by A. J. Smith
The harbour contained no ships. It had two wooden jetties, secured to a shallow sea bed by heavy pillars. There were coiled ropes and a few barrels, but no structures until the spherical buildings began, a hundred feet or so from the water. The semi-circle of jagged grey mountains isolated the settlement from the northern deserts and looked unnatural when viewed close up. It was no kind of rock he’d ever seen, looking more like tightly compact ash or charcoal.
‘I can’t see anyone,’ he said, moving to stand by the captain.
‘And you won’t,’ replied Vekerian. ‘Not until we go ashore.’
Randall felt a tingle at the back of his neck and turned to see Ruth approach. She was again beautiful, with the stark sky framing her slender figure and the sway of her hips. For a moment, Randall forgot where he was and his head filled with lusty urges that had no place at the edge of the world.
‘You have been up here for many hours,’ said the Gorlan mother. ‘Does Oron Kaa not disquiet you?’
‘It does, but... it’s like it flows around me. Like I have some kind of armour.’
‘It is exactly like that,’ she replied. ‘You are armoured by me and the fragment I have left in your mind.’
‘Do I need to be afraid?’
She stepped against him, the minaret appearing over her shoulder. ‘Why do you always ask that? Surely you know the answer by now.’
He gulped, realizing that he was stronger than he imagined, but still hesitant to accept it. ‘I – think that I shouldn’t be afraid here.’
She smiled and kissed him softly. ‘You are doing wonderfully, young Randall.’
He returned her kiss as the ship bumped to a gentle stop in the harbour of Oron Kaa. They were now at the very edge of the world, kissing as if nothing really mattered.
‘If Utha’s here, please help me find him,’ he implored.
‘The shadow is here,’ she replied, ‘and he needs us now. Know that I watch over you and that the power of Shub-Nillurath is as much based on smoke as it is on substance.’
The majority of Vekerian’s crew assembled on deck, wielding katanas and longbows. A few would remain behind to guard the Black Wave, but close to fifty armed Kirin would join their captain ashore. Many carried large canvas sacks, hoping that the search for Vekerian’s brother would also yield some plunder. They were not pirates, but the future held little possibility for making an honest living and pillaging a corpse city at the edge of the earth was less reprehensible than attacking a merchant ship. They clustered together, looking to Ruth for some kind of guidance. When she didn’t give any, they turned to their captain.
‘Great mother,’ said Vekerian, ‘I don’t know why you wanted to come here. But I thank you. We will follow you ashore.’
Ruth strode away from Randall and gathered the hem of her dress, before gracefully climbing over the railing and down the gangplank. Randall followed, stepping swiftly on to the dusty ground of Oron Kaa.
‘The first building, make it ours,’ commanded Vekerian, swinging his katana and puffing out his chest. ‘Kill anything that isn’t already dead. Now, get off this fucking ship!’
‘You heard him,’ offered Jez Ran. ‘We’re here for the captain’s brother, but they won’t miss a few coins. Chins out, lads.’
Whether through fear of their captain and first mate or confidence in the Gorlan mother, the fifty Kirin sailors grunted and disembarked behind Vekerian.
Randall didn’t draw the sword of Great Claw, taking his cue from Ruth’s slow, considered demeanour. He didn’t feel vulnerable or afraid and his hands didn’t shake. He thought of Utha and the pride he’d feel in his young squire. And he thought of Ruth, and the strength she’d given him.
‘Your thoughts show a new steel, young Randall. Is it possible you are beginning to trust yourself?’
He didn’t answer. He felt it would be rude and unnecessary to do so. She knew what he’d say and a smile appeared as she plucked the answer from his mind.
Behind, Vekerian led a wedge of sailors in Ruth’s wake, each man eyeing up the closest building. No-one had emerged to challenge them and Oron Kaa remained silent and still. Further inland the buildings were larger and sat, high in the air, on narrow pillars of the same fractured glass design. It wasn’t a town and had nothing that could be a tavern or a shop. Only the central building stood out, much taller than the others and as wide as the Black Wave.
They reached the first building, a squat bulb of red and green with no obvious doors or windows. The sailors remained quiet and spread out to encircle the building, looking for an entrance. When none was found, Vekerian ordered them to break through the shimmering surface, sending small fragments of glass on to the dust. Tunnels connected the building to all the others, but they were too small for humans to use, and Randall could only guess at their function. Now he was closer, he couldn’t see a single door or window in any of the buildings. Not that this deterred the Kirin. They smashed at the glass until a slender frame of metal was visible within. They found their voices, shouting and jeering at each other to make a useable hole in the building. One of the men poked his head and torso into the hole and shouted, indicating that there were people within. He pulled back and they continued to break the glass until a whole section had been destroyed.
‘Get ’em out,’ ordered Vekerian, spying two robed figures within the globe. His eyes were narrow and his face was pinched.
Two Karesian men with blank stares were pulled from the building. They didn’t resist and their limbs appeared floppy and inert, as if they were half-asleep, though their eyes were wide and bloodshot. They were insulted as weak-willed whores and kicked bloody by the sailors, while Vekerian demanded to know where he could find his son. They wore only thin robes and made no sound as they were beaten up.
Randall narrowed his eyes, realizing that the Kirin were not acting normally. They had not appeared violent or aggressive up to this point. He’d seen them fight before, but only to defend against a Hound warship. This was different, as if some kind of fever had taken them.
‘Remain calm,’ said Ruth. ‘Oron Kaa begins to weave its magic upon them. A crawling buzz will begin to infest their minds.’
‘And us?’
She stroked her hand down his face and curled her lips into the thinnest of smiles. ‘You and I are stronger than them. In time, perhaps they will look to you for protection. If I am successful here, Raz Mon Vekerian and his crew will remain free longer than many other mortals.’
The two blank-faced Karesians had been beaten nearly to death and the sailors now ransacked the first building, pulling out furniture and fittings, all made of the same fractured glass. None of it looked valuable and the Kirin smashed their way through the remainder, searching for anything to plunder. Vekerian stood back with Jez Ran, both looking towards the central minaret with watchful eyes. They fumbled at their ears and winced every few seconds, as if they could hear a distant buzzing.
‘Finish up,’ said Vekerian. ‘We’re moving on to the next building.’
The Kirin showed obvious distress, grumbling, presumably at the same sound heard by their captain. Randall could hear nothing but the sound of breaking glass and complaining sailors.
‘Let us join them,’ said Ruth. ‘Stay close to me and do not draw your sword.’
The Kirin stayed at walking pace, though they were now drenched in sweat and gritting their teeth. They reached the next building, languishing in the shadow of the minaret. It was one of several in an outer ring round the central ground, which, when viewed from close by, could almost be called a town square. The other buildings, squat and spherical, were densely packed with claustrophobic streets too narrow for men to walk comfortably. From the complaints of the Kirin, it appeared the buzzing noise was growing worse the closer they got to the minaret. They now swore almost constantly, loudly doubting their captain’s wisdom in searching for his son.
Before Vekerian or Jez Ran could exert their dominance, figures appeared from between the nearby build
ings. They wore the same black robes and showed the same blank expressions. Men and women, mostly Karesian, but a fair smattering of Kirin, loped into view from every side of the bizarre town. Further inland, past the minaret, more figures appeared. Randall could see dozens and knew that dozens more were approaching. The settlement had appeared abandoned, but now it burst into at least a semblance of life. The frenzied movement of the sailors contrasted sharply with the solemn procession of men and women, each one more impassive than the last. Utha and Voon were nowhere to be seen and Randall stayed where he was, never more than a few feet from Ruth.
Fuelled by the growing pain in their heads, the Kirin sailors attacked, hacking the mindless figures to the stone floor. Vekerian was at the front, whirling his katana with controlled skill. Randall could see blood beginning to pool in the captain’s ears as the buzzing made him scream. It was unnerving to see men cowed by a sound he couldn’t hear and the young squire began to worry for the Kirin sailors.
‘You need to trust me,’ said Ruth. ‘These men will survive if I am successful.’
The Kirin cut down any inert figure that stood before them, but they began to wail in ear-splitting pain as they did so. The buzzing was taking its toll and even Vekerian now struggled to continue.
‘Desist!’ intoned a cracked female voice. It came from the centre of the town and carried far in the still air. ‘Do not let the mother manipulate you. Leave now and I will not eat your hearts.’
The Kirin barely heard the warning. They were now committed to killing the endless procession of robed figures. Twenty or thirty were dead and the sailors twitched, as if their fever had reached its peak. They scratched at their ears, many dropping their blades and flailing on the floor. Only the strongest remained standing, but they were enough to kill blank-faced people who weren’t fighting back.
The distant voice began to laugh, the sound a whip-crack of pleasure and pain. The Kirin faltered against the weight of more and more blank-faced inhabitants. Then openings and doorways began to appear in the mottled glass of several of the buildings. Some were big enough for men, though others were small; these appeared well above head height. The sailors who could still move stepped back, pulling their mates away from the dead and dying bodies lying in undignified piles between buildings.
‘Hold here,’ said Vekerian, his eyes darting between the closest openings.
His men fought the urge to run and those who had been felled by the buzzing sounds were pulled to their feet. Eyes and ears were bleeding and many Kirin were wailing in rising panic.
Suddenly everyone turned from the openings to look at the dead bodies. The robed figures lying in their own blood began to judder and contort. Each body flipped over until they all stared blankly to the sky. The Kirin took another step backwards. Many were held upright only by the assistance of their fellows.
‘What’s happening?’ whispered Randall.
Ruth stepped in front of him protectively and he saw fine, black hairs appear on the back of her neck. ‘They were once called the Shan,’ she replied. ‘They are the Builders of Oron Kaa. The first and last slaves of Shub-Nillurath. I will free them this day.’
Each dead body – many with missing limbs and grisly wounds – shook violently, splaying itself as wide as it would go. Each head went back, each throat swelled and split, and each mouth opened.
The old woman’s voice sounded again. ‘You have killed much flesh. Luckily, you will be adequate replacements.’
From each dead body a creature emerged, scratching its way out of their mouths. They broke through teeth and distended jaws until three sets of thin, membranous wings emerged. They looked like long wasps, mottled in sickly shades of red and green, with large segmented bodies and clawed feelers sticking out from circular, sucking mouths.
The buzzing must now have been deafening; Randall could see the Kirin screaming in agony. Even Vekerian was on his knees, struggling to crawl backwards.
Ruth marched forward, through clusters of crying Kirin. Her skin was now flowing and twisting into a new form, her body elongating and each limb splitting into two smaller legs. The new appendages were long and narrow at first, but slowly thickened as they lifted her body off the ground.
‘I have not seen you for many ages, great mother,’ said the old woman, appearing from an opening high up in the central minaret. She looked as she sounded, hateful and wrinkled. Her pinched eyes were black, and widened as she saw the Gorlan mother transforming amidst buzzing insects and screaming Kirin. ‘You are too late to change anything, old woman. Your power is not wanted here.’
Now fully transformed into a huge spider, Ruth swatted away the insects with her front legs, pushing forward with enough power to topple the smaller buildings. The buzzing creatures avoided her, focusing on the Kirin. Vekerian’s men were now helpless as the insects latched on to their faces and clawed at their throats.
‘Run!’ screamed the captain, pulling himself backwards across the dusty ground. He appeared to have suddenly remembered something.
Within a second a dozen Kirin had their mouths ripped open by insects burrowing deeply into their throats. The men flailed and shook, but were helpless to resist the grotesque Builders of Oron Kaa. Some were stronger and had managed to crawl away, keeping hold of their katanas, but they mounted no defence and were merely trying to escape.
An insect fluttered towards Randall and he jumped backwards. The creature was fuzzy and emitted a foul stench that made the air distort. It reached for him but then pulled back at the last moment, hissing loudly. It seemed to have sensed something that scared it. More insects, on getting close to him, also hesitated and found themselves skewered by hairs from Ruth’s colourful abdomen, a thick mist of them. The blade-like hairs surrounded him, keeping him isolated from the carnage. How she managed to control them and keep him from being impaled was a mystery, but a mystery he was happy to accept.
Randall felt like a passenger, viewing the madness of Oron Kaa from a place of safety beyond where the buzzing and the insanity could penetrate. He stared up at the old woman and gasped, realizing that Utha and Voon were standing either side of her. He didn’t understand what he was looking at. They both wore black robes and were clearly not prisoners.
‘Utha!’ shouted Randall. ‘What are you doing?’
The albino held two Karesian scimitars and Voon’s ever-present spear was across his back. His master sneered at him from above and whispered something to the old woman. She began to laugh again, the same sharp sound, conveying no humour but rather depthless hate. She stopped laughing when Ruth reared up and hissed at her. The immense Gorlan was smashing her way through buildings and crushing faceless people beneath her eight heavy legs. She was past the Kirin, many of whom were now staring upwards as the Builders took control of their bodies.
The insects, the buzzing, the laughter – none of it affected Ruth or Randall. He stood, still protected by a mist of Gorlan hairs, starting to realize how powerful his companion truly was. Perhaps the most powerful creature in the lands of men. But more than that, he realized how much she knew and how much she’d given him. But still he looked at Utha and felt lost.
‘Great mother!’ screamed Vekerian, slicing an insect in two and retreating.
Ruth made no move to help the Kirin, but continued crawling over and through the buildings, crushing glass and hissing up at the old woman. The spectre of a dead son had brought the captain here and Randall hoped Ruth knew what she was doing. The alternative was that she’d simply used these sailors to get her to Oron Kaa.
‘Master!’ shouted Randall, his throat turning hoarse from the effort.
‘He is no longer the weak flesh of Utha the Ghost,’ said the woman. ‘He is now mine, for this moment and forever.’
‘Shut up,’ he replied. ‘I wasn’t talking to you.’
The old woman balked at his manner, unable to understand how he was proving immune to the madness of her settlement. He was reminded of Saara the Mistress of Pain and how angry
she had been when Ruth overpowered her. Time and again, the might of the Dead God and his enchantresses had been swamped by the ancient power of the Gorlan mother.
The opening on the high minaret began to close, gradually obscuring Utha, Voon and the old woman. Her servants and her insects had been unable to stop Ruth and the huge creature was now crawling up the central building, leaving a thick layer of silk attached to the adjacent structures.
Randall began to move after her, stepping over gyrating Kirin bodies and round buzzing insects. The mist of hairs followed him like a floating suit of armour, allowing him to enter the central square unmolested. He suddenly felt angry. He’d seen Utha and he’d seen that his master was in trouble. Though his journey had changed him, he was still here to rescue the caustic Black cleric.
He sped up and ran to reach the base of the minaret. He could still hear Vekerian, but forced himself not to turn back. The central square was made of dusty flagstones, octagonal and fitted together at strange angles that didn’t appear to make sense. He reached the mottled glass pillar that supported the minaret and skipped left and right, looking for an entrance. He saw two round the base, rectangular openings with no door or doorframe, from which blank-eyed people were emerging. The fine mist of Gorlan hair dissipated, but the Builders still hung back, too afraid to attack him.
‘Just so you’re aware, I’m drawing my sword now,’ he shouted up at Ruth. He could just see one of her back legs, disappearing across an adjacent building. Her silk ran in glistening lines up and down the minaret, catching insects in its sticky mass.
The sword of Great Claw had rarely met so little opposition when it struck flesh. No parry, no armour, not even a vague attempt to dodge it – the expressionless people just died, slumping downwards with barely a whimper.
‘How dare you interfere!’ screeched the old woman. He heard it echo around the clashing glass colours of the interior. He imagined she was talking to Ruth, but the sentiment was probably meant for him too.
Three more robed figures loped towards him from a spiral staircase and were cut down with two thrusts and a backhand. He didn’t like killing these men, but diplomacy was impossible. When they were dead, he looked around for the first time. The interior was made of the same small glass blocks of clashing and sickly colours. Daylight cast a glow through the openings but was repelled within a few feet. Unnatural illumination came from somewhere but there were no lanterns or fires, just irregular rooms and bizarre refractions of light, ringing an ornate column that contained the staircase.
