Kill the Dead(55)

With his horror ready, Myal glanced at his own body, and was astonished to find it still opaque. Surely by now his awareness should be fading out.

The last of the room went suddenly, like a swath of smoke blowing off the hill. He glimpsed the revolting inn sign whirling in the wide air like a cumbersome bird. And then the mattress under him was rock, and the fires of dawn broke through abruptly into his sight, blinding him with their mortal violence.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

All the colours in the spectrum raced, like an enraged mob, over the hill, trampling through Myal’s eyes. He felt he could not stand it, after the murks and smoulders and quarter tones of the Ghyste. He also felt a keen insecurity at being left behind. The night had pulled out from shore, like a huge boat laden with its passengers, and somehow he had missed it. Was he then, incredibly, still quick? No. For trying to pick up a pebble on the slope, his perfectly fleshly-looking hand went through it. And when the sun was higher, he got up, having selected a stunted little tree that had apparently been poking through the canopied bed all night, unnoticed, and he walked at it, and, with a desolate wretchedness, right through it.

With a cry of fear, he stood and listened to his heart pounding where there was no heart to pound. He supposed if he stopped believing in his heart, it would stop beating, and hastily he tried to avoid that ultimate loss. He glanced around wildly in an effort to distract himself. And was duly distracted by the bare hillside of sere pallid grass and weather-burnished rock, naked among the thousand black fur backs of the forest which framed it. There was no town anywhere by day. Not even rubble, not even the scars of the great landslip remained. Everything that had been had dropped into and beneath the lake. Then he looked inadvertently down toward the shore, caught his breath—unnecessarily, kidding himself like all ghosts—and swore.

The broad waters of the star-rayed lake were gone. There was only a sprawl of chasm, arid, eroded mud that was hardening into stone, from which five bleak gulleys ran away.

Myal leaned out from the empty hill, staring. Like a big well, the lake had gone dry. Either the river had failed it at its source, or some internal plug had been pulled. Thirty years or more, the bed had been drying out. The night waters of Tulotef were also a ghost. But what of the tumbled town which had, in all the myths, rumours or tales, lain on its floor?

“Pretty, isn’t it?” said Parl Dro’s softly articulate, unmistakable voice, about ten feet behind him.

Myal attempted to spin around, lost his balance, skidded down the hill. He ended on one knee, clawing at the turf he could not actually grasp.

Dro watched him. Black mantle, black hair, black eyes against the scald of blue sky. Impassive. Myal’s musical instrument hung by its sling across his black shoulder.

Myal grimaced.

“Well, get on with it.”

Dro raised both eyebrows.

“I mean,” said Myal, angry in his fright, “I’m here. You’re here. You’ve got the link—my link—the instrument. So destroy it. Get rid of me. What the hell’s keeping you?”

Dro’s long eyebrows levelled like the death black eyes under them. There was no playful cruelty at all in his face.

“You seem to be very sure of my next move.”

“I should be. I’ve listened to enough of your damned boasting. Pull out the dead like rotten teeth. The deadalive must die. I’m not fighting you. Get on with it.”

“How convenient for me, professionally speaking,” said Dro, “that you happen to be one of those unusually strong-willed, witch-gifted ghosts who are able to manifest in broad daylight.”

“Look,” said Myal shivering, wondering bewilderedly how he was able to, “I’m a coward, right? And what I really can’t bear is waiting around for something awful to happen. So will you please do it now? Or is this what makes you feel good? Sadistically terrorising the dead.”

“You’re not dead.”

“Just,” said Myal. He paused. “What?”

“You are not dead.”

“Ha,” said Myal. He smashed his hand through a rock. “Look. See? I’m dead.”

“You’re out of your body, but your body’s alive. You can go back to it eventually. Not necessarily inspiring, but a fact.”

“Shut up,” said Myal. He put his face in his hands. “I always said you were a bastard.”

“So far as I know, I was conceived inside wedlock. Your own situation may be a little more complex.”