Тэд Уильямс: Go ask Elric

“So what do we do now?” he asked. He hurt all over and his arm was so tired it trembled. He reflected briefly on how embarrassing it would be to drop the multiverse’s greatest guitar player on his head. “There isn’t any such thing as 911 in this world, is there? I mean, a SWAT unit would be kinda comforting right now.”

Elric and J imi winced. Pogo felt bad; he’d have to remember how loud his voice was in this giant size. Not that he’d be able to stay this way much longer. His muscles were throbbing like the first day of gym class, and he already had the grandaddy of all hangovers.

“We go forward — probably to die,” said Hendrix. It was weird hearing the same Educational TV-type speech that Elric used coming out of Jimi’s mouth, but Pogo had finally gotten used to it.

“We have stood together,” said Elric. “We will fall together, too.”

Pogo made a face. Elric with his strength back was a pretty bitchin’ act — more than a little scary, too — but you could carry this King Arthur stuff too far. “How about we win and we don’t die? I like that idea better.”

Elric’s blood-flecked smile was painful to see. “It has been a rare pleasure knowing you, Pogokhashman. But what the Lords of the Higher Planes themselves cannot defeat....”

“But I was listening! You said those High Plains dudes brought you guys together on purpose, or something like that! Why would they do that if you couldn’t win? Seems like there must be easier ways to get you two rubbed out if that’s all they wanted.”

Hendrix and Elric exchanged glances. “Perhaps there is something in what he says,” Jimi said slowly. “Perhaps....”

“I mean look at you two! You’re like... mirror images, kinda. I mean, maybe you’re supposed to... I don’t know... form a supergroup! Like Blind Faith!” He darted a look at the western horizon. The Chronophage was spreading. Bits of the land itself had begun to disappear, as if they had been gnawed by rats the size of continents.

Elric stared hard at Pogo, then turned to Jimi. “Raise your blade again, Uendrijj,” he said.

Jimi hesitated, then lifted the white sword. Elric pushed Stormbringer forward until the tips touched. “I have long since given up any kind of faith, blind or otherwise,” the albino said, “but perhaps....”

The place where the swords met began to glow with a deep blue light. As Pogo watched, hypnotized, the blue spread and enveloped both men. Pogo could feel a tingling in his palm where they stood. There was a sudden azure flash, bright as a gas-flame turned up to “infinity.” When Pogo could see again, only one figure remained in his hand. It wasn’t Elric.

It wasn’t Jimi, either.

She was tall and slender and absolutely naked, her skin a beautiful coffee- and-cream color, her hair streaked both black and white. Beneath her long lashes were eyes like golden coins. In her hand she held a slim gray sword.

“It is not a moment too soon,” she said in a voice as naturally melodious as birdsong.

Pogo stared, slack-jawed and dry-lipped. He felt big, dumb, and sweaty — and seventy feet tall made for a lot of all three. He had never developed a swifter crush, not even the one on Miss Brinkman, his fifth-grade teacher, who had worn tartan miniskirts. “Um, who... who are you?”

“I am the place where Law and Chaos come together, Pogo Cashman,” she said, “— summoned by the joining of two sundered souls. I am that place, that moment, where seeming opposites are reconciled. Wrong needs right to exist; night must have its sibling day. The red queen and the white are in truth inseparable .” She raised her arms and held the sword over her head. It was oddly unreflective. “You might call me Harmony — or Memory, or even History. I am that which holds the fabric of Time together — its guardian.”

“Kind of like Glinda from the Wizard of Oz?”

“You have played your part. Now I am free to play mine.” As she spoke, she rose from his hand like a wind-tossed dandelion seed, and hovered. He wanted to look at her body — she was exquisite — but it seemed wrong, like wanting to touch up the Virgin Mary or something. She smiled as if she sensed his thought. Just the sight made his heart skip two beats.

“Your time here is almost done,” she said. “But the multiverse holds many adventures for you ... if you only look for them.”

Abruptly she turned and was gone, tlying just like a comic-book heroine toward the hideous smear on the horizon, the gray sword lifted before her. Pogo thought she was unutterably, heartbreakingly beautiful. At the same time, she sort of reminded him of the hood ornament on a Rolls Royce.

He quickly lost sight of her against the pulsating black of the Chronophage, although he felt as though a part of him had gone with her. Deciding there was nothing more he could do, Pogo sat down on the ground, then allowed himself to shrink back to his normal size. He sighed with pleasure as his natural stature returned: it was like taking off the world’s tightest pair of shoes.

Something flickered on the horizon. As Pogo stared, still dizzy from changing sizes, the Chronophage writhed; then a searing streak of light moved across one of the tentacles. A soundless howl tremoloed through Pogo, a noiseless vibration that shook his very bones. The great black arm withered and vanished; where it had been, the sun seemed to be growing back.

More streaks of light, like the contrails of science fiction spaceships, ripped across the Chronophage. Pogo found himself back on his feet again and cheering. One by one the other arms shriveled and disappeared, and the blighted sky and earth began to return.

When the arms had all gone, there was a moment when the rest of the Chronophage’s black body began to swell, growing larger and larger against the sky until the sun was once more obscured. Pogo’s heart pounded. Then a star, a sparkling point of white light, bloomed in the midst of the darkness. An even deeper shuddering ran through Pogo as the Chronophage erupted in great shreds of tearing black. He was shaken so hard that for a moment everything swam away from him, and as he tumbled into oblivion he wondered if in fact the battle had been lost after all.

When Pogo opened his eyes again, Elric and Jimi were lying on the ground beside him. The sky contained nothing more sinister than a few clouds and the setting sun.

The albino struggled to sit up. Beside him, Jimi was slower to rise. Despite their weariness, a single look at the horizon showed both men that they had triumphed. Elric embraced the dark prince, then turned to Pogo, full of questions, but as the albino reached out a thin white hand to him, Pogo realized he could see the grass through it. Elric saw, too.

“I am being drawn back to my world,” he cried. “I sense that you and I are not to remain too long together in the same place, Shemei Uendrijj.” He looked at something Pogo could not see, and grinned wolfishly. “Ah, it seems that at least I will be granted my revenge against Badichar Chon. Hah! That is something!” He raised a nearly transparent Stormbringer in salute. “Farewell, Pogokhashman. You have performed a great service, and for more than just me. If we do not meet again, remember you have Elric of Melnibone’s undying gratitude!”

“Same to you. Take it easy, dude!” Pogo was genuinely sorry to see the albino go. He stood watching, his eyes suspiciously itchy, as Elric began to fade. “Wait a sec,” he said suddenly. “Elric — how do I get back?”

“Farewell. ..” The albino’s voice still echoed, but he was gone.

Pogo slumped to the ground, stunned. He was marooned. Like Alice, but down the rabbit-hole forever with no way out. And no ruby slippers.