The sky shook with multi-coloured mirth, blossoming white shot through with veins of blue and purple and black, searing red, splattered with spreading flowers of yellow, smeared, smeared, smeared with ghoulish green. Across this seething backdrop sped bizarre shapes.
The Lords of Chaos shouted and sang their weird creation and Elric, shouting also, thought the frozen statues he had seen were weeping and laughing.
A grotesque combination of man and tree sent roots streaming towards the earth to tug mountains from the caverns it exposed and set them, peak first, like inverted pyramids, into the ground. Upon the flat surfaces dancers appeared in bright rags which fluttered and flared around them.
They were warped, unhuman, pale as dead beauty, grinning fixedly and then Elric saw the strings attached to their limbs and the silently laughing puppet-master bearlike and gigantic, controlling them. From another direction sped a small, blind figure bearing a scythe that was a hundred times bigger than the bearer.
With a sweep, he cut the strings and, with that action, the whole faded to be replaced by a gushing brilliance of green and orange flame which formed itself into streamers of zigzagging disorder.
All this went on around them. The Lords of Chaos smiled to themselves now, as they created, but Elric frowned, watched with wonder and no little pleasure, but puzzled how he might emulate such feats.
For long hours the pageant of Chaos continued as the Lords took the elements of Elric's world and shook them about, turned them inside out, stood them on end, made startling, strange, beautiful, unholy combinations until they were satisfied with the constant movement of the scene about them, the perpetual shifting and changing. They had set a pattern that was no pattern, which would last until they became bored with their domain again and brought about another Time of the Change.
Then their heads turned and all regarded Elric expectantly.
Teshwan said a trifle wearily. "There-you have seen what we can do."
"You are artists, indeed, " said Elric, "and I am so amazed by what I have witnessed that I need a little time to think. Will you grant it me?"
"A little time-a little time only-we want to see what you prepare for us while the excitement is still upon us."
And Elric placed his white albino's head upon his fist and thought deeply.
Many ideas occurred to him, only to be discarded, but at length he straightened his back and said: "Give me the power to create and I will create."
So Teshwan said smilingly. "You have the power-use it well. A joke and a paradox is all we require."
"The reward for failure?"
"To be forever conscious."
At this, Elric shivered and put his mind to concentrating, searching his memory until a manlike figure formed before him. Then he placed features on its head and clothes on its body until there stood before Elric and the Lords of Chaos a perfect replica-of Elric.
Puzzledly, Teshwan said: "This is splendid impertinence, I grant you-but this is nothing new-you already sit there beside us."
"Indeed, " replied Elric, "but look in the man's mind."
They frowned and did as he asked. Then, smiling, they nodded. "The paradox is good, " said Teshwan, "and we see your point. We have, for an eternity, created the effect. You, in your pride and innocence, have created the cause. In that man's mind was all that could ever exist."
"You have noted the paradox?" asked Elric, anxious that the correct interpretation had been divulged.
"Of course. For though the mind contains the variety beloved of we of Chaos, it contains the order that those barren Lords of Law would foist on the world. Truly, young mortal, you have created everything with a stroke. And thank you, also, for the joke."
"The joke?"
"Why truly-the best joke is but a simple statement of truth. Farewell. Remember, friend mortal, that the Lords of Chaos are grateful to you."
And with that, the whole domain faded away and Elric stood on the grassy plain.
In the distance he observed the city of Bakshaan which had been his original destination, and nearby was his horse to take him there.
He mounted, flapped the reins, and, as the grey gelding broke into a trot, he said to himself: "A joke indeed, but it is a pity that men do not laugh at it more often."
Reluctantly, he headed for the city.
FB2 document info
Document ID: b3c43200-c2ce-4596-88f7-5fbdef54c106
Document version: 2
Document creation date: 2005-11-13
Created using: doc2fb, FBTools software
OCR Source: "Танелорн: Всё о Майкле Муркоке" http://www.moorcock.narod.ru/
Document authors :
Nina (El)
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The Last Enchantment ttoew-3 Page 2
