The ground rocked again. Then steadied. Drake heard waves thrashing against the shore. Someone wailing. He got to his knees, breathed dust, coughed, sneezed. A distant shout. His torn right arm. Vivid red. Blood. Gore. Deep. Sweat dripped from his forehead in heavy drops. Running as free as blood.'Man!' said Bucks Cat. 'Oh man . . .'
Drake stood, slowly. There were gaping cracks in the building which held the Neversh. The monster was scrabbling fiercely within. Ish Ulpin clapped a hand on Drake's shoulder.'You all right?' he said.
T live,' said Drake. 'But, man, we'd better get out of here before that monster tries something else. It's powerful fierce, man!'
Bucks Cat hooted with laughter. And Ish Ulpin said, with unwonted gentleness:
'It wasn't the monster which shook the world. It was an earthquake.''Earthquake?' said Drake.
'Aye,' said Ish Ulpin. 'Have you never been in an earthquake before?'
'This was my first,' said Drake. 'What makes these earthquake things?'
'War waged by demon-gods in the halls of hell,' said Ish Ulpin. 'That's what makes earthquakes, or so I've been told. The monster's a lesser danger – and we'll have no more trouble from it till we try to put it on our ship.'
'How did you do this?' said the wizard Miphon, examining Drake's torn forearm.
'Man, I was stroking a tabby cat when the vicious little hussy scratched me.'
'I suppose you pulled its tail,' said Miphon, deadpan, clearing away some of the weltering blood with a moist sponge.
'Man,' said Drake, in alarm, peering into the gaping gash, 'there's the end of a tendon! I've cut a tendon! Man, I'm crippled for life!'
'Don't worry about that tendon there,' said Miphon, touching the offending article with the tip of a probe. 'That's surplus to requirements. We haven't used that for millions of years.''Then when did we use it?'
'At an earlier stage in our evolution. Humans were fish once, then lizards.''A likely story!' said Drake.
'More likely than some of those you tell,' said Miphon. 'I'll put some internal sutures in here.' 'More cat- gut?'
'It's the only thing to use,' said Miphon. 'It'll dissolve within the wound when its job's done.' And he began to sew.
T hope these stitches work better than your magic,' said Drake.'What magic is that?' said Miphon.
'Why, that magic philtre you sold me, to cure me of love when I first fell for the fair Zanya Kliedervaust.'
'Ah, that,' said Miphon. 'I remember the philtre. But as for this business of selling it … as I remember, it was a gift freely given.'
'Aye. Given free, since worthless. Man, that was no love-cure. That was an aphrodisiac! It set me lusting like an octopus.'
'Did you use the philtre by moonlight, as directed?' said Miphon. 'Did you kiss the ground to invoke her power?' 'Why, no, but-'
'True wizards never embellish magic with useless ceremony,' said Miphon. 'Every instruction must be followed if you wish for success.'
'Oh,' said Drake. 'Now I understand. How about some magic to help me out with my lady? I didn't do too well on our first encounter.'
'How,' said Miphon, swabbing the wound, 'did you approach the lady?''I jumped on top of her,' said Drake.'That wasn't very nice!''Man, that's what women are made for.''Have you asked a woman about that?''What would you know about it? You're a virgin.'
'Whatever I am,' said Miphon, 'I can tell you this. Young Zanya has been through hard times.''How would you know?'
'She speaks with me here on occasions,' said Miphon. 'I cannot tell you details, for that would be unethical. But I can tell you that. She is deeply suspicious of men and their motives. With good reason. If you would win her, then you must give her reason to trust you.''How can I do that when she's crazy on faith?'
'Her faith,' said Miphon, digging in with a needle, 'is at least in part a source of reassurance. If you can give her such, then the faith may … it may, perhaps, accommodate the flesh.''Give me a potion to make her love me,' said Drake.
'There is,' said Miphon, 'no such potion. Magic is better at destruction than at building.'
'Magic built the flame trench Drangsturm, did it not?' said Drake.
'It did indeed. But the flame trench is itself an instrument of destruction. All it creates is violence – a violence which divides the north of Argan from the terror-lands of the Deep South.'
'Man,' said Drake, 'I've been thinking about that flame trench. That earthquake thing we had just now, could such rip Drangsturm into halves? Could it tear rock so wild that the Swarms found a way north?'
'Drangsturm is indeed vulnerable to earthquake,' said Miphon gravely. 'And, indeed, to other dangers. That is why the castles of the Confederation stand guard, with the
Landguard to support them. But . . . don't worry too much. Drangsturm has protected the north for the last four thousand years, ever since the end of the Long War.'
'The Long War? I've heard rumours of such. Was it wizards and heroes, as they say?'
'It was before my time,' said Miphon. 'But there was indeed an Alliance of wizards and heroes. They fought the Swarms and threw them back to the Deep South.'
'So . . .if the Swarms came north again, they could be beaten back.'
'The Alliance,' said Miphon, 'had use of ancient weapons which were destroyed by their employment. None such remains to us – therefore, we could not be certain of a second victory.'
'You talk of nonsense,' said Drake. 'There's no weapon you can only use once. A weapon lasts near enough to forever, aye, any swordsmith will tell you that.'
'A burning arrow is a weapon, is it not?' said Miphon. 'And how many times can you use a burning arrow?''Seventy-five thousand,' said Drake, promptly.
'You've got a quick wit,' said Miphon. 'Your voice will serve you well in love and war, if you cultivate it. Remember that, when you court the lady Kliedervaust.'
Evening. Mosquito dance. Standing on the stony beach by an open fire, Zanya Kliedervaust preached to a scattering of soldiers. The purple-skinned Oronoko squatted at her feet, a cudgel in his hands. There was, in consequence, no heckling. Drake hung back in the shadows, reluctant to risk the wrath of Oronoko. He was slightly weak from blood-loss, and definitely in no state for fighting.
She was talking of things he had heard before from Gouda Muck and Sully Yot. Talking of purity. Abstinence. Denial.'How far away is the moon?' she said.
'Further than I can throw an apple,' volunteered one of the soldiers.
Zanya took a few moments to make sense of that. Her
Galish had improved, but it seemed she still found swift speech hard to follow.
'Yes,' she said, at length. 'It is further than we could throw an apple. But things lie hidden within the dark well within a stone's-throw. For dark hides. Dark conceals. Dark entangles. It is light which reveals. Light which clarifies. Light which makes possible. Fire is light. Light is fire.
'In darkness is secrecy. Secrecy is darkness. Which among you has not a secret which is shameful? Which amongst you could stand bare in truth like the purity of those higher fires, the sun and moon? Yield to the Flame, and the Flame will burn you clean, yea, and you too will stand naked to the eye of truth yet unashamed.'Thus she spoke.
But there was no fervour in her speech. She was tired. Weary from a long day in the kitchen. She had laboured many days without a break. Each evening she had preached, mouthing the words so many times they had almost lost their meanings. She spoke by rote.
Drake saw she was so fatigued, so hollow, so worn by routine, that she herself had almost ceased to live. What lived in her was habit. She had become a puppet animated by the alien routines imposed upon her by Gouda Muck. The old man's words had replaced her will. It was not her voice which spoke, but his. She had become his creature.
Watching, listening, Drake had an unfamiliar intimation of evil'. Muck had made Zanya into a weapon. A burning arrow. How many times can a burning arrow be used? She was destroying herself. Nothing on this island of
