The Memorizer recoiled. “Huh?”
“Forget it. Give us a chance to recapture the beast.”
“You, you mean!” shrilled the Gooligog in sudden triumph. “Give you a chance to recapture it. It was in your charge, Miggot. You bear the burden of guilt!”
“There’s some truth in that,” said the Miggot, surprisingly.
“And so they never did get around to talking about the Sharan,” Bison told Fang later that afternoon. “I saw the Miggot arguing with your father about it, and then the whole memorizing session came to an end. Don’t you have any beer in this place?”
Fang said sadly, “I’ve drunk it all. I’ve had nothing else to do.”
“Let’s take a stroll to the Disgusting.”
“That’s the last place I want to go. Everybody will be there!”
“Which is exactly why you should go, Fang. You can’t stay holed up here forever. What’s the matter with you? Your reputation is still clean—maybe until next month,” Bison could not resist adding, “and you still bear the name of Fang.”
“Tell me, Bison. How did my father seem?”
“The same as usual. Maybe a little more impatient.”
“He wanted to get the Sharan on his agenda?”
“It seemed that way.”
Fang was silent for a long time. Then his beard jutted and he took a deep breath. “The Disgusting, you said? That sounds like a good idea, Bison.”
The two gnomes mounted their rabbits and set off down the forest path.
The Disgusting had been quieter than usual, and Fang had returned home well before midnight, his mind made up. A good night’s sleep had firmed his resolve. A hearty breakfast and—with acknowledgments to his father—a thorough wash in ice-cold water and a good combing of the beard had put him in excellent fettle. The time of mourning was over. He was a gnome with a purpose again.
He’d show them. He’d show those gnomes who’d avoided his eyes last night, and had stopped talking when he’d drawn near. He’d show them Fang was once again a gnome, to be reckoned with.
He would rescue the Sharan from the giants’ world.
And, just possibly, he might solve the mystery of the advancing umbra at the same time, and return home redeemed and illustrious gnome.
Mounting Thunderer, he set off at a fast bound to the mushroom ring. Here he encountered his first setback. Time and again he hopped Thunderer through the ring, and time and again he dismounted and walked through alone. Bu nothing happened. When he stepped out of the ring, he was still in his own world.
It was frustrating. He was all fired up to ride on a heroic quest, but he couldn’t get started.
There was another possible door into the giant’s world though—the dell where the sword Excalibur lay. In that dell the umbra must be very close for the sword to exist. He would ride there and see if anything had changed, am whether there were any further signs of umbral encroachment. Then, if he still had the courage, he would climb the hillside into that strange cloud.
If he had the courage? Of course he had the courage!
“Away Thunderer!” he yelled, startling birds into flight.
When Thunderer hopped past the entrance to King Bi son’s home within the trunk of a decaying cedar, Fang found himself wishing their leader was made of stronger fiber, like … like Tristan, for example. If faced with a danger so serious as the encroaching umbra, Tristan would have … What would Tristan have done? Well, at least he would have done something. Despite himself, the gentle Fang had been impressed by Tristan’s fighting performance on the beach.
Whereas King Bison … Fang was visited by the ludicrous image of Bison and Lady Duck struggling in the throes of copulation at this very moment, possessed by the uplifting conviction that they were doing their duty to the race, wishing they could get it over and have breakfast. Am all because they’d never had children, and a brightly colored bird had chanced to alight on their tree and make obscene gestures at them with its monstrous thing.
Not for the first time, Fang found himself questioning some of the tenets of gnomedom. His thoughts drifted to the Gooligog—for whom the woodypecker must have danced years ago, incredible though it might seem—and he found himself scowling. Either his old fool of a father was going to pass his memories on or he wasn’t. He should make up his mind and do it before the umbra arrived and a giant stepped on him. And whether or not Fang was responsible for the loss of the Sharan had nothing to do with it.
So it was in an unhappy frame of mind that Fang arrived at the dell. A morning mist still hung in the air, concealing the top of the rock on which the sword lay. The bushes were wet with dew and his clothes were soaked from the ride. He tethered Thunderer to a branch and stood for a while contemplating the rock, shivering, beginning to wonder why he’d come. This hardly looked like the gateway to another world. It was a damp and unpleasant spot. It was the kind of place his father might choose for a home.
Some moments later he reached the top, and by then his fingers were nearly frozen. With the mist wrapping itself quietly around him, he walked across the rocky plateau.
The sword was gone!
The rectangular, polished area of granite was empty. Fang looked around, disappointed. The rock fell away in all directions. Wondering if the sword had got knocked off in some way, he walked carefully toward the far edge.
Then he became aware that he was standing in the umbra of something huge. He stepped back, looking up. A shadowy form rose like a column through the mist, passing into the rippling cloud that he’d decided was umbral water. He moved further back, and the column came into perspective. There were, in fact, two columns—the bare legs of a female giant standing with her head just below the level of the water’s surface. Her attitude was tense and her head cocked slightly to one side as though she were listening for something. The mist made it impossible for Fang to see her face clearly, but from the shadowy lines of her body and the shapeliness—for a giant—of her legs, he concluded it must be Nyneve.
What was she doing here? He shouted to try to attract he attention, but the mist soaked up his voice like a sponge. Ii any case, it was unlikely that Nyneve, in the umbra, could have heard him. He kicked at her in frustration, but his foot passed through her flesh as though it weren’t there. A chance puff of wind set the mist swirling, and he saw he more clearly.
It was indeed Nyneve. But what was really strange, was that she carried the sword Excalibur. She held it horizon tally, one hand around the hilt and the other supporting the tip, level with her breasts. Excalibur glowed weirdly—a well it might, for Fang suspected it existed in two worlds a once.
Badly scared, Fang scrambled down from the rock and pushed through the bushes to the comforting presence of Thunderer. The gray rabbit regarded him benignly, waving his ears. Fang pulled a flask of beer from his saddlebag and drank. Then he sat down, leaning against the rabbit’s warn bulk, and contemplated for a while. At some point he began to doze, and in a dream the narrow face of the Miggot rose before him, and the skinny finger of the Miggot pointed accusingly at him.
“You!” intoned the apparition. “You are the craven gnome who betrayed our species!”
“No!” With a squeak of protest, Fang awakened to find Thunderer watching him in alarm. He climbed to his fee and tickled his mount between the ears, which always induced an expression of bliss on the animal’s face. “Wait for me, Thunderer,” he said determinedly. “I may be quite a while.”
With these dramatic words he turned and began to climb the hillside into the mist. Soon the rippling ceiling of the valley loomed close. Gingerly, he extended a finger and poked it into the moving sky.…
Siang and the Thing-He-Did
Nyneve had known Pentor all her life: that stark granite outcrop on a hump of moorland dominating the forest of Mara Zion, chiseled by rain and wind since before Starquin’s arrival in the solar system, summer haunt of lovers, winter shelter for the shaggy animals that cowered in its lee.
“It�
�s just rocks, that’s all!” she shouted at Avalona’s back as the old woman, with demonaic energy, led the way up the sheep trail from the valley. “Can’t we wait until morning?”
But she knew from experience that Avalona never changed her mind, never spoke her mind except to instruct, and never forgave disobedience. Avalona’s memory for the transgressions of others had become a rueful joke between Nyneve and Merlin. Both knew better than to disobey when the old witch was set on a course of action. So Nyneve tagged behind, grumbling to herself. Glancing back, she saw the friendly lights of Mara Zion village through the gloaming, and wished she were there. The moor was creepy at night. The wind was gusting cold, the sky was clear and the three moons of Earth afforded a soft-edged light: Mighty Moon like a polished silver coin; Misty Moon beside her, watery and thoughtful; and Maybe Moon, a pale reflection of the other two. Eventually the rocks of Pentor towered blackly above them. Avalona paused, staring this way and that.
“There’s life near,” she said. “I can sense it. Can you see anybody, Nyneve?” Avalona was better at mental than physical pursuits, and her eyesight was poor.
“Just an old cow standing by one of the rocks.”
“A cow …? Yes, that would be it. So long as it isn’t a human. Now. Come over here, girl. You see this?”
“The people in the village call it the Moon Rock,” said Nyneve.
It was part of the granite outcrop, yet in some way separate. The moonlight illuminated a number of small indentations, giving the rock the appearance of a moon’s surface; mottled and shadowed. The Moon Rock was twice as tall as Nyneve, and about six feet wide.
“Where’s Merlin?” asked Avalona suddenly.
“He’s not far behind. He didn’t want to come. He said his feet hurt.”
Avalona gazed down into the valley, where the stooped figure of Merlin could be seen climbing slowly. The wind snatched at their clothing and whistled among the fissures of Pentor. “In years to come, the humans will learn to travel through the greataway,” said Avalona pensively. “Less than a thousand years from now, in fact, and that’s quite soon enough. As for what you are about to experience, Nyneve, you must never mention it to anyone. You understand?”
“I understand.” Nyneve found she was shaking from a combination of cold and dread.
Merlin arrived, limping and puffing. “You will guard the Rock while we are gone, Merlin,” Avalona commanded.
“How long are you going to be? It’s damned cold up here, and you know the problems I’ve been getting with my feet.”
“We shall be as long as necessary. I need to … commune, to place myself closer to Starquin, the better to share with him the knowledge of what I’ve discovered. There must be no mistake. And I’m taking Nyneve along for the experience.”
“I can’t understand why the hell I have to guard the Rock.”
“A traveler might happen by, you fool. You must capture his essence and send him on his way. You know how.”
“This is ridiculous. We haven’t had a traveler in a thousand years. Why can’t I sit in the cottage, like you do?”
“I am able to sense the distant approach of a traveler, and reach the Rock in time. You’re not. You’re only a Paragon, Merlin; remember that. Now—Nyneve. Take my hand and stand close to the Moon Rock. Don’t be frightened at what happens.”
Nyneve saw Avalona place her hand on one of the indentations in the Moon Rock, and suddenly the wind was gone. She could still see Merlin standing there, his cloak flapping and his mouth working as he flung some last word of complaint at Avalona. But she couldn’t hear him. They were cut off from the old wizard and the elements as though enclosed in an invisible capsule.
“Now,” said Avalona.
And they were in space. Nyneve knew they were in space because the stars were all around instead of just above. She looked down at her feet, and saw stars beyond them, too. She and Avalona were suspended in nothingness. Up and down had ceased to exist. Vertigo seized her.
“You will not be sick,” said Avalona.
Unsure whether this was a promise or one of the old woman’s menacing commands, Nyneve gulped noisily. She felt something firm yet invisible beside her, and pushed it. She began to drift away from Avalona and uttered a scream of terror.
“Be quiet.”
“Hold me, please!” Nyneve threw out a hand, trying to reach her foster mother, but Avalona ignored it.
“You will stop when you reach the bounds of the capsule.”
And Nyneve did, as though she had run into an invisible wall. It seemed they were encased in a transparent sphere. She pushed off again, gaining confidence, and began to take more interest in the universe around her, recalling something incredible that Avalona had told her a few weeks ago.
“The stars are suns, just like our own sun, and there are worlds circling them, some of them like Earth.” This remark had so bewildered her at the time, containing so many separate impossibilities, that she had consigned it to the mental grab-bag she called “The Mutterings of Avalona,” to be forgotten as soon as possible. But now it returned to haunt her, together with a more recent muttering, the happentrack question. If she understood Avalona correctly, each of those millions of stars could also exist on an infinite number of happentracks.
“Provided there is a sentient being able to make a conscious decision and cause a branching,” Avalona had said.
“And if not?”
“In the beginning, there was only one happentrack. Multiple happentracks began when the first animal was wise enough to make the first decision.”
Trying to find something else to look at, to take her mind off the billions of stars that could conceivably be multiplied by infinity, Nyneve scanned the heavens. Something, anything else out there, would be a blessing. Avalona was curled in a ball, apparently not breathing, like a hibernating hedgehog. Fear and nausea forgotten for a moment, Nyneve felt a flush of irritation. …
During the past year she had been virtually a prisoner of the old woman. One year ago Avalona had stalked into the village of Mara Zion, black robe surmounted by a cloak of equal blackness, and turned an expressionless gaze upon the villagers. They had stopped whatever they were doing and eyed her warily. She was known to be a witch.
Then, in a moment of cold drama, her arm had risen from her side. Her skinny old finger had pointed unerringly at Nyneve, who had been busy turning a spit on which a young pig sizzled.
“She,” Avalona had intoned. “She is the one.”
“No, I’m not,” Nyneve had said hastily, backing into a doorway.
Avalona had simply said, “Come,” and walked away.
There had been a short, frantic silence, during which minds raced. The occasion was similar to one centuries earlier, on a different happentrack, following the fungization of Knuckles. And, as on that occasion, the lamb had been ruthlessly sacrificed.
“Go on,” somebody had told Nyneve. “Follow her.”
“Why?”
“You heard her. You are the one.”
“What one, for God’s sake?”
“That’s not important.” Now it was Nyneve’s mother talking earnestly. “You must go, child. Avalona has spoken.”
“Well, so have I spoken, and I say I’m staying right here.”
“I’m very sorry, Nyneve.” Her father had taken her hand. “Your home is with her, from now on. May God be with you.”
“What do you mean, may God be with me? Do you know something I don’t know?”
“It was just a figure of speech,” her father had said evasively.
“So you’re throwing me out! You’re all scared of that old hag, so you’re buying her off! I’m the price!”
They had avoided her eyes. It was true. They were frightened of Avalona and they were sacrificing her, Nyneve, the belle of the village, to the whim of that horrible old harridan and her unclean husband, Merlin. And that wasn’t all. As the weeks went by, she realized they were avoiding her. On the occasions she visited the vill
age they were uncomfortable in her presence, as though some of Avalona’s magic had rubbed off on her. …
Resentfully, she scowled at Avalona in her trance.
Then, beyond the old witch, she saw something queer.
A sector of the Milky Way was obscured by a huge shadow. She could still see the stars beyond the shadow, but they were an unusual shade of pink. In truth, the thing she saw could not really be described as a shadow at all, because it was paler than the blackness of space. It was more like a vast pink smudge across the sky. She watched it until the invisible capsule swung and the sun appeared blindingly from behind a vast disc. The smudge disappeared.
Avalona emerged from her trance. “Thirty thousand years,” she murmured. “It’s so soon.” She glanced at Nyneve quickly, as though suddenly remembering her. “Did you sense the presence of Starquin?”
“No. But I think I saw him.”
“That is a stupid thing to say, Nyneve. Starquin is invisible to human eyes. His entity is attenuated through a billion happentracks. He is everywhere and everywhen, and consequently he is far too diffuse for you to see.”
“All right, so I didn’t see him.”
“Nyneve, open your mind. Forget your resentments and your humanness. Become one with the greataway. You will be touched by greatness. Do it now.”
Obediently, Nyneve tried to make her mind a blank, as she did before playing the game with Merlin.
“Not like that. Like I taught you.”
She’d tried it once before in a particular way, under Avalona’s prompting and promises of revelations, but nothing had happened on that occasion. This time, out in the greataway and at the mercy of unimaginable forces, she was more receptive. Almost desperately, her mind sought something to hold onto, some ally in the wilderness. And she found it.
Starquin entered her mind.
Like a whisper at first, like a yarn heard at an evening fireside when the night outside was cold and her mind was relaxed; like a tale of long ago when the wandering minstrels sang of wars and heroes and glory; like all those times when she could enjoy the wonder of stories without enduring the perils of reality, Starquin spoke to Nyneve.
Fang, the Gnome (Song of Earth) Page 14
