ECHOES OF THE GREAT SONG by David A. Gemmell

He glanced up as they arrived. Talaban was shocked at his appearance. He was incredibly frail and his hands trembled. A blue aura shimmered around him and the spirit of Anu rose.

‘I know what you need,’ he said.

‘Can you help us?’ asked Talaban.

‘I can, Talaban, but there is a high price to pay.’

‘What price?’

Anu’s spirit hand reached out, touching Talaban’s brow. The words Anu then spoke were heard by him alone. ‘The Music is incredibly powerful, and can be immensely destructive. I learned to control it during a five-hundred-year apprenticeship. I cannot leave here and create a second spell. I do not have the strength. You do and you can. I can implant the knowledge in you, and you can cast the Music into the Serpent. But the price will be your life. I cannot teach you in hours what took me five centuries. And so the Music will eat away at you like a cancer. Your life span will be measured in days. You understand?’

‘I do.’

‘Are you willing to die, Talaban?’

The warrior thought of the woman in pain on the Serpent, and of the terrible perils facing his people. ‘I am,’ he said, simply.

‘Then let it be so.’

Heat flowed from Anu’s spirit fingers, seeping into Talaban’s mind. It was as if all the random, brilliant colours of the universe were exploding within his skull. He reeled back. Images flowered in his brain, then the Music began, a majestic symphony that flowed backwards, millions of strands joining together, becoming ever more simple, until, in the end, he could hear only twelve notes, then five, then three and finally one. Anu spoke again. ‘When you return to the ship, find a flute. Almost every sailor will have one. Take it to the Heart Room. And let the Music flow over the chest. You will see the crystals brighten, as if flames had burst into life within them. Then the Dance will begin.’

‘How swiftly can we make the crossing?’ asked Talaban.

‘Two days.’

‘And how long will I live after that?’

Anu was silent for a moment. ‘Perhaps a week.’

‘I thank you, Holy One.’

‘We will meet again, Talaban. On the journey beyond life.’

He removed his hand. The world twisted, rainbows blazing in Talaban’s mind. He awoke with a start.

Touchstone drew back from him. Questor Ro moved alongside. ‘Did you find Anu? Did you bring him back?’

‘We found him,’ said Talaban, pushing himself to his feet. ‘Now I must find a flute,’ he said. Slowly he walked across the cabin, opened the door, and left.

Ro swung towards Touchstone. ‘What happened?’

‘Not know all. Holy One only spoke him.’

‘So when will we reach the coast?’

‘Two days,’ said Touchstone.

‘Yes!’ shouted Ro, punching the air. Then he looked at Touchstone, and saw that the tribesman did not share his enthusiasm. ‘What is wrong?’ asked Ro, speaking now in Anajo. ‘Is there something else?’

Touchstone shrugged. ‘I do not know, but my heart is heavy, my soul burdened.’

Sofarita lay on the floor of her cabin, her knees drawn up, her arms hugging her body. She was trembling uncontrollably, her frame racked by a series of cramps that caused her to jerk spasmodically.

Never in her short life had she suffered such pain or felt such a terrible hunger. It was as if she stood starving at the centre of a feast, fine food all around her, exquisite delicacies to melt with flavour upon the tongue. Sofarita groaned.

Another cramp struck her belly and she cried out. She felt suddenly cold and began to shiver. Struggling to her knees she crawled to the bed. The blankets were thick but they offered her no respite. Through her pain she recalled the attack by Almeia and how Ro had warmed her with his body.

This was different. Now she was under attack from her own starving system.

Ro had warned her of the dangers of such a journey, separated from the city’s crystals, but she had not imagined the symptoms would be so severe. Her mind screamed at her to take just a little energy from the ship’s chest. Just a tiny morsel …