First draft.
Sep. 23rd, 2003 09:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
camwynDamned if I know what it is, but it cropped up after reading Grasscutter, the Usagi Yojimbo trade paperback.
Once, and this was long ago - thousands on thousands of years before Shoshan's sacrifice, thousands more before her ancestor, Sek the Mad - once our people were different. Once they believed many things without testing, without knowing; and in those days that was enough, to believe. They told their stories and they hunted their prey, and they made gifts to such powers as they thought were in the world, and worth praising. And it was enough. But even in those days there were those of our people who had begun to look up, to lift their eyes from the spoor of the prey and look for the spoor of their gods. It is from them, from their hunting, that such as we are now was born. They did not know it then. No one did. They only knew that there were such things in the world as they did not quite trust, and they thought to ask a little farther than most. And the stories of them, of their times and fires, are stories of such questions.
The tale tonight is one such tale, one of the old, old stories. The scholars in the cities of learning collect such tales - to keep them, they say, safe from loss and change. It is no life for any living thing, and only a fool would say a story does not live; but living things die. If we are to have the stories as they were, we must keep some of them, at least, from being changed. We know, at least a little, what the thoughts were of our ancestors. We owe the scholars that, whatever we make of the tale ourselves. They are keepers, as the first who came away from the uLath war were keepers. The Remnant League, the worlds we hold, the races we have seen - these are new and wondrous, as is all the rest of space, but there are things that bear remembering. And this tale, which the scholars say was told of the ancestors of Sek, is one of them.
In the oldest days, they say, there were those of our people who lived in the forests that spilled down from the mountains and onto the shores of the seas of our homeworld. They hunted, as our kind always have; they lived in cities, as our ancestors once learned to do. They knew the hunting of the seas and the haunting of the forest, and they made their offerings to ancestors and gods. When they made war, as our people have so many times before, they gave themselves to the fighting with the fervor that they gave to the hunt. They honoured their enemies just as they honoured their ancestors, and they were known far and wide for it. The word of a warrior from Attahai was as good as the blood-vow of any other of our people. Even the gods knew this. They expected nothing less of them, and got nothing less.
It happened, once, that in the forest called Attahai there was a female named Alshani. She was young, and she was fierce, but she did not go mad with the fever of battle as some did. What she did, she did of her own will, and never claimed anything else. No one, no leader, no kinsman or kinswoman, could ever say they made her do a thing; and this stood her well in the eyes of all. She did not act from shame, and she did not act from guilt; she acted out of honour, and out of what she saw as right. For this all honoured her and ranked her highly, but most of all the male named Neyran. Neyran had seen Alshani in battle from afar when he was very young, and had loved her ever since, but he was small and short-legged, too slow despite himself. If it were only himself to think of he would have made a fine warrior, but the swordsfolk of Attahai were tall and swift, and he could not keep up with them. The swordfolk warred and hunted, and Neyran watched them go, and when they were gone took up the swords they left behind. It was not needed for the guards of Attahai to go far, so long as their eyes and noses and ears were keen, and his were. Neyran took up the swords and became a guard, and when no one was looking, closed his eyes to practice the way of the sword with Alshani, who was never there.
Three and five and ten years this went on, and at the end of that time there was a great battle in the mountains, far from the forests of Attahai. In the forest no one heard it, and in the forest no one smelled the smoke of war; but the carrion-eaters, who ever and always follow our kind to battle, circled high above the fight and waited for it to end. It was these that Neyran saw before any other might, and so Attahai was warned. When the invaders came the forest-folk of Attahai were ready for them, and turned them back with sword and spear. Not a one of the invaders from over the mountains was left when the fighting ended; but it came to Neyran, then, that there had been many of the carrion-eaters circling on the winds, and none of his own folk come back. He thought of this, and thought some more, and to the other guards said that he was going to where the battle had been, in the hopes that he might find some news. They let him go.
When he found the place of the first struggle it was as he had feared: there were none of the folk of Attahai left alive, not one. Not even Alshani. Neyran found her corpse only at the very end, for she had fallen first and there had been many warriors on both sides killed after. It would have been fitting for her to bear many wounds, for the mark of a great enemy was that it took great effort to kill such a one - but for Alshani there had been only one blow. There had been a strike to the back of her head, a strike with a poisoned spear, out of the darkness; and that was not right, not by any folk's measure. To die so was a disgrace, and Neyran's heart cried out within him at the thought.
He made the rites for the dead of that place, to send them on their way, but when he came to Alshani the rite he made was different. For her he walked into the mountains; for her he went into the dark place, the crevices between the rocks, the caves that went down into the hollow places of the spine of the world. For her he walked the way of the dead, his sword at his right side and her dagger on his left. Neyran was going to the places of the dead, to ask for justice and for more. It was in his heart then that he would ask for Alshani back, even if the Keeper of the Dead kept him in her place. He walked long and he walked far, but in the hollow places of the spine of the world time and distance are not as we know them, and how long it took or how far he went none can say. Only that he walked far enough, and long enough, and in the end came to the barricade that stops the gap in the wall of living stone around the places of the dead. There is a gate in that wall, as small as any door but big enough to let any living thing, or all living things, pass; and at the gate he knocked, and then sat down to wait.
Those who tend the gate in the barricade have always been there and always will be. They do not need to look like anyone, or anything, for they know who they are and that is all that matters. Who answered the gate Neyran could never after say, but when the answer came he asked for Alshani. It had come to him, as he sat, that perhaps he had better ask her if she wished to come back. It would do no one honour to presume, after all. The one who tended the gate said nothing, only went away. It did not come back; but after a time, Alshani was there. She blinked at Neyran, who bowed double and pressed his face to the ground. For a long time no one said anything.
"Why have you come here?" asked Alshani at last, and her voice was soft and dim.
Neyran lifted his head and looked at her. "I would like to ask for you back," he said. "To bring you back to the world of the living."
"Why?" asked Alshani. Behind her, on the other side of the gate, something moved.
"Because," said Neyran, "you did not deserve to die in that way."
Alshani hesitated. Behind her, something that had no voice whispered. She looked at Neyran and said, quietly, "There are many who did not deserve to die in the ways that they did."
"That is so," said Neyran.
"Then why," asked Alshani as another silent thing spoke, "did you not come for them?"
"Because," said Neyran, "I do not love them as I love you."
Then even the voiceless things were silent; but Alshani nodded. "It is the right answer," she said, and smiled at Neyran for the first time. That smile almost stopped his heart, proud and fierce and beautiful and sad as it was, and he could not look away. "I would like to come with you, Neyran the Guard, but my battle was very hard and the journey very cold. I have slept in the places of the dead and I have sat before their fires."
Neyran's chest was tight with fear, for to take food and fire and bed from a giver was to accept them as lord, but Alshani went on. "I have not eaten here," she said. "It may be that I can go. I must ask the Keeper's leave, but it may be that he may let me go."
"I will wait for you here," said Neyran.
Alshani smiled again. "See to it that you do," she said, "for the Keeper is greedy, and jealous, and does not like to let even the meanest thing go once he sees it as his. I do not know what price he may ask of me, and I would not have you see me pay it. If you love me, stay here."
Neyran promised he would, and she went away from him and shut the gate behind her.
He sat in that place for a long time, waiting in the hollow places of the spine of the world. He tried to count his heartbeats, but in that place even the living cannot tell such a thing. So he tried to count his breaths, but found that in that place he did not need to breathe. He thought perhaps to pass his time by counting the fur that ran along the back of his forearm, and at that he found he could succeed. It was a long task, as it would be for any of our people, and it was slow. As he counted, it came to him that the Keeper was a greedy power, with no thought for any save those he kept, and that it might well be that no one would ever think to tell him if Alshani could not gain his permission. He knocked at the gate and asked what passed within, but there came no answer, so he sat down and took up counting again. It came to him that the Keeper might value Alshani highly, and that she might have to pay an awful price. Perhaps he might offer to pay some part of that himself. So he knocked again, and asked, but the ones who tend the gate did not speak to him, and so he sat down once more. And this time, what came to Neyran was that the Keeper had made it cold, so that Alshani had needed his fire, and tiring, so that she needed his bed. Might it not be, in the time that was passing, that the warrior of his people might grow hungry?
He stood again, but this time he did not knock right away. When he did, and the gate slid open, he put his hand on the one who tended the gate; and that one led him in.
Alshani was standing before the Keeper of the Dead. She was not pleading, for a warrior did not plead, and she was not begging, for a warrior did not beg. She had asked and she had offered. The Keeper had not accepted her request, but he had not denied it either; he had instead gone away for a while, and when he came back had brought one of the treelings that her people liked best to eat and had cut its throat before her. The smell would have tempted even one well-fed and full, but Alshani had fought long, and walked long, and slept long, and had not yet eaten. Even the most disciplined of all warriors would be tempted beyond the bounds of honour by such a prize. She did not dare to look at the carcass, for the smell was tempting enough; she looked anywhere else, everywhere else, so that she would not think to eat. That was how she came to look upon the gate, and how she saw the one who tended the gate, bringing Neyran in. Her heart sank within her.
"I asked you not to come," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
"Yes," said Neyran quietly, "you did."
"You were not to look upon me before I came back to you," said Alshani, her hands trembling.
"That is so," said Neyran.
"You have seen me in dishonour-"
"No," said Neyran, "I have not." He stepped forward then, and the very faintest of all smiles was only partly visible on his face, for he had taken the red belt from his waist and bound it about his head so that he would not see.
"I have seen nothing at all," said Neyran, turning in the direction of the Keeper, "since before I knocked at the gate. That is honour. Alshani has not eaten since she came to this place, though she was tempted by a lord she did not want. That also is honour." He sniffed the air, and added, "I smell fresh meat. That does not strike me as honour..."
Then, and then only, the Keeper of the Dead spoke. The rage in his voice was beyond measure, like an earthquake beneath a long-sleeping mountain. "It is not for mortals to question the honour of the gods," said the Keeper.
Neyran only smiled more. "It is a terrible insult," he agreed.
"It demands blood," thundered the Keeper, and the silent voiceless things fled to other places, far away.
"Blood indeed," said Neyran, still smiling. He reached behind him, and lay a hand on his sword. "Wash it away- if you can. I will not struggle further if you cut me down, for you will have washed away my words. But if you fail, I will take Alshani with me, even if I fall on the path back to the places of the living."
The Keeper's laugh barked in astonishment. "As you like!" he cried, drawing his own sword. Alshani did not dare to look as he swung the first blow; but at the sound of metal on metal she opened her eyes.
Neyran, who had served three years and five and ten as a guard of Attahai, had served his people many a lonely night in the forest. He had filled those nights with the way of the sword, and with Alshani, who was never there; and compared to that swordswoman, that warrior, the Keeper of the Dead was of no account. The nights of practice had been with a master of the blade, eyes closed in the darkness - and that master had made no noise, had disturbed no air, had given no scent. But the Keeper could be heard, and the swing of his sword could be felt, and the smell of him was rank with fear; and in the end it was only that Neyran had never moved over the ground of that place that saved him. The guard of Attahai stumbled on a patch of ground, and the Keeper of the Dead fled from his blade.
"Go!" the Keeper cried, when he was safely away. "Go, the both of you!"
"Wait," said Alshani, helping Neyran to his feet. "Wait."
"What is it?" asked the Keeper.
"Say first that you will bear neither him nor I ill will for this, when we come to you again."
The Keeper looked at Neyran, and at his sword. There were many swords in the places of the dead, for the rites of our people in those days sent warriors on their way as armed as they had been in life. "I will not," he said at last, "but you must promise me a thing."
"And what is that?" asked Neyran, whose belt was still bound about his head.
"You are taking one who would have been my finest warrior," said the Keeper, "as you have taken my honour. Take her to the places of the living quickly, and do not look back until you reach the sunlight, or when your eyes turn towards me I will remember my loss and reclaim you both."
Neyran thought on this, and nodded at last. "It will be so," he said.
"Then you may both go," said the Keeper; and the gate in the barricade of rock opened.
The way back to the places of the living is twice as long as the way to the places of the dead, and four times as hard, but Neyran and Alshani followed that way. She stayed behind him, holding to the scabbard of his sword with both hands, and he did not look. Not even when the red belt fell from his eyes did he stop, not even once did he pause, and at last it began to be warm in the way that leads out of the hollow places of the spine of the world. Somewhere above the sun was shining.
Alshani could not cry out, for the journey had taken most of her breath, but she raised her hands in joy. Neyran, who could no longer feel her behind him, turned to look back.
And it would have gone hard with them both, then, if it were not that once, Neyran's belt had been white. The dagger he had worn, the dagger of Alshani, had found its home before he even knocked at the gate that last time. Knowing gods could not quite be trusted, Neyran had paid his price to bring that warrior back to the sunlight: he had given up all sunlight of his own.
Alshani stared at him, and he stared sightless back, and there was silence for a very long time. Then, without another word, she took him by the hand and led him into the sunlight; and they alone of all our kind, the stories say, ever got the better of the Keeper of the Dead. For they returned to the forest of Attahai, and told their story there, and lived many years in safety. It was said that Sek the Mad was of their bloodline (and through him Shoshan). The truth of that, and the final shape of the ending, no one knows. No one save the formless ones who keep the gate - and they are not telling, and they never will.
***
EDIT: Have removed egregious typo. Also, am going to have to change the forest's name, as 'Attahai' is in fact part of the name of one of my pre-existing anthropological-fantasy peoples - the Rattahaidai, a group of Aftherai fallow-deer herders and megaloceros riders, whose name literally translates as 'the people with their backs to the mountains'. Oh well.
Once, and this was long ago - thousands on thousands of years before Shoshan's sacrifice, thousands more before her ancestor, Sek the Mad - once our people were different. Once they believed many things without testing, without knowing; and in those days that was enough, to believe. They told their stories and they hunted their prey, and they made gifts to such powers as they thought were in the world, and worth praising. And it was enough. But even in those days there were those of our people who had begun to look up, to lift their eyes from the spoor of the prey and look for the spoor of their gods. It is from them, from their hunting, that such as we are now was born. They did not know it then. No one did. They only knew that there were such things in the world as they did not quite trust, and they thought to ask a little farther than most. And the stories of them, of their times and fires, are stories of such questions.
The tale tonight is one such tale, one of the old, old stories. The scholars in the cities of learning collect such tales - to keep them, they say, safe from loss and change. It is no life for any living thing, and only a fool would say a story does not live; but living things die. If we are to have the stories as they were, we must keep some of them, at least, from being changed. We know, at least a little, what the thoughts were of our ancestors. We owe the scholars that, whatever we make of the tale ourselves. They are keepers, as the first who came away from the uLath war were keepers. The Remnant League, the worlds we hold, the races we have seen - these are new and wondrous, as is all the rest of space, but there are things that bear remembering. And this tale, which the scholars say was told of the ancestors of Sek, is one of them.
In the oldest days, they say, there were those of our people who lived in the forests that spilled down from the mountains and onto the shores of the seas of our homeworld. They hunted, as our kind always have; they lived in cities, as our ancestors once learned to do. They knew the hunting of the seas and the haunting of the forest, and they made their offerings to ancestors and gods. When they made war, as our people have so many times before, they gave themselves to the fighting with the fervor that they gave to the hunt. They honoured their enemies just as they honoured their ancestors, and they were known far and wide for it. The word of a warrior from Attahai was as good as the blood-vow of any other of our people. Even the gods knew this. They expected nothing less of them, and got nothing less.
It happened, once, that in the forest called Attahai there was a female named Alshani. She was young, and she was fierce, but she did not go mad with the fever of battle as some did. What she did, she did of her own will, and never claimed anything else. No one, no leader, no kinsman or kinswoman, could ever say they made her do a thing; and this stood her well in the eyes of all. She did not act from shame, and she did not act from guilt; she acted out of honour, and out of what she saw as right. For this all honoured her and ranked her highly, but most of all the male named Neyran. Neyran had seen Alshani in battle from afar when he was very young, and had loved her ever since, but he was small and short-legged, too slow despite himself. If it were only himself to think of he would have made a fine warrior, but the swordsfolk of Attahai were tall and swift, and he could not keep up with them. The swordfolk warred and hunted, and Neyran watched them go, and when they were gone took up the swords they left behind. It was not needed for the guards of Attahai to go far, so long as their eyes and noses and ears were keen, and his were. Neyran took up the swords and became a guard, and when no one was looking, closed his eyes to practice the way of the sword with Alshani, who was never there.
Three and five and ten years this went on, and at the end of that time there was a great battle in the mountains, far from the forests of Attahai. In the forest no one heard it, and in the forest no one smelled the smoke of war; but the carrion-eaters, who ever and always follow our kind to battle, circled high above the fight and waited for it to end. It was these that Neyran saw before any other might, and so Attahai was warned. When the invaders came the forest-folk of Attahai were ready for them, and turned them back with sword and spear. Not a one of the invaders from over the mountains was left when the fighting ended; but it came to Neyran, then, that there had been many of the carrion-eaters circling on the winds, and none of his own folk come back. He thought of this, and thought some more, and to the other guards said that he was going to where the battle had been, in the hopes that he might find some news. They let him go.
When he found the place of the first struggle it was as he had feared: there were none of the folk of Attahai left alive, not one. Not even Alshani. Neyran found her corpse only at the very end, for she had fallen first and there had been many warriors on both sides killed after. It would have been fitting for her to bear many wounds, for the mark of a great enemy was that it took great effort to kill such a one - but for Alshani there had been only one blow. There had been a strike to the back of her head, a strike with a poisoned spear, out of the darkness; and that was not right, not by any folk's measure. To die so was a disgrace, and Neyran's heart cried out within him at the thought.
He made the rites for the dead of that place, to send them on their way, but when he came to Alshani the rite he made was different. For her he walked into the mountains; for her he went into the dark place, the crevices between the rocks, the caves that went down into the hollow places of the spine of the world. For her he walked the way of the dead, his sword at his right side and her dagger on his left. Neyran was going to the places of the dead, to ask for justice and for more. It was in his heart then that he would ask for Alshani back, even if the Keeper of the Dead kept him in her place. He walked long and he walked far, but in the hollow places of the spine of the world time and distance are not as we know them, and how long it took or how far he went none can say. Only that he walked far enough, and long enough, and in the end came to the barricade that stops the gap in the wall of living stone around the places of the dead. There is a gate in that wall, as small as any door but big enough to let any living thing, or all living things, pass; and at the gate he knocked, and then sat down to wait.
Those who tend the gate in the barricade have always been there and always will be. They do not need to look like anyone, or anything, for they know who they are and that is all that matters. Who answered the gate Neyran could never after say, but when the answer came he asked for Alshani. It had come to him, as he sat, that perhaps he had better ask her if she wished to come back. It would do no one honour to presume, after all. The one who tended the gate said nothing, only went away. It did not come back; but after a time, Alshani was there. She blinked at Neyran, who bowed double and pressed his face to the ground. For a long time no one said anything.
"Why have you come here?" asked Alshani at last, and her voice was soft and dim.
Neyran lifted his head and looked at her. "I would like to ask for you back," he said. "To bring you back to the world of the living."
"Why?" asked Alshani. Behind her, on the other side of the gate, something moved.
"Because," said Neyran, "you did not deserve to die in that way."
Alshani hesitated. Behind her, something that had no voice whispered. She looked at Neyran and said, quietly, "There are many who did not deserve to die in the ways that they did."
"That is so," said Neyran.
"Then why," asked Alshani as another silent thing spoke, "did you not come for them?"
"Because," said Neyran, "I do not love them as I love you."
Then even the voiceless things were silent; but Alshani nodded. "It is the right answer," she said, and smiled at Neyran for the first time. That smile almost stopped his heart, proud and fierce and beautiful and sad as it was, and he could not look away. "I would like to come with you, Neyran the Guard, but my battle was very hard and the journey very cold. I have slept in the places of the dead and I have sat before their fires."
Neyran's chest was tight with fear, for to take food and fire and bed from a giver was to accept them as lord, but Alshani went on. "I have not eaten here," she said. "It may be that I can go. I must ask the Keeper's leave, but it may be that he may let me go."
"I will wait for you here," said Neyran.
Alshani smiled again. "See to it that you do," she said, "for the Keeper is greedy, and jealous, and does not like to let even the meanest thing go once he sees it as his. I do not know what price he may ask of me, and I would not have you see me pay it. If you love me, stay here."
Neyran promised he would, and she went away from him and shut the gate behind her.
He sat in that place for a long time, waiting in the hollow places of the spine of the world. He tried to count his heartbeats, but in that place even the living cannot tell such a thing. So he tried to count his breaths, but found that in that place he did not need to breathe. He thought perhaps to pass his time by counting the fur that ran along the back of his forearm, and at that he found he could succeed. It was a long task, as it would be for any of our people, and it was slow. As he counted, it came to him that the Keeper was a greedy power, with no thought for any save those he kept, and that it might well be that no one would ever think to tell him if Alshani could not gain his permission. He knocked at the gate and asked what passed within, but there came no answer, so he sat down and took up counting again. It came to him that the Keeper might value Alshani highly, and that she might have to pay an awful price. Perhaps he might offer to pay some part of that himself. So he knocked again, and asked, but the ones who tend the gate did not speak to him, and so he sat down once more. And this time, what came to Neyran was that the Keeper had made it cold, so that Alshani had needed his fire, and tiring, so that she needed his bed. Might it not be, in the time that was passing, that the warrior of his people might grow hungry?
He stood again, but this time he did not knock right away. When he did, and the gate slid open, he put his hand on the one who tended the gate; and that one led him in.
Alshani was standing before the Keeper of the Dead. She was not pleading, for a warrior did not plead, and she was not begging, for a warrior did not beg. She had asked and she had offered. The Keeper had not accepted her request, but he had not denied it either; he had instead gone away for a while, and when he came back had brought one of the treelings that her people liked best to eat and had cut its throat before her. The smell would have tempted even one well-fed and full, but Alshani had fought long, and walked long, and slept long, and had not yet eaten. Even the most disciplined of all warriors would be tempted beyond the bounds of honour by such a prize. She did not dare to look at the carcass, for the smell was tempting enough; she looked anywhere else, everywhere else, so that she would not think to eat. That was how she came to look upon the gate, and how she saw the one who tended the gate, bringing Neyran in. Her heart sank within her.
"I asked you not to come," she said, her voice barely a whisper.
"Yes," said Neyran quietly, "you did."
"You were not to look upon me before I came back to you," said Alshani, her hands trembling.
"That is so," said Neyran.
"You have seen me in dishonour-"
"No," said Neyran, "I have not." He stepped forward then, and the very faintest of all smiles was only partly visible on his face, for he had taken the red belt from his waist and bound it about his head so that he would not see.
"I have seen nothing at all," said Neyran, turning in the direction of the Keeper, "since before I knocked at the gate. That is honour. Alshani has not eaten since she came to this place, though she was tempted by a lord she did not want. That also is honour." He sniffed the air, and added, "I smell fresh meat. That does not strike me as honour..."
Then, and then only, the Keeper of the Dead spoke. The rage in his voice was beyond measure, like an earthquake beneath a long-sleeping mountain. "It is not for mortals to question the honour of the gods," said the Keeper.
Neyran only smiled more. "It is a terrible insult," he agreed.
"It demands blood," thundered the Keeper, and the silent voiceless things fled to other places, far away.
"Blood indeed," said Neyran, still smiling. He reached behind him, and lay a hand on his sword. "Wash it away- if you can. I will not struggle further if you cut me down, for you will have washed away my words. But if you fail, I will take Alshani with me, even if I fall on the path back to the places of the living."
The Keeper's laugh barked in astonishment. "As you like!" he cried, drawing his own sword. Alshani did not dare to look as he swung the first blow; but at the sound of metal on metal she opened her eyes.
Neyran, who had served three years and five and ten as a guard of Attahai, had served his people many a lonely night in the forest. He had filled those nights with the way of the sword, and with Alshani, who was never there; and compared to that swordswoman, that warrior, the Keeper of the Dead was of no account. The nights of practice had been with a master of the blade, eyes closed in the darkness - and that master had made no noise, had disturbed no air, had given no scent. But the Keeper could be heard, and the swing of his sword could be felt, and the smell of him was rank with fear; and in the end it was only that Neyran had never moved over the ground of that place that saved him. The guard of Attahai stumbled on a patch of ground, and the Keeper of the Dead fled from his blade.
"Go!" the Keeper cried, when he was safely away. "Go, the both of you!"
"Wait," said Alshani, helping Neyran to his feet. "Wait."
"What is it?" asked the Keeper.
"Say first that you will bear neither him nor I ill will for this, when we come to you again."
The Keeper looked at Neyran, and at his sword. There were many swords in the places of the dead, for the rites of our people in those days sent warriors on their way as armed as they had been in life. "I will not," he said at last, "but you must promise me a thing."
"And what is that?" asked Neyran, whose belt was still bound about his head.
"You are taking one who would have been my finest warrior," said the Keeper, "as you have taken my honour. Take her to the places of the living quickly, and do not look back until you reach the sunlight, or when your eyes turn towards me I will remember my loss and reclaim you both."
Neyran thought on this, and nodded at last. "It will be so," he said.
"Then you may both go," said the Keeper; and the gate in the barricade of rock opened.
The way back to the places of the living is twice as long as the way to the places of the dead, and four times as hard, but Neyran and Alshani followed that way. She stayed behind him, holding to the scabbard of his sword with both hands, and he did not look. Not even when the red belt fell from his eyes did he stop, not even once did he pause, and at last it began to be warm in the way that leads out of the hollow places of the spine of the world. Somewhere above the sun was shining.
Alshani could not cry out, for the journey had taken most of her breath, but she raised her hands in joy. Neyran, who could no longer feel her behind him, turned to look back.
And it would have gone hard with them both, then, if it were not that once, Neyran's belt had been white. The dagger he had worn, the dagger of Alshani, had found its home before he even knocked at the gate that last time. Knowing gods could not quite be trusted, Neyran had paid his price to bring that warrior back to the sunlight: he had given up all sunlight of his own.
Alshani stared at him, and he stared sightless back, and there was silence for a very long time. Then, without another word, she took him by the hand and led him into the sunlight; and they alone of all our kind, the stories say, ever got the better of the Keeper of the Dead. For they returned to the forest of Attahai, and told their story there, and lived many years in safety. It was said that Sek the Mad was of their bloodline (and through him Shoshan). The truth of that, and the final shape of the ending, no one knows. No one save the formless ones who keep the gate - and they are not telling, and they never will.
***
EDIT: Have removed egregious typo. Also, am going to have to change the forest's name, as 'Attahai' is in fact part of the name of one of my pre-existing anthropological-fantasy peoples - the Rattahaidai, a group of Aftherai fallow-deer herders and megaloceros riders, whose name literally translates as 'the people with their backs to the mountains'. Oh well.
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Date: 2003-09-23 10:57 pm (UTC)This is amazing.
The end bit is like a punch in the gut. I'm very impressed.
You say it's a first draft, but I thought I would point out the one thing that really made me want to howl:
He walked long and he walked far, but in the hollow places of the spine of the world time and distance are not as we know them, and how long it tooked
no subject
Date: 2003-09-23 10:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-24 12:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-09-24 06:13 am (UTC)But seriously, it's all because of the writeup on Japanese mythology at the start of Grasscutter. Izanagi and Izanami in Yomi. One of 'em, I forget which, has been killed by their child; the other is trying to get her back. She says she'll go ask, and she takes a long time, so her husband finally comes in with a bit of light to look for her. Which, of course, gets her mad, because she's not in any kind of condition you'd want to look at. Given the nature of damn near every expedition to get someone back from the dead, wouldn't a warrior of honour with any brains at all either bind his eyes or take more drastic steps if he made such a trip? And who says you need to see to verify, anyway?