I heard noises—rustlings, stirrings—coming from somewhere above and before me. I also became aware of a peculiar odor.
“I say, are you awake?” This from the same direction as the sounds of movement.
I decided that I was not entirely ready to qualify for that state, so I did not answer. I waited for more life to flow back into my limbs.
“I really wish you’d let me know whether you can hear me,” the voice came again. “I’d like to get on with it.”
My curiosity finally overcame my judgment and I raised my head.
“There! I knew it!”
On the blue-gray ledge above me was crouched a sphinx, an also blue-lion body, large feathered wings folded tight against it, a genderless face looking down upon me. It licked its lips and revealed a formidable set of teeth.
“Get on with what?” I asked, raising myself slowly into a sitting position and drawing several deep breaths.
“The riddling,” it answered, “the thing I do best.”
“I’ll take a rain check,” I said, waiting for the cramps in my arms and legs to pass.
“Sorry. I must insist.”
I rubbed my punctured forearm and glared at the creature. Most of the stories I recalled about sphinxes involved their devouring people who couldn’t answer riddles. I shook my head.
“I won’t play your game,” I said.
“In that case, you lose by forfeit,” it replied, shoulder muscles beginning to tighten.
“Hold on,” I said, raising my hand. “Give me a minute or two to recover and I’ll probably feel differently:”
It settled back and said, “Okay. That would make it more official. Take five. Let me know when you’re ready.”
I climbed to my feet and began swinging my arms and stretching. While I was about it, I surveyed the area quickly. We occupied a sandy arroyo, punctuated here and there with orange, gray, and blue rocks. The stony wall whose ledge the sphinx occupied rose steeply before me to a height of perhaps twenty-five feet; another wall of the same height lay at about that distance to my rear. The wash rose steeply to my right, ran off in a more level fashion to my left. A few spiky green shrubs inhabited rifts and crevices. The hour seemed verging upon dusk. The sky was a weak yellow with no sun in sight. I heard a distant wind but did not feel it. The place was cool but not chill.
I spotted a rock the size of a small dumbbell on the ground nearby. Two ambling paces—as I continued swinging my arms and stretching—and it lay beside my right foot.
The sphinx cleared its throat. “Are you ready?” it asked.
“No,” I said. “But I’m sure that won’t stop you.”
“You’re right.”
I felt an uncontrollable desire to yawn and did so.
“You seem to lack something of the proper spirit,” it observed. “But here it is: I rise in flame from the earth. The wind assails me and waters lash me. Soon I will oversee all things.”
I waited. Perhaps a minute passed.
“Well?” the sphinx finally said.
“Well what?”
“Have you the answer?”
“To what?”
“The riddle, of course!”
“I was waiting. There was no question, only a series of statements. I can’t answer a question if I don’t know what it is.”
“It’s a time-honored format. The interrogative is implied by the context. Obviously, the question is, `What am I’?"
“It could just as easily be, `Who is buried in Grant’s tomb?’ But okay. What is it? The phoenix, of course: nested upon the earth; rising in flames above it, passing through the air, the clouds, to a great height—”
“Wrong.”
It smiled and began to stir.
“Hold on,” I said. “It is not wrong. It fits. It may not be the answer you want, but it is an answer that meets the requirements.”
It shook its head.
“I am the final authority on these answers. I do the defining.”
“Then you cheat.”
“I do not!”
“I drink off half the contents of a flask. Does that make it half full or half empty?”
“Either. Both.”
“Exactly. Same thing. If more than one answer fits, you have to buy them all. It’s like waves and particles.”
“I don’t like that approach,” it stated. “It would open all sorts of doors to ambiguity. It could spoil the riddling business.”
“Not my fault,” I said, clenching and unclenching my hands.
“But you do raise an interesting point.”
I nodded vigorously.
“But there should only be one correct answer.”
I shrugged.
“We inhabit a less than ideal world,” I suggested.
“Hm.”
“We could just call it a tie,” I offered. “Nobody wins, nobody loses.”
“I find that esthetically displeasing.”
“It works okay in lots of other games.”
“Also, I’ve grown a bit hungry.”
“The truth surfaces.”
“But I am not unfair. I serve the truth, in my fashion. Your mention of a tie raises the possibility of a solution.”
“Good. I’m glad you see things—’
“That being a tie breaker. Ask me your riddle.”
“This is silly,” I said. “I don’t have any riddles.”
“Then you’d better come up with one fast. Because it’s the only way out of our deadlock—that, or I judge you the loser.”
I swung my arms and did a few deep kneebends. My body felt as if it were afire. It also felt stronger.
“Okay,” I said. “Okay. Just a second.”
What the hell . . .
“What’s green and red and goes round and round and round?”
The sphinx blinked twice, then furrowed its brow. I used the time that followed for some more deep breathing and some running in place. The fires subsided; my head grew clearer, my pulse steadied . . .
“Well?” I said some minutes later.
“I’m thinking.”
“Take your time.”
I did a little shadowboxing. Did some isometrics, too. The sky had darkened a bit more and a few stars were now visible off to my right.
“Uh, I hate to rush you,” I said, “but—”
The sphinx snorted. “I’m still thinking.”
“Maybe we should set a time limit.”
“It shouldn’t be much longer.”
“Mind if I rest?”
“Go ahead.”
I stretched out on the sand and closed my eyes, muttering a guard word to Frakir before I slept.
I woke with a shiver, light in my eyes and a breeze upon my face. It took me several moments to realize that it was morning. The sky was brightening to my left; stars were fading to my right. I was thirsty. Hungry, too.
I rubbed my eyes. I got to my feet. I located my comb and ran it through my hair. I regarded the sphinx.
“ . . . and goes round and round and round,” it muttered.
I cleared my throat. No reaction. The beast was staring past me. I wondered whether I might simply be able to slip off . . .
No. The gaze shifted to me.
“Good morning,” I said cheerfully. There was a brief gnashing of teeth.
“All right,” I said, “you’ve taken a lot longer than I did. If you haven’t got it by now I don’t care to play any longer.”
“I don’t like your riddle,” it said at last.
“Sorry.”
“What is the answer?”
“You’re giving up?”
“I must: What is the answer?” I raised a hand.
“Hold on,” I said. “These things should be done in proper order. I should have the preferred answer to yours before I tell you mine.”
It nodded.
“There is some justice in that. All right—the Keep of the Four Worlds.”
“What?”
“That is the answer. Th
e Keep of the Four Worlds.”
I thought of Melman’s words: “Why?” I asked.
“It lies at the crossroads of the worlds of the four elements, where it rises from the earth in flames, assailed by the winds and waters.”
“What about the business of overseeing all things?”
“It could refer to the view, or to its master’s imperialistic designs.
Or both.”
“Who is its master?”
“I don’t know. That information is not essential to the answer.”
“Where’d you pick up this riddle, anyhow?”
“From a traveler, a few months back.”
“Why’d you choose this one, of all the riddles you must know, to ask me?”
“It stopped me, so it had to be good.”
“What became of the traveler?”
“He went on his way, uneaten. He’d answered my riddle.”
“He had a name?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
“Describe him, please.”
“I can’t. He was well muffled.”
“And he said nothing more about the Keep of the Four Worlds?”
“No.”
“Well,” I said. “I believe I’ll follow his example and take a walk myself.”
I turned and faced the slope to my right.
“Wait!”
“What?” I asked.
“Your riddle,” it stated. “I’ve given you the answer to mine. You must now tell me what it is that is green and red and goes round and round and round.”
I glanced downward, scanned the ground. Oh, yes, there it was—my dumbbell-shaped stone. I took several steps and stood beside it.
“A frog in a Cuisinart,” I said.
“What?”
Its shoulder muscles bunched, its eyes narrowed and its many teeth became very apparent. I spoke a few words to Frakir and felt her stir as I squatted and caught hold of the stone with my right hand.
“That’s it,” I said, rising. “It’s one of those visual things—”
“That’s a rotten riddle!” the sphinx announced.
With my left index finger I made two quick movements in the air before me.
“What are you doing?” it asked.
“Drawing lines from your ears to your eyes,” I said. Frakir became visible at about that moment, sliding from my left wrist to my hand, twining among my fingers. The sphinx’s eyes darted in that direction. I raised the stone level with my right shoulder. One end of Frakir fell free and hung writhing from my extended hand. She began to brighten, then glowed like a hot silver wire.
“I believe the contest is a draw,” I stated. “What do you think?”
The sphinx licked its lips.
“Yes,” it finally said, sighing. “I suppose you are right.”
“Then I will bid you good day,” I said.
“Yes. Pity. Very well. Good day. But before you go may I have your name—for the record?”
“Why not?” I said. “I am Merlin, of Chaos.”
“Ah,” it said, “then someone would have come to avenge you.”
“It’s possible.”
“Then a draw is indeed best. Go.”
I backed farther off before turning and proceeding up the slope to my right. I remained on guard until I was out of that place, but there was no pursuit.
I began jogging. I was thirsty and hungry, but I wasn’t likely to turn up breakfast in this desolate, rocky place under a lemon sky. Frakir recoiled and faded. I began drawing deep breaths as I headed away from the risen sun.
Wind in my hair; dust in my eyes . . . I bore toward a cluster of boulders, passed among them. Seen from amid their shadows the sky grew greenish above me. Emerging, I came upon a softer plain, glitters in the distance, a few clouds rising to my left.
I maintained a steady pace, reaching a small rise, mounting it, descending its farther side where sparse grasses waved. A grove of mop-topped trees in the distance . . . I headed for them, startling a small orange-furred creature that sprang across my path and tore away to the left. Moments later, a dark bird flashed by, uttering a wailing note, headed in the same direction. I ran on, and the sky continued to darken.
Green the sky and thicker the grasses, green the grasses, too . . . Heavy gusts of wind at irregular intervals . . . Nearer the trees . . . A singing sound emerges from their branches . . . The clouds sweep onward . . .
A tightness goes out of my muscles and a familiar fluidity enters . . . I pass the first tree, treading upon long, fallen leaves . . . I pass among hairy-barked boles . . . The way I follow is hard-packed, becomes a trail, strange foot marks cast within it . . . It drops, curves, widens, narrows again . . . The ground rises at either hand . . . the trees sound bass viol notes . . . Patches of sky amid the leaves are the color of Morinci turquoise . . . Streamers of cloud snake forward like silver rivers . . . Small clusters of blue flowers appear on the trail walls . . . The walls rise higher, passing above my head . . . The way grows rocky . . . I run on . . .
My path widens, widens, descending steadily . . . Even before I see or hear it, I smell the water . . . Carefully now, among the stones . . . A bit slower here . . . I turn and see the stream, high, rocky banks at either hand, a meter or two of shoreline before the rise . . .
Slower still, beside the gurgling, sparkling flow . . . To follow its meandering . . . Bends, curves, trees high overhead, exposed roots in the wall to my right, gray and yellow talus-fall along the flaky base . . .
My shelf widens, the walls lower . . . More sand and fewer rocks beneath my feet . . . Lowering, lowering . . . Head-height, shoulder-height . . . Another bending of the way, slope descending . . . Waist high . . . Green-leafed trees all about me, blue sky overhead, off to the right a hard-packed trail . . . I mount the slope, I follow it . . .
Trees and shrubs, bird notes and cool breeze . . . I suck the air, I lengthen my stride . . . I cross a wooden bridge, footfalls echoing, creek flowing to the now-masked stream, moss-grown boulders beside its cool . . . Low stone wall to my right now . . . Wagon ruts ahead. .
Wildflowers at either hand . . . A sound of distant laughter, echoing . . . The neigh of a horse . . . Creak of a cart . . . Turn left . . . Widening of the way . . . Shadow and sunlight, shadow and sunlight . . . Dapple, dapple . . . River to the left, wider now, sparkling . . . Haze of smoke above the next hill . . .
I slow as I near the summit. I reach it walking, dusting my garments, brushing my hair into place, limbs tingling, lungs pumping, bands of perspiration cooling me. I spit grit. Below me and to the right lies a country inn; some tables on its wide, rough-hewn porch, facing the river, a few in a garden nearby Bye-bye, present tense. I am arrived.
I walked on down and located a pump at the far side of the building, where I washed my face, hands and arms, my left forearm still sore and slightly inflamed where Jasra had attacked me. I made my way to the porch then and took a small table, after waving to a serving woman I saw within. After a time, she brought me porridge and sausages and eggs and bread and butter and strawberry preserves and tea. I finished it all quickly and ordered another round of the same. The second time through a feeling of returning normalcy occurred, and I slowed and enjoyed it and watched the river go by.
It was a strange way to wind up the job. I had been looking forward to some leisurely travel, to a long lazy vacation, now my work had been done. The small matter of S had been all that stood in my way—a thing I had been certain I could settle quickly. Now I was in the middle of something I did not understand, something dangerous and bizarre. Sipping my tea and feeling the day warm about me, I could be lulled into a momentary sense of peace. But I knew it for a fleeting thing. There could be no true rest, no safety for me, until this matter was settled. Looking back over events, I saw that I could no longer trust my reactions alone for my deliverance, for a resolution of this affair. It was time to formulate a plan.
The identity of S and S’s removal were high on my list of things that neede
d knowing and doing. Higher still was the determination of S’s motive. My notion that I was dealing with a simple-minded psycho had dissolved. S was too well organized and possessed some very unusual abilities. I began searching my past for possible candidates. But though I could think of quite a few capable of managing what had occurred thus far, none of these were particularly ill-disposed toward me. However, Amber had been mentioned in that strange diary of Melman’s. Theoretically, this made the whole thing a family matter and I suppose put me under some obligation to call it to the attention of the others. But to do so would be like asking for help, giving up, saying that I couldn’t manage my own affairs. And threats on my life were my own affair. Julia was my affair. The vengeance on this one was to be mine. I had to think about it some more . . .
Ghostwheel?
I mulled it over, dismissed it, thought about it again. Ghostwheel . . . No. Untried. Still developing. The only reason it had occurred to me at all was because it was my pet, my major accomplishment in life, my surprise for the others. I was just looking for an easy way out. I would need a lot more data to submit, which meant I had to go after it, of course.
Ghostwheel . . .
Right now I needed more information. I had the cards and the diary. I didn’t want to fool with the Trumps any more at this point, since the first one had seemed something of a trap. I would go through the diary soon, though my initial impression had been that it was too subjective to be of much help. I ought to go back to Melman’s for a final look around, though, in case there was anything I had missed. Then I ought to look up Luke and see whether he could tell me anything more—even some small remark—that might be of value. Yes . . .
I sighed and stretched. I watched the river a little longer and finished my tea. I ran Frakir over a fistful of money and selected sufficient transformed coinage to pay for my meal. Then I returned to the road. Time to run on back.
Chapter 5
I came jogging up the street in the light of late afternoon and halted when I was abreast of my car. I’d almost failed to recognize it. It was covered with dust, ashes, and water stains. How long had I been away, anyhow? I hadn’t tried to reckon the time differential between here and where I’d been, but my car looked as if it had been standing exposed for over a month. It seemed intact, though. It had not been vandalized and—
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