Elric in the Dream Realms - Michael Moorcock [35]
Now another, older man, his beard and brows grey beneath his cowl, stepped forward and began to read from a scroll he produced from his sleeve, while two others opened the lid of the elaborate coffin and, to Elric’s astonishment, spat into it.
Now Alnac gasped. He stood on his toes and peered, for the brands clearly illuminated the coffin’s contents. He turned, still more mystified, to Elric. “‘Tis empty, Prince Elric. Or else the corpse is invisible.”
The rhythm of the drums increased in tempo and complexity. Voices began to chant, rising and falling like waves in an ocean. Elric had never heard such music before. He found that it was moving him to obscure emotions. He felt rage. He felt sorrow. He found that he was close to weeping. And still the music continued, growing in intensity. He longed to join in, but could understand nothing of the language they used. It seemed to him that the words were older by far than the speech of Melniboné, which was the oldest in the Young Kingdoms.
And then, suddenly, the singing and the drumming ended.
The six men took the coffin from the dais and began to march away with it, towards the mounds, and the men with the torches followed, the light casting strange shadows amongst the trees, illuminating sudden patches of shining whiteness which Elric could not identify.
As suddenly as they had stopped the drumming, the chanting began again, but this time they had a celebratory, triumphant note to them. Slowly the crowd lifted their heads and from several hundred throats came a high-pitched ululation, clearly a traditional response.
Then the nomads began to drift back towards their tents. Alnac stopped one, a woman wearing richly decorated green and gold robes, and pointed to the disappearing procession. “What is this funeral, sister? I saw no corpse.”
“The corpse is not here,” she said, and she was smiling at his confusion. “It is a ceremony of revenge, taken by all our clans at the instigation of Raik Na Seem. The corpse is not present because its owner will not know he is dead, perhaps for several months. We bury him now because we cannot reach him. He is not one of us, not of the desert. He is dead, however, but merely unaware of that fact. There is no mistake, though. We lack only the physical body.”
“He is an enemy of your people, sister?”
“Aye, indeed. He is an enemy. He sent men to steal our greatest treasure. They failed, but they have done us profound harm in their failing. I know you, do I not? You are the one Raik Na Seem hoped would return. He sent for a dreamthief.” And she looked back to the dais where, beneath the light of a single torch, a huge figure stood, bowed as if in prayer. “You are our friend, Alnac Kreb, who aided us once before.”
“I have been privileged to do your people a trifling service in the past, aye.” Alnac Kreb acknowledged her recognition with his habitual grace.
“Raik Na Seem waits upon you,” she said. “Go in peace and peace be with your family and friends.”
Puzzled, Alnac Kreb turned to Elric. “I know not why Raik Na Seem should have sent for me but I feel obliged to find out. Will you stay here or accompany me, Prince Elric?”
“I am growing curious about this whole affair,” said Elric, “and would know more, if that’s possible.”
They made their way through the trees until they stood on the banks of the great oasis, waiting respectfully while the old man remained in the position he had assumed since the coffin had been carried off. Eventually he turned and it was clear that he had been weeping. When he saw them he straightened up and, as he recognized Alnac Kreb, he smiled, making a gesture of welcome. “My dear friend!”
“Peace be upon you, Raik Na Seem.” Alnac stepped forward and embraced the old man, who was at least a head and shoulders taller than himself. “I bring with me a friend. His name is Elric of Melniboné, of that same people who were the great enemies of the Quarzhasaatim.”
“The name has substance in my heart,” said Raik Na Seem. “Peace be upon you, Elric of Melniboné. You are