The Weird of the White Wolf - Michael Moorcock [38]
Elric's voice betrayed his mounting excitement. “You cannot stop us?”
“I do not dare to—since my oblique efforts have failed. But your foolish endeavours perplex me somewhat, I'll admit. The Book is of importance to us—but what can it mean to you? I have guarded it for three hundred centuries and have never been curious enough to seek to discover why my Masters place so much importance upon it—why they bothered to rescue it on its sunward course and incarcerate it on this boring ball of earth populated by the capering, briefly-lived clowns called Men?”
“I seek in it the Truth,” Elric said guardedly.
“There is no Truth but that of Eternal struggle,” the scarlet-flamed giant said with conviction.
“What rules above the forces of Law and Chaos?” Elric asked. “What controls your destinies as it controls mine?”
The giant frowned.
“That question, I cannot answer. I do not know. There is only the Balance.”
“Then perhaps the Book will tell us who holds it.” Elric said purposefully. “Let me pass—tell me where it lies.”
The giant moved back, smiling ironically. “It lies in a small chamber in the central tower. I have sworn never to venture there, otherwise I might even lead the way. Go if you like—my duty is over.”
Elric, Moonglum and Shaarilla stepped towards the entrance of the castle, but before they entered, the giant spoke warningly from behind them.
“I have been told that the knowledge contained in the Book could swing the balance on the side of the forces of Law. This disturbs me—but, it appears, there is another possibility which disturbs me even more.”
“What is that?” Elric said.
“It could create such a tremendous impact on the multiverse that complete entropy would result. My Masters do not desire that—for it could mean the destruction of all matter in the end. We exist only to fight—not to win, but to preserve the eternal struggle.”
“I care not,” Elric told him. “I have little to lose, Orunlu the Keeper.”
“Then go.” The giant strode across the courtyard into blackness.
Inside the tower, light of a pale quality illuminated winding steps leading upwards. Elric began to climb them in silence, moved by his own doom-filled purpose. Hesitantly, Moonglum and Shaarilla followed in his path, their faces set in hopeless acceptance.
On and upward the steps mounted, twisting tortuously towards their goal, until at last they came to the chamber, full of blinding light, many-coloured and scintillating, which did not penetrate outwards at all but remained confined to the room which housed it.
Blinking, shielding his red eyes with his arm, Elric pressed forward and, through slitted pupils saw the source of the light lying on a small stone dais in the centre of the room.
Equally troubled by the bright light, Shaarilla and Moonglum followed him into the room and stood in awe at what they saw.
It was a huge book—the Dead Gods' Book, its covers encrusted with alien gems from which the light sprang. It gleamed, it throbbed with light and brilliant colour.
“At last,” Elric breathed, “At last—the Truth!”
He stumbled forward like a man made stupid with drink, his pale hands reaching for the thing he had sought with such savage bitterness. His hands touched the pulsating cover of the Book and, trembling, turned it back.
“Now, I shall learn,” he said, half-gloatingly.
With a crash, the cover fell to the floor, sending the bright gems skipping and dancing over the paving stones.
Beneath Elric's twitching hands lay nothing but a pile of yellowish dust.
“No!” His scream was anguished, unbelieving. “No!” Tears flowed down his contorted face as he ran his hands through the fine dust. With a groan which racked his whole being, he fell forward, his face hitting the disintegrated parchment. Time had destroyed the Book—untouched, possibly forgotten, for three hundred centuries. Even the wise and powerful Gods who had created