The Changing Land

by Roger Zelazny

  Meliash halted and awaited his approach as the man emerged from the wood. He was taller than most, slim, light-haired; his boots and cloak were green. As he drew near, the man responded to the recognition sign with a version of the counter-gesture which had once been valid but was now several centuries out of date. Meliash recognized it for what it was only because history had long been one of his passions.

  "I am Meliash," he said.

  "And I am Dilvish. You are the Brotherhood's warden in this area?"

  Meliash cocked an eyebrow and smiled.

  "I know not from what place you might have come," he said, "but we have not been known by that name for some fifty or sixty years."

  "Really?" said the other. "What are we now?"

  "The Society."

  "The Society?"

  "Yes. The Circle of Sorceresses, Enchantresses, and Wizardresses raised a fuss, and finally got it changed to that. It's no longer considered good form to use the old designation."

  "I'll remember that."

  "Would you care to join me for something to eat?"

  "Delighted," Dilvish said. "It's been a long journey."

  "From where?" Meliash asked as they moved toward the camp and its table.

  "Many places. Most recently, far in the North."

  They seated themselves and were served shortly thereafter. Meliash fell to, as if he had not just eaten two bowls of the stew. Dilvish also applied himself with vigor to the fare.

  "Your account, your garb, your appearance," said Meliash when he finally paused, "all speak of an Elvish origin. Yet there are none of your people in the North—that I know of."

  "I have been doing a lot of traveling."

  "… and you decided to travel this way and try for the power."

  "What power?"

  Meliash set down his spoon and studied the other's face.

  "You're not joking," he said a moment later.

  "No."

  Meliash furrowed his brow, scratched his temple.

  "I'm afraid I do not entirely understand," he said. "Did you come here for purposes of journeying to the castle in the middle of the—" he gestured, "wasteland?"

  "That's right," Dilvish said, breaking off another piece of bread.

  Meliash leaned back.

  "Do you know why I am here?"

  "To help contain the spell that has produced the phenomenon, I'd guess," Dilvish answered. "To keep it from spreading."

  "What makes you think it is a spell that has done that?"

  Now the other looked puzzled. Finally, he shrugged.

  "What else could it be?" he asked. "Jelerak was hurt earlier—in the North. He's come here to lick his wounds. He set that up to protect himself while he recovers. It may well be a self-perpetuating spell. The Brotherhood—pardon me, the Society wants to prevent its running wild, should he expire within. And that's why you are here. That is my guess."

  "It makes sense," Meliash replied. "But you are wrong. This place has indeed been one of his strongholds. Somewhere inside is one of the Old Ones—the ancient, tentacled kin of the Elder Gods—Tualua, by name. Long had Jelerak controlled this one, tapping its power for his own ends. We do not know whether Jelerak himself is in the place right now. What we do know is that Tualua as apparently gone mad—a condition not uncommon among his kind, if tradition speaks true—and that all of that—" He glanced toward the changing land, "—is his doing."

  "How can you be so certain?"

  "The Society was able to determine by specialized arcane means that the phenomenon you behold results from the emanations of a being magical in itself, rather than any particular spell. It is a rare thing to observe these days, which is why we have set up these stations."

  "You are not here to keep it under control, should it reach out and become a danger beyond this region?"

  "And that, too, of course."

  "You are not here to use it as some sort of trap for Jelerak?"

  Meliash reddened.

  "The Society's position toward Jelerak has always been one of neutrality," he stated.

  "Yet you barred his return to the Tower of Ice to keep Ridley in reserve against him."

  Meliash frowned and studied Dilvish. Suddenly, then, his right hand dipped into a slit in his garment, emerging to cast a handful of golden dust toward Dilvish. Recognizing the material, Dilvish stood unmoving, smiling.

  "You're that nervous, eh?" he remarked. "You see that I retain my form. I am what I appear to be—not Jelerak in disguise."

  "Then how do you know of the doings at the Tower of Ice?"

  "As I said, I was in the North recently."

  "Those actions in the North," Meliash said, "were not Society-sanctioned. They were the work of a number of individual members acting on their own initiative. We are neutral on that matter also."

  Dilvish laughed.

  "Saving your commitments for the big ones?" he inquired.

  "It is extremely difficult to get a group of temperamental individualists to take a position on anything. You talk as if you were not yourself a member. Speaking of which, you gave me an out-of-date countersign—very out-of-date."

  "I've been away for a long while. But I was once a member of the Brotherhood in good standing, albeit a lesser one."

  "You continue to puzzle me. You want to ride through a dangerous area toward a dangerous place. Everyone else who has gone that way has done it because he believes there may be a chance of binding Tualua to his own ends—now that he is not in full control of himself, now that Jelerak is either absent or too weak to defend his own. Control of that magical being would indeed bestow a great power. Yet that is not what you are after?"

  "No," Dilvish answered.

  "That is a refreshing change, at any rate. Would you be offended if I were to ask your objective? I'm doing something in the manner of a survey—"

  "I've come to kill Jelerak."

  Meliash stared at him. "If you do not wish to answer, of course I have no power to require—" he began.

  "I have answered," Dilvish said, rising. "If he is in there, I'll face him. If he is not, I'll look for clues as to his whereabouts and try again."

  He turned back toward the wood.

  "Thank you for the meal," he said.

  He felt Meliash's hand upon his shoulder.

  "I believe you," he heard him say. "But I am not certain that you realize what you are facing. Supposing you do make it through, and supposing he should indeed be inside, or you run him to ground elsewhere. Even weakened, he is the most dangerous sorcerer in the world. He will blast you, wither you, transform you, banish you. None have ever faced his wrath and survived."

  "I have faced his wrath. That is why I want him to face mine."

  "I find that difficult to believe."

  Dilvish shrugged off Meliash's hand.

  "Believe what you would. I know what I am about."

  "You think even Elvish magic would prove sufficient?"

  "I may have something stronger."

  "What?" asked Meliash, following him as he began to move away again.

  "I've said all that I care to," Dilvish replied. "Thanks again for the refreshment. I will be going on now."

  Meliash halted, watched him return to the wood. It seemed that a few words were spoken there—at first in Dilvish's voice. The reply that followed came in deeper tones. Then heavy footfalls moved off toward his left, and for a moment he saw the outline of a great black beast, Dilvish mounted upon it. In that moment, the light fell upon it in such a manner that it appeared to be made of metal. The hoofbeats became more rapid, circling the camp, heading west toward the changing land.

  Meliash fumbled at the leathery pouch as he moved back toward the table. Seating himself, he withdrew the crystal and placed it before him upon the flattened pouch. He spoke softly, firmly. He waited, then repeated the words. After a pause, he commenced a third iteration.

  The crystal cleared before he had finished, however, showing a long, thin face seined with wrinkle
s, tufted top and bottom with white, framing a black, shifty right eye beside a dead white one. This face was frowning. The lips moved. Meliash felt the word:

  "Yes?"

  "Did I disturb you, Rawk?"

  "Indeed you did," said the other, glancing back over his shoulder. "What do you want?"

  "Society business. This job I'm on…"

  "It requires you consult the records?"

  "I'm afraid so."

  Rawk sighed.

  "Okay. She'll keep. What do you need to know?"

  Meliash raised his hands. He made a gesture.

  "That was once a countersign to our recognition signal," he said.

  "Things were a lot younger then," the other replied. "I remember…"

  "If you can recall exactly when that one was in use, I would like you to search the archives for the membership records of that period. See if we had a brother named Dilvish. Elf. One of the lower circles, I'd guess. If so, did he tend toward either extreme? Also, is there reference to a metal horse or similar beast? I'd like to know anything at all that we have on him."

  Rawk produced a quill, flourished it and jotted.

  "All right. I'll do that and get back to you."

  "Another thing."

  "Yes?"

  "While you're at it, see what we have on a current member—Weleand of Murcave."

  Again the quill.

  "I will do that. The first one sounds somehow familiar. I can't say why."

  "Well, let me know."

  "What is the situation there?"

  "It seems unchanged."

  "Good. It may settle itself."

  "I've a feeling it won't."

  "Good luck, then."

  The crystal grew dark.

  Meliash replaced it and went to regard the misted-over area which screened the castle. A lone rider on something heavy and black was moving away from him, fading.

  Chapter 3

  Black halted. Dilvish peered over the green scarf which muffled half his face, his right hand on the hilt of his larger blade, head turning.

  "What's the matter?" he inquired.

  "Not matter. Something less tangible," replied his mount.

  "Is there something I should be doing about it?"

  "Not really. I have detected a reality ripple—moving this way. All we need do is wait. It will pass shortly, missing us."

  "What would happen if we did not wait?"

  "You would be burned to ashes."

  "We will wait. It is good that you have a feeling for these things."

  "It may be somewhat less than perfect, however, in a place such as this. These are not ordinary spells, you know."

  "Then Meliash was correct?"

  "Yes. Those are the emanations of a magical being."

  "It takes one to know one?"

  "As they say…"

  Dilvish felt a sudden blast of heat, and the landscape before him rippled and wavered. As this occurred, the wind died and the air grew clearer. Dilvish glimpsed shining spires, dark, moving forms, stripes of blue soil or rock, towering dust devils, fountains of blood—all far ahead, all for but a few moments—and could not tell whether they were mirage or substance. Then the wave passed. Winds dragging streamers of dust broke the prospect.

  "Cling tightly now!" cried Black, and they moved forward at an incredible pace.

  "Why the rush?" Dilvish shouted as they swept across the still-warm land, but his words were caught and carried away by the wind.

  Their speed increased until Dilvish was forced to crouch low, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. The wind was now a single, immense roar all about him. After a time, it was like a silence, and in his mind he went back, back past his adventures since his return, beyond the hellfire, into the moist green land where the twilight fought the rainbow. He seemed to hear a voice singing, accompanied by one of the older instruments, an ancient song he had all but forgotten. The singer was a slim, fair woman with green eyes. There was a smell of wildflowers…

  The sound of the wind broke in upon his reverie. They were slowing. He raised his head. After a moment, he opened his eyes.

  They were moving upward, and Black's pace continued to decrease. Soon they came to a halt upon a hilltop beneath a brilliant sky. The wind was still. All about, below them, a fog drifted, churning in places. It was as if they stood upon an island in the midst of a foamy sea. Far off before them, the Castle Timeless stood, diminutive—a study in pink, lavender, gray, and shadow—in morning's oblique light.

  "Why the speed?" Dilvish asked.

  "There was more than one wave," Black replied. "I had to cross before the next one reached the area."

  "Oh. Then we can rest here awhile and choose the best route."

  "Not for too long. This hilltop is about to explode, becoming a mud volcano. But I have already determined the next leg of our journey, at least for a little distance. It seems it will be clearest if we bear to the right as we descend."

  Dilvish became aware of vibrations beneath them.

  "Perhaps we ought to be moving on."

  "Behold the Castle Timeless," Black remarked, staring ahead.

  Dilvish glanced forward once again.

  "A place out of time," Black continued. "Long have I wished to view it."

  The trembling of the ground became more pronounced.

  "Uh… Black…"

  "Built by the Elder Gods themselves, for some arcane purpose; destined, it is said, to circuit all of time; alterable, I have heard, but indestructible—"

  "Black!"

  "What?"

  "Move!"

  "Excuse me," he said. "I was transported. Esthetics."

  Lowering his head, Black plunged down the hillside into the fog, his eyes glowing like coals. The ground was shaking steadily now, and in the portions of which he had view, Dilvish could see cracks appearing, widening. Wisps of smoke rose from several of these, moving to mingle with the fog. The winds rose again about them, though not as strongly as before.

  Leaping among large, cube-shaped green rocks in a very unhorselike fashion, Black bore steadily to the right as the ground leveled and the fog was abated in patches. The sound of a terrific explosion reached them and splatters of hot mud rained nearby, though only a few fell upon them.

  "In the future," Dilvish remarked, "I would prefer not cutting things quite that closely."

  "Sorry," Black replied. "I was caught up in a beautiful moment."

  He leaped a hedge of flames which sprang up before them, and for a time raced parallel to the course of a black and boiling river, down through a canyon where screams too high-pitched to be human filled the air. Along the river's bank, black flowers swayed, hissing and spitting. Tiny points of light rose above the dark waters and drifted off, to explode with soft popping noises, emitting noxious odors amid showers of sparks. The ground continued to shake and the dark waters overleaped their banks in places, staining the rocks and the land about with tarlike films. A winged, monkey-faced thing the size of a large bird flew at them, shrieking, talons outstretched. Dilvish cut at it several times, but it eluded his blade. Finally, it passed too near Black's head. He breathed a flame upon it and it fell to the ground to be stepped on.

  The river vanished into a steaming cavern, wails echoing within it. The ground split before them and Black leaped the chasm. It closed behind them with a grinding sound, and rocks and sand were shaken down upon them from a height to the left.

  The far mouth of the canyon was hung with a screen of blue fires. Dilvish drew his cloak more tightly about him and Black increased his pace. As they rushed through, Dilvish shuddered at an intense cold, rather than the heat he had expected. Looking down, he discovered that both he and Black had become a rich cobalt color. His limbs felt stiff, almost brittle.

  "It will pass! It will pass in moments!" Black cried.

  It did pass, somewhere within a yellow cloud-bank, but this took longer than a few moments. They stood shuddering within a protective circle Black had raised, and the color
and stiffness were slowly leached away. The winds were minimal here. Dilvish exercised his fingers and massaged his hands and biceps.

  "So much for the easy part," Black remarked after a time.

  "I hope that you are joking."

  Black scarred the ground with a cloven hoof.

  "No," he answered. "I am afraid that the emanations are stronger closer to the center of things."

  "Have you any special plan of attack for that area?"

  "Every protective spell I know is upon us," he said, "but that can only be one line of defense. Tualua, who dreams and hurts within, is so much stronger than I am that any direct encounter could overwhelm them. I must count on my perceptions, my speed, and our combined strength and ingenuity."

  "I was afraid that was the case."

  "They have served us well thus far."

  "Then why are we moving—circle and all?"

  "We are not moving."

  "I think we are."

  Black raised his head and stared through the fogs. The ground beneath them seemed firm enough now, but…

  "Something does seem to be happening," he finally admitted. "The farthest rock I can see appears to be changing its position. I am going to risk a small spell. It may achieve nothing, it may rebound upon us, its effect may be distorted. But I would like to stir up the wind to clear the prospect —long enough to view our situation in better perspective."

  "Go ahead."

  Dilvish braced himself and waited. Black muttered in Mabrahoring. The errant gush which had been buffeting them settled, took on a uniform direction for a few moments, then shifted. It was several minutes after that that a steady wind came at them from the right. Black had grown silent by then, and both of them remained motionless, staring ahead.

  Gradually, the fog bank began a leftward movement. A faint, lightninglike flicker occurred within it. It began to grow thin in patches, but the drifting vapors filled these areas almost immediately.

  Then, as they watched, it all seemed to break loose and race away, revealing a dark prospect under sunny skies…

  They were moving. Everything seemed to be moving in relation to the distant castle itself, which stood revealed again, salmon pink and orange. Only some things were moving faster than others…