Finally the Basilisk was still, standing tensely and sniffing the air. She pawed the ground.
“She’s offering us food,” said Roller.
Zozula regarded the mangled carcass and shuddered. During their quest, food had been hard to come by, but finally they’d found a stunted tree that nourished bitter fruit. A meal of these had blunted his appetite for some time. Maybe forever, he thought. “Not now,” he said. “Later, perhaps.”
“Then she wants us to lead her to her mate.”
The three began their journey over the sere hills. The dog led the way, retracing their scent, while Zozula and the Basilisk walked behind. At night they rested under the crippled trees and nibbled the fruit, and by day they traveled the misty land.
Shortly after dawn on the first morning of their journey back, a flight of geese arrowed across the sky and the Basilisk stiffened with interest, glancing up.
Two geese fell smoking to the ground.
“Remarkable,” said Zozula, after a moment’s silence.
The dog was quiet, reasoning that Zozula could take a stick just as easily to a right dog as a wrong dog.
“The Basilisk practices some kind of smallwish,” theorized Zozula. “The geese aren’t real, of course,” he said, stripping the blackened skin and feathers from one and biting into the hot meat hungrily, “but the flavor is excellent.” He threw the remains of the carcass to the dog, while the Basilisk gnawed at the other bird.
There were several such killings during their journey and the manner of them fascinated Zozula. The Basilisk’s fast, pacing gait would slow and she would cock a crimson eye at the sky. The hue of her comb would deepen and she would utter a short gobble of anticipation. The bird would approach, winging across an empty sky. The Basilisk would observe it askance, waiting until it got within range, still trotting along. Suddenly the beast would stop dead and, standing foursquare, would raise her head like a gun turret and let the bird have it with both eyes. The bird would roll over in a puff of smoke and feathers and plummet to the ground. Zozula and the dog would race the Basilisk to the body, and, if the bird appeared to be of a natural species, Zozula would appropriate a portion and leave the Basilisk and the dog to squabble over the rest.
Finally they reached the lair of the male Basilisk. It was noon and the land was silvery bright. “Tell the creature to wait here,” Zozula instructed Roller, “and we’ll go on into the cave. Maybe we’ll have to wait until night before we can bring the Basilisks together, or maybe there’s another way.”
They left the female behind a rocky outcropping and made for the cave. The male Basilisk suddenly stepped forth, stared fiercely around and spotted them. The dog yelped. He’d been immune from the female’s glance, but that didn’t mean the male was harmless. But he survived, and so did Zozula They entered the cave, to be greeted by Manuel and the Girl.
“Where have you been? We’d given up—we were going to leave tomorrow. This Basilisk, he can’t kill us, you know. We found that out quickly. Birds, yes. And mice and suchlike. But we were safe—he even killed a kind of lion that came sniffing around!”
“Basilisks can’t harm us.” Zozula patted the creature’s feathery flank. “Probably because they exist on a slightly warped happentrack. But they are king of their own dimension, all the same.” He went on to describe their quest and its success. “The female is nearby, but we can’t introduce them to each other yet or I’m afraid she’ll die.”
The male Basilisk became restless, pawing the ground. Zozula threw a restraining arm around his neck.
“He’s scented the female,” said Roller.
“I’m not sure I can hold him. Quick, Manuel—give me your shirt. We’ll have to blindfold the creature, or our quest will have been pointless.”
Manuel ripped his shirt off and Zozula wrapped it around the Basilisk’s head. It did little to calm the brute. A muffled chattering and gobbling filled the cave, and the animal’s claws scratched for a foothold, sending the dog rolling into a corner. Manuel and the Girl hung on while Zozula secured the mask. Even then, as they relaxed their grip, the Basilisk made his way purposely and unerringly toward the cave entrance, swishing his barbed tail. They followed.
Zozula felt the occasion demanded a short speech. “I don’t know why we’re doing this thing, but I like to think it’s part of something bigger, some destiny we’re fulfilling. Don’t you feel it too, Manuel? Haven’t you had the feeling there’s an ultimate importance in our actions, Girl? I can sense some great cosmic Scheme, with ourselves as its instruments. Exactly where this creature fits in, I’m not sure—but you can be sure it’s going to be important somewhere, on some happentrack.”
As they hurried along after the Basilisk, Manuel said angrily, “You haven’t been sitting around here for days doing nothing, like us. Do you know what I think? I think you’ve spent so many years in charge of your Dome that you think everything you do has some special significance. You’ve got a bloated idea of your importance, if you don’t mind me saying so. You think you hold life and death in your hands. Listen, Zozula, out here you’re just another man. This isn’t a real animal; it isn’t from real Earth. It’s just a man-made Dream thing.”
“Manuel!” whispered the Girl, aghast.
But Zozula ignored him. The Basilisk had reached the open air and had stopped, sniffing the breeze, his cowled head turning blindly and questingly this way and that. He trembled with desire, the scent of the female strong in his nostrils.
And sensing him, too, she came. She emerged from behind the rocks and saw the group at the cave mouth, and her head jerked up and she uttered a roaring screech. Zozula, Manuel, the Girl and the dog backed off. The male Basilisk turned uncertainly, facing his mate but unable to see her. He took a tentative step forward.
She bounded toward him, tail high, comb glowing. Her wings rustled and flapped, her feathers were iridescent with lust. She reached him and came to a skidding halt and, as he took another step toward her, she turned crimson eyes on him in a glowing look of love.
He gave out one croak and fell dead, smoking.
Appalled, Zozula seized a gnarled stick and set about the female Basilisk, beating it furiously. He shouted incoherently with rage and desolation.
Manuel said to Roller, “You’re safe now. I told you the Basilisk wasn’t all-powerful.”
“Another Basilisk is still here. And it’s proved what it can do.” The dog trembled.
The Girl said, “You can come with us. I think Zozula will want to go soon.”
Later that evening they built a fire at the mouth of the cave and sat staring into the glow while the fog deepened into night, and the voice of the female Basilisk could be heard somewhere out there, calling hopelessly for her mate.
Zozula spoke at last. “What a waste of a magnificent animal. And we’ve wasted days searching for the female when we could have been locating the math creature. Why did it all have to happen?” The fog lifted around the upswirling smoke and suddenly the stars were there, and the Land of Lost Dreams was just like any other land, and the cries of the lovesick Basilisk might have been any animal cry—the screech of a cougar, maybe, back on Real Earth.
Manuel sighed. The night held a mysterious beauty. Feeling sorry for Zozula, he said, “Nobody can be expected to understand everything. You said yourself there were programs in the Rainbow you knew nothing about and memory banks you couldn’t even get into. It’s big out here, Zozula. Bigger than the sea, bigger than the sky. Even the Rainbow might have forgotten what it’s dumped in this place. And perhaps there are no happentracks; perhaps Time is just a straight line, or even a circle. How can we tell?”
Zozula was silent.
The Girl’s eyes were shining as she gazed into the fire. The image of the female Basilisk was vivid in her mind: dynamic, prancing, death-dealing. “I’ve never had anything so real happen to me before,” she said. “I’ve learned something from all this, anyway. Do you know what I think, Zozula? I think that we’re not just lookin
g for the math creature, or True Humans, or Manuel’s Belinda. I feel there’s something else we’re being readied for. I was once told something by the Oracle...” She relapsed into a sudden silence, embarrassed.
“Funny...” Manuel looked at her. “An old bruja spoke to me once. And God speaks to me occasionally, too. We might not understand everything, but I think somebody else does.”
Zozula sat in silence. The sounds of the Basilisk faded and he was left alone with his futility—which was the way it was meant to be. No man should have the arrogance to presume that he has been specifically chosen by Starquin. The Almighty Five-in-One does not need individuals. He arranges the pieces according to his overall plan—some of those pieces may indeed be individual humans, just as some may be mastodons or fleas—and then he lets them jiggle about on their own, like atoms. And, like atoms, they form an observable whole, a planet, a plan. Zozula was newly from the Dome, and he needed to learn humility. Maybe, like the Basilisk, he couldn’t conceive that he, too, could be killed.
He was no longer in charge of Composite Reality. He was a vulnerable human, and although he was indeed a part of Starquin’s plan, he could no more affect its eventual outcome than a ballroomful of Marilyns could affect the Cuidador Ebus.
Legend of the Wolf-Cat
Legendary figures and mythical beasts... As Mankind grew older and his knowledge of the Universe around him more complete, so his craving for the inexplicable grew. There were ages about which he knew noth ing and could never know anything, because these ages were before the advent of recorded history. So where he was unable to deduce the facts from fossils and ruins, he invented legends. The legends were not pure fabrication, because they were assisted by the Rainbow—often through the medium of the Oracle—so that many of these legends first emerged on Dream Earth.
Legends. They are stories about the distant past that have passed by word of mouth through countless generations of humans who, perhaps, were not satisfied with the Rainbow’s explanations. They are stories of what might have happened, based on known facts, and told as though they did happen.
Such a story is the Legend of the Wolf-cat, which concerns a not quite mythical beast and two Paragons—those unusual people, born of Dedos, who cannot become Dedos because of an inability to reproduce themselves. This does not mean all Paragons are permanently sterile. Their method of reproduction had not evolved by the time of the Wolf-cat’s story, when they were perfect, celibate creatures.
Starquin had a purpose for them, even though the Dedos considered them useless. Their purpose was fulfilled when Siang performed his legendary deed, but the Paragons continued to appear at intervals during human history, living among humans incognito, like the Dedos.
In the year 210,652,166 Paragonic, all southwestern Pangaea was ruled by two Paragons. The land they ruled was already ancient and covered tens of thousands of square kilometers—mountains, valleys, rivers and forests. Through the middle of the land ran a canyon that was without water except at the rainiest times of the year. This canyon separated the domain of Lob, who lived to the west, from the domain of Fel, who lived to the east.
It is well known that Paragons were honorable and had no mortal faults. Pride, lust, envy, covetousness, gluttony, anger and sloth were unknown to them. What is not so well known is that they were lonely. This was because they were few and because they regarded their lands as a sacred trust, rarely venturing beyond their borders, spending their time looking after their animals and plants.
Since the Paragons were honorable, however, they were capable of love. They loved one another, but most of all they loved the creatures in their care.
Lob had a pet. In his pavilion there lived a great doglike creature who shared his food and drink. Long of leg and fleet of foot, it had a shaggy coat of yellowish red, with white tips at tail and chin. It had a pointed muzzle and ears and was the fastest animal in Lob’s domain—so swift that it could run down any prey. And although it possessed most of the sins that mortal animals do, Lob loved it dearly. It was called the Maned Wolf.
Fel also had a pet. Although it was bigger than the Maned Wolf, it was no faster; nevertheless, it was the swiftest animal in Fel’s domain and he was very proud of it. It was long and sleek, whereas the Maned Wolf was tall and angular. It had round ears and thick legs and a long tail, and it moved with sinuous grace. Its most striking feature was its coat; close-textured and thick, golden yellow and covered with a multitude of black rosettes. Fel considered that there was no finer animal in all Pangaea. It was called the Leopard.
One day Lob and Fel met at the foot of the canyon near the Many-faceted Rock, where their domain abutted. They had their pets with them, on leashes. The pets, being mortal animals, sniffed and then snarled at each other. The hair around the neck of the Maned Wolf rose, and the lips of the Leopard curled back. Each thought the other was too close to its domain—and besides, they found each other odd-looking. They strained at their leashes and the Paragons had difficulty in holding them apart, so eventually they tied them to stunted trees. The pets were close enough to sniff and snarl, but too far away to attack.
“That’s a fine-looking animal you have there, Fel,” said Lob politely.
“Yours is a good-looking beast, too.”
“Wolf is the swiftest in the land. I’ve seen him run down a guanaco in fifty paces.”
“I’m sure that is so. But I tell you this: Leopard can catch a fleeing gazelle in the time it takes a leaf to fall!”
So saying, they both paused to consider their animals, each gazing with fondness at his own pet (but not with pride) and with thoughtfulness at the other’s (but not with envy or covetousness). Strange and unaccustomed thoughts grew out of this scrutiny. It seemed that there was some natural outcome to all this, but because of their perfection they were unable to give voice to it.
The Maned Wolf trotted to and fro on tall legs, within the bounds of his leash, and the Leopard slunk in fluid circles. And the Paragons loved each other. So what was this unfamiliar sensation? It was growing inside them, bursting to be let out. And they couldn’t contain it any longer.
“It seems to me that friendly sport is a good thing,” remarked Lob casually. “Exercise for the pets, and a lesson to one of us to be magnanimous, and to the other to be humble.”
“The greatest distance in the time it takes a leaf to fall?”
“I think the first home over a distance of fifty paces would be more equitable.”
While the Paragons discussed the race rules, the animals looked at each other in astonishment, hostility forgotten. They had understood every word, because Paragons conversed in thought-images much of the time. And although Paragons were said to have no sin in them, it seemed to the animals that this new project was tempting fate.
But the rules were arranged and the Paragons climbed in opposite directions out of the canyon with their pets, having arranged to hold the race in five years’ time—time meaning little to them. The Paragons returned to their pavilions as excited as their pets were disillusioned. Time went by, and it happened that one day the Maned Wolf met the Leopard by the Many-faceted Rock. And this time there was no snarling.
“My master makes me run every day until I’m ready to drop,” the Maned Wolf said. “And he sets loose small animals for me to chase and kill. More animals than he needs for food.”
“Me, too.” The Leopard spoke in a sad purr. “He flies birds with clipped wings and I must leap and catch them, and if I fail he... he...”
“He beats me. It’s not right.” The Maned Wolf marveled at what he’d said because it didn’t sound as though he was talking about a Paragon.
“We must do something about it.”
“We cannot race. Whoever wins, the Paragons will lose. It has become too important to them, this silly game. I don’t care who is the faster,” said the Maned Wolf.
“Neither do I. In fact,” said the Leopard, “I like you, Wolf. I don’t want to race against you.”
“Nor I a
gainst you.”
Thus, even as the two Paragons were growing further apart, the two animals came together in friendship and love, and a desire to do what was best for their masters.
The years went by.
At the appointed hour on the appointed day, the Paragons met in the ravine by the Rock where their domains abutted. They embraced.
“I kept my word,” said Lob, “but I have no animal. Maned Wolf left me over three years ago. I’ve seen him about the domain, but he won’t come to me.”
“Leopard went too. It’s a great pity, because he was undoubtedly the swiftest animal in all Pangaea.”
“I doubt it.”
“That’s a strange statement, Lob.”
“I was merely expressing an honest difference of opinion, Fel.”
The Paragons drew apart and turned their backs on each other, and as they climbed back to their own lands, three animals trotted down the canyon from the north. On one side was the Maned Wolf, older, but still swift. On the other ran the Leopard, limping a little, but agile enough. And in the middle...
In the middle was an animal the like of which the Paragons had never seen. It possessed some of the Leopard’s features; the coat was dense and tawny and covered with small black spots. But the legs were long like the Maned Wolf’s and the head small, and the claws were dull and did not retract. The Paragons regarded this strange animal with astonishment. Then the Maned Wolf ran to Lob, and the Leopard ran to Fel, scrambling up the slopes. The animals greeted their owners, then turned to regard their offspring, as if to say: See what love can do.
And somewhere in the Greataway, Starquin was enraged that his perfect Paragons had been shamed by the animals of Earth. The ground trembled with his anger and boulders tumbled into the canyon and the sea burst upon the land. A mighty cataract swept along the canyon, bearing down on the love-animal in a wall twenty meters high. The Paragons backed away from the edge, stared at each other in fear from opposite sides, then looked at the trapped animal in pity. The Maned Wolf yelped and the Leopard screamed.
The Celestial Steam Locomotive (The Song of Earth) Page 20
