The River Of Dancing Gods

by Jack L. Chalker

  “Is that necessarily bad?”

  He considered this. “It depends on how you look at it. The more you are of faerie, the more magic of the minor sort will be instinctive, requiring no training. But you will be subject to the magic of mortals and the rules of faerie. Never having been of faerie, I can not say if this is good, bad, or indifferent.

  But it is certainly different.”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” she told him.

  “For now, the protection spell for the rooms.”

  “Simple. You have a good memory. Remember this spell and do it so.” He sketched out in her mind a pattern and a rhythmic chant to aid the pattern’s symmetry. “Try it. Just a bit. Just in the air here.”

  She concentrated and tried it, going just a little ways. The color of the bands was orange, and they were a little thicker and harder to manage, but not by much. “How’s that?”

  “It will do. Go now. Get some rest. We have a busy day tomorrow.”

  She left him and returned to the inn, where the rest of the Company was still at the table drinking ale. Joe and the portly Grogha seemed in the best of spirits.

  After a while, they went upstairs. She first checked the saddlebag and found it undisturbed. That didn’t mean that no one had tried, but certainly the spell had worked. After bidding the other three good night, she stood back and worked the protection spell, first on the window and then, from outside, on the door. It looked really pretty, she decided.

  She and Joe went one door down to their room. From inside this time, she traced the spell once more on door and window.

  Joe watched her, fascinated, seeing only a chanting woman waving her right hand about, but he knew that something was indeed taking place.

  She felt a little tired when she finished and sat down on the bed of straw.

  “I just happened to think of something,” Joe said.

  “Huh?”

  “We had a lot to drink. What if I have to go to the can?”

  She smiled and pointed under the window. “See that pot there? That’s a chamber pot, as in the old days.”

  He went over, looked at it, and frowned. “Umph. Some privacy! But I suppose if you gotta go you gotta go.”

  She nodded and lay back on the bed. “I really am starting to feel worn out. I think maybe I’ll just go right to sleep.”

  He came over and knelt down beside her. “Sure ain’t Texas, is it? Or South Philly, either.”

  She smiled. “No, it sure isn’t. And I’m glad it isn’t. I wouldn’t go back for anything now, I think. We have something everybody dreams about at one time or another but almost nobody ever gets, Joe. A new life. A second chance. It’s funny.

  Here we are, in a dirty roadhouse in an ugly foreign country, about to put ourselves into real danger and I’ve never been happier in my whole life. Never. You understand that?”

  He nodded. “In a way. But only in a way. Me, I’m still on the road for somebody else, stopping at flea traps and risking my neck for not much. And I got nobody, really, to be doin’ it for just like back home. This stuff ain’t so glamorous, either, when you bean somebody with a sword and electrocute him or something like that. I got a feeling that the only thing that’s really changed about me is that now I’m gonna get paid for killin’ folks instead of haulin’ their stuff.”

  She thought about it a moment. “Maybe you’re right, Joe.

  But it’s the only life we’ve got now. Let’s play it out. It could be fun, too.”

  He sighed. “I dunno. Maybe maybe you and me will be a team, huh? We’re different, you and me, from any of them.

  We’re from someplace else. Someplace different, if you know what I mean.”

  She leaned over and patted his arm. “I think so. We’ll see.”

  She snuffed out the lantern. It was an eerie scene for her after that, with the orange bands of the window and door and the yellow on the saddlebag aglow, yet reflecting not at all the rest of the room. To Joe, of course, it was pitch darkness.

  “Marge?”

  “Yes, Joe?”

  “I’m just lonesome, is all. I have been for a long, long time.

  Long before comin’ here, I mean.”

  “I know.”

  “Marge?”

  “Yes, Joe?”

  “I’m horny, too.”

  “I figured as much. Not now, Joe. Not for a while. Not between you and me, that is. Let’s just be friends for a while, huh? Companions from another world.”

  He sighed once again. “What’s the matter? Afraid it will louse us up?”

  “No, it’s not that. Look, Joe, I can’t be as strong as you.

  And this is even more of a man’s world than ours is. My only chance to be independent to be free here is through the magic. The place Ruddygore sent me, well, it was sort of like a convent. I joined their order.”

  “You mean you’re a nun?” He sounded genuinely shocked.

  “Think of it that way, if you can. It’s not to say that someday I might not bend. When I think me time is right.

  When I’m ready. But as for now, the longer I stay celibate, the stronger my magic power gets. Once I break it, I can never get any stronger. I just told you what the magic means to me, Joe. So I have to pay the price.”

  He was silent for a minute, then finally said, “You ain’t the only one payin’ a price.” But then he rolled over and was soon snoring. She had no trouble joining him in that endeavor.

  It was Joe who was up first, shortly after dawn, and he tired rather quickly of just lying there and waiting for her so he could leave. He gently shook her awake.

  “Hope you don’t mind but I’m trapped,” he said apologetically.

  “No, I don’t mind at all,” she told him. “In fact, the lack of clocks and wake up calls is a real pain around here. How come you got up? Trouble sleeping?”

  “Nope. When you’re on the road and time is money, you get so you can mentally set yourself to wake up at a particular time. It’s no big trick just a practical necessity.”

  She got up, yawned, and stretched. “I always heard about people who could do that, but I never could.” She rubbed her eyes and blinked a few times. “Right now I wish we had some running water. I’d like to wash my face off and get the sleep out.”

  He laughed. “And you were the one who really loved this place.”

  “I didn’t say it couldn’t stand a few improvements.” She laughed back. She got up, yawned once more, then turned to the saddlebag. “Easy stuff first.”

  Having made the pattern in the first place, she knew exactly where to start and how to retrace the pattern backward. It was so quick and effortless that even Joe was surprised. “You’re learning that stuff pretty good,” he told her.

  She nodded, then sighed and looked up at the window.

  “Seems almost a waste to undo the window, but somebody may have to jump out of this firetrap someday.” The orange bands were still a bit bulkier to manage but no real trouble.

  The door was a bit slower, because of the greater complexity and sheer size of the pattern, but it took only a couple of minutes. Finally she said, “Okay, Joe. Lift the latch and let’s go spring the rest.”

  He did so, and the door opened without trouble. She grabbed the saddlebag and they went to the next door, where another two or three minutes was spent undoing the spell. Joe then pounded on the door, and was greeted by a sleepy “Who’s that?”

  “It’s us!” he called. “You can open your door now! Time to hit the road!”

  There was the sound of grumbling on the other side, then the sound of the board being removed, and the door opened.

  All three were sleepy and grumbling, but were ready to go by the time Marge had removed the window spell from their room.

  She looked around at them. “I suppose it’s too much to ask for there to be a bath in this place, but let’s at least wash up and get breakfast.”

  Grogha yawned and scratched. “You ain’t got no spell for fl
eas, have you?”

  “Maybe we can find something,” she replied. “A bath would be best but I’m not too sure I want to expose myself around here.”

  “Bath?” the portly man repeated, as if it were a totally alien word.

  “Yeah, you might try one sometime,” Macore prodded playfully. “You should do everything at least once in your life.”

  Marge washed herself off at the outside pump, as did Joe and the others. Then they went back inside the inn, almost deserted at this early hour. Strong coffee was available, though, and some fruit and pastries, which suited them all just fine.

  When they had eaten, the stout woman who’d taken over the bar the night before came over to them.

  “You owe eight for the rooms and two for the breakfast.

  Jajur is on the house. Skimmin’ like that’s not proper. At least not so up front.”

  “Jajur?” Joe asked.

  “The bartender. Though I should charge you for me havin’ to work extra hours last night.”

  Marge thought a moment. “How about twelve and call it even?”

  “Fair enough.”

  The money was counted out and paid, and they headed for the stables. The five grain charge there seemed a bit stiff, but they paid it without complaint. Macore looked over at the moneybag. “How much more we got in there, anyway?”

  Marge shrugged. “About a hundred grains in various denominations, plus some gems.”

  “Let’s see some of the gems.”

  She reached in, took out a few, and gave them to him. He looked them over with an appraiser’s eye, then whistled. “Not bad. These three ought to be enough.” He kept them and handed her back the rest. Then he sought out the stablehand to ask about outfitting, and they went further into town, leading the horses, until they came to a weathered store. It wasn’t open yet, but the owner was inside setting up, and it didn’t take much to get him to start business a bit early.

  By the time the little thief was done, they had a mule, pack, and harness, bedrolls, canteens, and a small camping outfit.

  There was a lot of haggling, but, as Macore had predicted, the three stones proved sufficient.

  Joe and Marge were impressed. “All that for three of those? Joe asked incredulously.

  Macore nodded. “And he got the best of the bargain. One thing, our Master Ruddygore is not stingy, I’ll say that for him.”

  Marge looked at the overloaded mule. “Is all this really necessary?”

  Macore took out the map. “I think so. I doubt if we’ll make it more than halfway today to Kidim, and that means a campout in the wastes. Tomorrow we’ll be climbing and maybe we’ll make it, maybe not. Besides, after Kidim we’ll be fresh out of stores, anyway, so we had to buy some of this sooner or later. Why not now? It will only be a lot more expensive as we go further inland.”

  The next step was letting the horses and the mule drink and filling the canteens. By that time, the first of the open air markets was open, and they were able to buy a fair amount of fruit and some dried meat, as well as coffee and tea. Checking the map once more and getting information from the fruitseller, Macore was able to lead them on the proper path, first back to the ferry junction road, then a bit north, where the shore road forked, one way following the river, the other turning first west, then south, into the mountains.

  That road was clear, but it was obvious that it was not widely used, particularly from the approach to the Bald Mountains themselves. The mountains weren’t high, but they were barren granite domes of some ancient volcanic origin, and a natural climatological barrier.

  The trail led up to them, then began a series of switchbacks, taking the Company up a thousand feet or so in slow stages.

  The summit was only thirteen or fourteen hundred feet high, but that was a lot when one was starting from the bottom.

  Once the travelers were through the pass, the trail descended much as it had brought them up, but the landscape had changed dramatically. Almost up to the foot of the Bald Mountains, the river fed earth had been green and lush. Now it was mostly desert, a desolate yellow, purple, and orange landscape of dry beauty, marked with mesas and buttes wind carved into fantastic shapes.

  “Looks like the Badlands,” Joe commented.

  At the bottom of the descending trail, they hit another junction, unmarked as had been all the others in High Pothique.

  “Inland route,” Macore told them. “Used mostly by caravan traders who don’t want to be that obvious. We go straight, though. Through that.” He pointed at the desolation. “See those mountains in the distance, almost blending with the sky? Well, they’re the really big mother mountains, and that’s where we’re heading.”

  “Lead on,” Houma called to him. “You got the map.”

  The hot sun bore down on all of them as they went, and Joe cracked that he should have brought his suntan lotion from the truck, but he knew, somehow, that he would not bum. By the evening, though, he was already several shades darker than when he began, and all their faces and hands showed weathering.

  Dacaro was as good as his word to Marge. “If you are determined to master the art, then I will help you,” he told her.

  The theory of it was not all that esoteric since they were talking applied rather than theoretical magic but to move from doing presupplied spells to creating one’s own to suit whatever purpose one wished was something else again, something not mastered in a day.

  It was with some inward fascination that she couldn’t help but think of it as being much the same as learning computer programming something she’d once taken a course in at one of those fly by night business schools back when she was still looking for a job. Up to now she had been using pre prepared “software” the spells furnished by Huspeth or Dacaro. Now she was being taught, in slow steps, how to build them herself.

  Of course, she’d graduated from the course, but not with any decent handle on programming. Her math was just a bit too slow and so it was here, with no pocket calculators to help her out.

  Still, Dacaro was patient and reassuring and seemed delighted to be able to do something finally with the knowledge he’d gained over his years as an adept.

  At one point she asked him point blank what he’d done to incur Ruddygore’s wrath.

  “I went on a trip with him to your world,” he told her.

  “A most smelly and confusing place, I must say, but one with a lot of things I thought would improve our situation here.”

  She was surprised at this. “Does he go to our world often?”

  “Fairly often. Two or three times a year, perhaps, for a week or so each time. He sees shows at theaters, mostly, and buys horrendous souvenirs of places tacky stuff even by your world’s standards. He did not show you his collection?”

  “No.”

  “He will. You will be appalled. I argued with him that bringing back some of the technology of your world would ease a lot of misery here. He adamantly refused, even though he admitted it. He talked about intangibles, values this world had that had been bred out of yours by your technology. I did not agree with him then and I do not now. So I disobeyed him.

  I brought back something which I thought could be useful here in our eternal fight against the enemy. I brought it back mostly to study and have copied. But he discovered it, sensing the iron in its construction, and so we had our bitter falling out that left me in this state.”

  She grew curious. “What was it you brought back?”

  “A revolver, I think you call it. Or is the word ‘gun’?

  And five hundred rounds of ammunition.”

  She whistled. “Why a gun?”

  “I argued with him. I asked him to imagine our brave forces lined up against those of the Baron, armed with these or more efficient versions of these, instead of swords and spears and arrows.”

  “Sounds reasonable to me,” she agreed. “What did he object to?”

  “He told me that I was looking at the problem the wrong way. I was to imagine the Baron with
such weapons. But we would have then first and we could always improve upon them. It would end war as we know it!”

  “Yes, it would, Dacaro,” she said sadly. First one side would have pistols. Then some would be inevitably captured by the other side, and they would copy the design and make their own only better. Maybe scale them up. What was a revolver but a miniature cannon? And then the other side would... Was there uranium here?

  She knew too much about that sort of pattern to be on any side but Ruddygore’s, and she could understand why Dacaro so frightened him and why poor Dacaro would never understand the reason. She gently changed the subject back to magical spells and did not refer to his problems again.

  Although the sun was still up, they made camp at a small water hole right in the middle of nowhere. The horses and the mule had no hesitancy drinking from the stuff, even though it looked a little stale, so they didn’t, either. It tasted odd, but they suffered no ill effects.

  The watering hole hardly qualified as an oasis the pool was barely ten feet around and looked to be a place where the bedrock had weathered away at a soft spot, allowing an underground river a small outlet. There were some bushes, but no trees, and it looked as if it were used, but seldom.

  “As far as I know, this is the only water between here and Kidim,” Macore told them. “Of course, all I know is the map.

  I never actually crossed this way before.” He frowned and looked southward. “Still, I’d say we should make the town before dark tomorrow.” He sighed. “Man, I’m hot and tired!”

  “We all are,” Houma replied. “It is desolate country indeed.

  Still, it is open country, too. Less likely to bump into funny things.”

  “Don’t get too confident!” Macore shot back. “The last time I was real self confident, I tried to sell sharpeners to a nice lady who ran a farm all by herself remember?”

  There seemed no way to reply to that. Joe looked around.