The Sailor on the Seas of Fate by Michael Moorcock

Author:Michael Moorcock [Moorcock, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780586208779
Google: z6I3AAAACAAJ
Publisher: Grafton Books
Published: 1989-04-15T07:42:50.712000+00:00

IV

While Count Smiorgan and Vassliss of Jharkor watched, Elric lowered himself to the deck, panting and pale. His first attempt to work sorcery in this world had failed and had exhausted him.

“I am further convinced,” he told Smiorgan, “that we are in another plane of existence, for I should have worked my incantations with less effort.”

“You have failed.”

Elric rose with some difficulty. “I shall try again.”

He turned his white face skyward; he closed his eyes; he stretched out his arms and his body tensed as he began the incantation again, his voice growing louder and louder, higher and higher, so that it resembled the shrieking of a gale.

He forgot where he was; he forgot his own identity; he forgot those who were with him as his whole mind concentrated upon the summoning. He sent his call out beyond the confines of the world, into that strange plane where the elementals dwelled-where the powerful creatures of the air could still be found-the sylphs of the breeze, and the sharnahs, who lived in the storms, and the most powerful of all, the h’Haarshanns, creatures of the whirlwind.

And now at last some of them began to come at his summons, ready to serve him as, by virtue of an ancient pact, the elementals had served his forefathers. And slowly the sail of the ship began to fill, and the timbers creaked, and Smiorgan raised the anchor, and the ship was sailing away from the island, through the rocky gap of the harbor, and out into the open sea, still beneath a strange blue sun.

Soon a huge wave was forming around them, lifting up the ship and carrying it across the ocean, so that Count Smiorgan and the girl marveled at the speed of their progress, while Elric, his crimson eyes open now, but blank and unseeing, continued to croon to his unseen allies.

Thus the ship progressed across the waters of the sea, and at last the island was out of sight and the girl, checking their position against the position of the sun, was able to give Count Smiorgan sufficient information for him to steer a course.

As soon as he could, Count Smiorgan went up to Elric, who still straddled the deck, still as stiff-limbed as before, and shook him.

“Elric! You will kill yourself with this effort. We need your friends no longer!”

At once the wind dropped and the wave dispersed and Elric, gasping, fell to the deck.

“It is harder here,” he said. “It is so much harder here. It is as if I have to call across far greater gulfs than any I have known before.”

And then Elric slept.

He lay in a warm bunk in a cool cabin. Through the porthole filtered diffused blue light. He sniffed. He caught the odor of hot food, and turning his head, saw that Vassliss stood there, a bowl of broth in her hands. “I was able to cook this,” she said. “It will improve your health. As far as I can tell, we are nearing the Crimson Gate.

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