The crow squawked like it had just found a snake raiding its nest. It protested so vigorously that the surrounding night fell into an uneasy silence.
“Good for you nobody in these parts would recognize Taglian. What’s the big squawk? You infiltrated how many places at other times?”
The crow continued to mutter something to the effect of, that was different. The difference mainly being whose idea the infiltration was. She understood that I was getting real thick with Shivetya, though, and the golem might have a great deal to say about whether or not she ever got out of the cave of the ancients. Once she got the frustration worked out she was ready to go.
I had Shukrat describe the interior of Rhuknavr the best she could. Which was not that well. She had not been there in ten years. The crow would have to locate Arkana on her own. Shukrat could not pin her down.
I said, “You just tell her we’re coming and she should be ready. And, if she can manage it, she might put a sleep spell on anybody near enough to touch.”
The crow left. We waited. I stared at the sky. I found this one far stranger than that of the Land of Unknown Shadows. There was no large moon here, apparently. At least none tonight nor during the nights I spent here before. But there were scores of little ones, the biggest maybe a fifth the size of my own. All the moons seemed terribly busy, scampering hither and yon. When I mentioned them to Shukrat she began telling me about her world’s unique breed of astrology, which relied upon the motions of all those moons. Even after ages of study those moons still presented the occasional surprise.
“Once, when I was little, two of them banged off of each other. None of the others have moved quite the same way since. And it rained down pieces for years. Only about a hundred miles from here there’s a place where a really big piece hit. I was at Junkledesag, which is over that way another eighty miles, and it was still awful. There were earthquakes and noise like the end of the world. There was a fire in the sky that took all night to fade away. It was like when one of the rheitgeistiden explodes, only a million times worse. It knocked a huge hole in the ground. Now the hole is kind of a lake.”
The white crow dropped out of the night. “Ready.”
“Easier than you expected, eh?”
The bird grunted sullenly.
“Show us the way, Fearless Feathered Explorer.”
The next stage was anticlimactic. Only three or four actual Voroshk occupied Rhuknavr. In behavior so human I do not know why I did not foresee it, a small faction of survivors were concealing Arkana’s return from the rest. For what little advantage controlling a viable breeder gave.
We left our posts nuzzling the fortress beside an unglazed hall-end window. The interior was too tight for flight. The crow showed the way to Arkana’s chamber. There were no bars anywhere but there was a sleeping, non-Voroshk sentry slumped on a stool in the hallway. There had been a pretense that Arkana was a guest.
The girl jumped on me the moment we entered. “I knew you’d come.”
“Did you?”
“I hoped you would. All right? I’m sorry. I was stupid. I just wanted... I had to... Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”
“Why not save your talking until we’re out of here? The point of sending the bird ahead was so you’d be ready.” The critter named flapped out the room’s one small window.
She grabbed odds and ends. Not much. “I don’t know where my rheitgeistide and shefsepoke are.”
“We brought something for you. Let’s go.”
All went well until we were sliding out the window. Then a child, rubbing sleep from her eyes, wandered into the hallway, presumably disturbed by some sound. She stared for a moment, then folded, touched by a sleep spell from one of the girls.
Nothing happened immediately. But in time the child would tell somebody. Unless she had a habit of sleepwalking.
Comfortably aloft and heading south, I asked Arkana, “Are you pregnant?”
She took no offense. “No. They hadn’t worked out who got to be first. Though every time I turned around somebody was trying to sneak in. Like they thought I couldn’t possibly resist them. I passed out enough bruises that even Gromovol would’ve figured out that that kind of shit could get somebody hurt — but these guys were real optimists.”
She had been hanging out with the right people to learn how to sucker a guy who thought girls ought to be easy prey. I said, “I guess we can thank some god for that small favor.”
“You can thank Arkana for not putting up with their shit.”
“That’s my delicate flower.”
Soon after sunrise Shukrat spotted seven or eight protean black dots bobbing in the air far behind us. “They’re chasing us, Pop.”
I checked. “We climb up a little higher, we’ll be able to stay far enough ahead.”
The girls agreed. But Arkana added, “There weren’t that many of the Family at Rhuknavr. They must’ve sent for help from Junkledesag or Drasivrad. There aren’t but fifteen or sixteen of the Family left alive.”
I said, “Just in case they do start pressing us, do either of you have an objection to more of them getting hurt?”
Arkana gave me an unhappy look. Despite our hours aloft she was not yet fully clad in apparel taken from one of the boy sentries at the gate. Getting dressed is hard to do when you are riding one of those posts and staying out of sight by skimming the treetops. Not to mention that before she started changing she had to convince the clothing that it now belonged to her, not the boy from the shadowgate. “How do you expect to manage that, Pop?” She sounded suspicious. And rightly so.
“Same way I got Kina. But you’ll have to name me names.” I had the First Father’s book with me. I had taught myself enough of the Voroshk language to use the codes to blow those guys out of the sky. If I knew who I was turning into a cloud of dust.
“Don’t do that. Not if you don’t have to.”
I gave it a moment. Then, “If you can forgive them, then I can.”
“They never really did anything to me.”
They would have but I did not belabor the point. Both of these kids were too forgiving and too understanding for their own good. Those guys back there would have done a whole lot of ugly to both of them, given the chance. I know those kind of guys. I have been those kind of guys.
Just for my own pleasure, privately, when the girls were not paying attention, I tripped the codes that would kill Arkana’s post. We were too far from Rhuknavr for me to tell if it worked. I hoped not, now. Because after I did it I remembered the sleepy little girl in the hallway.
She would haunt me for a while.
It was closer than it really needed to be, us getting through the shadowgate ahead of trouble. The key gave me some grief, probably because I was in too much of a hurry.
“Now what?” Shukrat asked once we were safe from the men and naked boys cursing us from the other side of the barrier.
I said, “I guess you two can go back to the army. I’m going to stay here. On the plain. With Shivetya. There’s a job I’ve got to do. A promise I have to keep.”
Nobody spoke again until we were close to the fortress with no name. Then Shukrat asked, “What about Lady?”
“If she’s in good enough health you can bring her down here to me and I’ll do what I can to help her. If she’s not, leave her the fuck alone. Her main problem is she’s got to heal herself.”
Both girls looked at me like I was some really stinky monster that had just popped up in the middle of a bunny farm ripping the fur out of cute and tender throats.
“Look, I love my wife just one whole hell of a lot. There isn’t any way I can explain it to you. But the fact is, love her is about all I can do. She’s insane. By any standard but her own. And there’s nothing I can do to change that. If you were familiar with the Annals you would know that.”
Arkana sneered. “You don’t ever give up, do you?”
She caught me off balance that time. “Actually, no. I wasn’t thinking about finding somebody
to keep the Annals. I was trying to clarify my relationship with my wife.”
But did I know what that was myself? Even after all these years? Possibly more important, did she have any idea?
All that seemed to matter less and less as we drew closer to the fortress with no name.
147
Fortress with No Name:
Putting the Pen Down
I stood before the golem Shivetya, basking in his mild impatience. I was impatient myself. But the distractions of the world still had their hold on me.
That part of Gunni philosophy is solidly founded. Before you can achieve more than the lowest possible order of spiritual focus you have to learn to put all worldly distractions aside. All of them. Right now. Never mind what. Otherwise there will always be that one more critical thing that just absolutely has to be handled before you can move forward.
My one more thing was Lady. My wife. Who continued to wobble on the brink of the abyss without ever quite slipping over. To me it was evident that the missing medicine now was any will to battle on. And the white crow agreed with me.
“Let me work on her,” the bird told me. “Ten minutes and I’ll have her so pissed off she’ll melt mountains trying to get close enough to spank me.”
“No doubt. But I like things the way they are. Except for how long it’s taking.”
Suvrin seemed to be taking forever making any headway coming south. Though he was covering ground much faster than we had headed north. Nobody was trying to slow him down.
I whiled my time exploring the expansive wonders of Shivetya’s memories — but avoiding those including Khatovar. Khatovar was a dessert I meant to save until there were no distractions at all. Khatovar was a special treat for a time when every flavor could be savored.
Eventually, I yielded to the inevitable and sent the girls to bring Lady to me. Maybe my big pal on the wooden throne could give me a hint or two how to goose her into getting going again.
The Nef appeared almost as soon as the girls popped out of the hole in the roof. They were in a black humor, eager for a fight, and because I could not communicate with them my mood soon turned just as dark. I hunted up One-Eye’s spear. If it could handle a Goddess it ought to be able to polish off three obnoxious, nagging spooks.
Shivetya stopped me. He could communicate with the Nef. He indicated that he would calm them down with an explanation of what we were doing here. His liberation would not sentence them to extinction. In fact, they were about to enter a new phase of existence. They were going to get work maintaining the glittering plain. There were scores of odd jobs and cleanups that needed special attention.
Shivetya and I were now so connected I could see the plain in my mind almost at will and the rest of the world, through his eyes, with only a little more effort. For a while I watched the girls race northward, each occasionally finding a moment to have fun flying.
I slept for a few hours. Or a week. When I awakened I picked up a lamp and walked over to the throne. I carried One-Eye’s spear under my other arm, on the bad hand side. Shivetya and I stared at each other for a while.
“Is it time?” I asked. And, “You think we’re ready to manage without the daggers, now? Yeah? Just one more little thing, then. I need to leave a note for my girls.” That turned into a letter. Trust the Annalist to go on and on.
A very clear thought. Have you finished now? Are you certain you are done?
“It’s time.”
My bridesmaids, the Nef, drifted in out of the darkness. They seemed more substantial than ever before. They like me just fine, now.
I am putting the pen down.
148
Glittering Stone:
And the Daughters of Time
We saw lights from way out. What was that? There are no lights on the glittering plain. We climbed a thousand feet. By then the lights were gone except for what came out of the hole in the dome over the top of the demon’s throne room. Before we got there that went away, too.
Then we were too busy getting Lady and Tobo through the hole to worry about anything else. Rheitgeistiden are trouble when their riders are not helping.
When we got to the floor we found only one oil lamp burning on that old man’s — that scholar from Taglios’s — worktable. Croaker left a note. And, that clever old fart, he wrote it in our language. Not very good, but good enough to understand.
I guess he did have the gift for tongues like he always said.
Arkana took the lamp and used it to fire up a couple of lanterns. We went off to look for Croaker. She said, “You know, he was always teasing us but after a while I did start feeling almost like he was my dad.” We never ever talk about our real fathers. We would never get along.
“Yeah. He looked out for you. Maybe more than you know.”
“You, too.”
We found Croaker sitting beside the wooden throne. “Hey. He’s still breathing.”
“I don’t think... Shit. Look. Those knives are all gone from the demon.” Actually, they were laying all over the floor.
So just then the demon’s eyes open and so do Croaker’s and both of them look pretty confused and it is only then that I really understand what Croaker was trying to tell us in his letter. It was not some confused religious good-bye, he just did not have enough of the right words to tell us that he and the demon had it worked out to trade places. So Shivetya got to become a mortal for as long as Croaker’s body would last and Croaker got to be a big, old, wise sea dragon swimming all around in the ocean of history. So both of them got to go to heaven. And the Nef were happy. And the plain went on. And the white crow kept bitching, riding around on the Croaker body’s shoulder. And Arkana and I got in a running fight about who was going to go on keeping the Annals, because both of us hate to write.
So we take turns. When the little tramp will get away from Tobo long enough to pick up a pen and do her part.
A point she missed, probably because she is too dim to notice, is that Lady is recovering. A while ago I saw her spinning tiny fireballs. I think if there was some way she could make love to that big monster over there she would do it three times a day. Because it is from him that the power flows. It is, probably, the best and most meaningful gift he has ever given her and with it she can become anything she wants to be. Maybe even the young and beautiful and romantically sorrowful and remote Lady of Charm again.
But then he would have to turn Soulcatcher loose just to give balance to the world.
I wonder if he was right when he said a thousand years from now we might be the gods everyone remembers.
And I wonder what he might do about his daughter. His flesh daughter. I think there is no hope for her because she has no hope of her own, but I also think that if there is a hope, Pop will find it.
Suvrin is looking impatient. He wants to hitch a ride down to the Hsien shadowgate. He is not Aridatha Singh but he may have to do.
I guess it is time to go see our new world. The Abode of Ravens. The Land of Unknown Shadows. Shukrat says the names have a ring. That it sounds like home to her.
I think home is what I carry around inside me. I am a snail with the meat on the outside.
And it is Shukrat’s damned turn to write. The sneaking, slacking little bimbo.
Incessant wind sweeps the plain. It murmurs on across grey stone, carrying dust from far climes to nibble eternally at the memorial pillars. There are a few shadows out there still but they are the weak and the timid and the hopelessly lost.
It is immortality of a sort.
Memory is immortality of a sort.
In the night, when the wind dies and silence rules the place of glittering stone, I remember. And they all live again.
Soldiers live. And wonder why.
Glen Cook, Soldiers Live
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