David Gemmell - The Legend of the Deathwalker

'Welcome,' said the old man. Sieben sat up and was about to speak when he noticed with horror that the speaker had been mutilated. His hands had been cut off, and blood was seeping from the stumps.

'Sweet Heavens, you must be in great pain,' he said.

'Always,' agreed the man, with a smile. 'But when something never passes, remaining constant, it becomes bearable.' Shrugging his shoulder he let the bag fall, then reached into it with his mangled, bleeding arms. From the bag he produced a hand, which he held carefully between the stumps. Gripping it with his knees, he held his mutilated right arm to the severed wrist. The limb jerked, and the hand attached itself to the wrist. The fingers flexed. 'Ah, that is good,' said the man, reaching into the bag and producing a left hand which he held in place over his left wrist. This too joined, and he clapped the hands together. Then he removed his eyes and dropped them into the bag.

'Why are you doing this to yourself?' asked Sieben.

'It is a compulsion engendered by sorcery,' said the stranger amiably. 'They were not content to merely kill me. Oh, no! Now I can have my hands or my eyes, but never both at the same time. If I try- and I have — then the pain becomes unbearable. I have great admiration for the way the spell was cast. I did not think it would last this long. I managed to counter the curse upon my ears and tongue. I see you found my medicine pouch.'

The fire flickered down, but the old man gestured with his hands and the flames sprang to new life. Sieben found himself staring at the man's empty eye-sockets. 'Have you tried using just one hand and one eye?' he asked.

'Is there something about me that suggests I am an idiot? Of course I have. It works. . but the pain is too awesome to describe.'

'I have to tell you that this is the worst dream I've ever had,' said Sieben.

'No dream. You are here.' Sieben was about to question him when a low, inhuman growl came from beyond the stones. The old man's hand came up and blue forked lightning flashed from it, exploding between the stones with a loud crack. Then there was silence. 'I need my hands, you see, to survive here. But I cannot go anywhere without my eyes. It is a sweetly vile punishment. I wish I had thought of it myself.'

'What was that. . thing?' asked Sieben, craning round to peer between the stones. There was nothing to be seen. All was darkness, deep and final.

'Difficult to know. But it did not mean us any good. I am Shaoshad.'

'Sieben. Sieben the Poet.'

'A poet? It is long since I savoured the delicious sounds of exquisite wordplay. But I fear you will not be with me long, so perhaps another time. . Tell me how you found my pouch.'

'The use of the Nadir letter i,' Sieben told him.

'Yes. It was a joke, you see. I knew no Nadir would see it. Not given to jokes, the Nadir. They were searching for the Eyes of Alchazzar. Eyes and i's. Good, isn't it?'

'Most amusing,' agreed Sieben. 'I take it you are not Nadir?'

'In part. Part Chiatze, part Sechuin, part Nadir. I want you to do something for me. I cannot offer you anything, of course.'

'What do you require?'

'My medicine pouch. I want you to take the hair and bum it. The knuckle-bones must be dropped into water. The parchment is to be shredded and scattered to the air, the pouch itself buried in the earth. Can you remember that?'

'Hair burnt, knuckles drowned, paper scattered, pouch buried,' said Sieben. 'What will that do?'

'I believe the release of my elemental power will end this cursed spell and give me back my hands and my eyes. Speaking of which. .' He lifted the eyes from the bag and slid them back in their sockets. Holding his arms over the bag, he released his hands, which fell from the wrists. Immediately blood began to flow. 'You are a handsome fellow and you have an honest face. I think I can trust you.'

'You are the man who stole the Eyes of Alchazzar,' said Sieben.

'Indeed I am. A rare mistake it was. Still, the man who never made a mistake never made anything, eh?'

'Why did you do it?'

'I had a vision — false as it has so far turned out. I thought I could bring the Uniter to my people five centuries early. Arrogance was always my downfall. I thought to use the Eyes to raise Oshikai from the dead. To regenerate his body and summon his soul. Well, I did summon his soul.'

'What happened?'

'You will scarcely credit it. I still have difficulty believing it myself.'

'I think I know,' said Sieben. 'He wouldn't accept life without Shut-sen.'

'Exactly. You are a bright fellow. Can you guess what happened next?'

'You set off to find her body — that's why you were caught so close to her resting-place. What I don't understand is why you did not use the power of the jewels.'

'Ah, but I did. That is why I was caught and killed.'

'Tell me,' whispered Sieben, fascinated. .

He groaned and opened his eyes. Nosta Khan was leaning over him and Sieben swore. Druss grabbed his arm, hauling him to his feet. 'By Heavens, poet, but you gave us a scare. How are you feeling?'

'Miffed!' said Sieben. 'A moment longer and he would have told me where he hid the jewels.'

'You spoke to Shaoshad?' said Nosta Khan.

'Yes. He told me why he took them.'

'Describe him.'

'A man with a curious beard, who has detachable hands and eyes.'

'Aha!' shouted Nosta Khan happily. 'The spell holds, then. Does he suffer?'

'Yes, but he is taking it rather well. Can you send me back to him?'

'Only by cutting out your heart and casting seven spells upon it,' the shaman told him.

'I'll take that as a no,' said Sieben.

From outside came the cries of a new-born infant and Sieben smiled. 'I hope you'll all excuse me. This has been a wearying experience and I need some rest.' Stooping, he gathered the hair, knuckle-bones, pouch and shreds of parchment.

'What are you doing with those?' asked Nosta Khan.

'Souvenirs of an interesting experience,' he said. 'I shall show them to my grandchildren and brag about my visit to the Underworld.'

Zhusai was afraid, though not with a simple fear, like the thought of dying. It was worse than that, she realized. Death was but another doorway, but this was a kind of extinction. At first her dreams of Shul-sen had been merely that — curiously unpleasant visions she suffered when sleeping. But now she was hearing voices whispering in her subconscious, and her own memories were becoming vague and blurred. Not so the memories of another life — a life as consort to the renegade chieftain Oshikai Demon-bane. These were becoming sharper, more distinct. She remembered the ride through the long hills, making love in the grass in the shadow of Jiang-shin, the Mother of Mountains, wearing her dress of white silk on the day of the wedding in the White Palace of Pechuin.

'Stop it!' she cried, as the memories seemed to engulf her. 'It is not me. Not my life. I was born in.. in.. ' But the memories would not come. 'My parents died. I was raised by my grandfather. .' For a moment the name was lost to her. Then: 'Chorin-Tsu!' she shouted — triumphantly. Talisman entered the room, and she flew: to him. 'Help me!' she begged him.

'What is wrong, my love?'

'She is trying to kill me,' sobbed Zhusai. 'And I cannot fight her.'

Her almond eyes were wide open, fear radiating from them. 'Who is trying to kill you?' he asked her.

'Shul-sen. She wants my life. . my body. I can feel her within me, her memories swamping me.'