Phoenix in Obsidian

by Michael Moorcock

  “Then…”

  “Wait until we are aboard.”

  The group of people waiting on the beach had two litters ready. Plainly these were meant for us. Belphig and I crunched across the crystal until we reached them. Then the bishop entered one and, somewhat reluctantly, I climbed into the other. The alternative, I guessed, was to wade through that murky, viscous water and merely the sight of it filled me with distaste. A grey scum floated at the edges where it touched the beach and the smell of decay and ordure reached my nostrils. I guessed that this was the place into which Rowernarc’s waste found its way.

  The litters were lifted up and the slaves began to wade through the water that appeared to have the consistency of porridge and which had oily black weed growing on its surface.

  A flight of collapsible steps had been lowered down the side of the ship and Belphig led the way up them, puffing and complaining until we were aboard and entering a doorway at the base of the pyramid.

  Up we went again until we at last reached the top deck and stood on it, watching the rest of the crew and entourage assembling themselves on the various lower galleries. The prow of the ship was raised and curved and had a high gallery of its own which was protected by a rail of rococo iron. From this gallery what appeared to be long ropes went over the side and into the water. They were secured to stanchions and I took them to be anchor ropes.

  Looking over the ship I had the peculiar impression that we were aboard a gigantic cart rather than a seagoing vessel, for the paddle-wheels were arranged on spokes, in pairs, with nothing, apparently, to drive them.

  The slave arrived with my spear and axe and handed them to me. I thanked him and fixed them into lugs which were arranged for this purpose around the inside of the rail.

  Belphig looked up at the sky, as an ordinary sailor might look to see the lie of the weather. I could see no change in the thick, brown cloud layers, the jagged mountain peaks or the sluggish sea. The sun was again invisible and its faint light was further diffused by the clouds. I drew my heavy coat about me and waited impatiently for Bishop Belphig to give the order to sail.

  I was already regretting my decision to accompany the Lord Spiritual on this venture. I had no idea what we were to hunt or in what manner. My sense of discomfort was increasing as some instinct warned me that the bishop had invited me on this hunt for more specific reasons than the relief of my boredom.

  Morgeg, the bishop’s captain, climbed the central stairway to the top deck and presented himself to his master.

  “We are ready to roll, Lord Bishop.”

  “Good.” Belphig put a pale hand on my arm in a confiding gesture. “Now you will see our ‘engines’, Count Urlik.” He smiled secretly at Morgeg. “Give the order, Sir Morgeg.”

  Morgeg leaned over the rail and addressed the armoured men who had now taken up positions in the prow gallery. They were strapped into seats and had the ropes that I thought anchor ropes around their arms. There were whips in their hands, long harpoons at their sides. “Prepare!” shouted Morgeg through cupped hands. The armoured men stiffened and drew back the arms holding the whips. “Begin!”

  As one, the whips snapped out and cracked the surface of the water. Three times they did this and then I saw a disturbance just ahead of the prow and gasped as something began to emerge from below.

  Then four huge, gnarled heads broke from the depths. The heads turned to glare at the whipmen in the prow. Strange, barking noises came from the sinuous throats. Monstrous, serpentine bodies threshed in the water. The beasts had flat heads from the mouths of which long, straight tusks protruded. A harness was attached to these heads and with tugs the whipmen forced them to turn until they were looking out to sea.

  Again the whips cracked and the beasts began to move.

  With a lurch the ship was off, its paddles not cutting through the water but supporting the ship on the water, as wheels support a chariot.

  And that was what the ship was—a huge chariot designed to roll over the surface, pulled by these ugly monsters that seemed to me to be a cross between sea-serpents of legend, sea-lions of John Daker’s world, with a trace of sabre-tooth tiger for good measure!

  Out into that nightmare ocean swam the nightmare beasts, pulling our impossible craft behind them.

  The whips cracked louder and the drivers sang out to the beasts who swam faster. The wheels rolled rapidly and soon Rowernarc’s terrible shore disappeared in murky brown cloud.

  We were alone on that nameless, hellish sea.

  Bishop Belphig had become animated. He had placed his helm on his head and had opened the visor. In its nest of steel his face looked even more depraved.

  “Well, Count Urlik. What do you think of our engines?”

  “I have never seen such beasts. I could never have imagined them. How do you manage to train them?”

  “Oh, they were bred for this work—they are domestic animals. Once Rowernarc had many scientists. They built our city, channeling our heat from the fires that still flickered in the bowels of the planet. They designed and built our ships. They bred our various beasts of burden. But that, of course, was a thousand years ago. We have no need of such scientists now…”

  I thought it a slightly odd statement, though I said nothing. Instead, I asked: “And what do we hunt, my lord bishop?”

  Belphig drew a deep, excited breath. “Nothing less than the sea-stag himself. It is dangerous work. We might all perish.”

  “The thought of dying in this dreadful ocean does not commend itself,” I said.

  He chuckled. “Aye, a foul death. Perhaps the worst death this world can offer. But that is where the thrill lies, does it not?”

  “For you, perhaps.”

  “Ah, come now, Count Urlik. I thought you were beginning to enjoy our ways.”

  “You know that I am grateful for your hospitality. Without it I suppose I would have perished. But ‘enjoy’ is not the word I would have chosen.”

  He licked his lips, his pale eyes bright and lascivious. “But the slave girl I sent…?”

  I drew a heavy breath of that cold, salt-clogged air. “l had had a nightmare shortly before I discovered her in my bed. It seemed to me that she was merely part of that nightmare.”

  Belphig laughed and clapped me on the back. “Oho, you lusty dog! No need to be shy in Rowernarc. The girl told me all!”

  I turned away and put my two hands on the rail, staring over the dark waters. A rime of salt had formed on my face and beard, scouring my flesh. I welcomed it.

  * * *

  The sea-beasts strained and threshed and barked, the wheels of the ship slapped the surface of the salt-thick water, Bishop Belphig chuckled and exchanged glances with the dead-faced Morgeg. Sometimes the brown clouds broke and I saw the contracted sphere of the dull, red sun like a jewel hanging from a cavern roof. Sometimes the clouds gathered so close that they blotted out all the light and we moved through pitch-darkness broken only by the faint illumination of our artificial torches. A faint wind came and ruffled my coat, stirred the limp banners on their masts, but scarcely brought a ripple to the viscous ocean.

  Within me my torment seethed. My lips formed the syllables of Ermizhad’s name but then refused to move as if to utter that name, even under my breath, was to taint it.

  Onward the ship rolled. Its crew, the slaves of despair, moved about upon its decks or sat listlessly against its rails.

  And all the time Bishop Belphig’s fat jowls shook as his obscene laughter bubbled through the air.

  I began to think that I did not in the least care now if I perished in the waters of that great salt sea.

  7

  THE BELL AND THE CHALICE

  LATER BELPHIG RETIRED to his cabin with his slaves and the girl who had brought me the message came on deck and put her warm hand on my cold one.

  “Master? Do you not want me?”

  “Give yourself to Morgeg or whoever else desires you,” I said hollowly, “and I beg you forget that other time.”<
br />
  “But, master, you told me I could bring someone else, also… I thought you had learned to take pleasure in our ways…”

  “I take no pleasure in your ways. Please go.”

  She left me alone on the deck. I rubbed at my weary eyes. They were encrusted with salt. After a few moments I, too, went below, sought my cabin, locked the door and ignored the shut-bunk with its profusion of furs and silks in favour of the hammock, doubtless slung there for a servant’s use.

  Rocked in the hammock, I was soon asleep.

  Dreams came, but they were faint dreams. A few scenes. A few words. But the only words that made me shiver were the words which forced me to wake myself:

  BLACK SWORD

  BLACK SWORD

  BLACK SWORD

  THE BLACK SWORD IS THE CHAMPION’S SWORD

  THE WORD OF THE SWORD IS THE CHAMPION’S LAW

  BLACK SWORD

  BLACK SWORD

  BLACK SWORD

  THE BLADE OF THE SWORD HAS THE BLOOD OF THE SUN

  THE HILT OF THE SWORD AND THE HAND ARE AS ONE

  BLACK SWORD

  BLACK SWORD

  BLACK SWORD

  THE RUNES ON THE SWORD ARE THE WORMS THAT ARE WISE

  THE NAME OF THE SWORD IS THE SAME AS THE SCYTHE

  BLACK SWORD

  BLACK SWORD

  BLACK…

  The rhythm continued to drum in my skull. I shook my head and half fell from my hammock. Outside the cabin I heard hasty footsteps. Now they sounded above my head. I went to a washstand, splashed water over my hands and face, opened the door and climbed the intricately carved companionway to the top deck.

  Morgeg and another man stood there. They were leaning over the rail, their ears cocked to the wind. Below, in the prow, the drivers continued to lash the sea-beasts on.

  Morgeg stepped back from the rail when he saw me. There was a trace of concern in his pale eyes.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “We thought we heard something. A sound we have not heard before in these waters.”

  I listened for a while with some concentration but all I could hear was the crack of the drivers’ whips, the slap of the wheels on the water.

  Then I heard it. A faint booming ahead of us. I peered into the murky brown fog. The booming came more strongly now.

  “It’s a bell!” I said.

  Morgeg frowned.

  “A bell! Perhaps there are rocks ahead and they are warning us off.”

  Morgeg jerked his thumb at the sea-beasts. “The slevahs would sense rocks if they were near and turn aside.”

  The sound of the tolling bell increased. It must have come from a huge bell, for it was deep and the ship vibrated with the noise.

  Even the sea-beasts were disturbed by it. They tried to turn away, but the drivers’ whips kept them on course.

  Still the tolling grew in intensity until it seemed to surround us. Bishop Belphig appeared on deck. He was not wearing his armour, but some kind of nightshirt by the look of it. Over this he had thrown a huge fur. His cosmetics were smeared and only half applied. Doubtless the bell had disturbed him in the middle of his revels. There was fear on his face.

  “Do you know what that bell is?” I asked him.

  “No. No.”

  But I thought that he did know—or that he guessed what it was. And he was afraid of the bell.

  Morgeg said: “Bladrak’s—”

  “Silence!” Belphig snapped. “How could it be?”

  “What is Bladrak?” I said.

  “Nothing,” Morgeg murmured, his eyes on the bishop.

  I did not pursue the subject, but the sense of menace I had felt when first boarding the craft now increased.

  The tolling was so loud now that it hurt my ears to hear it.

  “Turn the ship about,” Belphig said. “Give the order, Morgeg. Hurry!”

  His evident fear I found almost amusing after the bland impression of self-assurance he had given me earlier.

  “Are we going back to Rowernarc?” I asked him.

  “Yes, we’ll…” He frowned, his eyes flashing first to me, then to Morgeg, then to the rail. He tried to smile. “No, I think not.”

  “Why have you changed your mind?” I asked.

  “Be quiet, curse you!” Immediately he controlled himself. “Forgive me, Count Urlik. This dreadful noise. My nerves…” And he disappeared down the companionway.

  Still the bell boomed, but the drivers were turning the slevahs now. They reared and threshed in the water, dragging the ship full about.

  The drivers lashed them again and their speed increased.

  The booming continued, but it was just a little fainter now.

  Spray rose with the speed and force with which the wheels slapped the sea’s surface. The huge sea-chariot rocked and jolted and I clung hard to the rail.

  The tolling of the bell subsided.

  Soon silence sat upon the sea once again.

  Bishop Belphig re-emerged, clad in his armour, wearing his cloak. His cosmetics had been properly applied, but I saw that the face beneath them was paler than usual. He bowed to me, nodded to Morgeg. He tried to smile.

  “I am sorry that I lost my head for a moment, Count Urlik. I had but recently awakened. I was disorientated. That sound was terrifying, was it not?”

  “More terrifying, I suspect, to you than to me, Bishop Belphig. I thought you recognised it.”

  “No.”

  “And so did Morgeg—he uttered a name—Bladrak…”

  “A legend of the sea.” Belphig waved his fat hand dismissively. “Um—concerning a monster, Bladrak, with a voice like a huge bell. Naturally Morgeg, who is of a superstitious turn of mind, thought that Bladrak had come to… er, gobble us up.” His titter was high-pitched, his tone completely unconvincing.

  However, as the man’s guest I could scarcely push my questioning any farther. I had to accept what was, to me, evidently a hastily invented lie. I returned to my cabin as Belphig instructed Morgeg in a fresh course. And in my cabin I again found the girl I had dismissed. She was lying in the bed, smiling at me, completely naked.

  I returned her smile and climbed into my hammock.

  But I was soon to be disturbed again.

  Almost as soon as I had closed my eyes I heard a shout from above. Again I leapt from the hammock and rushed up onto the top deck. This time I heard no bells, but Morgeg and Belphig were calling down to a sailor on a lower deck. I heard the sailor’s voice.

  “I swear I saw it! A light to port!”

  “We are miles from the nearest land,” Morgeg argued.

  “Then perhaps, sir, it was a ship.”

  “Is this another legend coming true?” I asked Belphig. He started when he heard me and straightened up.

  “I really cannot understand it all, Count Urlik. I think the sailor is imagining things. Once you get one unexplained event at sea, others quickly follow, eh?”

  I nodded. There was truth in that. But then I saw a light. I pointed. “It must be another ship.”

  “The light is too bright for a ship.”

  I then found an opportunity to put a question to him which had been on my mind since my meeting with Lord Shanosfane. “What if it is the Silver Warriors?”

  Belphig darted me a penetrating look. “What do you know of the Silver Warriors?”

  “Very little. Their race is not the same as yours. They have conquered most of the farther shore of this sea. They are thought to come from a land called Moon on the other side of the world.”

  He relaxed. “And who told you all this?”

  “My Lord Shanosfane of Dhötgard—the Lord Temporal.”

  “He knows little of the events in the world,” Bishop Belphig said. “He is more interested in abstracted speculation. The Silver Warriors are not a great threat. They have harried one or two cities of the farther shore, that is true, but I believe they have disappeared again now.”

  “Why did you not tell me of them
when I asked if you had any enemies or potential enemies?”

  “What? Enemies?” Belphig laughed. “I do not consider warriors from the other side of the world, who have never offered us threat, enemies!”

  “Not even potential enemies?”

  “Not even that. How could they attack us? Rowernarc is impregnable.”

  The hoarse voice of the sailor came again. “There! There it is!”

  He was right.

  And also I seemed to hear a voice calling over the ocean. A lost voice, an ethereal voice.

  “Some mariner in trouble perhaps?” I suggested.

  Bishop Belphig assumed an impatient expression. “Most unlikely.”

  Both light and voice were coming closer. I made out a word. It was a very definite word.

  “BEWARE!” cried the voice. “BEWARE.”

  Belphig sniffed. “A pirate’s trick, maybe. Best ready the warriors, Morgeg.”

  Morgeg went below.

  And then the source of the light was much closer and a peculiar screaming began. A wail.

  It was a huge golden cup, suspended against the darkness. A great chalice. Both the bright light and the wailing came from it.

  Belphig staggered back, shielding his eyes. Doubtless he had never seen such brightness in his whole life.

  A voice spoke once again.

  “URLIK SKARSOL, IF YOU WOULD RID THIS WORLD OF ITS TROUBLES AND FIND A SOLUTION TO YOUR OWN—YOU MUST TAKE UP THE BLACK SWORD AGAIN.”

  The voice of my dreams had entered the realm of reality. Now it was my turn to be terrified.

  “No!” I shouted. “I will never wield the Black Sword. I swore I would not!”

  Though I spoke the words, they did not come from my conscious brain, for I still had no idea what the Black Sword was and why I refused to use it. These words were spoken by all the warriors I had been and all the warriors I was to become.

  “YOU MUST!”

  “I will not!”

  “IF YOU DO NOT, THIS WORLD WILL PERISH.”

  “It is already doomed!”

  “NOT SO!”

  “Who are you?” I could not believe that this was a supernatural manifestation. Everything I had experienced so far had had some kind of understandable explanation—but not this screaming chalice—not this voice that boomed from the heavens like the voice of god. I tried to peer at the great golden cup, see what held it, but apparently nothing did hold it.