The Third Golden Age of Science Fiction MEGAPACK ™: Poul Anderson. Poul Anderson
has been a hard life,” she said at the end. “It took a giant of a man to endure it.” She smiled, a small closed smile that made her look strangely young. “I wonder what you must think of this—sailing with your sworn foes to the end of the world on an unknown mission.”
“You’re not my foe!” he blurted.
“No—never your enemy, Corun!” she exclaimed. “We have been on opposite sides before—let it not be thus from this moment. I tell you that the purpose of this voyage, which you shall soon know, is—good. Great and good as the savagery of man has never known before. You know the old legend—that someday the Heaven-Fire will shine through opening clouds not as a destroying flame but as the giver of life—that men will see light in the sky even at night—that there will be peace and justice for all mankind? I think that day may be dawning, Corun.”
He sat dumbly, bewildered. She was not evil—she was not evil—It was all he knew, but it sang within him.
Suddenly she laughed and sprang to her feet. “Come on!” she cried. “I’ll race you around the ship!”
IV
Rain and wind came, a lightning-shot squall in which the Briseia wallowed and bucked and men strained at oars and pumps. Toward evening it was over, the sea stilled and the lower clouds faded so that they saw the great dull-red disc of the Heaven-Fire through the upper clouds, sinking into the western sea. There was almost a flat calm, the glassy water was ruffled only by a faint breeze which half filled the sail and sent the galley sliding slowly and noiselessly northward.
“Man the oars,” directed Shorzon.
“Give the men a chance to rest tonight, sir,” begged Imazu. “They’ve all worked hard today. We can row all the faster tomorrow if we must.”
“No time to spare,” snapped the wizard.
“Yes, there is,” said Corun flatly. “Let the men rest, Imazu.”
Shorzon gave him a baleful glance. “You forget your position aboard.”
Corun bristled. “I think I’m just beginning to remember it,” he answered with metal in his voice.
Chryseis laid a hand on her grandfather’s arm. “He’s right,” she said. “So is Imazu. It would be needless cruelty to make the sailors work tonight, and they will be better fitted by a night’s rest.”
“Very well,” said Shorzon sullenly. He went into his room and slammed the door. Presently Chryseis bade the men good night and went to her’ quarters with the erinye trotting after.
Corun’s eyes followed her through the deepening blue dusk. In that mystic light, the ship was a shadowy half-real background, a dimness beyond which the sea swirled in streamers of cold white radiance.
“She’s a strange woman,” said Imazu. “I don’t understand her.”
“Nor I,” admitted Corun. “But I know now her enemies have foully lied about her.”
“I’m not so sure about that—” As the Conahurian turned with a dark frown, Imazu added quickly, “Oh, well, I’m probably wrong. I never had much sight of her, you know.”
They wandered up on the poop deck in search of a place to sit. It was deserted save for the helmsman by the dimly glowing binnacle, a deeper shadow in the thick blue twilight. Sitting back against the taffrail, they could look forward to the lean waist of the ship and the vague outline of the listlessly bellying sail. Beyond the hull, the sea was an arabesque of luminescence, delicate traceries of shifting white light out to the glowing horizon. The cold fire streamed from the ship’s bows and whirled in her wake, the hull dripped liquid flame.
The night was very quiet. The faint hiss and smack of cloven water, creak of planks and tackle, distant splashing of waves and invisible sea beasts—otherwise there was only the enormous silence under the high clouds. The breeze was cool on their cheeks.
“How long till we get to the Sea of Demons?” asked Imazu. His voice was oddly hushed in the huge stillness.
“With ordinary sailing weather, I’d say about three ten-days—maybe four,” answered Corun indifferently.
“It’s a strange mission we’re on, aye, that it is.” Imazu’s head wagged, barely visible in the dark. “I like it not, Corun. I have evil feelings about it, and the omens I took before leaving weren’t good.”
“Why then did you sail? You’re a free man, aren’t you?”
“So they say!” Sudden bitterness rose in the Umlotuan’s voice. “Free as any of Shorzon’s followers, which is to say less free than a slave, who can at least run away.”
“Why, doesn’t he pay well?”
“Oh, aye, he is lavish in that regard. But he has his ways of binding servants to him so that they must do his bidding above that of the very gods. He put his geas on most of these sailors, for instance. They were simple folk, and thought he was only magicking them a good-luck charm.”
“You mean they are bound? He has their souls?”
“Aye. He put them to sleep in some sorcerous way and impressed his command on them. No matter what happens now, they must obey him. The geas is stronger than their own wills.”
Corun shivered. “Are you—Pardon. It’s no concern of mine.”
“No, no, that’s all right. He put no such binding on me—I knew better than to accept his offer of a luck-bringing spell. But he has other ways. He lent me a slave-girl from Umlotu for my pleasure—but she is lovely, wonderful, kind, all that a woman should be. She has borne me sons, and made homecoming ever a joy. But you see, she is still Shorzon’s and he will not sell her to me or free her—moreover, he did put his geas on her. If ever I rebelled, she would suffer for it.” Imazu spat over the rail. “So I am Shorzon’s creature too.”
“It must be a strange service.”
“It is. Mostly all I have to do is captain his bodyguard. But I’ve seen and helped in some dark things. He’s a fiend from the lowest hell, Shorzon is. And his granddaughter—” Imazu stopped.
“Yes?” asked Corun roughly. His hand closed bruisingly on the other’s arm. “Go on. What of her?”
“Nothing. Nothing. I really have had little to do with her.” Imazu’s face was lost in the gloom, but Corun felt the one eye hard on him. “Only—be careful, pirate. Don’t let her lay her own sort of geas on you. You’ve been a free man till now. Don’t become anyone’s blind slave.”
“I’ve no such intention,” said Corun frostily.
“Then no more need be said.” Imazu sighed heavily and got up. “I think I’ll go to bed, then. What of you?”
“Not yet. I’m not sleepy. Good night.”
“Good night.”
* * * *
Corun sat back alone. He could barely discern the helmsman—beyond lay only glowing darkness and the whispering of the night. He felt loneliness like a cold hollow within his breast.
Father and mother, his tall brothers and his laughing lovely sister, the comrades of youth, the hard wild stout-hearted pirates with whom he had sailed for such a long and bloody time—where were they now? Where in all the blowing night were they?
Where was he and on what mission, sailing alone through a pit of darkness on a ship of strangers? What meaning and hope in all the cruel insanity of the world?
Suddenly he wanted his mother, he wanted to lay his head on her lap and cry in desolation and hear her gentle voice—no, by the gods, it wasn’t her image he saw, it was a lithe and dark-haired witch who was crooning to him and stroking his hair.
He cursed tonelessly and got up. Best to go to bed and try to sleep his fancies away. He was becoming childish.