Elric Swords and Roses - Michael Moorcock [122]
“I sought resolution to my grief,” said the Rose. “And we learned, my sisters and I, that such resolution is rarely achieved by further destruction. These two, besides, could never be destroyed. Yet, living, we have seen to it that they have served some useful purpose, the pair of them, and that is all I wished to bring about. To do positive good where positive harm had been done. It is the only possible form of revenge for such as myself.”
And Elric, staring with growing horror at the soulbox, could not respond to her. He had been through all this, he thought, to fail at the very moment when he thought he had succeeded.
The Rose was smiling at him still. Her warm fingers were gentle on his face. He glanced at her, but he could not speak.
The sisters were lowering their swords. They looked drained and could barely replace the weapons in their scabbards. Charion Phatt, leaving the toad and Wheldrake, went to tend to them.
“Here.” The Rose strode to the table and picked up the living bloom from where it lay upon the rosewood box which contained those three briar rings of power which had helped chain a demon’s soul. She handed him the flower. There was dew upon the leaves as if it still grew in a country garden.
“I thank you for the keepsake, lady,” he said quietly, but his mind was still full of the horror to come.
“You must take it to your father,” she said. “He will be awaiting you in those ruins. The ruins where your people made their final pact with Chaos.”
Elric did not find her humour amusing. “I shall be speaking to my father soon enough, lady,” he said. With a deep sigh he sheathed his battle-blade. And he did not look into the future with any pleasure …
She was laughing. “Elric! Your father’s soul was never in that box! At least, not trapped by it as the demon’s is. The briar rings are for the bonding of a demon’s soul. The box was built to hold a demon’s soul. But the Eternal Rose is too delicate a thing to contain such a soul. It can only hold the soul of a mortal who has loved another better than itself. This flower protects and is nourished by your father’s soul, Elric. That is why it lives. It is informed by all that is good in Sadric. Take it to your father. Once he has that, he can rejoin your mother as he longed to do. Arioch has forsworn all claim on him—and Mashabak has no power over him. We shall use the power of Mashabak. We shall force the Count of Hell to restore everything we loved. And so, by turning this evil into good, we redeem the past! And that is the only way by which we mortals may ever redeem our pasts! It is the only positive revenge. Take the flower.”
“I will take it to my father, lady,” said Elric.
“And then,” she said, “you may bring me back with you to Tanelorn.”
He looked into her quiet, hazel eyes and he hesitated for a moment. “I would be honoured, lady,” he said.
Suddenly Wheldrake’s yelling: “The toad! The toad!” And the creature is crawling, on massive hands and feet, through the door of the chamber and out into the galleries, the ruined decks, where all the wretches released from their servitude to Chaos are running and scampering and fleeing—out of the great hull, flushed rabbits from a warren, and Wheldrake runs behind him calling “Stop, dear toad. Sweet rival! For the sake of our mutual love, stop, I beg thee!”
But the toad has turned now, at the entrance to The Ship That Was, and looks back at Wheldrake, looks back at Charion Phatt who also follows, and pauses, as if awaiting them. As they come closer, it waddles out of the hull and into the light, the humans running like lice around it, escaping back into the land no longer ruled by Chaos. And then it squats, waiting for them …
… Where Ma Phatt, unsteady in her swaying chair, is borne along the beach by her son and grandson, the pair of them sweating and exhausted as she yells at them to increase their speed, then sees her grand-daughter and Wheldrake and shrieks for them to stop. “My dolly-joys, my sweety-hearts, my jammy,