ECHOES OF THE GREAT SONG by David A. Gemmell

From the Sunset Song of the Anajo

By the end of the day Ro had sentenced six men and one woman to be fully crystal-drawn, and three others to lose five years. Back in his chambers he removed the magisterial robes and ate a light meal. There was no need to study the ancient law concerning magicking. The woman should have been crystal-drawn. But she had mentioned golden ships and men coming across the sea, and this more than intrigued Ro.

He ordered her brought to his chambers. The room was small, furnished with a narrow table and two chairs, and when the guards brought her in Ro became even more aware of her beauty. Her hair was dark and lustrous, her lips full and inviting. And, in the close proximity of the small room, he could smell the cheap lemon-scented soap she had used in bathing that morning. He felt suddenly hot and uncomfortable. Bidding her to take a seat he moved away, putting the desk between them.

‘Tell me about yourself,’ he said. She glanced up at him.

‘You want to know about the golden ships,’ she told him. They frighten you.’ She hesitated. ‘I frighten you.’

‘I do not fear you, woman,’ he said, sharply.

‘Yes, you do. For I remind you of … a day in a great park. Children are playing. You are holding the hand of a beautiful woman, yet you are thinking of … numbers … calculations. She was your wife.’

‘Tell me of the golden ships,’ he said, his mouth dry.

‘Why is this happening to me? I want it to stop.’

‘I will help you. But tell me of the ships.’

‘They are coming across the sea now. Evil men are coming. One with a face like glass. It is not real glass. He has decorated his eyebrows and his chin to make it appear like crystal. He is an awful man. His thoughts are all of blood and death.’

‘Where are the people from?’

‘I don’t want to do this,’ said Sofarita. ‘I don’t want to see them any more.’

‘I need to know,’ said Ro. ‘It is important. Do they come for war?’

‘I cannot see the future, lord. Only what is, and what has been. They are a terrible race. They kill and they maim. They take children and bury them alive to feed …’ The faraway look returned.

‘Look at me! What do they feed?’

‘There is a building, four-sided, narrowing to a point. It glitters in the sunlight.’

‘A pyramid, yes. They feed a pyramid?’

‘Yes, they kill people at its peak. The blood runs into channels, and then down into the building. And the pyra­mid feeds … No! Not the pyramid itself, but something inside. Something buried. Something … alive!’

Ro licked his lips. His mouth felt suddenly dry. ‘Can you see inside this pyramid?’

‘No. But something lives there.’

‘And it is fed by blood?’

Sofarita blinked. ‘And crystals. People sacrificed in other cities have their blood poured over crystals. These are then carried to the pyramid. There are openings and the crystals are poured into them. They clatter and fall.’ She fell silent.

Ro waited a moment. ‘How many ships are coming?’ he asked. She did not respond. He asked her again, his voice a little louder. She jerked.

‘Would you like to see them?’ she asked him, suddenly. ‘The ships?’

‘What do you mean?’

She rose from her chair and moved around the desk. Then she extended her hand to him. ‘I will show you the ships,’ she said. Now the scent of her was close. He could smell the fragrance of her hair. Reaching out he took her hand.

And was lost in an explosion of colour that sent him spiralling out of control. Panic engulfed him, but he heard her voice soft and warm inside his mind, calming him. ‘Open your eyes, and see the sky.’

Ro did so, and found himself floating among the clouds above a shimmering sea. He could feel no heat or cold, nor see his own body, but her closeness brought with it a warmth that bathed his soul.

‘Down there!’ she whispered. ‘Can you see them?’