Pliocene Exile - The Adversary Part 37

There was a sound, a soft animal cry from three disparate throats, forced out in a series of grunts timed to the writhing of the creature's body. The sound swelled in volume as the contortions became more and more frenzied. Something columnar thrust from the lower torso, stiff as a tree trunk and nearly three times the breadth of the legs. The creature staggered, overbalanced by the weight, and the thing grew to shoulder height and above, throbbing, while the spidery hands tried in vain to support it and the spine arched and the three heads twisted and howled a demonic trio. The knees collapsed and the shadow-body leaned backward over its heels, still pumping its hips. The b.r.e.a.s.t.s jutted toward the chamber ceiling, as did the overwhelming member, which seemed to have grown longer than all the rest of the body. The animal cries were deafening as the shadow organs attained their culmination, and then the picture was obliterated in a triple gush of blazing white light. A dwindling three-note moan echoed from pillar to pillar. The shadow had vanished. The chamber was dark except for a fitful golden glow emanating from the general direction of the original bright light.

"A chimaera," said Elizabeth softly. "Come." And she hurried down the steps.

Beware! cried Minanonn's mind, and he flung a mental s.h.i.+eld ahead of her. But she turned back and shook her head. The giant coercer let his barrier fall. He and his fellows drew close to form a protective cordon about Elizabeth as she went quickly across the chamber, past the big sunken mirror, and into the alcove on the right. There was complete silence except for their footsteps. The aether was empty.

They entered the subsidiary chamber and found a meta-activated jewel-lantern, dim as a dying ember, standing on the floor.

Lying on his face in front of it was Aiken Drum. His body was normal and so was his face, which was turned toward them. His eyes were open and he breathed through slightly open lips.

He had been wearing his golden storm-suit. The strong leather was split in every seam and lay in rags on his pallid skin.

Elizabeth knelt beside him, lifted the sc.r.a.ps of his crested hood away, and touched his cheek. The faintest of smiles appeared.

"You did come," he said.

"Now it's going to be all right."

Aiken dreamed.

He stood on the mirror, which reached from horizon to horizon, and above him was a brilliant night sky splashed with the Sagittarius Arm of the Milky Way, as seen from his former home planet of Dalriada. Looking down, he saw reflected stars, his own naked body and wondering face, and peering over his shouldersWith a startled exclamation he looked up and behind him.

Nothing. n.o.body. But when he looked down again the two of them were back, austere and faintly disapproving in their expressions.

A man and a woman he had never seen before. He darkhaired, with snapping black eyes, a prominent nose, and a mouth compressed to a tight line. She with dark red frizzy hair, a high brow, and tiny regular features too stern to be beautiful.

"Where have you been?" he scolded them. They exchanged glances, looked back at him with dubious, fractional smiles, then vanished. Bitter reproach welled up in him. He heard some small creature squalling, and the sing-song mockery of children, and his own powerful adult voice shouting vicious obscenities.

Under his feet, the mirror undulated like mercury, became fluid. He sank into it and found himself standing in the middle of a rather ordinary landscape: short gra.s.s with a few scattered flowers, the edge of a forest a stone's throw away ...

He stopped to pick up a stone to throw. There was lettering on the smooth white surface: I was not, I came to be.

I was, I am not: That is all.

And who shall say more will lie.

I shall not be.

There was a whole line of the stones, half hidden in the gra.s.s.

He picked Up another, but there were no words on it. He hesitated, put both stones back into place, and studied the lineup uneasily. It seemed to mark a boundary, one that it might be extremely dangerous to cross. Staring at the stones and his own feet, he discovered that he was shod in his good old golden boots with the stash compartments, and wearing the suit of many pockets, each one containing some useful item for a prudent wayfarer.

"Why the h.e.l.l not?" he asked himself saucily, and stepped over the boundary, confident once again.

He was swimming for his life.

Salt water filled his mouth and nose and strangled him. He struggled upward toward a green light that steadily became more golden, and burst onto the surface, coughing and choking, so weak that he knew he would sink again in only a moment.

But something was bobbing nearby, drawing closer. He saw it was a cauldron, a vessel of salvation, and he kicked feebly and beat the water with his hands, and in that way swam a few strokes and reached for one of the handgrips mounted below the kettle rim.

A dragon reared up from inside and struck at him. Its fangs narrowly missed his questing hand. A drop of flying venom struck him in the left eye and he screamed with the burning pain of it and sank back. Immediately the hurt was soothed, and he let himself relax and drift in the warm darkening waters ... the waters that meant death.

No! he cried. Fury electrified him. Pain returned. Again he broke through into the air and found himself floating beside the golden Kral. But this time when Mercy darted at him, openmouthed, he seized her and squeezed the dragon's neck and smashed the fangs against the rim again and again until the reptile was broken and b.l.o.o.d.y. Then he climbed into the bowl, safe.

Mayvar the Hag leaned over him and kissed the burnt blind eye. It was healed. Then she took him into her lap to nurse him, and the baby nestled down, content at last, and drank and slept.

He was on a plain of sparkling salt, wearing his gold-l.u.s.tre armour.

The antagonist was nowhere to be seen. The coward! Where was he hiding? Why didn't he come out and fight?

Gripping his photonic Spear, he searched the glaring flatland through slitted eyes. A shadow raced toward him and he looked up, into the sun.

The golden eagle stooped, talons ready, and plummeted straight for his face. His visor was full open and he shrieked as the claws raked his right eye and the bird shrilled in triumph.

He fell heavily onto his back. Blood was welling uncontrollably and the sky was red, as was the relentless sun. He knew he would lie there, half-blind and parched and stricken, until he died. The eagle wheeled high out of reach and he roasted in his armour under aloof and pitiless light, impotent.

But there was still the Spear.

With his last strength he lifted the gla.s.s lance, thumbed its highest power setting, and triggered the shot full in the face of the solar disk. Light drowned light. The patriarchal bird tumbled from a sky gone suddenly indigo. When it struck the salt it was a man in dulled gla.s.s armour, holding a broken Sword.

In mortal agony, Aiken inched toward the unmoving form of the Battlemaster, feeling his own life ebbing through his torn eyesocket. He stretched a trembling hand to the cracked helmet of his enemy and opened it.

The face inside was that of Stein Oleson.

With his mind spinning, Aiken slumped over the chest of the t.i.tanic knight. Beneath the gla.s.s cuira.s.s with its sun-face blazon a heart was still beating. Astonished, revitalized, Aiken pulled himself up. He saw that the giant was smiling. His gauntleted hand lifted, proffering the broken Sword in a gesture of fealty.

Aiken took it and felt life surge back into him. His sight cleared.

He leaned over the dying man and kissed him on the mouth.

It was deep night on the mirror.

From out of the quicksilver pool came the three-headed hermaphrodite, pulling itself onto the gleaming sh.o.r.e. The chimaera was no longer a threatening monstrosity. Even though it was still both male and female, the bodily distortions were gone and the limbs well-filled and proportionate. It stood poised in the starlight, graceful and tall. The central lion head was erect and proud; the dragon and the eagle faced it, slightly bowed. The radiance of the Sagittarius Arm gave it a reflection, not a shadow, that extended across the mirror of the quicksilver pool.

Aiken saw that the reflection was himself.

"But what does it mean?" he exclaimed, rather testily.

"You are born," Elizabeth said.

He thought about that for a while. "On Dalriada, they called me a psychopath."

"You were. A suffering soul. Incomplete. Lacking eros. A freak and a cripple, almost inevitably d.a.m.ned. You were intelligent and charming and utterly self-centred. It was impossible for you to love anyone but yourself, even though you gave the illusion of caring when it suited you."

"They were going to lock me away-or kill me!"

"You were a menace, a liability to a structured society. You saved yourself by coming here. Your silver torc rechannelled the aberrant psychic energies. You were rea.s.sured and began to change when you saw you were able to exert genuine power."

'"In the Milieu, that would have been impossible."