CHAPTER XII
_Volna the Beautiful_
Bram Forest had been day-dreaming.
Ylia? Hadn't Ylia been calling his name? But how could that be? Yliawas almost two hundred million miles away. Clearly, as long as theykept the magic disc away from him, he could never see Ylia again. Andbesides, now that he had been vouchsafed a vision of his dead mother,the former queen of Ofrid, and now that that vision had conjured upthe entire tragic past for him, why was it that when he shut his eyesand allowed the bright sun to beat down on the lids through the cellwindow he saw an image of the sun-browned maid, Ylia?
Could it be, he asked himself, wondering if somehow he were profaningthe memory of the mother he had never known, that Ylia stood not forthe past but for the present and the future, and that it was in thepresent and the unknown future that Bram Forest must live and do hislife's work and perhaps perish, although he was motivated from thepast?
A guard brought food on a tray. The cell door clanged open, the traywas delivered, the cell door clanged shut. The guard did not payparticular attention to Bram Forest: he had been a docile enoughprisoner.
Ylia, he thought.
He knew he must escape next time the guard brought food.
* * * * *
Dr. Slonamn held up the bracelet with the metal disc on it and staredcuriously at the contraption. He was a psychologist, he could hardlyconsider himself an expert on metallurgy. Still, he had never seen ametal like that from which the disc had been fashioned. It seemed tooopaque for steel, too hard for silver. A steel and silver alloy, then?But he had never heard of a steel and silver alloy.
He held it up to the light. Like a fly's many-faceted eye it threwback manifold images of--himself. Somehow, it made him dizzy to gazeat the images. He drew his eyes away and had an impulse to fling thestrange disc away across the room.
The sun was going down. He heard a clattering from the prison kitchenas the evening meal was prepared. Tomorrow, he thought, should see thecompletion of his work here. Another interview with the paranoid giantwho had brought the disc, perhaps. The disc fascinated him.
He looked at it again. He didn't want to, and recognized the strangecompulsion within himself. Then, before he quite realized it, he wasstaring at his multiple image again. His senses swam. There was afar-away rustling sound like--the words came unbidden to his mind froma poem by Kipling--like the wind that blows between the worlds. Hegazed again at the disc. It seemed to draw him, as a magnet draws ironfilings. Now he wanted to fight it, wanted to fight with every ounceof his strength. A wave of giddiness swept over him, leaving nausea inits wake. He clutched at the prison-office desk for support. Therustling grew louder.
He saw--or thought he saw--a girl, a lovely, sun-bronzed girl. Therewas a look of fear on her face. She seemed to be crying out for help.
An abyss yawned before his feet, before his very soul. He longeddespite himself to plunge into the abyss, whatever the fearfulconsequences might be. He lurched back, fighting the longing. Yet heknew he wouldn't win. He took a step forward....
"Give it to me!"
The voice, urgent, distant, beckoned him back to reality. It seemed agreat distance off, but it was something to which he could hold.
"Give me that disc!"
He felt himself dragged roughly back, saw the abyss retreating. Therustling of the wind between the worlds became distant, a soundimagined rather than heard.
"Give it to me!"
* * * * *
He blinked. The nausea had washed over him. He felt weak, drained,exhausted. But the substantial reality of the prison office surroundedhim.
The young giant stood before him, strapping the bracelet which heldthe disc on his powerful arm. A look of intense concentration was onhis face. His skin was bathed with sweat although it was cool in theroom.
"What did you do to the guard?" Dr. Slonamn asked, wondering if theprisoner would slay him.
"He'll be all right. I only hit him. I'm sorry. It was necessary." Thegiant spoke in haste. His eyes were clouded, dreamy, as if he hadtaken an overdose of barbituates.
"What are you going to do?"
"You saw? In the disc?"
"Yes," said Dr. Slonamn.
"I'm going. It's my home."
The giant took a step forward, then began to stagger.
"Your home?" Dr. Slonamn gasped. "Your _home_?"
The giant, who had given his name to the prison authorities as BramForest, did not answer. Dr. Slonamn reached out, as if to grab him.Bram Forest stood there, a smile and the acceptance of pain fightingfor mastery of his face.
Dr. Slonamn staggered back as if struck. _His hand had passed throughBram Forest's body._
Staggering, trembling, Dr. Slonamn leaned for support on the desk. Hecould see through Bram Forest now. See through him entirely.
A cold fierce wind, like no wind ever felt on Earth, touched him. Heshuddered.
When he looked again, Bram Forest was gone....
* * * * *
"Retoc the Abarian!" the seneschal's voice proclaimed.
An uneasy stir passed through the crowd of mourning courtiers in thepalace chamber. Retoc, ruler of Abaria, did not often visit Nadia. Astate of armed tension existed between Abaria and Nadia of the icefields. Nadia alone of the many disunited nations of Tarth hadstrength in some ways comparable to that of black forested Abaria, buteven then, if a war came between the two nations, the issue wouldnever seriously be in doubt.
As a matter of diplomacy, Retoc had been invited to the funeral ofPrince Jlomec, although neither Bontarc, ruler of Nadia, nor hissister, Volna the Beautiful, had ever dreamed he would come.
While the crowd milled about in their white mourning garments, Retoctold the seneschal: "I wish an audience with the Princess Volna."
The crowd was suddenly quiet. Volna the Beautiful, haughty, imperious,princess of the royal blood, would certainly refuse to see the Abarianruler. Nevertheless, the seneschal bowed low, said, "Your request willbe carried to the staff of the royal household, lord," and disappearedbehind a hanging.
* * * * *
Some time later, in another part of the palace, Bontarc was saying:"Volna, Volna, listen to me. You can't see that man now."
"I'm going to see him," Volna the Beautiful told her brother. "So itmay not be said that a princess of the royal blood hid in fear behinda wall of tragedy."
"But sister! With dear Prince Jlomec still not on the burning bargewhich will carry him down the River of Ice on the final journey fromwhich--"
"Please, brother," Volna said a little coldly. "I'm going to grantRetoc his audience. Don't you understand? He thinks me weakened byJlomec's death. Oh, I loved the Prince, yes. He was always so--soquiet and aloof from affairs of state. But I can be strong if strong Ihave to be."
"Then you won't change your mind?" Bontarc asked. He was a fightingman by nature. The devious paths of diplomacy he set foot on only withreluctance.
For answer Volna said: "Let me prepare to greet the royal visitor."And she watched Bontarc leave her quarters.
At once she clapped her hands. Six serving maids skipped through thehangings into her huge bower and while they clustered jabbering abouther like so many excited birds, she undid the fastening at her leftshoulder and allowed her gown of mourning white to fall in a crumpledheap at her feet. She stood naked and perfectly still while theserving maids administered to her, each girl a master in one of thecosmetic arts. And Volna, she of the haughty face and glorious body,she who already had been beautiful to look upon, was soon transformedby the cosmetic arts into the loveliest woman the planet Tarth hadseen since the Queen Evalla.
Her thoughts went to the dead queen of Ofrid as the maids dressed heragain in the mourning garment. Evalla, a woman with beauty to matchVolna's, had ruled the most powerful nation Tarth had ever known.Then, Volna smiled, why not another such woman, with hands strongenough, and visio
n clear enough, to grasp the chalice of power anddrink deeply of its heady brew?
* * * * *
"Retoc," she was saying a few moments later.
She clapped her hands. The maids in waiting withdrew, giggling.
"Volna, Volna," said the big Abarian ruler. "You are glorious. Everyjek of the journey from the Plains of Ofrid across the ice fields ofNadia, I burned for you." He came very close to her. His face swambefore her vision, a hard, strong, handsome face with the cruel eyesof a sadist. Fitting consort for a woman who would rule the world? Hislips parted....
Volna, smiling, placed her cool hand over his mouth.
"Then let me put out the fire," she said coolly, "for we have much todiscuss."
"But Princess, I--"
"Hush. And what, exactly, were you doing on the Plains of Ofrid?"
Retoc's big face flushed red. Then, when he saw Volna was stillsmiling, he said: "When we met last, you mentioned that two men stoodbetween you and the throne of Nadia."
"Yes?" said Volna, mocking him, turning swiftly with the light behindher sending its bright beams through the white mourning garment andoutlining the seductive curves of her body.
"Jlomec is dead," Retoc said simply.
Still smiling, Volna slapped the big man's face ringingly. Retocstepped back, startled.
"Fool!" Volna hissed. "I can call the guards. I can have you slain."
"But I--"
"I did not say I was not pleased. But don't lie to me. That isn't whyyou slew my brother. Well, man, is it?"
Retoc bowed his head. Only in his eyes there was fury. "We'll make astrange pair, Volna, you and I," he said passionately.
"Is it?"
Retoc shook his head slowly.
"You see? I knew it. I knew it was you when they told us Jlomec hadbeen slain, and yet because I know you and know too how you are quickto passion, I told myself you had not done it consciously because Ihad suggested it to you. Fool. Can I trust such as you?"
"Only Bontarc stands between you and empire. And Bontarc is a simpleman."
"As you are a passionate man."
"Yet you need me, Volna. You need the strength of my arm--and my army.What a pair we'll make!"
Volna stepped into the embrace of his big arms and allowed herself tobe kissed. Retoc burned for her. He had said so. All men burned forher, she knew that. And, before she was finished, every man of Tarthwould kneel at her feet and call her Queen.
Retoc drew back finally, breathing hard. Volna had for him only acool, mocking smile.
* * * * *
At last he said, "There are some who might say Retoc of Abaria killedthe royal prince."
"Dolt! Were you seen?"
Retoc shrugged as if it were not important. "A band of wayfarers onthe Ofridian Plain. They were so frightened, they fled at once. AfterI had wounded the white giant."
Volna's eyes flashed suddenly. "There was someone else? You did notkill him?"
"I tried to. He escaped, Princess."
"Then you are more a fool than I thought."
"But I--"
"Begone! We can't be seen together too much. Take quarters in NadiaCity, and let me know where you are. You understand?"
"Yes, Princess."
She allowed him to kiss her hand, then he withdrew. A few momentslater, at her summons, the seneschal appeared. Subtly her face hadchanged. No longer was she the desiring and desirous princess.Instead, she was a grieving sister, whose brother's body still lay instate in the royal palace.
The seneschal, whose name was Prokliam, bowed obsequiously. He knewthat by custom the body of a royal Nadian floated down the River ofIce in the company of two living servants--one man and one woman--whowould perish with him in the Place of the Dead. He knew also that hehad been Jlomec's favorite and now lived in constant fear that thePrincess Volna would decree that he, Prokliam, must accompany his deadmaster on the Journey of No Return, to serve him in death as he hadserved him in life.
"Yes, lady?" the frightened Prokliam asked.
"Bontarc, our king, grieves mightily for the dead prince," Volna said.
"All Nadia grieves for Jlomec, lady," Prokliam said, and addedhastily: "Although I must admit I do not grieve more than the nextman. No, no, it is a mistake to think I was Jlomec's favorite."
"Be that as it may Bontarc grieves so that for a while at least someof the affairs of state will be in my hands."
"I hear and understand lady."
"Good. If anyone comes--anyone at all, whether wayfarers from Ofrid orothers--with news of how Jlomec died, they are to be brought at onceto me. Is that understood?"
"Yes, my princess." Prokliam the seneschal bowed low once more.
"Serve me well in this, Prokliam, and you will be rewarded inmeasure."
Prokliam smiled. "I will be the personification of discretion," hesaid boldly, baring his toothless old gums.
"Then perhaps I will still the rumors that you were the dead Jlomec'sfavorite."
Prokliam dropped at the royal feet and touched his lips to the royaltoes. Then he bowed out of the room.
Volna stared for many moments at her beautiful face in the mirror.Queen, she thought. She said it aloud:
"Queen Volna."