The River Of Dancing Gods

by Jack L. Chalker

  “Wh what happened!” he managed, his voice sounding like a croak.

  “You had an arrow in you. Went almost through you, too.

  You’re very lucky, Joe. Dacaro says a one inch difference and you’d be dead now. As it is, the wound’s already healing, although you might feel it for a few days yet.”

  “Macore? Grogha?”

  “Much worse off, I’m afraid. Macore will recover, but he’ll need a couple of days before he’s up to riding. Grogha, however he was real bad, Joe. His back is broken. I’ve given him a potion that’s knocked him out, but even the magic’s no good unless you know exactly what to do. Dacaro’s a good sorcerer, but he’s no healer. He was able to repair your hole pretty well and fix up Macore’s leg and ribs, but Grogha lost a lot of blood, mostly internal, and he’s too cracked up for anybody but a specialist. The nearest specialist would be in Kidim. I doubt if he could stand the ride.”

  Joe whistled, coming out of it now. “I don’t know. Until today it still was something like fun and games. That bartender, it didn’t seem real somehow, and none of the rest made much difference. No matter what we did, no matter what scrape we got into, we always got out of it. Now this.” He suddenly grew tense. “The rest of the Baron’s men any sign?”

  She shook her head from side to side. “We’ve been watching. Nothing. Not a sign.”

  He sighed. “Well, keep a watch. But, somehow, I don’t think we have to worry about them. Just a feeling. Still we’ll know soon enough.” He pulled off the moist towel and brought himself to a sitting position. It hurt like hell in his side when he did, but it was bearable. “I’ll be okay. Just whip me up something to dull the pain a bit, give me the night, and I’ll be ready to ride tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow! How can we possibly go tomorrow?”

  “We have to,” he told her. “For one thing, either those nasties are going to come back, in which case we’re dead if we stay, or they aren’t in which case the reason why they aren’t is going to come sometime to see who else might be in the neighborhood. We’re too close to stay put. Besides we got a wishing lamp to get, huh? Maybe one of those wishes can be used on Grogha.”

  She thought about it. “Yeah! You’re right! It may be the only way. But if thirty hardened soldiers couldn’t do it...”

  “We have no choice. And we have to know what’s going on in advance.” He looked up. “That’s almost a full moon up there. Where’s Houma?”

  “By Grogha.”

  “Get him.”

  She did as instructed, and soon the lanky farmer and former goat was by Joe’s side. It was clear he’d been crying some, and Joe didn’t hold it against him at all.

  “Houma, I’m sorry I got you both into this mess,” he said sincerely.

  “Oh, hell, you didn’t exactly torture us,” the other replied.

  “We did our share today, didn’t we?” There was a certain pride in his sad tone.

  “You sure did. But you know we’re going to lose Grogha unless we get the Lamp.”

  Houma brightened. “Sure! The Lamp! I damn near forgot!

  Then there’s a chance!”

  “A slim one,” Joe said. “Look, not too far ahead, the road reaches Starmount Plateau. It’s a clear, moon bright night, so it should give a good view of where we’re going. If these Xota are fliers, and if the Baron’s men were trapped by them in daylight, chances are they’re day folk themselves and will be licking their own wounds tonight.”

  “I getcha,” Houma said. “You want me to go up and find out what we’re up against.”

  Joe nodded. “This wound’s pretty painful, but I think I can live with it. I’d rather get a night’s sleep, but if things look good, I’m all for trying it tonight.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Marge practically screamed at him. “You’re too banged up!”

  But Houma was game. “I’ll take Posti. That way, if anything happens to me, he might be able to get back with the word.”

  “Good. But don’t take any chances and get back as soon as you know anything.”

  With that, Houma was off. Marge sat down beside Joe and shook her head in wonder. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you. You’re crazy.”

  He chuckled. “Well, you were the one who wanted adventure, right? I’m going to keep going with my impulses. They’ve been pretty good so far.”

  Marge looked over at the two motionless forms across the fire. “Yeah. Real good.”

  “We’re all still alive. That’s more than anybody would have figured at this point. This close to our goal, I don’t want to lose now.” He sighed. “It’s not a simple world any more, though.”

  She looked at him strangely. “Yeah. You and those close to you can die here.”

  “No, not even that. That soldier I talked to. He wasn’t some nasty, evil, menacing Baron or supernatural wart on the world.

  He wasn’t evil at all, I don’t think. Just an honorable man doing the job he was best at. That makes it a lot tougher, really.

  It’s easy to fight and hate your enemies when you think of them as some kind of supernatural monsters. I dunno. I just figured the kind of folks that would ride with the Baron would be more like, well, Nazis or something, at least. Now I find out they’re the same kind of folks we are.”

  Marge sighed and leaned back for a moment. “Yeah, I think I know what you mean. This should be a kind of romantic world you know, knights, dragons, that sort of thing. But it’s a real place, not some fairy tale. It’s a place where most of the people are owned by feudal lords, where the garbage is still tossed out the back window, and the same kind of people still die for the wrong causes. Even the supernatural side isn’t all that glamorous, with these silly Rules and hung up dragons seeing psychiatrists. I wonder if maybe it’s the price we pay when and if our fantasies ever do become real?”

  “These aren’t my fantasies,” he grumbled.

  She smiled. “Are you sorry you came?”

  He thought about it. “I’m not sure. Even now I’m not sure. Ask me when this heals and this stuff is over and done with.”

  He paused a moment. “Where’s your friend the unicorn, by the way?”

  “Gone. I don’t know where. I’m not even sure just what he is. Until recently, I thought of unicorns as just, well, pretty animals. Now I’m not sure what they are. I’m not even sure if whatever they are is good, frankly, or whether that’s a proper question. You see, there’s a price I must pay for that.

  It was much too busy here for me to pay it now, but Koriku will remember the bill and collect. Oh, don’t look so upset.

  It’s not that bad but I’m not sure what it is, either. Don’t worry about it for now.” She sighed. “I want to look at Macore and Grogha. Then we all better get some rest you in particular.”

  She left him there to ponder all that had been said, and he managed to drift off to sleep without the aid of Marge’s potions.

  He was awakened gently about four hours later, in the dead of night, by Houma. He was so glad to see the lanky man that he didn’t even grumble at being awakened.

  “I got almost to the cave itself,” Houma told Joe. “Had to make the last part on foot, though, to keep close to the rocks.

  Posti would have stuck out.”

  “Any sign of the Baron’s forces?”

  Houma nodded grimly. “They’re all over the place. It was pretty ugly, Joe. Their bodies, and the bodies of their horses, were spread out all over the flat about four miles up. Most of ‘em were badly torn up, and a lot of the bodies of both the men and the horses looked gnawed, if you can believe it.”

  He shuddered. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Joe sighed. “Did you count the bodies?”

  The farmer nodded. “I think it’s all thirty. Couldn’t be positive, since I didn’t really want to go out there too far, and there were some things working on a couple of me corpses.”

  “Xota?”

  “Naw. Don’t think so. Looked like animals.
I didn’t see any signs of them Xota people.”

  Joe struggled to his feet. “That settles it, then.” He got up, staggered a bit, then winced and stretched. “I’ll do.” He looked at the two sleeping forms. “Marge you stay with them. Houma and I are going to take a little trip.”

  She looked stubbornly at them. “Oh, no! Even if you manage somehow to get by and in that cave, which I doubt, don’t forget there’s some kind of monster in there. You need me, Joe.

  Dacaro gave me a number of spells that may or may not do any good, but I know enough to know that you shouldn’t go in there without me.”

  “But somebody’s got to stay here with them,” Joe pointed out.

  She nodded. “Houma will stay. He’s done enough tonight.”

  Houma’s expression was a cross between protest and relief.

  Still, he said, “I can give a good fight.”

  “No, she’s right,” Joe told him. “This is as far as the Company can go for now, and you might have to protect them and this camp. Marge and I will go. If we’re not back by tomorrow evening, though, don’t come after us. Do what you can for those two and get back. Ruddygore must know what happened to both expeditions.”

  Houma sighed. “I guess you’re right. If you ain’t back by this time tomorrow, poor Grogha will be dead, anyway, and I guess me on Posti and Macore on Dacaro tied down if need be could make it on the low road.” He paused, then suddenly leaned over, kissed Marge, and gripped Joe’s hand hard. “You two be careful. I already lost Grogha, I figure. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

  “Neither do I, my friend,” Joe answered sincerely, then looked around. “Where’s Irving?”

  The road went up through the pass, then down onto what appeared to be a wide plain. They knew that this was Starmount, the great plateau at twenty eight hundred feet that stretched for almost seventeen miles westward into the interior of High Pothique. It was aptly named, with a full view of the sky and a great moon now far lower than it had been earlier in the night, but still bright enough to see by. The cave was supposed to be against the mountains to the right of the road, and they turned their horses northwest to hug the rocky side of Starmount.

  In a short while they came upon the scene of an earlier battle. It was much as Houma had said, but they did not try to get close to see the grisly details. There were dark, fourfooted animal shapes out there, and some snarling could be heard. Best to leave them alone, they decided.

  And then, at last, they came upon the point where the mountain wall became smooth and sheer. They dismounted and looked across the way a clear stretch of perhaps a quarter mile, with no cover whatsoever, to a dark spot at the base of the mountain wall.

  “Right where it should be,” he muttered, and she nodded.

  “That moon’s getting awful low. Shall we ride or leave the horses here?”

  “I think leave them,” she told him. “I feel more confident on that open flat on foot and without cover, there’s no point to taking the horses, anyway.”

  “Speed,” he pointed out.

  “Yeah and noise. They’ll attract whoever killed those soldiers. And we’ll have to tether them right outside the cave.

  We couldn’t advertise better.”

  “You convinced me,” He sighed, thinking of his aching side.

  She thought of it, too, and handed him a gourd off her belt.

  “Here. Drink this. It will deaden the pain a little and give you some extra energy.”

  He took it gratefully, sipped it, almost spat it out, and said, “Yuck! This is as foul as sewage water!”

  “Most of ‘em taste awful, but they work. Drink it down.”

  He held his nose and finally managed it, making a terrible face afterward. But he had to admit that within two or three minutes he felt far better, with less pain and less tiredness.

  They gave a light tether to the horses, hoping it would keep them there but allowing them to pull free and run if spooked.

  There was nothing else they could do.

  “Let’s go slowly and carefully while we still have some moon,” he said, and they were off.

  There was an eerie stillness about the whole place, one that was more than a little unnerving, and they moved toward the cave, weapons drawn, looking in all directions, expecting something or someone to rise against them at any moment. But nothing did, and after a suspense filled fifteen minutes, they were at the mouth of the cave itself.

  Now that they were there, facing it, they could see that there was light inside. Torches flickered, not right near the entrance, but farther in, giving enough light for them to see but not to betray the cave to any distant onlooker.

  “Looks as if we were expected,” Marge whispered.

  “Or our monster is scared of the dark,” Joe replied. “Well, it’s now or never.”

  She nodded. “I just wish somebody knew what this monster was.”

  They entered, Joe first, and kept cautiously to the walls of the cave. It was a narrow and winding entrance, but shortly it opened up, until they were on the edge of a huge chamber, perhaps half a mile across and almost that wide. It was here the torches were set against a far wall. There was a huge altar, and before it were stacked an enormous number of bodies of black, winged creatures. They stared at the scene, and Marge absently counted.

  “There are more than fifty bodies there,” she whispered to loe. “No wonder the Xota are off licking their wounds somewhere. Those soldiers made them pay for the attack.”

  He nodded, looking at the altar itself. “That carved altar there. See the larger shape carved around it? Remind you of anything?”

  She stared, then frowned. “A rabbit?”

  “Yeah. A rabbit god. I’ll be damned. Never heard of that one before.”

  .. At that moment they heard a fierce, screaming noise, like a beast in a terrible rage. There was no way to tell where it came from the echoes in the cavern masked any source. Both of them tensed at the sound. ‘The monster,” Marge breathed.

  Joe looked around what he could see of the cave. “Say!

  Look out there in the middle! Those are two of the soldiers’ bodies! Some did get this far!”

  Marge stared at the two forms. “They look squashed flat.”

  “Yeah... squashed.” He looked around once more. “Where would you say they’d keep the Lamp?”

  She shrugged. “The altar’s the only place I can see that looks used.”

  He nodded. “And that’s where the two soldiers lie between here and the altar. But what kind of monster could do that? It looks as if they were swatted with a giant flyswatter.”

  Marge thought a minute. “Listen! You hear heavy breathing?”

  “My heart’s too loud,” he responded. But now that she mentioned it, he did hear it. It sounded as if the whole cavern were breathing. “Still can’t put a handle on where it is. But anything that big we ought to be able to see it.”

  She sighed. “Maybe it’s invisible. Well, I guess it’s time to use one of those spells. I want to see what we’re up against before going out there.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  “Dacaro figured we might be able to confuse a monster. If this spell works as advertised, you and I are going to walk across that cave in a couple of minutes while we’re both here.”

  “Huh?”

  “Just shut up and watch.” She turned to the cave, put her hands to her temples, and concentrated on the spell Dacaro had made her memorize. It had been easy to get a number of such spells while he’d been inside her head, and she had taken full advantage of the opportunity. The only trouble was, of course, that neither she nor Dacaro knew what spells would come in handy in an unknown situation they had to guess.

  The air shimmered in front of her, and slowly the images of two people faded in before them. As the images grew clearer, Joe could see that they were taking on the shapes of him and Marge.

  In another minute the visions had solidified to the point where he could almost swear he was loo
king at himself and Marge. The illusion was, in fact, uncannily real. She sighed, looked up at them, and said, “Walk to the altar.”

  The two simulacra turned stiffly and started walking out onto the cavern floor toward the two squashed soldiers. Marge kept looking directly at them, which Joe understood was necessary to preserve the illusion, but he was under no such compulsion. He started looking around for the monster once more, hoping that it could be fooled by this trick.

  Suddenly there was a roaring sound, the same as they’d heard before, followed by a sharp and sustained odd sound that reminded Joe of nothing more than a giant’s fart. And down on the two replicas fell the great monster of the cave from its hiding place above.

  “My god! It’s a giant bunny rabbit!” Joe said, amazed.

  “It’s the biggest damn Texas hare I’ve ever seen,” she admitted. The thing was enormous twenty feet high, not counting the ears, and terribly muscular, the Mr. Hyde of hares. Its face, too, was not the passive hare’s face, but an ugly, contorted version; its large, yellow eyes were burning with fierce hatred, and its two great buckteeth were flanked by saber toothed fangs: Its giant legs struck the two replicas full, then did a dance on top of them. Had they been real, it would have flattened them for sure.

  Marge wasted no more time keeping up the illusion, but couldn’t help staring at the rabbit, then up. “There are no ledges up there for something that size,” she noted. “Where did it come from?”

  The great hare god roared its conquest, then quieted and glanced around. They ducked back for a moment into the cave mouth and were certain they hadn’t been seen. Joe peered out again, just as the hare roared and screeched once more, looked at the altar, roared at it, then did something that neither Joe nor Marge expected.

  Its great mouth opened, and it inhaled and kept inhaling.

  As it did, its great brown body seemed to fill up and stretch like a balloon, until it was as big around as it was tall. And with that, the enormous hare floated up the sixty feet or more to the roof of the cave, becoming almost invisible in the darkness, its brown hair blending with the weathered limestone.