The Narrow Land

by Jack Vance

  "Thank you for your help," she said. "But now we are both in the same plight."

  Lanarck said nothing. He knelt and began to remove his boots.

  "What will you do?"

  "Swim," he answered. The new language seemed altogether natural.

  "The Bottom-people would pull you under before you went twenty feet." She pointed into the water, which teemed with circling dark shapes. Lanarck knew she spoke the truth.

  "You are of Earth also?" she asked, inspecting him carefully.

  "Yes. Who are you and what do you know of Earth?"

  "I am Jiro from the city yonder, which is Gahadion. Earfh is the home of Isabel May, who came in a ship such as yours."

  "Isabel May arrived but an hour ago! How could you know about her?"

  "An hour?" replied the girl. "She has been here three months!" This last a little bitterly.

  Lanarck reflected that Laoome controlled time in his universes as arbitrarily as he did space. "How did you come to be here on this raft?"

  She grimaced toward the island. "The priests came for me. They live on the island and take people from the mainland. They took me but last night I escaped."

  Lanarck looked from the island to the city on the mainland. "Why do not Gahadion authorities control the priests?"

  Her lips rounded to an O. "They are sacred to the Great God Laoome, and so inviolate."

  Lanarck wondered what unique evolutionary process Laoome had in progress here.

  "Few persons thus taken return to the mainland," she went on. "Those who win free, and also escape the Bottom-people, usually live in the wilderness. If they return to Gahadion they are molested by fanatics and sometimes recaptured by the priests."

  Lanarck was silent. After all, it concerned him little how these people fared. They were beings of fantasy, inhabiting an imaginary planet. And yet, when he looked at Jiro, detachment became easier to contemplate than to achieve.

  "And Isabel May is in Gahadion?"

  Tiro's lips tightened. "No. She lives on the island. She is the Thrice-Adept, the High Priestess."

  Lanarck was surprised. "Why did they make her High Priestess?"

  "A month after she arrived, the Hierarch, learning of the woman whose hair was the color of night, even as yours, tried to take her to Drefteli, the Sacred Isle, as a slave. She killed him with her weapon. Then when the lightnings of Laoome did not consume her, it was known that Laoome approved, and so she was made High Priestess in place of the riven Hierarch."

  The philosophy, so Lanarck reflected, would have sounded naive on Earth, where the gods were more covert in their supervision of human affairs.

  "Is Isabel May a friend of yours-or your lover?" asked Jiro softly.

  "Hardly."

  'Then what do you want with her?"

  "I've come to take her back to Earth," He looked dubiously across the ever-widening gap between the raft and his spaceboat. "That at least was my intention."

  "You shall see her soon," said Jiro. She pointed to a long black galley approaching from the island. "The Ordained Ones. I am once more a slave."

  "Not yet," said Lanarck, feeling for the bulk of his needle-beam.

  The galley, thrust by the force of twenty long oars, lunged toward them. On the after-deck stood a young woman, her black hair blowing in the wind. As her features became distinct, Lanarck recognized the face of Cardale's photograph, now serene and confident

  Isabel May, looking from the silent two on the raft to the wallowing spaceboat a quarter-mile distant, seemed to laugh. The galley, manned by tall, golden-haired men, drew alongside.

  "So Earth Intelligence pays me a visit?" She spoke in English. "How you found me, I cannot guess." She looked curiously at Lanarck's somber visage. "How?"

  "I followed your trail, and then explained the situation to Laoome."

  "Just what is the situation?"

  "'I'd like to work out some kind of compromise to please everyone."

  "I don't care whether I please anyone or not."

  "Understandable."

  The two studied each other. Isabel May suddenly asked, "What is your name?"

  "Lanarck."

  "Just Lanarck? No rank? No first name?"

  "Lanarck is enough."

  "Just as you like. I hardly know what to do with you. I'm not vindictive, and I don't want to handicap your career. But ferrying you to your spaceboat would be rather quixotic. I'm comfortable here, and I haven't the slightest intention of turning my property over to you."

  Lanarck reached for his needle-beam.

  She watched him without emotion. "Wet needle-beams don't work well."

  "This one is the exception." Lanarck blasted the figurehead from the galley.

  Isabel May's expression changed suddenly. "I see that I'm wrong. How did you do it?"

  "A personal device," replied Lanarck. "No I have to request that you take me to my spaceboat."

  Isabel May stared at him a moment, and in those blue eyes Lanarck detected something familiar. Where had he seen eyes with that expression? On Fan, the Pleasure Planet? In the Magic Groves of Hycithil? During the raids on the slave pens of Starlen? In Earth's own macropolis Tran?

  She turned and muttered to her boatswain, a bronzed giant, his golden hair bound back by a copper band. He bowed and moved away.

  "Very well," said Isabel May. "Come aboard."

  Jiro and Lanarck clambered over the carven gunwale. The galley swept ahead, foaming up white in its wake.

  Isabel May turned her attention to Jiro, who sat looking disconsolately toward the island Drefteli. "You make friends quickly," Isabel told Lanarck. "She's very beautiful What are you planning for her?"

  "She's one of your escaped slaves. I don't have any plans. This place belongs to Laoome; he makes all plans. I'm interested only in getting you out. If you don't want to come back to Earth, give me the document which you brought with you, and stay here as long as you like."

  "Sorry. The document stays with me. I don't carry it on my person, so please don't try to search me."

  "That sounds quite definite," said Lanarck. "Do you know what's in the document?"

  "More or less. It's like a blank check on the wealth of the world."

  "That's a good description. As I understand this sorry affair, you became angry at the treatment accorded your father."

  "That's a very quiet understatement."

  "Would money help soothe your anger?"

  "I don't want money. I want revenge. I want to grind faces into the mud; I want to kick people and make their lives miserable."

  "Still don't dismiss money. It's nice to be rich. You have your life ahead of you. I don't imagine you want to spend it here, inside Laoome's head."

  "Very true."

  "So name a figure."*

  "I can't measure anger and grief in dollars."

  "Why not? A million? Ten million? A hundred million?"

  "Stop there. I can't count any higher."

  "That's your figure."

  "What good will money do me? They'll take me back to Nevada."

  "No. I'll give you my personal guarantee of this."

  "Meaningless. I know nothing about you."

  "You'll learn during the trip back to Earth."

  Isabel May said: "Lanarck, you are persuasive. If the truth be known, I'm homesick." She turned away and stood looking over the ocean. Lanarck stood watching her. She was undeniably attractive and he found it difficult to take his eyes from her. But as he settled on the bench beside Jiro, he felt a surge of a different, stronger, feeling. It irritated him, and he tried to put it aside.

  Wallowing in the swells, the spaceboat lay dead ahead. The galley scudded through the water at a great rate, and the oarsmen did not slacken speed as they approached. Lanarck's eyes narrowed; he jumped upright shouting orders. The galley, unswerving, plowed into the spaceboat, grinding it under the metal-shod keel. Water gushed in through the open port the spaceboat shuddered and sank, a dark shadow plummeting into green depths.
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  "Too bad," remarked Isabel. "On the other hand, this puts us more on an equal footing. You have a needle-beam, I have a spaceboat."

  Lanarck silently seated himself. After a moment he spoke, "Where is your own needle-beam?"

  "I blew it up trying to recharge it from the spaceboat generators."

  "And where is your spaceboat?"

  Isabel laughed at this. "Do you expect me to tell you?"

  "Why not? I wouldn't maroon you here."

  "Nevertheless, I don't think I'll tell you."

  Lanarck turned to Jiro. "Where is Isabel May's space boat?"

  Isabel spoke in a haughty voice: "As High Priestess to A mighty Laoome, I command you to be silent!"

  Jiro looked from one to the other. She made up her mind "It is on the plaza of the Malachite Temple in Gahadion."

  Isabel was silent "Laoome plays tricks," she said at las

  "Jiro has taken a fancy to you. You're obviously interested in her."

  "Laoome will not interfere," said Lanarck.

  She laughed bitterly. "That's what he told me-and look I'm High Priestess. He also told me he wouldn't let anyone come to Markawel from the outside to molest me. But you are here!"

  "My intention is not to molest you," said Lanarck curtly. "We can as easily be friends as enemies."

  "I don't care to be a friend of yours. And as an enemy, you are no serious problem. Now!" Isabel called, as the tall boatswain came near.

  The boatswain whirled on Lanarck. Lanarck twisted, squirmed, heaved, and the golden-haired boatswain sprawled back into the bilge, where he lay dazed.

  A soft hand brushed Lanarck's thigh. He looked around, smoothing his lank black hair, and found Isabel May smiling into his face. His needle-beam dangled from her fingers.

  Jiro arose from the bench. Before Isabel could react Jiro had pushed a hand into her face, and with the other seized the needle-beam. She pointed the weapon at Isabel.

  "Sit down," said Jiro.

  Weeping with rage, Isabel fell back upon the bench.

  Jiro, her young face flushed and happy, backed over to the thwart, needle-beam leveled.

  Lanarck stood still.

  "I will take charge now," said Jiro. "You-Isabel! Tell your men to row toward Gahadion!"

  Sullenly Isabel gave the order. The long black galley turned its bow toward the city.

  "This may be sacrilege," Jiro observed to Lanarck. "But then I was already in trouble for escaping from Drefteli."

  "What do you plan in this new capacity of yours?" Lanarck inquired, moving closer.

  "First, to try this weapon on whomever thinks he can take it away from me." Lanarck eased back. "Secondly-but you'll see soon enough."

  White-tiered Gahadion rapidly drew closer across the water.

  Isabel sulked on the bench. Lanarck had little choice but to let matters move on their own momentum. He relaxed against a thwart, watching Jiro from the corner of his eye. She stood erect behind the bench where Isabel sat, her clear eyes looking over the leaping sparkles of the ocean. Breeze whipped her hair behind and pressed the tunic against her slim body. Lanarck heaved a deep sad sigh. This girl with the wheat-colored hair was unreal. She would vanish into oblivion as soon as Laoome lost interest in the world Markawel. She was less than a shadow, less than a mirage, less than a dream. Lanarck looked over at Isabel, the Earth girl, who glared at him with sullen eyes. She was real enough.

  They moved up the river and toward the white docks of Gahadion. Lanarck rose to his feet. He looked over the city, surveyed the folk on the dock who were clad in white, red and blue tunics, then turned to Jiro. "I'll have to take the weapon now."

  "Stand back or I'll-" Lanarck took the weapon from her limp grasp. Isabel watched in sour amusement.

  A dull throbbing sound, like the pulse of a tremendous heart, came down from the heavens. Lanarck cocked his head, listening. He scanned the sky. At the horizon appeared a strange cloud, like a band of white-gleaming metal, swelling in rhythm to the celestial throbbing. It lengthened with miraculous speed, until in all directions the horizon was encircled. The throb became a vast booming. The air itself seemed heavy, ominous. A terrible idea struck Lanarck. He turned and yelled to the awestruck oarsmen who were trailing their oars in the river.

  "Quickly-get to the docks!"

  They jerked at their oars, frantic, yet the galley moved no faster. The water of the river had become oily smooth, almost syrupy. The boat inched close to the dock. Lanarck was grimly aware of the terrified Isabel on one side of him, Jiro on the other.

  "What is happening?" whispered Isabel. Lanarck watched the sky. The cloud-band of bright metal quivered and split into another which wobbled, bouncing just above.

  "I hope I'm wrong," said Lanarck, "but I suspect that Laoome is going mad. Look at our shadows!" He turned to look at the sun, which jerked like a dying insect, vibrating through aimless arcs. His worst fears were realized.

  "It can't be!" cried Isabel. "What will happen?"

  "Nothing good."

  The galley lurched against a pier. Lanarck helped Isabel and Jiro up to the dock, then followed.

  Masses of tall golden-haired people milled in panic along the avenue.

  "Lead me to the spaceboat!" Lanarck had to shout to make himself heard over the tumult of the city. His mind froze at a shocking thought: what would happen to Jiro?

  He pushed the thought down. Isabel pulled at him urgently. "Come, hurry!"

  Taking Jiro's hand, he ran off after Isabel toward the black-porticoed temple at the far end of the avenue.

  A constriction twisted the air; down came a rain of warm red globules: small crimson jellyfish which stung naked flesh like nettles. The din from the city reached hysterical pitch. The red plasms increased to become a cloud of pink slime, now oozing ankle-deep on the ground.

  Isabel tripped and fell headlong in the perilous mess. She struggled until Lanarck helped her to her feet.

  They continued toward the temple, Lanarck supporting both girls and keeping an uneasy eye on the structures to either side.

  The rain of red things ceased, but the streets flowed with ooze.

  The sky shifted color-but what color? It had no place in any spectrum. The color only a mad god could conceive.

  The red slime curdled and fell apart like quicksilver, to jell in an instant to millions upon millions of bright blue manikins three inches high. They ran, hopped, scuttled; the streets were a quaking blue carpet of blank-faced little homunculi. They clung to Lanarck's garments, they ran up his legs like mice. He trod them under, heedless of their squeals.

  The sun, jerking in small spasmodic motions, slowed, lost its glare, became oblate. It developed striations and, as the stricken population of Gahadion quieted in awe, the sun changed to a segmented white slug, as long as five suns, as wide as one. It writhed its head about and stared down through the strange-colored sky at Markawel.

  In a delirium, the Gahadionites careened along the wide avenues. Lanarck and the two girls almost were trod under as they fought past a cross street

  In a small square, beside a marble fountain, the three found refuge. Lanarck had reached a state of detachment: a conviction that this experience was a nightmare.

  A blue man-thing pulled itself into his hair. It was singing in a small clear baritone. Lanarck set it upon the ground. His mind grew calmer. This was no nightmare; this was reality, however the word could be interpreted! Haste! The surge of people had passed; the way was relatively open. "Let's go!"

  He pulled at the two girls who had been watching the slug which hung across the sky. As they started off, there came the metamorphosis Lanarck had been expecting, and dreading. The matter of Gahadion, and all Markavvel, altered into unnatural substances. The buildings of white marble became putty, slumped beneath their own weight. The Malachite Temple, an airy dome on green malachite pillars, sagged and slid to a sodden lump. Lanarck urged the gasping girls to greater speed.

  The Gahadionites no longer ran; there was no destin
ation. They stood staring up, frozen in horror by the glittering slug in the sky. A voice screamed: "Laoome, Laoome!" Other voices took up the cry: "Laoome, Laoome!"

  If Laoome heard, he gave no sign.

  Lanarck kept an anxious eye on these folk, dreading lest they also, as dream-creatures, alter to shocking half-things. For should they change, so would Jiro. Why take her to the spaceboat? She could not exist outside the mind of Laoome. ... But how could he let her go?

  The face of Markavvel was changing. Black pyramids sprouted through the ground and, lengthening tremendously, darted upward, to become black spikes, miles high.

  Lanarck saw the spaceboat, still sound and whole, a product of more durable mind-stuff, perhaps, than Markavvel itself. Tremendous processes were transpiring beneath his feet, as if the core of the planet itself were degenerating. Another hundred yards to the spaceboat! "Faster!" he panted to the girls.

  All the while they ran, he watched the folk of Gahadion. Like a cold wind blowing on his brain, he knew that the change had come. He almost slowed his steps for despair. The Gahadionites themselves knew. They staggered in unbelieving surprise, regarding their hands, feeling their faces.

  Too late! Unreasonably Lanarck had hoped that once in space, away from Markavvel, Jiro might retain her identity. But too late! A blight had befallen the Gahadionites. They clawed their shriveling faces, tottered and fell, their shrunken legs unable to support them.

  In anguish Lanarck felt one of the hands he was holding become hard and wrinkled. As her legs withered, he felt her sag. He paused and turned, to look sadly upon what had been Jiro.

  The ground beneath his feet lurched. Around him twisted dying Gahadionites. Above, dropping through the weird sky, came the slug. Black spikes towered tremendously over his head. Lanarck heeded none of these. Before him stood Jiro - a Jiro gasping and reeling in exhaustion, but a Jiro sound and golden still! Dying on the marble pavement was the shriveled dream-thing he had known as Isabel May. Taking lire's hand, he turned and made for the spaceboat.

  Hauling back the port, he pushed Jiro inside. Even as he touched the hull, he realized that the spaceboat was changing also. The cold metal had acquired a palpitant life of its own. Lanarck slammed shut the port, and, heedless of fracturing cold thrust-tubes, gushed power astern.