by Coleman Luck
It was at the end of the darkest and steepest passage, when Alex was sobbing from sheer exhaustion, at the very moment when he was ready to give up and die, that he broke through a mass of vines and found himself at the top. What he saw made him think that he was dreaming.
Spread out in the moonlight were the ruins of a vast and terrible city. Before him stretched the jagged hulks of ten thousand ancient buildings. Huge pyramids, domes, obelisks, towers, arches, all lay in rubble like the rotting bodies of stone giants. And blanketing all of it were vines. Like waves of long black hair they drifted in the wind that moaned through the desolation.
Cowering in the staircase, Alex couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. This was what he had climbed so far to reach? Better to die at the bottom of the ocean. He was about to turn and run back down to the canal when he heard the one sound that mattered more than anything else.
Splashing water.
Faint.
Far away.
But very clear.
Suddenly not even the terror of the dead city could overcome his thirst. Where was that sound coming from? Alex scanned the buildings. Directly in front of him stretched a broad avenue lined with massive columns. The splashes were coming from that direction, he was sure of it. He told himself that he would find the water, get a drink, then go back down to the raft and try to float out into the ocean. Just one drink, that was all.
Cautiously he stepped from his hiding place and began creeping down the avenue. But the farther he went, the more jittery he became. The buildings were hideous. Where the vines didn’t cover the walls, he could make out huge grotesque slashes like letters in a strange language. And carved into the street were monstrous flat heads with wide eyes and gaping mouths as though trying to swallow the sky.
Alex did his best to think only of the water and how good it would taste. Instead, he thought more and more about the twisting shadows that loomed around him. On and on he went, but the splashing didn’t seem to be getting any closer. Finally, ahead he saw it: a fountain. Like everything else, it was crumbled with age, but dusky moonlit sparkles still gushed from it.
He ran.
When he reached it, he fell down and let the cold liquid pour into his mouth. Unlike the ocean, it had a metallic taste, but he didn’t care. And if it killed him, what did it matter? After drinking all he could hold, he let it splash over his head. He was drying his face on his shirt, when the same awful feeling returned.
He was being watched.
And this time it was close.
For an instant Alex was afraid to move, terrified of what he might see. And then the sound began. From everywhere came a mournful cry, as though the whole dead city had begun to weep with one unearthly voice. Starting in a low moan, it rose to a bloodcurdling scream…and then fell back, vanishing in a thousand echoes.
Alex thought he was going to be ill. Forcing himself to turn, he looked behind him. A hundred yards away, in the center of the street that crossed the avenue of the columns, stood a gigantic shadow, and it wasn’t the shadow of a building.
In the moonlight loomed the silhouette of a bird with its huge wings outstretched. And it was staring straight at him with shimmering eyes. He froze; all he could do was wait for it to sweep down and crush him. But it didn’t move. Squinting at it, he almost sobbed with relief. It wasn’t a real bird at all. It was only a statue with moonlight shining through jagged holes in its head.
But it wasn’t like any bird that he had ever seen. Instead of two wings, it had four, and its feathers looked like shards of broken glass. It had a yawning beak, lined with teeth, that hung open as though caught in an endless shriek, and above the beak were the eyes. Even after Alex understood that they weren’t real, he couldn’t rid himself of the sensation that they were watching him. So the bird was a statue, but that didn’t explain the awful scream. The thought had barely come into his mind when it began again, wailing higher and higher. This time, as it faded, he heard something else: a dull clattering roar.
He knew that he had to hide and there was no time to run back to the stairs. Across the street was a building. Rushing over to it, he buried himself in the vines. Slowly the clatter grew. What was that sound? It was familiar. Then he recognized it; it was like marching. Thousands of feet marching, but not in unison. More like a shapeless mob. Soon the city shook with it.
The scream sounded a third time.
From where he hid Alex could see all the way back to where he had emerged from the staircase. He knew there was nothing beyond the wall but a sheer drop into the gorge. Yet from out of the vine-covered stone appeared a cloud of luminous shapes. At first they were indistinct, but as they drew nearer, he saw that it was a great mass of people—thousands of them, all swathed in black—marching toward him in utter silence. Their bodies were like mist, yet it was the sound of their feet that shook the city. He panicked. These must be the ones who had been watching. And now they were coming for him. He had to run, but he was too terrified to move. On and on the apparitions marched, down the street of the columns, until they were almost in front of him. Alex could hardly breathe.
But they passed right by.
They didn’t even seem to know that he was there. When the first row reached the fountain, they turned and headed in a new direction. The street was jammed with shadow-forms. Men and women, old and young, so close he could almost touch them. Individual faces became visible in the moonlight, each was different, yet all were the same. They were like sleepwalkers, without the slightest trace of life in their eyes. And there was a dustiness about them, as though they had been wandering in a desert.
Finally Alex mustered enough courage to turn and see where they were going. They were headed straight toward the statue of the bird. When they reached it, they disappeared under its claws, almost as though they were melting into the stone. The moon was sinking when the last of them had vanished and the city was empty and silent once more.
Suddenly Alex felt desperately tired. He had to find some place to sleep. At his back was the building; maybe he could get inside. Groping through the vines, he began searching for an entrance. Gradually he worked his way down one wall. Then another and another. Nothing. Not even a window.
Finally he was at the place where he had started, and he discovered that wasn’t a building at all; it was a solid block of stone. He wondered if the other ruins were the same, but there was nothing to do but step out into the street and take a look.
Creeping into the moonlight, he scanned the piles of rubble. Quickly he realized that what he had taken for buildings might not be buildings at all. Most were exactly like the one he had examined. Then, several blocks away, he saw a structure with a dome. Around the bottom were shadowy arches. Beneath them he thought he could make out entrances. To get there he would have to walk straight past the statue—down the same street the phantoms had traveled.
Alex told himself that there must be some other choice, but there were no other buildings like it anywhere.
From across the street came a new sound. A kind of scurrying and scraping. Definitely animal. Not a small animal either. He envisioned giant rats—the city might be crawling with them. Maybe they came out at night for food. And maybe they were looking for a nice pile of fresh, sweaty meat.
It was the dome or nothing.
Rushing out of his hiding place, Alex ran down the street. With every step the monstrous bird loomed larger. And with every step the animal sounds increased. Faster. Gasping for air. Finally he was beneath the statue’s wings and could see the place where the ghosts had vanished. It was solid rock. But he only glanced at it. He was fifty feet beyond the sculpture when the animal sounds began coming from everywhere.
He stopped and froze.
A block ahead something was pushing through the vines. Out of the shadows crept dozens of huge black dogs. The animals had seen him. One gave a low growl that was answered by all the rest. He tried not to panic. Slowly he turned his head to see if they were behind him. His heart san
k. The street on the other side of the bird was filled with them. He was surrounded. But then he noticed that at the base of the statue was a small open door. Maybe he could get to it.
More growls.
The dogs were coming toward him.
Very slowly Alex began to turn, hoping the gradual movement wouldn’t be noticed. But it was like a trigger. Instantly the street was filled with enraged snarls…and they were after him.
He ran for his life. When he reached the statue, the dogs were only a few feet behind. Rushing inside, he found an iron door that was still on its hinges. Though it was old and creaked horribly, he managed to slam it shut and throw his shoulder against it just as the first of the beasts arrived. In a mindless rage they threw themselves against the rusted metal. Alex knew he couldn’t hold them off for long. Groping in the dark, his fingers found a latch.
Shoving it in, he tested it.
It held.
For the moment he was saved. Dripping with sweat, he staggered back—the snarling and crashing were horrible. How long could the door withstand such a beating? He scanned his hiding place; the statue was hollow all the way to the top. Moonlight flooded in through its carved-out eyes. There was just enough light to see that once, long ago, this must have been a storage chamber. Twenty feet up was a ledge, and a primitive ladder had been gouged out of the wall to reach it. Rushing to it, he began to climb.
A moment later Alex sprawled onto a platform of dusty stone and there he lay in an exhausted heap. Outside everything grew still. With an eerie abruptness, the howling stopped and the dogs ended their attack. He struggled to his hands and knees. Through a small crack he could see the street. It was filled with black dogs. Each sat in absolute silence, with its eyes fixed on the statue. What had made them grow quiet? It was almost as though they had heard a command.
Suddenly, the feeling came over him once more. He was being watched.
And the Watcher was somewhere above.
He looked up.
The moonlight had vanished. Suspended in the dark was a glowing blur. For a moment everything was still. Then, as he stared in horror, the blur began to descend. He heard again the scream that had brought the phantoms, coming from a face with huge luminous eyes, but this time there were words in it. Over and over it shrieked…
“Unclean…
Unclean…
Raging colors
In rotting green…
Lord of Shadows…
Unclean…
Unclean.”
9
THE SEVENTH FRAME
There were no soft dreams for Tori.
In fact, there were no dreams at all.
When she awoke, she found herself wrapped in a warm blanket, alone on a bed in a small bedroom. Always before, waking up in strange places would frighten her. But now there was only confusion.
Where was she?
It seemed to be the middle of the night.
And there had been some kind of sound.
She sat up. Everything was quiet. Pale moonlight shone in through a gabled window. Of course, Bellwind’s house. She smiled as she remembered. This must be one of the rooms in the tower. With a yawn she was about to lie back down when the sound came again.
Voices talking.
As the youngest of her family, she assumed she was missing out on something. It was always that way. She went to bed while everybody else stayed up having fun. Amanda was probably downstairs right now, stuffing her face with ice cream. It wasn’t fair. And all because she couldn’t stay awake. Sliding from the bed, she tiptoed across the room and cracked open the door. The voices became clearer. There were two of them, and if her sister was there, she wasn’t doing any of the talking.
Cautiously Tori crept out of the bedroom. Beyond was a circular landing with a spiral staircase, and around the landing were more doors probably leading into other bedrooms. Dropping to her hands and knees, she crawled to a place where she could look down.
The voices were very clear now, but she still couldn’t see anybody. The talkers were in the living room just out of sight. One voice belonged to Bellwind, but the other was new. And Amanda wasn’t there. Tori was sure of it. The new voice was rough and gravelly as though it hurt to form words. With agonizing slowness it rumbled, “You are…you are…to send them…on the morning light…”
When Bellwind answered, there was fear in her voice. “But Seeker…what, specifically and utterly, is to become of them? I, yes, I myself, have brought them here. They trust me. Are they to be endangered if there is no hope? The moment, the very moment they leave my island, they will be pursued.”
“Ended…Ended. No more answers will be…no more answers can be…given.”
There was a long pause. When the old woman spoke again, it was with great weariness. “Forgive me. It has been so long, so very long and ever, since you have been among us. But you know my ancient heart. These Earth ones…I love them. It is I, yes I, who have watched them grow and known their sorrows. Already they have carried a terrible burden. Can I not go with them? For such a joy I would give my life.”
“The Law…Watcher…the Law…remains. Upon the land…no foot of yours must travel until Mountaincry.”
A great shadow fell at the bottom of the stairs, and Tori could almost see the strange speaker. But he didn’t come quite close enough. She was sure they were talking about her and Amanda. And what was the word he had said? Mountaincry? It made her shiver.
“And what of the other one, the Alex one?” Bellwind seemed to be fighting back tears.
Tori leaned forward. Most of all she wanted to know about her brother. But all that came were more strange words.
“Walking in shadows…until the end.”
There was a long pause. Desperately she wanted Bellwind to ask more questions about Alex. Instead, the old woman moved into a part of the room that Tori could see. Standing in front of the fireplace, she looked up at the seven frames. “And what, what of these? You have walked the land, Seeker. Why and why have they not answered for such an immeasurably longness of time?”
“Lost in pain…lost in sorrow. Sing to them. Yes, sing.”
“But I’ve sung and sung for years upon centuries. And no one ever answers.”
The voice whispered so low that Tori could barely hear. “Sing.”
Drawing a deep breath, Bellwind bowed her head and nodded. Then she circled the room three times making peculiar reaching motions with her fingers. On the fourth circle she began to sing in a dreaming kind of language. Bellwind’s voice was beautiful. As she walked and sang, a thick vapor began to grow. Rising up out of the floor around her, it swirled and shimmered as though the song itself were taking form. Higher and higher it rose until the room was enveloped in silver radiance.
Six times.
Six circles.
And at the end of the last one the sparkling mist gathered around the frames. Something was happening. In all but one the midnight blue was fading. Only in the seventh frame did the darkness remain. Bellwind had stopped and was staring up at them. Behind each glass was a struggle of swirling fog. Then the third frame came into focus. It was a portrait of a bell tower, surrounded by rays of light. The tower was made of blue bricks and the bell was silver. From out of the frame came a deep, echoing peal. Bellwind didn’t seem surprised. Her attention was on the others and the vagueness moving in them.
Suddenly a dim outline appeared in the first frame—a dark, forbidding shape with wings and glowing eyes. It was some kind of bird. From it came a distant, haunting scream that rose, and echoed, and died away. When the sound was gone, the picture faded. Nothing more happened and in a few moments all six were as dark as before. But the old woman was ecstatic. “Rindzac, my little brother, he was almost here. The first, the only-only in time upon centuries. For so long, all I have seen has been my own tower. Something is happening. A message. He was trying to give it.”
The Rough Voice answered from the shadows, “Allowed not…before. Shaken. Death and awakening.�
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“Not-not allowed?” The joy left Bellwind’s voice. “How, and tell me how, for I do not understand, could anything stop a Worwil from answering the call?”
There was no reply. The Great Shadow vanished from the floor. Bellwind called out, “Seeker, wait. Where-where are you going?”
Still no answer.
“When, please, when will you return?”
The Voice was filled with sadness. “Perhaps again…never. But in the garden…now…walk with me…toward the shore.”
Tori heard them leave the house. Unable to control her curiosity, she crept down the stairs hoping to see the one who had sounded so strange. Something in his last words had made her want to cry. However, by the time she got to the window, no one was visible in the misty forest.
Disappointed, she turned back and headed upstairs. Maybe she could find Amanda and tell her what had happened. Walking through the moonlit room, she passed beneath the frames. Suddenly she was afraid of them. Shivering, her step quickened. She had almost reached the stairs when an icy breath touched her…and a soft voice whispered her name.
She stopped.
Her eyes grew wide.
Something was in the room.
Something she could feel but couldn’t see.
Rushing to the stairs, Tori began to climb. But on the third step she froze. An icy wind was blowing on her. Without wanting to, she turned and looked back.
The moonlit room was changing. Once more it was filled with sparkling mist, but this time it was oily green, and it was drifting from the seventh frame. The glass had transformed from midnight blue to jade and in the center was a swirling Shadow that began oozing down the wall. Softly the voice called her name again.
And she knew who it was.
Her mother!
Tori tried to answer, but the sound froze in her throat. Terrified, she watched as the Shadow crept across the floor. She tried to run but her legs wouldn’t move. She tried to scream but no sound came out. Now it was on the stairs…around her shoes. It was swirling up her legs. And when it touched her, the fear vanished. Her mind became drowsy. The voice of her mother told her to sleep.