Tales of the Dying Earth (105 page)

A strange silence muffled the valley. The city showed no movement. With a deliberation more menacing than haste the war-wagons rolled toward the eastern gates of Luid Shug. The Bohul veterans, grumbling and walking as if their feet hurt, came behind.

From the spiral voice-horns above the city came amplified words: "Warriors, turn away! Make no molestation upon us. Luid Shug is now lost to your control."

Paying no heed, the commanders prepared to strike down the gates with blast-bolts. Five of the stone effigies moved in their niches and raised their arms. The air quivered; the war-wagons shriveled to small tumbles of char. The peevish veterans became like the husks of dead insects. The Joheim Valley was once again quiet.

Rhialto turned away, and strode thoughtfully from cloud to cloud into the south. Where the hills began to rise, some twenty or thirty miles west of Fader's Waft, he stepped down upon a hummock covered with dry grass and, seeking the shade of a solitary tree, sat leaning against the bole.

The time was close on noon. The fragrance of dry grass came pleasantly on puffs of warm wind. Far to the northeast a coil of smoke rose above the corpse of Vasques Tohor.

Chewing a straw, Rhialto sat reflecting upon his condition. Circumstances were not at the optimum, even though the Perciplex had been more or less precisely located. Osherl must be considered a weak reed, sullen and indifferent. Ildefonse? His interests comported more with those of Rhialto them those of the treacherous Hache-Moncour. Still, Ildefonse was known for his tendencies toward flexibility and expedience. As Preceptor, Ildefonse, even lacking the chug, might be able to compel Sarsem to correct conduct; in the main, however, and all taken with all, Sarsem must be reckoned even less dependable than Osherl.

Rhialto put the pleurmalion to his eye, and as before took note of the dark blue sky-spot over Luid Shug. Rhialto put aside the pleurmalion and caged Osherl out from his walnut shell.

Osherl showed himself as a wefkin four feet high with blue skin and green hair. He spoke in a voice meticulously polite. "My best regards, Rhialto! As I look about, I discover a fine warm day of the 16th Aeon! The air tingles at one's skin with characteristic zest. You are chewing grass like an idle farm-boy; I am happy to perceive your enjoyment of time and place."

Rhialto ignored the pleasantries. "I still lack the Perciplex, and for this failure, you and Sarsem share the blame."

The wefkin, laughing soundlessly, combed its green silk hair between blue fingers. "My dear fellow! This style of expression becomes you not at all!"

"No matter," said Rhialto. "Go now to yonder city, and bring me back the Perciplex."

The wefkin uttered a gay laugh. "Dear Rhialto, your witticisms are superb! The concept of poor Osherl trapped, dragged, pounded, stamped upon, dissected and maltreated by twenty vicious gods is a masterpiece of absurd imagery!"

"I intended no joke," said Rhialto. "Yonder lies the Perciplex; the Perciplex I must have."

Osherl himself plucked a blade of grass and waved it in the air to emphasize his remarks. "Perhaps you should recast your goals. In many ways the 16th Aeon is more kindly than the 21st. You chew grass like one born to it. This time is yours, Rhialto! So it has been ordained by stronger voices than either yours or mine!"

"My voice is adequately strong," said Rhialto. "Also I am friend to the chug and I distribute indenture points with lavish prodigality."

"Such humor is mordant," growled Osherl.

"You refuse to enter Luid Shug for the Perciplex?"

"Impossible while the gods stand guard."

"Then you must take us forward exactly a hundred centuries, so that when Luid Shug awakens to the Age of Gold, we will be on hand to claim our property."

 

Osherl wished to discuss the onerous quality of his indenture, but Rhialto would not listen. "All in good time, when we are once more in Boumergarth, Perciplex in hand!"

"The Perciplex? Is that all you want?" asked Osherl with patently false heartiness. "Why did you not say so in the first place? Are you prepared?"

"I am indeed. Work with accuracy."

The hillock and the solitary tree were gone. Rhialto stood on the slope of a stony valley, with a river wandering sluggishly below.

The time seemed to be morning, although a heavy overcast concealed the sky. The air felt raw and damp against his skin; to the east dark wisps of rain drifted down into a black forest.

Rhialto looked about the landscape, but found no evidences of human habitancy: neither fence, farm-house, road, track or path. Rhialto seemed to be alone. Where was Osherl? Rhialto looked here and there in annoyance, then called out: "Osherl! Make yourself known!"

Osherl stepped forward, still the blue-skinned wefkin. "I am here."

Rhialto indicated the dour landscape. "This does not seem the Age of Gold. Have we come exactly one hundred centuries? Where is Luid Shug?"

Osherl pointed to the north. "Luid Shug is yonder, at the edge of the forest."

Rhialto brought out the pleurmalion, but the dark blue sky-spot could not be seen for the overcast. "Let us make a closer approach."

The two coursed north to the site of the sacred city, to discover only a tumble of ruins. Rhialto spoke in perplexity: "This is a most dreary prospect! Where have the gods gone?"

"I will go to Gray Dene and there make inquiry," said Osherl. "Wait here; in due course I will return with all information."

"Stop! Hold up!" cried Rhialto. "My question was casual. First find the Perciplex; then you can seek after the gods as long as you like."

Osherl grumbled under his breath: "You have dawdled away a hundred centuries, yet if I spent a single year in Gray Dene I would still hear threats and abuse on my return. It dulls the edge of one's initiative."

"Enough!" said Rhialto. "I am interested only in the Perciplex."

 

The two approached the ruins. Wind and weather had worked at the old crater walls so that only traces remained. The temples were rubble; the twenty gods, carved from marble, had likewise eroded to a few toppled fragments, with all their force seeped into the mire.

Rhialto and Osherl walked slowly around the edge of the old city, testing the pleurmalion from time to time, without result.

To the north the forest grew close to the old parapets, and at this point they caught the scent of wood smoke on the wind. Looking here and there, they discovered a crude village of twenty huts just inside the edge of the forest.

"We will make inquiries," said Rhialto. "I suggest that you change your appearance; otherwise they will think us a queer pair indeed."

"You should also make alterations. Your hat, for instance, is the shape of an inverted soup-pot, and purple to boot. I doubt if this is the current fashion."

"There is something in what you say," admitted Rhialto.

Using the semblance of Lavrentine Redoubtables in glistening armor, barbed and spiked, and with helmets crested with tongues of blue fire, Rhialto and Osherl approached the village, which lacked all charm and smelled poorly.

Rhialto reinforced himself with his glossolary and called out: "Villagers, attention! Two Lavrentine grandees stand nearby; come perform the proper ceremonies of welcome."

One by one the villagers appeared from their huts, yawning and scratching: folk of a squat, long-armed race with liver-coloured skins and long lank hair. Their garments were fashioned from bird-skins and the village showed few civilized amenities; still they seemed sleekly well-fed. At the sight of Rhialto and Osherl, certain of the men called out in pleasure, and taking up long-handled nets advanced upon the two with sinister purpose.

Rhialto called out: "Stand back! We are magicians! Your first sneer of menace will bring down a spell of great distress; be warned!"

The men refused to heed and raised high their nets. Rhialto made a sign to Osherl. The nets folded over backwards to enclose and clench into tight balls those who had thought to use them. Osherl jerked his thumb to whisk these balls way, into the northern sky, through the overcast and out of sight.

Rhialto looked around the group and spoke to a flat-faced woman: "Who is the chieftain of this repulsive group?"

The woman pointed. "There is Doulka who is butcher and trun-dleman. We need no chieftain; such folk eat more than their share."

 

A big-bellied old man with gray wattles sidled a few steps forward. He spoke in a wheedling nasal voice: "Must your disgust be so blatant? True: we are anthropophages. True: we put strangers to succulent use. Is this truly good cause for hostility? The world is as it is and each of us must hope in some fashion to be of service to his fellows, even if only in the form of a soup."

"Our talents lie elsewhere," said Rhialto. "If I see any more nets, you will be first to fly the sky."

"No fear, now that we know your preferences," declared Doulka. "What are your needs? Are you hungry?"

"We are curious in regard to Luid Shug, which at this time should be awakening to the Age of Gold. Instead we find only rubble, slime and the stink from your village. Why have events gone in this unhappy fashion?"

Doulka had recovered his confidence and blinked at his visitors with torpid complacence. Idly, as if through the force of habit, he began to twist and interweave his fingers with a dexterity which Rhialto found interesting, even fascinating. He spoke in a droning nasal monotone: "The mystery surrounding the ruins is more apparent than real." As Doulka spoke, he wove his fingers slowly back and forth. "Centuries passed by, one upon the other, and the gods stood steadfast, by day and by night. At last they succumbed to the grind of wind and rain. They became dust and their power was gone.

Doulka worked his fingers in and out. "The land was empty and the ruins lay quiet. The 'Paragons' slept their long sleep in alabaster eggs. Youths and maidens of prime quality ripened on their silken couches, unknown to all!"

Doulka's fingers created odd patterns. Rhialto began to feel a pleasant lassitude, which he ascribed to his efforts of the day.

"My dear fellow, I see that you are weary!" said Doulka. "I reproach myself!" Three ceremonial chairs of woven withe were brought out, their backs carved to represent contorted human faces.

"Sit," said Doulka in a soothing voice. "Rest yourself."

Doulka ponderously placed his own fat buttocks upon the creaking withe of a chair. Rhialto also seated himself, to ease his tired limbs. He turned to Osherl and spoke in the language of the 21st Aeon: "What is this sly old devil doing to me, that I feel such torpor?"

Osherl responded in an offhand manner: "He commands four san-destins of an inferior sort: the type we call 'madlings.' They are building patterns of lassitude in and out of your eyes, which are now somewhat skewed. Doulka has already given orders to prepare for a feast."

 

Rhialto spoke indignantly: "Why did you not prevent this trickery? Where is your loyalty?"

Osherl merely coughed in discomfiture.

Rhialto told Osherl: "Order the madlings to pull Doulka's nose out to a length of two feet, to impose an ulcerous cyst at the tip, and also a large painful carbuncle on each buttock."

"As you wish."

The work was done to his satisfaction. "Now," he told Osherl, "and this should go without saying, order the madlings to desist from all further nuisances upon my person."

"Yes, true. We would not want Doulka to retaliate in kind."

' Then you will accord the madlings their freedom, and send them on their way, with instructions never again to serve Doulka."

"A generous thought!" declared Osherl. "Does the same instruction apply to me?"

"Osherl, do not distract me. I must question Doulka, despite his new preoccupations." Rhialto turned back to the agitated trundleman and spoke in the language of the village: "You have learned the penalty of bad faith. All in all, I consider myself merciful, so be grateful and rejoice in this fact! Now then: shall we continue our conversation?"

Doulka said sulkily: "You are an irritable man! I intended no great harm! What more can I tell you?"

"You have explored the ruins thoroughly?"

' 'We are not interested in the ruins, except as they yield alabaster eggs for our delectation."

"I see. How many eggs have you devoured?"

"Over the years they number five thousand, six hundred and forty-one. Few remain."

Rhialto said: " 'Few'? Unless you have miscounted, a single Paragon remains to institute the Age of Gold. You have eaten all the others."

Doulka momentarily forgot his nose and buttocks. "Only one remaining? This is bad news! Our feasts are at an end!"

"What of treasure?" asked Rhialto. "Have you taken gems and crystals from the vaults of the city?''

"We have indeed, since we take pleasure in fine things: notably all red, pink and yellow gems. Those which are blue and green induce bad luck and we use them for our amusement."

"How so?"

"We tie them to the tails of bogadils, or ursial lopers or even manks, which prompts them to absolutely comical acts of worry and shame, so that they run pell-mell through the forest."

"Hmmf. And what of a luminous blue crystal in the form of a prism, thus and so? Has such an object come to your attention?"

Doulka ruefully felt the length of his nose. "I seem to recall such an item, in the not too distant past."

Rhialto, all kindliness, asked: "Does your nose truly cause you such distress?"

"Oh indeed, indeed!"

"And your buttocks?"

"They are exquisitely painful."

"When you bring me the blue crystal I seek, your sores will be healed."

Doulka gave a surly grunt. "That is no easy task."

Rhialto had no more to say and with Osherl moved somewhat away from the village, where Osherl established a comfortable pavilion of dark blue silk. On a heavy red and blue rug of intricate pattern Osherl arranged a massive table of carved dark timber surrounded by four low chairs with dark red velvet cushions. Outside the structure he laid down a similar rug and a second table, for occasions when the day was fine. Above he arranged a canopy and at each corner placed a tall black iron pedestal with a lamp of many facets.