Абрахам Меррит - Dwellers in the Mirage

I caught Rascha's arm before the dagger could descend again. I caught his arm, bent it back, and heard the bone snap. He howled—like a wolf.

A hammer hummed by my head, missing it by a hair. I saw Tibur drawing it back by its thong.

I leaned and lifted Rascha from his saddle. His sound arm swept up, hand clutching at my throat. I caught the wrist and twisted that arm back. I snapped it as I had the other.

My horse swerved. With one hand at Rascha's throat, the other arm holding him, I toppled from the saddle bearing him down with me. I fell upon him. I twisted, and threw him over the bar of my knee. My hand slipped from his throat to his chest. My right leg locked over his.

A swift downward thrust—a sound like the breaking of a faggot. The Back–breaker would break no more backs. His own was broken.

I leaped to my feet. Looked up into the face of the brown–eyed rider…Evalie!…

I cried out to her—"Evalie!"

Abruptly, all about me the battle broke out afresh. Evalie turned to meet the charge. I saw Tibur's great shoulders rise behind her… saw him snatch her from her horse…saw from his left hand a flash of light…It sped toward me…I was hurled aside. None too soon—not soon enough—

Something caught me a glancing blow upon the side of my head. I went down upon my knees and hands, blind and dizzy. I heard Tibur laughing; I strove to conquer blind dizziness and nausea, felt blood streaming down my face.

And crouching, swaying on knees and hands, heard the tide of battle sweep around and over and past me.

My head steadied. The blindness was passing. I was still on my hands and knees. Under me was the body of a man—a man whose black eyes were fixed on mine with understanding—with love!

I felt a touch on my shoulder; with difficulty I looked up. It was Dara.

"A hair between life and death. Lord. Drink this."

She put a phial to my lips. The bitter, fiery liquid coursed through me, brought steadiness, brought strength. I could see there was a ring of soldier–women around me, guarding me—beyond them a ring of others, on horses.

"Can you hear me, Leif?…I haven't much time…"

I lurched aside and knelt.

"Jim! Jim! Oh, God—why did you come here? Take this sword and kill me!"

He reached for my hand, held it tight.

"Don't be a damned fool, Leif! You couldn't help it…but you've got to save Evalie!"

"I've got to save you, Tsantawu—get you out of here—"

"Shut up and listen. I've got mine, Leif, and I know it. That blade went through the mail right into the lungs…I'm trickling out—inside…hell, Leif—don't take it so hard…It might have been in the war…It might have been any time…It's not your fault…"

A sob shook me, tears mingled with the blood upon my face.

"But I killed him, Jim—I killed him!"

"I know, Leif…a neat job…I saw you…but there's something I've got to tell you…" his voice faltered.

I put the phial to his lips—it brought him back.

"Just now…Evalie…hates you! You have to save her…Leif …whether she does or not. Listen. Word came to us from Sirk through the Little People that you wanted us to meet you there. You were pretending to be Dwayanu…pretending to remember nothing but Dwayanu…to allay suspicion and to gain power. You were going to slip away…come to Sirk, and lead it against Karak. You needed me to stand beside you…needed Evalie to persuade the pygmies…"

"I sent you no message, Jim!" I groaned.

"I know you didn't—now…But we believed it…You saved Sri from the wolves and defied the Witch–woman—"

"Jim—how long was it after Sri's escape that the lying message came?"

"Two days…What does it matter? I'd told Evalie what was—wrong—with you…gone over your story again and again. She didn't understand…but she took me on faith…Some more of that stuff, Leif…I'm going…"

Again the fiery draught revived him.

"We reached Sirk…two days ago…across the river with Sri and twenty pygmies…it was easy…too easy…not a wolf howled, although I knew the beasts were watching us…stalking us…and the others did, too. We waited…then came the attack…and then I knew we had been trapped…How did you get over those geysers…Big Fellow…never mind…but…Evalie believes you sent the message…you…black treachery…"

His eyes closed. Cold, cold were his hands.

"Tsantawu—brother—you do not believe! Tsantawu—come back…speak to me…"

His eyes opened, but hardly could I hear him speak—

"You're not Dwayanu—Leif? Not now—or ever again?"

"No, Tsantawu…don't leave me!"

"Bend…your head…closer, Leif…keep fighting…save Evalie."

Fainter grew his voice:

"Good–bye…Degataga…not your fault…"

A ghost of the old sardonic smile passed over the white face.

"You didn't pick your…damned…ancestors!…Worse luck…We've had…hell of good times…together… Save…Evalie…"

There was a gush of blood from his mouth.

Jim was dead…was dead.

Tsantawu—no more!

I leaned over Jim and kissed his forehead. I arose. I was numb with sorrow. But under that numbness seethed a tortured rage, a tortured horror. Deadly rage against the Witch–woman and the Smith—horror of myself, of what I had been…horror of—Dwayanu!

I must find Tibur and the Witch–woman—but first there was something else to be done. They and Evalie could wait.

"Dara—have them lift him. Carry him into one of the houses."

I followed on foot as they bore Jim away. There was fighting still going on, but far from us. Here were only the dead. I guessed that Sirk was making its last stand at the end of the valley.

Dara, Naral and I and half–dozen more passed through the broken doors of what yesterday had been a pleasant home. In its centre was a little columned hall. The other soldiers clustered round the broken doors, guarding entrance. I ordered chairs and beds and whatever else would burn brought into the little hall and heaped into a pyre. Dara said:

"Lord, let me bathe your wound."

I dropped upon a stool, sat thinking while she washed the gash upon my head with stinging wine. Beyond the strange numbness, my mind was very clear. I was Leif Langdon. Dwayanu was no longer master of my mind—nor ever again would be. Yet he lived. He lived within as part of—myself. It was as though the shock of recognition of Jim had dissolved Dwayanu within Leif Langdon.

As though two opposing currents had merged into one; as though two drops had melted into each other; as though two antagonistic metals had fused.

Crystal clear was every memory of what I had heard and seen, said and done and thought from the time I had been hurled from Nansur Bridge. And crystal clear, agonizingly clear, was all that had gone before. Dwayanu was not dead, no! But part of me, and I was by far the stronger. I could use him, his strength, his wisdom—but he could not use mine. I was in control. I was the master.

And I thought, sitting there, that if I were to save Evalie—if I were to do another thing that now I knew, I would do or die in the doing, I must still outwardly be all Dwayanu. There lay my power. Not easily could such transmutation as I had undergone be explained to my soldiers. They believed in me and followed me as Dwayanu. If Evalie, who had known me as Leif, who had loved me as Leif, who had listened to Jim, could not understand—how much less could these? No, they must see no change.

I touched my head. The cut was deep and long; apparently only the toughness of my skull had saved it from being split.

"Dara—you saw who made this wound?"