The Mammoth Book of Kaiju

by Sean Wallace

  “Can’t you do anything besides tell stupid Olan stories! Can’t you actually say something comforting for once!” Asneath shrieked.

  Baoqian subsided, hurt.

  Asneath closed her eyes, each freckle standing out like a scream on her white face. She remembered Baoqian had saved her life. She remembered she needed his help. She remembered that he had tried to sleep with her only once, and given up when she resisted. She murmured a prayer to Frir, and Frir gave her strength. She opened her eyes. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m sorry. When do you think Todesfall will arrive?” she resumed, on a calmer note.

  “Soon. Tomorrow or the next day,” Baoqian guessed.

  “He must not. He must not!” Asneath choked.

  All the world was wrong, and some said the Great Ending was at hand. The gods had deserted them. Olan and Frir had answered prayers for help only by saying the right aid would come to the right souls at the right time and place. Rimbaud the bat, Rimbaud the crone, bringer of rebirth, was gone from her moon-roost. At night the moon’s face shone broad and white, with no shadow upon it. That was bad, for Rimbaud left the living only in times of great death, when many souls needed her help on their way through the dying lands to new life. And all because Todesfall walked where he should not.

  Todesfall was the son of Olan and Frir. He had killed his mother when he was born, and cost his father much trouble to fetch her back again. Todesfall, the Dark Child, kills all he touches and knows not why for he has no more understanding than a day-old child. His father had to banish him to his own realm of Dying for the sake of the world.

  In the Dying lands, you must wait until Todesfall comes for you, until you see his face. The sight wipes all memory away, and then you are on to your next life and the lonely land of Dying is behind you till next time. Although it is said that sometimes he will relent if you appeal to him in his mother’s name, even though she left him alone in a strange land. Only Todesfall dwells in the realm of Dying, alone and forever, forever and alone. And that is where he is supposed to remain.

  “We must find the well in the north square, as we were told,” Asneath said, trying to be brisk. “Then this will be over, one way or another.”

  Baoqian nodded. But he did not step forward. The city below would hold many dead. The dead were born of the Dance of Death, and they wanted you to join in. There lay the problem.

  The Dance of Death was simple, a half-dozen steps. A child could learn it. You danced and whispered your enemy’s name, and in the night your enemy died. The Dance started in Zaijian some months ago, and spread from there to the rest of the world. It brought on a terrible time, a dying time, when many were found to have enemies that deserved none. But then this statue of Todesfall started to walk and the Dance of Death ceased to work, so all saw the dance was a spell created for the statue’s benefit.

  The statue was far away then, in the north, in the Vale of the White Shang. It had been smaller then, much smaller—no bigger, it was said, than a baby. It was hidden in a temple of the lawful priests of Todesfall, those who ease the path of the dying into Todesfall’s dark land, who lay out the dead, and guard their graves. No one outside the temple knew of the statue, for it is forbidden to make an image of Todesfall for fear the god will like it and will walk. Instead, by law, the priests are compelled to worship a block of obsidian.

  The statue grew as it walked. At first it was slow, a step a day. At first the growth was not large, one inch, two, three. The lawful priests of Todesfall tried to keep it hidden. But one day its head broke through the dome of the temple and they could keep it secret no more. Then those that were killed by the Dance of Death came back. They found their slayers and carried them away.

  The living tried to break the statue and could not. They tried to wall it in. That failed. Every night the dead returned and danced around the statue with their murderers still living in their arms, murderers who called for help until they died themselves, then fetched their families and friends to join their merry jig. The more that died, the bigger the statue grew. The only way to slay the risen dead was to chop off their heads, and they came in such waves that even the stoutest warrior could only slay so many before being seized by eager hordes and whirled away.

  By then, the statue had passed from the White Shang, where it caused much distress, through the Moon Marshes to the city-states of Uerth, which rose in horror and dismay. The living fled. The Lady of Frir of the White Shang, and Lord Utan of the Five Duchies summoned a great assembly of the most powerful lords and warriors to decide how to deal with it. The Lady of Frir had seen the statue depart. Her gentle soul craved to heal all, even Todesfall. Lord Utan was the most powerful lord of the Five Duchies to the east of Uerth. His lands lay next in the path of the statue’s advance. The assembly had the lawful priests of Todesfall brought before them, in chains for their treason in making such a statue when its dangers were so well known.

  The lawful priests of Todesfall pleaded for their lives. They had not made the statue, they said. It had been made by their most hated foe, the unlawful priest of Todesfall. Centuries ago they had taken the statue from the unlawful priest to destroy it, but could not and so decided to keep it hidden. None in the assembly had heard of this unlawful priest and the lawful priests were put to sore trial. But they held fast, and at last the assembly saw that only raw fear had induced the priests to tell of their ancient and bitter and secret enemy.

  The lawful priests said the unlawful priest dwelt in Zaijian, the last and least of the city-states of Uerth as he had since centuries past when once that city-state was rich and great. He did not live in the way of common men, but lived in death. For that reason he was constantly in sight of Todesfall’s face. They said this with great malice and deep grievance, and the assembly saw that the lawful priests hated their unlawful fellow for his constant state of bliss. That which is dead should stay dead, the lawful priests said. It was he who made that statue, long ago, they vowed, and he who had sent the Dance of Death, to fetch the statue back.

  Everyone knew the statue was heading straight to Zaijian. And also the Dance of Death had spread from there, as all could well remember.

  The lawful priests told all they had learned of the unlawful priest. He was carefully hidden by his zealous followers, the best assassins and poisoners and embalmers in the world. They had learned the way to make contact with his followers, and the answers to the three questions his followers asked before they welcomed any guests. The lawful priests said the only way to stop the statue was to kill the unlawful priest. They would not reveal the three answers, for they hoped to use them to bargain for their lives. Instead they appealed to the White Lady, the beautiful, the good, the merciful.

  When Lord Utan saw they would speak no more, he had all but one of the lawful priests executed. The White Lady pleaded for their lives, but Lord Utan told her to obey him in this, as a wife does a husband, and she bowed her head. Lord Utan took the last lawful priest with them on their journey, to show them the way to the unlawful priest and give the three answers. He assembled a host of his finest warriors, and the Lady of Frir took dozens of her priestesses to tend to the wounded. The world’s greatest assassins and poisoners, they reasoned, would not give up their priest without a fight. They marched quickly for Zaijian.

  Asneath and Baoqian were with the company, but neither had an important part to play until Lord Utan went mad. Green pus came from his mouth and he killed the Lady of Frir and her priestesses. His own men killed him. They set him on a bier in due mourning, with his battle-ax in his hand, but that night he rose up again. All that were killed by him rose with him and attacked the living. The living wasted time in their confusion before remembering the only way to kill them was to lop off their heads. It is not easy for an Olan warrior to slay a Frir-maid, even when green pus drips from her lips and her hair flies bristling and her hands are claws. Asneath lived only because Baoqian and some of his companions found her early and set her between them.

  At firs
t the men fought in fierce disorder, shouting to Olan for aid, until Olan aided them. Their tattoos writhed. Blue aurochs of attack raged through them. Blue dragons of defense reared over them. They fell into the battle trance, their blades singing sweetly, their eyes vacant of all but Olan’s blessing. They felt neither pain nor despair nor fear of dying. The battle raged fiercely, the balance see-sawing between the living and the dead. Horses and people screamed in darkness.

  Asneath knew the smaller spells of healing, although not the great spells that return life. They were Rimbaud’s alone. As her first stark terror ebbed, she held Frir’s amulet in her hand and meditated upon the circle and the sickle. She felt strength and certainty return to her. Murmuring Frir’s chants she touched the men’s wounds. Their wounds mended. She saw when they were flagging and gave them fresh strength, until it seemed to them, in their battle trance, that Asneath was Frir, and to fail her meant the death of Life itself. But Death and Dark were strong and terrible, while Asneath’s powers were weak and mortal. She could not save them. As the night lengthened, the men staggered and wearied and foamed at the mouth. The blue aurochs and dragons turned to pale ghosts, then ebbed entirely, and the men fought on with only their devotion to Olan to sustain them. And that was not enough. Gaps were torn in the ranks around Asneath. Finally only Baoqian remained. Then, at last, dawn saved them. The dead screeched when first light touched them. Their flesh hissed and smoked. They fled into the woods.

  Baoqian leaned on his battle-ax amid the carnage. He and Asneath looked around at the camp, with tents fallen and fires smashed and scattered with corpses. They saw they were the only ones still living. All that great quest had fallen on them.

  “But we do not know how to find the followers of the unlawful priest, or the three answers to give them,” Asneath wailed.

  The sound of her voice woke movement beneath a fallen tent. They pulled the fabric aside and saw the lawful priest of Todesfall beneath. His feet were still bound, but he had one hand free, clenched tight around a small crystal vial. Nothing living or dead had touched him, but he was hurt to the death. In the desperate fight the tent pole had snapped and pierced his chest. Yet he smiled sweetly, not at them but beyond them, as if behind them he saw an old friend, long cherished in absence, coming towards him again. Asneath shivered and turned around, but there was no one there. No one living. She gathered courage and knelt beside him. She murmured a prayer and touched her amulet. She felt Frir’s holy strength pour through her, banishing her mortal weariness. She touched the wound in his chest. She felt Frir deny her. She rocked back on her heels in amazement. “Frir refuses to heal you,” she exclaimed. “You must have done a great wrong.”

  His smile broadened. He released his grasp on the crystal vial. It spilled green pus that sizzled and killed the grass it soiled.

  “That is the poison that killed Lord Utan,” Asneath cried, amazed.

  “He should have let my brothers live,” he mumbled.

  “You dog! You die!” Baoqian howled. He whirled his ax around his head.

  “Hold!” Asneath cried. She threw herself between the lawful priest and the blade. “He is dying now,” she cried. “He will see Todesfall’s face soon enough, with or without your help. He can tell us how to find the unlawful priest, and the three answers,” she explained.

  Baoqian considered, then let her have her way, although he spat upon the dying man’s upturned face before he strode away. Asneath knelt by the priest again. She saw by the look in his eyes that his friend behind her was very close and very welcome. She did not have much time. She asked him where the unlawful priest of Todesfall could be found. He told her that a follower of the unlawful priest always waited by the well in the north square of Zaijian.

  “Will killing the unlawful priest stop the statue?” she pleaded.

  “If you do not kill him before the statue reaches him, then the lands of living and dying will become one,” he gasped. “Then we face the Great Ending whose coming has many times been foretold but has always been held off somehow.” He never took his eyes from that invisible one so uncomfortably close behind her. “In the Great Ending all who die will be reborn only in death. There will be no living soul left to worship, so even the gods will die. The dead will dwell in darkness that has no end.”

  She saw he dreaded that Great Ending, and she believed him. Yet also she saw laughter lurking in his eyes as if at some private jest. She wondered what this meant and concluded he was not telling the entire truth about the unlawful priest. But she had no time left. She asked him for the three answers.

  He spoke thin but clear. She had to bend close to hear. He told her the first question and the first answer, the second question and the second answer. He told her the third question and she waited a long time for the third answer before realizing it would never come. For his smile became fixed and his gaze cleared. She screamed and snatched her hands over her face so she did not catch any glimpse of that Other face in the mirror of his eyes. At her cry, Baoqian came running. He had searched the camp and found some unspoiled supplies. So they journeyed on, pursued always by the dead who had once been their friends. They came at last to Zaijian.

  They entered the city by the north gate in the late afternoon. The north square was immediately inside the gates; Zaijian was not a large city. A four-sided well stood in the center, slab-roofed, with steps to the water. No doubt in normal times a man could linger here long, unnoticed, in the bustle of the crowd, but now the man sitting by the well was the only living soul there. They hurried to meet him.

  Asneath had told Baoqian she did not have the answer to the third question. They had decided on a plan.

  The stranger rose as they approached and removed his hat, showing himself a long lanky individual with sandy hair, a beaked nose and mild eyes. He was wearing rags that had once been fine clothes and still had a certain air of shabby finery about him. Anything less like an embalmer, assassin or poisoner they could not expect to find. A well-to-do pickpocket perhaps. They drew to an astonished halt before him.

  “You are alive,” Asneath blurted out, before she could think of anything sensible to say.

  He bowed, doffing his hat. “As you see. You must be thirsty.” He offered them each a bowl of water to drink. The travelers licked parched lips, but hesitated. “It is not poisoned,” he smiled.

  Asneath murmured a Frir-prayer over the water that would discolor it if it were tainted. But the water stayed clear. The thirsty travelers drank deep. “I am sorry for doubting your word,” she said, setting the bowl down at last.

  The man waved a dismissive hand. “You have reason. You are sent, I suppose, by the lawful priests to kill the proper priest of Todesfall.”

  Asneath stared in astonishment. Baoqian put his hand to his axe.

  “I have expected you a long while. You are almost too late,” the acolyte said. He turned to the statue that loomed over the city and blotted out the sky. Its foreshortened raised leg and foot approached, agonizingly slowly. It made the travelers fidget to look at it. Beyond, its torso reared into the clouded sky that hid sight of its head.

  “Do I kill him?” Baoqian mouthed at Asneath, puzzled.

  She shook her head, as the acolyte turned back to them. “Sir,” she addressed him. “It is true that the lawful priests of Todesfall sent us here, but they betrayed us and killed our lord and lady. We seek to stop this statue before it brings about the Great Ending and we believe the unlawful priest was the one who started it walking. Will you not let us speak with him to find out the truth?”

  The acolyte smiled at them, benevolently. “Of course, but first you have to answer three questions,” he said.

  “I am ready,” Asneath said.

  “What is the great poison, that is colorless, odorless and tasteless?” he asked.

  Asneath felt a gush of relief. This was exactly as the lawful priest had told her. “Aqueta or little-water,” she said, confidently.

  The acolyte clapped his hands. “What are the se
ven noble poisons?” he asked.

  Again relief filled her, for she knew the answer. “The seven noble poisons are aquafortis, arsenic, and mercury, powder of diamonds . . . ” She paused, for she had heard the list but once, and memory groped for the next answer. As soon as she stopped, the acolyte started forward. She met his eyes and saw he was full of joy, of fondness for all life, that he bore not the slightest ill will to any living creature in the world, yet he would kill her if she forgot. It mattered not to him if he ended this life for her, when she had another, and another, an endless, inexhaustible supply to go on. Sweat sprang upon her skin, sweat that had nothing to do with the heat, and raw fear jogged her memory. “Lunar-caustic, great spiders, and canthirides!” she gasped to the end.

  “Two out of three. Well done. Here is the last. What is the name of the nameless god?” he asked.

  Asneath’s heart hammered even as she smiled and tried to look confident, for she knew not the answer to the third question. Her plan seemed a feeble one now it was embarked on. “I am afraid I am feeling the heat,” she said, apologetically. “It is on the tip of my tongue. I just cannot remember.”

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Baoqian start to maneuverer.

  But there was no need, not then. The acolyte threw up his long arms. “I am sorry to be so rude. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had sunstroke,” he said, and shot her a pleased look, as if wondering if she would die of it. “Come to our hall. You can sit in the shade and recover your wits. Then you can give your third answer.”

  She felt hopeful that her ready answers had dulled his suspicions.

  He stepped back and whistled, high and shrill. A dozen shabby figures appeared from the surrounding streets. Baoqian stepped back against the well, ax raised. “Peace, friend,” the acolyte said. “You have no need of that. We can kill you any time we like.”