Читать книгу Ironcrown Moon: Part Two of the Boreal Moon Tale - Julian May - Страница 12

The darkness was not absolute. The outcroppings of frost mottling the cave walls had a faint glow, and the auras of the three visitors outlined their subtle bodies in dim colors that changed with the fluctuation of their emotions.

He himself was visible only by reflected light, a shapeless, eyeless hulk chained to the rocks with gemlike fetters of bright blue-glowing ice. His enemies had forced him to retain the Salka form he had assumed during the Old Conflict, since it was capable of physical suffering. And so he had suffered in both body and spirit for over a thousand years, while denied the sky.

But the foe could not take away his great oversight or his voice, which kept hope alive as one helper after another failed in strength or was struck down. These latest three souls were among the best he’d ever found. He’d cherished them specially and sustained their human fragility while they implemented his instructions. Because now, after what had seemed an interminable series of failures and setbacks, it seemed that there was a real chance he might finally succeed in severing the unnatural link between the Sky Realm and the groundlings.

Did you bring the small book?

‘It’s here.’ Ansel drew the ancient volume from his belt-wallet and set it down on the rime-encrusted cavern floor. The disk of moonstone fastened to its crumbling leather cover was lifeless, but still capable of drawing down the power of the foe. ‘There remain the two books hidden in Gala Palace, Rothbannon’s transcription from the Salka archives, and the archival tablets themselves, sequestered in the vaults of the Dawntide Citadel.’

Thalassa Dru, have you brought contributions from the Green Men and the Worms of the Morass?

‘I have only a few this time, unfortunately, and all of the lesser sort.’ She emptied a pouch containing a dozen dead moonstone carvings onto the floor next to the book.

Still, this is a worthy effort. Every stone that is obliterated weakens the link…And you, my dear Dobnelu. What do you have?

‘I have gleaned three minor stones from the sea. And this, which one of my friendly wolves discovered deep in the wilderness of the Stormlands and brought to me.’ The hag tossed the lesser sigils onto the heap, but the fourth she held up before the featureless dark face of the One Denied the Sky. It was a small wand carved from pale stone, covered with minute lunar symbols. ‘I’ve never seen one of these, Source, but I believe it to be a Destroyer, perhaps a relic of the Barren Lands phase of the Old Conflict.’

Ah! So it is! Blessings be upon you, Dobnelu, for ridding the world of one of the most evil of the Great Stones, and thus confounding the Pain-Eaters. My souls you have all done very well. Now shield your eyes, while I unite with the Likeminded and dispose of these abominations.

The humans pressed their hands to their faces. A dazzling burst of light illuminated the enchained hulk of the One Denied the Sky for an instant. Then the cave was restored to its former state of tenebrous gloom. The book and the sigils were gone, as usually happened. But something else had occurred that caused the auras of the three humans to flare amber and sea-green with surprise.

‘Your chains,’ Ansel exclaimed.

The two women echoed him in a wondering chorus. ‘Your chains!’

The blazing sapphire color of the transparent ice manacles pulsed and then slowly faded, as though the links were being filmed over with grime. After a moment the internal luminescence once again increased, but it was significantly duller than before.

‘Their radiance diminishes,’ Ansel breathed, hardly daring to believe it. Can it be that their strength also grows less?’

‘Are you still tightly shackled?’ Thalassa Dru asked.

The huge form shifted, straining at the links, but to no avail.

Alas, my souls. I’m held fast, as always.

‘But this must mean something,’ Ansel said.

True. I think it’s necessary that I consult immediately with the Likeminded about this strange occurrence. Forgive me, but we must forgo our usual hours of meditation and discussion. Perhaps when you come to me the next time, I’ll know more…Dear souls, I thankyou for once again enduring the ordeal of crossing. Now return to your own world.

‘Farewell,’ said Thalassa Dru, and vanished.

‘Farewell,’ said Dobnelu the sea-hag. But instead of disappearing, her fragile form staggered as if from a blow, and her aura flared violet and flame-red, betraying sudden fear. ‘I cannot go back! The way is closed to me. Why? Source, what has happened?’

Ansel opened his arms to her and embraced her, while gazing at the Source with stunned disbelief. His own corona had dimmed and reddened.

The thing manacled by ice stirred, and its utterance was full of sorrow. I did not see it happening! I was distracted. Oh, my poor dear Dobnelu! Your entranced body has died.

The violet of her aura deepened and she spoke in a tremulous wail. ‘While my subtle body remains alive…trapped here in this netherworld beneath the icecap? Oh, heaven help me! I didn’t think such a thing was possible.’

‘It isn’t,’ Ansel said. His face was now a raging furnace. ‘Unless the death wasn’t natural. Source! Have the Pain-Eaters done this?’

No. Now I perceive the truth. Share my envisioning, souls.

‘Good God – and the miserable maggot laughs about it!’ The High Shaman of Tarn held the old woman tighter, clenching his teeth to forestall a volley of curses at their bad luck. His fury burned, drowning the crone’s emanation of stark terror. ‘One of Blind Bozuk’s damnable charms allowed this to happen, Dobnelu. I saw the thing clearly, hanging about the stripling’s neck. Both Bozuk and the murderer will pay for this.’

‘What will happen to me?’ The hag moaned.

Don’t despair, dear soul. There is a remedy, although it will not be easy to employ Ansel, you must go to the steading as quickly as possible in your physical body, of course. This is not an occasion for subtlety.

‘I left my boat anchored in the lee of Cape Wolf. It won’t take long for me to get to the fjord. But are Maude and the child in danger as well?’

Not from him…Go now. Bring the body-husk back to me, and be very cautious during the crossing so that it is not lost

He nodded, released Dobnelu from his embrace, and vanished.

She stood there forlornly. What remained of her aura was so dull a purple as to be nearly brown. ‘It seems colder. And I suddenly feel very tired. May I be seated, Source?

Your vital energies are dwindling It’s to be expected but in order to protect you from true death, I must change you for awhile Don’t be afraid. If all goes well, you’ll awake later in your own home quite restored.

‘And if it goes badly, will I die?’

Don’t think of that. Only come and touch me.

She cringed. ‘You always forbade it before this.’

Now it’s necessary. Come. Hold out your hand, close your eyes, and let me take care of you.

The dead-black tentacle with its glowing blue chains reached out to her. She lifted her bony old hand and squeezed her eyes tight shut.

With a faint ringing sound, a tiny emerald sphere no larger than a pea fell to the cavern floor.

The One Denied the Sky was alone again. He picked up the sphere with great care, turned about, and pressed it into the ice of the wall behind him. It sank in until it was deeply embedded, joining scores of other glimmering little objects, all of them shining hopefully green.

There is a remedy. If it works, you’ll live. If it fails, you’ll also live, my poor human soul.

But what a life.

The slow-witted youth named Vorgo Waterfall had sense enough to follow the sarcastic advice of the bitch-princess who had slain his father. He floundered back to shore, stripped himself naked, and lay on a flat rock in the midsummer sun, shuddering and blubbering, until the encroaching tide forced him to move further inland. After his blood warmed and his skin dried, he wrung out his woolen shirt and trews and put them back on. They weren’t too uncomfortable. He still had his belt and his sheath-knife and the little charm-sack hung round his neck on a string. But nothing else – not even boots.

His father’s body had boots. Maybe other things. It was awash now, rolling a little with the wavelets that had appeared along with a rising wind. The thought of touching a dead man made his flesh creep with superstitious fear, and for a long time he held back, watching the ravenous, noisy mob of birds that dived and pecked, dived and pecked.

Finally he ran at them through the shallows, throwing stones and yelling at the top of his lungs. Some of the birds flew away, but others attacked him with such viciousness that he was afraid they’d get his eyes. So he gave up, sobbing, and ducked his head in the water to wash away the filth they’d splattered on him, and the blood.

What am I going to do now? he asked himself. The lugger had long since gone away, its escape from the shoaly bay assisted by the rising tide. The bitch-princess hadn’t even bothered rowing with the sweeps. She’d just hoisted the sail and jibed out through the reefs slicker’n eel slime!

Cursing monotonously, Vorgo Waterfall trudged along the shrinking beach. He knew he wasn’t clever. Dad’d told him that often enough, sometimes with a curse and a smack on the ear. ‘But you be a crafty one, Vorgo,’ he’d also said. ‘You got a nose for the main thing, like a cur pup. You can do lots worse than follow that nose o’ yourn.’

Right now, his nose was leading him back the way the women and the boy had come, toward the sea-hag’s steading. The tide was half-high, and in many places the going was hard, even dangerous, until he rounded the point and came to the fjord beach. There all he had to do was slog on. He tried to come up with a plan. Dad always had a plan. But now the bitch-princess who would have made them rich was gone. Only the sea-hag was left.

She was a witch, a very powerful one. All of the fishermen of the north-west shore knew that it was death to enter her fjord. But why should that be? He thought hard about it as he tramped and waded along. Why didn’t she want visitors? Other magickers were glad to sell their potions and amulets and spell-dollies to orn’ry folk, but not old Dobnelu. Why?