by Allan Cole
I shouted for Novari. From far away I heard her call out in surprise, "Rali?"
Then I heard another disembodied gasp. "Salimar? Where did you come from?"
"Beneath your nose, bitch!" Salimar shouted.
Novari shrieked fury—it was like the cry of a vulture.
The forgeroom suddenly melted around us, and then the chariot and horses were gone and my stomach lurched and we were falling through air. The fall was short and my breath whooshed out as I slammed into hard pavement.
I bounced to my feet, Salimar coming up beside me at the same moment.
We were standing in Novari's armory in Hellspoint. Racks of weapons hung from every wall. A shriek of discordant lyre strings rent the air, and King Magon burst through a door. He was the size of a giant and his armor clattered like a siege machine being rolled toward the enemy's walls.
I stabbed out with Maranonia's spear. A ball of lightning blasted toward the onrushing king.
His armor and shield absorbed most of the spell's blow. But it rocked him hard, nearly knocking him to the floor. He staggered, dazed, smoke rising from the surface of his mail.
As I readied another blast he lifted his head and cried out, tormented, "Novari! If you love me, help me!"
I heard Novari laugh. There was no returned love in those mocking tones.
Then the lyre strings shrieked again as if they were being clawed by a taloned hand. Weapons shot off the racks. Swords and spears were lifted up by Novari's power and hurled at us.
But I was ready and it was my turn to laugh.
The weapons were absorbed by my magical shield and then backblasted across the room.
Magon screamed horribly as a dozen or more ripped through his armor. He crashed down. Dead.
I felt suddenly empty, drained of all power—more helplessly mortal than I'd ever been. I slumped, catching myself on one knee, fighting as much for breath as strength.
I felt Salimar's hand on my shoulder. Light glared from somewhere and I felt her grip tighten.
Novari stood before us, sweetly innocent in a flowing gown of virginal white. But there was no innocence in her face. She looked at me, sneered, then turned to Salimar.
"Pig you were," she said. "Pig you shall be."
She lifted a slender finger and Salimar staggered back as the sorcerous blow struck. She fell to the floor, mortally wounded.
And for her final humiliation her body had been transformed. Lying there on the floor was Zalia, my poor ugly Zalia. Squat of body. Elegant of soul.
Novari turned to me. "Now for you, Rali."
I reached for my power, felt threads of it snaking to me. But it was too late.
Novari cast her spell.
A cold blue wave rolled out at me. '
Just before it struck, Zalia suddenly came up, diving in front of me.
She caught the full blast, screamed, then fell back. She shuddered once. Then was still.
I looked at Novari and felt a grin stretch my lips. I could sense her emptiness. I knew she'd drained herself trying to kill me. And now it was the Lyre Bird who was scrabbling for power, racing against time as I gathered mine.
I took a chance. I grabbed the last bit of energy I could and cast Maranonia's spear.
It left my hand, but instead of shooting forward it seemed to float. Slowly. So damned slowly, pushing through my enemy's shield.
Novari was gaining power. She transformed into the Lyre Bird, great wings beating up a gale as she rose from the floor. The spear, still moving slowly, shifted its flight, following her as she rose to the ceiling.
I saw a glow bloom out all around the immense bird. Heard the lyre music swell to a great crescendo.
The spear struck just as she cast her deadly spell. The two forces met, competing tidal waves of raw power.
The world went white. There was no other sensation but that glaring whiteness. No sound. No touch or taste or scent.
The whiteness cleared. Sensation returned. I found myself standing on the frozen lake outside Koronos.
The great Ice Bear Temple was a smoking ruin. The town was nothing but a charred heap of wood and stone. The docks had collapsed and Magon's golden ship was engulfed in flames. The foundries and forges, including Hellspoint itself, were nothing but rubble. The mines had all collapsed and there was smoke hissing out of hundreds of gaps in the face of the mountain. I saw no living thing, although a few smoldering corpses were sprawled in the litter.
Beside me on the ice was the still form of Zalia.
I heard the Lyre Bird scream. I looked up and saw the huge creature plummeting out of the sky, tumbling madly in a long death fall. The bird transformed into Novari. She screamed my name as she fell, white gown streaming like a falling kite.
"Rali," she cried. "Rali!"
And then she was gone.
Vanishing in midair.
I knelt beside Zalia. She was still breathing ... faintly. Her eyelids fluttered but didn't open. I took her hand in mine. Her fingers twitched—a weak squeeze of recognition.
She tried to speak, lips barely moving. I bent low to hear.
"I love you," she whispered. "I always have."
And then she went limp.
I was empty of all feeling and had no tears to shed.
Then a billowing cloud blew across the lake, and out of the cloud emerged a silver ship. It was the dream ship I'd seen Salimar sailing in my vision. Maranonia was at the helm.
The slender ship came to rest in front of me.
The goddess motioned to me. "Come," she commanded. "Bring Salimar with you."
I looked down and the still form of Zalia had become the lovely Salimar once again. 1 lifted her up and she was warm and light in my arms.
I carried her to the ship but my legs dragged, weary. Maranonia gestured and I floated onto the deck with Salimar in my arms. I put her down as tenderly as I could.
The goddess stretched out a long slender hand and touched her—eyes narrowing in concentration. She shook her head and withdrew her hand.
"She can never awaken from Novari's spell," Maranonia said. "She'll sleep like that until all mortal functions cease. And then her ghost will sleep on forever."
Salimar groaned, her face twisting with pain, and I knew she was suffering.
"Her dreams are not good, Rali," the goddess said. "Her long sleep will be a torture, I fear."
"What can be done?" I said, numb.
Maranonia looked at me and once again her eyes were filled with a sadness that frightened me.
"I can give Salimar her kingdom back," she said. "Although it will only exist in her dreams. But those dreams will always be joyful, full of summers that never end."
"Then do it," I said. "She deserves nothing less for what she's done for you."
"And you, Rali," the goddess said. "She saved your life."
"And a worthless thing that is," I said. "I'm weary of war and pain. Of death and magic." I waved my hand, taking in the icy wasteland. "I'm sick of all of it."
Maranonia smiled gently. "Then will you join her, Rali?" she asked. "Will you join her in the long sleep? It's the only way I can make her that gift of peace. You must be at her side.
"I promise you this if you do: it will be a paradise. Or at least as much of a paradise as the two of you can make of your common dream."
I looked down at Salimar, wondering about my own feelings toward this beauteous queen. Was this the woman I wanted to spend eternity with? Then I saw Zalia behind that lovely mask. Saw the coarse features in my memory, small nose and bowed lips and strong arms that were as gentle as a maid's.
"Well, Rali?" Maranonia pressed.
"Please," I said. "Grant us that gift"
I saw tears glisten in the goddess' eyes. Then she nodded and turned to take the ship's helm.
The sails filled with a magical wind and the silver ship whooshed off the ice and into the sky. We flew across barren lands and frozen seas. We flew forever and flew in no time at all. And soon we came to a huge ice
citadel, glittering and translucent under a pale sun.
The citadel's gates boomed open and we sailed inside.
Then we were standing beside the ship in a vast chamber. Salimar was in my arms.
There were racks of golden weapons on the walls— Novari's weapons. Mine now. The spoils of my victory.
Set in the center of the chamber was a large tomb with a rounded lid made of clear ice. The lid was open.
I carried Salimar to it and laid her out on the soft snowy pillows. She sighed and smiled, mumbling my name in her sleep.
I crept up beside her and she shifted so I could hold her in my arms. She fit, just so.
Then Maranonia was standing over us, her hand on the tomb's cover.
She smiled. "Now Rali, you may go to your reward." And as she swung the lid shut, she whispered: "Sweet dreams, my warrior woman. Sweet dreams."
Darkness came swiftly. And just as swiftly dissolved into light.
Salimar and I entered her dream kingdom together. Where the sun was always warm, the breezes gentle and perfumed. We courted there and in time became lovers: a love built to last an eternity of dreams.
Then the Goddess Maranonia returned and woke me up and took away the dreams. She said Novari lived.
That she'd killed all the Anteros, save one.
And she was hunting that child now.
A child named Emilie.
BOOK TWO
Emilie
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
Signs and Portents
I HAD MUCH time to consider those events. For I was sailing to Orissa from the very bottom of the world. I broke the incidents apart, examined each segment from every angle, and put it all back together again to ponder the whole. I learned much and found some peace and considerable purpose while going over the tale from beginning to end.
Even Novari herself no longer remained as much an enigma.
I've called her evil. Actually that term gave her more human qualities than she in fact possessed. The Lyre Bird was more like a plague. A plague lives by killing. When all within reach are dead, it rides ships and caravans to other lands where it can resume its feasting. Eventually, when the potential victims are too few or too far, the plague burns itself out. And waits for its chances again.
Novari had waited for centuries once before. This time, it seemed, she'd required less than fifty years. She had every reason to be a vengeful spirit. It had taken mass murder to create her. She was the repository of hundreds of innocent girls whose ghosts must all call out for revenge. I understood that. A part of me even sympathized. Insanity begets insanity. It was logical and understandable that all her thoughts and actions would be centered on revenge and a determination to have so much power that no one could harm her again.
She'd tried once but had failed. Betrayed, from her point of view, by a woman. A woman she believed she loved. And that woman had spurned her, then brought her down.
This time Novari would be even angrier and more vengeful than before. And she'd be cannier, I thought. Much cannier. I doubted if she'd go at things so directly. She'd try to come in from the side, weighing her actions and tempering them.
The last time, I'd required all my strength and wit to defeat her. I'd grown in power during my long sleep with Salimar. I could feel an enormous pool of sorcerous energy within easy reach the moment I required it.
But would it be enough?
I SAW NO other mortals for a long time. Encountered no other intelligence as I sailed the icy, storm-swept seas of the far south.
Then one day, some weeks out of Pisidia, I was skirting an enormous iceberg with towering clifflike edges that had been wondrously sculpted by the winds and seas. The iceberg was pale green, and as I sailed by I marveled at the fantastic forms carved into it.
I swept around the 'berg, swinging wide to avoid an outcropping. I adjusted my course and peered north, studying the way ahead. In the distance I saw a waterspout. Then there were other spouts spewing up and I saw long gray shapes and knew it was a pod of whales.
I smiled to myself, then put them out of my mind. But the whales veered toward my ship, curious, no doubt. As they approached I saw one huge, gray animal move away from the others and come closer.
She seemed as old as time itself, with barnacles clinging to her sides and seaweed trailing off in every direction. She moved smoothly alongside my ship, peering at me with a single eye.
I looked closer, saw the glow of intelligence, and felt a vague flush of recollection.
Immediately a warm presence formed about me. A voice came into my mind, rich and deep. / know you, sister.
And I know you, I answered, using my thoughts to speak rather than my voice. The ability somehow came naturally in that wise old female presence.
The whale's voice came into my mind again: You came this way many song seasons ago. When I was in difficulty.
I remember, sister, I said. It was a terrible time. You lost a child to Magon's hunters.
The hunters have not come for many song seasons, she said. Not since you killed him.
How did you know about that, sister?
We speak to the seals and the sea lions, she answered. And they speak to the birds. Who speak to everyone ... Birds are such a nuisance. They talk too much. Although I was friend to an old albatross for many song seasons. He'd light on me when he passed this way. A wise old bird. But very talkative, like all birds. He became forgetful, alas. And less wary about where he alighted and to whom he spoke. I haven't seen him for some time, now. I fear a shark may have eaten him.
There was a pause. A feeling of slight embarrassment
I'm old, the whale said. At least fifty song seasons older than when I saw you last. When you went to slay Magon and the Lyre Bird. Since that time all has been peaceful in these waters. And the land animals say all has been at peace there, as well. Life is good on both the sea and tundra with Magon dead. There are many who praise you for this, sister. Mothers tell their children of the warrior woman who saved us from Magon's savagery.
I said nothing. I sensed the meeting was not accidental. I had a feeling of great distances crossed and mighty currents traversed to bring about this rendezvous.
/ have been seeking you for some time, sister, the whale said. / was told you hunted the Lyre Bird again. I came to find you. And tell you that one of my granddaughters saw her not many song seasons ago.
Where was she seen, sister? I asked. And when?
I don't know exactly when, the whale said. My granddaughter only recalled it when we heard the news that you hunted the Lyre Bird. It was perhaps seven or eight song seasons ago.
My granddaughter said she saw her near the black shoals a half season south of here. She said she saw a ship caught on the reefs. The sharks were happy, drunk with blood. So everyone on the ship must have fallen off.
My granddaughter said there was a big golden bird perched on the highest mast. She said the bird called to her with music. Beautiful music. Almost as beautiful as whale song. But my granddaughter became frightened so she didn 't come close like the bird wanted She left.
I questioned others and found a great-niece who was also near the black shoals during the time of the shipwreck She said she'd been north of the black shoals after the wreck. She didn't know how long after, but said she doubted many tidefalls had passed. She said she saw a ship going north coming out of the area of the wreck. She remembers it because she, too, heard wondrous music. She didn't think it was meant for her, but for the men on board the ship.
And she didn't see a golden bird, but she did see a woman playing music on an instrument. There was much excitement in the air. Mating season excitement, she guessed. Although it was her opinion the woman had no intention of mating with any of them—that she found no human bull among them worthy of her.
That certainly sounded like Novari. She'd apparently enticed the sailors to take her off the wreck. She'd have used them to carry her to a place where there were richer and more powerful victims
. And from there she'd have leaped up the chain and across the leagues until she reached Orissa.
It might have taken a few years to get there. However, when she did, she'd certainly have found more than enough greedy men of power to feast on.
I questioned the wise old creature for a time, but she knew nothing more that would aid me. Finally I thanked her and wished her farewell.
As I sailed away she sent her blessings after me. And long after I'd lost sight of her and the others in her pod, I could hear their song throbbing in the ship's silver deck.
IN NOT MANY weeks I came to Pisidia. It was mid-morning, the sun was bright, the sea surface was small chop, and the wind was steady and brisk. I came on the city without warning, sailing around a coastal bend where all had been forests before.
Pisidia had changed vastly over the years. I almost didn't recognize it, reflexively glancing at my charts to see if I'd somehow made a terrible navigational error. The first great change was the remarkable absence of the smelly atmosphere, that awful odor from the tanneries that in times past had greeted mariners many days before they reached the city. The air was pleasing now, full of the rich scents of a healthy port town. The reason was that the tanneries were gone.
Over the years the city had also grown immensely, spreading its wings wide along the coast, sweeping through the forests to leave clumps of homes and villages in its wake. The port was much larger as well, and quite busy. I looked among the merchant ships and was disappointed when I saw none flying the Antero flag.
But the main reason I could still recognize Pisidia was the imposing temple sitting on the familiar hill overlooking all. The old wooden structure that'd housed Daciar, the Mother Oracle, was gone. The stone temple replacing it was the one that had been under construction when I'd last visited here. It was very old-looking now. An imposing reminder of how many decades had passed since Daciar and I had faced Magon's warrior giants.
I'd hoisted a nondescript Free Merchant's flag and cast a spell to disguise my silver ship so it seemed to be made of normal timbers. I drew no undue attention when I docked, and the port officer was only interested in the size of the bribe I gave him to assure my ship of a good, secure berth.