The Legend of Deathwalker

by David Gemmell

  The axeman rose, towering over Nosta Khan. 'I do not care who is at fault,' he said, his voice dangerously even, his pale eyes glittering. 'What I want is for you to bring him back. Now!'

  Sensing danger, Nosta Khan felt a moment of panic as he looked into the axeman's cold eyes. Placing his hand over his heart, he whispered two words of power. Druss stiffened and groaned. The spell was an old one, and shackled the victim in chains of fiery pain. Any attempt on Druss's part to move would bring colossal agony and a subsequent loss of consciousness. Now, thought Nosta Khan triumphantly, let this Drenai gajin feel the power of the Nadir! The shaman was about to speak when Druss gave a low, guttural growl. His eyes blazed and his hand snaked out, huge fingers grabbing Nosta Khan by the throat and lifting him into the air. The little man kicked out helplessly, as through a sea of pain Druss spoke: 'Lift the . . . spell, little man . . . or . . . I'll snap . . . your neck!' Talisman drew his knife and jumped to the shaman's defence. 'One more move and he dies,' warned the axeman. Nosta Khan gave a strangled gasp, and managed to speak three words in a tongue neither Druss nor Talisman recognized. Druss's pain vanished. Dropping the shaman, he stabbed a finger into the little man's chest. 'You ever do anything like that again, you ugly dwarf, and I'll kill you!'

  Talisman could see the shock and terror on Nosta Khan's face. 'We are all friends here,' he said softly, sheathing his knife and stepping between Nosta Khan and the menacing figure of Druss. 'Let us think of what is to be done.'

  Nosta Khan rubbed his bruised throat. He was astonished, and could barely gather his thoughts. The spell had worked, he knew this. It was not possible that a mortal man could overcome such agony. Aware that both men were waiting for him to speak, he forced himself to concentrate and lifted the white knuckle-bones, holding them tightly in his fist. 'His soul has been drawn out,' he said, his voice croaking. 'The medicine pouch belonged to Shaoshad the renegade. He was the shaman who stole the Eyes - may his soul be for ever accursed and burn in ten thousand fires!'

  'Why would he hide it here?' asked Talisman. 'What purpose did it serve?'

  'I do not know. But let us see if we can reverse his spell.' Taking Sieben's limp hand in his own, he began to chant.

  Sieben fell for an eternity, spinning and turning, then awoke with a start. He was lying beside a fire, set at the centre of a circle of standing stones. An old man was sitting by the small blaze. Naked, but with a bulging bag hanging from one thin shoulder, he had two long wispy beards growing from both sides of his chin, and reaching his scrawny chest; his hair was shaved on the left side of his head, and gathered into a tight braid on his right.

  'Welcome,' said the old man. Sieben sat up and was about to speak when he noticed with horror that the speaker had been mutilated. His hands had been cut off, and blood was seeping from the stumps.

  'Sweet Heavens, you must be in great pain,' he said.

  'Always,' agreed the man, with a smile. 'But when something never passes, remaining constant, it becomes bearable.' Shrugging his shoulder he let the bag fall, then reached into it with his mangled, bleeding arms. From the bag he produced a hand, which he held carefully between the stumps. Gripping it with his knees, he held his mutilated right arm to the severed wrist. The limb jerked, and the hand attached itself to the wrist. The fingers flexed. 'Ah, that is good,' said the man, reaching into the bag and producing a left hand which he held in place over his left wrist. This too joined, and he clapped the hands together. Then he removed his eyes and dropped them into the bag.

  'Why are you doing this to yourself?' asked Sieben.

  'It is a compulsion engendered by sorcery,' said the stranger amiably. 'They were not content to merely kill me. Oh, no! Now I can have my hands or my eyes, but never both at the same time. If I try- and I have - then the pain becomes unbearable. I have great admiration for the way the spell was cast. I did not think it would last this long. I managed to counter the curse upon my ears and tongue. I see you found my medicine pouch.'

  The fire flickered down, but the old man gestured with his hands and the flames sprang to new life. Sieben found himself staring at the man's empty eye-sockets. 'Have you tried using just one hand and one eye?' he asked.

  'Is there something about me that suggests I am an idiot? Of course I have. It works . . . but the pain is too awesome to describe.'

  'I have to tell you that this is the worst dream I've ever had,' said Sieben.

  'No dream. You are here.' Sieben was about to question him when a low, inhuman growl came from beyond the stones. The old man's hand came up and blue forked lightning flashed from it, exploding between the stones with a loud crack. Then there was silence. 'I need my hands, you see, to survive here. But I cannot go anywhere without my eyes. It is a sweetly vile punishment. I wish I had thought of it myself.'

  'What was that . . . thing?' asked Sieben, craning round to peer between the stones. There was nothing to be seen. All was darkness, deep and final.

  'Difficult to know. But it did not mean us any good. I am Shaoshad.'

  'Sieben. Sieben the Poet.'

  'A poet? It is long since I savoured the delicious sounds of exquisite wordplay. But I fear you will not be with me long, so perhaps another time . . . Tell me how you found my pouch.'

  'The use of the Nadir letter i,' Sieben told him.

  'Yes. It was a joke, you see. I knew no Nadir would see it. Not given to jokes, the Nadir. They were searching for the Eyes of Alchazzar. Eyes and i's. Good, isn't it?'

  'Most amusing,' agreed Sieben. 'I take it you are not Nadir?'

  'In part. Part Chiatze, part Sechuin, part Nadir. I want you to do something for me. I cannot offer you anything, of course.'

  'What do you require?'

  'My medicine pouch. I want you to take the hair and bum it. The knuckle-bones must be dropped into water. The parchment is to be shredded and scattered to the air, the pouch itself buried in the earth. Can you remember that?'

  'Hair burnt, knuckles drowned, paper scattered, pouch buried,' said Sieben. 'What will that do?'

  'I believe the release of my elemental power will end this cursed spell and give me back my hands and my eyes. Speaking of which . . .' He lifted the eyes from the bag and slid them back in their sockets. Holding his arms over the bag, he released his hands, which fell from the wrists. Immediately blood began to flow. 'You are a handsome fellow and you have an honest face. I think I can trust you.'

  'You are the man who stole the Eyes of Alchazzar,' said Sieben.

  'Indeed I am. A rare mistake it was. Still, the man who never made a mistake never made anything, eh?'

  'Why did you do it?'

  'I had a vision - false as it has so far turned out. I thought I could bring the Uniter to my people five centuries early. Arrogance was always my downfall. I thought to use the Eyes to raise Oshikai from the dead. To regenerate his body and summon his soul. Well, I did summon his soul.'

  'What happened?'

  'You will scarcely credit it. I still have difficulty believing it myself.'

  'I think I know,' said Sieben. 'He wouldn't accept life without Shut-sen.'

  'Exactly. You are a bright fellow. Can you guess what happened next?'

  'You set off to find her body - that's why you were caught so close to her resting-place. What I don't understand is why you did not use the power of the jewels.'

  'Ah, but I did. That is why I was caught and killed.'

  'Tell me,' whispered Sieben, fascinated . . .

  He groaned and opened his eyes. Nosta Khan was leaning over him and Sieben swore. Druss grabbed his arm, hauling him to his feet. 'By Heavens, poet, but you gave us a scare. How are you feeling?'

  'Miffed!' said Sieben. 'A moment longer and he would have told me where he hid the jewels.'

  'You spoke to Shaoshad?' said Nosta Khan.

  'Yes. He told me why he took them.'

  'Describe him.'

  'A man with a curious beard, who has detachable hands and eyes.'

  'Aha!' shouted Nosta Khan
happily. 'The spell holds, then. Does he suffer?'

  'Yes, but he is taking it rather well. Can you send me back to him?'

  'Only by cutting out your heart and casting seven spells upon it,' the shaman told him.

  'I'll take that as a no,' said Sieben.

  From outside came the cries of a new-born 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, knuckle-bones, 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. These 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,' said Gorkai 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, 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 hand upon 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 Demon-bane?'

  '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 now 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 window-sill 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 he 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 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 Shul-sen? 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 centre of Giragast, the pit at the centre 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, nor 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. Nor conquer the creature Chakata has become.'