by Michael Shea
What need to go on? My son was wholly taken by the man, and enthralled by the prospects he dangled. And, as I sat listening to them, and watching the Aristoz Island chain glide under us like a mighty flotilla of tree-clad mountains patrolling the southwestern rim of the Great Shallows, quite suddenly, I ceased to fear for him.
For how could Persander's soul not be good and true—was he not still and always my precious son? And granting that, what control could there be over the rest? So vastly does the wide world outreach our firmest intent, that even those of us who strive to repeat ourselves—in probity, in method, whatever—in the end do every thing we do for the very first time, just like everyone else. My precious Persander was busy doing everything for the very first time, so let him rummage his way and sift things a bit! And since each tick of time is a venture, and each tick is numbered, then by the Crack, let us venture some of our time together, my boy and I, and have at least the joy of our company!
I grew light as a bubble myself in that moment. Jealous anger slipped off my heart as a weight slips off of one's shoulders.
That flight of ours—wonder enough in itself—how it shines in my memory for the gladness it brought my son and me! Before we had reached Strega, though we did that quick enough, it was merrily settled between the three of us that my crew and I would come with them to Karkmahn-Ra, and explore that vast bazaar of cultures and archives for a bit, and then perhaps my son might soon enough find himself interestingly commissioned by Shag Margold—which indeed he has done—while my crew and I could wish no place more bustling to find commissions of our own in—which indeed we have done as well. Meanwhile, in the course of our stay here, I have grown to such a friendship for Margold—that venerable, delightful man!—that he has prevailed on me to write this partial record of our part in A'Rak's fall, and thus add my modest chapter to his trove of wonders.
But I have left the Astrygals, narratively speaking, too soon. On our return to Strega and reunion with Olombo, Shinn and Bantril, Gnarlbone herself, in an air-chariot drawn by a triplet of the hugest and most sinewy-savage 'gnaths I have ever seen, conveyed us all up to Mount Horad, where that worm-holed peak's preeminence broods, gazing, as it were, with black eyesockets down upon the craggy isle.
The day was just declining, the slant sun ruddy amber on the stones, but still enough light fell within the grand cavernmouth of A'Rak's sepulcher to limn his vast and legless bulk. Already a basaltic stele, graven with verses, marked this rude portal to his broodchamber and tomb. The air round the place was alive—the giant was aura-ed with spiderdream, a deep mentation cycling endlessly, aimlessly with a relentless energy such as men say spins the vast isles of stars through their eons.
And in this indecipherable vortex of alien memory were veins of an eerie, gargantuan nostalgia—remembrance of his glory days of unpent slaughter on his natal world no doubt. These dreams, in their disordered rout, randomly tickled him still with the joy of his past majesty.
"Thus," burbled Gnarlbone, towering and somber, "will his vile unearthly soul unravel for a hundred years, unwinding his deathlust one foul thread at a time from the spindle of life. I honor you all, oh accidental allies, with conveyance to this site. The Sisterhood will remember you all, and not with disfavor. Behold here, then, how Will bestrides epochs, and overswims fathomless space!"
We stood till the sun was down, feeling the echoes of galaxies foregone, of a hunger and hunt without end, and then we turned away. The verses engraved on the stele were these:
* * *
Pompilla's Taunt
In the gulf of a past whereon other stars shone
And another sun beamed than doth beam on this earth,
In a starwheel that spun till its eons were done,
Our troth was first plighted, thy death with my birth.
Betrothed and then sundered! Oh bridegroom, thy terror
made thee flee—fruitlessly!—far from my touch.
But at last of our offspring shalt thou be the bearer,
and I thee impregnate! My daughters shall couch
In thy silken entrails, and nurse on thy meat
while thou liest reposeful as corpse in its tomb
and long wilt thou, living, endure as they eat—
conceiving them, knowing thyself as their womb!
Though thou seek remote suns by planetoids girdled,
and those asteroid torrents thou plunge in and ride,
though hid in such welters of world-rack though hurtle,
my nurselings still bowered in thy bowels shall abide!
Then down time's abyss that yet yawneth before us
they'll go hide-and-seeking, our numberless brood;
the cries of thy stricken sons rising in chorus,
wherever they flee by my daughters pursued!
Table of Contents
The A'rak
Preface
Table of Contents
LAGADEME I
NIFFT I
LAGADEME II
NIFFT II
LAGADEME III
LAGADEME IV
NIFFT III
LAGADEME V
NIFFT IV
LAGADEME VI
NIFFT V
LAGADEME VII
NIFFT VI
NIFFT VII
LAGADEME VIII
NIFFT VIII
A'RAK I
A'RAK II
NIFFT IX
LAGADEME IX
NIFFT X
LAGADEME X