Doom-Quest of Ara-Karn 4 Darkbridge
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The two men returned to the city, but Kiva did not clothe herself. Naked in the dirt she abased herself and, lifting her face brightward prayed, ‘O Lady, you who are never far off when a woman knows joy or suffering, grant now that these two men, whom I loved beyond all the others I knew, be given free passage across the seas to the world beyond. Here I have honored them as best I could. Now give them strong and beautiful bodies there, laughter, riches, and peace, and the company of women no less lovely, no less skilled, and no less drunk in love with them, than I.’
A full waking and longsleep Kiva rested with only a cloak of black linen and a necklet of chorjai blossoms to conceal her nakedness. There she ate of the finest food and drank dark Postio unmixed, and wept and laughed and remembered, and so gave ease to the spirits of Ullerath and Berowne.
* * *
The rebel tribes did not reach home swiftly, for they were a large company burdened with many goods and followers, and the roads of the North were unsafe. More battles lay in store for them, but at length, in the fullness of summer of that year, they won their way to the Pass of Gerso and the ash-field of the city where they had begun.
Through the Pass at last they beheld again the woodlands and wild fields of the cold far North so dear to their savage hearts. Some went down on their knees and kissed the dirt of their native land. There had been little wine on the journey, and the going had been hard along those muddy, snow-flecked, outlaw roads. The tribesmen were lean again and hard, and their cold eyes glittered young once more.
They followed the paths and sought their own villages, Vorisal and Kamskal and Morbynar, Chalpion, Roighal, Karghil, River’s-Bend, Forun, Buzrah and Undain.
Last of all to reach home were Kul-Dro and the men of the tribe of Tont Ornoth, whose village lay farthest from the Pass. One week they had passed in Durbar, and now Nam-Rog came on with them, bearing still the jeweled coffer.
Hertha-Toll greeted the chieftain of the Durbars gravely amidst the wild cries and laughter of the warriors and their wives. Together they went down to the bay and placed the coffer in the barge the old woman had readied.
They went out in a fishing boat upon the Ocean of Death. Nam-Rog pulled the oars and Hertha-Toll held the line. They found the Current of the Dead and let the barge drift. And Hertha-Toll said the words, and so they bade their last farewell to him whose life had bound theirs, the bravest man, the ablest warrior, and the mightiest hunter of all the tribes of the far North.
* * *
Half a year passed, and spring wheeled round again to the far North. Then a ship came into the bay below Gundoen’s village. It was a ship from Arpane on the Sea, the only city on the Ocean of Death.
The ship drove its keel up aground, and men came ashore laden with trunks of riches and bales of silks and linens. And there stepped ashore a young woman, almost a girl, beautiful, of black eyes and lustrous dark hair.
‘I am called Alsa,’ she said.
In her arms she cradled an infant some months old, strong with bright jade eyes and golden hair.
The young woman presented the child to Hertha-Toll on the beach. ‘I bring him to you from the King and Queen in Tarendahardil,’ she told her through the interpreters. ‘He is their firstborn. It was their wish that you guide and raise him, if this pleases you. He has of course many names, but the one we all call him, is “Gundoen-Ana.” ’
The old woman took young Gundoen-Ana into her arms. He was sheltered from the cold in the folds of a dark green hooded hunting-cloak from Gerso, bound with a blood-red opal brooch-pin cut in the likeness of a spider.
Hertha-Toll held him up into the bright, bright sky.
‘So,’ she said to Nam-Rog at her side, ‘a child has come out of this after all.’
The Tale Behind the Tale
The Doom-Quest of Ara-Karn I composed when quite young, and sold to the TimeScape imprint of Pocket Books. But since it was a long book, my editor, David Hartwell, asked that it be divided into three volumes. At the time I considered this to be a mistake: personally I love and prefer long tales, if they be good ones, and enjoy the prospect of a good long read when I heft a thick tome in my hand. But I agreed to David’s condition of publication because he knew his business, and I also saw opportunities for improving the tale by restructuring some chapters in the course of helping each volume to stand better on its own.
It took me a long time to recast the second volume, and years to rework the third. The book was long overdue; what’s more, the first two volumes had not sold well, and David Hartwell had left Pocket Books. The new editorial staff looked over my reworked third volume (now almost as long as the entire tale had been when it was deemed too long to publish in one volume), and declared it was unpublishable. They were right: the thing had run away from me.
And so no one but my friends has ever read the full story, or learned the final fate of Ara-Karn.
Now some thirty years after the book was first accepted for publication (and with asotir’s assistance), I can offer a revised and expanded 30th anniversary edition.
The first two volumes – The Former King and The Divine Queen – I reproduce much as they were first published, correcting only some typos and grammatical errors that slipped past me. The unhappy third volume I have shortened somewhat, and reworked it into two parts, now titled The Iron Gate and Darkbridge.
To those who read the first volumes long ago, and have wondered in the years since, ‘What happened, and how did it all end up?’ I offer my apologies. Now at last, if you have found this, you can find out.
— Adam Corby
Spring 2009
Also Available
The Naked Damsel
The armored men parted and the damsel stepped forth.
‘Now,’ said King Arthur, ‘what has brought you here?’
‘This,’ she answered, and let fall the mantle to the floor. Beneath the furs the damsel stood naked, and wore nothing beside the black veil and a heavy sword belted over her slim waist.
‘What is this sword you wear?’ asked the King. ‘Maiden, to stand so naked with a sword ill beseems you.’
‘The Lady Lille of Avalon,’ she answered, ‘has made me this scabbard and Belt of the Strange Clasp, so that the sword may not be drawn but by the best knight in the world, of the greatest heart and strength of arms, untouched by treachery, tricks or villainy. And I have come to your court, O King, to see if I may find that knight here among you…’
— from The Killing Sword
Lady Agatha was alone
Her lord had gone to take the measure of his lands, and his voice calling to his hounds came from far-off through her window, till it was hidden in the wind.
And she heard a great wave breaking on the stones of the Irish land, washing to the Western Sea; and a cry went with it, from a stricken old woman in a hut beyond the hill.
And Lady Agatha heard a third voice calling; and that was Aengus’ voice.
She shut the window to stop the voice, but the room waxed so warm she had to open up again. His song went on and on. And the beat of the riders was everywhere; and Lady Agatha fell asleep at last.
And Master Aengus’ song went right into her sleep.
She knew now why the riders came. They came for her.
— from Blood by Moonlight
The witch went out
in the snow in the night in her bare feet, naked under her nightdress. She carried an apple and a paring knife in a stone bowl. She set the bowl in the snow before the Juniper Tree, took the apple and pared the red skin from the white flesh…
The knife slipped and bit into the mound at the bottom of her thumb. She licked blood from her thumb and squatted over the bowl.
She sat in the snow drifting down on her hair, staring at her red blood on the white snow.
‘Give me a child,’ she said. ‘Give me a child as hot as blood and as pure as snow.’
And the witch slipped from her nightdress and embraced the Juniper Tree. The branches scratched her pale bare sk
in, leaving little trails of blood…
— from The Juniper Tree