The Changing Land

by Roger Zelazny

  It approached Baran and Semirama and dropped the creature at the former's feet. Then the Hand withdrew into the darkness, the tearing sound followed, and the air was still once more.

  Semirama gasped. The object still clutched by the writhing demon was a human leg, upon which it had been chewing.

  "It's been among the prisoners again!" she cried. "I recognize that tattoo! It was Joab, the fat sorcerer from the East."

  Baran kicked the cowering creature on the buttocks.

  "Stay out of that chamber! Stay away from that pit!" he shouted in Mabrahoring, gesturing back up the hall. "If you go near that place again, the full wrath of the Hand will descend upon you!"

  He kicked again, sending the large creature sprawling. It began to moan, it clutched the leg more closely.

  "Do you understand?"

  "Yes," it whimpered in the same tongue.

  "Then remember my words—and get out of my sight!"

  The demon rushed back in the direction from which it had originally come.

  "But the prisoners—" Semirama put in again.

  "What of them?" Baran asked.

  "It shouldn't be allowed to regard them as its personal larder."

  "Why not?"

  "Jelerak will want all of them intact, to face his personal judgment."

  "I doubt it. They're not that important. And for that matter, he'd be hard put to find a worse fate for them, on the edge of a moment."

  "Still… they are technically his prisoners. Not ours."

  Baran shrugged.

  "I doubt we'll ever be called to task for it. If so, I take full responsibility." He paused. Then, "I'm not at all that certain he'll be coming back," he continued. Another pause. "Are you?"

  She turned to regard the murky view beyond the window once again.

  "I couldn't really say. And for that matter, I'm not sure that I'd care to if I could—at, this point."

  "Why is this point different from any other point?"

  "It's too soon. He's been away longer than this on other occasions."

  "We both know that something happened to him up in the Arctic."

  "He's been through worse. I'm certain. I was there in the early days—remember?"

  "And supposing he never returns?"

  "It's an academic question unless Tualua comes around."

  Baran's eyes flashed, then almost twinkled.

  "Say your charge recovers tomorrow?"

  "You can ask me then."

  Baran snorted, turned on his heel, and stalked off in the same direction the demon had taken. As he did, Semirama counted slowly on her fingers until she reached six. Then she stopped. There were tears in her eyes.

  It was moderately hilly country, with a rich growth of spring vegetation. Meliash sat upon a low hillock with his back to most of it, his arm-length ebony wand standing upright before him, its nether end driven a span into the ground. He stared past, to where the mists, pinked over with morning sunlight, shifted about the enchanted area, revealing the transformations and retransformations of the landscape. He was a broad-shouldered man with tawny hair. His mainly orange garments were surprisingly rich for the area and the situation he had assumed. A golden chain hung about his neck, supporting a bright blue stone which matched his eyes. At his back, both his servants moved about the camp, preparing the morning meal. He leaned forward slowly and placed his fingertips upon the wand. He continued to stare past it. As eddies occurred in the mist, as waves of shadows rolled, he turned his eyes to regard them. Finally, he grew still and assumed a listening attitude. Then he spoke softly and waited. He repeated his performance a number of times before he rose and walked back to his camp.

  "Set an extra place for breakfast," he told the servants, "but put on enough food for several more people and keep it warm. It is going to be an interesting day."

  The men grumbled, but one began removing vegetables from a sack and scraping them. He passed them to the other, who chopped them into the stewpot.

  "A bit of meat there, too."

  "Ay, Meliash. But we're getting low," said the older, a small man with a faded beard.

  "Then one of you must do some hunting this afternoon."

  "I've no liking for these woods," said the other, a thin, sharp-featured man with very dark eyes. "Could be some werebeast or other ill-gotten wight has wandered over."

  "The woods are safe," Meliash replied.

  The smaller man began dicing a piece of meat.

  "How long until your guest arrives?" he asked.

  Meliash shrugged and moved away, facing up the hill to the rear of the camp.

  "I've no way of estimating how rapidly another will travel. I—"

  Something moved, and he realized that it was a green boot beside the twisted tree ahead of him. A pair of them…

  He halted and raised his head. A tall figure, the sun at its back…

  "Good morning," he said, squinting and shading his eyes. "I am Meliash, Society warden for this sector—"

  "I know," came the reply. "Good morning to you, Meliash."

  The figure advanced, soundlessly. A slim woman, with pale hair and complexion, green eyes, delicate features, she wore a cloak, belt, and headband to match her green boots; her breeches and blouse were black, her vest of brown leather. Heavy black gloves hung from her belt, along with a short sword and a long dagger. In her left hand was a light bow, unstrung, of a reddish wood Meliash did not recognize. He did recognize the heavy black ring with the green design on the second finger of that hand, however. Dispensing with the recognition sign of the Society, he fell to one knee, bowing.

  "Lady of Marinta…" he said.

  "Rise, Meliash," she replied. "I am here on the business you serve as witness. Call me Arlata."

  "I would like to dissuade you—Arlata," he said, rising. "The risk is very great."

  "So is the gain," she replied.

  "Come and have breakfast with me," he said, "and I will tell you somewhat about it."

  "I have already eaten," she answered, turning with him toward the camp, "but I will join you for the conversation."

  She accompanied him to a trestle table south of the fire and seated herself on a bench at its side.

  "Shall I serve you now?" asked the younger retainer.

  "Would you care for some tea?" Meliash asked.

  "Yes, I'll have that."

  He nodded to the servant.

  "Two teas."

  They sat in silence while the beverage was prepared, poured, and placed before them, staring westward into the changing land with its mists. When she had tasted her tea, he raised his cup and sipped also.

  "Good, on this cold morning."

  "Good on any morning. It's a fine brew."

  "Thank you. Why should you want to go to that place, lady?"

  "Why should anyone? There is power there."

  "Unless I have heard very wrongly, you are already possessed of considerable power, not to mention riches of the more mundane sort."

  She smiled.

  "I suppose that I am. But the power locked in that curious place is enormous. To gain control of that Old One… You may list me as an idealist, but there is so much good that it could accomplish. I could relieve many of the miseries of the world."

  Meliash sighed.

  "Why couldn't you be self-seeking like the others?" he asked. "You know that a part of my job here is to attempt to discourage these expeditions. Your motive makes it all the harder in your case."

  "I know the Society's position. Jelerak may return at any time, you say, and the presence of intruders could create an incident involving the entire Society. You are an unimpeachable witness, as are the other four pointed about the place. To satisfy the Society requirement, I give my oath that I am acting solely on my own behalf in this enterprise. Is that sufficient?"

  "Technically, yes. But that was not what I was aiming at. Even if you get through, the castle still has its defenses, and its master's agents are presumably still in command there.
But putting all that aside for the moment, I strongly doubt that one of the Old Ones can long be coerced into doing good, should you succeed in gaining some measure of control over it. They're a rotten lot, and it's best to let them sleep. Return to the realms of Elfdom, lady. Work your charities along simpler lines. Even if you succeed, I say that you will fail."

  "I've heard all this before," she stated, "and have given it much thought. Thank you for your consideration, but I am determined."

  Meliash sipped his tea.

  "I have tried," he finally said. "If anything happens to you within sight of here, I will attempt to rescue you. But I can promise nothing."

  "I have asked nothing."

  She finished her tea and rose.

  "I will be going now."

  Meliash stood. "Why hurry? The day is young. It will be warmer and brighter later—and mayhap another seeker will come along. A pair of you might stand a better chance—"

  "No! I will not share whatever there is to be gained."

  "As you would. Come, I will walk you to the perimeter."

  They moved across the campsite to the place where the grasses began to fade. A few paces beyond, the foliage was bleached to a dead white.

  "There you have it," he said, gesturing. "Approximately two leagues across, roughly circular. The castle's the highest point, somewhere near the middle. There are five Society representatives stationed about its periphery at almost equal distances from one another—to study the effect and to advise and witness. If you must use magic, you may find that your spells work perfectly well; then again, their efforts may be enhanced, diminished, canceled, or in some way distorted. You may be approached by creatures harmless or otherwise—or by the landscape itself. There is no way of telling in advance what your journey will be like. But I do not believe that too many have made it across. If some have, nothing appears to have been changed thereby."

  "Which you attribute to defenders within?"

  "It seems likely. The castle itself appears to be undamaged."

  "Surely," she said, catching his eye, "one cannot base any conclusions on the condition of that castle. It is not like other structures."

  "I have never known for certain, though there may be some truth in this. The Brotherhood— rather, the Society—is checking now."

  "Well, I do know. I could have saved you the trouble. Would you know who was in charge of it when this thing happened?"

  "Yes. The one called Baran of the Extra Hand. He'd been a Society member in good standing until some years ago, when he went over to Jelerak."

  "I've heard of him. It seems he might be the sort who would have gone for the power himself if the opportunity were present."

  "Perhaps he tried and this was the result. I don't know."

  "I expect I will be finding out soon. Have you any advice?"

  "Not too much, really. First, cover yourself with a general defensive spell—"

  "That is already done."

  "—and pay heed to the waves of disturbance as you go. They appear to sweep outward and around the place widdershins, building in force as they move. Depending upon their intensity, they may pass about it anywhere from one to three times. Their pace is normally about that of an ocean breaker on a pleasant day. In their wake, things are changed, and the effects on your spells will be most severe at their crests."

  "Is there any period to them?"

  "None that we have been able to detect. There may be long lulls, there may be several in rapid succession. They begin without warning."

  He was silent then, and she looked at him. He looked away.

  "Yes?" she asked.

  "Should you be overcome," he said, "unable to retreat or advance—in short, should you fail in the crossing—it would be appreciated if you would attempt to use one of the means at the Society's disposal to communicate all of the particulars to me."

  He glanced at the upright wand nearby.

  "If I am dying and have yet the strength, you will have the record for the archives," she replied, "or for any other use to which it might be put— if the message can reach you."

  "Thank you." He met her eyes. "I can only wish you good luck."

  She turned her back upon the changing land and whistled three soft notes.

  Meliash turned in time to see a white horse with a golden mane make its way out of the wood beyond the camp and move toward them, head high. He drew a breath at the beauty of the approaching animal.

  When it had come to her, she held its head and spoke to it in Elvish. Then she mounted quickly, smoothly, and faced the changing land once again.

  "The most recent wave was just before sunrise," he said, "and for some time, things have seemed clearest past those two orange pinnacles off to the right—you'll see them in a moment, I think."

  They waited till a breeze stirred the fogs, and the twin stands of stone were momentarily visible.

  "I'll try it," she said.

  "Better you than many another."

  She leaned and spoke softly. The horse flowed forward into the pale land. They grew dim and noiseless in a matter of moments.

  Meliash turned back toward his camp, touching the dark wand as he passed it. He halted instantly, his brow furrowing, running his fingertips along its length, squatting beside it. Finally, he opened a soft leather pouch which hung from his belt, withdrew a small yellow crystal, raised it, and spoke a few words. The face of an older, bearded man appeared within its depths.

  "Yes, Meliash?" The words came into his head.

  "I'm getting peculiar vibrations," he stated. "Are you? Is another wave beginning over there?"

  The older man shook his head.

  "Nothing here yet. No."

  "Thanks. I'll try Tarba."

  The face faded as he spoke additional words, to be succeeded by that of a dark, turbaned man.

  "How are things in your sector?" he asked him.

  "Still," Tarba replied.

  "Have you checked your wand recently?"

  "I'm right beside it now. Nothing."

  He communicated with the remaining wardens—an older, heavy-jowled man with bright blue eyes, and an intense young man with a deeply lined face. Their responses were the same as the others.

  After he had restored the crystal to its bag, he stood for some time staring into the changing land, but no new wave rose. He touched the wand once again, to discover that the vibrations which had disturbed him had now subsided.

  He returned to his camp and seated himself at the table, chin propped on his fist, eyes narrowed.

  "Do you want your breakfast now?" the younger servant called.

  "Let it cook. There's more to come," Meliash answered. "Bring me more tea, though."

  Later, as he sat drinking, he spilled a little on the tabletop and began tracing designs with his fingers. The castle, so… A pentagram of watchers about it, thus… Waves spiraling outward in this manner, generally arising in the west…

  A shadow fell across the diagram and he looked up. A dark-haired young man of medium stature, with dark eyes and a laughing twist to his lips, stood beside him. He wore a yellow tunic and black fur leggings; his link belt and the clasp of his brown cloak were of bronze. His beard was short and neatly trimmed. He nodded and smiled the moment that Meliash looked up.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't hear you approach," Meliash said.

  He looked at the servants, but their attention was elsewhere.

  "Yet you knew of my coming?"

  "In a general sort of way. My name is Meliash. I am the Society warden here."

  "I know. I am Weleand of Murcave. I am come to cross the changing land and claim the Castle Timeless in its midst."

  "Timeless… ?"

  "A few of us know it by that name."

  The Society sign passed between them.

  "Sit down," Meliash said. "Join me for breakfast. Might as well start with a warm meal inside you."

  "Thank you, no. I've already had one."

  "A cup of tea?"

  "I'
d better not take the time. It is a long road I've chosen."

  "I'm afraid there is not too much I can tell you about it."

  "I know everything I need to know on that account," Weleand replied. "What I would like to know is how much traffic you have seen."

  "You are the second today. I have been on duty here for two weeks. You are the twelfth to pass this way. I believe that makes thirty-two altogether, of whom we have record."

  "Do you know whether any of them made it through?"

  "I do not."

  "Good."

  "Small chance, I suppose, of my persuading you not to try it?"

  "I imagine you are obligated to try talking everyone out of it. Have any heeded you?"

  "No."

  "There's your answer."

  "You have obviously decided that the power to be gained is worth the risk. What would you do with it, though, if you obtained it?"

  Weleand lowered his head. "Do?" he said. "I would right wrongs. I would go up and down in the world and to and fro in it, putting down injustices and rewarding virtues. I would use it to make this land a better place in which to live."

  "And what would be your gain from this?"

  "The satisfaction."

  "Oh. Well, there is that, I suppose. Yes, of course. Sure you won't take some tea?"

  "No. I'd best be moving on. I'd like to be across before nightfall."

  "Good luck to you, then."

  "Thank you. Oh, by the way—of the other thirty-one you mentioned, was one of them a big, green-booted fellow riding a metal horse?"

  Meliash shook his head.

  "No, no one such as that has passed this way. The only elfboots I saw were on a woman—not too long ago."

  "And who might that have been?"

  "Arlata of Marinta."

  "Really? How interesting."

  "Where did you say you are from?"

  "Murcave."

  "I'm afraid I don't know it."

  "It is a minor shire, far to the east. I've done my small share in keeping it a happy place."

  "So may it remain," said Meliash. "A metal horse, you say?"

  "Yes."

  "I've never seen such. You think he may come this way?"

  "Anything is possible."

  "What else about him is special?"

  "I believe that he is one of our darker brothers in the Art. Should he succeed, there is no telling what mischief he may work."