“Only by cutting out your heart and casting seven spells on it,” the shaman told him.
“I’ll take that as a no,” said Sieben.
From outside came the cries of a newborn infant, and Sieben smiled. “I hope you’ll all excuse me. This has been a wearying experience, and I need some rest.” Stooping, he gathered the hair, knucklebones, pouch, and shreds of parchment.
“What are you doing with those?” asked Nosta Khan.
“Souvenirs of an interesting experience,” he said. “I shall show them to my grandchildren and brag about my visit to the underworld.”
Zhusai was afraid, though not with a simple fear like the thought of dying. It was worse than that, she realized. Death was but another doorway, but this was a kind of extinction. At first her dreams of Shul-sen had been merely that—curiously unpleasant visions she suffered when sleeping. But now she was hearing voices whispering in her subconscious, and her own memories were becoming vague and blurred. Not so the memories of another life—a life as consort to the renegade chieftain Oshikai Demon-bane. Those memories were becoming sharper, more distinct. She remembered the ride through the long hills, making love in the grass in the shadow of Jiang-shin, the Mother of Mountains, wearing her dress of white silk on the day of the wedding in the White Palace of Pechuin.
“Stop it!” she cried as the memories seemed to engulf her. “It is not me. Not my life. I was born in … in …” But the memories would not come. “My parents died. I was raised by my grandfather …” For a moment the name was lost to her. Then: “Chorin-Tsu!” she shouted triumphantly. Talisman entered the room, and she flew to him. “Help me!” she begged him.
“What is wrong, my love?”
“She is trying to kill me,” sobbed Zhusai. “And I cannot fight her.”
Her almond eyes were wide open, fear radiating from them. “Who is trying to kill you?” he asked her.
“Shul-sen. She wants my life … my body. I can feel her within me, her memories swamping me.”
“Calm yourself,” he said soothingly, taking her to the bed and sitting her down. Moving to the window, Talisman called out to Gorkai, who came running up the stairs. Talisman told him of Zhusai’s fears.
“I have heard of this,” Gorkai said grimly. “Spirit possession.”
“What can we do?” asked Talisman.
“Find out what she wants,” Gorkai advised.
“Supposing she just wants me?” asked Zhusai. “My life?”
“Why have you not spoken to your own shaman?” asked Gorkai. “His knowledge is greater than mine in these matters.”
“I won’t have him near me,” said Zhusai, her voice breaking. “Not ever. I don’t trust him. He … would want her to kill me. She is Shul-sen, the mother of the Nadir people. A witch. She has power, and he would seek to use it. I have nothing.”
“I have not the skill to deal with this, Talisman,” said Gorkai. “I can cast no spells.”
Talisman took hold of Zhusai’s hand. “Then it must be Nosta Khan. Fetch him.”
“No!” shouted Zhusai, struggling to rise.
Talisman held her tightly, pulling her in to his chest. “Trust me!” he urged her. “I would let no harm come to you. I will watch Nosta Khan carefully. If there is danger, I will kill him. Trust me!”
Her body jerked in a wild spasm, and her eyes closed momentarily. When they opened, all fear was gone. “Oh, I trust you, Talisman,” she said softly. He felt her shoulder draw back, and some sixth sense made him pull away from her just in time to see the knife blade. Throwing up his right arm, he blocked the blow and slammed his left fist into her jaw. Her head snapped back, and she slumped to the bed. Retrieving his knife from her limp hand, he flung the weapon across the room.
Nosta Khan entered. “What happened here?” he asked.
“She took my knife and tried to kill me. But it was not Zhusai. She is possessed.”
“Your servant told me. The spirit of Shul-sen seeks release. You should have come to me before, Talisman. How many more secrets do you keep from me?”
Without waiting for an answer, he moved to the bed. “Tie her hands behind her back,” he ordered Gorkai. The warrior glanced at Talisman, who gave a curt nod. Using a slender belt of cord, Gorkai lashed her wrists together, and then he and Nosta Khan lifted her, propping her back against the bed pillows. From an old pouch that hung at his belt, Nosta Khan drew a necklace of human teeth, which he tied around the unconscious woman’s neck. “From this moment,” he said, “no one is to speak.” Placing his hands on her head, he began to chant.
It seemed to the two watching men that the temperature in the room was dropping, and a cold wind began to blow through the window.
The chant continued, the sound rising and falling. Talisman did not know the language used—if language it was—but the effect within the room was astonishing. Ice began to form on the window frame and walls, and Gorkai was shivering uncontrollably. Nosta Khan showed no sign of discomfort. He fell silent, then drew his hand back from Zhusai’s brow. “Open your eyes,” he commanded, “and tell me your name.”
The dark eyes slid open. “I am …” A smile formed. “I am she who was blessed above all women.”
“You are the spirit of Shul-sen, wife to Oshikai Demonbane?”
“I am she.”
“You are dead, woman. There is no place for you here.”
“I do not feel dead, shaman. I can feel my heart beating and the rope around my wrists.”
“The form is one you have stolen. Your bones lie in a chamber of volcanic rock. Or do you not remember the night of your death?”
“Oh, I remember,” she said, her lips thinning, her eyes glittering. “I remember Chakata and his spikes of gold. He was human then. I can still feel the pain as he slowly pushed them home, deep enough to blind but not to kill. I remember. Oh, yes, I remember it all. But now I am back. Release my hands, shaman.”
“I shall not,” said Nosta Khan. “You are dead, Shul-sen, as your husband is dead. Your time is gone.”
She laughed then, the sound filling the room. Talisman felt the terrible cold bite into his bones. Beside him Gorkai could scarcely stand and was trembling and shaking. The laughter died away. “I am a witch with great powers. Oshikai knew that, and he used me well. I know from the memories of the girl that you are facing an army, shaman. I can help you. Release me!”
“How can you help?”
“Release me and you will know.”
Talisman’s hand crept to his knife scabbard, but it was empty. Reaching out, he pulled Gorkai’s knife clear of its sheath. The woman turned her dark eyes on him. “He means to kill you,” she told Nosta Khan.
“Do not speak, either of you!” warned the shaman. Turning to the woman, he began to chant. She winced, then her lips drew back in a bestial snarl. One word of power she spoke. Nosta Khan was hurled from the bed, striking the wall just below the window. He rolled to his knees, but her voice sounded once more, and, flung back, his head cracked against the windowsill and he sank to the floor, unconscious.
The woman looked at Gorkai. “Release me,” she said. On stumbling legs Gorkai tottered forward.
“Stand where you are!” ordered Talisman. Gorkai gave a cry of pain but forced himself to halt. Sinking to his knees, he groaned and fell face forward to the floorboards.
“So,” she said, looking at Talisman, “you are a man of power. Your servant obeys despite the pain he feels. Very well, you may release me.”
“Did you not love Oshikai?” he asked suddenly.
“What? You question my devotion, you ignorant peasant?”
“It was an honest question.”
“Then I shall answer it: Yes, I loved him. I loved his breath upon my skin, the sound of his laughter, the glory of his rages. Now release me!”
“He searches for you still,” Talisman told her.
“He died a thousand years ago,” she said. “His spirit is in paradise.”
“Not so, lady. I spoke with
him when first I came here. I summoned his spirit. The first question he asked was, ‘Do you bring news of Shul-sen?’ I told him that there were many legends but that I did not know what had happened to you. He said: ‘I have searched the Vales of Spirit, the Valleys of the Damned, the Fields of Heroes, the Halls of the Mighty. I have crossed the Void for time without reckoning. I cannot find her.’ And as for paradise, he said: ‘What paradise could there be without Shulsen? Death I could bear, but not this parting of souls. I will find her, though it take a dozen eternities.’ ”
She was silent for a moment, and the feral gleam faded from her eyes. “I know you speak the truth,” she said, “for I can read the hearts of men. But Oshikai will never find me. Chakata drew my spirit to the dark place, where it is guarded by demons who once were men. Chakata is there, but no human would recognize him now; he taunts me and tortures me whenever he wills. Or at least he did before I made my escape. I cannot go to Oshikai, Talisman. If I died here, I would be drawn back to the dark place.”
“Is that where you have sent Zhusai?” he asked her.
“It is. But what is her life compared with mine? I was a queen. I will be again.”
“Then you will leave Oshikai searching for an eternity, risking his soul in the terrors of the Void?”
“I can do nothing there!” she shouted.
By the window Nosta Khan was stirring, but he remained silent. Gorkai, too, lay very still, scarcely breathing.
“Where is this dark place?” asked Talisman. “Why can Oshikai not find it?”
“It is not a part of the Void,” she said tonelessly. “Do you understand the nature of the underworld? The Void is set between two levels. In the simplest terms, it sits between paradise and Giragast, heaven and hell. The Void is the place in between where souls wander in search of final rest. Chakata chose to trap me in the dark center of Giragast, the pit at the center of the lakes of fire. No human soul would travel there voluntarily, and Oshikai would know of no reason why I would be there. He trusted Chakata. He would never have guessed the depth of the man’s lust or the heights of his treachery. But if he were to know, then he would die the second death, the lasting death. There is no way a single warrior—not even one as mighty as my lord—could pass the demon-haunted passageways or conquer the creature Chakata has become.”
“I will go with him,” promised Talisman.
“You? What are you? Just a child in a man’s body. How old are you, child? Seventeen? Twenty?”
“I am nineteen. And I will walk with Oshikai across the Void to the gates of Giragast.”
“No, it is not enough. I see that you are brave, Talisman. And you are quick and intelligent. But to pass those gates takes something more. You are asking me to risk my soul in everlasting darkness and torment and the soul of the man I love. The mystic number is three. Do you have a warrior here who could match Oshikai? Is there one who would walk the Void with you?”
“I will,” said Gorkai, pushing himself to his feet.
Her eyes fixed him, holding to Gorkai’s gaze. “Another brave one. But not skilled enough.”
Talisman strode to the window and leaned out over the sill. Below, Druss, stripped of his jerkin, was washing himself at the well side. The Nadir leader called out to him, beckoning him. Throwing his jerkin over his shoulder, Druss strolled to the building and climbed the stairs. As he entered, his pale blue eyes scanned the room. Gorkai was still on his knees, and Nosta Khan was sitting below the window with a trickle of blood running from broken skin over his temple. He saw that Zhusai was tied and said nothing.
“This man has walked the Void,” said Talisman, “in search of his wife. He found her.”
“I can read his thoughts, Talisman. He has no loyalty to the Nadir. He is here seeking …” She stared hard at Druss. “… healing stones for a dying friend. Why would he risk the terrors of the Giragast? He does not know me.”
Talisman swung to Druss. “This is not Zhusai,” he said. “Her body is possessed by the spirit of Shul-sen. To free her, I must send my spirit into the Void. Will you travel with me?”
“As she said, I came here to find the jewels the shaman spoke of,” said Druss, “and he lied to me. Why should I do this?”
Talisman sighed. “There is no reason I can offer you save that the woman I love is now trapped in that dark and vile place. And Oshikai, our greatest hero, has been searching for a thousand years to find the spirit of his wife. He does not know where to look. I can tell him, but Shul-sen says the journey would see his soul extinguished. Two men cannot fight the demons there.”
“And three can?” asked Druss.
“I cannot answer that,” Talisman told him. “She will not release the spirit of Zhusai unless I can find a man to match Oshikai. You are the only one here who has built a legend. What more can I say?”
Druss eased past him and moved to the bound woman. “How did you die?” he asked.
“Chakata put golden spikes in …” She hesitated, and her eyes flared wide. “You! You and your friend released me. I see it now, back in the chamber. He came back and removed the spikes. He found my lon-tsia.”
Druss stood and looked Talisman in the eyes. “If I go with you, laddie, I want your word on something.”
“Name it!”
“You will let me use the jewels to save my friend.”
“Is that not why you are here?” hedged Talisman.
“Not good enough,” said Druss, making for the door.
“Very well. You have my word. When we find the jewels, I will hand them to you and you may take them to Gulgothir.”
“No!” shouted Nosta Khan. “What are you saying?”
Talisman held up his hand. “But I want your pledge to return them as soon as your friend is healed.”
“It will be done,” said Druss.
“Come to me, blackbeard,” said Shul-sen, and Druss returned to the bed and sat. She looked deep into his eyes. “Everything I am or could ever be is in your hands now. Are you a man I can trust?”
“I am,” he said.
“I believe you.” Turning her gaze to Talisman, she spoke again. “I shall return to the dark place and free the soul of Zhusai. Do not fail me.”
Her eyes closed, then flickered. A long, broken sigh came from her throat. Talisman ran to the bedside, untying the cord that bound her wrists. Her eyes opened, and a scream formed. Talisman hugged her to him. “It is all right, Zhusai. You are back with us!”
Nosta Khan moved to the bedside and placed his hand on her head. After a moment he said: “She has returned. This is Zhusai. I shall now cast spells to prevent any reentry. You did well, Talisman, to deceive her.”
“I did not deceive her,” replied the Nadir coldly. “I shall fulfill my part of the bargain.”
“Pah! That is insane. An army is marching on us, and the destiny of the Nadir rests in your hands. This is no time to play the man of honor.”
Talisman walked to the far wall and picked up his dagger. Slowly he moved toward Nosta Khan. “Who is the leader here?” he asked softly, his voice cold.
“You are, but—”
“Yes, I am, you miserable worm. I am the leader. You are my shaman. I will tolerate no further disobedience. I do not play at honor. It is what I am. My word is iron. Now and evermore. We will go now to the shrine. You will summon Oshikai, then do what you must to send Druss and myself into the Void. Is that clear, shaman?”
“It is clear, Talisman.”
“Not Talisman to you!” thundered the warrior. “Now is it clear?”
“It is clear … my lord.”
“Why do you hold to my hand, po-et?” asked Niobe as she and Sieben walked the ramparts of the western wall. Sieben, his passion spent during the last two hours with her, gave a weary smile.
“It is a custom among my people,” he said, lifting her fingers to his lips and kissing them. “Lovers often walk hand in hand. It is perhaps a spiritual joining or at least a touching that proclaims that a couple are lovers. I
t is also considered pleasurable. Do you not like it?”
“I like feeling you inside me,” she said, withdrawing her hand and sitting back on the battlements. “I like the taste of your tongue on mine. I like the many delights your hands can conjure. But I like to feel free when I walk. Hand-holding is for mother and small child. I am not your child.”
Sieben chuckled and sat back admiring the way the moonlight made her long hair shine. “You are a delight to me,” he said. “A breath of fresh air after a lifetime in musty rooms.”
“Your clothes are very pretty,” she noted, reaching out and stroking the blue silk of his shirt. “The buttons contain many colors.”
“Mother-of-pearl,” he said. “Exquisite, aren’t they?” On an impulse he pulled the shirt over his head and stood bare-chested on the wall. “Here. It is yours.”
Niobe giggled, then removed her own shirt of faded green wool. Sieben stared at her full breasts and saw that the nipples were erect. Arousal flared afresh within him. Stepping forward, he reached out to caress her. Niobe jumped back, holding the blue silk shirt to her body. “No,” she said. “First we talk.”
“Talk? What do you want to talk about?”
“Why no wife for you? Your friend has wife. And you are old.”
“Old? Thirty-four is not old. I am in the prime of my life.”
“You have balding patch at the crown. I have seen it.”
Sieben’s hand swept up to his blond hair, pushing his fingers through to the scalp. “Balding patch? It can’t be.”
Her laughter pealed out. “You are peacock,” she said. “Worse than woman.”
“My grandfather had a full head of hair to his death at ninety. Baldness does not run in our family.”
Niobe slipped into the blue shirt and then moved alongside Sieben, taking his arm and pulling his hand from his hair.
“So why no wife?”
“It was a joke about the hair, yes?”
“No. Why no wife?”
“That’s a difficult question.” He shrugged. “I have known many beautiful women but none I would wish to spend my life with. I mean, I like apples, but I wouldn’t want to live on a permanent diet of them.”
The Legend of the Deathwalker Page 27