Songs Of The Dancing Gods

by Jack L. Chalker

  Mia brought him a towel and he wiped his face and eyes and opened them, then looked around. "Well?" he asked, then looked down.

  For the first time in his life, Joe de Oro was truly golden. Not bright gold, but the natural kind, the kind you saw in those California and Hawaiian surfing films.

  "I want to do the hair before the solution dries," the alchemist said, busily mixing. "Here. Just soak your hair completely in this bowl, then come up and we'll dry it off."

  He was suddenly forced over a large bowl full of foul-smelling stuff, rotten egg stinking stuff, and his head was dunked in it. The doctor used a small ladle to apply it to areas that couldn't be totally submerged, then said, "All right, out. Take this towel and dry your hair as thoroughly as you can. Quickly now! Delay too long and your hair will lose all its color.''

  That got him moving, with Mia's help. His whole scalp tingled, and it wasn't comfortable at all.

  "That's sufficient," the alchemist pronounced. "Now come sit in this chair. Girl, you take those scissors and comb and trim his hair nicely in back!"

  "Can you do a haircut, Mia?" Joe asked nervously.

  "I shall do my best, Master," she told him.

  "Go to it, then."

  The alchemist was still moving fast. "Wait. Before you cut, let me put these drops in his eyes. It will sting a bit. Close them, and keep them closed until I tell you to open them. In the meantime, I'm going to apply the hair paste."

  The guy was as quick and good with drops as an eye doctor, Joe had to admit, but that stuff burned. Not the paste that was being applied over a lot of his face and to his arms, chests, and legs, though. That itched like crazy instead, but every time he went to scratch at it Doctor Mujahn slapped his hand.

  Mia's combing wasn't too great, either. Actually, it wasn't so much her as it was the tangles he obviously had in abundance. She kept running into them, trying to comb them out, and, in most cases, wound up cutting them out. It felt as if she were doing a lot of cutting back there, and that made him almost as nervous as Doctor Mujahn did.

  "Open your eyes!" the alchemist ordered, and he did.

  "Blurry as hell," he said.

  "That will pass. Close them again, though. Not quite there yet."

  Now he felt the itching paste being washed from his body with very warm water. The water felt good, but the itching didn't stop.

  "Open your eyes again!" Mujahn ordered. He did, and it was even blurrier. The alchemist studied them, frowning, then he nodded. "All right. Stop the haircut, girl. I'm going to wash his eyes."

  He was given another set of eyedrops, and was told this time to keep blinking. He did, and, slowly, his eyesight began to clear. Mujahn gave him two more flushes, men pronounced himself satisfied.

  "Finish the hair now, girl! Well, big fellow, how do you feel?"

  "Itchy," he responded.

  "Quite natural. You've never had hair there before. Give it a few more days and you'll have several month's growth. There! My own mother wouldn't know you now!"

  "Your mother is not the one I'm worried about," Joe responded. "Mia, how much longer is it gonna be?"

  "It is mostly done, Master. I hope you will be pleased."

  "I want to see what I look like, damn it!"

  Poquah looked him over. "Actually, since I know your visage well and watched the process, I recognize you, but I doubt if anyone who did not look very closely and very well with great suspicion would, sir."

  "Damn it, Mia, when will you be done? I'm not going to the ball, you know."

  "Just another minute, Master."

  "That's what you said before."

  "Not too much longer..."

  "Finish it, damn it! Now!"

  She stiffened, then did two more snips and a comb. "Yes, Master."

  The very instant he regretted the tone he also realized that this was exactly what Ruddygore was talking about. An apology was stopped before it began. You never, never apologized to a slave.

  He got up and stalked into the other room, which was a dressing room of sorts and had a full mirror. He stopped, looked at himself, and hardly believed what he saw. Yeah, okay, his face and body weren't really changed. He was still the same guy. But the changes, all entirely superficial, were as dramatic as a sorcerous transformation.

  The most startling were the azure blue eyes. Geronimo had blue eyes, it was said, but he'd never expected to see it. The hair was thick and slightly curly, more beach-bum stuff, and a sandy reddish brown. The eyebrows were a slightly darker brown, probably because he'd wiped his eyes, but it looked natural at least. And the complexion change, for all its discomforts, was actually quite subtle, which made it, in combination with the rest, all the more effective.

  But most dramatic was his face. He actually had a thick stubble! Not the occasional wispy hair he'd known, but whiskers. Not yet a beard, but certainly even now at the stage where most white men would be if they hadn't shaved in a week. Nice and full, too. And hair was also growing over much of the rest of his body! He hadn't had this sort of hair since he'd returned from that body Ruddygore and his pet demon had formed for him long ago, the same body he was now supposed to destroy.

  He turned and saw Mia standing there, looking at him. ''Well? Am I a new man or not?"

  "The change is—dramatic, Master."

  "You don't approve?"

  "It is not for me to approve or disapprove. But it wears well on you, Master. No enemy is going to recognize you now."

  And that, of course, was the real point.

  "It's a very good haircut," he told her, unable to resist.

  She was about to respond when Doctor Mujahn came in. "Would you like your voice altered? Wouldn't be much of a problem to raise or lower you an octave, you know, since your baritone's about in the middle range. Give you a sore throat for a few days, but after that, fine."

  "No, this is more than good enough, Doctor. In fact, it's positively brilliant. My apologies for doubting you." He hesitated. "Ah—this beard and body hair is growing at a fantastic rate. It will slow down, won't it?"

  "Oh, of course. Give it a week and you'll have enough to trim. After that, trim it every couple of days for another week, then it will have slowed to the normal body rate of about a quarter of an inch a month. The body hair will reach its own length and pretty much stop, but it won't be replaced very quickly."

  "But it won't fall out, or the colors wear off?"

  "Oh, over many years, perhaps, but not otherwise. After about a year, the hair will have a tendency to go gray, but it can always be dyed. The rest—no, not without more treatments from me."

  He nodded. "Mia, fetch me my barbarian outfit and let's go meet the critics."

  Marge was absolutely stunned. "It's perfect!." she assured him. "And when the beard comes in, you could go up to Bo-quillas himself and spit in his face and he wouldn't know you!"

  "That, my dear, is the whole idea," Throckmorton P. Ruddygore put in. "I have had my staff work up a past history for you, by the way, as a cover story. It will hold up if you practice it. We've also worked out a route, of sorts, although circumstances might alter it. I'll discuss it with you later."

  Joe nodded. "I just wish I could stop this damned hair from itching so much!"

  "Oh, when it comes in full, that stops," Ruddygore assured him. "Then it's simply a matter of a trim. You're just out of practice."

  Irving was even more amazed by Joe, not even recognizing him until the big man spoke.

  "Oh, wow! You look like Conan of Hawaii!" he exclaimed. Then his face fell. "I guess this means you're goin' soon."

  "We leave tomorrow morning," Joe told him. "I wish more than anything you could come with us, Irv, but it's just not time yet."

  "I know. I just. . . well, I just have this crazy . . .Oh, damn, I'm afraid you won't come back!"

  "If I'm alive, I'll come back. That I swear," Joe assured him. "But there's always that possibility. There was that possibility every time I climbed into a truck for a run or crossed a stree
t."

  "If they get you, I'll get them," Irving said firmly. "I promise you that."

  "Then you think you can stick it out with Gorodo?"

  The boy grinned evilly.' 'Oh, him and me are gonna get along real fine. He don't know 'bout karate!"

  Joe laughed and hugged him and held him close.

  ****

  It was dark; they had all eaten, and Marge had gone into Terdiera for her own needs with a promise to be back by ten. Kauri were by nature nocturnal; they could function in daylight, but always in a slight stupor, almost a jet-lag feeling of being up at the wrong time. But nighttime was when they needed a flying sentinel most in any event.

  Joe was spending the last hours with Irving and would also not be up until the meeting. Mia was going around, seeing to the last minute details, and was now heading out to the courtyard to practice a dance with her new castanets.

  In truth, she still worried Ruddygore the most. He had gotten the report from Poquah of her reaction to Joe's anger, and he knew she was hurt, that she'd conveyed that hurt wordlessly to Joe, and he'd softened because of it. The half measures he'd taken clearly weren't adequate. Only a clean break, at the risk of her ego, would do the trick after all. There was no other way open to him.

  He stepped out quickly from behind a pillar just in front of her and she jumped a bit, startled. "I—I am sorry, my lord. I did not see you mere."

  "My fault entirely," he responded, then lifted his hand. She immediately stiffened, in an immediate trance.

  "Mia," he said softly, "I am going to tell you some things about yourself and you will believe them and know that they are true."

  "Yes, my lord."

  "You are not, nor have you ever been, the highborn and demigoddess Tiana," he told her. "The memories you have of the parents and siblings of Mia are true. You were, however, Tiana's maid and slave in the palace. All of your memories and impressions of that life, of Joe and Tiana, come from that. The Dark Baron had you kidnapped and brought to Earth in order to learn intimate details of his enemies, Joe and Tiana, and, as you were under his power, you did so. When he captured Tiana, he first interrogated her, and from that you learned the other details, and then he killed her. Then he cast a spell so that you believed that you were Tiana. He was going to use you to get at us, but he was defeated and so could not use you and his hold on you was broken. You returned as Tiana, and basically fooled yourself that you were really Tiana, the details you knew and your own worshipful devotion to Tiana making you refuse to admit that she was dead and, thanks to the new body and the Rules that gripped you, convincing even Joe that you were really Tiana.

  "But when you returned to Husaquahr, you became the slave Mia once more, since that is who you were and the only person you can be. You love Joe, have since your days in the palace, but you know you can never be more than his slave. You now truly realize that you can never keep up the pretense of being Tiana and you are going to abandon it. But you won't stop loving Joe, no matter how cross he is, no matter if he even beats you, no matter if he has a hundred other women. To be Joe's slave is your highest aspiration. You are proud to be his slave and proud that for so long you were taken as Tiana's equal. That is the true source of your own pride. You now know that, were you not a slave, you might have been her equal. You have proven as smart, as tough, and as resourceful as she was. But even as you know your duty, you will ever after know and accept your status and your place."

  He paused, sorry it had come to this. If she survived this—if he survived this, if they couldn't pull it off!—and if he ever figured that body-switching trick, he promised himself that he would make it up to her, get her out of this body and into one commensurate in status with her intelligence and skills. Until then, this would have to do.

  "You remember that you once told Tiana that you did not mind being a slave, that it was better than many alternatives you could think of, and that it was honorable and necessary work," he continued. "As the truth that you are truly Mia comes to you, you will remember that and believe it all the more. You are proud of being the slave of the greatest of Husaquahr. To serve such a noble one in such a noble cause fills your heart with joy. To be a slave on such a great quest and perhaps aid in its outcome gives you pride, meaning. In a crisis, when you are needed, you will do as Tiana would have done, had you truly been her.

  "These things will not come upon you all at once when I let you go, but you will suspect them, feel their truth deep down, and, over the next few days, you will know and understand all of them and it will actually make you happy to know that you are truly Mia, the best and luckiest slave girl in all Husaquahr."

  Once she made that leap, and truly believed that she was Mia and had never been Tiana or anyone else, her mind would sort itself out. All pretenses of Tiana, including particularly the pride and her sense of shame, would go as well. She would accept herself entirely as Mia; her whole ego would be redirected.

  He raised his hand and she suddenly came awake.

  "I am sorry, my lord! I did not see you there!" she said.

  "That's all right, Mia. My fault entirely. Go wherever you were going. You've got a big day coming tomorrow."

  "Thank you, my lord," she said, doing the partial bow and slight knee bend and then continuing on her way. She was glad that he didn't need her for anything and that she had no more duties for now. She was all mixed up in her mind and she needed to sort things out, and dancing really helped do that.

  Ruddygore watched her go, then reached into his robe and took out a huge old gold-encased pocket watch with Great Western Railway, Ltd. written upon its face. He flipped it open and saw that it was just after nine. So much meddling to do, so little time . . .

  He caught Joe just as he was coming up the stairs from the armory area and had him in the same sort of trance in seconds.

  "Joe, what I'm going to tell you is true and you will believe it is true." Quickly he sketched much the same scenario as he had for Tiana. "You will not know this immediately, but will come to suspect it, and she will finally tell you, if you ask her," he concluded, spelling out a few of the implications.

  Joe, too, would not remember the encounter nor the conversation, but by the time he had his beard he would believe it, and he'd interact with her accordingly. Not as his former wife and love, but as this little slave he'll now vaguely remember. She would then go from being someone he still considered his equal and for whom he retained, no matter what, some real love, to a near total stranger, and a masquerader, however unconsciously, at that. He would still never consider selling her; the sorcerer had seen to that. But the master-slave status would be absolute, convincing, and believed and accepted by both.

  If, of course, Marge didn't screw it up.

  ****

  Marge was late, but only by a few minutes. Ruddygore had anticipated it, but also knew she could go out afterward, and that, while it took some time to walk or ride to the town, she could fly it rather quickly.

  Joe was already there, looking over a map with Ruddygore and Poquah.

  "I'd head north across the Plain of Shadows," the Imir, a military advisor at this meeting, told them. "Cross into Vali-sandra, which our reports say is not under Sugasto directly but is scared enough of him that he essentially has them neutralized and in no way interfering. Trust no one, rely on your cover story. You really did fight at the Battle of Sorrow's Gorge, and you truly do have the sort of experience you will be claiming, including a knowledge of the Dark Baron no one who hadn't met him and been with him for a stretch would have. As a mercenary among so vast an army, there is no one who could tell that you were on the other side."

  He nodded. "I like that. I particularly like using the Dark Baron, curse his seemingly indestructible soul, as a way in. It's justice, somehow."

  "So long as the Baron doesn't actually show up," Marge pointed out. "For sure, he wouldn't know or remember you at all, and it would take him about an hour mentally to undo the disguise and finger you. And if he fingers you, we're all
undone."

  Ruddygore sighed. "I hesitate to say that the odds of you two meeting the Baron again are one in a billion because I know damned well that your destiny has been entwined with his and what the implications of that really are. The only thing I can say is, you Ve both been in his clutches before and you Ve both beaten him more than once. If it's his destiny to find you, then it's yours to keep screwing him up. Frankly, after all the previous adventures, if I were the Dark Baron, and J figured out who you were, I'd run like hell."

  "But he won't," Marge noted. "And there's a question of how many times we can screw up that kind of power and not pay a real price for it. I know how this crazy place works now. Somewhere down the pike there's a cashier we don't want to meet."

  Joe looked up from the map at her. "Cold feet? Sorry you came now?"

  "Cold feet, yes. Sorry, no. Not yet, anyway. Hey, what's the fun of being in a world of swordplay and sorcery if you can't have thrills once in a while? Besides, I really want to get this bastard. I've owed Sugasto a knife in the back since that first business with the Lamp. Now it turns out that the slimy, double-crossing weasel is the Master of the Dead and that he's gonna make a grab for the whole ball of wax. Uh-uh. We Kauris make love, not war, but we Texans have a different idea!"

  "Bravo! Well said," Ruddygore approved. "Remember the Alamo and all that!"

  She looked up sharply at him. "Everybody died at the Alamo and the bad guy won. No, remember San Jacinto, and Santa Ana found skulking under a bridge disguised as a peasant. Oh, no. I'd rather be a live Houston than a dead Bowie."

  "Point taken," the sorcerer responded a bit apologetically. "I'm not totally versed in the fine details of the history of your native lands."

  "At any rate," Poquah said with some irritation, "I'd use Valisandra to find out all you can about the conditions and situation in Hypboreya. Cross when you have to or when the door of opportunity opens, not before. Get an invitation. You might well have to prove yourself to do it, but be resourceful."

  "And the bodies?"

  "Here, beyond the Golden Lakes, in this somewhat blank expanse known as the Cold Wastes," Ruddygore answered. "It's vast and glacial, and this region is essentially uninhabited. This area here, in the shading, was the site of a mammoth battle of ancient times, the times of heroes and legends. It's sixty miles across and your most dangerous area, since that war threatened the very existence and stability of Husaquahr. There is a legend that the powers of Heaven and Hell convened while it raged, and decided that it was so terrible a thing and had such a disastrous potential, that they agreed to halt it, freezing the entire battle and both forces, from great sorcerers to majestic warriors and fairy kings of old. There they allegedly remain to this day, under the ice. People are scared to cross it because they believe that they're still somehow alive down there and can influence those who come near.''