‘It is so beautiful,’ said a voice. Skilgannon glanced to his right. A handsome young man sat there, his hair long and blond, his eyes blue.
‘Gamal?’
‘Indeed so. I long ago decided that — if it was in my power — I would be here at the point of my death.
There is something about this place that feeds my soul.’
‘It is not a dream place then?’
Gamal smiled. ‘Well, yes, it is at the moment. But it exists in the real world.’
‘How did they build a bridge across it?’ asked Skilgannon.
‘No-one built it. Ten thousand years ago — perhaps more — a great volcano erupted. A huge river of molten lava swept across the land. It burnt a tunnel through the rock face, then swept on down through the valley. The bridge is just the upper section of a cliff that was once here. A long time ago, before one of the many falls and rebirths of the world, there was a race who believed that the rainbow bridge was a connection between their world and the place of the gods. It is easy to see why.’
‘At most other times I would be fascinated to know more,’ said Skilgannon. ‘However — as you yourself said — we have little time.’
The young man nodded. ‘This is true. First let me tell you about the Eternal. .’
‘She is Jianna, a woman I loved more than life. I know. Now I must destroy her.’
‘No!’ said Gamal. ‘That you must not do! She would return instantly.’
‘How is that possible?’
‘Once more Landis is at fault here,’ said Gamal sadly. ‘The Eternal’s Reborns are linked to her.
Landis believed the process of the Eternal’s rebirth would be more efficient if there was some way to make the process of soul transference immediate upon the Eternal’s death. As it was we had to locate the Reborn and bring her to Diranan, and the palace, and then perform the exchange. This was obviously fraught with difficulty. What if the Reborn, sensing her fate, chose to run away? What if the Eternal died and was destroyed in the Void by some demon? Landis spent many years attempting to refine the process. In the end, though, it was Memnon who supplied the answer.’
‘Memnon?’
‘I will come to him, Skilgannon. He has a brilliant mind, and is also possessed of great psychic power.
When one of the Eternal’s duplicates was born Memnon had a tiny jewel inserted under the skin at the base of the infant’s skull. This jewel carries a spell. If the Eternal dies, her spirit would automatically flow to the eldest of the duplicates, wherever they might be. As far as I know this has been achieved twice. So you must not seek to kill her. It would be a waste of time. There will be more than twenty Reborns scattered around the empire.’
‘I understand,’ said Skilgannon. ‘Now tell me of Memnon.’
‘He is the Lord of the Shadows — a Jiamad, but of a unique kind. Landis created him a long time ago.
It was part of an attempt to find a formula for longer natural life, to counteract the ageing process. Landis had begun to loathe the idea of raising duplicates, only to kill their souls in order for the original to live on.
He saw it — quite rightly — as evil. So he experimented with Joinings, seeking one who could regenerate more efficiently than nature might intend. He was very successful. His experiments gave many of us longer, healthier lives. Then, a hundred years ago, came Memnon. At first we thought him a triumph.
Despite being created from animal and human he was in almost every way a perfect baby. Not a trace of Jiamad. As a child he possessed rare gifts. He could restore faded blooms to health. He could draw wild creatures to him. An amazing child.’ Gamal sighed. ‘His intelligence was — is — phenomenal. By the age of thirteen he was assisting Landis in experiments. He had mastered the machines of the ancients. By twenty he had moved beyond even Landis. The Eternal favoured him, allowing him to experiment on more and more humans. Many of them died terrible, agonizing deaths. None of this concerned Memnon at all. The pain of others passed him by. He has no conscience, no sense of what we consider good or evil. His one redeeming feature is his devotion to the Eternal.’
‘One of her lovers, I expect,’ said Skilgannon, an edge of bitterness in his voice.
‘No, not Memnon. I said he was almost perfect. There is no way he could perform any meaningful sexual act. Landis believed that was the reason for his lack of passion. He never grows angry, or sad.
Memnon just is. He created the Shadows. They will be coming after you before long, Skilgannon. Make sure there is always light around you. They favour the dark. Bright light burns their eyes.’
‘They are Jiamads?’ asked Skilgannon.
‘Of a kind. They have no fur. They are skinny — almost skeletal — and they move with bewildering speed. So fast that if a swordsman were to thrust his blade at one the sword would cut only air. They have two curved fangs, which inject poison into the victim. It is not deadly, but causes temporary paralysis. They also carry daggers, the blades dipped in similar poison. ‘
‘Apart from light what other weaknesses do they have?’
‘They lack stamina. After an attack they will find some safe, dark place to rest. And, as I said, their eyes are sensitive. Their vision is not strong. In the forest you will hear them. They emit loud, extremely high pitched shrieks. In some way this allows them to see objects. I do not understand how this works.
Neither did poor Landis.’
‘I take it that he is dead.’
‘Yes, Decado killed him. Despite his centuries of life Landis was a romantic. He believed in Ustarte’s prophecy.’
‘And you do not?’ said Skilgannon.
‘The simple answer is that I do not know. I cannot see how one warrior — even one such as you — can end the reign of the Eternal. Even if you did, what would it matter? The artefacts exist. They will always exist. They survived for thousands of years, their powers almost dormant. Nadir shamans found a way to harness the energies radiating from these sleeping machines below the ground. They did not know the artefacts were there, but, like Memnon, they were attuned to the energies pulsing from them. They acted as conduits for that power. All the physical magic in this blighted world emanates from these artefacts.’
‘So what changed?’ asked Skilgannon.
‘The Temple of the Resurrection. An abbot found a way to awaken them. The power in the artefacts swelled. All over this continent and beyond. So you see, Skilgannon, the physical death of the Eternal will do nothing to change the unhappy state of the world.’
‘What did he do, this abbot?’
The young Gamal shrugged. ‘Much is lost in myth now, but he found a passageway inside the holy mountain, and then there was light. I cannot say. I was not there.’
‘Then the answer lies at the temple.’
Gamal smiled. ‘Perhaps it would — if it was still there. Almost five hundred years ago the temple vanished.’
‘It was inside a mountain,’ said Skilgannon. ‘It could not vanish. There must have been a more powerful ward spell placed on it.’
‘No, Skilgannon. I have walked on the open land where the temple mountain once was. There is nothing there. It is an odd place now. Nothing grows there. The land twists and changes. Metal reacts in a bizarre way. I had copper coins in my pouch. They began to jingle together. I remember feeling nauseous, and not being able to maintain my balance. My companion and I left the area as soon as we could. Once clear I looked in my pouch. Five coins had somehow welded themselves together. I had to cut my belt loose, for the brass buckle was mangled and bent. Believe me, Skilgannon. The temple is gone. The mountain is gone.’