Wizards’ Worlds (26 page)

“Only you shall give me sport, and that will be pleasant. You have come seeking one,
have you not? Others have been led by pride and kinship to do so. They were fitly
rewarded as you shall see when you join them. But name me no names which have not
power!”

This time I did not try to answer. But feverishly I went seeking in my memory for
the smallest trace of knowledge I had. Aufrica’s learning had been shared with me
to the best of her ability. We had visited certain forgotten shrines in the old days
and sometimes dared to summon influences, long weakened by the years, which had once
been dwelling in them. Spells I knew, but before this creature such were but as the
rhyming games small children play.

No—I would not allow room to that despair which insidiously nibbled at my mind! What
I could do I would—!

The creature on the throne laughed for the third time.

“Very well. Struggle if you wish, worm one. It amuses me. Now—look what comes—”

It pointed to the left and I dared to look. There had come, very slowly, plainly fighting
the compulsion which drew it, one of those columns of light. This one was not black,
not gray, nor yet red, but a yellow which was clear and bright. And in that moment
I knew that this was what this world would see of Jervon.

Nor did it crawl abjectly as had the one the false god had claimed in my sight, but
stood erect, as it fought against the power of the thing on the throne.

“Jervon!” I dared at that moment to send forth a thought call. And instantly and valiantly
was it answered:

“Elys!”

But the thing who commanded here looked from one of us to the other and smiled its
evil smile.

5

Together We Stand

S
O
sweet a feasting—” A tongue tip appeared between the lips of the handsome face, swept
back and forth as if indeed savoring some pleasant taste. “You give me much, small
ones—much!”

“But not all!” I made answer. And that yellow flame which was Jervon no longer advanced,
but stood with me, as we had stood together through the years when there was a blooding
of swords and a need for defense. For I knew that this was not all of Jervon, that
still in his ensorceled body he held stubbornly to his identity even as I went armed
behind the wall of mine.

That which sat enthroned leaned forward a little, its beautiful and vile face turned
to us.

“I hunger—and I feed—so simple is it.”

It stretched out one of those seeming arms to an unnatural length, gathering to its
bosom another crawling blob. In my mind there was a shriek of despair.

“You see how easy it is?”

Rather did I in turn reach with the Power for Jervon. And it was indeed as if we now
stood hand-linked before this thing that should never have been. All the clean strength
of Jervon’s manhood was at war with what abode here. And to that I joined my Power,
limited as it might be. I formed symbols and perceived them glow in the air, as if
written in fire.

But the Thing laughed and stretched out a hand of mist to sweep those easily away.

“Small are your gifts, female. Do you think I cannot wipe them from sight? So and
so and so—” That hand of mist moved back and forth.

“Jervon,” I sent my own message, “it feeds upon fear—”

“Yes, Elys, and upon the souls of men also.” And it seemed to me that his reply was
so steady it was as if I had indeed found an anchorage which I needed.

Twice more the creature fed upon those blobs which crawled about the base of its throne.
But always its eyes were on us. For what it waited, save that it must have our greater
fear to season its feasting, I could not guess.

But that pause gave me time to draw in all which I knew, suspected, or hoped might
aid us. How does one kill a god?
With unbelief,
my logic told me. But here and now unbelief was nigh impossible to summon.

We who have been burdened with the Talent must believe, yes. For we know well that
there are presences beyond our comprehension, both good and evil, who may be summoned
by man. Though we cannot begin to understand their true nature, limited as we are
by the instincts and emotions of our corporal bodies. I seek certain of these intangible
presences every time I exercise the Power which is mine, small that it is. And in
Jervon also there is
belief—though his presences might not be mine. For we do not all walk the same roads,
though in the end those roads must meet at a certain Gate which is the greatest of
all, and beyond which lies what we cannot begin to imagine with our earthbound minds
and hearts.

Only to this Thing I owed no belief. I was not one who had bowed in the courts of
its temple nor sought its evil aid in any undertaking. Therefore—for me—it was no
god!

“So do you think, female,” flashed its thought back in answer. “Yet you are of a like
kind to those who gave me creation. Therefore in you lie certain matters which I can
touch—”

It was as if a slimy, rotting finger sleeked across my shrinking flesh. And in its
wake—yes—there was that in me ready to respond to that nauseating touch. I have weaknesses
as inborn as my Talent, those it could summon into battle against me. Once more it
laughed.

“Elys—” The thought that was Jervon’s overrang that laughter. “Elys!”

It was no more than my name, but it broke through that feeling of abasement that anything
in me could respond to this horror. I drew once more upon logic. No man or woman is
perfect. There is much lying within us which we must look upon with cold, measuring
eyes and hate. But if we do not yield to that hatred, nor to what gave it birth, but
stand aside to let one balance the other, then we do what those trained in the Way
can do to fight that which is base. Yes, I had in me that which could quicken from
this thing of the utter dark. But it was how I met that weakness, not the weakness
itself which counted.

I was Elys, a Wise woman, even as Jervon had reminded me by the speaking of my name.
Therefore I was no tool of that which had led me to this throne. I had come of my
own free will in order to face it, not been dragged by dark forces overcoming my spirit.

“Elys—” It was the enthroned creature that uttered my name now, and there was enticement
in that naming.

But I stood fast, summoning up all which was born of my long training to armor me.
And the beautiful head so far above me shifted a little. Now, though keeping me still
in its gaze, it also could see Jervon. It raised its hand to beckon.

The yellow flame which was my fulfillment in this life wavered towards the throne.
Yet it was not muddied as were those others which crawled about us. Nor did Jervon
ask aught of me in that moment, but made the struggle his own, for I knew, without
his telling, that he feared I would be depleted should I undertake his defense as
well as mine.

Then I moved whatever form this world had left me, standing between Jervon and the
thing which reached now with its shadow hand to grasp him.

Once more I pronounced the name men had given him in their fear and horror of this
baneful worship. But I sent no symbols into the air for him to sweep aside. Rather
I did send a thought picture and this was of an empty throne crumbling in long decay.

Fear I fought, and anger I reined in, making both feed and serve
me
in what I would do. This was—not!

I could not close off that sense of perception which assured me that it was. But I
held valiantly to the small weapon I had. I did not worship, I did not believe, nor
did Jervon. Therefore: this thing was
NOT!

Yet it was growing more and more solid even as I so denied it. Beckoning—BEING!

The imagination of countless generations of men had fashioned it, how could I hope
to dismantle it with only a denial?

An empty throne—a nonbeing—!

I threw all that was me, all which I sensed I drew now from Jervon with his willing
consent, into that picture. This was no god of mine, I did not feed it—it could not
exist!

Torment indeed was that denial, for ever it called to a part of me, to force homage
and worship. Yet that I held
out against. No god of mine! There must be faith to bring a god alive, to perform
deeds in his name—without faith there was no existence.

I knew better than to summon the Powers I did kneel before. In this place all worship
the enthroned thing would take to itself, whether given in its filthy name or not.
No, this was the bareness of my spirit and my belief in myself, and Jervon’s belief
in himself—(the which he was loosing to me)—that mattered. I did not accept, and I
refused homage because it was—
NOT!

The thing lost its lazy assurance, its evil smile and laughter, even the quasi-human
form it had assumed to tempt me. There was nothing in the throne place now but a ravening
flame touched with the deep black of its evil. That swept back and forth as might
the head of a great serpent elevated above a coiled body, waiting to strike.

Its rage was that of madness. The long years it had existed had not prepared it for
this. It was here, it could seize my kind, absorb into it their spirits—

But could it?

Humans are composed of many layers of consciousness, many emotions. Any who deal with
the Talent—and many who do not—knew this. The throned thing fed upon fear and those
viler parts of us. The miserable blobs it drew to it, which were now packed tightly
around me, swaying in time to the swaying of that flame on the throne, were dominated
by the worst that had lain in the humanity they had once been, not the best. They
had been held prisoner by their fears and their belief, until they had been summoned
here to be delivered helplessly to their master.

A master who could in turn not hold them unless they surrendered, whom they had created
and could now destroy—if they so willed it!

I threw that thought afield as I might whirl about me an unsheathed sword. If they
were all lost in the depths of their foul belief then it would avail me nothing. But
if only a few could join us—only a few!

The thing on the throne was quick. It lapped out and down, and took with that lapping
the first row of the blob things, swelling in power as it absorbed their energy.

“Elys—Elys—”

Only my name, but into it Jervon put all he could to hearten and sustain me. I was
aware of a brighter burst of the clear golden flame to my left.

Again the false god pounced to feast. There was something too hasty in its movements,
as if time was no longer its servant, but might speedily be its enemy. It wanted to
cram itself with life force, swell its power.

But it could not feed on unbelief. That logic I held to as one holds to a rope which
is one’s only hope of aid.

An empty throne—

Now that rusted and diseased flame uttered a kind of shriek, or perhaps that was not
any cry but a vibration meant to shake me, loose me from my rope of hope. It flickered
out and out towards me, towards the light which was Jervon.

We did not believe, therefore we could not be its prey.

I was in the dark; my perception was totally gone. I was—in . . . No, I could not
be within something which did not exist. I was
me,
Elys, and Jervon. We were no meat for a false god whose creators were long since
dust, its temple forgotten.

It was as if my bare body were seared by a cold so intense that it had the same effect
as fire. I was one with—no, I was not! I was Elys. And Jervon was Jervon! I would
feel him through the torture of the cold, holding as I did to his own identity. We
were ourselves and no servants—victims—of this thing which had no place in the world.
We had no fear for it to batten on now, and those parts of us which it could awaken,
those we could control.

There was an empty throne—there was nothingness—nothingness but Elys and Jervon who
did not believe—

Pain, cold, pain, and still I held and now Jervon called to me and somehow I found
the strength to give to him
even as earlier he had loosed his for me. Together we stood, and because of that
both of us were the stronger, for in our union was the best part of us both—mind and
spirit.

Darkness, cold, pain—and then a sense of change, of being lost. But I would not allow
fear to stir. A god who was naught could not slay—

I opened my eyes—for I saw with them now and not with that special sense I had had
in that other place. Before me was a column of light, but it was wan, sinking, growing
paler even in the space of a blink or two. I moved; my body was stiff, cold, my hands
and feet had no feeling in them as I slid forward on the wide seat where I had awakened,
looking about me for something familiar and known.

This—this was the round chamber where I had found Jervon—

Jervon!

Stumbling, weaving, I staggered to that other chair, fumbling with my dagger so that
I might cut the ropes which bound his stiff body. His eyes were closed, but he had
not tumbled flaccidly down as had the outlaw who had been drained. I sawed at his
hide bonds with my numb and fumbling hands, twice dropping the blade so I had to grope
for it in the half light. For the flaming pillar in the center gave forth but little
radiance now—more like the dread glow which sometimes gathers on dead bodies.

“Jervon!” I called to him, shook him as best I could with those blockish hands. His
body fell forward so his head rested on my shoulder and his weight nearly bore me
tumbling backward. “Jervon!”

It seemed in that moment that I had lost. For if I alone had won out of that evil
place then there was no further hope for me.

“Jervon!”

There was a breath against my cheek, expelled by a moan. I gathered him to me in a
hold, which even the false god could not have broken, until his voice came, low and
with a stammering catch in it:

“My dear lady, would you break my ribs for me—” and there was a thread of weak laughter
in that which set me laughing too, until I near shook with the force of that reaction.