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The Eternal Champion
It’s no secret that I’m a big fan of Michael Moorcock: a few years ago I thoroughly admired his writing and his astonishing amount of output not only in literature, but in music as well. These days I don’t get the same thrill at picking up a novel of his, but I still think that he’s absolutely brilliant. And Elric is and will always be a magnificent character; where else do you find such a stereotypical moping goth anti-hero? I love melodrama, after all.
(I have to put in a footnote here. Or rather, a mid-note. Or middle-note. Or meso-note or something. Above I wrote “I’m a big fan of Michael Moorcock” but I tend to see the form “I’m a big fan of his” more often. Does that mean that there ought to be a possessive noun instead? “I’m a big fan of Moorcock’s” for example? Or is it just possessive when it’s a pronoun? Oh well, I’ll just leave it like it is.)
In 2001 I was travelling all around the US. My trip took me from NY to NC to FL to TN to IL to OH to WI to all kinds of weird two-letter abbreviations. The trip changed me in many ways, and it also strengthened my prejudices about America in other ways. Either way, for reasons I won’t go into here, I found myself alone and abandoned in Chicago at one time during wintertime, wandering the place aimlessly. Eventually I found a broken-down hostel in the slums that charged a fiver per night (mostly because there was no heating at all there) where I decided to read a collection of Moorcock stories. I can’t for the life of me remember what the story was called, and I’ve since then lost the book, but one of the stories was a short piece on the Eternal Champion who found himself waking up in a sled, travelling over a wintery landscape. That’s when the inspiration struck me for this parody. If you haven’t read any Moorcock, it’s probably just as enjoyable anyway. And no, I’m not really trying to be subtle.
The Eternal Champion
The first memory I can recall is that of the icy wind biting hard into my face. I travelled at blazing speed inside a strange large sled as I traversed a frozen plain that seemed to stretch out forever in all directions. I had no idea where I was going or who I was; dream-like memories of a previous life – or several lives – flowed through my thoughts, yet I had no idea why I now found myself in this vehicle pulled by fierce-looking horned beasts. I leaned back in the large seat and squinted in the hard wind, shivering slightly as I gazed out over the wintery landscape.
My attire was blood-red and thick, lined with soft fur to protect me from the bitter cold. The grim colour I wore stirred memories within me: I recalled being a warrior time and time again. I had been called a multitude of different names, and I had fought for more causes than I could fathom. Yet, the names I had worn and the places I had been at eluded me. My past seemed to be one shrouded in dark mysterious secrets. All I could remember was being a champion for these countless causes, willingly as well as unwillingly, through as many different lives. A deep sigh escaped my lips as I realised I was yet again on my way to fight for someone else’s just or unjust cause. This seemed to be the very reason for my existence. Who was I? Where had I come from? Where or to whom was the sled taking me? And – this thought troubled me constantly – was there no other reason for my being, than endless struggle?
For many hours I travelled in my strange sled, haunted by vague memories tauntingly keeping just out of my reach. At last I received something else to occupy my tortured mind: in the distance I beheld a fort of cyclopean proportions, and it was most definitely my destination, judging from my vehicle’s direction. I vaguely pondered if I should try stopping the beasts and approach a trifle more discretely. After some brief thinking I decided against it; I did not know where I was, and the large construct getting closer and closer was my only hope of receiving some answers. There was no use in delaying what indeed seemed inevitable.
As I neared the fort I saw myriad of small creatures standing outside, obviously awaiting my arrival. They grinned, I imagined, but from this distance I could not surely tell. The sled moved closer until I could make out their slightly pointed hats and their green attire. Finally my vehicle stopped just outside the enormous building and the creatures greeted me energetically with a chattering I did not understand, and fierce grins. They were eager to take me into the fort, and I did not resist. However eager, they were yet anxious and obviously in quite some reverence of the person I now were. This enforced my beliefs that I once again was a chosen warrior, destined to fight whatever obstacle that fate now needed me to overcome. As I beheld the inside of the gigantic building, after they had led me in through an enormous bronze gate wide as dozens of men, I gasped at the sight before my eyes. Within was a factory, and countless numbers of these little beings worked tirelessly at strange machines, producing strange objects. I dared not guess what purpose this factory served out here in the cold wastes, but it seemed certain now why I was here: I had to free these creatures from the slavery they apparently had been put into. The fort was not a military construct as I had thought at first €“ it was a place of slave labour. Pained memories came to me unbidden: I remembered freeing wretched starving slaves before. I recalled enslaving people myself. There was never a way to decide if what I had to do was good or of evil; I seem to be forced to work for balance instead, no matter how it may tear at my soul to be forced into actions I could not emphatically approve of. This time it seemed my cause was just and right, though. I nodded grimly to the poor small creatures, promising myself to deal out swift and lethal punishment onto their captors.
I was led out to the sled again by the cheering and chattering small beings, and in my hand they pressed a long list as they filled my vehicle with the manufactured goods. I nodded; the plan was clear to me. The enslavers were expecting a load of their slaves’ hard work, and I was to be the delivering person instead of the normal one. Again I silently promised swift death to the ones responsible for this slavery, as I skimmed through the list in my hand. It seemed almost unending, filled with names of the ones I had to destroy. This would take a very long time, and the struggle would be fierce; but I would be victorious. I entered the sled again, accompanied by the cheering of the small creatures. I had had many names: now I recalled several of them. Corum, Elric, Hawkmoon and innumerable others. This time they called me by a new name. As the sled magically arose from the icy landscape into the air, fated to bring me to my destinations, I could hear the cheering of the small beings below. They now called me Santa.