Then with a booming like that of the earthquake which had spawned it, a mile or more of the escarpment toppled ponderously outward and crashed into the forest, piling rubble higher and higher against the foot of the cliff.
The enormous being continued to savage the top of the cliff, spilling more and more rubble down to form a steep causeway reaching up and up to the top of the wall.
And then the thing called Klæl vanished, and a shrieking wind swept the face of the escarpment, whipping away the boiling clouds of dust the landslide had raised.
There was another sound as well. Sparhawk turned quickly. The Trolls had fallen to their faces, moaning in terror.
‘We’ve always known about him,’ Aphrael said pensively. ‘We used to frighten ourselves by telling stories about him. There’s a certain perverse pleasure in making one’s own flesh crawl. I don’t think I ever really admitted to myself that he actually existed.’
‘Exactly what is he?’ Bevier asked her.
‘Evil.’ She shrugged. ‘We’re supposed to be the essence of good – at least that’s what we tell ourselves. Klæl is the opposite. He’s our way of explaining the existence of evil. If we didn’t have Klæl, we’d have to accept the responsibility for evil ourselves, and we’re a little too fond of ourselves to do that.’
Then this Klæl is the King of Hell?’ Bevier asked.
‘Well, sort of. Hell isn’t a place, though. It’s a state of mind. The story has it that when the Elder Gods – Azash and the others – emerged, they found Klæl already here. They wanted the world for themselves, and he was in their way. After several of them had tried individually to get rid of him and got themselves obliterated, they banded together and cast him out.’
‘Where did he come from? Originally, I mean?’ Bevier pressed. Bevier was very much caught up in first causes.
‘How in the world should I know? I wasn’t there. Ask Bhelliom.’
‘I’m not so much interested in where this Klæl came from as I am in what kinds of things it can do,’ Sparhawk said. He took Bhelliom out of the pouch at his waist. ‘Blue Rose,’ he said, I do think we must talk concerning Klæl.’
‘It might be well, Anakha,’ the jewel responded, once again taking control of Vanion.
‘Where did he – or it – originate?’
‘Klæl did not originate, Anakha. Even as I, Klæl hath always been.’
‘What is it – he?’
‘Necessary. I would not offend thee, Anakha, but the necessity of Klæl is beyond thine ability to comprehend. The Child Goddess hath explained Klæl sufficiently -within her capabilities.’
‘Well, really!’ Aphrael spluttered.
A faint smile touched Vanion’s lips. ‘Be not wroth with me, Aphrael. I do love thee still – despite thy limitations. Thou art young, and age shall bring thee wisdom and understanding.’
This is not going well, Blue Rose,’ Sephrenia warned the stone.
‘Ah, well,’ Bhelliom sighed. ‘Let us then to work. Klæl was, in fact, cast out by the Elder Gods, as Aphrael hath told thee – although the spirit of Klæl, even as my spirit, doth linger in the very rocks of this world – as in all others which I have made. Moreover, what the Elder Gods could do, they could also undo, and the spell which hath returned Klæl was implicit in the spell which did cast Klæl out. Clearly, some mortal conversant with the spells of the Elder Gods hath reversed the spell of casting out, and Klæl hath returned.’
‘Can he – or it – be destroyed?’
‘It is not “he” of which we speak, nor do we speak of some “it”. We speak of Klæl. But nay, Anakha, Klæl cannot be destroyed – no more than can I. Klæl is eternal.’
Sparhawk’s heart sank. ‘I think we’re in trouble,’ he muttered to his friends.
‘The fault is in some measure mine. So caught up was I in the birth of this latest child of mine that mine attention did stray from needful duties. It is my wont to cast Klæl out at a certain point in the making of a new world. This particular child did so delight me, however, that I delayed the casting out. Then it was that I did encounter the red dust which did imprison me, and the duty to cast Klæl out did devolve upon the Elder Gods. The casting-out was made imperfect by reason of their imperfection, and thus it was possible for Klæl to be returned.’
‘By Cyrgon?’ Sparhawk asked bleakly.
‘The spell of casting out – and returning – is Styric. Cyrgon could not utter it.’
‘Cyzada then,’ Sephrenia guessed. ‘He might very well have known the spell. I don’t think he’d have used it willingly, though.’
‘Cyrgon probably forced him to use it, little mother,’ Kalten said. ‘Things haven’t been going very well for Cyrgon and Zalasta lately.’
‘But to call Klæl!’ Aphrael shuddered.
‘Desperate people do desperate things,’ Kalten shrugged. ‘So do desperate Gods, I suppose.’
‘What do we do, Blue Rose?’ Sparhawk asked. ‘About Klæl, I mean to say?’
‘Thou canst do nothing, Anakha. Thou didst well when thou didst meet Azash, and doubtless will do well again in thy dispute with Cyrgon. Thou wouldst be powerless against Klæl, however.’
‘We’re doomed then.’ Sparhawk suddenly felt totally crushed.
‘Doomed? Of course thou art not doomed. Why art thou so easily downcast and made disconsolate, my friend? I did not make thee to confront Klæl. That is my duty. Klæl will trouble us in some measure, as is Klæl’s wont. Then, as is our custom, Klæl and I will meet.’
‘And thou wilt once more banish him?’
‘That is never certain, Anakha. I do assure thee, however, that I will strive to mine utmost to cast Klæl out – even as Klæl will strive to cast me out. The contest between us doth lie in the future, and as I have oft told thee, the future is concealed. I will approach the contest with confidence, however, for doubt doth weaken resolve, and timorous uncertainty doth weigh down the spirit. Battle should be joined with a light heart and joyous demeanor.’
‘You can be very sententious sometimes, World-Maker,’ Aphrael said with just a hint of spitefulness.
‘Be nice,’ Bhelliom chided mildly.
‘Anakha!’ It was Ghworg, the God of Kill. The huge presence came across the frosty meadow, plowing a dark path through the silver-sheathed grass.
‘I will hear the words of Ghworg,’ Sparhawk replied.
‘Have you summoned Klæl? Is it your thought that Klæl will aid us in causing hurt to Cyrgon? It is not good if you have. Let Klæl go back.’
‘It was not my doing, Ghworg. Neither was it the Flower-Gem’s doing. It is our thought that it was Cyrgon who summoned Klæl to cause hurt to us.’
‘Can the Flower-Gem cause hurt to Klæl?’
‘That is not certain. The might of Klæl is even as the might of the Flower-Gem.’
The God of Kill squatted on the frozen turf, scratching at his shaggy face with one huge paw. ‘Cyrgon is as nothing, Anakha,’ he rumbled in an almost colloquial form of speech. ‘We can cause hurt to Cyrgon tomorrow – or some time by-and-by. We must cause hurt to Klæl now. We cannot wait for by-and-by.’
Sparhawk dropped to one knee on the frozen turf. ‘Your words are wise, Ghworg.’
Ghworg’s lips pulled back in a hideous approximation of a grin. ‘The word you use is not common among us, Anakha. If Khwaj said, “Ghworg is wise”, I would cause hurt to him.’
‘I did not say it to cause you anger, Ghworg.’
‘You are not a Troll, Anakha. You do not know our ways. We must cause hurt to Klæl so that he will go away. How can we do this?’
