“There is your gate,” said the Rider.
I looked up towards the gap in the bones. Over-head the clouds continued swirl and billow. The ball of the sun could be seen faintly through the vapors, glowing like a lidless eye. I looked to the sun, then to the wall, then back to the Rider. She pursed her lips and stared disdainfully down at me.
“Go,” she said with a dismissive gesture.
“And where does that leave you, once I pass thro-ugh this portal?” I asked.
The Rider regarded me with her black eyes, my own distorted reflection joining her in mute derision.
“Release me,” she said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Now,” said the Rider.
“Give me one good reason,” I said.
“Though I have yielded I will tear you limb from limb if you do not set me free.”
“You will try,” I said.
The Rider returned my smile and lifted her leg over the back of her horse. She slid to the ground and stood facing me. Though her lithe frame was hun-ched, her posture menacing, she still towered over me. I looked her up and down, one eyebrow raised. She set her mouth in that increasingly familiar expres-sion of distaste.
“Either try your hand at killing me or leave me to ride the plain and fill its emptiness with the corpses of fools.”
I struck a pose I hoped looked nonchalant and eyed her up and down. “I have beaten you once, I can do so again.”
At this the Rider’s posture eased. Raising her chin and cocking her hips to one side she set her arms akimbo. “Ah,” she said, “now I see.”
“Do you?” I asked.
With one long-fingered hand she reached down to the pale cleft between her thighs. My eyes went wide. Tracing the contours of her labia the Rider said in her strange, far off voice, “This is what you wish…the reason you keep me inbounded, no?”
Feeling myself begin to rise I quickly raised my gaze from her probing fingers. Trying to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth I said, “I have no intention of—”
The tip of the Rider’s tongue ran slowly over her sharp, white teeth. Though the gesture was unmistak-ably suggestive her black eyes remained cold. Even as she raised her fingers to one firm breast she remained poised as if ready to strike.
“Draw your weapon or be on your way,” said the Rider, her voice soft and inviting.
Without thinking I turned and started for the gap in the wall. “Go back to riding your plain,” I said without turning my head. “Vex me no further.”
Behind me I heard the Rider cry out, leap upon her horse, and urge the animal into a gallop. Over my shoulder I caught a glimpse of the pair as they bolted away to the south. A brief instant later and the mist had closed in around them.
Taking a deep breath I turned back towards the gate, both glad to be rid of the pale Rider and yet mis-sing her company. She was dangerous, probably more so than I realized, but she was vital and alive. Now, scattered about like so many discarded ragdolls, lay nothing but the dead.
I stood in the shadow of the wall, listening to the resounding silence, watching the dance of the clouds. After a few moments I realized they were again begin-ning to descend towards the plain. Tracing a path through the dead things that lay between me and the opening, I started towards the gate.
At my passing several of the scattered corpses began to twitch and writhe. One reached a bony arm towards me before collapsing to lie motionless once more.
As I made my way through the gap in the wall I counted my paces. When I reached the far side I stopped and whistled. It was ten paces wide at its base and at least five times as high. All the bones of all the men who had ever fallen in battle would not have provided even a fraction of the material needed to construct such a barrier. Not all of the bones, how-ever, were human. Some, like those I had seen atop the battlements, were massive, having come from ani-mals or, perhaps, something else entirely. What lay before me were the remains of an entire world, a vast monument to extinction.
Shaking my head in disbelief I continued onward. Here and there I encountered another corpse, but they were thinning rapidly. Soon there was only the mist and the sound of…what?
It came to me slowly, a noise only half remem-bered. My mind crawled along until it finally caught up with my ears. What I heard drifting through the fog was the lapping of waves upon the shore. I quick-ened my pace, keeping a wary eye on the ground ahead lest I accidentally stumble upon one of the gray corpses in my haste.
To the west the sun had again made itself visible. It hung low, fluorescing as it descended through the overhanging clouds. Beneath my boots the feel of the landscape began to change, to grow softer. Abruptly the mists parted and I ground to a halt. I stepped from the wall of vapor and took several tentative strides onto an undulating strip of beach.
Looking to either side I peered through the scatt-ered banks of fog. I was given a transient view of a beach that ran in a graceful arch to left and right, cur-ving outwards and hooking back towards the north and east. The sand on which I stood was coarse and pebbly, colored a dull brownish gray. Here and there shells protruded from the damp granules, tiny spots of white and ivory within that drab expanse.
I stooped and picked up one of the shells, holding it up to my eye. The integument was a jagged mass of concentric spikes, spiraling inward at regular intervals. This shell was more than likely just as ancient as everything else I had thus far come across, yet it was still sharp. Whatever creature had grown inside had been undoubtedly as vicious as its shell. I cast the thing away and stared out over the expanse of water that stretched away to the north of the beach.
I scratched my head.
As dull as the plain had been it was at least easily traversable. This stretch of sea, or lake, or river, was most certainly not, the further shore being nowhere in sight. To attempt to swim was a foolish notion. When my strength eventually gave out I would simply drown. This left me with only two options: remain where I was, or continue walking and hope to find something, anything, that might aid me in crossing.
I opted for the latter.
Setting the waves to my right I turned westward and followed the setting sun back towards my original path.
I continued this way as the sun sank lower still, stopping only to watch it dip behind the wall of bones. After it had slipped past the hooked cren-ellations I took a few more steps in the gathering twi-light, then stopped short. Here was something new, something completely unexpected in this drab, dead locus.
Ahead of me the reflected glow of the setting sun burned the depending underbelly of the clouds. It ignited the swirling mass, spreading like golden fire. The low hanging ridges of the clouds stood out in bright detail; an inverted topography replete with mountains, steppes, and valleys.
I stood rooted in place while around me the cloudscape smoldered. Then, ever so slowly, the light began to fade, ebbing from the color of living coals to that of glowing ash. At last the clouds returned to their accustomed cold gray, banishing the fleeting ill-usion of warmth.
With a damp chill settling over the beach I pulled up the hood of my cloak. To my right the waves lapped ceaselessly; to my left loomed the half hidden wall of bones. Here, where the clouds reigned, there would be no stars by which to navigate. I made up my mind to walk the night through with the noise of the water to guide me. When dawn came I would see what new horrors this place had in store.
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four
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The sky stood on the brink, neither light nor dark, hovering in the space between night and the day to come. It was in this supernal limbo that I saw the faint white glow approaching slowly across the water. I halted and stood in the pre-dawn haze, watching as the pinprick of light moved silently closer. At my feet the waves broke gently against the shore, gurgling up onto the sand. Over the open water the wind sighed through swirling banks of fog, the clouds seeming to waltz in time to the lapping waves. My cloak dripped with condensation,
the chill that permeated the air heightened by the cloying dampness.
As the first traces of dawn began to creep into the eastern sky the pinprick of light drew nearer still. I continued to stand and wait, curiosity having gotten the better of me. As quickly as the pale Rider had sped across the plain, this light moved with equal and antithetical slowness. I wondered if whoever had lit the brand would be as savage as the Rider, or if I would soon be in the presence of something wholly different. This new apparition occupied a place of rolling waves and churning mist; perhaps its temp-erament would be mitigated by the solemn atmos-phere.
What slid from the fog and into the gray light of early morning was, as I had suspected, nothing like the Rider. The figure stood draped in a funeral shroud of faded black, balancing at the stern of a longboat. Tall and thin with a masculine bearing, the boatman’s countenance was obscured by the hood that hung low over his face. In his right hand he held the tiller, making small adjustments to the rudder as he came.
I let out a low chuckle and shook my head as the figure approached. He seemed the very image of Cha-ron, the ferryman whose duty it was to carry the dead to their eternal rest. I made no attempt to hide the smile that creased my lips. Not the land of the dead? What say you now pale Rider? Stifling the urge to laugh out loud I continued to regard the figure as he approached.
The light I had seen creeping towards me was secured to the tip of the longboat’s breast-hook. It hung from a single curved arm and cast a wan glow over the water ahead of the craft. As the boat drew nearer still I ran my eyes over the graceful curve of its lines and was not surprised to find that it too was constructed of bone. The rising was comprised of interlocking lengths of ribs taken from an animal that in life must have been massive beyond compare. The bow and gunwales were also made of curving lengths of bone. I had no doubt that the frame, thwart, and bottom boards would be comprised of the same gruesome material.
Into the shallows the boat drifted, propelled for-ward by a force unseen. At last it scraped along the sand, coming to rest directly before me. I took several steps, stopping just outside the ring of light cast by the Boatman’s lantern. He stood stock still, the chill breeze fluttering the shroud he wore. I could now see that the garment was tattered and equally as ancient as the bones, the shells, and the corpses that were the only other denizens of this accursed place.
I crossed my arms and shook my head.
“I was told that I was not in the land of the dead, yet here you are―the Ferryman, come to convey me to Hell.”
The Boatman gave no response.
Again I shook my head. “I cannot recall dying. Tell me, if you can, why am I here? Why do you come to me dressed just as the stories describe you and piloting a craft that moves without oars?”
Now it was the Boatman’s turn to chuckle. His laugh was deep and low, his voice echoing just as the Rider’s had. “You were not told false; this is no more the land of the dead than I am the Ferryman. I do not take the dead to their eternal reward.”
“Why come to me then?” I asked. “If not a ferry-man that shuttles souls from one shore to another, then what are you? Why are you here?”
“For the same reason as the Rider.”
“You wish to slay me?” I asked. “Step from your boat and let us have at it then.”
I moved to the side and gestured for the Boatman to dismount and join me on the sand. This was gree-ted with more low laughter.
“That is not why she came, though it is certainly something she indulges in. The fact that you stand before me means her pastime has finally gotten the better of her.”
“Tell me plain, Boatman,” I said, “why are you here? Why do you stand before me speaking in rid-dles? Is this to be a contest of wits then? Should I ask you what I have in my pocket?”
The Boatman’s response was to draw back his hood and reveal a helmet and faceguard made of in-terlocking fragments of bone. Extending backwards from this literal skullcap were three ribs, one at each temple and one along his brow. Together they created a sweeping, graceful crest. Through the eye-slits in the helmet I could see deep black eyes as dour and lifeless as those of the Rider.
“You journey north,” said the Boatman, “but can go no further. I have a boat and can take you. What will you give me in exchange for passage?”
I scoffed. “And what do you know of it? I haven’t the faintest inkling why I move north. Why should I bother with a boat ride from you?”
The Boatman shrugged. “Very well then. Stand for eternity upon this shore. Watch the sun rise and set until you are nothing but dust.”
Turning to the tiller the Boatman made to cast off. I heard the sound of bone scraping along sand. I cursed myself for my choler. I held up a hand. “Hold, Boatman. I may not know why I move north, but I am compelled to do so nonetheless. There is nothing behind me but emptiness and corpses. If I am to discover why then to continue on seems my only recourse. What is it you want in exchange for my passage?”
The Boatman turned back in my direction. “What do you have to offer?”
I furrowed my brow and looked down at myself. There was little to see other than my armor, boots, cloak, weapons, and canteen. I fished about in the pouch at my belt and came up empty handed. If it had contained something when I entered this place it was now long gone. I sighed.
“I haven’t much.,” I said. “Perhaps my dagger? I can hardly spare boots, armor, cloak, or sword. Other than that I have only my canteen.”
The Boatman leaned closer and peered into the shadows under my cloak. “Yes,” he said, “your can-teen…give it to me!”
“First, let me aboard,” I said and put a hand pro-tectively over the vessel.
“No,” said the Boatman, “throw it to me.”
“Do you think me such a fool?” I asked.
“Throw me the canteen and I may let you abo-ard,” growled the Boatman, his haunted voice taking on an edge of malice.
I unslung the canteen and held it aloft. I gave it a slight shake and heard its contents slosh. The Boat-man stumbled a few steps forward, his hand out-stretched. “Give it to me!” he said again, the malice in his voice replaced by an almost desperate urgency.
“Let me come aboard,” I said softly, “and it shall be yours. If you do not I shall dump it out, here upon the beach. It makes no difference to me. While I’ve been here I’ve felt neither hunger nor thirst, nor the desire to sleep.”
The Boatman made a frustrated noise and clasped and unclasped his extended hand. I saw that his fingers, wrist, and forearm were all clad in bone plating similar to that on his helm. From his knuckles protruded wicked looking spikes and the tips of his fingers were hooked and barbed.
“Allow me on board,” I said again.
“Very well,” growled the Boatman taking a step back from the prow.
I waded into the shallows and hoisted myself over the gunwale. I then stood facing the Boatman, the canteen still clutched in my hand. The Boatman re-garded me and I him. Then, with a twitch he made to move towards me. I extended my arm holding the canteen over the side of the boat.
“Cast off,” I said.
Again the Boatman made a low noise in his throat. He took a step back and clasped the tiller in one large, gauntleted hand. The boat began to move and again came the scrape of bone on sand. A moment later and the craft was free. It wallowed for a moment then began to turn. Soon the shore was ahead of me, the open water with its shroud of mist at my back. Slow-ly, gracefully the carrion boat slipped out onto the gray waters and began its steady glide back the way it had come.
• • •
As the boat slid silently on the Boatman and I stood and scrutinized one another. The light from the glow-ing orb at the boat’s breasthook shimmered behind me. My shadow extended along the length of the craft and over the dark figure at its stern. Around us the fog began to thicken, extending clammy fingers to wrap about our arms and legs, clutching at us like ghosts. Soon we were engulfed. The only thing to be seen was the dim
glow of the orb. In its light the mor-bid vessel was transformed into a floating island of illumination adrift amidst blank walls of mist.
At length the Boatman said, “Give me the can-teen.”
I withdrew my arm and slung the canteen at my belt. “When we have reached the far shore it will be yours.”
The Boatman let out an oath in the same guttural and obscene language the Rider had used to curse me. The sound of those few syllables stabbed at my mind and set up a throbbing behind my eyes. I shook my head in an attempt to clear it.
“Speak again in that foul tongue and I shall cast the canteen overboard,” I said clutching at my skull.
“Do so and I will tear you limb from limb!” spat the Boatman extending one hand, fingers hooked into claws.
I loosed my sword in its scabbard. “If you like we can wage war on one another, here in this tiny craft. You might even have a change at besting me. Then again, perhaps we would only succeed in capsizing the boat. Considering we are both clad in armor I think we would go straight to the bottom. Shall we risk it?”
Though unable to see his face I could tell the Bo-atman was scowling. His black eyes narrowed to slits, shot daggers at me, and then turned aside.
“Wise,” I said.
We stood facing each other for a while longer, neither wishing to be the first to retreat. Eventually this stalemate began to grate on my nerves and I took a step backwards, situating myself on the forward thwart. The Boatman remained standing for a time, then he too sat himself down. His eyes remained up-on me as he made several adjustments to the tiller.
With the Boatman’s attention no longer focused on me I let my gaze wander about the boat. I traced the lines of the craft and marveled at the skill of who-ever had constructed it. As I had suspected, the inter-ior was made of bone; ribs, knees, risings, and bottom boards all taken from the skeleton, or skeletons, of monsters unknown to me. My familiarity with human and animal skeletons availed me little as I tried to place where in a body the bones may have come from. I gave up my musing a short time later and in-stead let the swirling of the fog draw my attention. I watched as it formed and reformed, all the while keeping a baleful eye on the Boatman.
The Place of Stars and Bones: A Novel of Weird Fantasy Page 4