Gods of the Greataway (28 page)

And behind her, guffaws of cruel laughter.

She told herself she had a job to do, and if necessary she had to do it the Dream Earth way.

She said to the sky, clearly and simply, “I wish to consult the Oracle.”

*

The drawbridge was lowered, the portcullis was raised and she walked into a fantastic courtyard of unicorns and bluebirds and sacred carp. Music played and eunuchs bowed and beautiful people in diaphanous robes strolled to and fro.

The fountain rose to the clouds.

And within the fountain hovered the face of a beautiful woman. Water played through the face and around it as the woman watched the Girl gravely, the eyes sparkling, the lips looking as though they’d just been kissed. The Oracle said in a voice as musical as a harp, “You’ve been here before, haven’t you? You know what to do. Place your hand in the waters and ask your question.”

“I have so many questions this time.”

“Then you’ll need a lot of psy.”

“Most of my questions are about the Ifalong.”

The beautiful Oracle smiled. “That’s not unusual. People usually want to know about the Ifalong. Nobody cares about the past, and I think that’s a pity. The past is a great deal more
real
than the Ifalong, and I think people around here could do with a dose of reality now and then. And the past is easier for me to describe because I don’t have to evaluate happentracks — so it costs less of your psy. Are you sure you don’t want to know about the past?”

The
Girl laughed. “Just one thing, then. How did I get this nice body? I didn’t Bigwish it. And it’s too pretty to be Myself. And it seems to be unique in Dream Earth, although …” She frowned thoughtfully. “My face is familiar. I’m sure I’ve seen it somewhere before. Please tell me where.”

The Oracle closed her eyes. “It’s very likely that you caught sight of an oil painting of that face, in the living quarters of the Cuidador Selena on the People Planet.”

“You’re right!” the Girl cried, excited. “Manuel loved that face, I’m sure he did! I wish he could see me now!”

“Is that a smallwish?”

“No,” she said hastily. “It was just a figure of speech. Will I be able to keep this face and body when I go back to Real Earth?”

“Is that a question?”

“No, I can’t spare the psy. I’ll hope for the best. Just tell me how I got like this.” Her face looked up at her from the fountain’s pool, lively, lovable.

This time the Oracle’s eyes remained closed for a very long time as she searched the memories of the Rainbow. Eventually she said, “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? I thought you knew everything.”

“I only know what the Rainbow knows.”

“But Zozula told me the Rainbow sees everything and knows everything.”

“Zozula has a vested interest, my dear. Clearly it is impossible for the Rainbow to know the thoughts of humans, for instance. And —” she paused for an instant, “— the Rainbow cannot know the purposes of superior beings. It is a machine built by humans — and to a certain extent, built
of
humans. It has limitations.”

The Girl was puzzled. “Well, I hardly think my face was a gift from some alien god.”

And the
Oracle replied, “I can hardly think of any other explanation, my dear”

It was frightening and unlikely, and the Girl didn’t want to think about it. “Let’s talk about the Ifalong,” she said hastily.

“If you like.”

“You must know there are monsters in the Greataway called Bale Wolves,” said the Girl slowly, working out the least expensive way of getting the information she wanted. “And you already know that we — Zozula, Manuel and I — have tried to capture a Bale Wolf for use on the People Planet.”

“That costs you no psy.”

“Well, then … You know we failed, and I can tell you we want to try again. Now. The happentracks of the Ifalong are infinite, right?”

“That is correct, my dear.” The Oracle was smiling.

“Yes, well … There must exist a happentrack in which we succeeded. Somewhere in the future, on some happentrack, we will capture a Bale Wolf and bring it back, right?”

“Right.”

“You mean we will?” cried the Girl excitedly. “We will?”

“On remote happentracks. Such is the nature of the Ifalong.”

“Well, then.” The Girl took a deep breath. “My question is: How will we do it?”

The Oracle closed her eyes. This time she was silent for so long that the Girl began to fear the effort had sent her into a coma. But the Rainbow was working, probing unlikely happentracks, considering and rejecting alternatives, darting along critical paths with the speed of light.

The Oracle said, hours later, “You will overcome your fear.”

The Girl jerked awake; she’d been dozing. “I’ll what?”

“You will overcome your fear and enlist the help of the only creature in the Rainbow who has the power to defeat the Bale Wolves. Together you will rejoin the Celestial Steam Locomotive and fight the Bale Wolves for a second time, and this time succeed in your quest.”

“That sounds pretty good to me.”

“It is an extremely remote possibility,” the Oracle warned her.

“Why?”

“Because
on the majority of happentracks you will not be able to overcome your fear. In your mind, the creature whose help you must enlist is very terrible.”

“What can be so terrible?” Deliberately, the Girl recalled her adventures with Manuel and Zozula, and before that, on Dream Earth, with the creatures she’d met there. “The Basilisk? The Tyrannosaurus Wrecks? The May Bees? I’m not frightened of them anymore. They’re pathetic, really. Just jokes. And on Real Earth? There’s nothing. Just people and animals.”

“And within your own mind?” asked the Oracle.

“Nothing.”

“Then on this happentrack you will not succeed in your quest.”

“I’m not frightened of anything, I tell you!”

“Nor will you succeed on
this
happentrack.”

“He scares me so much I can’t bear to think of him!” The Girl burst into tears. “He’s the most evil monster in the Universe, and when he touches me I lose control of myself, like a baby, and my legs won’t work, and neither will my mind. I can’t fight him. I can’t go near him — I can’t even think of him!”

“And yet on
this
happentrack you will succeed,” said the Oracle.

*

Outside the Oracle’s castle was a quiet river, lined with willow trees, where a few people rowed in traditional clinker-built boats and kingfishers watched the water with beady eyes. The Girl found a bridge and stood at the top of the arch with her arms on the railings and her chin cupped in her hands, watching the leaves drift by. It was a very peaceful scene, created by thoughtful people who’d had sufficient interest in the world around them to consult the Oracle. Once their question was answered, they had needed a place to ponder the meanings, and so the river had come into being — and the ancient timber landing stage and the jolly boatman who rented out the boats. The scene had a lot of depth, a lot of clarity, a lot of circumstantial detail. It reminded the Girl of Real Earth.

She
was exhausted and out of psy, but she needed no smallwish to get out of here. Zozula was watching through the scanner and would recall her when he figured the time was right. That would probably be soon — and meanwhile she had to come to terms with herself …

In that way the Girl faced her destiny. Of course she was scared; she was undertaking the most terrifying quest known to Man. Even the Song of Earth concedes that she was frightened:

Her body flinched at the memory of the tearing wounds that had been inflicted on her, again and again, during the battle. Her mind balked at contact with that stinking
evil
that surrounded the Bale Wolves, so that everyone else seemed to be drawn into it and dirtied by it. She drew some consolation from the fact that Manuel and Zozula would be there with her.

But what really lent her courage was the fact that
she was going to do it
. It was written in the Ifalong. Nobody else would; she knew that and the Oracle knew it, too. Whether she wanted it or not, a Bale Wolf would be captured and brought to Earth, and she would be responsible. She, the Girl.

Why her?

Because she was the only person on Earth who knew how.

And the realization of
how
it would be done scared her even more than the doing of it. For a moment she clung to the thought of the Bale Wolves, because her fear of them was less than her fear of that indescribably evil creature who would help her destroy them. Then, slowly, gradually, she allowed herself to start thinking of Blind Pew and how she must face him once again.

T
he
Girl told Zozula and Manuel everything — except the moments of temptation, and they probably guessed those. Again they undertook the outlandish journey: first through the Do-Portal at the far end of the Rainbow Room, where they answered the questions of the elephantine Reasoner and were admitted to Dream Earth. Then aboard the fiery Locomotive, with its dreadful crew and with its passengers still laughing, screaming, drinking and fighting — and looking forward to meeting the Bale Wolves. Then, quickly, the disembarkation at the Land of Lost Dreams, where the Rainbow stored all the smallwishes that had outlived their usefulness in Dream Earth …

*

The terror of the Girl.

The slow walk through the barren, jagged land with Zozula, Mentor and Manuel some distance behind, lest their quarry should be scared off by the sound of many footsteps.

The pause at every Stygian cave entrance, the strange beasts, the eerie sounds. The attack of the May Bees, and the defeating of them. And finally, the grotesque figure standing there, quite unexpectedly in the sunlight around a corner of rock, standing there and addressing a point of space somewhere in front of his nose.

“Avast
there, me hearty! Now who will aid a poor man whose eyes were carried away by cannonball while in service of King George — God bless His Majesty!”

“I’ll help you,” said the Girl, trembling.

Judging the distance with uncanny accuracy, Pew lunged forward and threw a skinny arm around her, drawing her close. “And that ye will, me beauty …” He stiffened, hands running over her face as though it were a keyboard. “Ye be no stranger, girl!”

“No, I —”

“By the powers!” exclaimed Pew in sudden hoarse rage. “If it isn’t the treacherous whelp who deserted the ship! I’ve been a-looking for ye, lass …” He held her at arm’s length, and took up the stick, which leaned against the rock face.

In the distance, Manuel and Zozula began to run forward.

“Let me go!” The Girl struggled, terrified and nauseated. “I want to help you!”

“And help me ye will, girl.” He raised the stick. “Just as soon as I’ve trimmed yer sails a little.”

Zozula had dropped behind, but Manuel, running as only a Wild Human can, hurled himself at the blind man on the instant the stick began to descend. Pew, too intent on the Girl to hear his approach, uttered a croak of surprise. They spun around and fell to the ground. The Girl staggered away, shuddering, feeling dirtied by the contact. Nightmare happentracks sped through her mind.

Manuel aimed a roundhouse blow at Pew’s thin face. Long before the punch reached him, Pew squirmed aside, and Manuel’s fist slammed into the dirt. The youth yelled in pain and rage, grappling with his adversary and trying to get into position for another punch. With uncanny anticipation, Pew avoided him every time. Together they were rolling about on the dusty ground, wrestling and kicking, when Zozula arrived, panting.

“I’m going to kill you …” grunted Manuel, beside himself with rage and frustration. And then he realized how to do it. It was no good trying to hit Pew; the man could anticipate every move.

But he couldn’t do
anything about a slow, inevitable death.

And Pew guessed what was in Manuel’s mind. He screamed — a shrill birdlike screech that quickly faded into the desert air.

Keeping hold of the blind man’s clothing, Manuel worked his hands upward while Pew thrashed from side to side like a gaffed fish. Soon Manuel’s hands pinned Pew’s shoulders to the ground, then he moved higher and his fingers dug into the creased skin of Pew’s throat. Then he began to squeeze.

“So you’d hit the Girl, would you …?” Manuel’s senses were obscured by a red haze of rage, and he hardly noticed Zozula pounding on his back.

“Let him go, Manuel! We need him alive!”

“Mercy …” whispered Pew.

“Die, blind man.”

“Manuel! Get off him!”

The combined efforts of the Girl and Zozula dragged Manuel’s hands away. Pew twisted free, then rolled onto his face, coughing and gagging. Manuel looked up, the madness fading from his eyes, to be replaced by a kind of puzzled wonder. What had got into him? He looked at Pew, and what had been a monstrous thing of evil was now an unclean old man throwing up into the dirt.

“I … I’m sorry,” said Manuel to the Girl.

She smiled shakily. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Manuel.”

“Did you see the way he dodged those punches?” Zozula stirred Pew with his toe as though he were a dead animal. “I see what you mean, Girl. He can anticipate danger. Maybe he can’t always do anything about it, but at least he recognizes when it’s coming. He’s just the man we need.”

Pew sat up slowly, massaging his neck. “I’ll thank ye to respect a poor blind man’s infirmities …” he said indistinctly.

“You’re coming with us, Pew,” said Zozula.

“Aye … That’s as may be. Where are ye bound, may I ask?”

Zozula said, “We’re going aboard the Celestial Steam Locomotive. I think an acquaintance of yours drives it.”

Pew started
violently. “The Locomotive, is it! By my Lady, why didn’t ye tell me in the first place, sir?”

And, chuckling to himself, he climbed to his feet, picked up his stick and began to tap his way along with them as they walked north.