Von Bek was panting. “My God, Herr Daker. That is the nearest thing I have ever seen to a zombie. What is it?”
“My doppelgänger,” I said. “She has revived the corpse of Flamadin with the promise of a new soul!”
Then von Bek had dragged me back into the circle of the pillars and we stood looking down into the bubbling core of the volcano.
Slowly the crust seemed to widen, revealing pulsing, violent heat, a smell at once sweet and repellent. And then we were being drawn down into it. Drawn through the gates of Hell and into a realm whose supreme ruler was Lord Balarizaaf, the creature we had just seen.
I think we were all screaming by the time we were passing through the tunnel of flame. The descent seemed to last for ever as the yellow and red fires went past us in every direction.
Then I felt firm earth beneath my feet again. I was deeply relieved to see that it looked anything but abnormal. It was ordinary turf. It did not undulate. It did not burn. It did not threaten to swallow me. And it smelled like ordinary turf.
On the other side of the columns of light, which had now turned a kind of delicate pink, I made out blue sky, the weight of a forest, and I heard birdsong.
Together with my friends I walked slowly out of the columns and into a glade whose grassy mounds were covered in daisies and buttercups. The forest consisted primarily of large-boled oaks, all of them in their prime, and a little silver river ran through the glade, adding its music to that of the exotically plumaged birds which flew across a peaceful sky or came to perch on nearby branches.
We were like wondering children as we looked around us. Alisaard had begun to smile. I contented myself with breathing in the sweetness of the blossoms and the grass.
We seated ourselves beside the little river. We smiled at one another. This was an idyll from our most innocent dreams.
Von Bek was the first to speak. “Why!” he exclaimed in delight. “This is not Hell at all, my friends. This truly is the most perfect Paradise!”
But I was already suspicious. When I looked behind me the pillars of blood had gone. I saw instead a scene which was almost exactly the same as our own. I turned and retraced my steps, looking for the gateway. It had not been there long enough, I felt. My suspicion increased. There was something strange about the atmosphere of this place, something unnatural. Instinctively, I stretched out my hand. It struck a smooth, hard wall—a wall which mirrored this paradise but which did not reflect our images!
I called out to my friends. They were laughing and talking, engrossed in their own intimate obsessions. I was impatient with them. This was not the time for my allies to become mooning lovers, I thought.
“Lady Alisaard! Von Bek! Be wary!”
At last they looked up. “What is it, man?” Von Bek was irritated by my interruption.
“This place is not merely an illusion,” I said. “I suspect it is an illusion to hide something far less pleasant. Come and see.”
Reluctantly, hand in hand, they ran towards me over the soft Arcadian grass.
Now that I was close to the wall I thought I could see behind the illusion to the other side where dim shapes moved, hideous faces beseeched or threatened, misshapen hands stretched out towards us.
“There are the true denizens of this realm,” I said.
But my friends saw nothing.
“It is your own mind showing you what you fear is there,” said von Bek. “As much an illusion as the other. I will admit this place is an unlikely one and doubtless is artificial. Nonetheless, it is very pleasing. Surely Chaos is not all terror and ugliness?”
“By no means,” I agreed. “And that is part of its attraction. Chaos is capable of marvelous beauty of all kinds. But nothing in Chaos is ever just one thing. It is ambiguity. It is illusion disguising illusion. There is no true simplicity in Chaos, only the appearance of simplicity.” I drew the Actorios from my purse. I held it up so that its strange, dark rays struck out in all directions. “See?”
I directed the Actorios towards the reflecting wall and quite suddenly the illusion cleared, displaying what had lurked behind the barrier.
Von Bek and Alisaard both stepped back involuntarily, their eyes widening, their faces pale.
Creatures neither beast nor human shambled and slouched amongst filthy huts which seemed to be made of fused flint. Some of them pressed grotesque faces to the wall in attitudes of despairing melancholy. The others merely moved about the village, performing various tasks. Not one of them did not walk without a limp or drag a distorted limb.
“What are these people called?” murmured von Bek in horror. “They are like something from medieval paintings! Who are they, Herr Daker?”
“They were once human,” said Alisaard softly. “But in giving their loyalty to Chaos, they accepted the logic of Chaos. Chaos cannot bear constancy. It is changing all the time. And what you see is the change Chaos has wrought in humankind. That is what Sharadim offers the Six Realms. Oh, indeed, some of them may come to experience enormous power for a while. But in the end this is what they always become.”
“Poor devils!” murmured von Bek.
“Poor devils,” I said to him, “is an exact enough description of them…”
“Would they attack us, if the wall did not keep them back?” von Bek asked.
“Only if they thought we were weaker than themselves. These are not the warlike creatures Sharadim commands. These merely put themselves in servitude to Chaos because they thought it would benefit them somehow.”
Alisaard turned away. She drew a deep breath and then expelled it suddenly, as if she had realised the air were tainted.
“This was folly,” she said. “This was the greatest folly. We were told to seek out the centre and there find the sword. But we are in Chaos. Since nothing is constant, we have no way of knowing in which direction we must travel.”
Von Bek comforted her. I stood back, again having to force myself to take hold of my emotions. Jealousy had come flooding back again.
“We should count ourselves fortunate,” I told them, “that Archduke Balarizaaf is as yet unaware of our presence. We should press on. We should get as far from this gateway as possible. Into those woods.”
“But if Balarizaaf rules here, he will find us as soon as he decides to look,” said Alisaard.
I shook my head. “Not necessarily. He is virtually omnipotent here, but he is not omniscient. We have a small chance of reaching our goal before he seeks us out.”
“This is true optimism!” Von Bek slapped me on the back and laughed, his eyes avoiding the dimming vision of the village. Soon, as we moved away, the reflection had returned.
“I’ve a mind to be wary of those woods now,” said von Bek to me. “But I suppose we have no choice. It’s thick, eh? Like one of those old forests from German legend. I suppose if we’re lucky we’ll find a woodcutter who will direct us on our way and perhaps allow us three wishes, too.”
Alisaard smiled, her spirits rising. She linked arms with him. “You speak so strangely, Count von Bek. But there’s a kind of music to your nonsense which I like.”
For my part, I found his whimsy merely facile.
The oak wood had an atmosphere of permanence, as if it had stood here for a thousand years or more. In the cool, green shadows, we saw rabbits and squirrels and there was an air of tranquility about the place which was thoroughly enchanting. But even without recourse to my Actorios, I knew that it was bound to be something other than it seemed. That, after all, was one of the few rules in Chaos.
We had only gone a yard or two into the wood when we saw, standing behind a beam of dusty sunlight, a tall, armoured figure. It was clad entirely in metal of black and yellow.
At first I was relieved to see Sepiriz here. And then it came to me that this, too, might be an illusion. I stopped. My friends also came to a halt beside me.
“Is that you, Sir Knight in Black and Yellow?” I asked him, folding my hand over the Actorios. “How came you to Chaos? Or do you, t
oo, serve Chaos now?”
The armoured man advanced into the light. His bright livery seemed to glow with its own radiance. He lifted his helm and I saw the impressive ebony features which could only belong to Sepiriz, the servant of the Balance. He was amused by my suspicion but not dismissive of it.
“You are right to question everything in this realm,” he said. He yawned and stretched himself in his metal. “Forgive me, I have been asleep. I slept while I awaited you. I am glad you found the entrance. I am glad you had the courage to come. But now you must call on even greater courage than before. Here in the Nightmare Realm you may find horrible torment or salvation for the Six Realms—and more! But Chaos has many weapons in her arsenal and not all of them are obvious. Even now Sharadim prepares her creature to accept your soul, Champion. Do you understand the implications of that?”
He could see that I did not.
He hesitated and then continued: “The corpse she has animated will be able to take the Dragon Sword—if it possesses your lifestuff, John Daker. Sharadim controls this quasi-Flamadin and so it will be her cat’s-paw. She risks far less than if she were to take hold of the sword herself.”
“Then she seeks to deceive her ally, Archduke Balarizaaf, who believes that she will handle the sword for him?”
“He cares not which of you eventually lays claim to the blade—so long as you use it for his purposes. He would therefore prefer you as an ally rather than as an enemy, Champion. That is worth remembering. And remember this, also—death is not what one must fear in the Nightmare Realm. Death as such hardly exists here, but to be immortal in this world is the worst fate of all! And you must also remember that you have allies here. A hare will lead you to a cup. The cup will show you the way to a horned horse. The horned horse will take you to a wall. And in the wall you will find the sword.”
“How can such allies exist in a world dominated by the tyranny of Chaos?” Lady Alisaard asked him.
Sepiriz looked down at her and his smile was gentle. “Even in Chaos there are some whose purity and integrity are so complete they are untouched by anything which surrounds them. It is in the very heart of Chaos that those most able to resist her often choose to dwell. This is a paradox enjoyed by the Lords of Chaos themselves. It is an irony which even the grave Lords of Law take pleasure in.”
“And is it because you possess this purity that you are able to come and go in the Nightmare Marches, Lord Sepiriz?” asked von Bek.
“You are right to question me, Count von Bek. No, my time in this realm is limited. If it were not, why I should doubtless seek the Dragon Sword myself!” He smiled again. “As an emissary of the Balance I am allowed more freedom of movement than most creatures. But it is by no means unchecked, that freedom. The time comes for me to leave. I would not attract Balarizaaf to you. Not yet.”
“Will Sharadim find a way of telling the Chaos Lord that we are in his domain?” I asked.
“She does not communicate with her ally at will,” Sepiriz said. “But she could choose to enter the Nightmare Marches herself. And then you would find yourselves in the greatest danger.”
“Then we can expect to find no allies here,” said von Bek soberly.
“Only the Lost Warriors,” said Sepiriz. “Those who wait on the Edge of Time. And their help can be called upon only once. And only then if you have no other recourse. Those warriors may fight once in a cycle of the multiverse. When they unsheathe their swords there are inevitable consequences. But you know this already, eh, Sir Champion?”
“I have heard the Lost Warriors,” I agreed. “They have spoken to me in my dreams. But I can remember little else.”
“How shall these warriors be summoned?” asked von Bek.
“By breaking the Actorios into fragments,” said Sepiriz.
“But the stone cannot be broken. It is virtually indestructible.” Alisaard’s voice rose in outrage. “You play tricks upon us, Lord Sepiriz!”
“The stone can be broken. By a blow from the Dragon Sword. That is what I know.”
And Sepiriz reached up and closed his helm.
Von Bek uttered a desperate laugh. “We are truly in Chaos. There’s a paradox for you! We can only summon allies when the Dragon Sword is already ours! When we have no need of them!”
“You will decide that when the time comes.” Sepiriz’s voice was hollow and distant, as if he faded from us, though his armour was as solid as ever. “Remember—your greatest weapons are your own courage and intelligence. Go swiftly through this wood. There is a path which the Actorios will show you. Follow it. Like all paths in Chaos it leads eventually to the place they call here The World’s Beginning…”
Now the armour began to dissipate, to fade, to join with the dancing motes of dust in the sunbeams.
“Swiftly, swiftly. Chaos gathers territory with every passing hour. And with that territory she gains a host of souls sworn to her service. Your worlds shall soon be little else but a memory unless you find the Dragon Sword…”
The armour vanished entirely. All that remained of the Knight in Black and Yellow was an echo of a whisper. Then that, too, was gone.
I took out my Actorios and held it before me, turning this way and that.
Then, to my relief, I stopped. Very dimly at our feet there stretched, for a few yards only, a faintly shimmering ghost of a pathway.
We had found the road to the Dragon Sword.
BOOK THREE
Hither, hither, if you will,
Drink instruction, or instil,
Run the woods like vernal sap,
Crying, hail to luminousness! But have care.
In yourself may lurk the trap:
On conditions they caress.
Here you meet the light invoked
Here is never secret cloaked.
Doubt you with the monster’s fry
All his orbit may exclude;
Are you of the stiff, the dry,
Cursing the not understood;
Grasp you with the monster’s claws;
Govern with his truncheon-saws;
Hate, the shadow of the grain;
You are lost in Westermain:
Earthward swoops a vulture sun,
Nighted upon carrion:
Straightway venom wine-cups shout
Toasts to One whose eyes are out:
Flowers along the reeling floor
Drip henbane and hellebore:
Beauty, of her tresses shorn,
Shrieks as nature’s maniac:
Hideousness on hoof and horn
Tumbles, yapping in her track:
Haggard Wisdom, stately once,
Leers fantastical and trips:
Allegory drums the sconce,
Impiousness nibblenips.
Imp that dances, imp that flits,
Imp o’ the demon-growing girl,
Maddest! whirl with imp o’ the pits
Round you, and with them you whirl
Fast where pours the fountain-rout
Out of Him whose eyes are out;
Multitudes of multitudes,
Drenched in wallowing deviltry:
And you ask where you may be, In what reek of a lair
Given to bones and ogre-broods: And they yell you Where.
Enter these enchanted woods, You who dare.
—George Meredith,
‘The Woods of Westermain’
1
WE HAD GONE perhaps five miles when the greenwood on all sides began to rustle urgently, as if threatened. We had only the shadow path to guide us. Steadfastly, in spite of the rapidly increasing agitation, we continued to go forward in single file. Alisaard was immediately behind me. She whispered: “It is as if the forest senses our presence and becomes alarmed.”
Then, one by one, the oak trees turned to stone, the stone became liquid and, in an instant, the entire landscape was transformed. The path remained visible, but we were surrounded by monstrous green stems and at the top of these stems, far above our heads, were th
e yellow bells of gigantic daffodils.
“Is this what lies behind the illusion?” said von Bek in awe.
“This is as much reality as it is illusion,” I told him. “Chaos has her moods and whims, that’s all. As I told you, she cannot remain stable. It is in her nature to be forever changing.”
“While it is in the nature of Law,” Alisaard explained, “to be forever fixed. The Balance is there to ensure that neither Law nor Chaos ever gain complete ascendancy, for the one offers sterility while the other offers only sensation.”
“And this struggle between the two, does it take place on every single realm of the multiverse?” von Bek wanted to know. He looked around him at the nodding flowers. Their scent was like a drug.
“Every plane, on some level or another, in some guise or another. It is the perpetual war. And there is a champion, they say, who is doomed to fight in every aspect of that war, for eternity…”
“Please, Lady Alisaard,” I interrupted, “I would rather not be reminded of the Eternal Champion’s fate!” I was not altogether joking.
Alisaard apologised. We continued in silence along the path for about another mile, until the landscape shuddered and changed for the second time. This time in place of giant daffodils were gibbets. On every gibbet swung a cage and in every cage was a scabrous, dying human creature, crying out for help.
I told them to ignore the prisoners and keep to the path. “And this? Is this mere illusion?” shouted von Bek from behind me. He was almost in tears.
“An invention, I promise you. It will vanish as the others vanished.”
Suddenly the prisoners were gone from their cages. In their place were huge finches squalling for food. Then the gibbets disappeared, the finches flew away, and we were surrounded by tall glass buildings for as far as the eye could see. These buildings were in a thousand different styles yet were unstable. Every few moments one of them would fall with a great crashing and tinkling, sometimes taking one or more of the neighbouring buildings with it. To follow the path, we were forced to wade through shards of broken glass which set up a great clatter as we advanced. Voices sounded now, from within the buildings, but we could see that the houses were empty. Shrieks of laughter, wails of pain. Horrible sobbing sounds. The moans of the tortured. The glass gradually began to melt and, as it melted, took the form of agonised faces. And those faces were still the size of buildings!