Wizards’ Worlds (25 page)

He was—alive?

I reached forth my hand. The wand trembled. Yes, there still was a spark of life in
him, held so by the stubbornness of his own will and courage. But his eyes were locked
on the pillar of fire and I knew that what was the man I knew was being rift out of
him into that flame.

I could do two things. Recklessly, I first tried mind seek. No, his consciousness
was too depleted to respond. If I attempted to break the binding of the flame I could
overturn the result of his own courage, loose him and lose him. There was a great
strength in Jervon. I had seen it in action many times over during the seasons we
had ridden together as comrades and lovers (seldom can those two be made one, but
so it was with us).

So—I must follow him—into the flame. Front that Power on its own ground.

If only I knew more! I beat my hands together in my impotent frustration. This was
a great force, and one I had no knowledge of. I did not know if I could face it with
any Talent of my own. It might be invincible in its own stronghold.

I moved slowly on to look at the dead outlaw. He had been emptied of life force, easier
prey by far than Jervon. The way he had fallen made it seem he had been contemptuously
thrown aside.

But I knew Jervon. And upon that knowledge I could build now. It would do me no good
to take his body from this place, even if the flame power would allow that. For then
he could never regain what he had already lost—what must be returned to him . . .

Returned—how?

Desperate I was, for I might lose all, his life, mine, and perhaps more than just
the lives of our bodies. But I could see no other way.

Deliberately I went to that other throne, careful not to touch the wasted body as
I stepped over it. I am glad I did not hesitate now, that my inner strength carried
me up
unflinchingly to where that dead man had sat. I settled myself within the curve of
the arms, under the shadow of the high back. My wand I took in both hands, forcing
it up against the power which tried to forestall me, until the point was aimed at
Jervon’s breast.

I did not believe that the power I would confront was of my plane of existence at
all. Rather I thought that the frozen flames were but a small manifestation visible
to our world. I must seek it on its own ground if I were to have a chance.

The outlaw had been its creature already. Doubtless he had lain under its spell even
before he had entered here, perhaps sent by it to find such strong meat as Jervon.
And Jervon it had not completely taken. Also it might never have tried to absorb one
learned in the Talent.

Such a hope was very thin; I could count on nothing save my own small learning and
my determination. But it was not in me to leave this place without Jervon. We would
win or lose together.

So—the battlefield lay within the flame—

My grip on the wand was iron tight. Now I deliberately raised my eyes, stared straight
into that play of curbed fire. I need only release my will for a very little.

4

Elsewhere and Elsewhen

I
was—elsewhere. How can one summon words to describe what is so wholly alien to all
one’s experience? Colors rippled here that had no name I knew, sensations wrenched
at the inner core of my determination and Talent as if they would pull me apart while
I yet lived. Or did I live now? I was aware of no body in this place, five senses
no longer served me, for I realized I did not “see” but rather depended upon a different
form of perception.

Only seconds, breaths long, was I given; then a compelling force swept up the consciousness
which was all that remained of my identity and drew me forward across a fantastic
and awesome country.

For
country
it was—! Though it was subtly
wrong,
my human instinct told me. There were growing things, which did not in the least
resemble any I had ever seen, of eye-searing yellow, threatening red. These writhed
and beat upon the air as if they fought against their rooting, would be free to do
their will, and yet were anchored by another’s ordering. Branches tip-clawed the earth
or swept high into the air in ceaseless movement.

Then I was beyond them, carried so by the force which I had momentarily surrendered
to. And I put aside my preoccupation with the strangeness of this place, to fasten
inwardly, nurse my Talent with all my strength.

Yet must I also conceal from that which summoned me that I had that hard core of defiance
within me. For I was sure that I must not dissipate that before I fronted the Power
which ruled here.

I had heard legends through Aufrica (though from whom she had gained them she never
said) that when the Old Ones held the Dales they had meddled with the very stuff of
life itself, and that the adepts among them had opened “gates” which led to other
dominions in which the human was as unnatural as that which passed swiftly below me
now. That this might be such a “gate” I have begun to believe. But its guardianship
was alien.

Here was a stretch of yellow ground unbroken by any of the monstrous growths. Patterned
deeply on its surface were many tracks and trails, some deep-worn as well-used roads.
Yet my own feet, if I still possessed those appendages, did not seek to tread there.
Rather I had the sensation of being wafted well above that broken surface.

Those tracks and ways converged, angling toward some point ahead. And, as I passed
on, I began to see
moving figures, ones which pressed forward step by reluctant step. Yet none was clear,
but rather cloaked in ever-shifting color so that one could not define their true
outlines. Some were dully gray, one or two a deep black that reminded me of the dark
through which I had passed to reach the chamber of the flame. Others showed as sickly
green, or a sullen, blood/rust red. As I swept over them I longed to shriek aloud
my pain, for it seemed that from each there came some thrust of despair and horror
which was like the cut of a sword one could not guard against. Thus I realized that
these were victims of this place even as I might be.

Why I winged my way rather than trode theirs I could not guess. Unless that which
ruled here knew me for what I was and would have me quickly within its grasp! And
it was not good to think of that. But I had made my choice, and must hold firmly to
my resolution.

Thicker became the figures plodding so slowly. Now I began to believe that their doom
was deliberately prolonged by purpose, that their helpless suffering was meat and
drink to something—

Was Jervon one of those?

I tried to delay my own passage, hover above those misty lights which were still substantial
enough to leave tracks on the plain. But then a second thought came to me, that in
allowing myself to show interest in any of those tormented wayfarers I could in turn
betray the more plainly what I was and why I had come.

So I turned my new sense of perception from those travelers, and allowed the compulsion
full rein to draw me in. I came at last to where that yellow plain gave way abruptly
to a chasm.

The walls of that were the dull red of the final wall which had guarded the flame
building, and in shape it was round. Down its sides the lights which tracked the plain
made a painful descent, now so thronged together that their colors seemed to blend
and mingle. Though I thought
in truth no entity was aware of its fellows, but only of its own sore fate.

Down I was drawn, past those toiling victims. Once more into a pool of dead blackness
and loss of all perception. Here I began to exercise those safeguards I had learned,
seeds of which had been mine from birth. I was myself, me, Elys—a woman, a seer, a
fighter. And I must remain me and not allow That Other to take away my oneness with
myself and my past.

Still I raised no opposition save that belief in myself which I kept within me. At
this moment I must put even Jervon from my conscious mind and concentrate on my own
personality. Instinct told me this, and for a Wise Woman such instinct is a command.

The dark began to thin and I could see light again. But in that sickly yellowish glow
there was nothing to be marked, save directly under me, or that part of me which had
come seeking this grim venture, a throne.

It was fashioned of the black, the dark itself, and on it there wavered a ruddy mist
in which whirled gemlike particles.

“Welcome—”

It was not sound which reached me, rather a vibration which shuddered through whatever
form I now wore.

Slowly I settled down, until I fronted that towering throne and the unstable form
it contained. Very small was I, so that this was like looking up at the face of some
high Dale hill.

“Good—”

Again the word vibrated through me, bringing with it both pain and—may the Power I
serve forgive me—also a kind of pleasure which defiled that which I held to be the
innermost core of my being.

“It has been long and long since this happened—”

The glittering mist of the throne was melting, developing more of a form.

“Are there then again those to summon for the Gate?”

That
form
leaned forward on its throne. The glitter points flowed together, formed two discs
which might serve the alien for eyes. Now those centered upon me.

“Where is the gift then, servant of ——” The name the thing mouthed was like a flame
lapping about me, so strong was the Power that carried, even though I was no follower
of It.

Before I could frame an answer, its shadowy head bobbed in what might be a nod.

“So the gift comes—yet I think it not of your devising. Think you I can be so easily
deceived?” And the form shook with what might be silent and horrible laughter. The
contempt in which it held me and all my species was like a loathsome stench in the
air of that place.

“Your kind has served me,” the vibration which was speech continued. “Long and well
have they served me. Nor have I ever withheld their rewards. For when I feed,
those
feed— Behold!”

It stretched forth an extension of the upper body which might well serve it for arm,
and then I could perceive indeed that all it had fed upon was a part of it. But not
in peace. For the torment of those it consumed and yet nourished within its own substance
was that they were conscious of what had happened to them, and that consciousness
lasted throughout ages without respite. While as a part of this Thing they were also
forced to feed in turn, damning themselves to further torture which was endless.

Even as I watched one of those long appendages flickered even farther out and returned,
grasped in it a writhing core of grayness which was one with those shapes I had watched
on the plain above. This it clasped to its body so that the gray sank into its mass
and another life force was sentenced to an existence of terror and despair.

Seeing that, my mind stirred. Even as that rider I had seen in the valley was a thoughtform
fed into life by the terror of those whose emotions strengthened it, so was this Thing
a product of similar forces.

I had heard it said that men are apt to make their gods in their own images, attributing
to those gods their own emotions, save that those emotions are deemed far greater
than any human mind and heart can generate. Thus this Thing might once have been born—to
serve a people whose god it was, who fed it for generations. So that at last it was
no longer dependent upon their willingly brought sacrifices, but could indeed control
mankind and so exert its own dominion.

But if that were indeed the truth, then the weapon against it was . . .
unbelief.
And, in spite of the evidence of my senses, here I must bring that weapon into being.

The glittering eyes that were set so on me did not change and the despair and horror
which it exuded in waves wrapped me around with all the force long generations of
worship could generate within it.

“Small creature—” again it shook with that unvoiced demonic laughter. “I am, I exist—no
matter from what small seed of thought I was born. Look upon me!”

Now its substance grew even thicker and it indeed formed a body. This unclothed body
was godlike in its beauty—its tainted beauty—brazenly male. And the eyes shrank, to
become normal-sized in a face whose features were those truly of some super being
without a flaw.

Except the flaw of knowledge of what it was and from what it had come. And that knowledge
I clung to. It did not show bones and rotting flesh, but that was its true state.

“Look upon me!” Once more the command rang out. “Females of your kind found me good
to look upon in the old days before I grew tired of your world, and that which closed
Gates swept across the land. Look—and come!”

And that vile pleasure, which had troubled me before, again assailed me. Against that
I set the training of my Talent—the austerity in which we learn to master all that
which is of the body. Though I felt myself waver a little forward, yet my determination
held me fast.

Then those perfect lips smiled—evilly.

“You are more than I have tasted for a long time. This shall indeed be a dainty feasting—”
Now it raised a fine muscled arm, beckoned to me with its long fingers. “Come—you
cannot withstand me. Come willingly and the reward will be very great indeed—”

My thought arose in answer and I shaped the name it had given me and with that name
certain words. It was a forlorn hope. And, as that head tossed back and it laughed
openly, I knew how vain that hope was.

“Names! You think that you can lay upon me your will by
names?
Ah, but that which I gave you is but the name men—some men—called me. It is not the
name by which I know myself. And without that—you have no weapon. However, this is
exciting—that you dare to stand against
me!
I have fed, and I have gathered strength, and I have waited for those who closed
the Gates perhaps to hunt me. But they have not come, and you, worm thing who dares
to face me—you are of such as they would not trouble themselves to look upon, far
less do you stand equal to them.