by Glen Cook
I moved us closer to the demon as we talked. My natural pessimism and sourness evidently reasserted itself, though I never stopped feeling younger and happier and more energetic than I had for ages. I just stopped giggling with the rest of them. I asked, “Where’s your mother, Tobo?”
His good humor waned momentarily. “She went with Granny Gota.”
A glance at Doj made me suspect that there had been a sharp encounter between Sahra the mother and men willing to accept her son as one of them. This was Nyueng Bao stubbornness again, from two directions. On this one the Troll must have sided with her grandson and Doj.
I changed the subject. “All right. You two claim you’ve been in Shivetya’s mind. Or maybe he’s been in yours. Whichever, tell me what he wants.” I did not believe the demon was being helpful out of the goodness of his ancient heart. He could not be. He was a demon, accursed of God whether he was a creature of light or of shadow. To a demon we adventurers had to be as brief and transient as individual honeybees would be to us — though, like the bees, we might be able to make ourselves obnoxious for a short while.
Doj said, “He wants what anyone in his position would want. That seems obvious.”
Tobo interjected, “He also wants loose, Sleepy. He’s been pinned that way for a long time. The plain keeps changing because he can’t get out to stop anybody.”
“What’s he going to do if we pluck the daggers out of his limbs? Will he go on being our pal? Or will he start busting heads?”
Doj and Tobo exchanged uncertain glances. So. They had not spent much time worrying about that.
I said, “I see. Well, he may be the sweetest guy on God’s green earth but he stays right where he is for now. A few weeks or months more shouldn’t make much difference to him. How the heck did he manage to get himself nailed to his chair?”
“Somebody tricked him,” Tobo said.
Surprise, surprise. “You think so?”
It seemed there was a lot more light now than there had been when I was headed in the other direction with Swan. Or maybe my eyes had adapted to the interior of the fortress. I could make out the designs in the floor clearly. All the features of the plain could be found there except for the standing stones with their glittering gold characters. And those might have been represented by certain shadowy discolorations I was unable to examine more closely. There were even tiny points that seemed to be moving, which almost certainly meant something if one knew how to read them.
Shivetya’s throne rested atop a circular elevation positioned at the heart of an intermediate raised circle just over twenty yards across. Doj assured me that that was roughly one-eightieth the diameter of the biggest circle and that that was an eightieth of the diameter of the entire plain. The smaller circle, I noted, also boasted its representation of the plain — in much less obvious detail. Presumably, Shivetya could sit his throne and, turning, could see the whole of his kingdom. If he needed more information, he could step down to the next level, where everything was portrayed in a scale eighty times finer.
The implications of the quality of the magical engineering involved in creating all this began to seep through. I was intimidated thoroughly. The builders must have been of godlike power. They had to have been as far beyond the greatest wizards known to me as those were beyond no-talents like me. I was sure that Lady and Longshadow, Soulcatcher and Howler, would have little more grasp of the forces and principles involved than I did.
I stepped in front of Shivetya. The demon’s eyes remained open. I felt him touch me lightly, inside. For some reason my thoughts turned to mountainous highlands and places where the snow never melted. To old things, slow things. To silence and stone. My brain had no better way of interpreting the actuality of what Shivetya was.
I kept reminding myself that the demon antedated the oldest history of my world. And I sensed what Tobo had mentioned, Shivetya’s quiet, calm desire not to grow any older. He had a very Gunni sort of desire to find his way into a nirvana as an antidote to the infinite tedium and pain of being.
I tried talking to the demon. I tried exchanging thoughts. That was a frightening experience even though I was filled with the confidence and good feeling that came from the gift food Shivetya had provided. I did not want to share my mind even with an immortal golem who could not possibly have any genuine comprehension of the things it contained or of why those troubled me so.
“Sleepy?”
“Huh?” I jumped up. I felt good enough to do that. I felt as good as I should have back in my teens, had I never had a need to feel sorry for myself. The healing properties of the demon’s gift continued to work their magic.
Swan said, “We all fell asleep. I don’t know for how long. I don’t even know how.”
I looked at the demon. It had not moved. No surprise there. But the white crow was perched on its shoulder. As soon as it recognized that I was alert, it launched itself toward me. I threw up an arm. The bird settled on my wrist as though I were a falconer. In a voice almost too slow to follow, it said, “This will be my voice. It is trained and its mind is not cluttered with thoughts and beliefs that will get in the way.”
Marvelous. I wondered what Lady would think. If Shivetya took over, she would be deaf and blind until we brought her back from her enchanted sleep.
“This will be my voice now.”
I understood the repetition to be a response to my flutter of unspoken curiosity.
“I understand.”
“I will aid you in your quest. In return, you will destroy the Drin, Kina. Then you will release me.”
I understood that he meant for me to release him from life and obligation, not just from that throne.
“I would if I had the power.”
“You have the power. You have always had the power.”
“What does that mean?” I recognized a cryptic, sorcerer-type pronouncement when I heard one.
“You will understand when it is time to understand. Now it is time for you to depart, Stone Soldier. Go. Become Deathwalker.”
“What the devil does that mean?” I squeaked. So did several of my companions, all of whom were awake now and most of whom were gobbling demon food while eavesdropping.
The floor started moving, at first almost imperceptibly. Quickly I noted that only the part immediately around the throne, that had healed itself completely, was involved. I now knew that all the damage, including the earthquake so violent it had been felt as far away as Taglios, had been initiated entirely by Soulcatcher during an ill-conceived experiment. She had discovered the “machinery” and in her willful, damn-the-consequences way, had begun tinkering just to see what would happen. I knew that as fully as if I had been there as an eyewitness, because an actual eyewitness had given me his memories.
I knew everything Soulcatcher had done during her several visits to the fortress, in a time when Longshadow believed he was the total master of the Shadowgate and did not believe that others would dare approach it even if they did possess a workable key.
I now knew many things as if I had lived them. Some were things I was not eager to know. A few concerned questions I had had for years, offering answers that I could share with Master Santaraksita. But mostly it was just stuff I was likely to find useful if I was going to become what Shivetya hoped I would.
A startled bluebottle of speculation buzzed through my mind. I checked to see if I had an answer. But I had no memories of what might have become of the Key that would have been necessary if, indeed, Longshadow, as Maricha Manthara Dhumraksha, with his student Ashutosh Yaksha, had come to our world from the Land of Unknown Shadows.
And for sure, I did not get any relief from my fear of heights.
An instant after the floor stopped turning, the white crow launched itself upward. And darned if I did not launch myself right after it — though not through any wish of my own.
My companions rose behind me. In their surprise and fright several dropped weapons and possessions and, probably, body contents. Only Tobo
seemed to find unanticipated flight to be a positive experience.
Runmust and Iqbal sealed their eyes and belched rapid prayers to their false vision of God. I spoke my mind to the God Who Is God, reminding Him to be merciful. Riverwalker addressed impassioned appeals to his heathen deities. Doj and Swan said nothing at all, Swan because he had fainted.
Tobo babbled in delight, informing everyone how wonderful the experience was, look here, look there, the vast expanse of the chamber stretches out below us like the plain itself...
We passed through a hole in the ceiling and into the colder air of the real plain. It was dusk out there, the sky still crimson over the western horizon but already deep indigo directly ahead. The stars of the Noose shone palely in front of us. As we descended toward the surface, I found nerve enough to glance back. The fortress stood silhouetted against the northern sky, on its outside in worse shape now than when we had arrived. All our clutter, everything dropped during our ascension or that we had had no time to grab, now flew along right behind us.
For a while I watched eagerly for the standard to join the flock. My hopes were disappointed. It did not appear.
In retrospect I cannot see why I should have hoped otherwise.
Now Tobo pretended he was a bird. By experimenting he discovered that he could use his arms to direct his flight, to rise and fall somewhat, to speed up and slow down slightly. He never shut up for a instant, loving every moment, continuously admonishing the rest of us to enjoy the adventure, because none of us would ever have the chance to experience anything like this again.
“Wisdom from the mouths of infants,” Doj announced. Then he threw up.
They were both right.
95
Our flight ended where the rest of the band was camped at the last circle before the southwest road reached our destination shadowgate. Flying definitely offered the advantage of speed. We outflew the white crow, arriving less than two hours after our toes departed solid stone. That Shivetya fellow was a handy friend to have.
I tried to see what lay beyond the edge of the plain but it was just too dark. There might have been one or two small points of light out there. It was hard to tell.
We descended feetfirst, evidently immune to shadows. I had sensed several of those pacing us but they had shown no inclination to get too close. Which left me admiring Shivetya’s power even more, for those things were little more than bundles of hatred and hunger to kill.
We passed through the top of the shielding protecting our brethren without compromising it. The whole band watched our arrival in disbelief. Tobo managed to direct himself toward his mother and accomplished a somersault before he touched down. I did not exactly get down and hug the stone surface but I was glad the ordeal was over. The Singh brothers rushed around looking for family. So did Doj, who ignored Sahra and went directly to Gota. Gota was not in good spirits and possibly was in ill health. I could not tell much more about anyone in the feeble light available from a changeable moon. Gota did not offer any complaint or criticism. Swan stuck with me.
As soon as he convinced himself that it was safe to open his eyes, Riverwalker began bustling around being a busybody, devoutly determined to make sure everyone and everything conformed to whatever rules he happened to recall at the moment. I frowned, shook my head, but did not interfere. We all need our rituals to help us get by.
“Sahra,” I asked, “how are they?” I meant those we had brought out of the caverns, because I had a suspicion that Gota’s state meant nothing good and I did not want to hear what I feared it did mean.
Sahra could not feel friendly. She blamed me because she had discovered her baby strolling through the sky. Never mind that he had come down safely and could not stop raving about the experience.
What a fall from a great height might do to a body never occurred to him. But it certainly did to Sahra.
“No change in the Captured. One-Eye went into a funk when he heard about Goblin and hasn’t spoken since. Mother isn’t sure if it’s emotional withdrawal or he had another stroke. What worries her is the possibility that he doesn’t want to live anymore.”
“Who would he fight with?” I did not mean to belittle, though it came out sounding that way.
Sahra showed me an instant of pique but did not reveal her thoughts. “Mother can be a handful.”
“Probably what got them together in the first place.” I made no mention of the fact that I feared Gota would not be with us much longer. The Troll had to be around eighty. “I’ll go talk to him.”
“He’s asleep. It can wait.”
“In the morning, then. Are we still in touch with Murgen?”
The light was good enough to reveal Sahra’s anger. Perhaps she was right. I had not had my feet on the ground two minutes and already I wanted to use her husband. But she managed the emotion. We had worked together for a long time now, early on with her usually being the stronger one, only occasionally with me taking the lead role. We always managed without sharp words. We always managed because we knew we had somewhere to go and we had to collaborate to get there. These days I took charge most of the time but she could do so when it was appropriate.
Only she was just about where she wanted to get to now, was she not? She had Murgen out of the ground. She would not need to go on with her role once he was up and around. Unless he was not the man she wanted him to be. In which case she would have to contrive a new Sahra all over again.
I am sure that had her on edge more than ever. Neither she nor Murgen were the people they had been. None of us were. There were going to be some difficulties adjusting, possibly some major difficulties.
I anticipated big problems with Lady and the Captain.
Sahra said, “I’ve done my best to keep the mist projector working but I haven’t been able to make contact since we left that fortress. He doesn’t seem to be willing to leave his body anymore. And I can’t get that to wake up more than it already is.” So she was also afraid that the rescue might have been a mistake, that we might have hurt Murgen instead of saving him. Upbeat, hopefully, she said, “Maybe Tobo can help.”
I wondered what had become of the tough, focused, dedicated Sahra who had been Minh Subredil. I tried to reassure this Sahra. “Murgen will be fine.” Shivetya had given me the knowledge we needed to reanimate the Captured. “But we have to get him off the plain before we can wake him all the way up. Same for the others.”
Riverwalker returned from his tour. “The demon food is going fast here, Sleepy. There’s enough to get us off the plain and have a couple meals more but then we’re on our own. We either eat the dog and the horses or we scrounge up something locally fast.”
“Ah, well. We knew that going in. We’re better off than we expected to be. Did anybody think to steal anything valuable while we were there?”
That comment got me blank looks. Then I realized that it was possible no one else had noticed the treasures I had discovered while chasing Tobo into the deeps of the earth. The boy would have said something if he had seen anything. He could not shut up.
Swan told me, “It’ll be harvest time when we get there.”
“What?”
He shrugged. “I just know.”
So he might. “Everybody listen up. Get all the rest you can tonight. I want to get up and move out early tomorrow. And nobody knows what we’ll run into at the end of the road.”
Somebody grumbled something about if I wanted him to sleep, why did I not shut up and let him get to work?
I could not keep my eyes open myself, although it had not been that long since I had wakened by Shivetya’s throne. In fact, my mind seemed to be shutting down. I said, “Forget everything else. I’m going to take my own advice. Where’s a place I can wrap my blanket around me and lie down before I collapse?”
The only open space was back at the tail end of the Company. All my flying companions except Tobo had to migrate back there. I had planned to eat before I slept but exhaustion overwhelmed me before I swallowed my t
hird bite of demon’s food. My final reflection concerned whether God could overlook one of the Faithful accepting a gift from one of the Damned.
An interesting exercise. God knows all. Therefore, God knew what Shivetya was doing and allowed him to do it. Therefore, it must be God’s will that we benefit from the demon’s generosity. It would be a sin to defy God’s will.
96
I dreamed strange dreams.
Of course I did. Was not Shivetya in my mind? Was I not in the haunted place of glittering stone?
Stone remembered. And stone wanted me to know.
I was in another place, then, in a time not my own. I was Shivetya as the demon experienced the world, everywhere at once, a pale imitation of God. I could be everywhere at once because by staring at the floor surrounding my throne, I connected with my realm as a whole. We became one knowledge, the singer and the song.
Men were moving across my face, a large band. I knew time differently from mortals but I understood that it had been ages since this had happened last. Mortals did not cross me anymore. Not often. Never in numbers like this.
There was enough Sleepy there for me to recognize Shivetya’s memory of the coming of the Captured, before they stumbled into Soulcatcher’s trap. Why would the demon want me to see this? I knew this story. Murgen had shared it with me several times, to make sure it got recorded in the Annals just the way he wanted.
There was no solid feeling of a personality surrounding me, yet I felt a mild pressure to abandon curiosity, to turn outward from questions, to cease being a viewpoint, to let the flower unfold. I should have paid more attention to Uncle Doj. The ability to abandon the self would have been a useful talent at a time like this.
Time was different for the demon, definitely. But he tried to accommodate the ephemeral mortal, to get to the point, to provide the information he thought I would find useful.
I watched the whole adventure, including the great and desperate escape that had devoured Bucket and had allowed Willow the chance to remain in the story as a pawn of wickedness. And I did not understand immediately because at first I observed only the finer details of a story already known in outline.