Tales of the Dying Earth (43 page)

“Exactly,” said the elder, “and in order to demonstrate this, tomorrow we shall provision our best boat and send you forth with hopes and good wishes. Tonight there shall be a feast in your honor!”

“Here is a village of true sainttiness,” declared Garstang. “Are you by chance worshippers of Gilfig?”

“No; we prostrate ourselves before the fish-god Yob, who seems as efficacious as any. But come, let us ascend to the village. We must make preparations for the feast.”

They climbed steps hewn in the rock of the cliff, which gave upon an area illuminated by a dozen flaring torches. The elder indicated a hut more commodious than the others: “This is where you shall rest the night; I will sleep elsewhere.”

Garstang again was moved to comment upon the benevolence of the fisher-folk, at which the elder bowed his head. “We try to achieve a spiritual unity. Indeed, we symbolize this ideal in the main dish of our ceremonial feasts.” He turned, clapping his hands. “Let us prepare!”

A great cauldron was hung over a tripod; a block and a cleaver were arranged, and now each of the villagers, marching past the block, chopped off a finger and cast it into the pot.

The elder exxplained, “By this simple rite, which naturally you are expected to join, we demonstrate our common heritage and our mutual dependence. Come, let us step into the line.” And Cugel and Garstang had no choice but to excise fingers and cast them into the pot with the others.

The feast continued long into the night. In the morning the villagers were as good as their word. An especially seaworthy boat was provided and loaded with stores, including food left over from the previous night's feast.

The villagers gathered on the dock. Cugel and Garstang voiced their gratitude, then Cugel hoisted the sail and Garstang threw off the mooring lines. A wind filled the sail and the boat moved out on the face of the Songan Sea. Gradually the shore became one with the murk of distance, and the two were alone, with only the black metallic shimmer of the water to all sides.

Noon came, and the boat moved in an elemental emptiness: water below, air above; silence in all directions. The afternoon was long and torpid, unreal as a dream; and the melancholy grandeur of sunset was followed by a dusk the color of watered wine.

The wind seemed to freshen and all night they steered west. At dawn the wind died and with sails flapping idly both Cugel and Garstang slept.

Eight times the cycle was repeated. On the morning of the ninth day a low coastline was sighted ahead. During the middle afternoon they drove the prow of then-boat through gentle surf up on a wide white beach. “This then is Almery?” asked Garstang.

“So I believe,” said Cugel, “but which quarter I am uncertain. Azenomei may lie to north, west or south. If the forest yonder is that which shrouds East Almery, we would do well to pass to the side, as it bears an evil reputation.”

Garstang pointed down the shore. “Notice: another Tillage. If the folk here are like those across the sea, they will help us on our way. Come, let us make our wants known.”

Cugel bung back. “It might be wise to reconnoiter, as before.”

“To what end?” asked Garstang, “On that occasion we were only misled and confused.” He led the way down the beach toward the village. As they approached they could see folk moving across the central plaza: a graceful golden-haired people, who spoke to each other in voices like music.

Garstang advanced joyfully, expecting a welcome even more expansive than that they had received on the other shore; but the villagers ran forward and caught them under nets. “Why do you do this?” called Garstang. “We are strangers and intend no harm!”

“You are strangers; just so,” spoke the tallest of the golden-haired villagers. “We worship that inexorable god known as Dangott. Strangers are automatically heretics, and so are fed to the sacred apes.” With that they began to drag Cugel and Garstang over the sharp stones of the fore-shore while the beautiful children of the village danced joyously to either side.

Cugel managed to bring forth the tube he had secured from Voynod and expelled blue concentrate at the villagers. Aghast, they toppled to the ground and Cugel was able to extricate himself from the net. Drawing his sword, he leapt forward to cut Garstang free, but now the villagers rallied. Cugel once more employed his tube, and the villagers fled in dismal agony.

“Go, Cugel,” spoke Garstang. “I am an old man, of little vitality. Take to your heels; seek safety, with all my good wishes.”

“This normally would be my impulse,” Cugel conceded. “But these people have stimulated me to quixotic folly; so clamber from the net; we retreat together.” Once more he wrought dismay with the blue projection, while Garstang freed himself, and the two fled along the beach. The villagers pursued with harpoons. Their first cast pierced Garstang through the back. He fell without a sound. Cugel swung about and aimed the tube, but the spell was exhausted and only a limpid exudation appeared. The villagers drew back their arms to hurl a second volley; Cugel shouted a curse, dodged and ducked, and the harpoons plunged past him into the sand of the beach.

Cugel shook his fist a final time, then took to his heels and fled into the forest.

THROUGH THE Old Forest came Cugel, step by furtive step, pausing often to listen for breaking twig or quiet footfall or even the exhalation of a breath. His caution, though it made for slow progress, was neither theoretical nor impractical; others wandered the forest with anxieties and yearnings greatly at odds with his own. All one terrible dusk he had fled and finally outdistanced a pair of deodands; on another occasion he had stopped short at the very brink of a glade where a leucomorph had stood musing: whereupon Cugel had become more diffident and furtive than ever, skulking from tree to tree, peering and listening, darting across open spaces with an extravagantly delicate gait, as if contact with the ground pained his feet.

During a middle afternoon he came upon a small dank glade surrounded by black mandouars, tall and porten-tuous as hooded monks. A few red rays slanting into the glade, illumined a single twisted quince tree, where hung a strip of parchment Standing back in the shadows Cugel studied the glade at length, then stepping forward took the parchment. In crabbed characters a message was indicated:

Zaraides the Sage makes a generous offer! He who finds this message may request and obtain an hour of judicious counsel at no charge. Into a nearby hillock opens a cave; the Sage will be found within.

Cugel studied the parchment with puzzlement. A large question hung in the air: why should Zaraides give forth his lore with such casual largesse? The purportedly free was seldom as represented; in one guise or another the Law of Equivalence must prevail. If Zaraides offered counsel — dismissing the premise of absolute altruism — he expected some commodity in return: at minimum an inflation of self-esteem, or knowledge regarding distant events, or polite attention at a recitation of odes, or some such service. And Cugel re-read the message, his skepticism, if anything augmented. He would have flung the parchment aside had not he felt a real and urgent need for information: specifically knowledge regarding the most secure route to the manse of Lucounu, together with a method for rendering the Laughing Magician helpless.

Cugel looked all about, seeking the hillock to which Zaraides referred. Across the glade the ground seemed to rise, and lifting his eyes Cugel noticed gnarled limbs and clotted foliage on high, as if a number of daobados grew on lofty ground.

With maximum vigilance Cugel proceeded through the forest, and presently was halted by a sudden up-thrust of gray rock crowned with trees and vines: undoubtedly the hillock in question.

Cugel stood pulling at his chin, showing his teeth in a grimace of doubt. He listened: quiet, utter and complete. Keeping to the shadows, he continued around the hillock, and presently came upon the cave: an arched opening into the rock as high as a man, as wide as bis outstretched arms. Above hung a placard printed in untidy characters:

Gugel looked this way and that No sight nor sound in the forest. He took a few careful steps forward, peered into the cave, and found only darkness.

Cugel drew back. In spite of the genial urgency of the sign, he felt no inclination to thrust himself forward, and squatting on his haunches he watched the cave intently.

Fifteen minutes passed. Cugel shifted his position; and now, to the right, he spied a man approaching, using a caution hardly less elaborate than his own. The newcomer was of medium stature and wore the rude garments of a peasant: gray trousers, a rust-colored blouse, a cocked brown hat with bill thrust forward. He had a round, somewhat coarse face, with a stub of a nose, small eyes set far apart, a heavy chin besrubbled with a fuscous growth. Clutched in his hand was a parchment like that which Cugel had found.

Cugel rose to his feet The newcomer halted, then came forward. “You are Zaraides? If so, know me for Fabeln the herbalist; I seek a rich growth of wild leeks. Further, my daughter moons and languishes, and will no longer carry panniers; therefore—”

Cugel held up his hand. “You err; Zaraides keeps to his cave.”

Fabeln narrowed his eyes craftily. “Who then are you?”

“I am Cugel: like yourself, a seeker after enlightenment.”

Fabeln nodded in full comprehension. “You have consulted Zaraides? He is accurate and trustworthy? He demands no fee as his prospectus purports?”

“Correct in every detail,” said Cugel. “Zaraides, who is apparently omniscient, speaks from the sheer joy of transmitting information. My perplexities are resolved.”

Fabeln inspected Him sidelong. “Why then do you wait beside the cave?”

“I also am a herbalist, and I formulate new questions, specifically in regard to a nearby glade profuse with wild leeks.”

“Indeed!” ejaculated Fabeln, snapping his fingers in agitation. “Formulate with care, and while you arrange your phrases, I will step within and inquire regarding the lassitude of my daughter.”

“As you will,” said Cugel. “Still, if you care to delay, I will be only a short time composing my question.”

Fabeln made a jovial gesture. “In this short period, I will be into the cave, out and away, for I am a man swift to the point of brusqueness.”

Cugel bowed. “In that case, proceed.”

“I will be brief.” And Fabeln strode into the cave. “Zaraides?” he called. “Where is Zaraides the Sage? I am Fabeln; I wish to make certain inquiries. Zaraides? Be so good as to come forth!” His voice became muffled. Cugel, listening intently, heard the opening and closing of a door, and then there was silence. Thoughtfully he composed himself to wait.

Minutes passed ... and an hour. The red sun moved down the afternoon sky and passed behind the hillock. Cugel became restive. Where was Fabeln? He cocked his head: once more the opening and closing of a door? Indeed, and here was Fabeln: all then was well!

Fabeln looked forth from the cave. “Where is Cugel the herbalist?” He spoke in a harsh brusque voice. “Zaraides will not sit down to the banquet nor will be discuss leeks, except in the most general terms, until you present yourself.”

“A banquet?” asked Cugel with interest “Does the bounty of Zaraides extend so far?”

“Indeed: did you not notice the tapestried hall, the carved goblets, the silver tureen?” Fabeln spoke with a certain saturnine emphasis which puzzled Cugel. “But come; I am in haste, and do not care to wait. If you already have dined, I will so inform Zaraides.”

“By no means,” said Cugel, with dignity. “I would burn with humiliation thus to slight Zaraides. Lead on; I follow.”

“Come, then.” Fabeln turned; Cugel followed him into the cave, where his nostrils were assailed by a revolting odor. He paused. “I seem to notice a stench — one which affects me unpleasantly.”

“I noticed the same,” said Febeln. “But through the door and the foul odor is no more!”

“I trust as much,” said Cugel peevishly. “It would destroy my appetite. Where then—”

As he spoke he was swarmed upon by small quick bodies, clammy of skin and tainted with the odor he found so detestable. There was a clamor of high-pitched voices; his sword and pouch were snatched; a door was opened; Cugel was pitched into a low burrow. In the light of a flickering yellow flame he saw his captors: creatures half his height, pallid of skin, pointed of face, with ears on the tops of their heads. They walked with a slight forward hunch, and their knees seemed pointed opposite to those of true men, and their feet, in sandals, seemed very soft and supple.

Cugel looked about in bewilderment. Nearby crouched Fabeln, regarding him with loathing mingled with malicious satisfaction. Cugel saw now that a metal band encircled Fabeln's neck, to which was connected a long metal chain. At the far end of the burrow huddled an old man with long white hair, likewise fitted with collar and chain. Even as Cugel looked about him, the rat-people clamped a collar to his own neck. “Hold off!” exclaimed Cugel in consternation. “What does this mean? I deplore such treatment!”

The rat-folk gave him a shove and ran away. Cugel saw that long squamous tails depended from their pointed rumps, which protruded peculiarly from the black smocks which they wore.

The door closed; the three men were alone.

Cugel turned angrily upon Fabehi. “You tricked me; you led me to capture! This is a serious offense!”

Fabehi gave a bitter laugh. “No less serious than the deceit you practiced upon me! By your knavish trick, I was taken; I therefore ensured that you should not escape.”

“This is inhuman malice!” roared Cugel. “I shall see to it that you receive your just desserts!”

“Bah,” said Fabeln. “Do not anaoy me with your complaints. In any event, I did not lure you into the cave from malice alone.”

“No? You have a further perverse motive?”

“It is simple: the rat-folk are nothing if not clever! Whoever entices two others into the cave wins his own freedom. You represent one item to my account; I need furnish a second and I go free. Is this not correct, Zar-aides?”