ECHOES OF THE GREAT SONG by David A. Gemmell

Thirty golden ships were sailing across the open sea. They had no sails, yet they cruised swiftly through the waves. Ro found himself diving towards them. All fear was gone now, as he floated above the lead ship. It was vast, twice the size of Serpent Seven, multi-decked and yet still sleek in the water. Up close he could see that the hull was cunningly crafted from timbers that had been covered with beaten gold. The ship was close to 300 feet long, and 40 feet high. Judging by the opaque blue glass windows there were four decks above the waterline.

Upon the upper deck, above and behind the prow, he saw three large metal structures, adorned with a series of wheels and balances, and protruding like a spear from each machine was a long metal tube some two feet in diameter. Ro had no idea as to their purpose. Beyond the machines a group of men were studying charts. The men were tall, their skins the colour of copper. They wore clothes of gold and elaborate headdresses sporting metal feathers stained red and green and blue.

‘How soon will they reach Egaru?’ he asked Sofarita.

‘/ don’t know. But there are other ships to the south.’

‘Show me.’

In an instant Ro found himself hovering above the familiar ice caps and glaciers where only recently he had found Communion. Five ships were anchored here. Sofarita led him inland to where a camp had been established. The newcomers had created a structure of golden poles laid flat in the shape of an octagon. At its centre lay three men – nomads by their appearance. They were dead, their chests open, their hearts ripped out. Blood-covered crystals filled the open cavities.

There were some thirty newcomers in the camp. Despite the intense cold none of them wore furs or any warm clothing. Most were dressed in thin tunics of cotton and seemed oblivious to the glacial temperature around them. Two men caught Ro’s spirit eye. One was wearing armour of gold and a tall feathered headdress. The man beside him was shorter, and hunchbacked. Together they were scanning a map painted on hide.

‘What are they looking for? asked Ro.

‘I do not know. They came here two days ago and killed a group of nomads.’

‘Take me closer. I want to see their map.’

Ro was now floating directly behind the tall man. The map was covered with symbols Ro could not read, which was galling for an Avatar versed in all the languages known to man.

‘Why can we not bear them?’ he asked Sofarita.

‘These powers are new to me. I cannot read their minds either.’

A troop of soldiers came marching from the north. Ro glanced at them. These were wearing furs, and they were big men. As they came closer Ro saw that they were not men at all. They were krals, huge and lumbering. Crossed belts of black leather adorned their chests and they carried clubs of iron. Ro saw that two of them were carrying a long pole, from which hung a nomad, tied by his hands and feet. The krals halted before the tall leader and bowed.

He stepped forward and drew a golden knife with which he cut the ropes holding the prisoner. The man fell to the ground. The leader placed his hand on the man’s brow.

Noise burst into Ro’s brain like sudden thunder. ‘Can you hear them now?’ asked Sofarita.

‘Yes. A little warning would have been helpful. I almost died of fright.’

The leader was speaking to the prisoner. ‘Now do you understand me? Am I speaking your tongue?’ he asked.

‘I hear you,’ responded the prisoner sullenly. He was young, and a gash to his face was leaking blood.

‘My men have seen a palace built near a lake of ice. Does it belong to your people?’

‘No. It was built by the Avatars. Long ago.’

‘The Avatars? A race of gods? Immortal? Undying?’

‘Yes.’

‘And where are they now?’

‘North. The gods toppled them. The sea destroyed them. It is said they hold sway over northern lands. I do not know. I have never been there.’

‘Have you seen them, these Avatars?’