Read Online The Legend of El Shashi by Marc Secchia - Free Book Online
Authors: Marc Secchia
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head split along its seams and began to fall away slowly, majestically, into the space around the tower. Gods alone knew what the people on the ground must have thought. There was no other sound, just the sight of the dome pieces dropping past the edge of the pool, and though my ears expected it any moment, there came no thundering report of pulverised stone upon the ground below. Instead, a cool breeze soothed my fevered brow, bringing the aroma of sweet pine needles and rich, loamy soils.
Every way I turned, my wondering gaze took in snow-capped peaks sparkling in the golden evening sunshine. They were ancient, riddled with caves and bearded with long-needled coniferous forests, resembling ranks of hoary-eyed kings wearing gilded crowns, with long beards flowing down over their slumbering chests. Where was I? What was this place? We were level with the heavens, eagles in our eyrie.
I could see for leagues around from the onyx platform. Verdant pastures lapped gently at the base of the mountains, and a flock of egrets made brilliant white specks against the darkling forests.
Serenity.
“Oalisi aatak!”
Jyla stabbed her hands into the pool. She held that pose so immobile, and for so long, that I began to wonder if some kind of seizure had not overtaken her. At length I noticed the surface begin to stir, yet a turgid sleeper, but steadily wakening to an unseen force. The pool became agitated. Her shoulders quivered, pressing downward, transferring some arcane energy, I imagined, into the waters.
“Inio alik alakin!” She sprang back, startling me, and then began to stalk the pool’s edge. Watching. Waiting.
Something was happening. A pressure on my eardrums, a salcat’s paw stroking my spine. I realised I had risen from my knees into a hunched-over standing position, the better to inspect my fate, but could see nothing alarming until I followed Jyla’s glance to the skies.
My jaw sagged open.
“Can you feel it, Arlak?” Jyla’s fingers sank into my hair as a tygress sinks its talons into rabbit-flesh. Dear Gods! What demoniacal strength possessed her hand–she would surely lift my scalp clear of the bone beneath! “Mark how the Wurm rises! Soon you will be invested with power the like of which mortals may only dream. As it unfolds within you, as the magic overwhelms and consumes you, you will be unable to hold back. Mighty Arlak! Mighty, helpless Arlak. My web will tear you from your wretched existence and make you great!”
The sight held me transfixed . Above the tower, despite horizons as clear and blue as a pearlock’s eggshell, a glutinous grey-black mass of clouds surged together, seething and boiling as though dragged protesting to this rendezvous by Jyla’s invisible conjuration, and held prisoner against its will. Unnatural energies crackled between angry, jostling thunderheads. Growls of fractious displeasure sounded from their midst, giving me the impression of a pack of gigantic, snarling hounds confronting each other over a choice hunk of meat.
The magnitude of her power!
One hears stories of magic. A good ulule would know hundreds. The mad wizard and the evil Eldrik Sorcerer are as much ingredients of folklore as moxi flour is basic to bread-baking. Their abilities are fabulous, embellished by the poetic and bardic arts, encased in a storyteller’s rune and leaf. Reality was a harsh teacher. Instantly I grasped three truths: the limitations of my education, how I had laughed at those tales with a disbelieving heart, and how frail was the vessel that cupped my life.
Jyla uncoiled her fingers. Thrust my head aside. “You’ll serve, Arlak. You’ll serve me well.” I was speechless. “Now give me your narrowest attention,” she declared. “ Mark my words and be forewarned! At your every failure, the cost will be multiplied. Double my power. Double your forfeit. Your deeds shall feed my Wurm!”
I had to assert myself. “I will never serve –”
“Your will is neither barrier to
Every way I turned, my wondering gaze took in snow-capped peaks sparkling in the golden evening sunshine. They were ancient, riddled with caves and bearded with long-needled coniferous forests, resembling ranks of hoary-eyed kings wearing gilded crowns, with long beards flowing down over their slumbering chests. Where was I? What was this place? We were level with the heavens, eagles in our eyrie.
I could see for leagues around from the onyx platform. Verdant pastures lapped gently at the base of the mountains, and a flock of egrets made brilliant white specks against the darkling forests.
Serenity.
“Oalisi aatak!”
Jyla stabbed her hands into the pool. She held that pose so immobile, and for so long, that I began to wonder if some kind of seizure had not overtaken her. At length I noticed the surface begin to stir, yet a turgid sleeper, but steadily wakening to an unseen force. The pool became agitated. Her shoulders quivered, pressing downward, transferring some arcane energy, I imagined, into the waters.
“Inio alik alakin!” She sprang back, startling me, and then began to stalk the pool’s edge. Watching. Waiting.
Something was happening. A pressure on my eardrums, a salcat’s paw stroking my spine. I realised I had risen from my knees into a hunched-over standing position, the better to inspect my fate, but could see nothing alarming until I followed Jyla’s glance to the skies.
My jaw sagged open.
“Can you feel it, Arlak?” Jyla’s fingers sank into my hair as a tygress sinks its talons into rabbit-flesh. Dear Gods! What demoniacal strength possessed her hand–she would surely lift my scalp clear of the bone beneath! “Mark how the Wurm rises! Soon you will be invested with power the like of which mortals may only dream. As it unfolds within you, as the magic overwhelms and consumes you, you will be unable to hold back. Mighty Arlak! Mighty, helpless Arlak. My web will tear you from your wretched existence and make you great!”
The sight held me transfixed . Above the tower, despite horizons as clear and blue as a pearlock’s eggshell, a glutinous grey-black mass of clouds surged together, seething and boiling as though dragged protesting to this rendezvous by Jyla’s invisible conjuration, and held prisoner against its will. Unnatural energies crackled between angry, jostling thunderheads. Growls of fractious displeasure sounded from their midst, giving me the impression of a pack of gigantic, snarling hounds confronting each other over a choice hunk of meat.
The magnitude of her power!
One hears stories of magic. A good ulule would know hundreds. The mad wizard and the evil Eldrik Sorcerer are as much ingredients of folklore as moxi flour is basic to bread-baking. Their abilities are fabulous, embellished by the poetic and bardic arts, encased in a storyteller’s rune and leaf. Reality was a harsh teacher. Instantly I grasped three truths: the limitations of my education, how I had laughed at those tales with a disbelieving heart, and how frail was the vessel that cupped my life.
Jyla uncoiled her fingers. Thrust my head aside. “You’ll serve, Arlak. You’ll serve me well.” I was speechless. “Now give me your narrowest attention,” she declared. “ Mark my words and be forewarned! At your every failure, the cost will be multiplied. Double my power. Double your forfeit. Your deeds shall feed my Wurm!”
I had to assert myself. “I will never serve –”
“Your will is neither barrier to
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