Samples from books that we have published under the Eartherean Press imprint.
This is another in a series from the first book in the 4-book series The Doom-Quest of Ara-Karn: The Former King.
© 1981 by A. Adam Corby
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License. The license is included as an appendix to this work.
Sea Storm
HE WENT DOWN to the bay and walked among the fishing boats. They were pulled up onto the sandy beach now, because it was the time of the second meal. He came to two small boats lying alone, far away from the others.
One boat was a small fishing boat, much battered and worn; but the other was new, and low and broad, and little longer than the height of a man. Draped and painted black was the low barge, with the visage of Goddess carved crudely upon its prow. Inside it were piled weapons and accoutrements, drinking-bowls, clothes, and casks of food and drink. Among these was a figure wrapped in linen, with only the face showing in the stern. Such was the corpse of Oron, and the death-barge of Oron.
Kuln-Holn sighed, and readied the two boats. No one else had come to see Oron off, because the man had left no kin and had been a poor and unpopular fellow. But the chief should have been there, because he was the chief.
Kuln-Holn shoved the boats into the lapping shallows and climbed into the fishing boat, lifting the small sail. Alone he sailed past the long shelving arms of green land and out into the Ocean of the Dead with the death-barge of Oron trailing behind.
To the South, five fists above the bright horizon, Goddess sat in Her throne of Golden Fire. And below Her stretched the vast unending Desert, scorched and baked from the heat of Her throne. There in the desert no plants grew, no streams flowed, and no clouds passed overhead. There were only the sands, dancing in whirlwinds, maddened by the nearness of Her awful beauty.
And beyond the desert, round the other side of the circling globe, were the lush Happy Shores, lands always green with ripening fruit; and thither the dead were guided by Goddess through the turbulent northern Ocean of the Dead in their small black death-barges. And She guided them to those lands they deserved, and when the barges struck the shore the spirits awakened, and rose, and stepped forth to new lives. And there they lived, like young chieftains and hunt-maidens in joy.
Some thousands out into the ocean the green lip of land fell away below the dark horizon, and Kuln-Holn sailed alone in the bowl of swelling waters. Soon he encountered the currents of the Dead, which lead up to the farther North, and thus circle around to the Happy Shores. Here Kuln-Holn slipped the line, holding to the tiller; and in no more than the space of seven heartbeats the death-barge had nosed about and was sliding away on the current.
‘Farewell, Oron,’ called the Pious One. ‘May She guide your voyage well, and may you find the blessed life beyond the Happy Shores. And may no barge-robbers find you; and may She not turn you back upon the shores of the living to curse your death; and may She hear my words!’ For sometimes robbers stole the dead spirit’s belongings; and other times She would turn the barge back in anger at the man’s crimes in life; and then the spirit would leap forth upon the shores of the living. And then the spirit would grow mad in its grief and haunt and possess those who dwelt on the shores where he had landed.
The swell pitched the black death-barge as it departed on its voyage. The form of those barges was unlike that of any other ship, so that Goddess might see it from on high and guide it well. And the form was ancient beyond the deeps of time; and some said that Goddess Herself had made it back when the world and man were young and the lands still undivided.
When the small barge dipped and vanished over the crest of a swell, Kuln-Holn breathed a second prayer to Goddess and turned the fishing boat back toward the dark horizon.
There, far above the dark horizon, shining brighter coming in to home, fell the green orb of God in His chariot of Jade. The Pious One did not like God, for He was a proud and angry god, a god of death, destruction, and vengeance unending; and Kuln-Holn was a peaceful, gentle soul. Those who worshiped God were mainly the hunters and the warriors of the tribe, and they did so only for fear, in the hope that His evil might pass them by a little. Before warfare they sacrificed to Him and offered Him much blood, which is said to please Him. Yet He would aid one man only to destroy others; and when that was done He would turn on His favorites and slay them in turn, even at the height of their triumph.
For God hated all men and all the works of men, wherefore Kuln-Holn feared Him, and clove to the gentle worship of kindly Goddess. Only Madpriests loved God, they who were His people, and fully as hateful as He. They lived in His Kingdom in the Darklands, where only the Madpriests might live, for the perpetual darkness. And even farther into the darkness His Fortress of Black Rock stood far out above the surging dark seas. There in the darkness was no land, only rare islands of sharp rock: for the water that dried on Her side fell in torrential rains on His. And all that could exist there were the monstrous reptilian fishes with long jagged teeth and no eyes bulging in the black depths of those sunless seas.
Kuln-Holn the Pious One averted his eyes from the sight of God and looked for Goddess to invoke Her blessing. Yet now the throne of Golden Fire was robed in dusky purple clouds, which swept on the winds out of the lands of the dead. The seas rose and pitched, and the stiffening winds blew foamy caps upon the swells. A storm was coming – one of the last great storms of the winter.
Kuln-Holn shuddered and drew his cloak more tightly about his arms, praying again to Goddess. ‘Truly, Gundoen meant it not,’ he muttered. ‘It was only the merchants and the ale.’ But Kuln-Holn should have known that his words would prove of no avail.
§
WITH THE ROAR of a wounded thorsa in the hollow mountains of the Spine, the Storm broke over the village of Gundoen’s tribe.
It was horrible. It was a message, a punishment, a threatening of doom. It came with sudden violence, but it was not quick to leave. It was such a storm as had not been known in the memory of men. It was such a storm that it could only have been sent by dark God; and it could only have come if She had turned Her face from the people of Gundoen’s tribe.
The people huddled in the darkness of their battened huts, trembling. Every window opening had been covered with the stout winter-boards; and even the smoke-holes in the roofs were shut tight. So the folk sat in darkness around their dampened cook-fires, with only the light of a few ill-smelling tallow candles flickering.
Outside the winds blew meaningly, ripping down leaf and branch alike, lifting the waves to twice the height of a man. And the rain fell as if from upturned buckets; and the rain and the louring clouds so slew the light of Goddess that it was as if the village were now beyond the dusky border at the rim of the world, where only the Madpriests live. Those who dared to venture out of doors had to lean against the gusts and, if they went against the wind, struggle for every step gained. Several huts collapsed under the gale, the rain washing away the dried mud and the wind rending even large logs out of their places. Old Elm Dark-Tooth was killed when a great beam of his hut came crashing down on his head; but no one heard his death-cries over the thunder of the Storm.
The village streets were become rushing muddy streams, emptying into the bay. One woman, poor Lista the Weaver, ventured out-of-doors just for a moment – and the wind pushed her away from her hut, and the rain blinded her, and in the end (it did not last very long) she fell heavily in the mud, unable to rise. And she drowned in the middle of the street, in the place now called Lista’s Bath. Some folk even claimed the rain was so hard it washed her body down the length of the village and out to sea and that as she passed the corpse of her called out to everyone by name, inviting them to join her.
Of all the folk in the village, only Gundoen seemed not afraid. ‘This is a storm and nothing more,’ he said, as they ate their fifth meal in the darkness. ‘Will the tribe that does not fear all of Gen-Karn’s warriors tremble at a little rain and wind?’
But the fishermen knew that such storms as this came only in the winter, and now it was early spring. And not even the oldest woman in the tribe could remember a storm of such ferocity. This was a storm sent from the gods in their terrible wrath, and in their hearts all blamed Gundoen for it. For had he not refused to see Oron on his final voyage?
Arn-Bin, cowering behind a thick wooden bench with his ears close to the wall of the chief’s hall, swore that he heard a name repeated in the howling of the wind. ‘Oron,’ it seemed to shriek. ‘Ooooron.’ Arn-Bin murmured this to others, who also heard it and cursed the chief under their breaths. But they dared do nothing for fear of the chief’s wrath.
And Gundoen saw the fear and anger in their eyes, and grew sullen and wrothful. He drank ale and stormed around the hall ranting, drunkenly challenging anyone to come and wrestle with him. Not even Alli could seem to please him. In the end Hertha-Toll the Sorrowful gave him a potion in his ale, and he fell into a deep sleep before he could kill anyone.
And outside the terrible Storm raged on. The people slept and ate and slept many times in the darkness, knowing that God passed overhead many times as well. And at last the log walls ceased to shudder, and the rafters left off their tremblings. And the moan of the winds fell away, so that only the hissing of the rain went on; and at last that too sighed and was spent. Then the people crouching in the darkness waited; yet nor the winds nor the rains returned. So at last the bolder men, the spear-hunters of the tribe, dared peep their heads out-of-doors and carefully step out of the darkness of their huts.
§
ABOVE THEM the sky was a deep greenish blue, shimmering and bright; and the last of the clouds were scurrying away toward the dark horizon. And Goddess, naked and cleansed, smiled down upon them. They stepped into the warm light, the fresh air, the brightness and the space. Kuln-Holn was the first among them to fall to his knees in the mud and thank Her for their deliverance; but not the last.
But when they looked about them their spirits fell, and the women cried out grievously. The huts were crushed, the outbuildings blown away. In the fields where the crops had been planted now stood brown muddy lakes strewn with leaves and branches. And the sand of the beach had become stony, and many of the fishing boats were washed away. Even the single log pier had been torn down and swept out into the abyss. Now they would have to barter away their last ornaments and even some weapons to gather food and seed. And then they could have no hope of standing against Gen-Karn; and even then many would perish from lack of food in the winter, unless some great miracle came to pass.
In the midst of the women’s wailing another voice arose, and it belonged to Kuln-Holn.
‘Look!’ he cried. ‘Look at the sky!’
They lifted their heads and stared out over the waters of the bright horizon, where Goddess ever was. And at the sight even the women, even proud broad Gundoen, fell into silence, awed at this final portent of doom.
Already, even as they looked, the light had faded somewhat. Already the throne of Golden Fire no longer appeared perfectly round. Already a small dark crescent had been eaten away from Her underbelly. And the crescent was growing larger.
‘Come to the beaches!’ cried Kuln-Holn. ‘Come to the beaches, to redeem Her and call Her back to us!’
He ran down toward the beach. The others stood or kneeled and looked after him stupidly, while awareness grew in their eyes. Then, with a convulsive rush, they rose and fled down the steep path to the shores of the sea.
God had assaulted Goddess. Consumed by Desire, He had invaded Her throne of Golden Fire and begun to ravish Her. And Darkness was falling across the lands of men.
All of this had occurred in the past, and the people of the tribe knew what they had to do. They gathered about the bay and fell with their knees on the wet stones. And they bowed and scraped, and cried their prayers with arms lifted to heaven.
Always before had this ritual accomplished its aim; yet this was an ominous time. For She was angered at the tribe. Not yet had they appeased Her displeasure at Gundoen’s blasphemy – this the Storm had proven. In Her anger She might well forget the love She bore men and surrender pride for passion’s sake, and depart with God, leaving the lands where men dwell cold, dark, and lifeless.
Now were all their cries and prayers needed, from the mighty to the weak; and this none knew better than Kuln-Holn the Pious One. Yet it was Kuln-Holn who looked up during the period of greatest darkness, when the shadows were borderless and weird and the light no brighter than the shadows.
And Kuln-Holn broke off his prayers, and rose suddenly to his feet, and gazed out across the waves.
