The River Of Dancing Gods

by Jack L. Chalker

  “Okay,” Joe agreed. “But I noticed you said all the humans have souls, and a few of the others. What kind of others do you mean?”

  Ruddygore sighed. “An infinite variety, really. Those with out souls are, of course, the creations of the original angels.

  To compensate, most are immortal or nearly so, meaning they don’t age. They can still, of course, be killed although, even there, they have a lot of charms and protections. They are not killed in the same way people are, usually. To that original band have been added, over the millennia, ones from your own world who were involved in the original creation but who have, through the dominance of man, been displaced and, by luck, or charm, or the help of me and my predecessors, or the mercy of the Creator, have made their way to my side of the Sea. A one way trip, though. Some of these have souls, as the Creator Himself willed.”

  “What sort of others?” Joe pressed nervously.

  “Elves, gnomes, leprechauns those sorts. The stuff of your legends the world over. The other folk who once shared your world, but for whom man had less and less need and far less room and tolerance. The stuff of your fantasies and legends.

  Their ties to their native Earth, in fact, are bridges between the worlds across the Sea of Dreams, in a way, for even today those artists and writers of fantasy and the fantastic in your world see them, experience them, if only in dreams, and write of their exploits. The fantasies, the myths, the dreams of your world, are the reality of mine.”

  Ruddygore sighed. “Look. We cross the Sea of Dreams, and the Creator is even now all around us. He sleeps, and as He sleeps He dreams. Some of the dreams are pleasant ones.

  Some are nightmares. But His dreams take root and flow to one side of the Sea or the other, entering the dreams of one and the reality of the other. This war we now face may be but one of His nightmares. Even now, some dreamer on your world may perceive it in his own mind and write it as a fantasy. You ought to think about that, anyway. You might well be the stuff of an epic fantasy novel in your own world, the dreamer there unknowing that he writes of your reality.”

  “I’d rather not think about that one,” Marge said sourly.

  “At any rate,” the sorcerer continued, “you’re going to a world that will be at once totally different and very familiar to you both. Like this boat. It is a familiar thing to Joe, yet it has not existed since he was a child. It is familiar yet it is something else. Listen! Have you sensed that the engines have shut down?”

  They were all suddenly quiet, attentive to the noises and found that he was right. The thrumming of the engine had ceased, and along with it, the vibration against the glass windows of the lounge.

  After a few moments of silence, they could hear the groanings of grommets larger than they as the massive oars were seized, freed, and dipped in unison down into the Sea of Dreams.

  Below them, on that dark and mysterious car deck now began a deep, hollow sound, rhythmic and somewhat intrusive.

  It sounded like some giant drummer beating a slow tempo on some great kettledrum. It was all around them, yet not quite pervasive enough to drown out conversation.

  “I know what that is,” Joe said. “I saw Ben Hur nine times.

  They’re rowing to the beat.”

  Ruddygore nodded. “That’s exactly what they’re doing. And they’ll speed up when they can and maintain it for a long while.”

  “Just who are they?” Marge asked apprehensively, thinking of the size of the boat and those oars.

  “Monsters,” Ruddygore replied casually, getting more cheese. “Real ones. Lost balls, you might say. One of a kinds that didn’t make it in either your universe or mine. Once evil and all defeated, they had no real choice. They row the boat, or they are cast adrift in the Sea of Dreams, unable to swim to any shore, even in dock. Oh, don’t look so shocked. All of them deserve what they got, and all are volunteers, in a sense.

  I offered them a chance to row or sink, and they all chose to row. They are comfortable and reasonably kept and they are all now doing something constructive rather than the terrible things they did to destroy, way back in the past.”

  Marge shivered a little, suddenly even more aware of the beat of the great drum, and tried not to think of what might be beating it. She got up and went back over to the doorway, looking out at the darkness once more.

  “Hey! There’s something out there!” she called to them. Joe and Ruddygore walked over and joined her. The sorcerer slid back the door and walked out onto the deck. The other two followed.

  The creak and groan of the great oars below was noticeable, but with their present better speed and rhythm, they and the drumming could be more or less tuned out. The breeze was still cool. Ruddygore stood at the rail a moment, staring off into the gloom and listening above the sound of the rowing and creak of the ship. “Just what did you see?” he asked her.

  She shook her head in puzzlement. “I I’m not really sure.

  Some large shapes and odd lights.”

  “You’re liable to see just about anything out there if you stare long enough,” the sorcerer told them. “All that was is drawn back to the Sea, and all that will be is formed and dispatched from it. Only what is, is elsewhere.”

  In the night, after a while, they all could see what Marge had seen and more. Shapes, some familiar, some unfamiliar.

  Skylines and odd buildings, then at another time what looked like the fully deployed three masts of some great sailing ship, although the ship itself could not be seen. There were sounds, too vague, low, yet omnipresent. The sounds of millions of voices talking together far off in some void; the sounds of great machines, of explosions, of building and destroying, all merged into a vague whole. For a while they were caught in its eerie spell, but finally Joe asked, “How long until we get to wherever it is we’re going?”

  “A few hours,” Ruddygore told him. “You might want to stretch out on one of the benches and catch some sleep both of you. You’ve had quite a time so far this night.”

  “Maybe I will,” Joe responded, scratching and yawning a bit.

  Marge just shook her head. “No way for me. I’m afraid if I go to sleep I’m going to wake up on the outskirts of El Paso.”

  Ruddygore chuckled. “I understand your worry, but it won’t happen, I assure you. Once we cast off from your world, you were committed irrevocably and forever. Only a few from my side may travel back and forth at will. For those like you, it is a one way trip.”

  Joe did stretch out and after a while was snoring softly, but Marge was as good as her word, both anxious and too keyed up to sleep now. She sat down near Ruddygore, who was eating again, and tried to find out more.

  “This place we’re going to does it have a name?” she asked him.

  He nodded. “Oh, yes. It hasn’t just one name, but many.

  Of course, the planet itself is simply called the world, or earth, just as you call yours. Why not? It’s logical. But the nations and principalities are quite differently named and very distinct.

  We are bound for Valisandra, my chosen land, to my castle there.”

  “You’re the ruler of a country?”

  “Oh, my, no!” He laughed. “Valisandra is a kingdom and quite well and fairly governed. The day to day administration of a nation is far too complex and boring for me, I’m afraid, and I’d probably do a very poor job if I ever got the chance.

  I’m more a sorcerer in residence, you might say. Long ago I did a trifling service for the current king’s grandfather and was given my castle and some land around it as a gift of thanks.

  With so much magic loose in the world, it gives comfort to the king and his people to have a powerful sorcerer living among them. I have great affection for the land and its people.

  I have been one among them for a very long time, and I have the same stake in its well being and preservation as they do.

  They know this and they also know that I have no political ambition whatsoever, and thus am no threat to them. There are few ranking
sorcerers in the world today thirteen, all told, including myself although there are hundreds of slightly lesser lights that may one day replace us.”

  “This Vali”

  “Valisandra.”

  “Valisandra, then. What’s it like?”

  He sat back, took another long swig of wine, and smiled.

  “It’s a pretty country. The climate is mostly temperate, except in the far north, and the land is rich in good, black earth made for growing things. The people about three million, all told are pretty well divided between free farmers and townspeople and those on feudal holdings. The central government’s fairly strong, with its own army, so the feudal hold is weak more like sharecropping than the semi slavery state some places have.

  There are still wild areas, too, where the unicorn and deer play free and the fairies come out to dance. Yes, it’s a very pleasant place indeed.”

  She smiled. “It sounds nice. But you said something about a war. That doesn’t sound so pleasant.”

  “It’s a different world from yours,” he reminded her. “In some ways more peaceful by far. There are no laser guided battle stations in orbit, no ICBMs and strategic bombers ready to destroy the world at the slip of a politician’s nerve. But there is war, and jealousy, and greed, and, yes, death there as well.

  As they are in every place that mankind exists. Think of a world where magic, not science, is supreme. There are no hospitals, no miracle cures or shock trauma units; and that means a higher mortality rate. There is, of course, medicine folk and herbal, which can be surprisingly effective sometimes and magical healers as well. No electricity or great engines for good or evil. Power is the wind and water and muscle, as it was in the old days on your world, although there is a cleverness in civil engineering that builds dikes and aqueducts and the like. On the surface, a more primitive, simpler world but only on the surface. It would be a mistake to think of it as a medieval Earth, for the world is very complex and far more diverse than yours, and the magic is as complex in its own way as nuclear physics is in your world.”

  She nodded. “It sounds like a fairy story.”

  “It is a fairy story. It is the origin of all such tales. But it is very real and right now, my part of it is in trouble.”

  “The war.”

  “Yes the war,” he responded. ‘The overall district is called Husaquahr. It’s almost fifteen hundred miles from north to south, and more than half that from east to west. There are six countries, as well as five City States around the mouth of the river which dominates the land. The River of Dancing Gods.”

  “The River of Dancing Gods,” she repeated. “It’s a charming name.”

  “It’s more than charming. The river itself winds its way from the Golden Lakes in the north to the Kudra Delta far to the south. It is the blood of Husaquahr its arteries are its many tributaries, and the system is life itself to the millions of humans and fairy folk who make up its population.”

  “Why is it named Dancing Gods?”

  “There are all sorts of legends and stories about that, but I suspect its divinity derives from its importance to its people.

  The dancing part may have a thousand reasons in legend, but it is perhaps because it is a very old river that meanders greatly, so much so that to travel on the river the fifteen hundred straight-line miles to the delta from the lakes, you would actually travel over twenty four hundred miles. It is a primary water source for irrigation, and it is navigable from the point where the Rossignol joins it to form the southwestern border of Valisandra. It is the Nile, the Mississippi, the Ganges, the Yellow, the Volga and more, all rolled up into one. And, in a sense, it’s what the war is about.”

  “Yes, we’re back to the war.”

  He nodded. “The enemy force includes every destructive element in Husaquahr and from elsewhere besides. Evil, greedy, petty you name it. It is a frightening force, commanded by a charismatic general known only as the Dark Baron. Who or what he actually is, is unknown, but he is, for certain, a great sorcerer who takes some pains to escape being identified. That makes me believe that he is the worst of all enemies, a fellow sorcerer on the Council that oversees the magic of the entire world. One of my brothers. Or, perhaps, sisters. The Dark Baron is so totally cloaked that it might be either.”

  “But if the sorcerer is one of your own doesn’t that narrow the field?” she asked. “I mean, it should be simple to discover which of only twelve others he or she might be.”

  “You’d think so,” Ruddygore agreed, “but it’s not that simple. Our skills may differ, but our powers are equal and we are bound by our own rules and laws. No sorcerer may enter the lands or castle of another without the permission of the owner. Distances are great. Magical power being equal, there is no way to tell who is doing what. I assure you that it is quite possible to appear to be in two or even a dozen places at once.

  Spies within a fellow sorcerer’s lairs are impossible we smell each other too easily. And, of course, even if we knew, it would require incontrovertible proof before any action could be taken. Most of my brothers and sisters on the Council refuse to believe that one of their own could turn this way, and the Council would have to act in concert to defeat and destroy this enemy once and for all. So they sit idly by while the Dark Baron’s armies march on Husaquahr, and unless those are defeated in battle, there’s nothing that can be done. The Council will not stop something as petty as a war. They are almost traditional.”

  “But you’re meddling,” she pointed out.

  He nodded. “Someone has to, I fear, and since I suspect that I am at least one primary object of the war, it is in my own self interest to do so.”

  “You? They want to kill you?”

  “No. I believe that the Dark Baron, with some of his great and powerful allies, could kill me if he wished. Kill me but not capture me. You see, he has most certainly allied himself with the forces of Beyond you might call it Hell itself and that tips the scale in his favor. Oh, he’s very clever about it if I could prove that alliance, it would be the evidence needed to force the Council into action but I know.”

  “This is starting to get complicated,” she noted. “Who or what are these forces of Beyond?”

  “Well, you know the story basically, I’m sure. Some of the angels of the Creator rebelled against Him and were cast out.

  Since that time those forces have been trying to get back, working through the actions of evil ones in your world and mine. Well, now they have their most powerful ally, and the assault’s on my world, not yours, and thus more likely not to worry the Creator. They’ve been terribly frustrated that your own world hasn’t yet blown itself into atoms despite their agents’ best efforts. But now they have a chance by getting back into Husaquahr and then, they hope, by forcing an accommodation with me literally to invade your world, using my powers as a bridge.”

  She looked shocked. “You mean you’d do it?”

  He shrugged. “They’re not terribly interested in my world, because it’s not a primary creation of the Creator. It’s yours they want. But it’s my world, after all. If they can seize and dominate it, they might force a swap, a trade. If they can gain control of the River of Dancing Gods, they will have Husaquahr by the throat, and that’s exactly what they’re trying to do. It’s a slow, brutal conquest but they are winning.”

  She sat back, a little dazed, and considered what he had said. The forces of Hell were after Earth her native Earth and were willing to conquer and destroy a whole different world to do this. She could appreciate Ruddygore’s position, too. He alone knew the way across the Sea of Dreams. He alone could ferry them safely through the very mind of the Creator Himself.

  And since he controlled the pathway, he could be rid of them by sending them one way into Earth.

  “Why don’t you just send them all over and be done with it, then?” she asked him. “Wouldn’t that solve your problem?”

  He looked at her strangely and was silent a moment. Finally he muttered, “Yes, your worl
d has treated you most unkindly, I see.” He cleared his throat, and his voice grew loud and firm once more. “You seem to forget that your world is the primary object of creation. What you suggest is that I precipitate Armageddon. Disregarding the billions of souls I would have on my conscience for a moment, let me remind you that Armageddon would engulf everything, involve the Creator directly.

  My world would no more survive it than yours, and with less promise of rebuilding thereafter. There will be no Armageddon laid against my soul’s account! I do not intend that even if it means the total destruction of Husaquahr. But they will never believe that. Or they may believe, but not believe that they can not somehow get the secret, anyway. But I have a different plot in mind.

  “I intend to beat them at their own game. Send them back into the abyss from which they crawled, they and all their ilk.”

  Chapter III

  A Proper

  Hero And Heroine

  Barbarians must be tall, dark, and handsome, exotic in race but of no known nationality.

  - XL, 227, 301(a)

  She slept then, the deepest, soundest, most peaceful sleep she’d had in recent memory, and so hard was it that she barely stirred when shaken the first time. Finally she became aware that somebody was trying to wake her, but she resisted.

  It was so very peaceful and felt so very good, and it had been such a long time ...

  At last she muttered, “All right, all right,” to the mysterious shaker and, in a moment more, managed to open her eyes. She gave a little gasp and rubbed her eyes, a slow smile creeping over her lips. What she saw was the impossibly named and improbably dressed Throckmorton P. Ruddy gore. “So it was real,” she breathed.