by Adrian Cole
There was no point in deceit. “There are such places. You would eat the food of those you view as blasphemers?”
“When the Evil Time is upon us, all men must stand together, regardless of what gods they worship. I do not judge them.”
“Those who come here are scavengers. Bands of wanderers who have organised themselves like hunters. They seek out artefacts, relics of the war that they can handle. There is trading of a sort beyond the Steel Graveyard. Some men harbour foolish notions about restoring the old powers. The scavengers scoff, but they earn their food from such dreams.”
“And do they talk of the Bone Burrower?”
“In their sleep, perhaps,” said Renegorn guardedly.
“After food, where then?”
“If we must persist, I think we must go to the Tower of Windows. It rises up far out in the Graveyard, near its heart, although I should warn you that neither the boundaries nor the dimensions of this place seem to be fixed. However, if there is a such a being as the Bone Burrower, he may be in the Tower.”
It was not long afterwards that Renegorn found a food cache left by the scavengers and he pulled up a thick skin, which contained carefully wrapped bread, some meat and a little brackish water. He slipped some metal discs into the sack as payment when he replaced it. “They will know I passed here,” he told the Peace Monk.
“Will they be offended?”
“No. I have their trust. But if they knew a Peace Monk had been here, they would hunt us and offer us both to the dead gods.”
Torruvas regarded the warrior for a moment, but did not comment. He knew that the man’s honour came before his respect for the scavengers and their gods. The Peace Monk was glad of that, for this would be a terrible place to die.
As they struggled once more over the bizarre tangled landscape, the sun slipped downwards, as if succumbing to the clutch of a thousand metal fingers. For many days they traversed the canyons and spines of the Steel Graveyard, more than once coming perilously close to death on its sharp metal claws. Yet Torruvas found reserves of fortitude from somewhere within himself. It seemed also that they were sometimes heading in strange directions, almost as if clinging to the underside of a fallen giant, with the sky beneath them like a sea. It became more and more like the meandering voyage of a dream.
But on the twentieth evening, with dusk drawing a blanket over the smashed terrain, Renegorn pointed to a towering pile of metal on the lopsided horizon that had speared the early moon. It was as though a lone god had raised itself up, only to be pierced and half flung back, impaled on the weapon of its undoing. Propped high up, it slumped like a lone sentinel, watching over the massed husks of the Graveyard. “The Tower of Windows.”
“What noise is that?” said the Peace Monk, for to their ears there now came a weird and persistent shrieking, as if a thousand tortured souls had fused their mad voices into a chorus. The sounds came from the Tower of Windows, that huge, groping pile that held sway over the fallen giants. They could see that sections of its armour plates had fallen away to reveal areas of pitch darkness, open orifices in its sides, chest and high up on the massive moon-like helm. From these black, unfathomable openings, the sounds gusted forth like storm winds, clashing against each other, merging into a solid wall, a concerto from chaos itself.
It was another night before they reached the base of the titanic metal colossus, this shell of a fallen god from beyond time. There were innumerable ways into its base, which covered an area of countless square miles and Renegorn selected one that was partly lit by slanting light and had relatively few sharp spars protruding from its curved walls.
“We should begin the climb at once,” he suggested. “The scavengers worship this monstrous tower. It is better that they do not know we are here. There are tales of living machines deep under the mounds of armour and bone, to which the scavengers offer sacrifices. We will be safer if we climb.”
Throughout the last of the day and deep into the night they climbed, until at last Renegorn said that it was safe to rest. They had to stop up their ears with dampened pieces of cloth in an attempt to keep out the howling of the wind and the screaming of the countless windows. Brother Torruvas, exhausted, fell asleep, although his dreams were fitful and terrifying. When dawn came, he found Renegorn leaning over him, his eyes attesting to the fact that he had not slept.
“We must climb,” he said. After a little food and water, they began again, worming their way up through the calcified vitals of the tower. Three days later they were still climbing and the whine from the windows had grown in intensity, threatening to cuff them into madness. They no longer knew whether they were still on their own world, or if they had crossed to some other lunatic realm. That night they rested on a wide, twisted curve of metal, drained of energy.
Renegorn woke in the middle of the night to find their makeshift platform bathed in an eerie light, as though the stars outside the nearest window were on fire. Torruvas was beside him, evidently wanting to know what was happening. Renegorn pointed to the windows, great gashes in the steel sides of the tower. The two men crawled across the cold floor and stared out from a gaping opening. It was indeed not their world that they saw beyond.
It was an undulating landscape, white and blotched like the skin of a cadaver: as they looked it rippled and stirred like a faintly moving sea. The alien sky above it was filled with scarlet stars and great round whorls of purple and green that resembled huge spores. Quickly the men turned away, their attention at once caught by a smaller window. They looked out from it and saw yet another world where immense jagged spires of rock rose up in endless avenues against an orange sky. In the black crevices between them, shadowy forms jerked into life. Again the men averted their eyes.
By signs, Torruvas tried to ask Renegorn what these awful places were, but his companion only shook his head in amazement. Behind them they sensed movement and turned. Something like a huge beetle was scuttling between the gnarled bones beyond the platform. In a moment it had come out into a pool of green moonlight filtering in from yet another torn window. The creature appeared to have a steel carapace, fashioned from the materials in the tower. It hopped forward like a great flea. Abruptly it stood upright and light washed over the face of a man, his breastplate cut from bone.
“What manner of monster is this?” said Torruvas, his voice clear for the moaning windows suddenly lowered their din to a whisper.
“This must be the legendary Bone Burrower,” said Renegorn.
The beetle that was a man came forward, hopping on both feet. He stopped before them and bowed, the curve of his shell gleaming. “The god welcomes you,” he said cheerfully.
“Then you are real,” said Torruvas.
“Indeed I am. And what brings such intrepid warriors up into my home? Men do not dare these regions as a rule. Plunder? I think not, Brother Torruvas.”
The Peace Monk shuddered. “You know me?”
“Of course!” laughed the odd creature, hopping from one foot to another. “I have been watching you for many days. And your redoubtable companion, Renegorn. Finally plucked up the courage to climb the Tower of Windows, eh? You’ve contemplated such a quest many a time.”
“You have been watching us?” said Renegorn, face clouded.
“Yes, yes. From here I can scrutinise every inch of the Steel Graveyard. At night I have the power to study the entire omniverse and its many dimensions.”
“Are you — a god?” said Renegorn dubiously.
Torruvas was unnerved by such open blasphemy, but the Bone Burrower simply chuckled. “Not at all, no, no! Human, like you. But the powers in this place, twisted and broken though they are, stemmed from the War of the Falling Gods.”
“There is only one god,” said Torruvas, as if warding off the clutch of evil.
The Bone Burrower simply sniggered. “Indeed? Who am I to argue? There are a thousand thousand dead gods outside.”
“Do you know why we are here?” said Renegorn.
“Yes
, for I have listened to all that you have said as you crossed the Steel Graveyard. You are looking for me!”
“You are the Oracle?”
“If you wish. You have come to question me. Well, well, I am at your disposal. What do you seek to know? I am not a jealous person, nor greedy. I will gladly share with you the visions of the omniverse. But have a care! Some things are more than mortal eyes can bear to see.” He sat down and rubbed his hands, another beetle-like movement. The howling of the windows had stopped altogether now, to be replaced by an unnatural silence that immersed them all, as if the worlds outside were looking in, listening.
“It was said by my ancestors,” began Brother Torruvas, “that the Evil Time would come. I believe it will soon be upon the world.”
“As it threatens all worlds,” the Bone Burrower nodded.
“All worlds?” said Torruvas, appalled.
“Indeed. There is a terrible darkness fomenting throughout the omniverse. This shattered world, where space and time have become so deformed, will be a focus for the madness that threatens all existence.”
Torruvas shuddered. “What must be done?”
The man-beetle stood up and began pacing, his steel carapace creaking. “I have studied the windows each night. This world, your world, is but a speck of dust, like all the other worlds in the many dimensions. The return of evil is known and feared through countless myths and legends. Even the gods tremble as the darkness bands itself into a thickening cloud. Soon it will be whole again. This Power has risen before. Look through the windows and you will see certain signs, confirmation that the deep darkness gathers.”
Afraid to do so, but compelled, the two men went to the first window and gazed out from it. They saw not the madness of some remote, hell-blasted world, but their own, beyond the Steel Graveyard, far out in the Open Lands. There sunlight played on a bare but not entirely desert land, flecked with pale grass. Someone rode across the terrain, a woman on a powerful horse such as were not known here. Behind her, on a smaller steed, a smaller figure hunched forward, chattering to itself like a monkey.
The Bone Burrower pointed to the figure of the woman, whose hair streamed out behind her and whose proud face studied the land eagerly, apparently searching. “She is called Scyllarza,” said the Bone Burrower. “Terrible are the demons that she can call upon to aid her.”
“Demons!” cried Torruvas in horror.
“Oh, yes, yes. There are far worse things in Hell. Scyllarza bows to very few of them. With good reason has she been called their scourge.”
They moved on to another window, which showed yet another part of their own world. “Here,” said their guide, pointing to clouds of curling mist, “are others who seek. Mark them well.” Both Torruvas and Renegorn drew back in shock at the two grotesque figures they saw alighting on a rock outcrop. These, they felt sure, must themselves be demons. One was squat and scaled, with thin wings and a face like a frog, while the other was blue-skinned with fingers like tiny sickles. The creatures appeared to be arguing.
“Is this Hell itself that you show us?” said Torruvas.
“Not at all, no, no. Even now they are out there, in the Open Lands. But none of these compare to the other who comes. Him I will not reveal to you. But you will know him when he arrives. Oh yes. He has the power to save or damn you. Can you guess his name?”
Renegorn scowled, but Torruvas felt suddenly cold.
“Out there in the limitless omniverse,” the Bone Burrower went on, “he is known as the Voidal.”
The windows flickered and in a moment all that could be seen from any of them were the stars of the world of men. All the wonderful and terrifying visions of the omniverse were gone. The wind had come back, this time laughing even more maniacally than before.
“Voidal,” breathed Torruvas. The word sounded like a curse.
“When he comes,” said the Bone Burrower, “Evil Time will have begun.”
“We ask again,” said Renegorn, “what must be done?”
The man-beetle looked very thoughtful for some time before he spoke again. “Your ancestors spoke of a great war, the war to come in Evil Time. And yes, it will be soon. The Voidal will come. He is opposed by the Dark Gods, who seek to control him, while he seeks to wrench himself free of their hold. You men must go out into your world and rally the remnants of humanity. This war is not against them, but all things are drawn into it. They must choose, for in their choosing lies a key.”
“Rally humanity?” cried Torruvas. “To oppose this Voidal?”
“Or fight with him.”
“With him? You said he was evil —”
“No, no. You must decide. Either he is evil, or he opposes it.”
“You speak in riddles!” snapped Renegorn.
“It is the way of darkness to obfuscate,” smiled the Bone Burrower. “You have a little time to decide. Use it well.” He beckoned them to yet another window, but all they could see through it were stars. However, after a moment they noticed something drifting across the heavens there, like an island of earth, its roots trailing brokenly behind it.
Torruvas muttered a prayer, sensing the evil in this thing. “What cursed thing is this?”
“Cursed, ah, yes, yes,” nodded the Bone Burrower. “Listen to the wind, Brother Torruvas. This island is but a crippled fragment of the dispersed demi-god, Dreamwarp. Listen to its whispers.”
Through the window came a low grumbling, apparently invective, then words directed at the listeners. “The man who is immortal, yet not so. The Voidal.” The name was spoken with acidic hatred.
“What does it mean?” said Renegorn. “One cannot be mortal and immortal.”
“Who speaks?” came a roar like a storm from the island, a voice full of both anger and suffering.
“Those who will be visited by the dark man,” said the Bone Burrower.
“Friends to Dreamwarp if you destroy him! Listen, the dark man cannot be destroyed, but he can be revoked. There is a way to send him back to the void from which he comes. It is a secret that drifts about the omniverse and which some hear in dreams and pass on.”
“Will you reveal it to us?” said Torruvas, overcoming his terror of the island.
But already Dreamwarp was drifting far out toward the stars and with the shrinking mass went the whispers.
“More riddles!” snapped Renegorn. “You tell us nothing!”
The Bone Burrower merely chuckled. “I never pretend to understand the workings of the omniverse, nor the schemes of its gods. I merely watch and listen and sometimes I pass on what I learn. Perhaps I serve them by doing so. If there is but one god, perhaps all these other manifestations are his thoughts. Who can tell? But I can promise you this — there is one who will come to you with what you wish to know.”
“The exorcism?”
“Just so. One who has performed it once before upon the dark man. When you have drawn together the last of humanity on this world, he will come.”
* * * *
Scyllarza dismounted at the top of the bare knoll and looked southwards to where sunlight gleamed on an expanse of dark water. She waited, certain that she had seen movement on the slope far below her and equally certain that it would be the Babbler, returning to her with a report. She had seen no other living thing on this wasted, sterile world. There had been several ruins and most of the hills were topped by monoliths or rings of stone, as if the people who had once lived here had gone in dread of straying far from such hallowed places.
Soon the little figure came riding up the hill. “What have you found?” she asked him.
“More proof that we should quit this evil place!” said the Babbler. “A dead world, long since abandoned by gods as well as men! That is no ordinary sea or lake, but a vast expanse of marsh, thick with sludge and noxious deposits. In it lie the broken carcasses of giants, bones muddied, arms rotten. Like fallen gods smothered in their own excrement. The whole world is a tomb.”
“Nothing lives?”
�
�How could it? On a plain to the east I saw what I took to be mountains, but when I reached the lower slopes, I discovered to my horror that it was a titanic flying vessel that had burned out in some holocaust, leaving only a shell, littered with huge skulls and broken weapons. Gods must have built such a thing. And gods felled it.”
“I think we have slipped into some long forgotten dimension that has nothing at all to do with the omniverse that we know, if that is possible. The war here was so destructive that it warped every known horizon, every boundary. Its twisted powers must have drawn us in.”
“All is death, mistress. I fear that your own powers will succumb if we remain.”
Scyllarza smiled at his concern. “You would not like to lose the gift I have bestowed upon you, the gift of being able to cross the astral. You are a good and loyal servant, Babbler. And you are right. This is no place to linger. We will rest a short while and then search on another world.” She turned away, hiding the sadness that she felt. But the Babbler knew it and bit his lip. He only prayed that she would not find what she sought.
They rode to the west and were abruptly surprised by a spring that trickled out of the hillside. The elemental horses sniffed at the water, testing its safety and then drank it. Scyllarza also drank, urging her servant to do so. Afterwards they travelled down the stream, which debouched into a narrow valley. Below them they could see a green tangle of wood. The Babbler spurred his horse on to investigate.
At the same moment, from the cover of the emerald leaves of the wood, high in the uppermost of its branches, two figures watched the arrivals.
“A strange little man,” said the more squamous of the two. “And my eyes, which rarely lie, tell me that the woman is she whom we seek. These must be the two we were told of on the astral by Grudfax the familiar. See, these chargers are elemental beasts if ever I saw any!” Elfloq, for it was indeed he, grinned, certain that this particular search was over.
Orgoom gripped a bough with his sharp hands. “Think you’re right. What next?”
“Wait,” said Elfloq and they did so. It was not long before the Babbler had discovered the fresh pool in the heart of the wood and sped back to his mistress. The two watchers allowed the woman and her hunched squire to ride into the trees and dismount by the pool. There was fruit growing nearby that was not poisonous and the woman rested on the lush grass, relaxed.