Elric Swords and Roses - Michael Moorcock [173]
A huge blow. Another. Squealing and chittering, parts of the plant tried to escape now, slithering off into the undergrowth. From head to toe, Elric was covered in black sap, but still he hacked at the thing, finally pausing to reach out and rip the crown of leaves from around the ruined head. To snatch a handful of large seeds, beating like so many hearts, from the centre. He stepped back, panting. His body sang and thrilled with the force pouring through it. He lifted his head in exultation, shouting his mocking triumph at the moon.
“ARIOCH!”
A tendril began to curl itself around his leg. To his horror, he realized that the plant was re-forming itself. He stepped back and with the point of his sword threw the branch as far as it would go. Then he turned and ran towards the river.
EPILOGUE
The full moon still brightened the dark waters as they rowed out into midstream and began to follow the current away from Soom. Dyvim Mar, seven Melnibonéans, the King of the Uyt, his two daughters and Moonglum. In the stern of the boat, taking no part in the rowing, sat a solitary figure, washed clean of the filth that had covered it, its pale hand resting on the pommel of a scabbarded black broadsword. Crimson, gloomy eyes stared into another world, seeing nothing of the others.
After some time, Tilus Kreek made his way to where Elric sat and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I must thank you, prince, for all you did tonight. I know from your friend and your kinsmen that it was no easy decision. You saved our lives. Perhaps, too, you saved our souls. I can only imagine the cost to you.”
Elric turned those brooding eyes upon the Uyt. He nodded slowly. Then he reached into his purse, feeling what writhed there, almost like human flesh. He drew the stuff out. A bunch of already drying black petals which still moved with a life of their own. A few large pods which also had a fleshy look to them. “Here,” he said. “I have no further use for these. I sought an impossible remedy for my condition. I should have known the only real remedy is the one I carry with me.” He held the petals and spoors of the noibuluscus towards the king. But Tilus Kreek shook his aging head.
“I thank thee, Elric. We both sought to save something by the cultivation of the Black Anemonë. And both of us risked far too much in its pursuit. Perhaps we are lucky to have learned something and still have our lives?”
“Perhaps.” With a sudden movement, the albino took the petals and scattered them overboard onto the murky, glistening water. For a moment they wriggled on the surface, like fish, and then sank out of sight. He threw the pods after them. It was just possible the current would carry them downriver and even out into the sea. One day they might even find fresh soil in which to take root. Whether they would ever again be nurtured by human blood, find form in human skin, however, was unlikely.
As the king moved discreetly back to join his other daughter amidships, Princess Nahuaduar came to sit beside Elric, her face flushing as she looked boldly up into his dangerous eyes. “And will you seek a substitute for the black flower?” she asked.
Taking her hand, he shook his head. “My lady, the sword will have to serve me for my usual sustenance. Meanwhile, I have other consolations.”
Yet, even as she responded to his touch, he looked away again, as if still hoping to see something familiar in that dense, unpleasant forest.
ASPECTS OF FANTASY (PART 4)
In this final article, Michael Moorcock explains his definition of the difference between fantasy and science fiction and ends with a tribute to Science Fantasy, of which this will be the last issue to be published by Nova Publications Ltd.
—John Carnell, Science Fantasy No. 64, April 1964
ASPECTS OF FANTASY
(1964)
4. CONCLUSION
FOR REASONS THAT are now obvious to you, I am forced to wind this series up faster than