Oblivion Hand

by Adrian Cole

  Nodding to himself, Elfloq spread his membranous wings and launched upward in a graceful, easy movement, blending with the shadows and flitting high up over the rim. Turrets and towers spread below him, hewn incredibly from the black obsidian and porphyry, some broken and spilling into little quadrangles of the fortress: there were scored marks across many, like the trails of gargantuan claws. In others were faint glows, which suggested witch-fires, while in the central tower, a thick finger that rose up accusingly at the night, there blazed a crimson glow from which billowed waves of heat. The hot air currents buffeted Elfloq as he enjoyed their warmth, and he had to struggle to maintain his arc of flight.

  Presently he alighted on a tower near the central one, and having set down deftly among its garish crenallations, scanned the place and its few windows for signs of guardians. He detected none, and so moved around the tower to which he clung. Its figures and statues were meticulously carved, representing warriors with serene faces that seemed much out of keeping with this night-smothered world. Certainly no living beings such as these had walked here for eons. Satisfied that none of them would revitalise and attack him, Elfloq flew from the tower and began searching others. He must find the old god.

  At last he came across him, working in a bright chamber, bent over a huge glass dome inside of which there wriggled a mass of creatures so entangled that their individual shapes were indistinct. Yet light shone from them, magnified by the substance of the glass dome. It lanced upwards on to a mirror, directed outwards through the window. Ozbaak Uderaak clapped his hands and stood up, though his warped spine prevented him from straightening. He was chuckling, as though he had made some marvellous discovery.

  Elfloq, balanced easily on an external window ledge, felt himself partially picked out by the glow from the amazing creatures. Ozbaak turned, ostensibly to make some adjustment to further reflective apparatus, and his rheumy eyes widened. He flung up his gnarled fingers and a bolt of something white-hot zipped by Elfloq’s exposed tuft of ear.

  “Avaunt, horror!” cried the angered god.

  The familiar fell from the ledge but spread his wings to keep from plummeting. “Wait!” he protested. “I am no night gaunt, but an ally. One who has come to aid you.”

  “All things that dwell in Nyctath are my sworn enemies!” growled Ozbaak, peering over the windowsill into the night. Clearly his eyesight was no better for the light.

  “I do not fear the light,” called Elfloq. “Let me show you. Gladly will I bask in it.”

  This evidently impressed the god, but his expression was one of intense suspicion. “What cunning deviltry do your masters practice now? They cannot have learned immunity!” he muttered.

  “I am not from this dimension,” said Elfloq. “I am a familiar.”

  Ozbaak looked far from happy, but waved Elfloq into his tower. The latter hopped down from the sill and spread his arms to show that he bore no weapons.

  “Ah,” nodded Ozbaak, fingers lost within the entanglement of his red beard. “Ah. Just as you say. Not spawned in the All-Night. I know your genera. Used to have a trio like you. Well, what brings you to this desolate realm? What news do you bring me, eh? What gods have you seen? What do they say of me? Have they decided not to turn away from Nyctath?”

  Elfloq finally managed to squeeze his words between the bubbling questions of the old god. “It is all rather complex, sire, but I will explain it fully.” Distracted, he wandered over to the glowing creatures. “But—what are these?”

  “Beauties, are they not? I had them from a mire on Zitterbab. It wasn’t easy. I had to transform myself and slither away from this place. I don’t enjoy inter-dimensional travel any more. My old bones are too brittle for metamorphosis. But it was worth it for those beauties—they are glitterworms. Breed profusely and perpetually. Just one of the many ways in which I shall extend the boundaries of light around me. I have taken great sea-stars from the coral depths of the Waterworlds in the Lydex Cluster, and I have nurtured fireweed from Xenidorm’s hot satellites—and there, in that shimmering bowl, is a sunpearl from tropical Violovi.”

  Elfloq savoured the heat and light, turning to the old god. “Well, your fortress is the only source of light I have seen here.”

  “Indeed. Dawn and dusk, aurora, moonlight, starlight—all come from here, direct or reflected. Without my light, Nyctath would be wholly darkness. But I persist. I sow the seeds that will blossom into clean light again.”

  “You spread light, year on year?”

  Ozbaak looked pained. “Sadly, no. I barely maintain a balance. I fact I sense, though I hardly like to admit it, that it is the darkness that creeps forward, not light. There are so many enemies: darkness has all the allies. Down below us, in the city of the necropoli, the followers of evil muster like maggots. My war with them goes on and on, and when I seek to gain an advantage, they tear it back from me. But as I said, I persist. I shall find a way!” He punctuated this promise with a fit of hoarse coughing. To Elfloq he did not seem a very credible champion, but the familiar admired his mad determination.

  “About that dead city,” prompted the familiar.

  “Ludang? A cesspool, overrun with horrors and controlled by that filthy she-wolf, Vandi-Nuessa. What of it?”

  Elfloq was nodding uncomfortably, having good reason to be wary of the mythical Lamia of Lamias. “Ludang? Is that its name? My master has business there.”

  “Business?” said the old god, puzzled. “No one but an idiot would venture there. Unless they were an ally of those fiends—”

  “I assure you, my master is no ally—”

  “Who is he?”

  “Uh—I do not know his name. He was responsible for the demise of my former master, Quarramagus, who was himself ambitious in all the wrong ways. I had need of a new master, and having aided in the downfall of my old one, was fortunate enough to meet with the approval of my present one, who took me into service.”

  “Yes, yes, yes. And he has no name? Hrrmph, if he has no name, what else can you tell me of him?”

  “Oh, very little, sire. He is greatly secretive, though in such dark times, that is, you’ll agree, wise of him—”

  “Cease your prattling and tell me of him!” growled Ozbaak.

  “Well, to be honest, I think he may have, in some small way, displeased the—uh, certain of the gods—and now seems compelled to wander in what appears to be an aimless way, though in fact, to be sure, he does the work of, well, the gods,” went on Elfloq dilatorily, hoping that this vague portrait of his master would shed no light on Ozbaak’s memory of him. But the latter had again become interested in his glitterworms and merely grunted.

  “I know only,” said Elfloq, “that my master is here on a mission of compassion.”

  Ozbaak regarded him with renewed interest. “Compassion? A unique emotion for this place. Very laudable. Can you explain—without too many verbal peregrinations?”

  “Of course. Mt master wishes to terminate the unfortunate existence of one of the denizens of Ludang.”

  Ozbaak sniffed. “Only one of them? I have striven for centuries to wipe out the entire nest!”

  “Yes, I realise that, sire, but my master does not wish to, uh, eradicate this particular creature.”

  “Oh—enslavement then? Torture and pain, is that it?”

  “Well, not quite.”

  Ozbaak’s suspicions mounted. “Do not tell me he wants one for a servant! That is intolerable!”

  Elfloq shook his head patiently. “No, no. There is a woman there—a lamia—who is bound to the perpetual service of Vandi-Nuessa, empress of the entire brood. This woman, herself now a lamia, was once the lover of my master, before the gods chained her to her present plight. My master seeks to free her, and make her what she once was.”

  Ozbaak considered. “I see. Chivalry as well. And bravery, or lunacy, I am not sure which. So, where is your illustrious master now? Hiding outside?”

  “No, he is not in this dimension.”

  Ozba
ak scowled. “Not? But how does a mere mortal hope to free—oh, I see! Either he is a demigod or a seraph, or he seeks my divine aid.”

  Elfloq looked diplomatic. “Well, yes. He is no mere mortal, as I have intimated, and he does need your help. But he will, of course, recompense you for any assistance.”

  “How?” said the wily god.

  “He gave me the authority to discuss that with you,” said Elfloq, lying and praying that his master would not hear him, which was extremely unlikely. “What would you want? May I suggest terms that would, I feel sure, be certain to please you, sire?”

  Ozbaak nodded. “I am listening, though sceptically.”

  “Shall we say, the extermination of Vandi-Nuessa? Her complete abrogation? The removal of that menace to your plans, so that she will never again infest Nyctath the All-Night?” said the familiar, with mounting enthusiasm.

  “For such a thing—if your master could truly engineer it—I would give all the aid that it is in my power to give!”

  “Excellent! Then you have only to do one thing, sire. Summon my master and it will bring him to this dimension. He is in a void and it is his peculiar fate that should anyone summon him, he must come.”

  Ozbaak’s wrinkled face became more so as he smiled and chuckled. “You are more devious than a pack of lava-demons! Undoubtedly you think me an old fool, palsied and eccentric. But I am not so short of sight that I cannot see a kink in your smooth suggestions.”

  “Sire, I speak openly—” began Elfloq.

  “There are more knots in your tongue than are contained in my beard! You have told me that you do not know your master’s name. Very well, then how am I to summon him?”

  Elfloq sniffed, face contorting with puzzlement. Ozbaak was no fool and he did have a point: Elfloq would have to reveal who his master was. If Ozbaak knew of the curse, he would certainly refuse to complete the bargain. “I said my master has no name. But he does have an appellation.”

  “Appellation? Is that not the same thing?” muttered Ozbaak, confused.

  “He is known,” said Elfloq, fidgeting, “as the—uh, the Voidal.” He winced mentally as he expected an outburst of vituperative anger from the old god. However, Ozbaak had evidently been wrapped up in his lonely crusade in Nyctath for so long that he had either not heard of the Voidal or had forgotten him and his enigmatic fate.

  “A strange name—I mean, appellation,” grunted the god. “Does it have a meaning?”

  “Certain scribes tend to favour a translation equating to ‘he who comes from the void’,” said Elfloq.

  “How very vague. Perhaps I should know more of this Voidal before ushering him here. However, if your master needs my help to cross dimensions, I certainly have nothing to fear from him. You say I have only to summon him and in return he will give me peace from Vandi-Nuessa?”

  “That is the bargain.”

  “How can he possibly achieve this?”

  “Sire, he has powers. Make the bargain and he will honour it.”

  Ozbaak nodded thoughtfully. His plight was a desperate one. He had tried so many avenues. “Very well. As the gods witness us, I will do it. What must I say?”

  “I invoke—” began Elfloq, then realised he was about to say that which he would rather not say. “Uh, simply that you invoke the Voidal.”

  “Then I do,” nodded Ozbaak.

  “No, no, you must say it. State it. The words—the name.”

  “I see. The name is a key? Very well. I invoke the Voidal. Is that all? Surely you could have said as much yourself.”

  Elfloq looked about him at the bright chamber. “No, sire, the invocation would not work for a lowly familiar.”

  “Well, there seems to be some flaw in the invocation anyway. Unless your master is the size of an insect, for I cannot see him. Or does he cloak himself in invisibility?”

  “He will come,” said Elfloq with a little shiver. “He will come.”

  The dark man had been dreaming again. All the old confusions and horrors had taunted him, but he clung to the images of the familiar and of the meeting in Cloudway.

  Something tugged at his mind, a remote voice. The dream winked out like a receding star and he found himself awake, standing in near-darkness, surrounded by cold stone walls that formed a tunnel upward to a vague, glimmering light. Slumped down in this corridor was a human form, stirring as he looked at it.

  Memories hovered about it like dust motes. “Grabulic?” said the dark man.

  The other rose up slowly, trying to clear his head as if to free it from the effects of a protracted drinking bout. “Is this the inn?”

  “No, I suspect my familiar has—”

  The Voidal did not finish. A flutter of wings nearby confirmed his thoughts. Elfloq solidified from out of the dark man’s dreams.

  “So you have brought us to Nyctath, as you promised,” the Voidal said wryly. “What trickery did you employ?”

  Elfloq hopped forward. “None! I merely bargained with the old god, Ozbaak Uderaak, in your name.”

  “Then he summoned me—by name?”

  “Indeed, master. He seems not to know of you, or your fate. I did not enlighten him too much.”

  “Then what of the reckoning? Does he know that my summoner always pays? Did you tell him that?”

  Elfloq examined his small claws and made an effort to clear his throat. “Not exactly, master. But I told him that if he summoned you, you would aid him.”

  The dark man scowled. “And what did you promise him, again in my name?”

  “Well—as the old god is beset on all sides by the forces of darkness and evil and as they constantly seek to wipe out his light and also as the principal enemy that he has is Vandi-Nuessa, Lamia of Lamias, I thought it pertinent to offer Ozbaak the eradication of that very same Vandi-Nuessa. It seemed the best bait, and as you can see, it worked, for here you are!”

  The mouth of the dark man curved in a brief, rare smile. “I see. And I assume the fact that you recently crossed the very same Lamia of Lamias and sent three of her servants on a hunt for shadows, coupled with the fact that the same Vandi-Nuessa is notorious for her never forgiving the merest slight had nothing to do with influencing your choice of bargaining matter?”

  “Master!” protested Elfloq indignantly.

  The dark man nodded. “Well, as you say, I am here in the All-Night. It is what I wish, whatever the price. If what you have learned is true, she is here also, she whom I once loved.”

  “Then—you are not displeased?”

  Again the dark man smiled. “You seem to hold the reins of your destiny, while I have lost mine. There are things that I envy of you, little familiar. But we have work to do, and swiftly. If we have for once slipped the watches of the Dark Gods, it will be for no more than a moment. Take me to the old god.”

  Elfloq bowed and sprang lightly up the tunnel. The three of them shortly came to a chamber in which Ozbaak was fussing over more bowls and vials, adding chemicals to a bubbling cauldron from which heat and light spread outwards. “One precious cup of starlustre,” he muttered, turning to behold the Voidal. He saw in the green eyes that met his a melancholy beyond speech.

  “You are this Voidal?” said Ozbaak. “You are the one who will free me of the hated Lamia of Lamias? If she is destroyed, light will establish itself here again.”

  “I am the Voidal. Do you not know of me?”

  “I am trying to recall. In time I will. But for now I will teach you what I can of this evil realm. I will show you where to find the nest of lamias, and I will give you Equumyrion, who will carry you to your goal.” Ozbaak looked at the ebon haft of the Voidal’s sword protruding from its dark scabbard. “You come prepared, I see. What weapon is that you carry?”

  “The Sword of—” the dark man began, but then had to pause. Somehow, however, he knew the name of the sword. “It is the Sword of Light.”

  “Then it is a worthy blade. And entirely appropriate.”

  The dark man nodded, though there was
no cheer in his face. Had the Dark Gods sanctioned his coming here, after all? Did it suit their purpose?

  “Come,” said Ozbaak. “Time is short. I will take you and your companions to my steed of light, the miraculous Equumyrion.”

  They stood upon a high balcony cut from dead rock, overlooking the distantly remote piles and broken ruins of once proud Ludang. The Voidal stared at the sprawling city, hardly visible in the dim lights that flickered here among the crags. On the dark man’s face was an expression of some pain, for he knew that his woman was below, just as Grabulic’s Layola would be, somewhere in the terrible mausoleums of that husk of a city. As they watched, they heard the din of their invisible tenants.

  “I will do all that I can to shed light on that foul place,” said Ozbaak. “From here I often ride out upon Equumyrion, so that I may replenish all my pyres and places of light. They stretch away from here in radiating lines, projecting their heat and strength over evil, but they must be re-lit and started anew constantly. When Equumyrion has taken you below, I will ride him myself, circling Ludang with what light I can bring. The lamias fear it, and all those other foul pestilences that pass for living things dwelling below shun it. Hold high your Sword of Light and they may keep it from you, but beware the cunning of Vandi-Nuessa. Time presses—here comes the steed.”

  Equumyrion swooped from behind a stone balustrade and curved his great wings upward and behind him as he landed. He shone like beaten gold, seemingly moulded from metal rather than flesh. Elfloq hopped back in alarm, preferring to trust to his own fragile wings. The charger snorted like some huge engine as its hooves sent up a shower of sparks.

  Grabulic gasped, a mixture of awe and pleasure. “Such beauty!”

  Ozbaak put a loving hand upon the steed’s brow. “Take them to the city and return for me,” he whispered. He motioned the two men on to its back. Both mounted.