Shadowmasque (44 page)

Ondene gave a wan smile. “So, friend Coireg, what berth can be found in this place? It looks purposefully fashioned to be a ship-wrecker…”

“As I understand it,” Coireg said, joining him and pointing at the approaching isle, “there is a clear channel through the hidden rocks and reefs to a small sheltered harbour. Prince Agasklin tells me that our powerful benefactors have agreed to bear us there, but that almost implies that we may need similar help to leave!”

“They are a strange people, the Ushralanti,” Ondene said evenly. “Almost as strange as Calabos and yourself.”

Coireg gave a surprised smile and raised one eyebrow. “Indeed? — how so?”

He shrugged. “You both clearly have a long shared past, even when you account for your family connections. Yet when I was younger, before my maturity, Calabos was a regular guest at my father’s hous and I never heard him mention you or any other of his relatives.”

An amused look passed across Coireg’s face. “Our family….is a singular tribe. We seldom make the effort to contact each other, and even then it is usually through odd intermediaries.”

“I would also guess that you’ve both seen some majestic sights and engaged in perilous ventures.”

“Occasionally,” Coireg conceded. “Now and then. Before my unfortunate malady laid me low, of course.”

Ondene nodded sagely, knowingly. “Calabos’ help must have been a great solace to you — in truth, he spoke as litle about his early life as he did about his family, yet I did learn of a peculiar blade that he possesses. Do you know of this?”

Coireg seemed puzzled for a moment, then nodded. “Ah, you mean the trophy! I understand that it once had some kind of sorcerous potency, but has faded with time apparently.”

“Has he got it here, on board perhaps?” Ondene said, and was suddenly aware of the desperation in his own manner when he saw Coireg frown.

“Why do you ask….ah, wait, we are almost there — look!”

Following his outstretched arm, Ondene saw the maze of wave-thrashed reefs pass by on either side as the Stormclaw rode through on eldritch currents. The ship’s timbers creaked and shook underfoot while great fangs and walls of rock loomed closer. The monstrous, towering funnel of the vortex filled the sky, its harsh droning near loud enough to drown all else. The gusting air snatched at loose folds of Ondene’s cloak and disarranged his hair, provoking a nervous laughter, and he grabbed at the deck’s balustrading for support as the ship slowed suddenly, its stern swinging round. The waters seemed boil as the Ushralanti’s sorcerous allies guided the Stormclaw into the comparative calm of a small harbour cupped in the shelter of bare, sheer crags. A jutting tongue of stone had been crudely hewn down to serve as a jetty and it was to this that their vessel was finally moored with several large padded baffles of old sailcloth hung over the side to protect the hull from damage.

Calabos and Qothan emerged from below decks and watched the crew energetically cope with the berthing for a moment before looking up at the forecastle and waving. Ondene called out a greeting which was swallowed in the storm’s roar, and waved back, then Coireg tapped him on the shoulder and leaned in close.

“We shall soon go ashore,” he said loudly. “Be prepared.”

Ondene laughed. “Is it possible to be prepared for meeting a god? And how would I know when I was?”

Coireg’s answering laughter was muffled in the din. “Good — I can see that you are, now!”

The turbulent waters subdided to the normal surge and swell of a stormy sea. A heavy, wind-driven mist filled the air as Ondene and Coireg Mazaret descended to join Calabos and Qothan on the main deck, where Agasklin and the other chieftain of the ship were also gathering. All were now wearing large, hooded robes strangely patterned in pale brown and red — similar garments were passed to Ondene and Coireg and as they donned them, Calabos said:

“These are for protection against the inner and the outer conditions. Ready? — excellent!”

He turned to Agasklin and gave a sharp nod. The stern Ushralanti then led them all across an open gantry to the stone jetty. Feeling not the least bit ready, Ondene gathered up the baggy folds of his robe and followed Coireg across and the moment his feet touched the uneven solidity of the jetty he felt a certain uneasy tension, the feeling that he was being observed. Walking in line with the others he glanced about him at the rearing, weathered columns and curved walls, all bare of any kind of vegetation, then let his gaze rise to the vast roiling pillar of the storm. He wiped away beads of moisture from his face with one capacious sleeve while giving the vortex a wry smile.

Do our capers please you?
he thought.
Have we played well enough our part in the masque?

But there came no answer that he could hear.

Through flying mist the party made its trudging way along a cracked, rubble-strewn path which wound among great, shattered pieces of rock, many clearly positioned to form an irregular tunnel. Water dripped and trickled through the many gaps, forming pools and rills for feet to splash in, and the sound the vortex was a fiendish cataract of shrieks and howls that swamped the ears.

Ondene felt the intensity of the observing presence gradually grow with every onward step, becoming stronger and more encompassing as if he were a frail toy being examined by something mighty. He was not sure how fearful he should, caught between an known inner horror and an menacing outer mystery.

Before long, the path started to slope upwards, curved to the left then entered a rain-gouged cliff-face and became a tunnel proper. A few paces in and the howling din was muffled and the air became warmer and drier. A few diamond-shaped windows had been cut in one side, letting in a dull grey light which revealed a fine dust on the tunnel floor, gathered in its many crevices and notches. The passage climbed for a short way then dipped and curved to the right, dimming as the windows grew fewer. A hazy pale light ahead resolved into a door through which the shattering roar of the vortex came, along with a dense veil of fine water droplets. Condensation had soaked the tunnel walls near the door and many streamlets were flowing back along the floor and outside to be snatched up by the fury of the storm and once more pulverised into vapour.

Beyond the doorway, a rocky bridge led straight into the raging wall of the vortex itself. Without pause or faltering footstep Agasklin and Calabos led the party out of the tunnel and into the teeth of the storm. Coireg slowed just ahead of Ondene for a moment then pressed on through the doorway with Ondene close on his heels.

The ferocity of the blast made them all adopt a crouched walk while raising an arm to shield their faces against the needling scour of tempest-driven rain. For Ondene, crossing the bridge was at once terrifying and exhilarating — not even his previous ship-borne experience of the wild gales of the Stormbreaker Isles could match this for sheer eldritch peril. He half-expected to see uprooted trees or farmyard animals go flying past, despite the desolation of the island.

Minutes after leaving the shelter of the tunnel, his vision was reduced to just a few feet in the rushing, deafening murk, such that it was a considerable surprise when a vertical rock face with a rough arched door emerged from the whirling dimness. Another couple of steps and he realised that it was no wall but the side of a huge rock pillar rising before them, its heights obscured by the vortex. Ondene recalled Qothan telling him of the origins of the Book of the Vortex and wondered what prophecies might be spoken this time.

The entire party filed into the dark archway where they rested in a cold, shadowy room, wordless in the encompassing din. In the corner a set of narrow stairs rose in a spiral and after a short time they started up them, their way lit by shuttered lamps. The spiral climb soon became an effort that got his heart beating and the sweat prickling on his skin and scalp. Then it became gruelling as his chest heaved, then punishing as aches and pains assailed his legs and feet. The leaders allowed the party only the briefest of rests before resuming the upward progress, which provoked groans and muttered curses from Ondene and Coireg. Then at last a glimmer of light from above brightened until they stepped up onto a somewhat flat area a few yards wide atop the pillar. Yet for all its exposed nature, only a mild breeze played across it as if an invisible barrier somehow excluded the rest of the vortex, as well as much of the noise.

“Not exactly a place for a dance,” Coireg said, pointing out the smoth-worn edges of the platform.

Ancient, this place,
thought Ondene as he looked about him at the pillartop then up at the swirling fury of the storm. As he stared into its heart he caught glimpses of another two similar stone towers standing amid the ceaseless gyre.
Once home to elder gods now devoured by the maw of time…

He paused and frowned, puzzle at the dark turn of his thoughts.
Elder gods? How could I know that?

But before he could delve further into the enigma, Calabos and Agasklin beckoned them all closer. The Ushralanti prince produced from within his robes a leather-bound book and opened it near the front.

“Our Captain, the honoured Pericogal, has shown me the lines whose chanting will attract the regard of the Sleeping God and…bring…”

Like the others, Ondene’s attention was drawn to the centre of the vortex where outlines and vague shapes were coalescing out of the dark and misty tumult. A myriad indistinct details, a cloud of phantom fragments slowly burgeoning until a sudden clarity made plain the vast form of a tree enfolded in dense, lush foliage. Flowers unfolded in undulant perfection and clusters of gleaming berries hung heavily from firm sprigs. It would have been the very image of luxuriant fecundity but for the strange translucent hues — bruised grey, parched and pale brass.

As the entire party stood frozen and gazing up at the vast manifestation, a ripple of movement passed across the leafy surface and gathered into a single cleft which then began to part. The feeling Ondene had of being at the focus of a pitiless perception faded a little, yet another sensation seemed to be building within him, some kind of impatience or instinctive restlessness. A nervous tension made his neck muscles taut and he began to sweat all over.

Then he half-forgot the discomfort as the gigantic, numinous tree opened to reveal a pale, ivory form, its head lowered, shoulders hunched, arms wrapped across the chest as if in an attitude of sleep. A melodious note crept into the harsh song of the vortex and the great form stirred, lifting its head and very slowly turning to observe the small gathering atop the pillar.

“The gaze of a god,” Coireg whispered nearby. “I can feel it upon me…”

As could Ondene. The eyes of the Sleeping God were nacreous orbs whose unwinking, unrelenting regard felt like a weight upon his mind, an irresistible scrutiny that bored into his inner thoughts….and something broke loose inside him, the restless impatience flaring into an angry hate he recognised only too well as the voice of the Shadowking rang in his thoughts.

Sleeping God, I know you! I know what you are!

As Ondene slumped to his knees, a certain panic seized the others. Anxious mutters were exchanged as Coireg and Calabos quickly came to Ondene’s side, not knowing what he was hearing in his own thoughts. Then another voice spoke aloud with such a force that reduced the din of the vortex to a whisper.

I know you, wretched fragment of a still-more wretched whole! Fate has wrought a cage for you, this man who is the Prince of Change!

Within him, the Shadowking gained control of his mouth and spoke openly;

“Prince of dregs!”
he said, provoking outraged cries from the Stormclaw’s chieftains.
“Prince of defeat, your defeat when the Lord of Twilight’s aspects are once more joined together!”

Foolish fragment — twice before has your greater self been trapped and dispatched by the fateful necessity which he himself has graven upon the altar of his own essence. Just as this world cannot escape him, he cannot escape his own doom.

“Lies, lies, god of lies! I can taste your fear of me in every false word!…”

Ondene strove to hold on to his sanity as the deranged voice ranted and raved across his mind. “Please….”he moaned, covering his face with his hands. “Make it stop….”

Then Qothan was crouching beside him, offer a small, uncorked vial. Gratefully he accepted it and poured the contents down his throat.

Everlasting shall be my despite for you…

Quickly, a warmth began to spread across his chest.

Invincible my strength, unyielding my purpose…

The warmth became a heat that rose to his neck and up to his ears and scalp.

Tireless my onslaught…

A curious tingling flickered around his neck and shoulders and his anxiety began to lessen.

Implacable…am I…

And after that, a kind of peace held sway in Ondene’s thoughts.

“Thank you,” he whispered to Qothan who just gave a bleak smile. Then a hand touched his shoulder in a comforting gesture and he glanced up to see Calabos looking down with eyes full of understanding and some kind of old, old pain. The grey-haired mage then offfered his hand to help and as he regained his feet the Sleeping God spoke:

Many and tangled are the threads that have brought you all here, and dark and perilous are the days that lie ahead. All of your fates now run together and strength is joined to strength, even without your knowing….

The Sleeping God leaned forward a little, towering over them as its pearly eyes sought out Ondene from the rest. As that colossal regard settled upon him, it was as if every corner of his spirit was laid bare and all was being judged. At the same time, he stared up at that immense countenance and tried to gain a reckoning from features which one moment seemed to bloom with every attribute of femininity and the next appeared to shift amid shadows and take on the contours of youthful maleness. But before he could even begin to make sense of this, the might voice spoke forth: