Elric_ The Sleeping Sorceress - Michael Moorcock [102]
For a good space of time the rune-chanting went on. The rain beat harder upon the pebbles of the shore and made them glisten. It dashed most ferociously into the still, dark sea, lashed about the fragile head of the chanting, pale-haired figure, and caused Dyvim Tvar to shiver and draw his cloak more closely about his shoulders.
“Straasha—Straasha—Straasha . . .”
The words mingled with the sound of the rain. They were now barely words at all but sounds which the wind might make or a language which the sea might speak.
“Straasha . . .”
Again Dyvim Tvar had the impulse to move, but this time he desired to go to Elric and tell him to stop, to consider some other means of reaching the lands of Oin and Yu.
“Straasha!”
There was a cryptic agony in the shout.
“Straasha!”
Elric’s name formed on Dyvim Tvar’s lips, but he found that he could not speak it.
“Straasha!”
The cross-legged figure swayed. The word became the calling of the wind through the Caverns of Time.
“Straasha!”
It was plain to Dyvim Tvar that the rune was, for some reason, not working and that Elric was using up all his strength to no effect. And yet there was nothing the Lord of the Dragon Caves could do. His tongue was frozen. His feet seemed frozen to the ground.
He looked at the mist. Had it crept closer to the shore? Had it taken on a strange, almost luminous, green tinge? He peered closely.
There was a massive disturbance of the water. The sea rushed up the beach. The shingle crackled. The mist retreated. Vague lights flickered in the air and Dyvim Tvar thought he saw the shining silhouette of a gigantic figure emerging from the sea and he realized that Elric’s chant had ceased.
“King Straasha,” Elric was saying in something approaching his normal tone. “You have come. I thank you.”
The silhouette spoke and the voice reminded Dyvim Tvar of slow, heavy waves rolling beneath a friendly sun.
“We elementals are concerned, Elric, for there are rumours that you have invited Chaos Lords back to your plane and the elementals have never loved the Lords of Chaos. Yet I know that if you have done this it is because you are fated to do it and therefore we hold no enmity against you.”
“The decision was forced upon me, King Straasha. There was no other decision I could make. If you are therefore reluctant to aid me, I shall understand that and call on you no more.”
“I will help you, though helping you is harder now, not for what happens in the immediate future but what is hinted will happen in years to come. Now you must tell me quickly how we of the water can be of service to you.”
“Do you know ought of the Ship Which Sails Over Land and Sea? I need to find that ship if I am to fulfill my vow to find my love, Cymoril.”
“I know much of that ship, for it is mine. Grome also lays claim to it. But it is mine. Fairly, it is mine.”
“Grome of the Earth?”
“Grome of the Land Below the Roots. Grome of the Ground and all that lives under it. My brother. Grome. Long since, even as we elementals count time, Grome and I built that ship so that we could travel between the realms of Earth and Water whenever we chose. But we quarreled (may we be cursed for such foolishness) and we fought. There were earthquakes, tidal waves, volcanic eruptions, typhoons and battles in which all the elementals joined, with the result that new continents were flung up and old ones drowned. It was not the first time we had fought each other, but it was the last. And finally, lest we destroy each other completely, we made a peace. I gave Grome part of my domain and he gave me the Ship Which Sails Over Land and Sea. But he gave it somewhat unwillingly and thus it sails the sea better than it sails the land, for Grome thwarts its progress whenever he can. Still, if the ship is of use to you, you shall have it.”
“I thank you, King Straasha. Where shall I find it?”
“It will come. And now I grow weary, for the further