Elric in the Dream Realms - Michael Moorcock [95]
“Tomorrow,” he said. “I must. But I am curious to know what reality I have created.”
“Oh, I think a dream or two has come true,” she said cryptically, kissing him on the cheek. “And another will come true soon enough.”
He did not pursue the question, for she had taken the great pearl from the pouch at her belt and held it out to him.
“It exists! It was not the chimera we believed it to be! You still have it!”
“It is for you,” she said. “Use it how you will. That is what brought you here to the Silver Flower Oasis. It is what brought you to me. I think I will not trade it at the Dream Market. I would like you to have it. I think it might be yours by right, Elric. Be that as it may, the Holy Girl gave it to me and now I give it to you. It is what Alnac Kreb died because of, what all those assassins died to possess …”
“I thought you said that the Pearl did not exist before the Sorcerer Assassins sought to find it.”
“That is true. But it exists now. Here it is. The Pearl at the Heart of the World. The Great Pearl of legend. Have you no use for it?”
“You must explain to me …” he began, but she cut him short.
“Ask me not how dreams take substance, Prince Elric. That is a question that concerns philosophers in all ages and all places. I ask you again—have you no use for it?”
He hesitated, then reached out to take the lovely thing. He held it in his two palms, rolling it back and forth. He wondered at its richness, its pale beauty. “Aye,” he said, “I think I have a use for it.”
When he had placed the jewel in his own pouch, Oone said very softly: “I think it is an evil thing, that pearl.”
He agreed with her. “I think so, too, but sometimes evil can be used to counter evil.”
“I cannot accept that argument.” She seemed troubled.
“I know,” he said. “You have already said as much.” And then it was his turn to reach towards her and kiss her tenderly upon the lips. “Fate is cruel, Oone. It would be better if it provided us with one unaltering path. Instead it forces us to make choices, never to know if those choices were for the best.”
“We are mortals,” she said with a shrug. “That is our particular doom.”
She stroked his forehead. “You have a troubled mind, my lord. I think I will steal a few of the smaller dreams which make you uneasy.”
“Can you steal pain, Oone, and turn it into something to sell in your market?”
“Oh, frequently,” she said.
She took his head in her lap and began to massage his temples. Her look was tender.
He said sleepily: “I cannot betray Cymoril. I cannot …”
“I ask no more of you but that you sleep,” she said. “One day you will have much to regret and you will know real remorse. Until then, I can take away a little of what is unimportant.”
“Unimportant?” His voice was slurred as she gradually stroked him into slumber.
“To you, I think, my lord. Though not to me …”
And the dreamthief began to sing. She sang a lullaby. She sang of a sickly child and a grieving father. She sang of happiness found in simple things.
And Elric slept. And as he slept the dreamthief performed her easy magic and took away just a few of the half-forgotten memories which had spoiled his nights in the past and might spoil those yet to come.
And when Elric awoke that next morning, it was with a light heart and an easy conscience, only the faintest memories of his adventures in the Dream Realm, a continuing affection for Oone and a determination to reach Quarzhasaat as soon as possible and take to Lord Gho what Lord Gho most desired in all the world.
His farewells to the people of the Bauradim were sincere and his sadness in parting was reciprocated. They begged him to return, to join them on their travels, to hunt with them as Rackhir, his friend, had once hunted.
“I will try to return to you one day,” he said. “But first I have more than one oath to fulfill.”
A nervous boy brought him his great black battle-blade. As he buckled on Stormbringer the sword seemed to moan with considerable satisfaction at being reunited with him.
It was Varadia, clasping his hands and kissing them,