by David Grace
"What do you mean, 'those such as us'?" Chom asked calmly.
"Men's evil desires, we have found, are cleansed by the transmutation. No longer does greed or lust burden them, nor are those like ourselves able to thirst for power. In this way we cleanse all of those who pass through our meadow."
"Surely you cleanse only those who need cleansing," Grantin replied. "We are both fine fellows, Chom and myself. He is a Fanist on his trip of life, a harmless, warmhearted creature. I am but a poor Hartford who has been abandoned in this evil country. We have no need of cleansing."
"A moment ago you proclaimed yourselves to be great and powerful wizards. Obviously you are a perverted Hartford who is on his way to join the death-worshipers. Your companion is a stranger story yet. We suspect that he is a renegade who has fled his tribe and hopes to sell his secrets to the lords of Cicero."
"No, no, you are wrong!" But as Grantin spoke the tentacle began to move once again.
"Hold for a minute longer and hear me," Chom said calmly. "This human is cursed. He has foiled some Gogol plan, diverted the ring he wears from the possession of a great wizard who would use it for evil. He would destroy the ring, but he cannot remove it without the help of her who gave it to him. This person lives in Cicero. We go there to somehow obtain her aid."
"And you, Fanist, why do you travel with this human on such a strange mission?"
"It is my trip of life. I am so charged by our elders. Further, it is my wish to help this human who has saved my life. If you end our journey here it will be a great tragedy for my community."
Again the tentacle hesitated, then went limp as the trees communed among themselves. At last the leader spoke again.
"My name in human life was Hans. Though I am not convinced that you tell the truth--in fact, it has been our experience that the more evil the person, the more ingenious the lie--we will give you a chance to prove what you say. Behind each of you are the materials for your test. If you turn you will see four young birds taken by us fresh from their nest. You both will put one in each hand, the Fanist leaving two hands empty and clasped behind his back."
Grantin and Chom took the seedbirds as directed. The chicks trilled merrily. Their bodies were covered with tiny, soft yellow-brown feathers. Short, pointed, lemon-yellow beaks protruded from their tiny oval heads. In each of his hands Grantin's chicks hopped joyfully and twisted around to look at him with curious eyes. In his pleasure at their warmth and softness Grantin almost forgot Hans's brooding stare.
"Now do as I direct if you wish to save your lives. We, too, have our spells, and each of these birds has been given an enchantment of prevarication. Only someone who tells the truth will have the strength to breach the spell. A liar is impotent against this incantation. Do you, each of you, swear that the explanations that you have given us are true?"
"I do," Grantin and Chom replied at once.
"Very well. Each of you must squeeze your hands as hard as you are able. If you can crush the chicks, you are telling the truth. If you cannot, you are lying and must be planted."
Catching his eye, the little birds chirped happily at Grantin. He looked back at Hans and opened his mouth to speak, then, realizing the futility of further pleading, clamped it shut. He looked away and began to close his fingers. As he grasped the soft, furry bodies more firmly he became even more distressed and shut his eyes. In the darkness the chirping grew louder. He felt more intensely the vital movements of the fragile bodies in his palms.
Grantin's right fist was almost closed. The imprisoned chick squawked with alarm and thrashed against his fingers. With a cry Grantin opened both his fists. The birds hopped around his palms in a merry little dance. Carefully Grantin lowered them to the ground, where they played amid the stalks of the short, soft grass. With a sudden premonition of horror Grantin turned to Chom and saw that his hands were empty. At the Fanist's feet his chicks also hopped free. The native's upper set of arms now reached to clasp his forehead near the point where the blue jewel lay beneath his skin. Grantin and Chom stood back to back, facing outward, ready to employ their powerstones in a fight to the death.
"We refuse to play your sadistic game!" Grantin shouted. "Do your worst!"
The crowns of the life trees began to rustle. Slowly roots withdrew and the trees began to move. Grantin and Chom stood their ground but were astonished to see that the trees moved not toward them but away.
"You are telling the truth," Hans declared. "No decent being would have killed the innocents. You may go in peace, but with this warning. Nearby there are evil men who stalk you. Ahead the trail is easy until you reach the edge of forest. There you will pass through the Weirdlands. If those who follow you plan an attack, that is where it will occur. Be on your guard. Farewell and good luck."
The tree backed off slowly to stand still and silent beside another tree, slightly smaller but equally old. There in Pyra's rich early-morning light the crowns of the two trees of life touched and entwined and slipped back into the somnolent peace of the deep forest.
Grantin and Chom walked a quarter mile to the westward trail. As they moved off and the small meadow slipped from view the former human Hans and the former human Ruda relaxed in the serene contentment of their life together.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
At the main entrance to the Inquisitor's chambers Mara turned to her left toward Hazar's apartments. Above, Dolos was visible as a small pink disk spinning across the sky. The other moon, Minos, was hidden by the high narrow walls which bounded the Second Circle. Around Mara the walls pressed tighter and seemed to become even more confining. What would it be like, she wondered, to be freed from bondage to Hazar and Zaco and the rest, to move from place to place unfettered, to make a life for herself instead of giving unending service to her overlords? But Hazar and Zaco would never let her go.
Go? Go where? What was she thinking about? It was all ridiculous. Mara tried to remember when her thoughts of escape had first manifested themselves. Had she caught some strange disease in the Hartford lands? Could one of those bucolic imbeciles have cast a spell on her without her knowledge? Nonsense, and besides, how could she escape? Would Hazar allow her to travel across the Guardian Mountains? Not likely. Zaco? Impossible. She knew no other lords, except, except . . . Did she dare get embroiled with Nefra's scheme?
This was all silly, ridiculous. Mara didn't know what had come over her. What was she thinking about? Tomorrow her thoughts of defection would appear ridiculous. Tomorrow? What awaited her in the coming days and years? What reward had she ever received for her services? Every day she teetered only one footfall from banishment to the guards' pleasure houses. With a start Mara halted and placed her hands against the cold stone walls. Were these not the walls of her prison? She looked around her. On all sides she saw only confined space.
With sudden loathing Mara backed away from the wall and hurried down the First Circle. As she neared her apartment she found herself thinking about an Ajaj in Hazar's service, one twisted and bent. She began to wonder how she could unobtrusively contact the Gray known as Buster.
Chapter Thirty
In spite of Castor's unsuitability to kitchen work. Buster took a liking to him and smoothed his way whenever he could. He often took Castor out on errands, real or imagined. Usually these took the form of trips to Topor's market. Along the way Buster would lecture the young Gray on the history, politics, and geography of Cicero. Castor didn't quite know what to make of this behavior. Although he could tell that the older Gray sincerely liked him, he suspected an ulterior motive.
On the third day in the kitchen Buster made a request which strengthened Castor's suspicions. They appeared at Topor's market as usual and picked up a load of haze-stalk and poundfruit. All went normally: Castor loaded the hazestalk into his knapsack while Buster carried the melons. Once out the door, however. Buster began to act strangely. Instead of leaving the Central Plaza by the Eleventh or Twelfth Spoke Road, Buster herded Castor through the Fifteenth Road. Once into t
he Third Circle he began to act even more peculiarly. He ordered Castor to halt by the wall and await his return. Castor reckoned that almost half an hour had gone by before Buster returned, sweaty and obviously feeling the pain in his leg but somehow strangely excited.
In spite of Castor's inquiries, Buster would offer no explanation for his conduct other than to hint dramatically that sometime in the near future he might be willing to take Castor into his confidence. That evening, after the dinner dishes had been cleaned and the kitchen put to rights, Castor and the other Grays left a nervous and excited Buster.
Castor's fifth day in the kitchen began as had each of the previous ones. All proceeded quite normally until the end of the second staff-level luncheon. At the conclusion of the meal--pickled water leeks, toasted zaff marrow, shredded salad-tree leaves, and red sausages boiled in water and beer--a young enchantress in Hazar's employ approached the refectory counter.
"Who's in charge of preparing this wretched salad?" she demanded, waving the bowl under Cockle's nose. "Was it you, or was it one of these filthy Grays?" she asked the startled overseer.
"Me? No. It was one of the Grays, of course. What is the problem, madam? If they've done anything wrong I'll flay the fur from their backs."
"Are you intoxicated?" Mara asked the frightened Cockle.
"Intoxicated? Me? Why, madam, no, of course ...."
"Never mind. I'll handle this myself. You, was it you who made the salad?" Mara asked, pointing at one of the Ajaj. "Perhaps it was you. You look guilty to me. You, old one," she said, pointing at Buster. "Are you responsible for this outrage?"
Buster limped forward slowly and peeked over the edge of Mara's outstretched bowl. There slowly inching its way across one of the oil-covered leaves was a bright green worm.
"Yes, my lady. Don't blame the others. I'm the one responsible. Master Cockle had nothing to do with it."
"There, you see, madam, it was the old crippled one who did it. Rest assured I'll punish him well for this. You leave it to me."
"Leave it to you! You can barely stand up without holding on to something. I'll handle this myself--unless of course you prefer that I report to Lord Hazar directly?"
"Oh, no, madam, that's not necessary. Take the old fool and do with him what you will--although I would appreciate it if you would return him in sufficient health to work for his dinner."
"Don't tell me how to handle a Gray. Obviously you coddle these Ajaj outrageously. I have a few chores in mind and a method of punishment all my own, so you keep your prying eyes away from my powers."
"Yes, madam, of course, madam. Take him and do as you please."
Mara stalked out of the refectory and imperiously waved Buster to follow her. Castor stared after Buster's limping frame. Cockle startled Castor from his reverie with a kick in the rump.
"Back to work, you lazy, good-for-nothing beast. You've got to clean all of this up and start dinner. Back to work, back to work."
The crew was now shorthanded. Cockle, being forced to run his own kitchen for a change, was denied the soothing pleasures of wine and illusion plant and so became more disagreeable than usual. For the next three hours Castor was kept too busy to worry about Buster's fate. Finally, at half past the eighth hour, the old Gray limped down the steps. He panted loudly, and his legs were obviously sore from great exertion. Cockle greeted him with a buffet to the backside and an order to take over the preparation of the evening meal. With a satisfied grunt. Cockle hoisted himself on his stool and gulped down a hearty cup of wine.
As unobtrusively as possible Castor worked his way over to where Buster directed the kitchen helpers' labors. When the other Ajaj had been sent out upon their tasks he tried to speak to him without success. Instead the Gray began to give him new orders.
"The scraps must be taken out. In my absence this place has become an absolute mess. You, Castor, you look to be the strongest of the lot. Clean all those leavings into the buckets and carry them out to the receptacle. What's the matter? Why are you standing there? Don't you know where the container is?"
Castor stood mute, too surprised by the command to speak.
"Well, if you don't know, it's about time you learned. Come on, now. Clean those up. Fill the buckets. I'll take you outside and show you."
Castor gathered up a supply of peelings, scraps, pan scrapings, grease, and the like. Buster in the lead, they trudged up the steps and into the alley alongside the kitchen. As the young Ajaj overturned the buckets into the bin Buster looked suspiciously this way and that. When he was sure that no others were nearby he whispered into Castor's ear: "Did you mean what you said before about fighting back?"
"Yes, of course I did."
"Are you willing to do something to help? Do you have the courage to take the risk, perhaps even be killed without achieving your purpose?"
"If there is a good chance of doing the Gogols some harm I'm for it."
"Very well, I must trust you. If you are a spy or a traitor to our people I am already dead. So be it. Lord Nefra and Lord Hazar are at odds, this I have already told you, but there is more. Hazar's enchantress Mara, the woman who accosted me this afternoon, has beguiled Lord Zaco into delivering to Hazar fifty bloodstones."
"What are--"
"Quiet! Empty the garbage and don't talk. The bloodstone is the human equivalent of our source gems. They are of great power. Zaco obtains them from a mine in the mountains west of the headwaters of the Mephisto River. With these gems Hazar and his allies will be invincible. First they will sweep across the Guardian Mountains. In league with traitors in the Hartford midst they will destroy the Hartford wizards and establish their own sycophants in control of the human lands. Next Hazar will return in triumph and overwhelm all the Gogol empire with his powers. If he succeeds he will be the supreme ruler of this world. Zaco is a senile old fool and, beguiled as he is by Mara, he does not understand the significance of the stones Hazar has ordered.
"The other lords know something of Hazar's plans but except for Nefra are too weak, too indebted to Hazar, or too allied with him in the project to oppose his plans. Nefra is not so foolish. He realizes that Hazar's success means his own failure. Nefra has a plan involving Mara and myself and such other Gray conspirators as I may locate -- a scheme which might topple Hazar before his attack can begin."
"You want me to help Nefra the Cruel? He is as bad as Hazar, if not worse."
"If we do nothing, Hazar wins and conquers the world. If we help Nefra, Hazar loses and life goes on as before. I count that as a victory for our people. We must return now. Tell me quickly, will you help?"
Castor hesitated a fraction of a second. "What must I do?"
"I am to prepare a special meal for Hazar. His tasters will find nothing. His spells will reveal no poison, at first. After he has begun to eat, the proper incantation will effect change as the food lies in his stomach. Shortly thereafter--death!"
"He will never let us get close enough to cast such a spell," Castor whispered as they approached the scullery door.
"We Grays, no, but Lady Mara, perhaps. As soon as possible I will send you out beyond the tumbles to hunt for herbs, the special plants which I need to brew the poison."
"Do you think she will actually do it, against one of her own?" Castor whispered as he slid open the scullery door.
"That is the question, but there's no point in wondering. In a few days we'll know for sure."
Chapter Thirty-One
Mile after mile Grantin and Chom trudged through the depths of Grenitch Wood. At the end of the second day they camped at the base of an immense ironwood tree, some two thirds of the way through the forest. The next morning they would break from the wood's western edge and enter the Weirdlands, an area about which Grantin's stolen map gave only the sketchiest information.
That night they slept uneasily and, mindful of Hans's warning, started nervously at the sounds of nearby beasts and birds. As soon as Pyra had risen high enough to penetrate the forest canopy, Grantin and Chom a
rose and took up a fast pace which they hoped would bring them through the Weirdlands by sundown. The exertion of the previous days had toughened Grantin. This morning he noticed that the aches and pains which previously had plagued him now seemed to be dissipating. For the first time he did not have to strain to keep up with Chom.
By lunchtime the forest had begun to thin. The terrain became more uneven, often displaying alternately ridges, then deep-cut gullies. It was clear that the land was becoming more rocky, less fertile. Small crumbling cliffs appeared, the edges of the formations displaying bright orange shale. The sun passed over the travelers' heads and, as they neared the edge of the forest, began to slant into their eyes.
"Chom, are you sure you've never heard any rumors about the Weirdlands?"
"None at all. All I know is what you read from Shenar' s map."
"The map! A mess of hen scratchings and obscure names: the Twisted Reef, Shrinking Monster Gulch, Domino Grove, Mirror Scarp--what's all that supposed to mean?"
Sensing that the question was rhetorical, Chom made no reply other than to slightly accelerate their pace. Near the sixth hour the trail descended into a gorge where it paralleled a shallow, swift-running stream. The walls on either side were composed of red sand and shale. The stream exuded a sulfurous mineral smell. Ahead the course bore first to the right, then the left, then, as it turned right again, the walls fell away to reveal a peculiar vista.
Water tumbled over a small falls fifteen feet in height at the base of which was a wide brown basalt pan. From there the stream meandered aimlessly in a hundred random channels to a stony meadow where its course was lost from sight.
To the left of the rocky plain began a field of boulders and shattered stone. Beyond the meadow the ground heaved and turned into a field of grotesque shapes. Grantin and Chom descended to the base of the waterfall across the rock ledge and meadow, there to halt in wonder at the eerie landscape beyond.
