Seven Sorcerers(68)
Heed my call. Aid me in this last great Shaping.
A silver leviathan hovers before us in the molten light. He feels the pull of my magic, drawing him toward a more earthly form. Yet still he towers above us, eyes gleaming with unfathomable thoughts.
Udgrond rises through the core of liquid silver, dragging us along by the hem of his will. The earth parts for him, and the great heat grows less and less, until he bursts through the rock into a vast, steaming cavern large as a kingdom. Rivers of magma criss-cross its floor, and mountain-sized columns extend from floor to ceiling, alive with jewels in all the colors of earthly splendor. There he sits upon a throne carven from a single peak, studded with diamonds large as galleons.
His silver skin still burns, dripping and smoking across the great chair. We float before him like fireflies in a realm of ashy brilliance. The heat here is still too great for any flesh to survive, yet Udgrond’s own flesh is molten metal. Our hovering spirit-selves are more comfortable in this flaming cavern than inside the magnetic singularity that was his resting place. Udgrond’s mouth opens like the maw of a volcano, and he speaks with the sound of grinding continents. It is the original language, the syllables of raw power manifested into sounds.
“You have awakened me too soon, Iardu Starwing,” he says. “This displeases me, for I have lost my dreambond with the earth. I no longer feel the winds that carve the face of crags, or the patient mountains who spew forth the fires of creation. I no longer feel the storms rushing across the face of the world, or the thunder of seas against the continents. You have separated me from the songs of the earth. My head is a hollow cavern now, filled only with fleeting shards of memory.”
In the world above you will find all of these pleasures and more, I promise him. Come see the results of your long dreaming, and help shape its final destiny.
The silver titan’s skin turns to black, gleaming with veins of scarlet where it still hasn’t cooled. His eyes shed starlight across the deep cavern.
“I will go above,” says the Maker of Mountains. “I will aid you, cousin. But my rest is not yet done. I will sit here and slumber lightly for a little while longer. When next I awake, I will ascend with you and see what the world has become.”
No! You must come now, Udgrond, I insist. Our time is short. Forces are shaping the world against us even as we speak. We cannot wait for your power. Our enemies will destroy us!
“Then I will keep you here,” says Udgrond, “where you will be safe from all enemies. None dare reach into my domain to harm you. Only sleep a little while alongside me, and all will be well.”
No!
Udgrond raises his hand. Raw earth hurtles up from the cavern floor and down from the vault-roof, encasing our spirit-selves like flies caught in amber. The titan’s eyes blink. His head of cooling silver nods upon his monolithic neck.
“Sleep now, as I do,” he says. His voice is the very sound of sorcery. “You will be safe here until I awaken.”
Already his power has fallen upon us. The rock turns to lucent crystal about us. We cannot move, for his power over us reaches far beyond the physical. His will is harder and more solid than the deepest diamond.
We are trapped in a column of quartz tall enough to span an ocean.
How long will he sleep? Sharadza asks me.
I should lie to mask my despair. But I cannot lie to her.
It could be centuries, I say. The Maker of Mountains has forgotten the urgency of time, if he ever knew it at all. To him a hundred years is the blink of an eye.
What can we do? Alua asks, her panic rising.
Free us, Iardu! demands Vaazhia. We do not need this drowsy godling.
She is right, says Sharadza. This Udgrond is beyond us. Send us back to our bodies and we four will stand against Zyung. Khama will stand with us too. It will be enough!
The last of the crystal freezes into place. The Maker of Mountains sleeps again, this time as a silvery behemoth upon his mountainous throne. I should have known he would not awaken all at once and rush to serve my whims.
I never should have tried to rouse him. My desperation has betrayed us all.
Free us now, Iardu, says Alua. Her distress is an unending howl inside our shared consciousness. I hesitate to tell them the truth, but I have little choice.
I cannot, I explain. It is not this crystalline substance that holds us fast, but the naked will of Udgrond. We are caught in his dream. Only when he awakens again will we escape this prison.
There is terror now, rising to suffocate our shared essence. I cannot calm them, no matter how hard I try. Their spirit-selves might scream and wail for years, making not a sound in the vast cavern of sunken fires.
The cacophony of our thoughts does nothing to rouse Udgrond.