Mark of the Cat and Year of the Rat Page 53

  Could stone writhe like an ancient tower assaulted by a fierce storm? I could see no shifting of any of the walls about me, but my body seemed to vibrate from blow after blow of raw force.

  From the four corners of the supply room dust (or was it truly dust?) arose like sand blown from dune crests. Murri’s shoulder steadied me. I picked up the united bags and obeyed an unvoiced order, crawling on hands and knees to the door.

  The pressure increased. Murri wavered but still kept his feet and urged me along. My breath came raggedly. There was nothing in sight but sturdy walls, yet I sickened with overwhelming fear.

  I was well aware that what strove here now was nothing of my world, rather far from what I had known. Roaring, wild energy. I dragged myself on with no idea of where I was. Warm breath against my cheek, jaws closed on my shoulder anchoring me as I weakened. Murri—suddenly it was as if a shout near deafened me. I pulled myself to my feet, hands still buried in Murri’s fur for support. It was plain that leadership rested with the great cat. I have no memory of what remained of our journey. There had been that sound that split the air—yes, air. We had come out into the open: how, why, I did not know.

  It was not wind pressure upon us now—I struggled and brought forth a cry—“Essence, I yield; I yield!”

  Then came blackness, smothering blackness. I was nothing, nowhere, gone.

  A rough wet tongue rasped my cheek. In my mind loomed the image of a great furred head. I opened my eyes. Above me arched an expanse of many colors slowly fading. For a moment I saw another towards whom I yearned. He was silent and motionless, yet I believed that we shared the same world.

  I tried to call—then he was gone. His disappearance set me moving. As I struggled to rise, Murri came into my angle of sight. Again his tongue swept my cheek, arousing me to greater effort.

  “Hynkkel—!”

  “He lives. We must also—”

  The sky was darkening; it could not be far from twilight. Murri turned and paced some distance from me. He did not again communicate, but I witnessed then something I had heard Hynkkel speak of in awe. And his awe I could now well understand.

  The Sand Cat had been pacing back and forth. His movements became faster. On the sleek body the fur began to rise, to lighten in color. The big head was erect, the large golden eyes afire.

  Up, fore paws, hind legs—up and up and up.

  I heard also—sounds that might be words—none that I could understand. Up—Murri was now my arm’s length above the surface on which I stood. In the air he was twisting and turning his body. This was the Dance—the legendary Dance of the Sand Cats.

  He arose yet farther above the roof. His movements brought him not only higher but in wider circles beyond the knee-high barrier along the edge of the roof. I was still prey to the pressure, thus I crawled to the edge as he swung out so far he was well away from me. Nor did his circling continue, but now he shot forward as I watched.

  He had found one of the highest points among the city buildings from which to launch himself. I peered down and jerked back from the low barrier. Below the city streets were no longer deserted. Black rivers of rats, both of the original size and the larger ones, poured out of this palace.

  Under me the roof moved, recovered, to slightly move again. About me the stone was throbbing. Not being able to follow Murri treading air, I pulled myself higher, searching for some way to escape. I had an ever-growing fear of falling, as I could see sections of stone from other buildings crashing down. What was more: I saw no way to retreat.

  Could rats wail in fear? The sound arising from the street was surely rooted in terror. Though the black stream grew, the vile creatures below retreated no farther. Now there came others from surrounding buildings, sometimes fighting those already there. Quickly the wide plaza before the palace became crowded.

  There they were in constant movement. The greater rats tore the throats of the others, tossed their bodies into the air, blood spattering around. Still none retreated from that choked space.

  A crash—I witnessed stone shiver, loosen and fall in one of the other streets leading here. What followed was, to any one born in the Outer Regions, a wild hallucination straight out of nightmare.

  Dust did not rise from the site where the stone had fallen. There was a haze which should have been dust—sand—air borne. Rather, rising straight upward was a plume—not dust—Water!

  Water in such a quantity as this was unknown to any Queendom. I had seen the underground river—But this! It was fountaining up and up. Now it formed a greenish water tower. A growing wind carried moisture, and snipped at the edges of the column.

  That was only the first of such columns. They rose up near and far. So far none had appeared to threaten the Palace.

  Murri! For the first time since this impossible eruption, I thought to search the sky for the Desert Cat. Had such a watery spear somewhere beyond my range of sight caught him?

  I wiped a hand across my eyes. As the water continued to rise, with no sign of lessening, I could only hope that Murri had soared above its threat. All that remained for me was to save myself as best I could.

  Was the Essence now at war—the earth rending itself to defeat evil?

  My tattered clothing was wet through. I might just have crawled out of the hidden river. Runnels of water were plainly visible on the walls, forming swiftly into streams that sought the streets below.

  These struck at the massing of the rats. They broke—to run, only to meet others of their kind pelting toward the Palace. With these newcomers ran man-rats. Only, I could see that they were not the same kind as the ones who had captured me. Those had been clothed as my own kind, wearing uniforms of Outer Region guards, possessing only rodent heads and clawed hands to mark them.

  The man-rats below were bare of body. Human shaped as their bodies appeared, they sprouted coarse fur brindled black and gray. At center on their rat faces, between red, beastly eyes, was a symbol as red as those eyes—a crooked claw.

  In place of spears and swords, their clawed hands held shafts ending in long, triple knives. Using these with cruel skill they hacked a path to the palace and finally disappeared from my sight.

  Still the water fountained; streams gathered and flowed. The sky darkened no further but became a gray dome.

  Hynkkel-ji:

  My blindness held but I fought it now. I would not be held captive to it! Was there a black so intense as to be further distinguished in a place of utter darkness, or was I deceived? The pain in my head became a racking torment. Nevertheless I was again on my feet. In spite of my blindness I took one determined stride and then another toward what I thought I could distinguish.

  Quinzell had commanded all that the Essence would destroy—had already blasted much of the Outer Regions, long since turning them into a waste of heat, sand and rock. Yes, a part of me drew upon a strange memory. I began to recall an earlier life in a land far different from the one I now knew.

  Remembered also what I carried.

  I took my stand, bracing myself as if I was facing the rage of a wild oryxen. Flipping the rod I carried, I set its butt against my breast. I must make myself a part of it, praying for what I must have.

  Nor did I call upon the Essence outwardly. This was no battle of force against primeval force. It was I, all that I was, against this shadow ahead. Light against the Dark—in the shape of a man born in this land to linger by his evil arts.

  I pressed the button on the side of that I had found in the tomb.

  My blindness remained. There was a draining from me. Body answered with pain; my will held. I heard what might have been a chittering of a giant rat. The sucking of my life force increased. That power drew back from my opposition suddenly. I rocked, to nearly fall when it failed.

  Not in my ears but in my pain filled head it sounded:

  “The wheel has turned; the time has come at last!”

  The Power against me suddenly lessened. I staggered, nearly fell, then somehow achieved steadines
s and continued, for that shadow within the dark had not retreated.

  Yet suddenly it vanished. I again pressed the stud, which controlled my ancient weapon.

  There came an answer that near defeated me. I was now blinded in another fashion by a blaze of light. Where we stood must still be within this Palace of another time and people. Since I had come here I believed more and more this was a place apart—almost as the storm winds shift a dune from one place to another.

  No shadow confronted me now. This was Quinzell! His face was like the sharp point of a spear turned towards me; his mouth stretched as might a rat displaying fangs before it struck.

  “The time is now!” This time it was I who shouted the words. Once again I pressed with all my strength against the control of my weapon.

  He hurled at me a ball of flames. It flared into reaching tongues of fire. Instead, though my skin knew the touch of tormenting heat, it hissed into nothingness. Shocking cold encompassed me. Water—whence it spouted I knew not, only that falling sheets of it pushed outward at the Master of the Plain of Desolation and forced him to retreat before it. So we went—the falling water accompanying me.

  I paid no heed to our direction or surroundings, for I was sure that I must concentrate on one thing—holding as close as I could to my inner enabling. Whether he wished it or not he played guide and I was content to have it so for now.

  We descended stairs, a ramp, sloshed through rooms, the water running stream-wide now. I knew that he was marshaling his resources to keep out of its touch without losing me. My own power built steadily; I could only hope his was dwindling.

  There lay a wide-open portal behind him, great enough to dwarf us. Above the swishing of the water I heard an unmistakable sound. Though there were no war drums to arouse a fighter into frenzy, we were moving straight into a furious battle.

  Allitta:

  To the west a portion of roofing sloughed away and was gone. I shivered, not only from the chill of the wind-borne water but from fear. My perch could be breaking up about me. I crawled away from the gap in the roof, just as the hole was enlarged.

  Even through the ever-rising sound of rushing water I could now hear roars and screams, battle cries that I could understand. Some who served in the forces of the Outer Regions were surely now engaged. Another piece of roof was gone; the hole was enlarging in my direction. Now it formed a recognizable square. And from that—I staggered to my feet even as Kassca, her fur sleeked with water, sprung to me.

  Behind her came Ravinga and Wiu—save that this was a Ravinga I hesitated to hail. Could I be deceived by some Power to see one I thought I had known well, now more regal than Yuikala?

  CHAPTER 30

  Hynkkel-ji:

  Spray blew over us; now I could see behind Quinzell men and rats locked in deadly struggle. The Dark One threw out his arms. Around him the mist of water thickened like a wall. My strange weapon failed as the mist barricaded him. I was no longer a menace.

  “Hynkkel!”

  In spite of the need to watch Quinzell I glanced to my left.

  Ravinga—and Allitta. Their clothing clung soddenly to their bodies. They might just have emerged from the river. Between them a weapon sliced viciously—a trio of knives formed its head and a wisp of cloth fell from Allitta’ s shoulder.

  The doll maker—or was it she?—pointed sharply. I knew it was a warning and instantly redirected my attention to Quinzell.

  Though he had not joined the melee below, I saw his attention was divided between his forces, engaged with those I recognized as my own following, and me.

  Though I now distrusted it, I swung my weapon up once more, butt against my chest, and fired. My aim was true; my target close, but there came no result. Light shone only for a moment then disappeared. There followed a backlash, smashing at me. I stumbled, unable to control a body so suddenly weak that I found myself on my knees, slammed against one of the pillars framing the Palace entrance. Again my sight was darkened—Once more time turned backward—So it had been before.

  Through the air a body hurtled, not dead or wounded, but landing with a warrior’s skill nearly upon me. My brother stared down.

  “Your are hurt?”

  My shoulder scraped the wall. I had not loosed the power rod, but kept a firm grip on it. I tried to use my left hand to help regain my feet, but the weakness hindered. A firm grasp brought me to stand shoulder to shoulder with Kalikku.

  “YALA, YALA, YALA!” Even the growing thunder of the water could not drown out the familiar war cry.

  Somehow I was able to stand firm beside my brother, looking down into the battlefield.

  Allitta:

  When I saw Hynkkel go down I think I whimpered. In that moment I could have flung myself at that mist-obscured figure he confronted and clawed him. Then I saw a human warrior join Hynkkel. All the while, the Dark master of this city raised his hands to point fingers right and left, aimed always at man-rats. Each he so indicated was sorely wounded. One lacked an arm and another had a great hole in his chest. Neither fell, but continued to fight, sweeping knife crowned spears such as our men had never before faced.

  There were men of the Outer Regions down. I saw rats tearing them to pieces and looked away. Hynkkel had drawn his brother close, so he could speak directly in his ear. Kalikku shook his head. Hynkkel raised the rod he held even as his brother tried to thrust him back.

  Hynkkel struck out and wrenched himself free. He tottered once as Kalikku let go. I saw his brother attempt to catch him. Then another took a hand. I had not realized that Ravinga had gone, though we had been so close together. There she stood blocking any move of Kalikku’s.

  My hand went to my breast. The gift jewel was again warming. Another warrior—the young officer Jaclan—had now gained a lower step. Blood streamed from an arm, but when a man-rat speared at him, his blade swung and he was a step higher.

  Before me lay a scene of scarlet horror. This was such a blot that even the Essence Itself might rise to dash away. Still the streams of rats were gathering as fast as the ever rising water.

  Ravinga stood on the step above Hynkkel, yet I did not see her offer him any aid, if she could. I clasped my amulet between both palms; its heat grew. Then—step-by-step—avoiding Ravinga, I became shield mate with Hynkkel. I raised my closed hand over my head, biting my lips until I could taste blood, for I felt as if I nursed a blazing fragment of the desert sun. Desert Sun—I could see it hanging above us!

  A shaft of blistering-hot light streamed from between my fingers. It did not strike directly at the misty head of the Dark One but at an angle.

  Wisps of steam—Hynkkel’s weapon raised a fraction. Behind our enemy rats and men, no longer engaged, were falling back.

  Quinzell swayed a fraction, then steadied. His face sharpened to resemble a rat’s. One of the three-pointed spears sailed at Hynkkel. I swung my jewel on its chain. I did not really see any contact between the two as I snatched it back. Still the spear upended its length with no hand on it and fell. At the same moment I was roughly and hastily shoved aside by Kalikku. Before his hands left my shoulder Hynkkel shouted, his voice ringing out.

  “The time is NOW!”

  With both hands he held the butt of the weapon to him; he might have so caught at a sword that had plunged into his breast.

  Hynkkel-ji:

  All I could focus my sight upon was that shaft of water mist and its core, with the blazing light beating upon it. I do not remember aiming. A faint touch of memory—So it had been before—and my defeat had followed!

  The mist collapsed and the light beam was also gone. Before me the Lord of Desolation tensed. I was well aware he prepared to leap for my throat. My hands fell to my side, weak and useless after my last small effort.

  A hand holding a sword arose, between the enemy and me. I knew that he could not be slain by steel. My own weapon had rolled to the bloody space below.

  Now a ball of light flew into sight before me. Somehow, when I flung up my hand I captured
it.

  What followed assuredly could not have happened in any world I knew.

  Quinzell paused to laugh at me—and met a spray of water. His mouth opened to emit such a scream as of a victim on the rack. The water was visible, as it struck his body, a greenish blotch running down from the base of his throat. The flesh it touched began to soften and slough away. Though he did not fall, larger and larger portions of skin and sodden flesh dropped from his frame. His face remained solid. I could only believe that Quinzell was not human, but perhaps a construct, a doll such as Ravinga made so skillfully. If so—his head—

  Bones gleamed whitely. I could see the lift of ribs where skin pulled and curled away. Still his eyes glared and though he uttered no further cry, I was aware he continued to live.

  Lived and fought. It was my turn to cry out in agony and nearly yield. For that other invaded my mind, striving to take me over. Somewhere there came warmth, a promise of help. I did not know why I lifted my hand to my head, where a fire within my skull ate at me. But I too held fire and it vanquished those other flames.

  Facing me now was a skeleton, near clear of flesh. Only the head remained intact. Intact, alive and containing a rage so great as to be palpable. Was this demon of the Desolation truly immortal?

  “Hurl!” The command did not ring in my head but in my ears.

  Hurl what? I could scarcely accept that which suddenly weighted my hand once more—another ball of fire and light as before. In hope and fear—I threw!

  Shrieks and screams—not voiced by me nor by the thing I fronted. Before me the skeleton threw up bone hands to claw at features, which disintegrated under their touch. Still this thing of the Dark kept its feet, red eyes of a demon regarding me from the fleshless skull.

  “Zdzislaw!”

  The skull twisted to look past me, its jaws opening to display pointed teeth, mouthing words. I clutched my own head, for ringing within it were the deadliest of curses. I could stand no more. Pointing straight at the bony horror, I cried: