Phoenix in Obsidian

  And here I was on the pale ice beneath a darkling sky, alone and in torment, cut off from the one woman who had brought me tranquility of spirit, the one world where I had felt free and at peace. I felt as a man must feel who has been in the grip of uncontrollable madness, thinks he is cured and then finds himself once again seized by the horrible insanity of which he thought himself purged.

  I opened my mouth and I cried out against the ice. The breath steamed from my lips and boiled in the air like ectoplasm, writhed as if imitating the agony of spirit that was within me. I shook my fist at the dim, red, faraway globe that was this world’s sun.

  And all the while the white bears loped on, dragging me and my chariot to an unknown destination.

  “Ermizhad!” I cried. “Ermizhad!”

  I wondered if somewhere she would hear me, call me as that other voice had called me.

  “Ermizhad!”

  But the dark sky was silent, the gloomy ice was still, the sun looked down like the eye of an old, old, senile man, uncomprehending.

  On and on ran the tireless bears; on, across the perpetual ice; on, through perpetual twilight. On and on, while I wept and moaned and shrieked and at last was quiet, standing in my lurching chariot as if I, too, were made of ice.

  I knew that, for the moment, I must accept my fate, discover where the bears were taking me, hope that when I reached my destination I would be able to discover a means of going back to the Eldren world, of finding my Ermizhad again.

  I knew the hope was a faint one, but I clung to it as I had clung to the shaft of the spear. It was all I had. But where she was in the universe—in a host of alternate universes if the Eldren theories were right—I had no idea. Neither did I know where this world was. While it might be one of the Ghost Worlds and therefore possible for Eldren expeditions to reach, it could as easily be some other Earth, sundered by aeons from the world I had grown to love and to think of as my own.

  But now I was again the Eternal Champion, summoned, no doubt, to fight in some cause with which I had scant sympathy, by a people who could easily be as wretched and self-deceiving as those who had been ruled by King Rigenos.

  Why should I be singled out for this everlasting task? Why was I to be allowed no permanent peace?

  Again my thoughts turned to the possibility that I had been responsible, in some incarnation, of a cosmic crime, so terrible that it was my fate to be swept back and forth across eternity. But what that crime could be that it deserved so frightful a punishment, I could not guess.

  * * *

  It seemed to grow colder. I reached into the chest and knew I should find gauntlets there. I drew the gloves onto my hands, wrapped the heavy coat more tightly about me, sat down on the chest, still holding the reins, and sank into a doze which I hoped would heal, at least a little, my wounded brain.

  And still we drove over ice. Thousands of miles of ice. Had this world grown so old and cold that now there was nothing but ice from pole to pole?

  Soon, I hoped, I would find out.

  2

  THE OBSIDIAN CITY

  ACROSS THE TIMELESS ice, beneath the waning sun, I moved in my chariot of bronze and silver. The long-limbed white bears only rarely slowed and never stopped. It was as if they, like me, were possessed of some force they could not control. Rusty clouds crossed the sky occasionally—slow ships on a livid sea—but there was nothing to mark the passing of the hours for the sun itself was frozen in the sky and the faint stars which gleamed behind it were arranged in constellations which were only vaguely familiar. It came to me then that the globe itself had apparently ceased to spin or, if it moved at all, moved so gradually as not to be apparent to a man without the necessary measuring instruments.

  I reflected bitterly that the landscape certainly matched my mood, probably even exacerbated it.

  Then, through the gloom, I thought I saw something which relieved the monotony of ice which hitherto had lain on all sides. Perhaps it was nothing more than a band of low cloud, but I kept my gaze fixed hopefully upon it and, as the bears drew closer, saw that these were the dark shapes of mountains apparently rising out of the ice plain. Were they mountains of ice and nothing more? Or were they of rock, indicating that not all the planet was covered by ice?

  I had never seen such jagged crags. Despondently I concluded that they must be made of ice shaped by wind and time into such peculiar serrations.

  But then, as we drew yet closer, I remembered the vision I had had when I was dragged away from Ermizhad’s side. Now it seemed these were, indeed, rocks—volcanic rocks with a glassy lustre. Colours became apparent—deep greens and browns and blacks.

  I shouted to the bears and jerked the reins to make them go faster.

  And I discovered that I knew their names.

  “Ho, Snarler! Ho, Render! Ho, Growler! Ho, Longclaw! Faster!”

  They leaned in their harness and their speed increased. The chariot lurched and jogged and skipped over the rough ice.

  “Faster!”

  I had been right. Now I could see that the ice gave way to rock that was, if anything, smoother than glass. The ice thinned and then the chariot was bumping onto the rock that formed the foothills of the mountain range which now flung its spiky peaks into a mass of low, rust-coloured clouds, where they were lost to my view.

  These were high and gloomy peaks. They dominated me, seemed to threaten me, and they were certainly no comfort to the eye. But they offered me some hope, particularly as I made out what could be a pass between two tall cliffs.

  The range seemed principally a mixture of basalt and obsidian and on both sides of me now were huge boulders between which passed a natural causeway down which I drove my straining bears. I could see the strangely coloured clouds clinging to the upper slopes of the cliffs, almost as smoke clings to oil.

  And now, as I discerned more detail, I could only gasp at the wonder of the cliffs. That they were volcanic in origin there was no doubt, for the spiky upper peaks were plainly of pumice, while the lower flanks were either of black, green or purple obsidian, smooth and shiny, or basalt which had formed into something not unlike the delicately fluted columns of fine Gothic architecture. They could almost have been built by some intelligence possessed of gigantic size. Elsewhere the basalt was red and deep blue and cellular in appearance, almost like coral. In other places the same rock was a more familiar coal black and dark grey. And at still more levels there were veins of iridescent rock that caught what little light there was and were as richly coloured as the feathers of a peacock.

  I guessed that this region must have resisted the march of the ice because it had been the last volcanically active region on the planet.

  Now I had entered the pass. It was narrow and the cliffs seemed as if they were about to crush me. Some parts of them were pitted with caves which my fancy saw as malicious eyes staring down at me. I kept a firm grip on my lance as I drove. For all my imaginings, there was always the chance that there were real dangers here from beasts which might inhabit the caves.

  The pass wound around the bases of many mountains, all of the same strange formations and colours. The ground became less level and the bears had great difficulty pulling the chariot. At last, though I had no inclination to stop in that gloomy pass, I drew rein and dismounted from the chariot, inspecting the runners and the bolts attaching them to the wheels. I knew instinctively that I had the appropriate tools in my chest and I opened the lid and eventually discovered them in a box of the same design and manufacture as the chest itself.

  With some effort I unbolted the runners and slid them into lugs along the side of the chariot.

  Just as I had discovered, as Erekosë, that I had an instinctive skill with weapons and horses, that I knew every piece of armour as if I had always worn it, now I found that the workings of this chariot were completely familiar to me.

  With the wheels free, the chariot moved much faster, though it was even more difficult to keep my balance than before.

  Many
hours must have passed before I rounded a curve in the pass and saw that I had come to the other side of the mountain range.

  Smooth rock sloped down to a crystalline beach. And against the beach moved the sluggish tide of an almost viscous sea.

  Elsewhere the mountains entered the sea itself and I could see jagged peaks jutting out of the water which must have contained a much greater quantity of salt than even the Dead Sea of John Daker’s world. The low, brown clouds seemed to meet the sea only a short distance out. The dark crystals of the beach were devoid of plant life and here even the faint light from the small, red sun barely pierced the darkness.

  It was as if I had come to the edge of the world at the end of time.

  I could not believe that anything lived here—whether man, plant or beast.

  But now the bears had reached the beach and the wheels crunched on the crystal and the creatures did not stop, but turned sharply towards the east, dragging me and the chariot along the shore of that dark and morbid ocean.

  Though it was warmer here than it had been on the ice, I shuddered. Again my imagination took an unpleasant turn as I guessed at what kind of monsters might dwell beneath the surface of the twilit sea, what kind of people could bear to live beside it.

  I was soon to have my answer—or, at least, part of it—when through the gloom I heard the sound of human voices and soon saw those who had uttered them.

  * * *

  They rode huge animals which moved not on legs but on strong, muscular flippers and whose bodies sloped sharply back to end in wide tails which balanced them. In some astonishment I realised that these riding beasts had been, at some earlier period of their evolution, sea-lions. They still had the doglike, whiskered faces, the huge, staring eyes. The saddles on their backs had been built up so that the rider sat almost level. Each rider held a rod of some kind which issued a faint glow in the darkness.

  But were the riders human? Their bodies, encased in ornate armour, were bulbous and, in comparison, their arms and legs were sticklike, their heads—also enclosed in helmets—tiny. They had swords, lances and axes at their hips or in sheaths attached to their saddles. From within their visors their voices boomed and were echoed by the lowering cliffs, but I could distinguish no words.

  They rode their seal-beasts skilfully along the shores of the salt-thick sea until they were only a few yards from me. Then they stopped.

  In turn, I stopped my chariot.

  A silence fell. I placed my hand upon the shaft of my tall spear while my bears moved restlessly in their harness.

  I inspected the riders more closely. They were somewhat froglike in appearance, if the armour actually displayed the basic shapes of their bodies. The accoutrements and armour were so ornate and, to my taste, overworked, that it was almost impossible to pick out individual designs. Most of the suits were of a reddish gold in colour, though glowing greens and yellows became apparent in the light from their dim torches.

  After some moments in which they made no further effort to communicate with me I decided to speak.

  “Are you those who called me?” I asked.

  Visors turned, gestures were made, but they did not reply.

  “What people are you?” I said. “Do you recognise me?”

  This time a few words passed between the riders but they still did not speak directly to me. They urged their beasts into a wide semicircle and then surrounded me. I kept my hand firmly on the shaft of my lance.

  “I am Urlik Skarsol,” I said. “Did you not summon me?”

  Now one spoke, his voice muffled in his helm. “We did not summon you, Urlik Skarsol. But we know your name and bid you be our guest in Rowernarc.” He gestured with his torch in the direction from which they had come. “We are Bishop Belphig’s men. He would wish us to make you welcome.”

  “I accept your hospitality.”

  There had been respect in the speaker’s voice after he had heard my name, but I was surprised that he had not been expecting me. Why had the bears brought me here? Where else was there to go, save beyond the sea? And it seemed to me that beyond the sea lay nothing but limbo. I could imagine those sluggish waters dripping over the edge of the world into the total blackness of the cosmic void.

  I allowed them to escort me along the beach until it curved into a bay, at the end of which was a steep, high cliff up which climbed a number of paths, evidently cut by men. These paths led to the mouths of archways as heavily ornamented as the armour worn by the riders. High above, the most distant archways were half hidden by the thick, brown clouds clinging to the rock.

  This was not merely a village of cliff-dwellers. Judging by the sophistication of the ornament, it was a great city, carved from the gleaming obsidian.

  “That is Rowernarc,” said the rider nearest me. “Rowernarc—the Obsidian City.”

  3

  THE LORD SPIRITUAL

  THE PATHS UP to the yawning gateways in the cliff-face were wide enough to take my chariot. Somewhat reluctantly the bears began to climb.

  The froglike riders led the way, ascending higher and higher along the obsidian causeways, passing several baroque arches festooned with gargoyles which, while being of exquisite workmanship, were the products of dark and morbid brains.

  I looked towards the gloomy bay, at the low, brown clouds, at the heavy, unnatural sea, and it seemed for a moment that all this world was enclosed in one murky cave—in one cold hell.

  And if the landscape reminded me of Hell, then subsequent events were soon to confirm my impression.

  Eventually we reached an archway of particularly heavy decoration—all carved from the multicoloured living obsidian—and the strange seal-beasts turned and stopped and thwacked their forefins on the ground in a complicated rhythm.

  Within the shadow of the arch I could now detect a barrier. It seemed to be a door—but a door that was made of solid porphyritic rock from which all kinds of strange beasts and half-human creatures had been carved. Whether these representations, too, were the inventions of near-crazed minds or whether they were taken from types actually to be found in this world, I could not tell. But some of the designs were loathsome and I avoided looking at them as much as possible.

  In answer to the strange signal of the seals, this door began to scrape backwards—the whole block moving into the cavern behind it—to allow us passage around it. My chariot wheel caught on one edge and I was forced to manoeuvre for a moment before I could pass into the chamber.

  This chamber was poorly lit by the same staffs of faint artificial light which the riders had carried. The staffs reminded me of battery-operated electric torches which needed recharging. Somehow I thought that these could not be recharged. I had the feeling that as the artificial brands died, so a little more light vanished from this world. It would not be long, I thought, before all the brands were extinguished.

  The froglike riders were dismounting, handing their beasts over to grooms who, to my relief, looked ordinarily human, though pale and somewhat scrawny. These grooms were dressed in smocks bearing a complicated piece of embroidered insignia which again was so complex as to have no indication to me what it was meant to represent. I suddenly had an insight into the lives of these people. Living in their rock cities on a dying planet, surrounded by bleak ice and gloomy seas, they whiled away their days at various crafts, adding embellishment upon complicated embellishment, producing work which was so introverted that it doubtless lost its meaning even to them. It was the art of a decaying race and yet, ironically, it would outlast them by centuries, perhaps for ever when the atmosphere eventually disappeared.

  I felt a reluctance to deliver my chariot and its weapons over to the grooms, but there was little else I could do. Seal-beasts and chariot were led off down a dark, echoing passage and the armoured creatures once again turned to regard me.

  One of them stretched, then lifted off his ornate helm to reveal a white, human face with pale, cold eyes—weary eyes, it seemed to me. He began to unbuckle the straps of hi
s armour and it was drawn away to show the thick padding beneath. When the padding was pulled off, I saw that the body, also, was of perfectly normal proportions. The others stripped off their armour and handed it to those waiting to receive it. As a gesture, I took off my own helmet and held it crooked in my left arm.

  The men were all pale, all with the same strange eyes which were not so much unfriendly as introspective. They wore loose tabards which had every inch covered in dark-hued embroidery, trousers of similar material which were baggy and tucked into boots of painted leather.

  “Well,” sighed the man who had first removed his armour, “here we are in Haradeik.” He signed to a servant. “Seek our master. Tell him Morgeg is here with his patrol. Tell him we have brought a visitor—Urlik Skarsol of the Frozen Keep. Ask him if he would grant us an audience.”

  I frowned at Morgeg. “So you know of Urlik Skarsol. You know that I hail from the Frozen Keep.”

  A tiny, puzzled smile came to Morgeg’s mouth. “All know of Urlik Skarsol. But I have heard of no man who has ever met him.”

  “And you called this city Rowernarc when we arrived, but now you call it Haradeik.”

  “Rowernarc is the city. Haradeik is the name of our particular warren—the province of our master, Bishop Belphig.”

  “And who is this bishop?”

  “Why, he is one of our two rulers. He is Lord Spiritual of Rowernarc.”

  Morgeg spoke in a low, sad tone which I guessed was habitual rather than reflecting a particular mood of his at this moment. Everything he said sounded offhanded. Nothing seemed to matter to him. Nothing seemed to interest him. He seemed almost as dead as the murky, twilight world outside the cavern city.

  Quite soon the messenger returned.

  “Bishop Belphig grants an audience,” he told Morgeg.

  By this time the others had gone about their business and only Morgeg and I remained in the antechamber. Morgeg led me along a poorly lit passage, every inch of which was decorated—even the floor was of crystalline mosaic, and harpies, chimerae and musimonii glared down at me from the low ceiling. Another antechamber, another great door, slightly smaller than the outer one, which withdrew to allow us entrance. And we were in a large hall.