In the Moons of Borea (10 page)

`During these preparations of mine for that terror which I knew was coming, and which by now I knew must concern Ithaqua and his desire to pluck Moreen from the clan when she was ripe, seven years went all too quickly by. Ithaqua had been back only once in those seven years, when Moreen was not yet nine years old. And if anything
the extra years had merely added to the goodness of her
nature, so that she was loved by all the clan; aye, and even the wild animals of the
fields and the birds of the air
loved her; and never hurting anything or anyone, she herself was never hurt, nor
even understood the meaning of fear .. .
which was as well.

`For picture
the sight of
that horror winging down the whistling winds of ether to Numinos: the monster lthaqua, his mind filled with many alien thoughts, and also one thought which is all too easily recognized by men. Aye, and if man knows the meaning of lust, how then Ithaqua? For he has known the lusts of all the ages, knows them yet, and while his burning eyes were veiled, certainly lust seethed in his black heart.
But little Moreen saw it
not, saw only the vast being of whom her parents and the clan spoke in shuddering whispers, the massive manlike shape in the sky whose hand came down, gentle as a falling leaf, to lift her to the high places from which, in her innocence, she could gaze down upon Numinos like some queen of the clouds — which one day, if he had his way, she would surely become. And who to say him nay?

`And on this occasion he seemed even more taken with Moreen than before and flew with her round the span of Numinos, showing her
all
of the places, even the icelands beyond the dark horizons. Aye, but he returned her warm and unharmed, and he smiled — if ever beast such as he could be said to smile at all! — on the clan of old Thonjolf, and the islands knew fair weather, bountiful crops, and good hunting for long and long after his going.

'But of course, three years later he came again ..

`Now there was a lad in the clan, a mere lad, one Garven the Fair. And he admired Moreen and fancied her as is right for young men to fancy pretty girls. That was all there was to it, for Garven was good and honoured the warnings and words of his parents, and the rose Moreen herself was not yet budded. Yet they were childhood sweethearts when times
allowed and would meet in the
fields some miles inland at a secret place. In this one thing Garven
disobeyed his elders, and Moreen hers,
and in other circumstances surely the time would arrive when they would cleave each to the other as man and wife. Alas, that time could never be.

'When next Ithaqua came, Moreen was not in the village. The Wind-Walker's coming was unexpected as the rough winds he brought with him and the dark clouds of storm and thunder. He came in suspicion and found things sorely wanting. The clan's cowards rushed here and there, searching for the maid that Ithaqua might be appeased, but she was not to be found. Nor indeed was the lad Garven to be found.

'Then, as Ithaqua's rage mounted to a fury, the innocents came hand in hand, over the cliff paths from their fond wandering in the fields. And Ithaqua saw them .. .

'For all that they were children and pure as driven snow, lthaqua's reaction was that of a cuckolded berserker! Jealousy crackled in the
^-
lightnings that played about his head, and the wonder is that his great pits of eyes did not glow brilliant green rather than their customary smouldering carmine. He snatched the two up and glared at them, and for a moment the very clouds stood still and no breath of air was felt. Then —

' — Before Moreen's very eyes, slowly and deliberately, he crushed young Garven to a tattered
red pulp — squeezed the living guts from him — then tossed the red
wet thing that had been a fair young lad down from
on high to splatter on the beach below the settlement! While Moreen screamed and screamed, he next ripped off her clothes and examined her
child's body minutely, finding no blemish, no evidence that she was ought but a child, no sign
that his own evil ambitions were preempted. In the sky he nodded his great black blot of a head. So, and now he must ensure that the clan of Thonjolf understood his commands, that they
obeyed them more fully in future. And who better to start
with
than Thonjolf himself, with whom all responsibility must ultimately lie?

`But there, what use to spell out the Wind-Walker's iniquities? The list is long as his life, which began back in the dim mists of time and seems interminable. Let it suffice to say that he murdered the elder Thonjolf's family (with the exception of the third chief of the line, the present Thonjolf the Red, who with his eldest son Harold was away hunting at the time) and also little Moreen's father, oh, and everyone and anyone he could get his great black hands on. Aye, and my man, too, Hamish, great fool that he was.

`But such a
brave
fool! Why, when.he saw the carnage, Hamish ran at Ithaqua, waving his sword at him and challenging him where he stood red-handed and furious in the sky! I think my husband's mind had snapped — or perhaps he was drunk, I'm not sure. Whichever, he was very brave, and of course lthaqua struck him down.'

Briefly Annahilde paused, before quickly continuing: 'Then, gathering great balls of snow from the dark clouds and freezing them hard in his hands, the monster rained them down upon the settlement until a third of the people were dead and their houses in ruins; and all of this the child Moreen saw. And though her screaming had stopped, her
eyes,
which once were
so
innocent, now opened wide in horror and loathing as she gazed down from her precarious perch in the crook of Ithaqua's shoulder.

'Finally he set the child down — not gently this time, tossing her naked into the shingle of the beach — before storming off into the lowering sky toward Norenstadt. Then . . . but how may I describe the agony and despair that lthaqua left in his wicked wake? And before too long, in the midst of all that grief and mourning, back came those same priests from Norenstadt last seen seven years earlier.

'On this occasion Leif Dougalson did not accompany them, no, for he lay grievously ill upon his sickbed. The wonder is that he survives to this day; for Ithaqua had chastised him, had pulled out his left arm by its roots in payment for his disappointment! And so the priests came quickly and in anger this time, spurring their yaks cruelly on, with no false words of praise for the clan of Thonjolf and its new chief.

'Ah, but I had not been idle in the period following Ithaqua's departure. The home of Moreen and her mother had been destroyed during the Wind-Walker's fury — along with my sister's mind — so I
,
had taken the pair in to care for them: I had lost my own man, true, but had known for long enough that some such was in the offing and recovered quickly from the ordeal. And I had known too that the Wind-Walker's priests must soon come to remove the child into their own care. Well, that black God of Horror had already taken more than enough from the clan, and now I, Annahilde, determined he should take no more. And I had instructed the child thus and so, until she knew what she must say and how she must behave.

'So when they came and laid hands on her, she at once broke free of them, pointing at the one and crying: "When my Lord returns, I shall tell him that you tried to have me for yourself, against my will, and I shall ask him for your head to play with! And you" — she turned on the other — "I shall say to him that you plot against him, seeking a way to blind him and send him lost and stumbling between the stars!"

"No, mistress, we beg of you!" they cried out to her, flinging themselves at her feet, her mercy. "These things are not true, as well you know."

'"Yet I will surely tell- him that they are true," she answered, "if you dare to take me from the clan of Thonjolf." And she stamped her foot as I had shown her, saying: "Now —
go!"

`Now these priests had not come out of Norenstadt at lthaqua's command but of their own accord; for rather than face his wrath again following some further contravention of his wishes, they had decided the girl were best under lock and key and in their control. Well, that plan was now plainly out of the question, and without further ado and in great haste they left. Nor has the clan been bothered with them since .. .

Perhaps this victory of mine over Ithaqua's so-called priests went to my head, perhaps not; but whichever, once they had gone, I set about to plan for Moreen's future, for her safety. Blood of my blood would not bear Ithaqua children to walk with him on the winds of ether, spreading his seed through all the universe — no; not if I had any say in the matter.

`And so I determined to smuggle Moreen away into the Isle of Mountains: the only place in all Numinos where her safety would be guaranteed, where Ithaqua could not touch her. That is where she is now, and that is where the pair of you enter into my plan.'

`Oh? And why should Moreen's whereabouts affect us?' Silberhutte asked.

`Your quest will never be completed without her,' she answered. `You will find her in the Isle of Mountains, and you' — she took de Marigny's arm — `you will surely fall in love with her; it can hardly be otherwise. I had thought that perhaps you would stay there and protect her, since Ithaqua will never give up trying to regain her for his own, but now that I know of this box of yours which flies between the worlds .

`Well?' de Marigny prompted.

The witch-wife nodded, apparently reaching some unspoken decision or other. `Yes, it shall be this way: I will give you a letter to take with you. You will not be able to read what is written — but Moreen will. The letter will tell — '

— Where we may find the time-clock?' de Marigny finished it for her.

`Of course!' she answered. And she laughed a laugh as normal and hearty as any they ever heard, with no slightest trace of her assumed eccentricity, so that finally they saw in her much more than a mere soothsayer or seer. She was a woman of the human race, and as such was shrewd as any of her shrewdest sisters — for which they could but admire her.

`You've interested us greatly in all you've told us, Annahilde,' Silberhutte said, 'but there are a number of things we don't quite understand, things which could be important.'

'Ask away,' she replied.

'First: you mentioned Moreen's 'warmness' following Ithaqua's handling of her. What did you mean?'

`I meant what I said. The child was warm,
is
warm to this day, as if the Wind-Walker never laid hand on her. Surely you understand me? Look, you — ' She took the Warlord's hand. 'You have surely known Ithaqua's touch, for you are cold. This one, however' — and now she touched de Marigny 'he is warm, which shows that his contact with the Wind-Walker has been only tenuous, or that he has been protected.'

'All true,' de Marigny agreed. 'It's generally accepted that physical contact with Ithaqua or lengthy close proximity will result in a permanent lowering of the body's temperature and an inexplicable immunity to subzero conditions. And yet you say that Moreen — '

— Is warm, yes. Ithaqua did not chill her blood but left well alone. Perhaps it was all in keeping with his plan to let her grow into womanhood according to her nature, I do not know.'

'I don't understand,' de Marigny shook his head. 'Surely all of the people on Numinos have altered metabolisms, just as they do on Borea?'

'Not all of them, Henri,' the Warlord contradicted. `Occasionally the Wind-Walker's_ influence breeds itself out. There are several such "warm ones" in the plateau on Borea.'

'Aye, and here on Numinos,' Annahilde agreed. 'Most of them in the Isle of Mountains.'

'That brings us to the second question,' Silberhutte told her. 'Just where is this "Isle of Mountains," and how is it that Ithaqua has no control over it?'

Annahilde answered, her voice dropping to the merest whisper. 'The answer lies in the shape of the island. You see, there is a symbol which is utterly abhorrent to the Wind-Walker, a symbol he has forbidden in all of Numinos. The name of this symbol has never
been
allowed to be spoken, and so it no longer has a name. Of course I know this symbol — aye, and its ancient forbidden name for that matter — though I've only ever spoken it to myself, but .

She paused and gasped, her eyes widening, then drew quickly back as de Marigny traced out a sign with his foot in the dirt of the floor. The shape he had drawn was that of a five-pointed star!

'Are you telling us that the Isle of Mountains is in the form of a star?' he asked.

'He makes the sign,' Annahilde whispered, pointing at the star-shape, 'and speaks its name!'

Silberhutte too had drawn back from the abhorred symbol, but now, with an expression of disgust flitting briefly across his face, he quickly advanced and scuffed out the sign with the toe of a fur-booted foot. 'Is my friend right, Annahilde?'

She nodded. 'Indeed he is. Of all the hundreds of islands in the seas of Numinos, the Isle of Mountains alone is protected from Ithaqua's wrath — by its very shape! That shape is hurtful to him.'

'That is something we readily understand,' Silberhutte answered. 'But tell me, since the majority of living beings who have known the curse of Ithaqua are similarly affected by the symbol, how is it that the Isle of Mountains is not lethal to them also? How may one seek shelter in a poisoned place?'

'It is the degree of kinship that accounts for it,' the witch-wife explained. 'The Wind-Walker's priests could not
even
set foot upon the isle, let alone live there. But warm ones such as Henri and Moreen, and others long fled there, are unaffected.'

The Warlord frowned but remained silent.
-

'My friend wonders how the Isle of Mountains will affect him,' de Marigny explained. 'He has had much to do with Ithaqua, in one way or another.'

She shrugged, glancing thoughtfully at Silberhutte. 'I cannot say. I do not know. We can only wait and see . .

Finally the Warlord looked up, and the frown slipped from his face. He grinned, however ruefully. 'Well, I've had my share of this sort of problem before and come through it. There was a time when we turned the entire roof of the plateau on Borea into a huge star. There's nothing to be gained in worrying about it now. As Annahilde says, we can only wait and see.' He turned to her: 'But how do we go about looking for the Isle of Mountains? Will you give us directions, Annahilde?'

'No,' she shook her head. 'You will not go on your own. You will be carried there in Thonjoff's longships.'

'In the longships?' de Marigny frowned. 'Are you saying that the whole clan is defecting?'

`No, no,' she repeated. 'Oh, there was some such plan once mooted — but soon forsaken.'

'But why?'

'Because three years ago when Ithaqua came to Numinos and discovered Moreen fled, he told his priests in Norenstadt that it was his intention in the near future to send all the Vikings against the Isle of Mountains — to kill all therein except the girl — which means that to flee there now is to commit suicide. And the meeting of chiefs from which Thonjolf has just returned confirms the Wind-Walker's intentions. However.,' she paused.

`Go on, Annahilde,' Silberhutte urged.

'You two will be there
before the
Viking hordes. I have convinced Thonjolf that you are come here to lead his
clan in
the first assault upon the island — that you wish neither to wait for nor to join the main attack under Leif Dougalson — and that in this way, and by fetching Moreen out of the Isle of Mountains, the clan may regain Ithaqua's favour. I said
,
these things to explain why you are here; also to ensure you reach the island before the bulk of the Vikings.'

Now it was once more the big Texan's turn to frown. 'Surely we could get there much faster on our own?' he said.

`Perhaps you could — if you knew the way,' she answered. 'But that is the one thing I cannot tell you. Only the sea captains know the location of the Isle of Mountains, and of course they have always shunned it — except for a trickle of refugees from Ithaqua's tyranny.'

'And when do the longships leave?' de Marigny asked. 'The men prepare them even now,' she replied, 'and they set sail.at the next Darkhour.'

'Darkhour?' Silberhutte queried.

`That is the time when the sun is more than half-eclipsed by Borea. Always the sun hangs close behind Borea, but when the two seem to merge in the sky until the sun is two-thirds obscured, that is Darkhour. On the other hand; `Lighthour' is when the rims of the sun and Borea separate, however fractionally. From one Lighthour to the next is a 'day' on Numinos. According to the old books about one hundred such days are equal to one "year" in the Motherworld'

Here de Marigny spoke up. 'I know a little astronomy —, a little science, physics,' he said, 'and by all Earthly laws this planetary system can't work.' Then, seeing that Silberhutte was about to voice his usual protest, he added: 'Oh, I know, I know: this isn't Earth, not even the same universe we were born in — but it's baffling nevertheless.'

`That's as it may be,' Silberhutte mused, 'but what Annahilde says explains a thing or two. Borea and its moons — if they really are moons and not a couple of minor planets — occupy fixed positions on a slightly crooked line, at the inner end of which stands the sun. That's why, seen from Bores, the moons are always partially eclipsed. The plateau must stand just sufficiently far around the curve of Borea to permanently hide the sun from view, which is why the plateau exists in a permanent half-light. When the moons are in Borea's shadow, there's always a false-dawn effect caused by the sun getting as close as it ever comes to rising. And when the sun shines full on the moons, they reflect its light upon Borea, maintaining a sort of balance. If my own knowledge of astronomy had been a little better, I might long ago have realized that there must be a sun. The regular shadow that half-obscures the moons should have told me as much on its own!'

'But you've always more than half-suspected it,' said de Marigny.

`Yes, I have. And just think: if on my expeditions I had ever managed to push on a few more miles away from Borea's twilight zone — why — I might well have seen my first Borean sunrise!' He paused for a moment and his expression grew more serious. 'Right now, however, we're more interested in the next Darkhour than in any future sunrise.'

`That's right,' de Marigny agreed, turning back to Annahilde. 'So we set sail for the Isle of Mountains at Darkhour. And when we get there and find Moreen? And after she translates your letter and tells us where we may find the time-clock? What then?'

She shrugged. 'That is out of my hands. But Moreen must not be harmed, and she must not be brought back here
where
Ithaqua can find her. She is a woman now. He would not hesitate . .

'About Moreen,' de Marigny said. 'There's one more thing I don't understand. One thing about her, and one about Ithaqua.'

'Say on,' she nodded, 'but be quick. I must report to Thonjolf. Later there will be feasting and drinking, then all will sleep — including you two, for you'll need your strength — and when you next awaken, it will be Darkhour.'

`Two questions, that's all. How is it that the clan, which you say loved Moreen, now turns so readily against her? And why did lthaqua not take some terrible revenge on discovering that the girl had fled from him? I would have thought he would utterly destroy the clan of Thonjolf.'

'Ah, but that was some three or four years ago,' she answered, 'and when Ithaqua visited Numinos at that time he had other things to worry about. I was studying the books in Norenstadt when he came, and I saw him. I believe he was wounded!'

`Wounded?'

`Aye, for he sat on his pyramid throne and rocked to and fro and he held up a great hand to his eye, from which trickles of carmine fire dripped like vile blood!'

The Warlord nodded. 'That was my doing,' he said, showing neither pride nor modesty. 'When Ithaqua attacked the roof of the plateau with his kite-warriors, I struck him through the eye with a star-stone-tipped spear.'

'Your doing?' Annahilde was astounded. 'You struck him? A mere man against the Wind-Walker?' For a moment she was dumbstruck, then she laughed delightedly. 'And did I not say you reminded me of Hamish?'

Again the Texan nodded. 'You did, but my weapon was far more potent than any sword, Annahilde. Your Hamish was a hero, while I was merely desperate! But in any case you were going to tell us about the clan's change of heart toward Moreen. How did it come about?'

She shrugged fatalistically. 'There were always the
jealous ones. Then, after the near-slaughter of the clan and the destruction of the settlement when Ithaqua found Moreen and Garven together — aye, and once she was fled, the sure knowledge that Ithaqua must sooner or later exact an even more terrible vengeance —' Again she shrugged.

Noreen was a loved one, yes, but the families of the clan have their own loved ones to worry over. It has been four years since I sent the lass away; sufficient time for the clan to transfer all the blame upon her innocent head. They forget that the only one to blame is the one who walks on the wind. But who am I to judge them? Now, with your coming, they grasp at their one chance to redeem themselves in Ithaqua's eyes. No, I do not blame them — I pity them.'

After pausing reflectively, the witch-wife continued in a lighter tone. 'Now then, before I report to Thonjolf — and just in case no further chance presents itself between now and Darkhour — I have something to give you.'

From pockets hidden in her ragged clothing she drew out two small skin pouches. 'This one,' she said, passing it to de Marigny, 'is for you. It contains herbs and salts crushed to a powder. Individually the ingredients are of no consequence; as I have prepared them, they form a powerful potion. The powder is to be taken carefully and sparingly.'

`But what does it do?' de Marigny asked, weighing the pouch in his hand. 'And why do you give it to me and not the Warlord?'

`He has no need of it,' she answered, 'for he feels only the utmost extremes of cold. You, on the other hand, are a warm one. The powder will keep you warm when the cold would otherwise kill you!'

Silberhutte eyed the other pouch. 'And that one?' he asked.

She smiled cannily. 'Ah, this one is a small magic in support of those you already possess. No mage in all Numinos prepares a more effective dreaming powder than Annahilde the witch-wife. Nor is it necessary for a man to sleep in order to dream. Simply blow the powder in the faces of any you would confuse or dismay. Look — '

She opened the neck of the pouch and took the merest pinch of a blue powder from it, blowing it from her palm into their faces before they could turn away. The powder settled on their lips, in their eyes. It entered their nostrils.

Then —

Silberhutte reeled as if struck with a sledgehammer. He threw himself against a wall, weaving, dodging, feinting, his arms and hands a blur as he batted away the myriad axes that flew at him from all directions, hurled by invisible hands. At the same time de Marigny leaped back from a black chasm that gaped open at his feet, where far below he glimpsed needle peaks that seemed to pull at him with a weird magnetism, demanding that he hurl himself to his death! Instead of 'escaping' from the chasm's edge
he fell backward over a bench to sit jarringly on the dirt floor.

For both men the uncanny experience of being removed instantly from Annahilde's house into unknown realms of terror was totally real; so that when, scant seconds later, the powder-inspired visions faded and were replaced by the room they recognized and their laughing hostess, then their astonishment was complete.

She gave them no opportunity for comments or further questions, however, but clasped their strong arms to assure them that reality had indeed returned, then briefly studied their startled faces with bright eyes. Satisfied with what she saw, she nodded. 'Most effective, yes?'