Elric_ The Sleeping Sorceress - Michael Moorcock [89]
Waters of the sea, thou gave us birth
And were our milk and mother both
In days when skies were overcast
You who were first shall be the last.
Sea-rulers, fathers of our blood,
Thine aid is sought, thine aid is sought,
Your salt is blood, our blood your salt,
Your blood the blood of Man.
Straasha, eternal king, eternal sea
Thine aid is sought by me;
For enemies of thine and mine
Seek to defeat our destiny, and drain away our sea.
Either the words had an old, symbolic meaning or they referred to some incident in Melnibonéan history which even Elric had not read about. The words meant very little to him and yet they continued to repeat themselves as his body sank deeper and deeper into the green waters. Even when blackness overwhelmed him and his lungs filled with water, the words continued to whisper through the corridors of his brain. It was strange that he should be dead and still hear the incantation.
It seemed a long while later that his eyes opened and revealed swirling water and, through it, huge, indistinct figures gliding towards him. Death, it appeared, took a long time to come and, while he died, he dreamed. The leading figure had a turquoise beard and hair, pale green skin that seemed made of the sea itself and, when he spoke, a voice that was like a rushing tide. He smiled at Elric.
“Straasha answers thy summons, mortal. Our destinies are bound together. How may I aid thee, and, in aiding thee, aid myself?”
Elric’s mouth was filled with water and yet he still seemed capable of speech (thus proving he dreamed).
He said:
“King Straasha. The paintings in the Tower of D’a’rputna—in the library. When I was a boy I saw them, King Straasha.”
The sea-king stretched out his sea-green hands. “Aye. You sent the summons. You need our aid. We honour our ancient pact with your folk.”
“No. I did not mean to summon you. The summons came unbidden to my dying mind. I am happy to drown, King Straasha.”
“That cannot be. If your mind summoned us it means you wish to live. We will aid you.” King Straasha’s beard streamed in the tide and his deep, green eyes were gentle, almost tender, as they regarded the albino.
Elric closed his own eyes again. “I dream,” he said. “I deceive myself with fantasies of hope.” He felt the water in his lungs and he knew he no longer breathed. It stood to reason, therefore, that he was dead. “But if you were real, old friend, and you wished to aid me, you would return me to Melniboné so that I might deal with the usurper, Yyrkoon, and save Cymoril, before it is too late. That is my only regret—the torment which Cymoril will suffer if her brother becomes Emperor of Melniboné.”
“Is that all you ask of the water elementals?” King Straasha seemed almost disappointed.
“I do not even ask that of you. I only voice what I would have wished, had this been reality and I was speaking, which I know is impossible. Now I shall die.”
“That cannot be, Lord Elric, for our destinies are truly intertwined and I know that it is not yet your destiny to perish. Therefore I will aid you as you have suggested.”
Elric was surprised at the sharpness of detail of this fantasy. He said to himself, “What a cruel torment I subject myself to. Now I must set about admitting my death . . .”
“You cannot die. Not yet.”
Now it was as if the sea-king’s gentle hands had picked him up and bore him through twisting corridors of a delicate coral pink texture, slightly shadowed, no longer in water. And Elric felt the water vanish from his lungs and stomach and he breathed. Could it be that he had actually been brought to the legendary plane of the elemental folk—a plane which intersected that of the earth and in which they dwelled, for the most part?