Hawkmoon: The Jewel in the Skull

by Michael Moorcock

  Hawkmoon dragged the wounded Mygan back to the second cave, warding off the blows that fell upon them both.

  Now Hawkmoon faced the singing blade of Meliadus himself, who swung his sword two-handed.

  Hawkmoon felt a numbing shock in his left shoulder, felt blood begin to soak his sleeve. He parried a further blow, then struck back, taking Meliadus in the arm.

  The baron groaned and staggered.

  "Now, D'Averc!" called Hawkmoon. "Now, Mygan!

  Turn the crystals! It is our only hope of escape!"

  He turned the crystal in his ring first to the right and then to the left, then six times more to right and left.

  Meliadus growled and came at him again. Hawkmoon raised his sword to block the blow.

  And then Meliadus had vanished.

  So had the cavern, so had his friends.

  He stood alone upon a plain that stretched flat in all directions. It was noon, for a huge sun hung in the sky.

  The plain was of turf of a kind that grew close to the ground and the smell it gave off reminded Hawkmoon of spring.

  Where was he? Had Mygan tricked him? Where were the others?

  Then the figure of Mygan of Llandar began to materialize close by lying on the turf and clutching at his worst wound. He was covered in a dozen sword cuts, his leonine face pale and twisted with pain. Hawkmoon sheathed his sword and sprang towards him.

  "Mygan..."

  "Ah, I'm dying, I fear, Hawkmoon. But at least I've served in the shaping of your destiny. The Runestaff ..."

  "My destiny? What do you mean? And what of the Runestaff? I've heard so much of that mysterious artifact, and yet no one will tell me exactly how it concerns me ..."

  "You'll learn when it's time. Meanwhile ..."

  Suddenly D'Averc appeared, staring around him in astonishment. "The things work! Thank the Runestaff for that. I'd thought us all surely slain."

  "You—you must seek . . ." Mygan began to cough.

  Blood spurted from between his teeth, falling down his chin.

  Hawkmoon cradled his head in his arms. "Do not try to speak, Mygan. You are badly wounded. We must find help. Perhaps if we returned to Castle Brass..."

  Mygan shook his head. "You cannot."

  "Cannot return? But why? The rings worked to bring us here. A turn to the left..."

  "No. Once you have shifted in this way, the rings must be re-set."

  "How shall we set them?"

  "I will not tell you!"

  "Will not? You mean cannot?"

  "No. It was my intention to bring you through space to this land where you must fulfill part of your destiny.

  You must seek—ah, ah! The pain!"

  "You have tricked us, old man," said D'Averc.

  "You wish us to play some role in a scheme of your own. But you are dying. We cannot help you now.

  Tell us how to return to Castle Brass and we shall get someone to doctor you."

  "It was no selfish whim that instructed me to bring you here. It was knowledge of history. I have travelled to many places, visited many eras, by means of the rings. I know much. I know what you serve, Hawkmoon, and I know that the time has come for you to venture here."

  "Where?" Hawkmoon said desperately. "In what time have you deposited us? What is the land called?

  It seems to consist entirely of this flat plain!"

  But Mygan was coughing blood again and it was plain that death was close.

  "Take my rings," he said, breathing with difficulty.

  "They could be useful. But seek first Narleen and the Sword of the Dawn—that lies to your south. Then turn north, when that's done, and seek the city of Dnark—and the Runestaff." He coughed again, then his body shook with a great spasm and life fled him.

  Hawkmoon looked up at D'Averc.

  "The Runestaff? Are we then in Asiacommunista where the thing is supposed to dwell?"

  "It would be ironic, considering our earlier ruse," said D'Averc, dabbing with his kerchief at a wound on his leg. "Perhaps that is where we are. I care not. We are away from that boorish Meliadus and his blood-thirsty pack. The sun above is warm. Save for our wounds, we are considerably better off than we might have been."

  Looking about him, Hawkmoon sighed. "I am not sure. If Taragorm's experiments are successful, he could find a way through to our Kamarg. I would rather be there than here." He fingered his ring. "I wonder ..."

  D'Averc put out his hand. "No, Hawkmoon. Do not tamper with it. I'm inclined to believe the old man.

  Besides, he seemed well-disposed toward you. He must have meant you well. Probably he intended to tell you where this was, give you more explicit directions as to how to reach the places—presuming they were places—he spoke of. If we try to work the rings now, there's no telling where we'll find ourselves—possibly even back in that unpleasant company we left in Mygan's cave!"

  Hawkmoon nodded. "Perhaps you're wise, D'Averc.

  But what do we do now?"

  "First we do as Mygan said, and remove his rings.

  Then we head south—to that place—what did he call it?"

  "Narleen. It could be a person. A thing."

  "South, at any rate, we go, to find out if this Narleen be place, person or thing. Come." He bent beside the corpse of Mygan of Llandar and began to strip the crystal rings from his fingers. "From what I saw of his cavern, it's almost certain that he found these in the city of Halapandur. That equipment he had in his cave evidently came from there. These must have been one of the inventions of those people before the onset of the Tragic Millenium ..."

  But Hawkmoon was barely listening to him. Instead he was pointing out across the plain.

  "Look!"

  The wind was blowing up.

  In the distance something gigantic and reddish purple came rolling, emitting lightnings.

  Book Two

  As THE CHAMPION ETERNAL served the Runestaff, so had Mygan of Llandar (though knowingly) and the philosopher of Yel had seen fit to deposit Hawkmoon in a strange, unfriendly land, giving him little information, in order, as he saw it, to further the Runestaff's cause. So many destinies were interlinked now—the Kamarg's with Granbretan's, Granbretan's with Asiacommunista, Asiacommunistas's with Amarehk—Hawkmoon's with D'Averc's, D'Averc's with Flana's, Flana's with Meliadus's, Meliadus's with King Huon's, King Huon's with Shenegar Trott's, Shenegar Trott's with Hawkmoon's; and all this on only one of Earth's many planes—so many destinies weaving together to do the Runestaff's work which was begun when Meliadus swore upon the Runestaff his great oath of vengeance against the inhabitants of Castle Brass and thus set the pattern of events. Paradoxes and ironies were all apparent in the fabric, would become in-creasingly clearer to those whose fates were woven into it. And while Hawkmoon wondered where he was placed in time or space, King Huon's scientists perfected more powerful war machines that helped the armies of the Dark Empire spread faster and further across the globe, to stain the map with blood ...

  —The High History of the Runestaff

  Chapter One - ZHENAK-TENG

  HAWKMOON AND D'AVERC watched the strange sphere approach and then wearily drew their swords.

  They were in rags, their bodies all bloody, their faces pale with the strain of the fight, and there was little hope in their eyes.

  "Ah, I could do with the amulet's power now," said Hawkmoon of the Red Amulet which, on the Warrior's advice, he had left behind at Castle Brass.

  D'Averc smiled wanly. "I could do with some ordinary mortal energy," he said. "Still, we must do our best, Duke Dorian." He straightened his shoulders.

  The thundering sphere came closer, bouncing over the turf. It was a huge thing, full of flashing colors and there was no question of swords being useful against it.

  It rolled to a halt with a dying, growling noise and stopped close by, towering over them.

  Then it began to hum and a split appeared at its centre, widening out until it seemed the sphere would split in two. From it appeared white, delicate smoke dr
ifting in a cloud to the ground.

  The cloud now began to disperse and a tall, well-proportioned figure was revealed, his long fair hair held from his eyes by a silver coronet, his bronzed body clad in a short divided kilt of light brown color. He appeared to have no weapons.

  Hawkmoon looked at him warily.

  "Who are you?" he said. "What do you want?"

  The occupant of the sphere smiled. "That's a question I should ask you," he said in a peculiar accent.

  "You have been in a fight, I see—and one of your number is dead. He seems old to have been a warrior."

  "Who are you?" Hawkmoon asked again.

  "You are single-minded, warrior. I am Zhenak-Teng of the family of Teng. Tell me who you fought here.

  Was it the Charki?"

  "The name means nothing. We fought no one here,"

  D'Averc said. "We are travellers. Those we fought are a great distance away now. We came here fleeing them..."

  "And yet your wounds look fresh. You will accompany me back to Teng-Kampp?"

  "That is your city?"

  "We do not have cities. Come. We can help you—dress your wounds, perhaps even revive your friend."

  "Impossible. He is dead."

  "We can revive the dead as often as not," the handsome man said airily. "Will you come with me?"

  Hawkmoon shrugged. "Why not?" He and D'Averc lifted the body of Mygan between them and advanced towards the sphere, Zhenak-Teng leading the way.

  They saw that the interior of the sphere was, in fact, a cabin in which several men could sit comfortably. Doubtless the thing was a familiar form of transport here, for Zhenak-Teng made no effort to help them, leaving them to work out for themselves where they should sit and how they should position themselves.

  He waved his hand over the control board of the sphere and the crack in the side began to seal itself.

  Then they were off, rolling smoothly over the turf at a fantastic speed, seeing dimly the landscape they passed.

  The plain stretched on and on. Never once did they see trees or rocks or hills or rivers. Hawkmoon began to wonder if it were not, in fact, artificial—or had been artificially levelled at some time in the past.

  Zhenak-Teng had his eyes pressed close to an instrument through which, presumably, he could see his way. His hands were on a lever attached to a wheel which he swung in one direction or another from time to time, doubtless steering the strange vehicle.

  Once they passed at a distance a group of moving objects that they could not define through the shifting walls of the sphere. Hawkmoon pointed them out.

  "Charki," Zhenak-Teng said. "With luck, they will not attack."

  They seemed to be grey things, the color of dark stone, but with many legs and waving protuberances.

  Hawkmoon could not decide whether they were creatures or machines, or neither.

  An hour passed and at last the sphere began to slow.

  "We are nearing Teng-Kampp," Zhenak-Teng said.

  A little later the sphere rolled to a halt and the bronzed man leant back, sighing with relief. "Good," he said. "I found what I set out looking for. That force of Charki is feeding in a south-westerly direction and should not come too close to Teng-Kampp."

  "What are the Charki?" D'Averc asked, gasping as he moved and his wounds began to hurt again.

  "The Charki are our enemies, creatures created to destroy human life," Zhenak-Teng replied. "They feed from above ground, sucking up energy from the hidden Kampps of our people."

  He touched a lever and with a jolt the globe began to descend into the ground.

  The earth seemed to swallow them up and then close above them. The globe continued to descend for a few moments and then stopped. A bright light came on suddenly and they saw they were in a small underground chamber, barely large enough to hold the sphere.

  "Teng-Kampp," said Zhenak-Teng laconically, touching a stud in the control panel which caused the sphere to split again.

  They descended to the floor of the chamber, carrying Mygan with them, ducking to pass tinder an arch-way and emerge in another chamber where men dressed similarly to Zhenak-Teng hurried forward, presumably to service the sphere.

  "This way," the tall man said, leading them into a cubicle which began to spin slowly. Hawkmoon and D'Averc leant against the sides of the cubicle, feeling dizzy, but at last the experience was over and Zhenak-Teng led them out into a richly carpeted room full of simple, comfortable looking furniture.

  "These are my apartments," he said. "I'll send now for the medical members of my family who may be able to help your friend. Excuse me." He disappeared into another room.

  A little later he came back smiling. "My brothers will be here soon."

  "I hope so," said D'Averc fastidiously. "I've never been greatly fond of the company of corpses..."

  "It will not be long. Come, let us go into another room where refreshment awaits you."

  They left the body of Mygan behind and entered a room where trays of food and drink seemed to drift, unsupported, in the air above piled cushions.

  Following Zhenak-Teng's example, they seated themselves on the cushions and helped themselves to the food. It was delicious and they found themselves eating tremendous quantities of it.

  As they ate, two men, of a similar appearance to Zhenak-Teng, entered the room.

  "It is too late," said one of them to Zhenak-Teng.

  "I am sorry, brother, but we cannot revive the old man. The wounds, and the time involved ..."

  Zhenak-Teng looked apologetically at D'Averc and Hawkmoon. "There—you have lost your comrade for good, I fear."

  "Then perhaps you can give him a good departure," said D'Averc, almost relieved.

  "Of course. We shall do what is necessary."

  The other two withdrew for about half-an-hour and then returned just as Hawkmoon and D'Averc finished eating. The first man introduced himself as Bralan-Teng and the second announced himself as Polad-Teng. They were both brothers to Zhenak-Teng and practitioners of medicine. They inspected Hawkmoon's and D'Averc's wounds and applied dressings. Very shortly the two men began to feel improved.

  "Now you must tell me how you came to the land of the Kampps," Zhenak-Teng said. "We have few strangers on our plain, because of the Charki. You must tell me of events in the other parts of the world..."

  "I am not sure that you would understand the answer to your first enquiry," Hawkmoon told him, "or that we can help you with news of our world." And he explained, as best he could, how they had come here and where their world was. Zhenak-Teng listened with careful attention.

  "Aye," he said, "you are right. I can understand little of what you tell me. I have never heard of any

  'Europe' or 'Granbretan' and the device you describe is not known to our science. But I believe you. How else could you have turned up so suddenly in the land of Kampps?"

  "What are the Kampps?" D'Averc asked. "You said they were not cities."

  "So they are not. They are family houses, belonging to one clan. In our case, the underground house belongs to the Teng family. Other nearby families are the Ohn, the Sek and the Neng. Years ago there were more—many more—but the Charki found them and destroyed them ..."

  "And what are the Charki?" Hawkmoon put it.

  "The Charki are our age-old enemies. They were created by those who once sought to destroy the houses of the plain. That enemy destroyed himself, ultimately, with some kind of explosive experiment, but his creatures—the Charki—continue to wander the plain. They have unwholesome means of defeating us so that they may feed off our life-energy." Zhenak-Teng shuddered.

  "They feed off your life-energy?" D'Averc said with a frown. "What is that?"

  "Whatever gives us life—whatever life is, they take it and leave us drained, useless, dying slowly, unable to move ..."

  Hawkmoon began another question, then changed his mind. Evidently the subject was painful to Zhenak-Teng. Instead he asked, "And what is this plain? It does not seem natural to me."
<
br />   "It is not. It was the site of our landing fields, for we of the One Hundred Families were once mighty and powerful—until the coming of he who created the Charki. He wanted our artifacts and our sources of power for himself. He was called Zhenadar-vron-Ken-sai and he brought the Charki with him from the east, their vocation being entirely to destroy the Families.

  And destroy them they did, save for the handful that still survives. But gradually, through the centuries, the Charki sniff them out..."

  "You seem to have no hope," said D'Averc, almost accusingly.

  "We are merely realistic," Zhenak-Teng replied without rancour.

  "Tomorrow we should like to be on our way," said Hawkmoon. "Have you maps—something that will help us reach Narleen?"

  "I have a map—though it is crude. Narleen used to be a great trading city on the coast. That was centuries ago. I do not know what it might be today."

  Zhenak-Teng rose. "I will show you to the room I have had prepared for you. There you may sleep tonight and begin your long journey in the morning."

  Chapter Two - THE CHARKI

  HAWKMOON AWOKE to the sounds of battle.

  He wondered for a moment if he had dreamed and he was back in the cave and D'Averc was still engaged with Baron Meliadus. He sprang from his bed reaching for the sword that lay on a nearby stool with his tattered clothes. He was in the room where Zhenak-Teng had left them the previous night, and on the other bed D'Averc was awake, his features startled.

  Hawkmoon began to struggle into his clothes. From behind the door came yells, the clash of swords, strange whining sounds and moans. When he was dressed, he went swiftly to the door and opened it a crack.

  He was astonished. The bronzed, handsome folk of Teng-Kampp were busily at work trying to destroy one another—and it was not swords, after all, that were making the clashing sound, but meat cleavers, iron bars and a weird collection of domestic and scientific tools utilised as weapons. Snarls, bestial and alarming, were on all faces, and foam flecked lips, while eyes stared madly. The same insanity possessed them all!