Authors: Brian Lumley
Iced On Aran (3 page)
“Is there a point to this story?” Hero suddenly asked, his teeth beginning to chatter. “Lord, I'm freezing! Are we daft, sitting here in the snow like this?”
The old man, working on Hero's sculpture, put a final touch to the jawâand at once Hero's teeth grew still, almost as if they were frozen in position. “A point? Of course! For when he was asked about Aran, my grandfather would say: âAran is forbidden! Don't ask about it. It's not for you to know. No one climbs Aran except me, to cut the ice.'”
“Ah!” said Eldin. “It was him started the myth, then?”
“Because of his consuming compassion,” answered the sculptor, “yes. He must be sure, you see, that only the most bitter men climbed Aranâonly the ones in whom life's animation was dying! The ones without ambition, without aspiration, in whom nothing was left worth dreaming! Those for whom timelessness and changelessness had fused into one vast and dull and slothlike anathema! What matter to them if Aran were forbidden? What matter anything? They'd climb anyway, and damn the consequences! But did you say myth? No myth, my friends. Aran is forbiddenâexcept to such as you!”
Eldon's feet and legs were finished, his thighs, too, also the arm and hand which cupped his chin. The Wanderer would now extend a finger to scratch an itch on his cheek, made so to doâdiscovered he could not! It seemed the blood had run out of his hand and arm, leaving only a cold numbness there.
The old man now returned to working on Hero, rapidly finished arms and shoulders and neck, also hands where they clasped knees. Following which Hero could only watch him from swiveling eyes, for his neck had suddenly stiffened into a cramp, doubtless from holding the same position too long. Except that now ⦠now the alarm bells were clamoring that much louder and faster in the younger quester's mind. He'd seen, heard and felt
much here, so that what he'd begun to suspect must at least be better than a guess.
much here, so that what he'd begun to suspect must at least be better than a guess.
He made a real effort to stand up then, and couldn't; only odd parts of him had feeling, remained in his control at all. And even those parts were rapidly succumbing to a cold, unfeeling rigidity. Here he sat beside his image, twinned, one of him carved in ice and the other humanâ
for the moment
!
for the moment
!
And it was then, like a bright flash of lightning in his mind, that all became known to him. “You're making a big mistake.” He started to blurt the words out, but stiffly, from one side of his half-frozen mouth. “Eldin and I, we're not bored with anything! Why, we've got more go in us than ⦔
But what they had more go in them than remained unboasted, for the iceman quickly touched Hero's statue on the lips and brought them to a perfect image of lifeâand simultaneously froze his actual mouth into complete immobility!
Eldin had been watching from the corner of his eye; he'd recognized the panic, now shut off, in Hero's voice. “What
is
going on?” he demanded, thoroughly alarmed. “What in the name of all that'sâ?”
is
going on?” he demanded, thoroughly alarmed. “What in the name of all that'sâ?”
The sculptor touched the Wanderer's statue's hair, Hero's statue, too, and etched their locks into icy replicas of life. And oh, the
cold
that seeped down from the roots of their hair into their brains then, and what sudden, frozen horror as they knew for a certainty their fate!
cold
that seeped down from the roots of their hair into their brains then, and what sudden, frozen horror as they knew for a certainty their fate!
Tears flowed freely from the old man's eyes, freezing like pearls and rolling from his cheeks as hail. He knew they had not come here like the others, tired of an endless, changeless existence and more than ready to accept any alternative. But he also knew he couldn't let them go down again. Only turn these two loose, with tales of
fabulous ice sculptures on the slopes of Aran, and tomorrow the people would come in their thousands! Of course, that would be the end of it: the selfless services of three generations of master icemen terminated. Services, yesâfor surely it were betterâ
fabulous ice sculptures on the slopes of Aran, and tomorrow the people would come in their thousands! Of course, that would be the end of it: the selfless services of three generations of master icemen terminated. Services, yesâfor surely it were betterâ
“Hero!” came a distant cry, soft on the tingly, downy air, startling the sculptor like the crack of a whip. “Eldin!”
What?
The old iceman looked down the slope, saw a king's courier waving his arms at the edge of the ice. Looking up here, he'd see nothing of the ice statues, just snow and dazzle and the pair of seated questers, dark figures against a glaring background. He would not see the sculptor, not unless he stepped on to the iceâand he was not likely to do that, because the snow-slopes of Aran were forbidden.
The old iceman looked down the slope, saw a king's courier waving his arms at the edge of the ice. Looking up here, he'd see nothing of the ice statues, just snow and dazzle and the pair of seated questers, dark figures against a glaring background. He would not see the sculptor, not unless he stepped on to the iceâand he was not likely to do that, because the snow-slopes of Aran were forbidden.
Gaping, the old man turned back to the questers. But too late, they were stirring! And anyway, the courier had seen them, for as yet they were not turned to ice. Not quite. Another touch here, a stroke there ⦠it had been
that
close! But too late now, too late â¦
that
close! But too late now, too late â¦
And:
Too late!
: the old man's thoughts were imaged in Hero's mind, for he also had heard the courier's cry. Through ears of cold crystal he'd heard it, and his brittle brain had taken it in, and his faltering, freezing heart had given a lurch. Part of him said:
Go away, whoever you are. I've done with all that. I'm ice now, part of the permafrost, a glassy pimple on Aran's frosty face. I'm at peace with everything
.
Too late!
: the old man's thoughts were imaged in Hero's mind, for he also had heard the courier's cry. Through ears of cold crystal he'd heard it, and his brittle brain had taken it in, and his faltering, freezing heart had given a lurch. Part of him said:
Go away, whoever you are. I've done with all that. I'm ice now, part of the permafrost, a glassy pimple on Aran's frosty face. I'm at peace with everything
.
But another part had been galvanized into a great start, had gasped and drawn air, had shouted (however silently):
No! I am
NOT
ice! I'm David HeroâHero of Dreams!
And that part of him had won.
No! I am
NOT
ice! I'm David HeroâHero of Dreams!
And that part of him had won.
The snow went out of Hero's eyes, Eldin's too, and they creakingly lowered their heads and their gaze, staring
down the slope. There the courier capered and waved.
down the slope. There the courier capered and waved.
“Hero! Eldin! Are you two going to sit around all day? My master has a mission for you. You're to report to him at once.”
Hero stood up. Or rather, he slowly straightened his knees until his backside lifted and his body tilted forward, then straightened his waist until his hands slid from his knees along his thighs. Thin sheaths of ice cracked and fell from various joints and limbs as he moved them, and the first tinglings of returning life told him all would be well.
“I saidâ” the courier shouted.
“We heard what you said!” Hero shouted back, which came out as a series of croaks.
“Eh?” the courier cocked his head on one side.
Hero cleared his throat, tried again. “You go on ahead. Tell him we're coming.” And as the courier shrugged and turned back down toward the tree line: “How'd you know we were here, anyway?”
“I've been looking for you all morning,” the messenger called over his shoulder. “Tatter Nees told me where you'd be. But I don't think I'd better report that to my master!”
“Thanks!” Hero yelled.
“Good old Tatter!” Eldin grunted. He'd struggled to his feet and clumsily brushed himself down, sending thin splinters of ice flying as he shook his massive frame. This proved effective, but not a little painful, too. “Ow!” said the Wanderer, and several other things which don't need recording. Then he glanced down the slope at the courier. “Do you know what the king wants with us?” he shouted.
“Something about a job in Inquanok. You'd better
hurry ⦔ And with that the courier departed, scrambling away down the slope.
hurry ⦔ And with that the courier departed, scrambling away down the slope.
The echoes of their shouting slowly trembled into silence; it stopped snowing; the questers looked first at each other, then all about at the frozen humps under the snow.
“Inquanok?” said the Wanderer presently. “That's a drab, bleak sort of place to go a-questing, isn't it?”
“You'll hear no complaint from me,” said Hero. “Not this time. But firstâ”
It took them only a few minutes to find what they were looking for. The other statues on the slope were under an inch or so of snow; this one, however, carried only the finest dusting. They clambered over the slope toward him, and saw that he was three.
Then, when they'd brushed snow from the other two, they understood. The three were dressed all alike, and they were obviously blood-related, but there were differences which made each one an individual. Grandfather, father, and son. “Son” was the one with only a film of snow. There'd been no time for any more.
Eldin growled in his throat, began to draw his straight swordâand Hero stopped him. “Vandal!” the younger quester softly accused. “What? You'd deface a work of art such as this?”
“Deface?” the Wanderer glared. “I'd destroy 'em, all three! Especially him. Why, he looks halfway pleased with himself!”
“No need, old friend.” Hero shook his head. “He's destroyed himself. His time had come, and he knew it. He'd probably wanted to do it for a long time, and we were the one small push he needed to send him over the edge. He must have known we weren't right for this place. When he sensed we were coming, he tried to carve our images and got only the roughest outlines; but
he'd done much better with Kuranes, which shows how close the king came at one time!”
he'd done much better with Kuranes, which shows how close the king came at one time!”
Eldin caught on. “We weren't right for this place ⦔ he mused. “But the old iceman himself, he was.”
Hero nodded. “As for the look on his face: pleased with himself, did you say? Looks more to me like he's just sighed a long, last grateful sighâand it's frozen there forever.”
They made their way back to the ice steps. “And this one?” the Wanderer stood, sword in hand, beside the image of the Lord of Ooth-Nargai.
“Leave it be,” said Hero. “If there's a sort of sympathetic magic in these things ⦠I'd hate to think we were the ones brought some sort of doom down on old Kuranes. And who are we to decide a man's destiny, anyway? You never know, p'raps he
will
want to come up here one dayâand maybe the old iceman has a son of his own, eh? You know: to carry on the line, and the work?”
will
want to come up here one dayâand maybe the old iceman has a son of his own, eh? You know: to carry on the line, and the work?”
Frustrated, Eldin returned to his own ice sculpture. “Well, this at least is one destiny I can decide!” he declared.
“That I'll grant you,” said Hero, coming up behind. “These really don't belong here at all.” With great grunting heaves they wrested their images from their bases and threw them flat.
And with a great deal more courage than skill, the pair steered their amazing sledges down across the ice, less rapidly across scree and rock faces, shudderingly into the heart of the trees on Aran's lower slopes. From there they continued on foot, and as the statues melted behind them, so their steps grew lighter along the leafy way â¦
David Hero's sudden exclamationâ“Eldin!”âcaused the older dreamer to start. He'd been dozing by their fire, while Hero had sat lost in his own thoughts, peering deep into the flickering flames.
“Eh? What? Did you call out, lad? Whazzup?” Eldin the Wanderer cast fearfully about in the firelight, saw nothing amiss, shrugged the blanket off his broad shoulders and reached for his sword anyway. “Was I asleep?”
“Eldin!” said Hero again, more quietly this time, and offered a decisive nod of his head.
The other, still only half-awake, frowned his puzzlement. “Of course I am!” he said. “Who'd you think I was?”
“Funk and Wagnalls!” the younger dreamer delightedly slapped his thigh, tossed another broken branch onto the fire. “Or maybe Chambers Twentieth Century?” He held up a finger, grinned knowingly.
Eldin was wide awake now. “Huh!” he scowled. “A joke's a joke and that's understood. Nothing wrong with a bit of horseplay. I was nodding off and you startled me awake. But what's all this Funk and Wagnalls stuff? Not like you to burst out cursing in the middle of the
night. Are you sure you're all right, lad? Or maybe
you
were dreaming, too, eh?”
night. Are you sure you're all right, lad? Or maybe
you
were dreaming, too, eh?”
“Dreaming?” Hero stopped grinning. “Not a bit of it. It's just that I remembered something, that's all. From the waking world, I think. A book I used to ownâa book of words!”
“Oh? Curse-words?”
“The
meaning
of words!” said Hero. “Eldin!”
meaning
of words!” said Hero. “Eldin!”
“Yes?”
“No, no! Not
you
Eldin. The
word
Eldin.”
you
Eldin. The
word
Eldin.”
“Daft as a brush,” the older dreamer declared with no lack of certainty. “P'raps I'd best stay awake in case you go for my throat in the night!”
“Look,” Hero sighed resignedly. “Names aren't just names, you knowâthey are also words which contain meanings. My own name, f'rinstance: Hero. Now what's a hero, eh?”
“Someone brave, daring, rescuer of maidens in distress,” Eldin shrugged. “Answerer of calls beyond duty, dragon-slayer, quester!”
“Right!” Hero jumped up, strode to and fro. “And when you think of me, Hero, what do you get? I mean, how do I fit the pattern?”
“Loosely,” said Eldin. “Mainly chicken, seducer of distressed maidens, dragon runner-away-from, quester at a price.”
“Oaf!” Hero snorted.
“Tired oaf,” Eldin corrected him. “I was just about to start kipping in earnest, when youâ”
“Forget it!” Hero snapped, cutting him short. “What's in a name, eh? I mean, if you don't want to know the meaning of your nameâif you see nothing of any importance in the source or lineage of your characterâthen just forget it ⦔
He came back to the fire, stood over Eldin and
scowled at him for a while. Then he threw himself down in his own place and yanked his blanket over himself. “Good
night
!” he snarled.
scowled at him for a while. Then he threw himself down in his own place and yanked his blanket over himself. “Good
night
!” he snarled.
Eldin scratched his chin, frowned at the figure huddled on the other side of the fire. Hero had him hooked and Eldin knew it. Now the younger dreamer would probably make him beg for an explanation; Eldin would lose face, which the other would greatly relish. Also, Hero had doubtless dreamed up a silly origin for Eldin's name. Here in Earth's dreamlands “Eldin” was synonymous now with wanderlust, chiefly (Eldin liked to think) because it was
his
name, his dream-name. What he'd been called in the waking world was lost forever now, an entire dimension away. He couldn't remember, and only very rarely felt a yearning to know. Here he was Eldin the Wanderer, and that was good enough. Exceptâ
his
name, his dream-name. What he'd been called in the waking world was lost forever now, an entire dimension away. He couldn't remember, and only very rarely felt a yearning to know. Here he was Eldin the Wanderer, and that was good enough. Exceptâ
“Very well,” he capitulated gruffly. “So be it ⦠What's it mean?” He got up, stretched, stepped round the fire and prodded Hero with a booted toe. “Eh, eh? Since you've started this silliness you might as well finish it. Except, be warned: if you've made my name something oafish, it'll very likely warrant a clout!”
Hero snored loudly.
“What?” Eldin booted him again, heavier this time. “No one goes to sleep that fast! Up, up! I want to know the meaning of my bloody name!”
Hero sat up, gave a deep sigh. “We've a busy day tomorrow,” he said. “Trekking in unfamiliar territory, and an unknown monsterâa maneaterâto track, trap or kill. We should both get some sleep.”
“Up, I said!” Eldin repeated. “I
was
sleeping, remember? And anyway, how'll I be able to sleep with this on my mind?”
was
sleeping, remember? And anyway, how'll I be able to sleep with this on my mind?”
Hero got up, put his hands behind his back, ambled to
the edge of the firelight and back. “On your what?” he inquired. “Your âmind'?” He sniffed and cocked a wondering eyebrow. Then he looked over his shoulder into the darkness beyond the fire's glow and shivered.
“Brrr!”
he said, his tone shuddery.
the edge of the firelight and back. “On your what?” he inquired. “Your âmind'?” He sniffed and cocked a wondering eyebrow. Then he looked over his shoulder into the darkness beyond the fire's glow and shivered.
“Brrr!”
he said, his tone shuddery.
“Eh? Brrr!? Don't change the subject!” said Eldin sharply. “And anyway, it isn't cold tonight.”
“Nothing to do with the cold, old lad,” Hero shook his head. “Goosebumps.”
“They don't, you know,” Eldin returned.
“Eh?”
“Geese. I've seen âem fight, heard 'em honk, watched 'em fly south for the winter. But I never saw a one bump.”
“The fact is”âHero ignored Eldin's witâ“I'm restless. It's this quest of oursâcall it a missionâthat Kuranes has sent us on. It's like nothing we ever did before. I was thinking about it, rolling hisâits?âname around in my head: âAugeren,' and that started me off on the meaning of names.”
Eldin hoisted himself up on to the horizontal branch of a dead, toppled tree and dangled his feet. He snapped off a smaller branch and tossed it into the fire, watched the sparks leap and the flames jiggle. The circle of light expanded a little, and night's shadows drew back.
Hero turned his back on the dark, gazed earnestly at Eldin. “Fact is,” he said again, “I don't like this job we're on one little bit. I've a feeling it's a sight more sinister than it seemsâand after what Kuranes has told us, that's saying a lot! âAugeren' â¦
brrr
!”
brrr
!”
Eldin hadn't said much about their current job until now, but he had given it plenty of thoughtâand he knew exactly what Hero meant. Not about this silly “meaning of names” business, but about the actual nature of the beast they pursued. Call it a beast, or
“Augeren,” or a
Thing;
call it whatever you liked. It still came down to the same thing in the end: it was unknown but seemed all-knowing; it had been experienced (horribly) but never seen; it struck like lightning out of the darkness at totally innocent victims; and it
always
killed. And it ate. But most monstrous of all was
how
it killed and
what
it ate â¦
“Augeren,” or a
Thing;
call it whatever you liked. It still came down to the same thing in the end: it was unknown but seemed all-knowing; it had been experienced (horribly) but never seen; it struck like lightning out of the darkness at totally innocent victims; and it
always
killed. And it ate. But most monstrous of all was
how
it killed and
what
it ate â¦
As for Augeren's hunting-ground:
Between Inquanok and Lengâthat northern plateau of ill-repute which sits like some vast and forbidden iceberg at dreamland's one suspected poleâthere stands a range of gaunt gray peaks no dreamer has ever been known to scale. Or if someone has climbed them, he never lived to return and report the fact. The range forms an eyrie for Shantak-birds, who build their massive nests on ledges halfway up; while the topmost pinnacles are eaten into by caves which, according to legend, are the gloomy resting-, nesting-, or mating-places of night-gaunts.
Shunned by many, still the gaunt gray peaks are regarded by most as a blessing, a provision of beneficent gods. If men cannot climb them and so proceed into awful, mist-shrouded Leng, likewise no thing of Leng is likely to attempt the feat in reverse. But between the foot of the gray range and Inquanok, there in the misty twilight valleys and foothills where they slope at first greenly, then stonily oceanwardâwith the onyx quarries of Inquanok on every hand and farms scattered sparsely here and there aboutâthis was the region of the terror. This was where it had started, as if seeping slowly out of Leng and across the gray peaks, until recently it had reached Urg and crossed into Inquanok itself.
As for what “it” was: there was no lack of clues, but paradoxically no jot of evidence to point to any known predator. It was, indeed, the Unknown.
The thing took its victims in darkness. Here the young, favored daughter of a farmer, carried off soundlessly from her bed and never more seen alive; there the young son of a quarrier, snatched from some makeshift shack at the rim of one of the deep quarries and bundled away in the night. A Shantak, perhaps? But how could so vast a creature possibly sneak down against the stars and the moon unseen and enter
into
a farmhouse or quarrier's shack? Low stone houses and wooden shacks do not have doors or windows sizeable enough to accommodate Shantaks, not without considerable structural damage!
into
a farmhouse or quarrier's shack? Low stone houses and wooden shacks do not have doors or windows sizeable enough to accommodate Shantaks, not without considerable structural damage!
What about Lengites, the horned, wide-mouthed, slant-eyed almost-humans known to inhabit or infest Leng? Or even a Lengite-Shantak collaboration? The Lengites were said to tame and even occasionally ride the hippocephalic Shantak; so couldn't one of those squat, cloven-hooved horrors be the raider? Well possible, but unlikely. The men of Inquanok are wont to make slaves of (or do much worse things to) serious wrongdoers of whatever race; in the present circumstances, only let them sniff an almost-human in the vicinity ⦠he'd be strung up at once, and almost certainly without trial.
Night-gaunts might seem the best bet, but were they really? There was now a body of evidence to show that they were not the monsters previously supposed; quite apart from which they had no faces, hence no mouths, ergo no “appetites” as such. And on that last note they were definitely out, as were Shantaks and almost-humans. Not that these last-mentioned had no feeding habits; indeed they did, and pretty awful ones at that. But the unknown thing's appetite was such as to leave other messy eaters agog, possibly even turned to jelly.
For Augeren, who or whatever he was, ate only bone marrow!
For Augeren, who or whatever he was, ate only bone marrow!
“Bone marrow!” said Hero, as if reading Eldin's thought.
“Brrrr!
To have the juices sucked out of your very bones!”
“Brrrr!
To have the juices sucked out of your very bones!”
Eldin felt a shudder go up his spine. “Enough of the
brrrs
,” he pleaded. “You've got me at it now! And anyway that last one of yours was over the topâit had four âr's.” He jumped down from his branch, faced his younger companion across the sputtering fire.
brrrs
,” he pleaded. “You've got me at it now! And anyway that last one of yours was over the topâit had four âr's.” He jumped down from his branch, faced his younger companion across the sputtering fire.
The difference in their ages would be maybe fifteen years, perhaps a little more. Eldin could be anything between forty-five and fifty years of ageâhardly an old ladâand Hero at thirty was a deal more than a mere teenager. Both of them were prone to gross exaggeration, however, especially with regard to each other. Hero needled at Eldin's maturity as if he were well into advanced senility, and the Wanderer carped at Hero's comparative youth for all the world as if he were still in diapers! To any outsider their constant jibing and mutually acid sense of humor would appear most disconcerting. But it was their way; it meant nothing; they loved each other better than brothers.
In appearance:
Eldin had a scarred, bearded, quite unhandsome and yet not unattractive face which housed surprisingly clear blue eyes. Stocky and heavy, but somehow gangly to boot, there was something almost apish about him; yet his every move and gesture (when he was not merely clowning) hinted at a sensitivity and keen intelligence behind his massive physical strength. He usually dressed in black, while Hero affected a garb of dark brown.
Hero was tall, well-muscled, as blond in dreams as he'd once been in the waking world. His eyes were a
lighter blue than Eldin's; but they could darken very quickly in a fury, or take on a dangerous steely glint in a tight spot. His nature in fact was usually easy-going; but while he loved songs a fair bit and girls a great deal, still he was wizard-master of any sword in a fight, and the knuckles of his fists were like crusty knobs of rock. He was very different from Eldin, yes, but the lands of Earth's dreams occasionally make for strange traveling companions.
lighter blue than Eldin's; but they could darken very quickly in a fury, or take on a dangerous steely glint in a tight spot. His nature in fact was usually easy-going; but while he loved songs a fair bit and girls a great deal, still he was wizard-master of any sword in a fight, and the knuckles of his fists were like crusty knobs of rock. He was very different from Eldin, yes, but the lands of Earth's dreams occasionally make for strange traveling companions.
But they were not entirely disparate; what they had in common was this: they both were infected with unquenchable wanderlust, and they were both ex-waking worlders. Extinct (extinguished, anyway) on the purely physical plane, they now existed as questers in the lands of Earth's dreams. Only the occasional flash of memory served to remind that there'd ever been a life before this one; and rare as such insights were, still they could prove poignant, so that the pair usually tried as best they might to put the waking world far from mind. They could never go back there; it was a world of uttermost mystery and fantasy to them now. Sometimes they even argued about the very existence of that other, rather more mundane place.
They had been visiting Celephais, down and very nearly out, as usual, when King Kuranes of Ooth-Nargai had called them to his Cornish manor-house there. For years without number Kuranesâhimself an ex-waking worlder, now a power in the dreamlandsâhad been working for political liaison with Inquanok, that most guarded, secretive, misty place, far to the north across the strange blue waters of the Cerenerian Sea. But the men of Inquanok seemed mainly cold and aloof, sharp-featured and suspicious of outsiders, proud of a heritage dating back (according to rumor, in which the dreamlands abound) to certain of the gods themselves. And
truth to tell their features were not unlike those of a titan and nameless god, carved in ages beyond memory into Mount Ngranek's stony face. They held to strange, sometimes dubious worship; their rites called for strict adherence and their laws were inviolable, carrying heavy penalties; their Veiled King was rumored to be un- if not inhuman, as were the priests of the great temple of certain “Elder Ones,” who were
not
the wholesome Elder Gods worshipped by the venerable Atal of Ulthar.
truth to tell their features were not unlike those of a titan and nameless god, carved in ages beyond memory into Mount Ngranek's stony face. They held to strange, sometimes dubious worship; their rites called for strict adherence and their laws were inviolable, carrying heavy penalties; their Veiled King was rumored to be un- if not inhuman, as were the priests of the great temple of certain “Elder Ones,” who were
not
the wholesome Elder Gods worshipped by the venerable Atal of Ulthar.
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