The courts of chaos (11 page)

I let go the rock and advanced upon him, drawing my blade as I went. Brand struck the bird and it flapped away, gaining altitude, circling for another dive. He raised both arms to cover his face and head, but not before I saw the blood that flowed from his left eye socket.

He began to fade again even as I rushed toward him. But the bird descended like a bomb and its talons struck Brand about the head once again. Then the bird, too, began to fade. Brand was reaching for his ruddy assailant and being slashed by it as they both disappeared.

When I reached the place of the action the only thing that remained was the fallen crossbow, and I smashed it with my boot.

Not yet, not yet the end, damn it! How long will you plague me, brother? How far must I go to bring it to an end between us?

I climbed back down to the trail. Star was not yet dead and I had to finish the job. Sometimes I think I’m in the wrong business.

A bowl of cotton candy.

Having traversed the pass, I regarded the valley that lay before me. At least, I assumed that it was a valley. I could see nothing below its cover of cloud/mist/fog.

In the sky, one of the red streaks was turning yellow; another, green. I was slightly heartened by this, as the sky had behaved in a somewhat similar fashion when I had visited the edge of things, across from the Courts of Chaos.

I hitched up my pack and began hiking down the trail. The winds diminished as I went. Distantly, I heard some thunder from the storm I was fleeing. I wondered where Brand had gone. I had a feeling that I would not be seeing him again for a time.

Partway down, with the fog just beginning to creep and curl about me, I spotted an ancient tree and cut myself a staff. The tree seemed to shriek as I severed its limb.

“Damn you!” came something like a voice from within it.

“You’re sentient?” I said. “I’m sorry . . .”

“I spent a long time growing that branch. I suppose you are going to burn it now?”

“No,” I said. “I needed a staff. I’ve a long walk before me.”

“Through this valley?”

“That’s right.”

“Come closer, that I may better sense your presence. There is something about you that glows.”

I took a step forward.

“Oberon!” it said. “I know thy Jewel.”

“Not Oberon,” I said. “I am his son. I wear it on his mission, though.”

“Then take my limb, and have my blessing with it. I’ve sheltered your father on many a strange day. He planted me, you see.”

“Really? Planting a tree is one of the few things I never saw Dad do.”

“I am no ordinary tree. He placed me here to mark a boundary.”

“Of what sort?”

“I am the end of Chaos and of Order, depending upon how you view me. I mark a division. Beyond me other rules apply.”

“What rules?”

“Who can say? Not I. I am only a growing tower of sentient lumber. My staff may comfort you, however. Planted, it may blossom in strange climes. Then again, it may not. Who can say? Bear it with you, however, son of Oberon, into the place where you journey now. I feel a storm approaching. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” I said. “Thank you.”

I turned and walked on down the trail into the deepening fog. The pinkness was drained from it as I went. I shook my head as I thought about the tree, but its staff proved useful for the next several hundred meters, where the going was particularly rough.

Then things cleared a bit. Rocks, a stagnant pool, some small, dreary trees festooned with ropes of moss, a smell of decay . . . hurried by. A dark bird was watching me from one of the trees.

It took wing as I regarded it, flapping in a leisurely fashion in my direction. Recent events having left me a little bird-shy, I drew back as it circled my head. But then it fluttered to rest on the trail before me, cocked its head and viewed me with its left eye.

“Yes,” it announced then. “You are the one.”

“The one what?” I said.

“The one I will accompany. You’ve no objection to a bird of ill omen following you, have you, Corwin?” It chuckled then, and executed a little dance.

“Offhand, I do not see how I can stop you. How is it that you know my name?”

“I’ve been waiting for you since the beginning of Time, Corwin.”

“Must have been a bit tiresome.”

“It has not been all that long, in this place. Time is what you make of it.”

I resumed walking. I passed the bird and kept going. Moments later, it flashed by me and landed atop a rock off to my right.

“My name is Hugi,” he stated. “You are carrying a piece of old Ygg, I see.”

“Ygg?”

“The stuffy old tree who waits at the entrance to this place and won’t let anyone rest on his branches. I’ll bet he yelled when you whacked it off.”

He emitted peals of laughter then.

“He was quite decent about it.”

“I’ll bet. But then, he hadn’t much choice once you’d done it. Fat lot of good it will do you.”

“It’s doing me fine,” I said, swinging it lightly in his direction.

He fluttered away from it.

“Hey! That was not funny!” I laughed.

“I thought it was.” I walked on by.

For a long while, I made my way through a marshy area. An occasional gust of wind would clear the way nearby. Then I would pass it, or the fogs would shift over it once again. Occasionally, I seemed to hear a snatch of music-from what direction, I could not tell-slow, and somewhat stately, produced by a steel-stringed instrument..

As I slogged along, I was hailed from somewhere to my left:

“Stranger! Halt and regard me!”

Wary, I halted. Couldn’t see a damned thing through that fog, though.

“Hello,” I said. “Where are you?”

Just then, the fogs broke for a moment and I beheld a huge head, eyes on a level with my own. They belonged to what seemed a giant body, sunk up to the shoulders in a quag. The head was bald, the skin pale as milk, with a stony texture to it. The dark eyes probably seemed even darker than they really were by way of contrast.

“I see,” I said then. “You are in a bit of a fix. Can you free your arms?”

“If I strain mightily,” came the reply.

“Well, let me check about for something stable you can grab onto. You ought to have a pretty good reach there.”

“No. That is not necessary.”

“Don’t you want to get out? I thought that was why you hollered.”

“Oh, no. I simply wanted you to regard me.”

I moved nearer and stared, for the fog was beginning to shift again.

“All right,” I said. “I have seen you.”

“Do you feel my plight?”

“Not particularly, if you will not help yourself or accept help.”

“What good would it do me to free myself?”

“It is your question. You answer it.”

I turned to go.

“Wait! Where do you travel?”

“South, to appear in a morality play.”

Just then, Hugi flew out of the fog and landed atop the head. He pecked at it and laughed.

“Don’t waste your time, Corwin. There is much less here than meets the eye,” he said.

The giant lips shaped my name. Then; “He is indeed the one?”

“That’s him, all right,” Hugi replied.

“Listen, Corwin,” said the sunken giant. “You are going to try to stop the Chaos, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Do not do it. It is not worth it. I want things to end. I desire a release from this condition.”

“I already offered to help you out. You turned me down.”

“Not that sort of release. An end to the whole works.”

“That is easily done,” I said. “Just duck your head and take a deep breath.”

“It is not only personal termination that I desire, but an end to the whole foolish game.”

“I believe there are a few other folks around who would rather make their own decisions on the matter.”

“Let it end for them, too. There will come a time when they are in my position and will feel the same way.”

“Then they will possess the same option. Good day.”

I turned and walked on.

“You will, too!” he called after me.

As I hiked along, Hugi caught up with me and perched on the end of my staff.

“It’s neat to sit on old Ygg’s limb now he can’t-Yikes!”

Hugi sprang into the air and circled.

“Burned my foot! How’d he do that?” he cried.

I laughed.

“Beats me.”

He fluttered for a few moments, then made for my right shoulder.

“Okay if I rest here?”

“Go ahead.”

“Thanks.”

He settled.

“The Head is really a mental basket case, you know.”

I shrugged my shoulders and he spread his wings for balance.

“He is groping after something,” he went on, “but proceeding incorrectly by holding the world responsible for his own failings.”

“No. He would not even grope to get out of the mud,” I said.

“I meant philosophically.”

“Oh, that sort of mud. Too bad.”

“The whole problem lies with the self, the ego, and its involvement with the world on the one hand and the Absolute on the other.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yes. You see, we are hatched and we drift on the surface of events. Sometimes, we feel that we actually influence things, and this gives rise to striving. This is a big mistake, because it creates desires and builds up a false ego when just being should be enough. That leads to more desires and more striving and there you are, trapped.”

“In the mud?”

“So to speak. One needs to fix one’s vision firmly on the Absolute and learn to ignore the mirages, the illusions, the fake sense of identity which sets one apart as a false island of consciousness.”

“I had a fake identity once. It helped me a lot in becoming the absolute that I am now-me.”

“No, that’s fake, too.”

“Then the me that may exist tomorrow will thank me for it, as I do that other.”

“You are missing the point. That you will be fake, too.”

“Why?”

“Because it will still be full of those desires and strivings that set you apart from the Absolute.”

“What is wrong with that?”

“You remain alone in a world of strangers, the world of phenomena.”

“I like being alone. I am quite fond of myself. I like phenomena, too.”

“Yet the Absolute will always be there, calling to you, causing unrest.”

“Good, then there is no need to hurry. But yes, I see what you mean. It takes the form of ideals. Everyone has a few. If you are saying that I should pursue them, I agree with you.”

“No, they are distortions of the Absolute, and what you are talking about is more striving.”

“That is correct.”

“I can see that you have a lot to unlearn.”

“If you are talking about my vulgar instinct for survival, forget it.”

The trail had been leading upward, and we came now to a smooth, level place, almost paved-seeming, though strewn lightly with sand. The music had grown louder and continued to do so as I advanced. Then, through the fog, I saw dim shapes moving, slowly, rhythmically. It took several moments for me to realize that they were dancing to the music.

I kept moving until I could view the figures-human seeming, handsome folk, garbed in courtly attire-treading to the slow measures of invisible musicians. It was an intricate and lovely dance that they executed, and I halted to watch some of it.

“What is the occasion,” I asked Hugi, “for a party out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“They dance,” he said, “to celebrate your passage. They are not mortals, but the spirits of Time. They began this foolish show when you entered the valley.”

“Spirits?”

“Yes. Observe.”

He left my shoulder, flew above them and defecated. The dropping passed through several dancers as if they were holograms, without staining a brocaded sleeve or a silken shirt, without causing any of the smiling figures to miss a measure. Hugi cawed several times then and flew back to me.

“That was hardly necessary,” I said. “It is a fine performance.”

“Decadent,” he said, “and you should hardly take it as a compliment, for they anticipate your failure. They but wish to get in a final celebration before the show is closed.”

I watched for a time anyway, leaning upon my staff, resting. The figure described by the dancers slowly shifted, until one of the women-an auburn-haired beauty-was quite near to me. Now, none of the dancers’ eyes at any time met my own. It was as if I were not present. But that woman, in a perfectly timed gesture, cast with her right hand something which landed at my feet.