by Allan Cole
Then I heard the great doors to the forgeroom boom open.
The second hour had passed.
And we not only lived but were stronger than before.
Quickly Zalia grabbed a rag she’d hidden in her smock. It was smeared with thick black grease.
Our plan, at least that portion I’d revealed to her, was to hide our magical hands by coating them with the grease. No one was likely to notice what was in front of their faces if we made them look as dirty as our slave hands.
Then we’d join the group leaving the forgeroom, praying that an hour’s respite was enough time to recover for the next shift. We’d continue through the rest of the day as normally as possible. After that we could plan the rest of our escape in the relative privacy of our cell.
Zalia threw me the rag and jumped up, urging me to hurry.
Instead, I dropped the rag and rose to face Novari’s forge, probing with my ethereye.
I could see the hellsfires burning beyond the shimmering curtain. I could see the writhing souls and I could hear their terrible screams.
I jumped up on the conveyor. It jolted forward
I cried out to Zalia: “This way!
“Novari awaits!”
I saw her hesitate. Saw shock turn to decision turn to resolve. Then she shouted a war cry and leaped up beside me.
We gripped our living hands. Held our golden fists high.
And we rode through the flaming curtain into Novari’s hell.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
KINGDOM OF DREAMS
Fire gouted. Thunder crashed. Tornadoes formed of smoke and fiery cinders roared on every side. The air was a demon’s fetid breath, stinking of corpses and burning flesh. All color had collapsed into garish hues of red and black.
The wails of lost souls were dark tides of pity sucking us deeper into Novari’s machine.
The conveyor was sweeping us toward a flaming whirlpool of power. Screaming and flailing around it were hundreds of spirit slaves. They were chained to the grated floor with sorcerous links which they tore at with bleeding nails.
I saw Searbe among them, heard his tortured screams, saw flames char flesh and bone which became whole again for misery’s next roundelay.
Above it all was the song of the Lyre Bird. But the strings did not sing of promised pleasures and seductive dreams. The music was a mad dissonance of notes forming and shattering and reforming into shrills of greater and greater intensity.
The souls all writhed and danced in time to that mad music, their agony feeding the whirlpool of fire.
Ahead I saw a stack of gold rods carried through the whirlpool. Sparks exploded in every direction. On the other side of the whirlpool I saw the conveyor emerge again, the trough glittering with a fine layer of Novari’s magical dust.
I gripped Zalia’s hand tight, drawing in power with every forward jolt of the conveyor. I was a magical sponge, sucking up sorcerous energy until my body and soul were completely infused with it.
I felt a jolt of power jump from Zalia to me and I was suddenly drawing in more energy than I thought possible. I was too full of surprised joy at this new source of strength to question it. To wonder how Zalia had suddenly become my wizardly sister.
I threw back my head and bawled my spell into the fires of Hellspoint:
She who plays pain’s melody;
She who strums stings of perfidy;
She who drains all love from passion,
All grace from ardor,
All that is tender,
All that is life.
Hear me, Novari! I am your foe!
I am the sword at your throat.
The boot in your back.
The wizard bitch
Who will haunt your dreams
For all eternity
Unless you slay me!
Come, Novari!
Come face your final test!
I hurled the spell into the ethers, Zalia beside me.
Fire blasted from our golden fists. Lighting arced down from the skies to mate with that fire and our magical hands glowed and crackled with energy.
My strength was enormous. I could feel Zalia’s power surge as well, transforming into something else. I heard her shout defiance. A glorious incense suddenly turned the foul air sweet. And her thick fingered-grip became slim steel bands cutting into my palm.
But I felt no danger. Her strength was still my strength. And mine was becoming hers.
Just as we swept into the furious whirlpool Searbe spotted us and screamed to me for help. He surged forward, fighting his chain and I reached out with my golden hand and lifted him onto the conveyor effortlessly. I broke the magical chain with one yank of my etherhand, freeing him.
And we were all carried into the very eye of Hellspoint.
Then I was floating in a stark white void. All was silent except for a faint echo of lyre strings. The music was softer now, moist with enticement. But the enticement wasn’t meant for me.
I was alone yet I could still feel Zalia’s fingers clutched in mine. I looked around, but saw no one. Then her ghost grip tightened as if in alarm and a huge crab scuttled into view.
It was twice my size and had one mighty claw that snapped open and shut with ferocious speed. Its shell was mottled armor of greenish gray perched on yellow saw-toothed legs. A viscous liquid oozed from its mouth.
The crab’s eye stalks moved back and forth in time with the faint music. Then they swiveled and found me.
A loud sharp note twanged on the lyre.
The crab scuttled for me, its powerful claw clack-clack-clacking as it came.
I reached into the Otherworld with my etherhand. I envisioned Novari’s armory with its racks of golden weapons. I snatched up a sword, pulling it through. I struggled as if against quicksand that was trying to drawn me down. Then the sword came free with a loud pop.
I struck out just as the crab leaped. The magical blade bit deep, cutting through the crab’s armor. I heard an all-too-human scream. Slime and blood spurted from the wound and the crab jumped back.
A man’s head and torso burst out from between the wavering eyestalks like an erupting boil.
It was Searbe; part crab, part man, part Evocator.
And wholly Novari’s willing slave.
“I’ll kill you, Antero,” he gibbered, his big claw clacking madly.
“Let me help you, my friend,” I pleaded with him. “She’s got you in her power. But if you give me a chance I can free you once and for all.”
“You’re no friend of mine, Antero,” he railed. “You cheated me!”
“When?” I said. “When did I cheat you? I gave you a high position. A position of respect. You were chief Evocator of an important outpost. Your future was assured. Your possibilities endless.”
“You always thought I was nothing but a rude boor,” he screamed, bordering hysteria. “A worthless boaster.”
“You have faults,” I admitted. “But I was willing to overlook them. I thought you had talent that outweighed those faults.”
“You’re an expert at rewriting history, Antero,” he babbled. “You stuck me on that outpost and abandoned me to whatever evil might come along. You refused to show me any of your own powers so I could at least protect myself.”
“I’ve never refused you anything,” I said.
“That’s not true,” he screamed. “It’s a lie! And you shall pay for all your lies.”
“Listen to me,” I persisted. “I just saved you in one world. I can do it here as well. Don’t work against me. We’re comrades. Friends. Fellow Orissans. We can work together to solve this.”
Searbe suddenly became calm. He leered at me. “I’ve been working in my own self interest for some time now,” he snarled. “Just as you have. Just as all Anteros do.”
The lyre music swelled louder, filling the void with a song of mockery.
Searbe waved his crab claw. “Do you hear that?” he crowed. “Novari says she’s sorry. She loves me. She’s always loved me. She didn’t want to
hurt me. But she didn’t have any choice.
“You forced her, Antero! You made Novari hurt me!”
I wanted to protest. To give him one more chance. Before he made his move.
The great claw suddenly swept out to crush me.
I stood firm. Letting it come.
Then at the last instant I struck.
My golden sword sliced through the claw as if it were cloth instead of shell armor.
Searbe howled, trying to draw the stump back.
I slashed to the side and the howl became a gurgle as the blade cut his throat.
I slashed again to make certain he was dead but in midstroke the void dissolved in a sudden blast of light.
And I found myself standing on a boulder-strewn plain, Searbe’s death rattle echoing in my ears and his blood staining my sword.
Zalia’s hand had been ripped from my grasp and I turned to find her. I saw a woman’s shadow stretched long under the cold white light radiating from boiling skies.
I called out, “Zalia?”
I thought I heard her reply. Thought the reply came from the womanly shadow. I heard lyre music and the shadow vanished.
I turned toward the sound. Far across the plain I saw a black mechanical shape humped on barren ground. Its center spouted fire and beneath the torrent of lyre notes I heard the clank, clank, clank of the conveyor.
I heard Novari call, “Come to me, Antero. Come to me, my sweet. I’m waiting, Rali. Waiting for your embrace.”
I tightened my sword grip and started toward the machine.
A blinding light blossomed in front of me.
And out of that light stepped the goddess, Maranonia, spear held aloft, its needle point glowing with heavenly fire.
I sighed, slumping wearily against a boulder.
“So you’ve finally decided to help,” I said, not bothering to hide my bitterness.
The goddess laughed. The sound was like breaking glass.
“At this moment,” she said, “most mortals would fall on the ground and abase themselves and praise my name and beg my forgiveness for all sins, real or imagined.”
“Look at me,” I cried. “Aren’t I missing enough parts to make up for any transgressions? Or do you require my other hand and complete blindness?”
The goddess laughed again. It was cold and sardonic and felt like the blast of winter wind.
“I’ll grant you the right to be angry with me, Rali,” she said. “And I’ll forgive you for it. To do otherwise would make me a poor goddess, indeed.”
I wanted to tell her what she could do with her forgiveness. But I had more pressing business.
“What do you want me to do now, my goddess?” I asked. I pointed across the plain at the hunched black shape. “My goal was to destroy that infernal machine.”
“That’s the wisest course, Rali,” she said. “Destroy that and Orissa will be saved.”
“I could use a little help with it, if you don’t mind,” I said. “Maybe you could level the damned thing with a godly blast. Then I can finish off Novari.”
“I can’t aid you that directly, Rali,” she said. “If I did, more than Orissa would be destroyed in the backblast. My enemies are prepared for any intervention on my part.”
“That’s great. Really great,” I snarled. “Then what are you here for, O Great Goddess? An eve-before- the-battle speech to rouse my blood? After which you can retire gracefully to the Halls of the Gods and watch the action with a good vintage from your heavenly vineyards.”
Maranonia ignored my sarcasm. “My purpose, Rali,” she said, “is to warn you. And in all fairness I must offer you a choice between what may be two evils.”
“And they are?” I asked.
“First,” she said, “let me fetch our sister.”
She gestured with her spear and a warm wind blew up and then a shimmer of light rent the air.
A woman stepped through that shimmering gap to stand before us.
As weary and soul sick as I was I couldn’t help but marvel at her beauty.
She was tall and willowy with ivory skin, a heart-shaped face and eyes as wide and dark and mysterious as a starry night. The wind made her long auburn hair stream behind her like the mane of a great wild mare and her smock was pressed against her body, displaying every curve and hollow.
It was the woman I’d seen in my dream long ago. The woman who’d sailed the silver ship through the skies over AnteroBay, pursued by some terrible force.
The woman stretched out a golden hand.
And when she spoke, she spoke with Zalia’s voice:
“Don’t you know me, Rali?”
“Zalia!” I breathed. “How could it be?”
Maranonia chuckled. “Queen Salimar,” she said, “is as good at disguises as you are with weapons, Rali.”
I gaped so wide I’m afraid I must’ve looked like an old mud-spitting pond fish.
“Queen Salimar?” I said. “You mean, Zalia is really...”
“I’m sorry,” Salimar said. “I thought the deceit was necessary.”
She gave Maranonia a cold look. “You nearly made us both enemies, Goddess,” she said, “instead of natural friends.”
Rather than being insulted, Maranonia seemed pleased. “Such spirited women!” she said. “No wonder the battle tends my way. What other god can boast of two such as you?”
“I heard Rali ask you for help, Goddess,” Salimar said. “I also heard your answer. What choices are you speaking of? And what are the stakes?”
Her cultured and melodious voice which had sounded odd in her coarse disguise as Zalia now seemed entirely natural. There was no mistaking that Maranonia was being addressed by a queen.
The goddess stabbed her spear twice into the air and two glowing portals popped into view. The portals rested side by side, windows opening out onto two different worlds.
The closest portal looked down on Orissa from a great height. My heart ached to see the lovely river flowing past my city. I saw the docks and ships bearing the Antero flag. I saw the great amphitheater where I’d both fought and been honored. I saw the Evocator’s Palace on the hill overlooking the city and the magical glow of the Evocators at work. Far beyond that, past the winding road and gentle woods, I saw the outline of Amalric’s villa. I smelled the rose buds blooming around my mother’s shrine. Heard the fountain play. And the soft tunes of Omyere’s wondrous pipes.
I saw my brother and Omyere playing in a nearby meadow, laughing and tossing a small child about. Their son, I thought. The one Omyere was carrying when I left home. I marveled at how much he’d grown. And I wondered if they’d named him Cligus as they’d planned. I remembered my foreboding when the name was mentioned. I yearned to be with them, to help guide that innocent child past the shoals I feared his soul might founder upon some day.
I felt tears on my cheek and wiped my eye. Beside me I heard Salimar weeping softly and knew she was seeing similar things in her own homeland. I went to her and put a comforting arm about her shoulder. It was the oddest sensation.
My stocky friend was gone to be replaced by a woman of great beauty. The person I touched was strange and familiar at the same time. She sagged against me for a moment and I held her tighter.
I looked through the portal at her world - Khalilow. It was all she had said, from the graceful palace and gardens, to the blue skies and buttermilk clouds of eternal summer.
Then Maranonia whispered, “Begone,” and both portals vanished.
I felt like I’d been hanging from a thread and nearly fell. Salimar steadied me. I gazed into her eyes. They were wet and full of longing.
“I think that was our last look at home,” she murmured.
I turned to the goddess. She seemed sad, which was frightening for I knew the sadness was meant for Salimar and me.
“What do you want of us, My Lady?” I said. I was more respectful now. Her sadness made me feel sorry for her. I knew it was stupid to feel that way. We were the ones who seemed doomed to suffer, not M
aranonia.
“I want you to do exactly what you set out to accomplish, Rali,” she said. “I want you to destroy Novari’s machine.”
“You said something about choices,” I reminded her. “What are they, please?”
“The first choice is this,” the goddess said. “I can send you both home now. You can gather your armies separately and hope you will eventually defeat Novari when she comes. The chances of defeat or victory are exactly equal at this time. I don't know about later. The Lyre Bird is a primitive force, a savage force. But she grows wiser and more powerful each day.
