Authors: Brian Lumley
Iced On Aran
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For Unsung Heroes and Wanderers Everywhere.
King Kuranes' questers, called Hero and Eldin for shortâthough neither of them was short, for being ex-waking worlders they were much taller than the average dreamlander, or
Homo ephemerens
, as Eldin was wont to call themâwere laboring up the slopes of Mount Aran, above the trees and toward the snow line.
Homo ephemerens
, as Eldin was wont to call themâwere laboring up the slopes of Mount Aran, above the trees and toward the snow line.
Hero was rangy, springy of step, younger than his friend; Eldin was stocky, gangling, somehow apish in his length of arm and massive strength, and yet not unattractive. They loved each other like brothers but would deny it almost to the death, while defending each other to that same grave limit; they loved as well adventuring, girls, booze and especially their travels and travails as the Lord of Ooth-Nargai and the Skies Around Serannian's special emissaries, agents, and troubleshooters in generalâthough the latter was something they'd also deny, except when they were broke and needed the work. Like now.
King Kuranes (or “Lord”; he made no special distinction, and only rarely stood on ceremony) was cooking something up for them right now, a job in far Inquanok; for which reason he kept the pair waiting in timeless
Celephais on the Southern Sea while he made his various arrangements from his manor-house seat in that city. Alas, but sitting still on their backsides was something Hero and Eldin didn't do too well; a day or two of total inactivity was normally sufficient to drive them to drink, and from that to other diversions. They'd been drinking last night; had started boasting, and a boozing companion (one Tatter Nees, a wandering balladeer from Nir) had found himself filling the role of adjudicator.
Celephais on the Southern Sea while he made his various arrangements from his manor-house seat in that city. Alas, but sitting still on their backsides was something Hero and Eldin didn't do too well; a day or two of total inactivity was normally sufficient to drive them to drink, and from that to other diversions. They'd been drinking last night; had started boasting, and a boozing companion (one Tatter Nees, a wandering balladeer from Nir) had found himself filling the role of adjudicator.
Their bragging had ungallantly covered women, though never referred to individually by name; deeds of derring-do in various far-flung places; finally feats of physical prowess which, if true, would have made the pair the greatest athletes in all the dreamlands! (They weren't, as it happens, though neither were they slouches.) And finally they'd started in on their climbing skills:
“Who was it,” Hero noisily demanded, slopping muth-dew in his enthusiasm, “climbed a Great Keep of the First Ones alone and unaided?”
“And who,” Eldin thumbed himself in the chest, “scaled the Great Bleak Range, even to topmost ridge?”
“We were together on that!” Hero at once protested. “I did it too!”
“Aye, and stubbed your toe on the top,” Eldin reminded, “
and
damned near crashed down the other side to your death. You would have, too, if a friendly little crevice-grown bush hadn't taken pity on you!”
and
damned near crashed down the other side to your death. You would have, too, if a friendly little crevice-grown bush hadn't taken pity on you!”
“I was
knocked
over the rim fighting with Yib-Tstll's vast stone idol avatar, as you well know!” Hero was affronted. “And that's something else I do better than youâfight!” He jumped up, rotated his fists menacingly, leaped nimbly up and down and hither and thither like a frenetic boxerâuntil his head crashed against a
low beam, which brought him to an abrupt, shuddering standstill. Then, staggering a little and grimacing a great deal, he collapsed back into his seat.
knocked
over the rim fighting with Yib-Tstll's vast stone idol avatar, as you well know!” Hero was affronted. “And that's something else I do better than youâfight!” He jumped up, rotated his fists menacingly, leaped nimbly up and down and hither and thither like a frenetic boxerâuntil his head crashed against a
low beam, which brought him to an abrupt, shuddering standstill. Then, staggering a little and grimacing a great deal, he collapsed back into his seat.
The Wanderer (as Eldin was also named) and Tatter Nees laughed till they cried, and Hero too dizzy and dazed even to protest.
“Well,” said Tatter eventually, “fight and climb all you like, just as long as you don't go climbing Hatheg-Kla or Mount Aran. They're forbidden to mortal men, those two peaks, and the strange old gods who decree such things are pretty unforgiving.”
“Eh?” Eldin raised a shaggy eyebrow. “Aran, forbidden? I mean, I know Hatheg-Kla's a bit hairyâold Atal of Ulthar's an authority on that, if ever there was oneâbut snowy old Mount Aran? A mere hill by comparison with some mountains! What, Aran of the ginkgos and the eternal snows, whose frosty old crown's forever white? Aran, where he rises from ocean's rim to look down on Celephais and all the southern coast? Aran, that most benevolent of crests, forbidden? I didn't know that!”
“Aran?” Hero mumbled, still recovering from self-inflicted clout and gingerly fingering the lump he could almost feel rising on his head. “That molehill!
Hah!
I'd climb it in a trice!”
Hah!
I'd climb it in a trice!”
“Then I'd climb it twice in a trice!” growled Eldin; and more cautiously, “Except it's forbidden. According to Tatter here, anyway.”
“Tittle-Tatter!” cried Hero. “I'd run up Aran before breakfast, just to keep myself in trim!”
“And I'd be on top waiting for you,” returned Eldin, “having gone up ahead for a breath of fresh air!”
“Now
that's
climbing talk!” Hero declared, sticking out his jaw. “In the morning, then?”
that's
climbing talk!” Hero declared, sticking out his jaw. “In the morning, then?”
“Tonight, if you like!”
“No, morning's soon enoughâand anyway, I've a headache.”
“What? What?” cried Tatter. “Madness, and I'm party to it! Only climb Mount Aranâor race to the top, if you willâand tomorrow here's me composing a lyric farewell to two of my dearest friends, which I shall call âQuest No More, My Fair Brave Lads.'”
“One fair brave lad,” said Hero, “and one old ratbag!”
“More muth!” cried Eldin to the somewhat troubled taverner, who knew their reputation. “I want to drink a last toast to a gallant loser, before he burns himself out on the slopes of Mount Aran.”
And so it went â¦
Neither one of the questers remembered Tatter tottering them up rickety stairs to their respective rickety beds in a cheap, tiny, rickety garret room. But both of them remembered their oath. Perhaps they regretted it, too, but things didn't work out that way.
Across the distance of the single pace separating them where they lay, as the sun's first rays crept in through a small-paned window, they blinked crusted eyes and tasted mouths like old shoes with dead-rat tongues, and Eldin said: “Heroâ
ugh!
âabout Aran ⦔
ugh!
âabout Aran ⦔
“Forget itâ
yechhh
!” Hero had answered, wondering why muth wasn't called moth. “I won't hold you to it. What would it prove?”
yechhh
!” Hero had answered, wondering why muth wasn't called moth. “I won't hold you to it. What would it prove?”
“Exactly.”
“I mean, you're all those years older than me ⦔
And after a moment, in a somewhat harsher tone: “Exactlyâand that much more experienced! So get up, pup! The sun's up and Aran's snows are sweet and cool and waiting.”
Which was how they came to be here now.
During the climb they'd been pretty quiet, heads
clearing, thoughts their own, probably wondering what madness had prompted this contest. The only good thing about it was that it was burning the muth out of their systems. Hangovers which might normally last two whole days should be gone by the time they hit the snow line â¦
clearing, thoughts their own, probably wondering what madness had prompted this contest. The only good thing about it was that it was burning the muth out of their systems. Hangovers which might normally last two whole days should be gone by the time they hit the snow line â¦
Mount Aran
was
a mountain, one of the ocean-fringing range of mountains whose roots lay in the Tanarian Hills beyond Ooth-Nargai, but it was not one of those sheer-sided monster mountains like Ngranek or (worse far) Hatheg-Kla. Its lower slopes were green, gentling up through palms and shrubs and ginkgos, then gradually shifting to scree and bare rock, finally crossing the permanent snow line to rise more steeply, but not frighteningly so, to a white rounded peak. In the waking world it would not have had the height to support permanent snow and iceârelatively few mountains doâbut these were the dreamlands, and things were different here.
was
a mountain, one of the ocean-fringing range of mountains whose roots lay in the Tanarian Hills beyond Ooth-Nargai, but it was not one of those sheer-sided monster mountains like Ngranek or (worse far) Hatheg-Kla. Its lower slopes were green, gentling up through palms and shrubs and ginkgos, then gradually shifting to scree and bare rock, finally crossing the permanent snow line to rise more steeply, but not frighteningly so, to a white rounded peak. In the waking world it would not have had the height to support permanent snow and iceârelatively few mountains doâbut these were the dreamlands, and things were different here.
Perhaps the questers thought of these differences as they struggled higher across slopes of loose, sliding shale, using the roots and springy branches of the few remaining mountain shrubs for leverage. Differences like the “timelessness” of Aran and Celaphais, where the seasons never seemed to change and people led inordinately long, almost interminable lives. Hero, considering this, thought:
I'd be bored to death if I thought I was going to live, or dream, forever!
And he grinned at the apparent contradiction in his thoughts.
I'd be bored to death if I thought I was going to live, or dream, forever!
And he grinned at the apparent contradiction in his thoughts.
Eldin saw that infectious grin; it signified the younger quester's emergence from muth-fume, also the resurgence of his natural good-humor. What's more, it might indicate that he was actually enjoying this barmy scramble, which Eldin frankly was not. The Wanderer
scowled. “Funny, is it?” he asked, “this foolish contest you've goaded me into?”
scowled. “Funny, is it?” he asked, “this foolish contest you've goaded me into?”
“Funny?” Hero parked himself on a boulder, drank deep of the crisp air. “Daft, more like! Actually, I wasn't smiling at your discomfort; I've more than enough of my own. No, it was something else I was thinking of, far removed from the scaling of Aran. As for goading: we goaded each other, I reckon.”
Eldin sat down beside him, said: “You see no point in this, then?”
Hero shook his head. “None at all! Let's face it, we've climbed, you and I, in previously undreamed places. And what's Aran but a big hill, eh? Hardly a climb to tax our talents.”
Eldin shrugged. “That's true enoughâwhy, we're halfway up already, and not even noon! So why do we do these things, tell me that?”
Hero grinned again. “With nothing to test our mettle, we test each other. Or maybe it's the forbidden fruit syndrome, eh?”
“Because Tatter said we mustn't? You mean like naughty children? Is that all there is to us, Hero?” He nodded, considered it quite possible, gazed down on Celephais with its glittering minarets and caught flashes of Naraxa water where that river cascaded down to join the sea.
Before they'd sat down the Wanderer, too, had been dwelling a little on the timelessness of things: chiefly on Aran's snowy crest, which was the same now as the first time he'd seen itâoh, how long ago? What kept the ice going? he wondered. Why didn't it melt away? Or, on the other hand, why didn't it get so thick it formed a glacier down to the sea? Had it been this way immemorially? And if so, would it be the same a thousand years from now?
“Sometimes,” said Hero, breaking in on his thoughts, “I feel weary.”
“That's my line, surely?” Eldin snorted. But it pleased him anyway. What? Hero tired? Ridiculous! He was like a workhorse! But if he really was tired ⦠well didn't that say something for Eldin's stamina, who must always keep apace of him?
Hero turned up the collar of his jacket. Fine when you were on the move, but at this altitude it quickly got cold when you sat still.
“Brrr!”
said the younger quester, and: “Tell you what, let's go up to the snow, find a block of ice, and ride it down to Celephais. That should satisfy Tatter. And we'll tell him we climbed opposite sides and clashed heads at the very top!”
“Brrr!”
said the younger quester, and: “Tell you what, let's go up to the snow, find a block of ice, and ride it down to Celephais. That should satisfy Tatter. And we'll tell him we climbed opposite sides and clashed heads at the very top!”
“Suits me, if you say so,” Eldin agreed. “But who cares what Tatter thinks?”
Hero sighed. “That's what makes me tired. Not Tatter especially, but people in general. These reputations of ours,
they're
what really keep us going. And that's the answer to your question: why do we do it. What are rogues if they quit their roguish ways, answer me that? Brawlers, boozers, adventurers: if we stop doing those things, what's left? âHey, look! There go Hero and Eldin. They were a couple of bad old boysâin their time â¦' See what I mean?”
they're
what really keep us going. And that's the answer to your question: why do we do it. What are rogues if they quit their roguish ways, answer me that? Brawlers, boozers, adventurers: if we stop doing those things, what's left? âHey, look! There go Hero and Eldin. They were a couple of bad old boysâin their time â¦' See what I mean?”
Eldin thought about that for a moment, said: “Now I really
do
feel weary! Let's go and collect that ice and get down out of here; we break the mood of the place, change what shouldn't be changed.”
do
feel weary! Let's go and collect that ice and get down out of here; we break the mood of the place, change what shouldn't be changed.”
They stood up; started climbing, crossed from scree and riven rock to snow and ice. And there, more than two-thirds of the way to the topâ
“Ho, there, you lads! Lost your way, have you?”
Startled, the questers scanned about. The thin snow was dazzling in morning sunshine, where it coated
Aran's ice, so that they must shield their eyes from its glare. But up there, fifty yards on to the ice, was a thin small figure, pick in hand, staring at them apparently in some surprise. They moved toward him, saw that he was old, gave each other sour glances.
Aran's ice, so that they must shield their eyes from its glare. But up there, fifty yards on to the ice, was a thin small figure, pick in hand, staring at them apparently in some surprise. They moved toward him, saw that he was old, gave each other sour glances.
“A right pair of adventurers, we are!” Eldin muttered under his breath, which plumed now in the frozen air. “What? Come to climb a âforbidden' mountainâand grandads leaping about all over its peak?”
As they drew closer, so the old man studied them minutely. They could feel his eyes on them, going from faces to forms, taking in every aspect, comparing Hero's bark-brown garb to Eldin's night-black, the former's curved blade of Kled to the latter's great straight sword. And finally: “David Hero,” he said. “Or Hero of Dreams, as they call you. And Eldin the Wanderer. Well, nowâand it seems you really have lost your way!”
While the oldster had examined and spoken to them, they in turn had given him the once-over. There seemed no requirement for a detailed scrutiny: what was he but an old man? In no way threatening. Still â¦
He was dressed in baggy gray breeks tied at the ankles, his large feet tucked into fur-lined boots that went up under the cuffs of the breeks. His gray jacket was fur-lined, too, and buttoned to his neck. Tufts of fur protruded from button- and lace-holes. Upon his head he wore a woolen cap with a pompom, beneath which his hair and beard and droopy moustache were white as snow. All in all, his attire looked so grotesquely large and loose on him, it seemed to the questers he must be the merest bundle of sticks inside. Certainly his hands were pale and thin, as the petals of some winter-blooming flowers; blue-veined, they were, and very nearly translucent. Likewise his face, framed in curling
locks of wintry hair: all pale and shiny as if waxed, or covered perhaps in a thin skim of clear ice. Icy, too, his eyes; indeed, gray and cold as snow-laden clouds, but not unfriendly for all that. And not without curiosity.
locks of wintry hair: all pale and shiny as if waxed, or covered perhaps in a thin skim of clear ice. Icy, too, his eyes; indeed, gray and cold as snow-laden clouds, but not unfriendly for all that. And not without curiosity.
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