by Dave Duncan
"We might hazard further discourse," I said, "provided we keep our voices low. It is your turn now. What is the tale of Thorian?"
There was a pause, and then a sigh that seemed to last for several minutes, the product of an unusual lung capacity. "Alas! It is nothing. The tale of Thorian will compare with yours as the mud of the paddy field below the glory of the lotus. Not only has my brief existence been totally bereft of incident, but I lack your felicity of phrase and facility of pharynx. You come from far and exotic lands, overflowing with wonders. You have viewed the deeds of heroes and the wrath of gods. Besides your peacock splendor I am the maggot in the filth of the chicken run."
"That is an inspiring opening!" I declared, impressed. "Pray proceed."
"So kind! My exact age is uncertain, but my mother has told me often that I was born a year or two after the Great Eclipse that was in Thang—sometimes she says one and sometimes the other. I am therefore twenty-three or twenty-four, as I reckoned last."
He fell silent for a space and then said, "Better make that twenty-four or twenty-five."
"Your dedication to absolute accuracy is commendable."
"It is a peccadillo of mine. I was named, of course, for the Thorian who is worshipped as god of truth down in Pulst—a minor deity, to be sure, but perhaps worthy of wider observance. On the sixteenth anniversary of my naming day I swore to be deserving of his patronage and, with excess of juvenile fervor, covenanted to strike a tooth from my mouth for every false word that I might thenceforth utter. The light is poor in here, but if you wish to run a finger—"
I assured him that I had already observed the excellence of his dentition.
"Very well. I was born in a small town not three days' journey from here."
I refrained from commenting upon his Polrainian accent, which was quite marked.
"Sessmarsh is its name. It is a humble place, whose walls are of turf and sun-dried brick. Its protector, Urckl, is a kindly god, but so old and enfeebled that he could not put peas straight in a pod, as they say. In cold fact, Sessmarsh is a vassal state to Mighty Zanadon, and remits taxes of gold and youth to the city of Maiana and Balor.
"My father …" His voice broke momentarily—an effect I normally eschew, although he did it well. "This is not easy for me to tell, Omar."
I urged him not to distress himself, as I had no wish to pry into matters he would rather leave covered. Naturally he did not take me at my word.
"But you were so open with your own history that I should be shamed to withhold one eyelash of mine own. Let me leave my father until later. Know that my mother was the fourth of seven sisters. My grandfather, being a man both versed in lore and educated beyond his wit, determined to name all his children after stars. My mother's name was Pulcherrima. My aunts were Aldebaran, Sirius, Polaris, Algol, Betelgeuse, and Alpha Draconis."
"Immaterial detail always adds verisimilitude," I murmured respectfully.
"I noticed that earlier. Poor Aunt Alfie finished my grandmother, who died upon her very naming day. My grandfather followed in due course. Thereafter his seven daughters continued to dwell in the expansive residence he had built in the center of Sessmarsh, earning their livelihood by embroidering kerchiefs and inscribing helpful mottoes on coffee goblets, which they then sold from a window to passersby.
"Their existence was peaceful and solitary, if seven maidens may be collectively described as solitary. They employed no servants, purchased their victuals at the door from street hawkers, and found their own mutual companionship adequate."
"It is a touching picture," I said, "and fraught with potential for romantic intrusion. They were all beautiful, of course?"
"Not especially. Polly had buck teeth and Sirius was cursed with a heavy mustache."
"Oh? If you will pardon a minor comment from an old hand, I feel you would be wise to play down that point in future tellings. It does little to enhance suspense."
"I am indebted to you for the advice. My father, now. My father was a mere vagabond, a rogue and wastrel. He was—and you will understand my hesitation in mentioning the matter—a vagrant storyteller."
I beamed in the darkness and said nothing.
"One day this glib ne'er-do-well stopped by the window where the ladies sold their crafts and engaged my mother in conversation. Had any of her sisters then been present, I feel sure that the outcome would have been different. As it was, being alone, she was overcome by his blandishments, and invited him to step inside out of the heat and partake of her homemade marshmallow cookies.''
"I have never visited fair Sessmarsh," I said, "although such has long been one of my ambitions."
"I cannot imagine why. As to the incident I was describing," Thorian continued, "I shall not speculate on the details. I do know that my parents' life together was a very happy one, although it could not have lasted for upward of twenty-five minutes. Thirty at the outside."
"It has its romantic aspects."
"Depending on the point of view. My aunts were understanding and did not censure my mother unduly. They did not blame me, either, when I arrived. Indeed, they were all very kind to me, and in my youth I frequently forgot which of the ladies I should address as 'mother' and which as 'aunt.'"
"It must have been an eerie childhood, though."
"Doubtless it seems so to you, who had the advantage of a more cosmopolitan upbringing. Never having known any other, I accepted it as normal. I see now that my diet was overly heavy in starches. At the time I knew no better. I never went outside or played with other children, but the house was roomy, and possessed of a large flat roof, where we slept when the weather was hot. During the day I would sit up there for hours, watching the sleepy life of the little town going by in the streets. I was content."
"How long did this last?" I inquired, awed by the tragedy so casually unfolded.
"I am coming to that. I have mentioned that Sessmarsh pays tribute to the city of Zanadon, and has done so for centuries. The rationale is that it thereby gains protection from other enemies, although one may question what greater hardship such enemies might inflict. The monetary taxes are not onerous, for Zanadon has small need of gold, but the young men of the town are required to serve a portion of their most virile years in the army of the city, and this impost is greatly resented.
"The citizens of Sessmarsh, therefore, conceal their sons from the assessors to the greatest extent possible. When small, boys are commonly dressed as girls, and treated as such. On reaching maturity they are smuggled away to outlying relatives. It is a lamentable deception."
"Heart-rending."
"My mother was therefore merely following local tradition when she dressed me in girls' clothing and taught my to regard myself as female during my formative years. My aunts concurred, of course. Together, they brought me up to believe myself a girl, and to behave in all ways as a member of the gentle sex."
He slurped a mouthful of wine, belched loudly, and continued.
"I was taught needlework and the culinary arts. When a boy should be learning skill with sword and bow, the use of plow and mattock, the ways of pony and ox, I was wielding brooms and dusters. I worked loom and spindle and became proficient upon the dulcimer. Indeed, I believed implicitly that I was female, just a younger version of my mother and her sisters."
"But surely when you reached maturity—"
"Not even then, alas," he said sadly. "My mother and aunts had no rural relatives to whom I could be sent for concealment when the impressment agents came to town. As I never met strangers, the deception continued undetected, least of all by me."
"But when your beard began to—"
"Did I not mention that my Aunt Sirius had a growth of facial hair? I was led to believe that my own was merely a disfigurement of the same nature, only greater. I bathed and slept alone—how could I know that there were other anomalies concealed beneath my petticoat? Even my pectoral development is not insignificant, as you may have noticed. Convinced that I was cursed with a besetting uglin
ess, I soon forbore even to show myself upon the roof. I stayed indoors and spent my days in delicate embroidery and gourmet cooking, knowing no company except that of my mother and my aunts."
He sighed deeply. "How long this might have continued, I hesitate to wonder. I suppose I should be grateful to the Vorkan horde. The flood of refugees sweeping through the Spice Lands ahead of those savages caused great alarm within the gates of Unvanquished Zanadon. The elders decreed an increase in the armed forces. However, instead of sending out their own recruiters as formerly, they assigned quotas of strong youths to each of their tributary towns, and by that trivial change in procedure, they unwittingly disrupted the serene flow of my existence.
"The puppet rulers of Sessmarsh, being required to provide a certain number of mobile young males, were thereby inspired to scour their constituency and root out all the hitherto concealed sons, for it was only then that they could hope to withhold their own offspring. Thus it was they lent ear to certain rumors. Thus it was that municipal officials came to call at our residence."
"It must have been a terrifying awakening for you."
"Oh, I knew nothing of it—I was in the kitchen baking cupcakes at the time. The men were brusquely dispatched by my Aunt Sirius, whose staunch demeanor I have described to you.
"Nevertheless," he continued sadly, "it was evident to my mother and my aunts that the milk was spilled, if you will pardon the colloquialism. That evening my Aunt Betelgeuse, having drawn the short straw, took me to her room and revealed to me certain anatomical distinctions that had hitherto been withheld from my attention. I was shaken then, I admit. I sobbed, for I had been brought up to believe that such was the correct reaction to distress. I sobbed even harder when my aunt explained that the bailiffs would certainly return on the morrow with intent to search the house, and that I must flee, out into a world where I had never set foot …"
I was overcome.
"You mock my shame with laughter, small man?"
"No, no, no!" I cried hastily. "I am chagrined by the pathos of it. The sounds you hear are suppressed tears."
"I apologize for distressing you. But my tale is done. That very night I stitched together some masculine garments, packed myself a small provision of cucumber sandwiches and cupcakes, and departed from my birthplace for the first time in my life."
So deeply moved by this narrative that I could barely keep a tremor from my voice, I inquired tentatively, "How long ago did this occur?"
"Four days since," he said sadly. "The following morning I was accosted by the villainous Corporal Fotius on a pony. Believing that he wished to pass the time of day in amicable discourse, I hailed him cheerily, and was taken completely by surprise when his oaken staff smote me behind the ear. The next thing I knew, I was chained like a beast, as you saw."
"Your outrage is understandable. But you have failed to explain that half-healed scar upon your person. It minds me of the fearful wounds inflicted sometimes by those overlong Vorkan blades—perchance upon an audacious warrior who, having been dismounted and lost his shield, but yet preferring death to surrender, dared to close with a mounted opponent."
"Oh, that?" Thorian laughed. "You must have regarded it very superficially, Friend Omar. No, I left my mother's house by sliding down a drainpipe. I had never practiced such unruly pursuits as a normal boy would have done. In my inexperience and nervous haste, I snagged a nail, and I was scratched. That is all."
"And the arrow wound on your calf?"
"I stepped on a sleeping cat. It bit me."
"Incredible!"
"You doubt my word?"
"No, truly." I reached for the wine jug, but discovered that only lees remained. I assured him that I had rarely heard such a tale, and if he and I left Zanadon alive, then I should be more than happy to take him on as an apprentice. His native talent warmed my heart.
"It was nothing," he protested. "A trivial anecdote of domestic tragedy with no redeeming moral. And while I am deeply moved by your generous offer, and have no wish to slight you or seem ungrateful, I do feel that my future lies along other avenues, where my skills may aid me in shaping a career."
"May I inquire?"
"I thought of seeking employment in domestic service. I have a knack for flower arranging."
"What about Corporal Fotius, then?"
"I mean after I rip out his gizzard, of course."
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7: The Tale of Balor
"Surelywe now can be upon our way?" Thorian said after a long silence.
"Patience! Only when I am sure the city sleeps will I venture out clad in a bronze collar and hope to escape censorious glances."
He chuckled. "In my case, it will be a bronze collar and nothing but a bronze collar, as I lost my cloth somewhere. Your gods will provide, I suppose?"
"They brought me here for a reason, so I expect they will keep me alive; but I may serve their needs just as well in chains. We shall see."
There are worse experiences than being a slave, for masters feed slaves. Begging is another interesting trade, and not stressful unless the police are honest—in my experience beggars usually sleep more soundly than merchants. I have almost starved to death in a royal palace, knowing that any crumb I dared to nibble would probably be poisoned. I have lived like a king in a desert, where my wives could miraculously garner a sufficiency of mouthwatering sustenance from a tract of hot sand.
Escaped slaves, though, are another matter. They come trailing trouble as a wounded antelope brings hyenas. Every door is closed to them, from the palace to the gutter. Some of my experiences as an escaped slave … but I wander from my tale.
The collars were certainly a problem. I had observed no form of dress that concealed the neck. My companion must have been thinking the same thoughts, for he suddenly remarked, "Perchance we should have cut off the collars themselves, not the chains."
"It would have taken us days."
"True. Of course," he added in a satisfied tone, "only the back of mine is visible. Why do you maltreat your beard so? It looks like brown moss."
"It is part of my trade to be a stranger."
He snorted with disgust. "Whence do we go?"
I scratched myself and tried to find a more comfortable position. The confinement was irksome, even if I would not admit it, and must be much worse for Thorian. I did not know the answer to his question. By coming to Zanadon, I had fulfilled all my instructions. Perhaps the next time I slept I would be vouchsafed guidance. "I have arrived penniless in a strange city a thousand times, and never died of it yet. In this case, I think I shall go to the temple."
After a long silence, be growled, "Why the temple?"
"Well," I said in my cheeriest tones, "there can be no question of ever enslaving priests. If we volunteer to enter the priesthood, they will remove our collars for us."
"Your wits are as addled as a butter churn! Did you not observe those flabby, beardless priests at the gates? I know not Maiana herself, but the horned goddess goes by many names. Always the Passionate One demands the ultimate dedication from the men in her service. Before they relieved us of our collars, Trader, they would relieve us of other things more precious."
"I suppose you would especially regret that—having only so recently learned their function."
The carnivore growled in the forest again, and I realized I had strayed beyond the limits of a young man's humor.
"Perhaps that proposal needs more careful consideration,'' I agreed. "But I still am minded to head to the temple."
"Explain!"
"Not so loud. The reason is simple. You know the legend of Balor?"
"Such fables are myriad as the leaves of the forest."
"I need tell you, though. One more story, and then we can go seek some action after all this preparatory exposition.''
"Make it brief."
"I shall try, of course."
I was now almost certain that this young giant was to play a role of some importance in the stir
ring days to come, although I could not guess what. I had sought out his company in planning my escape from the slave train mainly because I dislike solitary adventure—dialogue is more absorbing than unbroken narrative—but the gods had then arranged matters to throw us together whether I wanted a companion or not.
So I told him the story of Balor, which first I heard two years before, when I was gathering up tales in the lands of the Nathipi delta, south of the Pearls of the Sky. The Silver Shores, they are called sometimes. The cities there are old beyond imagining, and dying of it, their lore being scattered and their legends lost.
It was some pearl-fisher friends in Wraime who first told me, years and years ago, how much the sea gods dislike timber. When I scoffed, they began by showing me dock pilings speckled with barnacles, then took me down to recent shipwrecks encrusted with them, and finally—wilfully disregarding the risk of drowning me completely—they sank me to older, darker, deeper wrecks smothered in heavy coats of shell and coral. There all the wood was gone, and entire vessels had been turned to stone.
I was reminded of this transformation when I came to the Silver Shores. In places the sea has risen to drink down the villages. Waves run between deserted cabins, and fish school by the hearthstones where once the children played. The barnacles and the mussels are hard at their work of petrifaction. The coral cannot be far behind, and the villages will sink away into deeper water as their own stony monuments.
Conversely, jungle seems to abhor stone, for it has crept imperceptibly into some of the old cities, tree by tree, advancing like an army of night wraiths. Sometimes people yet remain, a cowed few creeping about their business in the shadow of the forest giants, ignoring the enemy already within the streets, as if it may wander away of its own accord if they do not encourage it. But the cause is hopeless, and in many cases the people have vanished already, long gone to unknown places. The buildings crumble under mosses and vines, and eventually the jungle eats the cities whole. But I wander.
