Voyage of the Shadowmoon

by Sean McMullen

  The gateway incantation was easy. It was like jumping into a deep chasm: anyone could do it, but it was an exceedingly bad idea unless one knew how to fly. Velander knew the mechanics of darkwalking, but had done it only twice, and under close supervision.

  A word of detachment allowed her senses to dissolve out of her body into what she thought would be blackness shot through with pinpoints of glow. Instead, lights blazed up around her, causing her disembodied senses to reel and cower. Starburst shapes drifted amid retinues of spinning violet rings, while spiral-shaped comets spun showers of sparks that orbited out to fall back again. Spheres of shimmering silver pulsated as they hovered about an intense vertical line of orange light, and Velander noticed that everything was slowly circling the orange brilliance.

  Velander hurriedly checked for her tether, the circlet. It was close by, a band of firmness in the confused background of the etherworld. Nearby, barely visible, were two thin lines of light—the two larger chunks of glass from where Silverdeath had fallen, Velander realized. They were a small part of the axis, and they retained its properties as tether points. No wonder the earlier visitor to this place had removed a bagful. She wondered what all the magical entities were doing here, at the center of a dead continent. A lazily rotating snowflake shape of silver and turquoise broke from its orbit and drifted in her direction. Velander retreated to the center of the tether’s firmness. The snowflake drifted away again. She thought back to her years of study. Swarming here were probably the sorcerers, ethersmiths, charmshapers, and initiates whose souls were in the etherworld when the waves of fire lashed over their bodies. Across all of Torea, that had probably amounted to quite a large number. They circled the axis from which the burning tori had blazed out. Perhaps the fire-circles sucked them here or swept them up like an immense broom. They were consciousness, but unlike Velander, they had no anchor in her reality.

  The young priestess drifted closer to the axis of orange light. There was nothing familiar there, but what she did find was a focus of attention. The deaths of all these initiates had originated here, and now their very awareness of it gave the place substance. Velander remembered her previous two darkwalkings. The forms had been somehow better defined then. Months had passed since the end of Torea, and all of these had been cut off from their living bodies. They were all dying, noticeably more transparent and faint than she remembered seeing in her previous experience. They moved sluggishly, yet some had sawtooth hooks and barbed tendrils. Even as she watched, a lurid snowflake sent a tendril floating lazily out after one of the glowing globes. The globe flinched away, but not quite fast enough. The tendril brushed the globe, caught, and drew taut. Slowly the snowflake began to draw itself over.

  Raptor elementals, thought Velander, predators of the etherworld. The souls of living beings were too powerful for them to attack normally, but here they were all starving. Only the raptor elementals were equipped with weapons, and now the souls were losing their ability to evade them. The elemental closed with the globe and began to feed. Velander could watch no more, but as she moved away from the axis and back to her tether, something caught her attention. Something like light coming up from a well.

  She moved across and looked into it. Her own world was laid out below her, lit by Miral’s light. This was an ocular, she realized, an engine of pure etheric energy. Someone had left it to record the fire-circles, and it had survived. She was looking through the lens. The machine of ether was still chronicling images all these months after it had been set, but then, it was robust and simple. With no locks, and nothing to interpret the images it watched, it resolutely continued to function.

  Suddenly the image jerked. A tracery of meshed fire had snared the filament binding the ocular to the ground. Velander watched, and presently Laron came into the field of view. The mesh extended from his hands, all the way across to—Druskarl. Their movements seemed strangely jerky and animated. That was due to the time-dilation effect in the etherworld, she realized. They had been trawling for oculars like this very one, and now she watched them attach it to a chunk of imprinted glass. They towed it back to the encampment and left it beside Laron’s packroll. They did not notice that she was wearing the circlet before they left again.

  “Miral is nearly down,” said Druskarl as Laron selected a place to lie dead for the night.

  “Less than a quarter hour,” Laron estimated. “Still, time for a quick session of darkwalking.”

  “Is that wise? What if you delay your return until after Miral has set?”

  “I have no idea, but this might be the time to find out.”

  “Sounds like I should stay and watch over you.”

  Velander gazed across at her own sleeping body. Her face was quite distinct in the light of Miral, and seemed utterly at peace. It was a body without the capability of consciousness. Now, that is true innocence, Velander thought as she gazed at herself. With some amusement she recalled a story about a sorcerer who was watching himself through an ocular while darkwalking. He had not told his apprentice, though, and had watched as the youth spread a cloth on his chest, laid out a knife, bread, and cheese, then had lunch!

  Suddenly Velander stared with disbelief. The body’s eyes had opened. Velander’s detached consciousness was paralyzed with shock for a moment. This was absolutely impossible. Very slowly, a hand came up, jerkily, as if it was being moved by invisible puppet strings. It touched the circlet. Her body now raised itself on an elbow, sat up, then pushed off the blankets. Its movements were now as smooth as those of a cat. It stood up and looked in the direction Laron and Druskarl had gone. Seemingly satisfied that they were out of sight, she minced over to where Feran was sleeping. She sat down beside him and shook him awake. They began to speak, and before long she took his hand and pressed it against her breasts.

  Velander broke away from the ocular and made for her tether amid the sparkle-studded gloom of the etherworld. She poured herself back into her physical form—and spilled back out into the darkness. She tried again and again, each time with the same result. It was like trying to force water into a pail filled with sand.

  By now terrified, she flashed back to the ocular. Something had possessed her body. Impossible, she thought, only I know my truename. Then the truth poured over her like a bucket of icy water. Her body did not have a truename! She had never thought to give it one, because she had never trained for solo darkwalking.

  Velander dashed back to her tether and once more tried to flow back into herself. Again she was completely blocked. Something had probably noticed her and her tether, yet she had kept glancing back to her only link with her body … unless it had been an entity so faded that it was scarcely visible edge-on.

  Desperate and terrified, she returned to the ocular. There, in the light of setting Miral, were she and Feran, naked on his bedding. She was kneeling, straddling him, and working up and down on his body. I’m no longer a virgin, Velander thought numbly. She began pounding with her control powers, trying to make them stop, shouting in a world with no sound.

  Abruptly something jerked her back. She turned, saw a tendril embedded in her spherical form. She moved away with all her power, straining in the opposite direction. The barbs ripped out, trailing sparkles. Another barbed tentacle hit her, then another. Raptor elementals had surrounded her, lying edge-on in ambush. Wolf-pack tactics: Startle the prey into the middle of the pack. Raptor elementals were not known to hunt in packs, but then, they had never been studied at the center of a dead continent before. Something soundless that still had the effect of chittering and peeping boiled up around her as the elementals reeled themselves in. Sawtooth edges bit painlessly into her, yet she sensed the massive damage they were doing. Sparkles of light and color burst around her, sparkles of herself.

  “Laaarronnn! Laaarronnn!”

  There was no sound, yet she enunciated his name. Laron could help her, Laron had strange powers, Laron even knew mathematics.

  Laron abruptly returned to his body with a cry, the
n shook his head. He was still lying near the outer edge of the central crater. Druskarl was nearby, keeping watch.

  “Was there a problem?” asked the eunuch. “What did you see in the etherworld?”

  Laron drew breath slowly, searching for words.

  “What a nightmare,” he said at last. “So beautiful, yet … yet it was an island of despair in a rising flood of darkness.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw the souls of mortals who had been darkwalking at the time the fire-circles killed their bodies. They were being stalked by starving raptor elementals.”

  “Mortals? How could they survive for so many months?”

  “They were some of Torea’s finest sorcerers when they died, so they had energy, speed, and skill. Now they are just slow bubbles of glimmer amid elementals that are little more than fangs and tendrils. While I was watching one mortal being stalked and killed, I heard it call my name. How could anything have recognized me in the etherworld, especially here? I was sickened and frightened.” Laron sat shivering, hugging his knees.

  “You? Laron, you have killed more people than I’ve eaten mutton pies.”

  “It was the feeling of despair, not the killing. It was hopelessness beyond words. Damn, Miral is nearly down. I am … unsettled. Will you watch over me tonight?”

  “Of course. We freaks must guard each other’s weaknesses, as well as benefit from our strengths.”

  “No, I mean if I get up before Miral rises again, cut me down and strike my head off.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t argue, just—”

  Laron collapsed and lay limp. Miral was gone from the hazy murk at the horizon.

  The sun rose a little before Miral the next morning. Druskarl had not slept at all, and had sat watching Laron for any sign of movement. The vampyre had remained as still as death, however, until the tip of Miral’s rings was above the horizon.

  “So, I notice that I did not move,” he observed as he looked down at himself.

  “And you owe me a night’s sleep,” grumbled Druskarl. “Shall we return to the camp?”

  “Just one more matter,” said Laron, taking a chisel from his pack. “I want a chunk of glass from where Silverdeath fell.”

  “Why? All the imprinted parts have been removed.”

  “Even the unimprinted glass remaining seems to have powerful etheric properties. Bring your ax, help me chip out a sample from the exact center of the chipped area.”

  “Why bother? I decided to do just that yesterday,” Druskarl laughed as he tossed a greenish chunk to Laron.

  They set off for the camp, which was not far away.

  “Why were you so worried last night?” asked Druskarl.

  “This place, it is swarming with powerful, clever things. Souls, elementals, raptors, things that probably have no name at all, and may never even have been studied by darkwalking initiates. I was afraid that something would know how to possess my body, in spite of the truename that guards it.”

  “Nothing can get past a truename, navigator.”

  “I am not so sure. If you had seen what I saw—”

  Suddenly Druskarl made a sound like a gasp and a squeal forced into one. Laron’s hand was already on his ax as he crouched and glanced about to see what was wrong. Then he gasped as well.

  Velander was straddling Feran amid his bedding, their pale, naked bodies gleaming in the weak morning sunlight. There was no possible doubt of what activity they were engaged in. Velander was wearing the circlet.

  “Don’t mind us,” Druskarl cried in Diomedan.

  “No, don’t mind us,” agreed Laron in Scalticarian; then added, “That is, don’t mind us,” in Diomedan.

  “I’m a eunuch.”

  “And I am—er, rather young.”

  “We are just bystanders,” said Druskarl, now backing away.

  “Yes, we are just, well, standing by.”

  Laron edged forward, snatched up his bedroll and iron casket, then stopped.

  “Ah, my circlet?” he ventured. “Please?”

  “I should like to borrow it, if that is not a problem,” Velander asked. “I have no darkwalking tether, and—”

  “Ah, no—no problem at all. One less thing to carry. I like to travel light. Just wear it and carry on—well, that is, as before. On Feran, I mean—No! I meant—”

  “He means, don’t mind us,” Druskarl repeated. “We are just bystanders.”

  “Quite innocent, really.”

  “You might say we’re innocent bystanders, in fact.”

  They suddenly ran out of words. The silence was absolute for a moment.

  “Will you two go away?” said Velander’s voice.

  “Oh! Go away?” exclaimed Druskarl.

  “Ah, yes,” said Laron. “Go away. Quite an understandable request.”

  “Given the circumstances.”

  “Particularly your circumstances.”

  “We’ll go behind those ruins over there until you are finished.”

  “Dressing, that is.”

  “Go away!” demanded Velander.

  “Ah yes, we were just going,” they said together.

  They hurried away into the melted stumps of the nearby ruins.

  “Why was she wearing my circlet? I wonder,” said Laron as they sat down, still astounded.

  “My former wife and queen liked to be seduced while wearing only her jewels,” Druskarl replied.

  “Whatever for?”

  “Different things enhance the, ah, erotic mood for different people. Surely you have noticed.”

  “Oddly enough, eunuch, for all my strange and horrifying eating habits, and my peculiar sleeping arrangements, I am still something of a virgin.”

  Given what they had seen a quarter hour earlier, Druskarl and Laron were not at all surprised that Velander and Feran were sitting together and holding hands when they returned for breakfast. Most of the conversation pointedly involved the ocular that Laron and Druskarl had discovered. Druskarl even suggested they stay another day to see what else they could find. Velander advised against it.

  “This is a disturbed place,” she said as they prepared to return to the gigboat. “I can sense it.”

  “I know, the lives of many millions of people were obliterated from here, as well as those of countless more entities and animals,” Druskarl agreed, gazing uneasily over the glass landscape. “Last night Laron spoke a word of detachment and looked upon this place from the etherworld. The sights he saw were disturbing. Many, many things are prowling here—wispy, frail, starving things that are slowly fading into true death.”

  “And they may try to follow us,” Velander warned.

  “So what should we do?” asked Feran.

  “Put all our tether amulets in Laron’s iron casket, along with the glass imprinted by Silverdeath, and the ocular tether. That way nothing can see us moving from the etherworld.”

  Druskarl nodded. “That does seem sensible.”

  “You will need to reset the circlet to be translucent to all but yourself,” said Laron, speaking to the priestess without quite looking at her. “It currently can be seen from the etherworld as well as ours. You put it on, so only you can control it.”

  “Then you must tell me the settings,” she replied.

  She reset the circlet under his instructions, and the circlet and oracle stone winked out of view. Clever girl, thought Laron, as the priestess smiled in triumph.

  Not much was left of Velander, only a faint collection of attitudes, motivations, memories, and values that once had formed the core of her spirit. That core could sense, and had limited movement, but hardly could be thought of as alive. She was now ignored by the raptor elementals as the ragged fragment of her being orbited the great axis. Out in the blackness was the starlike point of light that was the ocular, the lump of firmness that was her circlet, and the hair-thin beams of orange that were the chunks of glass from where Silverdeath had fallen.

  She knew she was dead. Her
body had been stolen, but nobody had noticed. Laron was the only other initiate in the group. Laron. He would eventually see something was wrong, but how long would that take?

  The circlet’s solidity suddenly vanished, along with one of the orange hairlines. Now only the star-point of the ocular and an orange axis to which it was tethered were out there. Velander suddenly realized that her party was preparing to leave, but first they were cutting off the anchor points that she might use to follow them. The elemental! She was doing it. Without even thinking, Velander drifted away from the great axis and toward the remaining hairline of orange light. It was moving as she reached it; she wrapped herself about it. It vanished, along with the ocular.

  Now there was only the great axis in the distance, surrounded by circling sparkles of many colors. She was truly dead, there was nothing to do but fade—yet there was something else nearby! The line of orange light was no more than gossamer, like a strand of spiderweb that one could only see if the light was favorable. Out here, away from the brightness of the great axis, it was just visible. It moved. Velander followed. The elemental must have advised Laron to put this, too, in his iron box. Velander wrapped her tattered core about the line of energy. It continued to move.

  Velander clung to the orange line, savoring every moment of awareness, savoring hope. Especially hope. Hope that she would not suddenly find herself clinging to nothingness. Hope of a future back in the world and dimensions she called home. Hope for time. Time to remember being a tomboy who wanted to punch, wrestle, and ax-fence better than any boy. Time to savor being a spy before she was a teenager, with blood on her hands and the gratitude of kings. Time to recall the baffled fury of being stared at and whispered about when she was an adolescent. How dare they? she raged in silence. She had followed every rule, she had won, she had triumphed, yet youths her age had called her a freak. The girls, too, if it came to that. Then there had been Elasse Arimer. Elasse had convinced her there was a place for the brilliant achiever among the Metrologans; she had even found enough money to pay Velander’s fees and upkeep. But Elasse had been drowned. Terikel had lost a sister, Velander had lost a saint. Of course, Terikel had done as much as Elasse, and even more, Velander thought, but she was just treating her as if she were her dead sister. It was all clear now, with death so close. Death forced one to be honest, she realized. Who would have thought the jaws of death could turn out to be the lid of an iron case snapping shut? And after all her struggles, self-reliance, and independence, she called to a boy when the raptors were closing in. Not just death, but humiliation, too. By now they think I am a slut, thanks to that elemental in my body. At least nobody heard me call out to Laron for help. If he had heard …