The River Of Dancing Gods

by Jack L. Chalker

  And then, quite suddenly, it was over.

  Marge shook her head a little as if to clear it, and Joe let out a big “Whew!” Both looked back at Ruddygore, who was again facing the now stationary demon.

  Ruddygore said something to them, and it sounded like nonsense. Idiot syllables that hardly seemed like a language at all, but more like the magical chanting he’d done at the beginning. They both just looked at him in confusion, and Marge, at least, worried that the demon had played some sort of nasty trick on them.

  Ruddygore, however, seemed satisfied. “How’s this?” he called to them. “Do you understand me now? By all means, speak up and tell me.”

  “Yeah, that’s fine,” Joe called back.

  Marge said, “I thought for a minute something awful had happened.”

  Ruddygore nodded, mostly to himself. “Good job. Ratty.

  Now, go! I banish thee back to the realm whence thou didst come! In the name of Hagoth and Morloch, I do send thee to thy world and charge thee remain until called once more! Go!”

  Ruddygore paused for a moment. “A case of cigars will be sent to you. Enjoy.”

  “Thanks, T.R.!” the demon responded and vanished.

  “Hold up!” Ruddygore called to the two humans. “Don’t go yet. He sometimes likes to pull a fast one!” With that, the sorcerer commenced a long, unintelligible chant.

  Suddenly in the air very near them, the demon’s voice came.

  “Aw, shit!” it said, and the sense of presence vanished.

  All at once, all the lights, flames, and torches in the room flared back into life. There was no sign of the demon. Still, Ruddygore completed the chant, then looked around and seemed to relax visibly. “It’s all right now. Let’s take a look at you!”

  But they were already looking somewhat awestruck, staring at each other.

  “Come!” the sorcerer invited them both. “Stop staring and walk with me back here to where the mirror is.”

  Both hesitantly waited until the sorcerer had walked from his pentagram and crossed the outer one before following, but that didn’t keep them from rushing to the mirror once they were assured in their own minds that they were safe.

  They stood there, next to each other, gaping at their own reflections as they had gaped at each other.

  Joe had been a big man, but now he was even larger. Six foot six, perhaps, in bare feet, and built like a man of iron, muscles rippling with every movement, his skin a smooth, metallic bronze. His face was strongly chiseled, an Indian warrior’s face, rugged yet strong and handsome. A young Geronimo, perhaps, or Cochise, with a great mane of shoulder length, jet black hair.

  Marge, too, had thought taller, but she barely came to his shoulders. Still, she was a vision of her mind long, pure, strawberry blond hair, enormous, deep green eyes, with an angelic face and perfectly proportioned supple, athletic, and definitely sensual body.

  Joe’s voice was now a deep, rich baritone; Marge’s, a strong but inviting soprano. It was Joe, after perhaps four or five minutes, who spoke first.

  “Hey! We’re stark naked!” he exclaimed.

  Ruddygore summoned Poquah while he cleaned up his lab, and the Imir took them back to two wardrobes, one with a vast assortment for men, the other for women. The extensive clothing, in a wide range of sizes, told a little more about the land of Husaquahr. Jerkins, tights, and other fashions more at home in a medieval costume epic seemed the rule, although there were hundreds of variations, including elaborate robes, long, satiny dresses, and very ornate male and female clothing.

  Everything was well made but obviously hand done in all respects. Poquah told them to select whatever from the wardrobes they would feel most comfortable wearing and assured them that later on they would be allowed to pick more extensively.

  Right now, this was just to get them started.

  Both discovered that undergarments either were not the fashion or hadn’t been discovered here. Oh, there were underclothes more or less full body types but they seemed to go with the fancy and uncomfortable looking royal garb.

  Marge finished first, then made her way back to the library, where Poquah had coffee, tea, and pastries waiting. “It is best to eat something, although lightly,” he told her. “Your digestive system will need a little help in starting up again without your getting ill.”

  She accepted his advice, pouring some lightly sugared tea and nibbling on a small croissant. She looked around for a mirror, but there were only books about the place. Too bad, she thought. I still can’t believe that that image in the mirror back there is really me. Still, she had to admit she felt well, different. Lighter, more agile, more nubile and nimble, and disgustingly healthy.

  “Almost feel like a kid again, eh?” came Ruddygore’s voice behind her, and she jumped slightly in surprise and turned to him.

  “Yes, that’s really it,” she answered. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this good. And do you read minds, too?”

  “When I have to, but it took no sorcerous turns to guess your thoughts this time,” the wizard responded lightly. “I assume Poquah has cautioned you against overindulging for a while?”

  She nodded. “That’s all right. I don’t really feel hungry.

  Just a bit dry.”

  “That’s natural,” he assured her. “Drink anything you want, but stay away from ales and other heavy stuff until you have a few meals in you. I might warn you, too, as a matter of general principle, not to drink any water you haven’t boiled, here or anywhere. Fermented stuff, boiled hot drinks, and fresh fruit juices, though, are all right.”

  “I’ll remember,” she promised. At that moment Joe entered, and she turned to look at him. She couldn’t suppress a chuckle.

  “Well! Look at you!”

  “Look at you, too,” he retorted, and seemed to mean it.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Ruddygore decided it was time to step in, although he was vastly amused by the reaction. “Welcome to the Rules,” he told them. “Come sit down and I’ll explain what this is all about.”

  Poquah hastened to give Joe the same cautions he’d given Marge. Joe, though, seemed more disturbed by the exchange than by any cautions.

  Marge continued to stare at him. She had hardly gotten used to the rough, burly, dark truck driver, and now here was this young, muscular savage? No, that wasn’t the right word. But Joe had gone along with the body and the image. First he’d chosen a crimson headband to keep his unaccustomed long hair in place, and beyond that a wide leather belt perhaps four inches or more with small bronze studs or rivets going evenly around near top and bottom. Aside from the belt, though, he’d chosen a long, thick cotton loincloth, leather sandals and that was it.

  As for Joe, this new, strangely beautiful woman didn’t bother him much, either after all, it had been probably no more than a day and a half since they’d met for the first time but he could hardly understand why a woman wearing a pretty revealing cotton lined leather halter and a “skirt” apparently made up of thousands of strands of individually strung red and purple beads that showed practically everything every time she moved had any right to comment on his garb.

  Ruddygore, still wearing his golden robe, took a couple of large, fat pastries and sat back down in his chair. Marge sat in a chair to his right, legs slightly crossed, and Joe sat facing them, noting that, from almost any angle, the woman might as well have nothing on at all as that “skirt,” whose strands fell away to reveal all, being connected only by a slim and nearly invisible waistband.

  “Your reactions to each other’s choices are natural, but I can explain it,” the sorcerer assured them between bites. “First of all. Marge, you’re surprised that Joe chose what he did, so let’s take care of that. Joe why did you choose the sword belt, loincloth, and sandals over all the rest?”

  Joe looked blankly back at them. “Why, I dunno, really... It just seemed... right, somehow.”

  Ruddygore nodded. “Volume 46, page 293, section 103©the Books of R
ules.” He gestured back at the wall of red bound volumes. “Your mental image, Joe, was, in the parlance of this world, the classical barbarian hero. Now, don’t get mad at that word ‘barbarian.’ It’s simply a word applied by a culture to anybody who obviously comes from a different one, one they feel superior to and which may well be superior to theirs.

  Get used to it.”

  “I kinda like it,” Joe responded. “Barbarian. Yeah. That’s about right. But what was all that volume and page stuff?”

  “That particular section, Joe, says, ‘Barbarian male heroes in southern temperate climes shall wear their hair long, nor shall they shave their beards, and will dress appropriately in sword belt, loins, and sandals.’ And that’s what you did. Of course, since you chose an Oriental barbarian, basically, you won’t have a beard or much body hair. But, you see, that’s how the Rules work. They don’t order you to do something.

  They just make it so you naturally want to do it.”

  Joe chuckled. “So that explains it. Still, it feels right. I don’t mind.” He had a sudden thought. “But what if I have to go where it’s cold?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Section 103(b) covers it. You don’t have to know it. You’ll just do it when the time comes. You’ll know. That’s the most positive thing about this land, Joe. You know. And if you meet someone similarly dressed, you’ll know what he is, too.”

  “Fair enough. And her?”

  Ruddygore turned to Marge. “You realize, of course, that you’re almost more in a state of undress than dress. That’s what Joe was talking about.”

  “Well, yeah, but... Oh, those books again.”

  Ruddygore nodded. “Volume 46 is mostly concerned with appearances. Page 119, section 34(a) ‘Weather and climate permitting, all beautiful young women will be scantily clad.’ It’s as simple as that.”

  She just stared at him.

  “Don’t blame me,” the sorcerer responded, reaching for another pastry. “I told you they were petty and in great detail.

  The current Council is overdoing it quite a bit, I admit, but the basics have been here for thousands of years. They lend stability to the land. In a way, you have to sympathize with the Councils of the past. They were faced with imposing sanity on a world based upon magic. And, truthfully, does your current garb bother you?”

  She thought for a moment. “Well...”

  “Truthfully, now. You didn’t even realize it until it was pointed out to you, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t,” she admitted. “It’s just that, spelled out like that, there’s something that offends me, deep down.”

  “Both of you may find yourselves compromising some of your principles from your old world, but you have to accept the Rules. It isn’t like changing the mind of a legislature or something. In a way, it’s close to repealing the law of gravity to change the Rules in any substantive manner. And, by the way, gravity isn’t locked in concrete here, either. The universe still operates in pretty standard ways, but don’t assume that local conditions do. They most assuredly do not.”

  She got up and walked over to the wall of red books, pulled one out, and opened it at random. She found it a mess of black, blue, and red squiggles and she couldn’t read a word of it. She shook her head and put it back. “I guess we’re both back to being illiterate here. That brings up a point, by the way. Just as these books are in some other language, people around here aren’t going to speak English, either. Do we have to take language lessons?”

  Ruddygore chuckled. “Oh, my, no! That was part of the acclimatization process. You remember just after it was all done I yelled something at you? Something neither of you could understand?”

  They both nodded.

  “I was yelling in English. Look.” He proceeded to give off what sounded like a strange and inhuman series of sounds, then smiled. “That was English. Neither of you speaks it any more, nor understands it, either. We are right now conversing in a language called Makti. It’s the trading language of the river.

  Although there are dozens of tongues spoken just on and around the river, there is one a sort of simplified amalgam of them all with its own grammar and syntax that developed because of the need for it. It’s locked in the Rules Volume 306 is a dictionary, 305 gives the Rules governing it. No matter where you are in Husaquahr, there will be those who understand it and speak it fluently.”

  “Yeah, but what about words not in the language?” Marge asked him. “I mean, I still am a Texan, and that’s not a likely word.”

  “Nor is it one,” the sorcerer agreed. “But that word, and similar words, are provided for. They remain in a mental secondary vocabulary, still as they were in English, and understandable to a speaker of English. Makti is a very flexible tongue, you see, and accommodates local idiom. Otherwise it would be of little use as a trading language. However, with its six tones and shorthand basics, it’s not transliteratable into English at all. The language as written is also ideographic, I fear, with a basic alphabet of more than two thousand characters and sixteen accent and tone marks. It takes years to learn if you weren’t raised with it, and a full vocabulary, capable of complex writing and reading, say, the Rules, is tens of thousands of symbols. The bottom line is that, yes, you’re illiterate like the vast majority of this world and probably going to stay that way.”

  “It sounds pretty complicated to me,” she told him. “You mean the other languages are even more complicated?”

  “Vastly so,” the sorcerer assured her. “So much so that Corabun, for example,” spoken in the area of the Fire Hills and Lake Zahias far to the west of here, has never had a successful written language. Or Hruja, spoken in parts of Leander, which is so ridiculous that you have to know some ideograms because you have to draw in the air just to talk unambiguously to one another.”

  “Ideograms,” Joe put in. “That’s picture writing? Like the Chinese and Japanese back home?”

  “Something like that,” Ruddygore replied. “But it’s not the same language by far.”

  “It seems this would lock in the hierarchy,” Marge noted.

  “I mean, if you can’t read or write, you can’t be a trader or businessman, or get a top spot in government. So most of the people can’t read those Rules, either, which leaves the magic up to those who can.”

  “I’ll admit to that, in a general way,” Ruddygore responded, “but not totally. Remember, here most trades, skills, and positions are passed down from one generation to the next. And whatever literacy is required gets passed along, too. Occasionally somebody with a real knack for it comes along who is, say, a peasant fanner, and then he or she rises in society and power if he wants.”

  “So the farmer’s kid can be king if he’s somehow able to learn the language on his own, with nobody to teach him, and then get access to all the books he needs. Clever. You hold open the hope to the lowest that their kids might rise all the way, while conditions make it just about impossible for them really to do so. It’s neat,” Marge said sourly.

  Ruddygore shrugged. “It works. What can I say? And everybody knows some example somewhere. However, whatever gave you the idea that a king has to be skilled or literate? Most of them are blithering idiots, really. Figureheads for their advisors, councilors, and bureaucracy.”

  “Pretty cynical, aren’t you?” Marge retorted. “But since we can’t read or write this stuff, we’re stuck on the low rung.

  Some new world!”

  “Oh, my, no!” The sorcerer chuckled. “Barbarians can rarely read but one or two have seized and held kingdoms. Your wits are your best assets, I assure you. That and training and working at needed skills and keeping those bodies of yours in peak physical shape. I have a great deal of hope for the two of you and a great set of missions. You are very important to me. You see, right now I have remade you to this world and its laws and rules. Almost all of you. But your souls are still of your native world, and that is important. The forces of Hell must work through agents here, but their magic is far different
from any here. They attune themselves to the souls of our world. You are totally vulnerable to the considerable magic of this world and this land but you will find yourselves invulnerable to the direct sorcery of Hell. It may be of small difference to you, but it may be of great consequence to me.”

  “I’m not sure I understand anything you just said, but it doesn’t sound like either of us is gonna have a long and happy life,” Joe grumped. “Seems to me like a pretty high price just to get out of alimony and child support.”

  Ruddygore smiled. “Long or short? Who knows? You were minutes from death when I pulled you away, Joe.”

  “So you say. I ain’t real sure I believe all that stuff.”

  “Believe it or not as you will, it is true. But it is also beside the point now, anyway, and that’s the way you should think of it. You are here. You can’t get back. Even if I were to let you, you are so changed from who you were that you’d be a strange barbarian in your old world speaking a language nobody could understand. They’d lock you up in a little room and throw the key away. Walk out of here now and you will be in a world you know nothing of and are ill prepared to live in.

  Stick it out, Joe. Remember, I said I needed a hero, not a martyr. You’re no good to me dead, and I’m going to spend a lot of time and effort to keep you alive. Take it like that. I need you, and, at least for now, you need me. Fair?”

  Joe considered it. “Yeah, I guess so. For now, anyway. But what comes next?”

  “I’ve been wondering that, too,” Marge put in.

  “Time is not on my side,” the sorcerer told them. “Right now the enemy is slowing to a halt far south of here because it is flood season, and the lower river is one vast flood plain.

  After that will come the monsoons, which make movements unpredictable. Still, the enemy will be fully on the march again in three or four months, and that means we have six months at best before we either act or fight him at our gates. Not a lot of time, but with a bit of magical help and a lot of experienceand the cooperation of you both I think we can use that time to good advantage. You’ll be seeing little of each other from this point until you are ready. Each of you is now going to school. A most unusual school. One pupil each. If and when you finish, you will be well prepared for the hardships and challenges you might face and more than able to exist in Husaquahr or anywhere else on our world.” He turned to the Imir, who stood nearby as always. “Poquah, show them to their quarters and notify Huspeth and Gorodo.”