heart smote in him and the blood hammered his skull, and he wanted to scream out for pain and fear.

  ‘You have done well,’ the stars said. But they spoke in no tongue he had ever heard or learned, and how it was he knew what they said, he could never fathom. But it was a dream and in dream impossible things are true. ‘All is accomplished but the end. We free you of your bonds.’

  And something wrenched and tore inside him, like a great pressure, or a twisting and straining of mighty hands – and then it broke.

  The hardness about his heart shattered away and the needs upon him, that he was only dimly aware of all those years, were gone. Ara-Karn staggered. It was like a death-blow, like the final stroke of pity and release, and he knew he now was dead.

  But in the dream, upon that lost nameless isle dead in the center of the raging black sunless seas of God, at the root of His dark tower of jade, the former king fell upon his knees and wept. And his pain was such he would have welcomed death and an end to it all. And in that hour, his most wretched and last, he was foredone, and only the faint echo of a lost dear voice upheld him. He heard Alastaphele call his name, his true name, the name he had known from his birth, and the name he took when his first crown was set upon his brow. And her voice, and nothing else, stretched to him like a comforting hand, and held him, and drew him back to the world. Or was it another’s voice that called?

  * * *

  In the dimplace in the White Tower, the body of the King of Kings slumped on the dais by the bed. Thereafter the body lay still. There was no further movement.

  XX

  Judgment

  ONE SLEEP, late in winter, a heavy mist came off the sea to cloak the ruins of Tarendahardil. Slowly the mist rose off the lower quarters, until only the plateau and the mountain remained in its embrace. And there was revealed in the harbor a fleet of ships of war, their masts vanishing into the wet gray ceiling of the cloud.

  The black decks of the ships were empty, and the steering-oars pushed back and forth to the wash of the harbor currents. But on the marshaling-field brightward of the ruins a new encampment stood outside the crumbling wooden outworks of the barbarian camp. Over the encampment were raised the standards of Rukor, Vapio, the Eglands, Fulmine and the house of the Bordakasha. But the army made no move toward the mountain stronghold hidden beyond the mist. It was as if even Charan Haspeth feared as yet to walk the desert ways of the city of Ara-Karn.

  * * *

  O Goddess, O Dear One, O Lady Unequaled, hear me, hear my words. The Man has come and defiled your temples and ravished those made holy in your service. He has struck down your altars and reft you of offerings. Strike him, and reave him of life in return.

  Let the one he loves most strike the blow. O Goddess, hear my words!

  There was only one person still left alive in the city. In the Brown Temple Alsa, last of the priestesses, still tended the sacred fire. At the end of every sleep she rose and ate a small cup of millet mixed with water. Then she fed the fire and reconsecrated the black blade before the idol. This she did in the black robes and golden mask of the high ceremonies; all the other rites she performed unmasked in the gray robes.

  She went about her labors silently, used to the unmanned stones outside. She only spoke for prayers. But long since had Alsa lost her faith in that vanished burning orb to which she prayed. In the quiet confinement of her little world, she continued her observances only out of habit and the hopelessness of change. Hatred born of silence and long brooding had replaced the faith in her. She had seventeen summers now, and had become a beautiful woman beneath the virginal robes, but her eyes were like hard stones.

  Now, kneeling in black before the burning altar with the knife balanced on her outstretched fingers, she heard a footfall on the steps without.

  Hastily she completed the formulae of consecration and rose to find concealment, too late. A woman stood in the doorway. Tall and handsome, she was dressed in Rukorian hunting garb: a dark green hooded hunting-cloak from Gerso, fastened with a blood-red opal brooch-pin cut in the likeness of a serpent’s egg; beneath this a white sleeveless linen tunic with a
blue-patterned hem above the knee, a leather wristband, sandals laced up the calves, and a zone of leather and brass. At her side hung a pouch of arrows and a bow of the invaders. Water streamed from her hair and cloak.

  ‘Who are you?’ Alsa demanded.

  The woman drew back the hood. ‘Do you not know?’

  The priestess gaped.

  ‘You are the Body of Goddess.’

  The woman nodded. ‘So they called me.’

  ‘It is true, then?’ Alsa could scarcely believe it. ‘You are the Empress, the Divine Queen? You have returned?’

  ‘And who are you, your reverence, that alone you keep the sacred fire?’

  ‘I am known to your majesty. I an Alsa; once I brought a message from the High Priestess to your majesty.’ She scarcely knew what to say. ‘Did your majesty come with the army? – But of course. Where are the others? All the cities speak your name. We have lacked only your voice to lead us in holy rebellion against the Cursed One.’

  ‘So I saw in my journey. But I traveled here alone, and told no man my name. I have only come to see him.’

  ‘Your majesty knows what pass we enter on, then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It is the Pass of God,’ Alsa said. ‘It is the Pass of Freedom. Goddess turns Her back this pass. She sees nothing of what we do. It does not come to pass, and no crime requires purification. Nothing is forbidden to us this pass. Nothing.’

  ‘My nurse brought me your message,’ the woman said. ‘So I stopped here on my way. They say he is alone. Will you come with me?’

  ‘With all my heart, your majesty.’

  * * *

  On the Way of Kings the fog closed about the women with an awful, secret silence. The cold rains passed in veils across the broken stones, fallen walls, and charred remains. There was no more dismal place in the world. Its face belonged to Ara-Karn. Its very soul was his.

  In the square below the mountain they walked among the bones of Elna’s Pillar of Victory. The stone disks were defaced with the tribal marks of the barbarians. A wooden causeway bridged the coomb. In spite of all the rain, the stones below still bore the stains of the lives they had taken. The Iron Gate had been torn from their sockets in fury by the barbarians, dragged across the mountain-top and hurled down the cliff. The wall of black stone gaped like a malformed mouth, beyond which mists closed, removing all sight.

  Into that mouth the women walked in silence.

  At the Palace door the priestess stopped. She peered into the doorway. A breath of stagnant, musty air issued from within, as from some mountain-thorsa’s lair that has been broken into after being sealed for many years and, littered with bones and rotten bedding, gives pause to even the bravest hunters. So this black doorway gave pause to the priestess.

  ‘I am troubled,’ she moaned.

  The Queen took her by the hand. ‘Come. There is no danger here for us.’

  They went in, and the Queen shut the door behind. They stood in one of the servants’ entrances. The halls were narrow and the ceilings low. They waited while their eyes grew to drink the gloom. Then the Queen took the priestess by the hand and led her through the lightless labyrinth of the Palace of Ara-Karn.

  Alsa, as she walked in the darkness, could not help but see again all the sights of violence she had witnessed these past years.

  The broken, bloody body of the old High Priestess stretched naked on the altar; the burnt bodies in the streets and back ways of High Town; the wounded people who came to her in the Temple. She saw again the body of the young Emperor, the son of this woman who now, unknowing, led her in this labyrinth. Alsa herself had plunged the black stone blade into Elnavis’ heart – the same blade she held now. She had done that in a fit of religious frenzy, and even now remembered only the haze and smell of it, as a long debauch. Now she felt neither frenzy nor fear, only a cool, growing anger. This man alone had caused these things.

  ‘Where is he?’ she whispered.

  ‘He will be above,’ the Queen said, ‘in the White Tower. There stands the door. Are you still afraid?’

  ‘No. I am glad.’

  Softly the Queen opened the door. The well of stairs was lighted by a dim gray light falling from above. The two women ascended the steps quietly. Despite herself, Alsa felt her belly tremble. She gripped the knife fiercely in her hand.

  Upon the second landing they found that the source of the light was a doorway opening into a long, low chamber. The walls and ceiling of the room were covered with black linen; a narrow window, partly covered with a broken bit of board, let enter the misty winter light. There was a throne, black and gray feathers strewn about the floor, and a smell of blood in the air. Otherwise, the room was empty.

  They went on. The light faded and failed about them as they ascended. At the summit of the steps the Queen stopped. She guided Alsa through a wide doorway. There was very little light there: Alsa could discern a large, pale shape, but could not make it out. From the echoes of their footsteps, she guessed it was a large room, almost as large as the chamber of the Goddess.

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘My dimplace.’

  ‘Is he here?’

  The Queen’s hand pointed Alsa’s in a certain direction. ‘There, cut into the wall, you will find steps leading to the window. Take down the boards that cover it.’

  Hastily the young priestess obeyed. Feeling her way up the cold steps, she reached the window. She found a metal latch or catch at one side: releasing it, she let the boards fall on the ledge. The sound and sudden inpouring of light were startling. It took her some moments to regain her sight. Blinking, she looked down into the room.

  It was a round, hive-like chamber barren of hangings, chairs, lamps or vessels. Only a large bed surrounded with pale bed-curtains remained: it was that which Alsa had seen vaguely in the darkness. The Divine Queen stood silent at the foot of the bed, looking down at the floor on the far side. Her face was hidden by the golden hair, and Alsa could not see her majesty’s expression.

  Warily the young priestess descended and came round to the side of the Queen. She saw it then.

  One wall was smeared with dark stuff that was like fungus, or lichen, or coal dust. It caked on the floor, where lay fragments of dark wood, three bright arrows, and a slag of metal like iron.

  On the dais supporting the bed lay the body of a man.

  He had been dressed in a simple tunic. His legs were bent and his feet bare. His arms were out-flung on the stones. His torso was twisted half round, and his face lay against the stone. His arms and back were bloody with long, raking wounds, as if torn by knives. The flesh was gray and blue with cold.

  Blood lay about it in a wide ring, dark aromatic blood, as thick as jelly.

  The body did not stir. It did not look as if it would ever stir again.

  ‘Are we too late, then?’ Alsa asked. ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good.’

  The young woman stooped and laid him out in the position of the dead. She took care to let the weird blood leave no stain upon her. She made the signs of Goddess, of God, and of the Couple. She repeated breathlessly, mindless of the words in her rising excitement, the words of the ritual. Her breasts rose and fell and she felt the fabric of her robes brushing across the pointed peaks. Her thighs trembled softly.

  She held the knife aloft in both hands. She looked to the Queen, for a final blessing.

  ‘Wait.’

  The Queen had watched these gestures with thoughtful eyes. Now she undid the hooded cloak and draped it mercifully over the naked form. Upon the dark green fabric that covered the man’s heart she placed the blood-red opal cut in the shape of a serpent’s egg.

  Then she tore free the cords of her tunic, baring her breast, and stepped between the priestess and her victim.

  ‘Now,’ she said, ‘you may strike.’

  ‘Your majesty, I do not understand! Will you spare this man?’

  ‘I offer myself in his place.’

 
‘But he is a monster!’

  ‘He is a part of me.’

  ‘Are you the Body of Goddess or some emissary of the Dark One come to ensnare me?’

  ‘Neither. I am a woman.’

  ‘No, I will not hear these words of yours!’

  ‘Strike then, and condemn yourself. So you will die untouched and hopeless.’

  ‘You speak of hope and defend this man, the enemy of all hope?’

  ‘I only speak as the words are torn from me.’

  ‘You were yourself his greatest enemy!’

  ‘I fought against myself. I was a stranger to myself.’

  ‘You brought me here, you asked me—’

  ‘—To come to know what lurks within your heart.’

  ‘Righteous anger, or the requirement of my order.’

  ‘There are but two paths for you. Your choice will prove you.’

  ‘I will not go near this crossing—’

  ‘Too late: you are upon it even now.’

  ‘And before me—’

  ‘—His way or Hers. It is for you to choose which is which.’

  ‘Divine one, Divine one!’

  Alsa fell back. One arm was flung over the masked face, the other held out the black stone blade as if it were a charm. Sadly, the other woman shook her head.

  ‘Girl,’ she said, so softly that only they two might have heard the word, ‘listen to what I say. I call you girl because of your youth, but in truth you are not a girl but an unnatural thing, part maiden, part crone – even as I was once. Now it is time for you to put aside both of these. When I have spoken, then it will be for you to speak. Whatever the choice you make, I will obey it. Our fate will be for you to choose.

  ‘Once I thought of this man as you think now, and prayed for his death. And because I proved unworthy, I sought even the path of death. But this was not granted. An old woman, whom I had wronged terribly, brought me back to life and health. So, naked and cleansed in the Ocean of Death, I emerged and faced this same choice. And I knew I could never be free of this man until I had faced him one last time. The old woman warned me I must arrive no later than this very pass. But I could not make my choice until just now, when you broke the boards of the window and the gray light bared his body under me.