by Will Elliott
Siel and Far Gaze did not know the times before and directly after they encountered the god whose haiyen name meant That of Energies and Other Places. They later had no memory of how they came to the enormous temple built for it. The god was a clutch of shapes so disparate and strange that for a long while after, Far Gaze doubted his eyes could be trusted with anything any more. He supposed that among its writhing thrashing shapes was a head, a torso and limbs, but it seemed more a machine, spinning beyond control.
He and Siel saw only a portion of that entity, whatever it truly was. All surrounding memory was lost. There was just incomprehensible strangeness imprinted on them like a streak of light behind eyes squeezed shut. ‘You’re trying to drive us mad,’ Siel said as they staggered out of the huge temple housing it.
They felt their guide’s grief and regret. He said, ‘I will take you to where we can recover.’ Again with no surrounding memory of the journey they were inside a house-sized shell of stone, with moss and soft soil for its floor. Gentle flute music played. Haiyens were whispering in their ears as they seemed to wake from sleep. They whispered of Siel’s and Far Gaze’s own lives, talking about their memories as if they’d been there watching all of it unfold. ‘Why do you recount my life for me?’ said Far Gaze sleepily. ‘I lived it already and didn’t much care for it the first time.’
‘You must ground yourselves again,’ said the haiyen nearest. ‘Having seen what you have seen, there is danger of losing who you are. To behold one god is confronting enough. You have seen three. Keep your feet in the land’s soil for a time. Reflect upon your familiar world and life. You will then be ready for all else you have been brought here to learn.’
‘How to kill dragons,’ murmured Far Gaze.
‘Rest then, if that is what you have come for,’ the haiyen said quietly.
‘I need not know,’ said Siel. ‘I want to see no more. If Far Gaze is willing to go alone and leave me to rest here, let him. I want to go home.’
So it was that Far Gaze alone saw That Which Governs Cycles of Events, that same Spirit Eric had glimpsed stalking between the ruined buildings of his home city in the vision shown to him by Shilen in the dragons’ prison. The tall, impossible shape moved insect-like through its barren home, one light and one dark orb held aloft in each of its long arms.
Far Gaze saw too the tall desert tower platforms of those haiyens to the deepest south, the cities of the lost ones, who’d sealed their world off from other worlds, and made it a prison like the North, trapping their kindred with themselves. He saw the vastness of their high valley, the ingenious homes they’d built far above the reach of the foul things they’d summoned to the lands beneath. His guide told him how they had learned to pool consciousness in a way that opened a gate to a terrible world, and what hungry things had come through that gate.
And there was one now: an enormous ball of matter, halfway between flesh and stone. It rolled mindlessly, smashing itself into cliff sides. Only when they went near to it could Far Gaze appreciate the vast thing’s size and horror. It was as big as a mountain, rolling slowly above them like an ocean of sickly grey, formed of infinite whipping tendrils of flesh, seeking ever to pull more matter to itself, to grow and grow. Here and there among its vast bulk were eyes and limbs, formed on its surface in mocking parody of the life forms it had subsumed. Far Gaze stood stunned and numb with horror, so numb he did not even particularly wish to flee the thing. He could only stare at it.
‘When these are first summoned here, they are small and formless,’ said his haiyen guide. ‘Can you believe, to look upon it now, that this being was once smaller than an insect? They search for dead things, for flesh to borrow. They add living matter to themselves like shreds of clay, warping and preserving it, growing ever larger. The lost ones helped it grow, fed it living things. They sent one like this to our cities. It had not grown so large as this, but we’d not seen its kind before. We had not learned then how to slay them. By the time we learned, it had destroyed our city, and this and two others had grown too large to kill. Three now are god-sized, and no known arts may destroy them. This one claimed this valley and a great area surrounding it. It does not live, it does not die – it just exists and roams its territory. The Teacher of Many Arts cannot slay it. Perhaps the other gods could, but they show no interest in it. This one has the flesh of dragons in its mass. Now you know how dragons are slain. And you know how the lost haiyens will offer to help you slay them.’
When they were safely away from that place, back in the place of healing and grounding of consciousness, his guide told him how all through Levaal South, the hungry presences had roamed in search of more matter to bring into themselves. And of how the haiyens had once had cities and civilisations the envy of many worlds. Those places were trampled to splinters, trampled along with most of their nests, condemning them to live and breed in hiding.
‘The treks to our breeding places are ever more dangerous. The Teacher of Many Arts came, and taught us to build homes which remained hidden from the hungry things’ awareness. The lost ones do not regret for an instant for what they have done. They wrongly believe the hungry presences do their bidding, when in truth the things trap them in their high cities and do not let them leave. The only power the lost haiyens have is to bring more of the entities here. And they do. We hunt the small ones down as they roam north into our safe country. We find them when they are wearing the flesh of just a few animals. If one grows larger, many of us must gather to deal with it. Much life has moved below ground, where the things cannot go. That too shall be your future, if your lords listen to the lost ones. Or if the Pendulum swings high enough – then those hungry presences may leave their territory and cross World’s End.’
‘They are worse for our world than the dragons shall be?’
‘It is for you to say. A dragon has a mind. You may communicate with it, even if it wishes you great harm. These presences have no mind, not that we can discern. Yet somehow they control the lost haiyens, and compel them to summon more of their kind here.’
Far Gaze already knew how easily men like Tauk could be persuaded to protect and feed the hungry presences until they grew huge, thinking perhaps the things could be trained as guardians or beasts of war. ‘I sense your mood,’ said his guide. ‘You have my sympathy. But you must return and tell your lords of what happened to us, so that perhaps it won’t happen in your realm.’
‘My lords won’t listen.’
‘They must at least be given the choice to listen. I guided you through the darkest places of this world at my peril; not only mine, also my people’s peril.’ He raised a finger to the indentation between his eyes. ‘We are not many left, those who can travel as I have taken you. Rare are our births, and I shall not be reborn to this lost world again. I brought you to the waters where you were cleansed. If you have gratitude for that, tell your lords what you’ve seen here. One of your men even now rides a dragon to the very south, to visit the lost ones and make bargains with them.’
As their guide had said, there was no knowing how much time had passed when they were finally returned to Levaal North. They were in the same country they’d been taken from – near Gorb’s old village, near the tower. Tauk and his men were not in sight, but Far Gaze could sense that Blain was not far away.
‘Decide your course,’ said their guide. ‘I will take you where you wish.’
‘I will stay here,’ said Siel, examining the tracks about the village.
Far Gaze asked for an hour more, then went through the abandoned village homes in search of paper. To his surprise he found a whole bundle of good quality stuff in the room Gorb had kept his Engineer. Much was covered in scrawled formula but the reverse sides were blank. A pot of ink and some thin charcoal sticks sat on the bench. By candlelight he began making rough sketches.
Siel came in and peered over his shoulder. ‘Are those the Southern Spirits you’re drawing?’
He nodded. The images of them had been hard enough for his min
d to hold when the entities were right before him; with each moment the sight of those beings slipped further through his memory, leaving only a vague approximation of each.
When he was done drawing he blew dry the ink, carefully folded the papers and tucked them into his small pack. As he turned to leave he paused, studying Siel. He did not perceive auras very well, but there was something peculiar in hers. Something fey. ‘What do you intend to do here, Siel?’
‘Perhaps a little hunting,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Where will you go?’
‘To the castle. Our guide tells me the Arch no longer dwells there. I will advise whoever has claimed the place, as I promised our guide I’d do. Then I will find Tauk and his descendants. I will give them many things, but none of it advice.’
35
AT THE ASH SEA
Lalie jerked and bumped against the caravan walls. It reminded her of being under Mayor Izven’s small pot-bellied body, throwing itself over her with unnatural violence the night before they’d set out. The exertion had left him red-faced and panting. But he’d donned his composure again as easily as he’d dressed himself, peered down at her with his usual mild look, offered her a drink. Nothing seemed to have happened at all.
The edge of the Ash Sea was hours away yet, but their wagons bumped and scraped on the long-neglected road. The air grew thick with dark flecks and soot. It scattered down on the roof and against the wagon’s window and made the sky too dark to tell day from night. There had once been a city where the Ash Sea now sat. The other Spirits had brought Inferno down but they’d been too late to stop him eating that city and its people. The massive crater remained, filled with wind and ash like an angry living entity in its own right. The old roads leading there were discernible but by now barely usable. Few travellers came this far: it was dangerous country, rife with angry elementals and many perils hidden from sight, or so tales went.
Many of those riding in the rear of their caravan were Mayor Izven’s friends, people whom Lalie had seen helping themselves to the pleasure slaves every other day. All were wealthy dark-magic hobbyists, the kind Lalie’s old friends would have sneered at. The kind who dished out fortunes for certain potions or relics, not knowing you could accomplish just as much with sticks twisted into the right shapes and a simple campfire.
There were genuine mages and mystics among them now too, who had met them along the way. Silent brooding people, who had each inspected Lalie and the other girls and women in the same way farmers inspect livestock before trade. Those mystics carried themselves as authorities of the arts, but they had hurried away when Strategist Vashun came near. Lalie began to think that she and the mayor were the only ones unafraid of him. And she felt that the mayor was foolish to be unafraid.
Out the windows now elementals could be seen, orange flashes winding distantly through ash kicked up to look like sleet. The handfuls of it thrown against the wagon roof and walls began to hit with greater impact, as if rocks were among it. The horses started making distressed sounds – they would need, soon, to be soothed with spells or they’d ride no further.
Lalie kept her eyes on the window, even though there was not much to see. Strategist Vashun had some time back crept into her wagon, and now sat opposite her. He looked at her with a strange kind of lust she did not understand. It was not a sexual desire; nor was it the hungry gleam of rites-mad zealots eyeing their Offering. She could not fathom what he really wanted, or why he was really on this journey.
‘Be well, child,’ spoke his rasping voice. With long fingers he twisted the lid from a canteen crusted with red stones and poured her a goblet of cool water. She bared her teeth at him, but it did nothing to change his smile. The air had gone very dry. She took the water and sipped it, the chains about her wrist clinking. ‘Mm, those restraints,’ he sighed. ‘A pretty decoration they make. But, hardly needed on you. You enjoy this journey. You are … excited?’ He reached for the lock, caressed it for a while with a finger thin as bone. The chains fell loose. Lalie scratched several itches they had kept her from and felt in spite of herself a moment’s gratitude.
Vashun leaned closer to her and lowered his rasp to something confidential: ‘I am … like you, child. Ancient and young at once. The young often have a certain … wisdom, about them, which says they have lived before. I have known dying children whose … eyes, bespeak a very ancient wisdom. A knowing. Which one must respect. From where they came, they made a choice to be here, and chose to make their visit brief. One cannot but … respect this. Whether it is truly courage or cowardice, once the layers are stripped back, it remains: they chose to face the … intolerable.’
He leaned back, shifted his long, stiff body on the seat, sucked at the air as if for a long while he’d forgotten to breathe. He said, ‘For me, in this life, time enough has passed. Pleasures may remain, but all of them … known to me. All tastes now familiar. My … curiosities are all sated. No more … ambition left within me, you might say. Others I know, old as I, would play the game forever. Not I, child. For me, the game draws to its end, with but one or two jests to leave upon the board for others.’
He turned to check the curtained door through which Izven had earlier departed, then lowered his voice. ‘The mayor. He is … different from you and me. Much he likes life, and his practice of living. Of course! A zest, a hunger to taste it all. Ah! This journey is but one more flavour for him, all an adventure for one so spoiled, so bored, so dim. Mm. The same way such men as he ride close to an unfolding battle, to … spectate, to smell the dead. He wishes to be eye to eye with that most notorious Spirit, child. Perhaps he feels it shall not really rise. Perhaps he doubts my—’ like an insect on its back his bone-thin fingers twisted for the word ‘— my expertise? You know what comes, child. I see it all about you, that age beyond your body, that wisdom within. You have lived and died before. Do you remember? Some do remember, you know.’
He leaned closer yet for his answer. She shifted away from him, gave a quick shake of the head. He nodded. ‘The memory, it is close to you. Hidden behind a curtain of thought, mm? The winds may soon part it. You know, as do I. What comes is our last hour. It is approaching. We alone in this group, you and I, we understand. The others know not.’
A gust threw hot powder against the wagon’s sides and roof. Vashun smiled as if he had done it. ‘Close now, child,’ he said, shoulders hunching in the convulsive motions of a laugh. She looked out the window again. There was not much to see.
The door’s curtain parted and Izven burst in, taken aback for just an instant by the sight of the Strategist with her.
‘Have you a wish to be alone with the girl?’ said Vashun.
‘No, thank you,’ said Izven. He wiped blood from his nose; it was caused by his preferred drug. Vashun rose to depart anyway, and gave Lalie a knowing smile.
When the road ended and the horses could step no further into the soft ground they set out on foot. All had scarves wrapped about their faces with just a slit for their eyes. Through that slit almost nothing could be seen, and torches were not advised lest it attract flame elementals. Blindly they went forwards in a long human chain across the flat, led by two mystics who could see about them with their minds. Izven had four strong servants to carry him on a seat propped up on poles. Vashun walked with a hand on Lalie’s shoulder. It sat there coldly. The other Offerings cried and begged for freedom, as Offerings usually did when they sensed the end near. Lalie scorned them now as much as she had when she’d been on the other side of the sacrificial knife.
Soon the ash on the wind grew almost too thick for them to move through. The crusty ground underfoot began to sink in with the weight of their steps.
‘Where shall we do this?’ said Izven, barely audible. He’d been complaining about the air and heat for a while now.
‘The deeper we go, the more pleased shall the Spirit be,’ answered one of the mystics, voice muffled by his scarf.
‘Does our expert have an opinion?’ said Vashun, fingers tightening on Lal
ie’s shoulder.
‘Light your fire here,’ she said. ‘It won’t matter. If Inferno wants to speak, he will speak. We are in his home now. If we have trespassed he will kill all of us. If not now, within a week. It will seem like illness and accident.’
The Strategist smiled at her. He motioned to the two men who’d lagged at the group’s rear, carrying a heavy wooden chest. They threw back its lid. Vashun rummaged around inside.
Over an hour he carefully set up thin rods in a wide circle, taking a long while to measure the distance and position of each to the utmost degree. At last he had fenced in a circular area big enough to fit within it a large house. Inside the ring the air grew slowly clearer, as if an invisible barrier had been set. Only a small pattering of ash made it within. They could hear each other speak again. The mystics and the mayor’s people watched Vashun like eager pupils. He said, ‘It is a … defiance of the will of the other Spirits, that we are here at all.’
‘Will they not sense that we have come here?’ someone asked.
Vashun shook his head. ‘Much else occupies them. Vous, they closely study. Valour, they fight to contain, to keep away from World’s End. The dragons stir above. Deeds like this? Far from their thoughts. Or so we gamble.’
‘What’s next?’ said the mayor. He drank water from the flask he’d brought.