The Bull and the Spear by Michael Moorcock

  "Not exactly."

  "You cannot make them stop this chanting? You cannot make them cease appearing in my dreams?"

  "Their strength weakens daily. Soon they will trouble you no longer. You will sleep tranquilly again."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Oh I am certain. They can survive for only a little while more, before the Cold Folk overwhelm them, before the People of the Pines enslave or slay what remains of their race."

  "Well," said Corum, "as you say, these things come and go. . ."

  "Aye," said Jhary. "But it will be sad to see the last of that golden folk go down beneath the dark and savage invaders who now sweep across their land, bringing terror where there was peace, bringing fear where there was joy . . ."

  "It sounds familiar," said Corum dryly. "So the world turns, and turns again." He was now fairly well satisfied that he understood why Jhary was harping upon this particular subject.

  "And turns again," agreed Jhary.

  "And even if I would, I could not help them, Jhary. I am no longer able to travel between the planes. I cannot even see through to other planes. Besides, how could one warrior help this folk of which you speak?"

  ' 'One warrior could help greatly. And it is their invocation which would bring you to them, if you would let it. But they are weak. They cannot summon you against your will. You resist them. It does not take much resistance. Their numbers grow small, their power fades. They were once a great people. Even their name derives from your name. They call themselves Tuha-na-Cremm Croich."

  "Cremm?"

  "Or Corum, sometimes. It is an older form. It means simply 'Lord' to them—Lord of the Mound. They worship you in the form of a stone slab erected on a mound. You are supposed to live beneath that mound and hear their prayers."

  "These are superstitious people."

  ' 'A little. But they are not god-ridden. They worship Man above all else. And all their gods are really nothing more than dead heroes. Some folk make gods of the sun, the moon, the storms, the beasts and so on. But this folk deifies only what is noble in Man and loves what is beautiful in nature. You would be proud of your wife's descendants, Corum."

  "Aye," said Corum, narrowing his eye and giving Jhary a sideways look. There was a faint smile on his lips.' 'Is this mound in a forest. An oak forest?"

  "An oak forest, yes."

  "It is the same that I saw in my dream. And why is this folk attacked?"

  "A race from beyond the sea (some say from beneath the sea) comes from the East. The whole land which used to be named Bro-an-Mabden has either gone under the waves or lies beneath a perpetual cloak of winter. Ice covers all—brought by this eastern folk. It has also been said that this is a folk who once conquered this land and was driven back. Others suggest that it is a mixture of two old races or more, banded together to destroy the ancestors of the Mabden of Lwym-an-Esh. There is no talk of Law or Chaos there. If this folk has power, it comes from themselves. They can produce fantasms. Their spells are powerful. They can destroy either by means of fire or by means of ice. And they have other powers, too. They are called the Fhoi Myore and they control the North Wind. They are called the Cold Folk and they can make the northern and the eastern seas answer their bidding. They are called the People of the Pines and can command black wolves as their servants. They are a brutal people, born, some say, of Chaos and Old Night. Perhaps they are the last vestiges of Chaos upon this plane, Comm."

  Corum was smiling openly now.' 'And you urge me to go against such a folk? On behalf of another folk which is not my own?"

  "Your own by adoption. Your wife's folk."

  ' 'I have already fought in one conflict that was not my own,'' said Corum, turning away and pouring himself more wine.

  "Not your own? All such conflicts are yours, Corum. It is your fate."

  "And what if I resist that fate?"

  ‘ 'You cannot resist it for any great time. I know that. It is better to accept your destiny with good grace—with humor, even."

  "Humor?" Corum swallowed the wine and wiped his lips. "That is not easy, Jhary."

  "No. But it is what makes the whole thing bearable."

  "And what do I risk if I answer the call and help this folk?"

  "Many things. Your life."

  "That is worth little. What else?"

  "Your soul, perhaps."

  "And what is that?"

  "You could discover the answer to that question if you embark upon this enterprise."

  Corum frowned. "My spirit is not my own, Jhary-a-Conel. You have told me that."

  "I did not. Your spirit is your own. Perhaps your actions are dictated by other forces, which is another question altogether . .

  Corum's frown changed as he smiled. "You sound like one of those priests of Arkyn who used to thrive in Lwym-an-Esh. I think the morality is somewhat doubtful. However, I was ever pragmatic. The Vadhagh race is a pragmatic race."

  Jhary raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. "Will you allow yourself to be called by the People of Cremm Croich?"

  "I will consider it."

  "Speak to them, at least."

  "I have tried. They do not hear."

  "Perhaps they do. Or perhaps you must be in a certain frame of mind to answer so that they can hear."

  ' 'Very well. I will try. And what if I do allow myself to be borne into this future time, Jhary? Will you be there?"

  "Possibly."

  "You cannot be more certain?"

  "I am no more master of my fate than are you, Champion Eternal."

  ' 'I would be grateful,'' said Corum,' 'if you will not use that title. I find it discomforting."

  Jhary laughed. "I cannot say that I blame you. Corum Jhaelen Irsei!"

  Corum rose and stretched his arms. The firelight touched his silver hand and made it gleam red, as if suddenly suffused with blood. He looked at the hand, turning it this way and that in the light as if he had never properly seen it before.

  ' 'Corum of the Silver Hand," he said musingly.' 'They think the hand of supernatural origin, I take it."

  "They have more experience of the supernatural than what you would call 'science'. Do not despise them for that. Where they live there are strange things happening. Natural laws are sometimes the creation of human ideas."

  "I have often contemplated that theory, but how does one find evidence for it, Jhary?"

  "Evidence, too, can be created. You are doubtless wise to encourage your own pragmatism. I believe everything, just as I believe nothing."

  Corum yawned and nodded. "It is the best attitude to have, I think. Well, I'll to my bed. Whatever comes of all this, know that your coming has improved my spirits considerably, Jhary. I'll speak with you again in the morning. First I must see how this night passes."

  Jhary stroked his cat under its chin. "You could benefit greatly from helping those who call to you." It was almost as if he had addressed the cat.

  Corum paused as he walked towards the door.' 'You have already hinted as much. Can you tell me in what way I would benefit?"

  ' 'I said 'could', Comm. I cannot say more. It would be foolish of me, and irresponsible. Perhaps it is already true that I have said too much. For now I puzzle you."

  "I'll dismiss the question from my mind—and bid you good night, old friend."

  "Good night, Corum, may your dreams be clear."

  Comm left the room and began to climb the ramp to his own bedchamber. This would be the first night in many months that he looked forward to sleep less with fear than with curiosity. He fell asleep almost immediately. And, almost immediately, the voices began. Instead of resisting them, he relaxed and listened.

  "Corum! Cremm Croich. Your people need you."

  For all its strange accent, the voice was quite clear. But Corum saw nothing of the chorus, nothing of the circle with linked hands which stood about a mound in an oak-grove.

  ' 'Lord of the Mound. Lord of the Silver Hand. Only you can save us."

  And Corum found himself replying:
"How can I save you?"

  The answering voice sounded excited. "You answer at last! Come to us, Corum of the Silver Hand. Come to us Prince in the Scarlet Robe. Save us as you have saved us in the past."

  "How can I save you?"

  "You can find for us the Bull and the Spear and lead us against the Fhoi My ore. Show us how to fight them, for they do not fight as we fight."

  Corum stirred. Now he could see them. They were tall and good-looking young men and women whose bronzed bodies glinted with warm gold, the color of autumn corn, and the gold was woven into intricate and pleasing designs. They wore armlets, anklets, collars and circlets, all of gold. Their flowing clothes were of linen dyed in light reds, blues and yellows. There were sandals upon their feet. They had fair hair or hair as red as rowanberries. They were, indeed, the same race as the folk of Lwym-an-Esh. They stood in the oak-grove, hands joined, eyes closed, and they spoke as one.

  "Come to us, Lord Corum. Come to us."

  "I will consider it," said Corum, making his tone a kindly one, "for it is long since I have fought and I have forgotten the arts of war."

  "Tomorrow?"

  "If I come, I will come tomorrow."

  The scene faded, the voices faded. And Corum slept peacefully until morning.

  When he awoke he knew that there was nothing to debate. While he slept he had decided, if possible, to answer the call of the people of the oak-grove. His life at Castle Erorn was not only miserable, it served no one, not even himself. He would go to them, crossing the planes, moving through time, and he would go to them willingly, proudly.

  Jhary found him in the armory. He had selected for himself the silver byrnie and the conical helm of silvered steel and his full name engraved above the peak. He had found greaves of gilded brass and he had laid out his surcoat of scarlet silk, his shirt of blue samite, A long-hafted Vadhagh war-axe stood against a bench and beside it was a sword manufactured in a place other than the Earth, with a hilt of red and black onyx, a lance whose shaft was carved from top to bottom with miniature hunting scenes comprising more than a hundred tiny figures, all depicted in considerable detail. There also was a good bow and a quiver of well-fletched arrows. Resting against these was a round war-board, a shield made of a number of layers of timber) leather, brass and silver and covered all over with the fine, strong hide of the white rhinocerus which had once lived in the northern forests of Corum's land.

  "When do you go to them?" said Jhary, inspecting the array.

  "Tonight." Corum weighed the lance in his hand. "If their summoning is successful. I shall go mounted, on my red horse. I shall ride to them."

  Jhary did not ask how Corum would reach them and Corum himself had not considered that problem, either. Certain peculiar laws would be involved, and that was all they knew or cared to know. Much depended on the power of invocation of the group who waited in the oak-grove.

  Together they broke their fast, and then they went up to the battlements of the castle. From there they could see the wide ocean to the west and the great forests and moors to the east. The sun was bright and the sky was wide and clear and blue. It was a good, peaceful day. They talked of the old times, recalling dead friends and dead or banished gods, of Kwll who had been more powerful than either the Lords of Law or the Lords of Chaos, who had seemed to fear nothing. They wondered where Kwll and his brother Rhynn had gone, whether there were other worlds beyond the fifteen planes of Earth and if those worlds resembled Earth in any way.

  "And then, of course," said Jhary, "there is the question concerning the Conjunction of the Million Spheres and what follows when that conjunction is over. Is it over yet, do you think?"

  ' 'New laws are established after the conjunction. But established by what? And by whom?" Corum leaned against the battlements, looking out across the narrow bay. I suspect that it is we who make those laws. And yet we do so unknowingly. We are not even sure what is good and what is evil—or, indeed, if anything is either. Kwll had no such beliefs and I envied him. How pitiful we are. How pitiful am I that I cannot bear to live without loyalties. Is it strength which makes me decide to go to these people? Or is it weakness?"

  "You speak of good and evil and say you know not what they are—it is the same with strength and weakness. The terms are meaningless.'' Jhary shrugged.' 'Love means something to me, and so does hate. Physical strength is given to some of us—I can see it. And some are physically weak. But why equate the elements in a man's character with such attributes. And, if we do not condemn a man because, through luck, he is not physically strong, why condemn him if, for instance, his resolve is not strong. Such instincts are the instincts of the beasts and, for beasts, they are satisfactory instincts. But men are not beasts. They are men. That is all."

  Corum's smile had some bitterness in it.' 'And they are not gods, Jhary."

  "Not gods—or devils, either. Just men and women. How much happier would we be if we accepted that!'' And Jhary threw back his head and laughed suddenly. "But perhaps we should be more boring, too! We are both of us beginning to sound too pious, my friend. We are warriors, not holy men!"

  Corum repeated a question of the previous night. ‘ 'You know this land where I have decided to go. Shall you go there, too—tonight?"

  ' 'I am not my own master.'' Jhary began to pace the flagstones. "You know that, Corum."

  "I hope that you do."

  ' 'You have many manifestations in the Fifteen Planes, Corum. It could be that another Corum somewhere needs a companion and that I shall have to go with him."

  "But you are not sure?"

  "I am not sure."

  Corum shrugged. "If what you say is true—and I suppose I must accept that it is—then perhaps I shall meet another aspect of you, one who does not know his fate?"

  "My memory often fails me, as I have told you before. Just as yours fails you in this incarnation."

  "I hope that we shall meet on this new plane and that we shall recognize one another."

  "That is my hope, also, Corum."

  They played chess that evening and spoke little, and Corum went early to his bed. When the voices came, he spoke to them slowly: ' 'I shall come in armor and I shall be armed. I shall ride upon a red horse. You must call me with all your powers. I give you time to rest now. Gather your strength and in two hours begin the invocation.''

  In one hour Corum rose and went down to put his armor on, to dress himself in silk and samite, to have his ostler lead his horse into the courtyard. And when he was ready, with his reins in his gloved left hand and his silver hand upon the pommel of a poignard, he spoke to his retainers and told them that he rode upon a quest and that if he did not return they should throw open Castle Erorn to any traveller who needed shelter. They should also feast such travellers well, in Corum's name. Then he rode through the gates and down the slope and into the great wood, as he had ridden nearly a century before when his father and his mother and his sisters had been alive. But then he had ridden through the morning. Now he rode into the night, beneath the moon.

  Of all those in Castle Erorn, only Jhary-a-Conel had not bid goodbye to Corum.

  Now the voices grew louder in Corum's ears as he rode through the dark, ancient forest.

  "Corum! Corum!"

  Strangely, his body began to feel light. He touched spurs to the flanks of his horse and it broke into a gallop. "Corum! Corum!"

  "I am coming!" The stallion galloped harder, its hooves pounding the soft turf, plunging deeper and deeper into the dark wood. "Corum!"

  Corum leaned forward in his saddle, ducking as branches brushed his face. "I come!"

  He saw the shadowy group in the grove. They surrounded him, yet still he rode and his speed grew even faster. He began to feel dizzy.

  "Corum!"

  And it seemed to Corum that he had ridden like this before, that he had been in this way before and it was why he had known what to do.

  The trees blurred, he rode with such speed. "Corum!"

  White mist began to boil
all around him. Now the faces of the chanting group could be seen in; sharper detail. The voices grew faint, then loud, then faint again. Corum spurred the snorting horse on into the mist. That mist was history. It was legend. It was time. He glimpsed sights of buildings, the like of which he had never seen, rising hundreds and thousands of feet into the air. He saw armies of millions, weapons of terrifying power, flying machines and dragons. He saw creatures of every shape, size and form. All seemed to cry out to him as he rode by. And he saw Rhalina.

  He saw Rhalina as a girl, as a boy, as a man, as an old woman. He saw her alive and he saw her dead.

  And it was mat sight which made him scream, and it was why he was still screaming as he rode suddenly into a forest clearing, bursting through a circle of men and women who had stood with hands linked around a mound, chanting as with a single voice. He was still screaming as he drew his bright sword and raised it high in his silver hand as he reined his horse to a halt on the top of the mount.