Osiris shakes his head and steps forward, laying his hand upon his shoulder.
“Horus, my son and avenger, there is a thing I would have you do. It would be good if you were a master of the fugue, but it is not essential. Your other powers should prove sufficient to the task.”
“What task is this, my father?”
“Your mother, wishing to gain once more my favor and a return from exile, has offered me further information as to my colleague’s activities. It appears that Anubis has sent a new emissary into the Middle Worlds, doubtless to locate our ancient enemy and destroy him.”
“This would seem a good thing,” says Horus, nodding, “if successful. I have my doubts, though, since he has failed each time he has tried. How many has he sent now-five or six?”
“Six. This one he has named Wakim is seventh.”
“Wakim?”
“Yes, and the bitch tells me he seems to be something special.”
“How so?”
“It is possible that the jackal spent a thousand years training him for this job. His fighting prowess may be equal to that of Madrak himself. And he appears to bear a special token none of the others bore. It would seem that he is attuned to draw energy directly from the field.”
“I wonder how he thought that one up?” asks Horus, smiling.
“It would seem that he has been studying the tricks certain of the immortals have used against us.”
“What would you have me do? Assist him against your enemy?”
“No. I have decided that whichever of us succeeds in destroying the Prince Who Was A Thousand, that one will gain the support of his fallen Angels who are numbered among the immortals. The rest should follow. Those who do not, will doubtless enter the House of the Dead at the hands of their fellows. The time is right. The old loyalties have been forgotten. A new, solitary liege would be welcomed, I feel, one who offered an end to their fugitive existence. And with the support of the immortals, one House can emerge supreme.”
“I see your reasoning, father. It may well be that it is correct. You would have me find the Prince Who Was A Thousand before Wakim finds him, and slay him in the name of Life?”
“Yes, my avenger. Do you think you can do this?”
“I am troubled that you would ask that question, knowing my strengths.”
“The Prince will be no easy prey. His strengths are mainly unknown, and I cannot tell you what he looks like, nor where he abides.”
“I will find him. I will end him. But perhaps I had best destroy this Wakim before I begin the search.”
“No! He is on the world of Blis, where even now the plague should be beginning. But do not approach that one, Horus! Not unless I bid it. I have strange feelings concerning Wakim. I must find out who he was before I permit such an attempt.”
“Why is this, mighty father? What should that matter?”
“A memory of days before your days, which shall remain unspoken, returns to trouble me. Ask me no more.”
“Very well.”
“The bitch your mother bade me lay different plans concerning the Prince. If you should meet with her during your travels, do not be swayed by any counsels regarding leniency. The Prince must die.”
“She would have him live?”
Osiris nods.
“Yes, she is very fond of him. She may have informed us of Wakim only to save the Prince from him. She will tell you any lie to gain her ends. Do not be deceived by such.”
“I will not.”
“Then I send you, Horus, my avenger and my son, as first emissary of Osiris into the Middle Worlds.”
Horus bows his head and Osiris places his hand upon it for a warm moment.
“He is dead already,” says Horus, slowly, “for was it not I that destroyed the Steel General himself?”
Osiris does not answer, for he, too, once destroyed the Steel General.
DARK HORSE SHADOW
In the great Hall of the House of the Dead there is an enormous shadow upon the wall, behind the throne of Anubis. It might almost be a decoration, inlaid or painted on, save that its blackness is absolute and seems to hold within it something of a limitless depth. Also, there is a slight movement to it
It is the shadow of a monstrous horse, and the blazing bowls on either side of the throne do not affect it with their flickering light.
There is nothing in the great Hall to cast such a shadow, but had you ears in that place you could hear a faint breathing. With each audible exhalation the flames bow down, then rise again.
It moves slowly about the Hall and returns to rest upon the throne, blotting it completely from your sight, had you eyes in that place.
It moves without sound and it changes in size and shape as it goes on. It has a mane and a tail and four hooved legs in outline.
Then, the sound of breathing comes again, like that of a mighty organ-bellows.
It rears to stand upon its hind legs, like a man, and its forelegs form the shadow of a slanted cross upon the throne.
There comes the sound of footsteps in the distance.
As Anubis enters, the Hall is filled by a mighty wind that ends with a snorted chuckle.
Then all is silent as the dog-headed one faces the shadow before his throne.
Regard the sounds of Blis: There are screams within the Life Fair.
A bloated body has been discovered in a guest pavilion.
Once it had been a man. Now it is a mottled sac which has burst itself in a dozen places and oozes juices upon the ground. Already it has begun to smell. This is the reason for its discovery.
It causes the screaming of a maid.
The screaming causes the crowd.
See how they mill about, asking one another the question they cannot answer?
They have forgotten what one does before the face of death.
Most of them will learn, shortly.
Megra of Kalgan pushes her way through the throng.
“I am a nurse,” she says.
Most of them wonder at her action, for nurses have to do with babies, not stinking corpses.
The tall man at her side says nothing, but walks through the crowd as if it were not there.
Already, a small man in a straw hat has roped off the area and is beginning to sell tickets to those who would file past the remains. Megra asks the tall man, who is named Wakim, to stop him. Wakim smashes the admission machine and drives the man from the pavilion.
“He is dead,” says Megra, regarding the body.
“Of course,” says Wakim, who, after a thousand years in the House of the Dead, is readily able to recognize the condition. “Let us cover it over with the bedclothes.”
“I know of no disease which behaves in such a manner.”
“Then it must be a new disease.”
“Something should be done. If it is contagious, an epidemic may follow.”
“It will,” says Wakim. “People will die rapidly, because it will spread at a rapid rate. There are so many people so crowded together in Blis that nothing can prevent this. Even if a cure is found in a matter of days, the population will doubtless be decimated.”
“We must keep the corpse isolated, have it shipped to the nearest Obstetrical Center.”
“If you wish…”
“How can you be so indifferent in the face of tragedy?”
“Death is not tragic. Pathetic, perhaps, but not tragic. Let us cover it over with the bedclothes.”
She slaps him with a sound that carries throughout the pavilion, and she turns away from him. Her eyes seek the communication ring on the wall; but as she steps toward it, a one-eyed man all in black stops her and says, “I have already called the nearest Center. An aircar is on the way.”