ECHOES OF THE GREAT SONG by David A. Gemmell

‘One task at a time,’ said Talaban. ‘Bring her to a gentle stop.’ Methras did so, and immediately the ship began to pitch in the swell. ‘With no forward motion you must compensate for pitch and roll with this,’ said Talaban, leaning forward and gently adjusting a golden wheel set at the centre of the panel. Immediately the ship ceased pitching.

For an hour Talaban instructed the Vagar sergeant in the intricacies of the Serpent. Then, locking the door behind him, he took Methras back to his own cabin and filled two goblets with fine wine.

‘You did well,’ he said.

‘Thank you, sir. But I still don’t understand why you shared this knowledge with me.’

‘It is a question of trust, Methras. Simply that.’

‘I will not betray that trust,’ Methras assured him.

‘I know. For all my faults I am a good judge of men. Now go and get some rest. Tomorrow I will teach the crew some of the finer points of seamanship aboard a fighting Serpent.”

Methras saluted and left the cabin. He still had no idea why Talaban had honoured him so, but he felt good for it, and he lay upon his cot bed recalling the heady sensations of riding the Serpent.

Three cabins away Touchstone found sleep hard to come by. Every time he drifted towards slumber he would see again the two moons in the sky. Rising from the floor he took his medicine bag in his hands and tried to concentrate on Suryet. It was useless. Her serene face would form in his mind, then fade into a vision of a ghostly moon.

Troubled, the tribesman left the cabin and climbed to the outer deck, tasting the salt upon the air, and watching the bright stars in the dome of the night sky. The moon was low on the horizon.

Three dolphins surfaced close by. One leapt high into the air, its sleek silver form spinning before it dived down into the water. Touchstone felt his spirits lift. Big seas would not trouble the Osnu. They would continue, no matter what disasters befell the human race. Transferring his gaze to the stars once more, Touchstone sought inspiration. He knew what needed to be done and yet feared the result. If he failed he could die, or worse, could become like poor Eagle-With-No-Feathers, slack jawed and imbecilic. Dream walking was a perilous enterprise at best, and then few walkers would consider the journey without the aid of a shaman.

Touchstone had walked twice in his life, both times with the aid of One-Eyed-Fox. He was the greatest of shamen. All the tribes understood this. On the second walk Touchstone had become lost in the stars of the Great Sky River. One-Eyed-Fox had brought him back.

The tribesman would not have considered the dangers of a walk, had it not been for the persistence of the two moon vision, and the fact that it seemed linked to the fate of Suryet. Every time he tried to picture her the vision roared into his mind.

Touchstone sighed, then made his way to Talaban’s cabin.

The captain was making more marks on white paper as Touchstone entered, little symbols carefully constructed in lines. He had explained that other men could read these symbols, and they were of value. Touchstone liked and admired the man, so he did not laugh.

‘You look troubled,’ said Talaban, putting aside his pen.

‘Big troubled. Need help.’ Talaban offered him a seat, then sat back. ‘Bad vision. Need dream walk to find answer. Fly high. Walk among stars. See future.’

‘You have spoken of dream walking before. You said it had many dangers, Touchstone.’

‘Yes. Many dangers. But must answer riddle.’

‘I thought you needed a shaman for the journey. To help you home.’

‘You must bring me home.’

‘I don’t know how, my friend.’

Touchstone shook his head. ‘You share walk. You see what I see. But you hold to ship. To …’ he struggled for the right words, ‘to life,’ he said, at last. ‘One hand to ship. One hand to me. You draw Touchstone back.’

‘And this vision is important enough to risk your life?’

‘And yours,’ said Touchstone.