Horrors of the Dancing Gods

by Jack L. Chalker

  Boquillas was obviously having an enormously good time and was in no hurry at all. Not that they could do anything about it. Still, he was itching to demonstrate his total power over them and understood that anticipation was often torture of the worst kind.

  He suddenly threw out his left hand toward Larae, and bolts of pure energy so strong that they seemed almost solid struck her. Irving cried out but could do nothing.

  One by one the layers of spell upon her were neutralized, vaporized, until only Lothar's key spell was left, the one that had made her not a woman. Now, without radically changing her body and by sheer force of will, making up and implementing the complex magical equations in his head as if they were a child's arithmetic, he refashioned her, tweaked her, emphasized every feminine line, move, and curve, exaggerated the form in much the same way Marge's was exaggerated, and then actually enlarged the male genitalia at the same level of exaggeration. The result was obscene, a photo composite, of the ultimate woman and one major flaw.

  "There! There is your girlfriend, boy, for as long as I choose her to be that way, and that may be until tomorrow or until Armageddon! Behaviorally the dream sex object, crazy about the boys, unable even to be turned on by a woman, yet like that, naked, displayed to the world, and on the make. Let us call it perfecting an imaginative concept." He turned back to Irving, whose expression of hatred was unbelievable, and bathed in it.

  "All right, boy, it is your turn!" The clawed hand came out again, and Irving felt all the leather vanish, and every thing else as well, save the sword blade itself, which clanged to the ground.

  "Come, altar boy!" Boquillas chuckled. "Approach now and lie down here on your back next to Daddy. Yes, that's right. Ah!"

  Helpless, terrified, and close enough to the creature to smell its bad breath without being able to do a single thing, Irving lay there, naked and stretched out, watching as his father's nymph face.and torso turned toward him, sword in hand.

  The blade! He couldn't dissolve the blade!

  It was iron alloy! The Rules still applied! But was there any iron in his father's sword? His father was the only faerie other than dwarves who could touch or handle it. If the double intention was to make her a guardian of the McGuffin, as seemed likely, then at least one of the swords had to be iron or contain it.

  The nymph, the pain and torture showing, on her face and tears streaming out of her big eyes, reached out to touch and lift Irving's most private parts so they might be cut off. Under such circumstances it might have been tough to concentrate on something else, on influencing Dad instead, but even vague whiffs of incest didn't deter Irving from sheer necessity.

  You love me, Joe. You love me and only me. You would do anything for me. Look at me, Joe. Love me. Love me and protect me from all mutilation and ham. Both of you love me. Both, of you. Love and protect ...

  That most eerie of looks came over Joe's face, and clearly there was only one thought there, one overriding set of emotions ...

  Both Joe's and Alvi's swords plunged into Boquillas' midsection.

  Alvi's swords had no effect, but the sword in Joe's hands erupted in smoke and flames as it entered the entity's flesh, and Boquillas roared in horrible pain.

  For the briefest of moments, as pain removed his concentration and before rage replaced it, they all suddenly felt themselves freed of influence.

  "The spear!" Irving screamed, sitting up and jumping down. "The spear and the short sword! Iron! He's still under the Rules! Iron can kill him!"

  Poquah could do little on that score, nor could Marge, but they both turned and began to work whatever magic they could on the gaping soldiers, who were too stupid and too confused to figure out what to do. This wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't supposed to be able to give a god the hotfoot.

  If iron in fact could harm or kill the monster, then they'd been conned! One by one, without even glancing at each other, they faded quickly back into the woods and vanished.

  Boquillas grimaced in pain, but the roaring subsided, and with a mighty effort of will he reached down and grabbed the sword and pulled it out of his groin, leaving a gaping, ugly scar that was still smoking.

  At that moment, Larae cried, "Irving!" He turned, and she tossed him the dagger. He whirled and threw it right into the Baron's neck. Boquillas' head snapped back, and he roared again in agony.

  Poquah looked around, spotted the spear where they'd left it just at the edge of the forest, and said to hell with it. The spear itself wasn't iron-coated, anyway, just the tip. He picked it up, turned, and sent it flying straight at the writhing monstrosity.

  It struck Boquillas in the chest and went in deep. He grabbed at it but, still trying to extract the smoking, flaming dagger, broke it off instead. He was clearly in agony.

  He was also, unfortunately, clearly still alive and not mortally wounded, although in tremendous pain.

  And they were fresh out of iron.

  The Baron managed finally to get at the dagger hilt and extract it from his neck, then toss it so high and so far that for all anybody knew, it went into orbit.

  Boquillas still had the spear point in him and it was causing him some real agony, but it wasn't the kind that would finish him, only make him even angrier.

  Blue energy shot from his fingers and struck Irving but suddenly flamed off as the spear tip continued to move inside him and cause further damage every time he repositioned his body to send out more spells.

  "Hey! Irv! Think you know what you could do with a sword with a real steel blade?" called a friendly, familiar, but unexpected voice from just over and behind him. Irving looked up and to his complete astonishment saw Macore standing there holding a huge sword, the kind out of King Arthur. "Watch it! It's heavy as all blazes!" the thief called, and threw it down with all his might.

  Boquillas whirled at the sound of Macore's voice and thundered, "So! Now we are virtually complete! Come, thief! I will give you something to remember me by!"

  "Me first!" Macore shouted back, and tossed a bag of something at the creature that struck one of the huge horns and burst, spreading a powder all over him, including his eyes.

  Macore grinned. "That's one for the professor!" he said cheerily. "Iron filings'll do it every time!"

  Irving picked up the huge sword with both hands and, not stopping to think for a moment, rushed right at the huge creature, slashing as he struck.

  Pieces of entity began flying everywhere. The giant pseudo-satyr roared and lashed out, but he was blinded, in agony, and nearly helpless against the slashing and cutting sword whose blade was the smoothest and sharpest Irving had ever seen.

  "Hey, Joe! Got another not quite as big or fancy!" Macore called, tossing a smaller version to the still-implanted nymph, who caught it and began using it with gusto.

  Macore then sat back on the rock and relaxed, watching the show and giving occasional pointers.

  He didn't have to. All life went out of Esmillio Boquillas as soon as Irving brought him down with cuts to the legs and then severed his neck from his shoulders.

  Chapter 16

  Loose Ends

  At Quest's end the details shall be explained for the benefit and edification of the survivors.

  —Rules, Vol. VIII, p. 404(a)

  "Is he really dead this time?" Marge asked Macore, turning up her nose at the mass of charred and rotting flesh and limbs on the altar.

  "Oh, I'm pretty sure he is," the thief responded. "Of course, you never know about the likes of him or the Sea of Dreams. If enough people start believing in him, he may be impossible to kill completely. On the other hand, what's the difference? You got to figure that he's stuck in the Sea of Dreams, and there's gonna be nobody else there but lots of superpowerful godlike beings all of whom received a bill of goods by him and then got double-crossed. I think if he does survive in some form, he'll quickly be nostalgic for the old lake-of-eternal-fire business. Out of our hair for good, anyway."

  Marge kissed him. "But how in the world did you manage
to turn up here just in the nick of time, and with an iron-based sword?"

  He shrugged. "I was late. What can I say? I got hung up, and everybody started doing things before I figured. Next time warn me and I won't oversleep."

  "That's not what I mean! Why and how are you here in the first place?"

  "Oh, I've always been fairly close. I told you I have a lot of contracts and old debts down here. I came across on the same ship you did. Had one hell of a time staying out of sight"

  "Then that was you!" Poquah breathed. "So!"

  Macore nodded. "You're getting to be too much a creature of habit, Poquah. I read you like a book then. In fact, I got so confident, I even decided I could risk briefing Junior there so long as he didn't realize it was me. I spotted the girl in my disguise as a minor demon and figured she'd be a hell of a lot better off with you."

  "That explains it! I thought he was being warned off!" Marge exclaimed.

  "I had to give that impression, but I knew no son of Joe's would leave a pretty damsel in distress. Something in the Rules about that, I think. Besides, I did want you all to know the situation with her before you made your decision." He drew a deep breath and continued.

  "Anyway, after that I was able to stick pretty close for a while, but Ruddygore decided that you were going on the straightforward path and drawing all the attention, see. That let me get here direct while you all went off to Castle Rock. Man! That was some show punching you all through! Seeing you come in like a rocket from Hell guarded by its legions was the height of absurdity. Damn near split my gut."

  "Very funny, We were walking into this bastard's trap, and you were laughing," Marge grumped.

  "Awwww . . . It's not all that bad. I figured, he, wasn't out to kill you. He coulda done that anytime, and he was clearly out for revenge instead. So long as you were alive, we could always fix what was wrong later."

  "Fix! What ...?"

  "The McGuffin, of course. I stole it maybe four, five days ago. Those two never even knew. Neither did Boquillas. I'll tell you how I did it sometime, if I don't write my memoirs. Damn! I'm still good!"

  "You stole the McGuffin three days before we got here?" Even Irving was appalled. "And we did all this for nothing?"

  "Not for nothing, certainly. I wish I coulda been here early enough to have seen old Joel's face when he found out I'd switched birds, though." He dropped the smile and got serious. "Look, it's more complicated than you think. The McGuffin has great power, but it has really strong limits. You can feel that evil vortex yet, can't you? Ruddygore still hasn't completely got it closed. It's kind of nasty, since everything you do with it also has all sorts of other consequences. It has a kind of ruthless logic to it."

  "But he'll get it closed, right?"

  "Sure he will. And he'll get us out of here, too. He got me back here with the swords and all sorts of stuff." He paused. "Look, we also wanted Boquillas, which is trickier than you might expect. You can't kill with that thing, for one example., So, dealing with the Baron, maybe once and for all, was a priority. Second was Joe and her friend. Without Boquillas out of the way, we couldn't get 'em completely out of the Baron's clutches, I told you, it's complicated, but it'll work out."

  "So what do we do until he does work it out? We're still surrounded by a nasty enemy throughout this forest, we've got virtually no supplies, and there's little left to protect us. Not to mention that both Joe and his friend there are gonna give us little Boquillases any time now."

  Macore shrugged. "I only take orders. But I know we'll be protected if we stick around here, and I have some supplies for a couple of days. Maybe we can just start renewing a few old ties, huh? Ruddygore's not gonna leave us in the lurch. Not now."

  A lot of sorcery and spells had flown around in those minutes, particularly the last ones, as they discovered when they all tried to relax and get their bearings during the day and evening that followed. The worst thing in fact was keeping Macore from telling or, worse, singing the entire saga of Gilligan's Island to them.

  Irving found that his power, his spells, seemed to have vanished completely. He was certain that something else had changed about him, even though the others couldn't see anything and he couldn't put his finger on it. There had been an initial blast from Boquillas, and it had certainly done something.

  Larae had been changed the most, although again it had only exaggerated what was already there. She really couldn't figure out what she was going to do now. "In effect, I am a halfling, like her, now," she noted, pointing to Alvi. "The thing is, I don't really mind it, not anymore. I talked to her a little, and she had gotten to that same point, what with playacting for a long time, then getting sick of pretending and just being whatever she was. I am tired of it, too. It is just—God! I am getting turned on, and this time I can really feel it! That is my tragedy, Irving, in the end. I am in love with you. Very much so. Enough so that I can understand why you cannot feel the same about me."

  He sighed. "When I watched you go after that idol, to risk that much, swing out, hanging by your feet, and snag that thing, couldn't begin to tell you what I felt. Truth is, I do love you, but it's got to be what they call star-crossed lovers. I want you, but I need Marge—or, rather, what Marge used to be. I don't think she'd be real good for me anymore as she is. If you can get by that, I can get by the rest. Deal?"

  "Deal. But I am not going to pretend anymore to be what I am not. Whatever I am, I am."

  He sighed. "Well, maybe Ruddygore can straighten it out"

  "What about your dad?"

  "That's a lot harder for either of us to get by," Irving admitted. "I think I want old Santa Claus around before I deal with it too much."

  Marge was catching up on things with Joe.

  "They caught us very near this spot," Joe told her. "We'd come through some really mean spots and gotten out of some desperate times, particularly running low on food, water, and anything to buy, but we made it, or so we thought. Did it the hard way, vamping a little, doing a few odd jobs making some sick plants well, that kind of thing. But once here, boom! Right into Boquillas, who was so beside himself, it was pitiful. He told me what he was going to do, how he was going to lure you all here, all the stuff.

  And then he changed us to what you see, literally half plants, rooted us, and raped us both repeatedly while leaving us on guard with compulsions to stop anybody from trying anything. We completely lost track of everything, I have to tell you. I don't know how long we've been here or anything else." She looked at Marge. "You haven't stayed a good girl, either, I see."

  "Nope. And I don't know if it's the condition or what, but I don't care. That's the amazing part. I really don't mind. Until this last business I've had more fun like this than I ever had as a Kauri."

  "But you seduce and enslave men and eventually consume their souls."

  She shrugged. "Well, there's a downside to everything, I guess. The thing is, there's a ton of bums out there who deserve it. You know. Believe me, you know. Most any native on this continent is fair game, and a fair number elsewhere. The difference between me and a born Succubus is that I came from somewhere and something else, and I remember it. I liked the Kauri well enough, but they were so one-dimensional, so goody two-shoes, their lives so regimented and controlled, I was losing myself, my identity. This brought if back. I've got to tell you, I need it and if I don't control it, I'll flip out and take it, so that's something I got to watch out for, but so long as I get my priorities and targets straight, I think I can handle this and not hurt anybody who doesn't deserve hurting. The vampire who only sucks blood from the bad guys, that kind of thing. I'm not on automatic like the others, so what happens from this point's on my account."

  "I hope you can handle it as easily as you say," Joe told her.

  "What about you? What will you do when you get uprooted?"

  Joe sighed. "I don't know. I see Irving, and I want, to be Conan the Barbarian all over again. Poor kid—he's got worse shit than I ever dreamed. His girlfriend's a g
uy, and his daddy's a woman. How the hell has he turned out as good as he has?"

  Marge nodded. "Sure would make a great Donahue."

  ****

  It was suddenly different. The change was so dramatic that it woke several of them up, yet there wasn't anything obvious that had changed. No great sounds had been shut off, no brilliant flares had illuminated them, no eruptions or fires. But ... something.

  "The vortex is gone," Poquah said at last. "They have closed it down and sealed it off."

  "Yeah, and look!" Irving said, pointing to the old altar stone. "No remains!"

  It was true. Every last chunk of the final stage of Esmilio Boquillas had gone as well.

  Still, it was Marge who summed up the situation. "What a strange, strange adventure this has been! And now, at the end of it, evil has triumphed over evil! Ain't that one for the Book of Rules!"

  A few hours later, emerging from the woods on a great sedan chair borne by four huge stonelike creatures, came Throckmorton P. Ruddygore in full evening dress, top hat, spats, and cane.