Elric to Rescue Tanelorn - Michael Moorcock [188]
“And you are their mistress? Guardian of that seed?”
She laughed then. Her voice was sweet silver. “If only I were, Red Archer. I am sustained by what the forest herself grows. For centuries now I have lived on bloodberries, sap and dew. But those warriors are kept alive by moonlight and when the moon is dark, they must seek the comfort of the great barrow. For they are not truly alive as you are alive. Like me, they are vitalized by dreams. But where their fellows dream of them, I dream only of myself.” Her voice was wistful, self-mocking. “I am kept from complete annihilation by the power of my own mind.”
An almost primeval growl rose in Rackhir’s throat. Though trained in the mystic arts, he yet felt deep suspicion of unexplained supernatural things. “Show yourself, madam,” he demanded. “Show yourself or, by Krim, I’ll…” But his voice trailed off, for he knew there was no threat he could offer her while she remained invisible to him.
And then it seemed sudden silver blossomed on the edge of the glade; a silver light which all but blinded him. With an oath, he covered his eyes. Then she stepped out of the light and he gasped at her beauty. She was tall, slender and her hair was the colour of polished brass. Her blue-grey eyes were slightly slanted and she had the finest cheekbones he had ever seen. Almost too beautiful to be real, she stepped towards him, her white garments drifting in a faint breeze, and he could easily believe that she was the figment of a dream. At her side, however, was a scabbarded longsword and matching it on her other hip, a thin dagger in a silver filigree sheath. Both looked real, and useful, weapons.
Keeping his eyes on her, the archer instinctively bowed, a tribute to her beauty as much as to her femininity.
“My lady.”
“Well, Sir Rackhir of Phum, what mischance brings you to the Roaming Forest? Or do you, as I once did, travel the dream-roads, seeking a return to your homeland?”
“I assume this is not the sphere where Melniboné yet rules the world?”
“By your answer, I understand that you traveled to Eerin unwillingly. I cannot say the same for myself. I was foolish enough to take a dream quest. Melniboné never existed here and maybe never will. My corporeal body is as real, if not more real, than this one. It still lies on the dream couches of the Dreaming City. We have a skill, unknown to you humans, which allows us to send a form, as real in blood, bones and flesh as our own, into other spheres. One hour might pass on the dream couches, but centuries go by elsewhere. That is how we learn so much and why our sorcerers are so powerful, for they carry the knowledge of a hundred lifetimes. As a cousin to Melniboné’s empress, I was allowed access to the dream couches. I longed to explore all the realms of what our wise men call ‘the multiverse’ and which an adept can investigate only by traveling the moonbeam roads, the roads between the worlds. But in my multiplicity of dreams, I became confused and lost the secrets of how to gain those paths. I made the mistake of trusting a local minor deity who said she would help me. Instead, she stole much of my memory and trapped me here in the Roaming Forest. Where I move, the forest moves. If I seek the sanctuary of a temple, the forest engulfs that temple. If I try to find safety in a village, that village is—is eaten. Her inhabitants are slain or made into slave-warriors serving the semi-sentient creature which lives in the deep barrow. So, if I do not wish to destroy those whose help I need, I can only move when the Roaming Forest moves. Moreover, even when I have been able to escape its confines by some trick of my magic, I grow less and less substantial. The closer I stay within the forest, the more my flesh feels like real flesh, the more alive I am.”
As an adept of Phum, Rackhir understood more of this than most men would. “And what of these?” he asked, pointing at the heaps of green