ECHOES OF THE GREAT SONG by David A. Gemmell

Talaban grinned. ‘Well, dream walking is something I have never done. So how do we begin?’

‘We sit. On floor. Find trance. Then we fly.’ ‘Let’s do it,’ said Talaban.

Talaban locked the door then knelt on the rug facing Touchstone. The tribesman put his hands on Talaban’s shoulders. Talaban copied the move. Then Touchstone leaned forward, lowering his head until their skulls touched.

‘Hold to ship,’ warned Touchstone. ‘Or both be lost.’

Talaban did not reply. Relaxing his mind he sought the trance state: focus without concentration, physical tension allied to mental relaxation, the melding of opposites, the closing of the circle. He felt himself moving, spinning, as if he and Touchstone were involved in a bizarre dance. He knew it was not so and that they still knelt together on the rug of his cabin, and yet he allowed the feeling to grow. Colours danced in his mind, swirling rainbows passing over, around and through him. And then he heard music, soaring and primal, the drumbeat of the universe, the eerie singing of cosmic winds, the sighing of unborn stars.

He was floating now in darkness and scenes from his past flowed before his mind’s eye; his first voyage to the Hidden Islands and the school there where he studied Anu’s star maps, his courtship of Suryet, as they ran together in the high hills above the tepees of the Anajo, his capture of Touchstone, his capture by Talaban. With a jolt he struggled to free himself from the complete union of minds. Drawing back, he held to his own identity. and became aware that Touchstone was going through a similar struggle. The colours flared into life once more and, momentarily, he felt the rug beneath his knees and the movement of the ship.

Separated but still together the two men relaxed once more, their minds soaring back towards the music. Sights of infinite beauty filled Talaban’s mind, planets and stars, moons and comets, all moving and spinning in the great dance that was eternity.

Excitement swept through him, followed by ecstasy. All the secrets of the universe were flowing through him, too fast to make sense of, but slow enough to see that there was a unity and a sense of underlying purpose to all the scenes. Lost in the wonder of it he floated among the stars of the Great Milk River of the Sky.

He had forgotten Touchstone, forgotten the ship, lost touch with his own small, meaningless life. Here were the answers to every question, every mystery. And he was free – free of care and trouble, free of Strife and discord. Here was harmony. Here was a joy undreamed-of.

Time was meaningless here and he floated on, watch­ing, learning, observing, filled with a sense of increasing wonder. He watched the birth of stars and the death of planets, growing ever more part of the dance.

Two moons.

It was as if a voice had spoken to him, yet without sound. What did it mean? And then he remembered the mystery. So tiny it seemed now, so inconsequential. But even the thought of the riddle gave him a desire to find the answer.

Colours swirled around him once more and he found himself gazing down on a blue planet. Then he was hurtling towards it, passing through clouds, and hovering over vast mountains. Down and down he flew until he recognized Parapolis and the White Pyramid at its centre. People were moving through the marketplace and the temple grounds.

And there, moving across the great courtyard, he saw himself being approached by a Vagar mystic, a ragged man in ragged furs.

The scene shimmered.

He was still above Parapolis – but there was no white pyramid. This time it was a golden ziggurat, stepped and flat-topped. The ragged mystic was there again, but this time he was being held by guards. One of them drew a golden knife with a serrated edge and dragged it across the little man’s throat.

Again the scene shimmered and changed. Talaban floated higher.

It was night, and a great wind was blowing over the continent. Talaban swung and looked to the north.

The tidal wave was bearing down upon the city.