World Enough, and Time

by James Kahn

  Josh looked mystified. “I still don’t get it,” he said. “Yellow? Brick Road?” He’d been thoroughly engrossed in the story as it was being told, but now at the punch line he had the feeling he’d missed something essential.

  Jasmine just smiled, shrugged. “You had to be there, I guess.”

  “Did you ever see Lon again?” asked Beauty, keen on the postscript.

  “See him? We went into business together. Gun-running, bounty-hunting. Five, six years we gamed. Lon made his fortune and retired.”

  “And you?”

  “I made the best friend I ever had.” She smiled, remembering Lon in his younger day, her boisterous, strapping Vampire lover, brother scoundrel, mentor, and friend. She had a momentary flash that she was somehow maybe becoming some of these things to the two seekers who followed her now. It gave her a warm feeling, the specifics of which she could not exactly trace, though it had to do with kinship and the passing of torches and secret knowledge and a sense that life goes on. In the midst of these thoughts, she recognized a landmark and stopped.

  “Ah, we’re here,” she said, and stepping off the limestone path, plunged back into the twining jungle. The others followed.

  Isis was queasy. She’d eaten a beetle of some kind, and it hadn’t agreed with her. Her head ached, her eyes burned, her stomach twisted. She lapped at some water from an algae-filled pool; but it, too, tasted queer.

  This was no time to let things slide. She’d followed her quarry through the Forest of Tears, across the hard, trackless Thenar Plains, over the Saddlebacks, and into this vile flowering jungle. Sometimes she’d remember it was for Joshua, and she’d double her resolve. Bandits had almost snared her once, for food; and once she’d lost the scent of her prey, but found it again. Now she could no longer see her Vampire pack, but the smell of their trail was still strong. She forced herself to plod on, one step at a time.

  Suddenly, another smell. Not a track, but only the faintest waft of an odor, from far away. As subtle as if the rain had fallen on the smell, and then evaporated, and now the fragrant vapor had condensed and fallen on Isis. Subtle, but distinct. It was Joshua’s smell.

  She was torn now by which way to go. She didn’t want to lose track of the Vampires; but Josh was somewhere about. Momentarily it sent her into a frenzy of indecision; she chased her tail in a circle four times, paused, spun twice more, and finally sat panting on a mossy rock.

  What to do? She could continue being exceedingly trailwise, following the Vampires and the Human with the blood-smell. But without Joshua, there would be no one around to see how clever and pretty she was. She gloated over herself a few moments, preening the fur that was beginning to grow back after the Dragon accident.

  Or she could go find Josh right now, show him what he’d been missing. But then he wouldn’t be very proud of her, if she’d lost the trail of the blood-ones.

  What to do? What to do?

  Suddenly a small rat-monkey skittered across the pool and into the thicket beside Isis. She reflexively swatted at its tail, then plunged in after it. It darted: under vines, around trunks, through leafy shadow. Isis gave chase. They tore up trees, leaping branch to branch, scattering birds and small critters in a cacophony of shrieks. Isis caught the rat-monkey by the hind foot briefly, but in the end the miserable beast escaped into a lizard burrow that Isis had the good sense not to enter.

  Disgusting worm-food, she thought, licking her paw. Lizard fare now and good riddance.

  She felt suddenly puzzled. She looked around at the layers of rotting mangoes, flowering vines, proliferating ferns: What place is this? she wondered. What am I doing here?

  An odor caught her nose, then—she turned her head instantly to the left, sniffed the heavy air; stood poised, motionless. She knew this odor. It was Vampire, and Accident—unmistakably Accident—and the Human with the blood-smell. That’s right, now she remembered—she was following them for Joshua. At the thought of Joshua, she paraded back and forth beside a still pond, viewing the reflection of the sultry Cat she saw there. Joshua’s Cat. Haughtily, she approved of herself, and closed her eyes to an invisible adulating audience. Indelicately, the smell returned, stronger than before.

  Isis crouched, squinted. She had them now, they would not elude so easily. With particularly audacious cunning, she set off in pursuit of the smell. Yes, Joshua would be pleased.

  She stopped a minute to retch the half-digested beetle out of her stomach, then dizzily moved on.

  Rose heard Nancy whimpering behind her. “What’s the matter?” she whispered over her shoulder. They were walking with difficulty through a rough-hewn half-path. Steam was rising everywhere. The night’s evil glow was beginning to fade as the sun shed its first light on the topmost leaves.

  “He’s dead,” Nancy moaned. “My Billy’s dead.” She began sobbing uncontrollably.

  Rose turned to look: the small baby sagged limply in Nancy’s arms, its blue, still lips open at her breast. Rose spoke softly but forcefully: “Keep quiet.”

  Nancy shocked into silence, stared blankly at Rose.

  “Don’t tell anyone,” Rose went on. “Pretend he’s sleeping. If they find out he’s dead, the Accidents will eat him.”

  A cry fell from Nancy’s mouth like a crippled dream. Rose took the baby from Nancy’s grip and held it to her own breast. Was this to be the extent of her motherhood? she wondered: nursing a dead baby. Under these circumstances, it was a revolutionary act.

  She wondered about Beauty and Josh. Would they find her? Were they still alive? She loved them both, and the thought that they’d die in search of her made her lip quiver, her eye moisten. She wanted badly to have a child with Beauty. She wanted badly to ride him once more, now, to feel the wind in her hah” and his back between her knees. She wanted to braid his mane, she wanted … but these were idle thoughts, she knew.

  Suddenly, before she’d even really made a coherent plan about the infant in her arms, opportunity presented itself rudely and without sentiment: she found herself walking beside a boiling sulphur pit that filled the air with acid stench. The edge of the pit ran along their path for about fifteen feet, then curved off into the jungle. At the last moment, without letting Nancy see, vowing not to think about it again, she dropped the lifeless child into the elemental pool, where it quickly sank in the currents.

  Ena, the hungry Vampire, heard the splash. “What was that?” she demanded, striding over to Rose.

  “A log by the path,” said Rose tiredly. “I kicked it in.”

  Ena leered. “Strong, aren’t you?” Rose remained silent. Ena felt Rose’s neck. “Good strong pulse, too. I like a person with spirit.” She fondled Rose, handled her. “I could make things easier for you, bitch,” the Vampire growled. Rose shrank into herself as far as she could. Ena bared her fangs, hissed, put her mouth to Rose’s, bit the Human’s lip, licked the drop of blood that formed there. “I could make things harder, too.”

  It was in a particularly dense matrix of creepers and runners that Beauty caught his hind hoof, tripped; fell.

  He didn’t say anything at first, thinking to get up immediately without bothering anyone. By the tune he did call for help, Jasmine and Josh were fifteen, twenty paces up, so it was another ten seconds or so before they got back to him. By that time, he was up to his haunches in quicksand. The look of white terror filled his face. He was sinking fast.

  Josh began to hold out his hand, but Jasmine pulled him back. “Cut long vines,” she ordered.

  Immediately both of them were hacking off thirty-foot lengths of one-inch-thick tendrils. When they had five such ropes, Jasmine sat down and began braiding them.

  Beauty was fast up to his man-belly. “Hurry. Please,” he spoke in a perfectly even tone. He knew that now more than ever it was essential that he maintain his sense of balance, internally as well as externally. Any thrashing or groping—any disequilibrium of any kind—would only pull him down.

  “Good God, we haven’t got time for that!” Josh sn
apped at Jasmine, grabbing one of the vines and throwing it out to Beauty.

  Jasmine snatched it back furiously. “How much weight do you think these little stalks can pull?” she seethed, and continued braiding. “A thousand pounds? You know what Beauty weighs in that much quicksand?”

  Josh writhed in impotence. He felt suffocated, watching his sinking friend, unable to help, unable even to know how to help.

  Beauty’s ears twitched. He was up to his nipples, now.

  Jasmine finished braiding, then tied one end of the bulky cord into a large loop. Beauty was up to his neck, his eyes open wide, his arms over his head.

  Jasmine threw the loop end to Beauty, then tossed the other end up around the high crotch of a massive tree, using it as a pulley wheel; and she and Josh pulled.

  As in an evenly matched arm-wrestling bout, neither side gave at first. There Beauty stood, his chin in the ooze, his outstretched hands grabbing the loop. Finally, slowly, the bog began to lose. The Neuroman and the Human exerted their last ounces of strength, spurred on to continue by every inch the Centaur rose from the mire.

  It took an hour of pulling.

  When at last he was fully out on hard ground, his legs trembled and he fell. The other two collapsed shortly thereafter, of exhaustion. They all lay where they dropped, oblivious to the world, in each other’s arms. But just before she fell asleep, Jasmine raised her head, to see Beauty’s face beside her. His eyes were open, and they shared a long moment locked in visual embrace. They both closed their eyes; and slept.

  Dicey wore only her thin cotton shirt as she walked, hot and wet in the steaming rain. Beside her walked Bal. His wing unfurled slightly around her, protecting her from the eyes of the company behind them. She gazed raptly on his face. He was speaking quietly; passionately.

  “… Thus, though we cannot make our sun stand still, yet we will make him run.”

  He stopped speaking. She continued staring at him, waiting for more words, magic words, book words; but none came. He was silent. She felt his power when he spoke these words to her from the poetry books; but she felt it tenfold when he stopped the flow of words, kept the words from her. It made her neck tingle, the way it tingled just before his lips touched it. She thought she must be going mad.

  “How old were those words?” she asked him.

  He smiled distantly. “Six hundred years. And still potent.”

  The warm flush around her throat spread down to her breast; lower. She could feel her breath quickening. She brought up her hands, circled his powerful biceps with her fingers. Involuntarily, he flexed. She continued hanging on. They continued walking.

  Josh dreamed he was choking and woke up. The noon sun cut brightly through the forest, making it almost too hot to breathe. The young man roused the others, and they resumed their journey.

  Soon a partial clearing emerged, gravid with orchids. Hothouse vapor made respiration difficult. The sweet aroma seemed to make time thick.

  A delicate green filament, hanging from above, brushed Joshua’s arm; coiled around it. He cut it free with his knife. It bled.

  Beauty snagged a fingernail on a shred of bark. He swore—something he never did—and angrily pared all his nails to the quick with the buck-knife from his quiver.

  A small violet bird flew out of the trees. Jasmine fell to the ground, shaking.

  Looking over their shoulders, they left the strange place.

  “Haunted,” whispered Jasmine.

  “One of the Accidents has fever, Bal-Sire.” Uli spoke nervously. A delirious Accident was a dangerous beast.

  Bal thought a moment. “Let Scree take care of him.”

  “But the other Accident…”

  “Tell Scree to fly home after he’s done. The other Accident will follow him. And bad blood on them all.”

  Uli nodded. “And the prisoners?”

  Bal raised his eyebrows. “Surely we can take the prisoners the rest of the way ourselves …”

  “Of course, Sire Bal.” Uli backed off.

  Uli gave Scree the order. The Griffin opened its beak and let out a single crow. It flew up into the high branch, waited for an opportune moment; then dove full force at the sick Accident’s belly, tearing it open from flank to flank. The Accident screamed, as Scree flew off toward the south.

  “What was that?” asked Josh. The scream riveted them in midstep. For a long moment the entire jungle was silent, listening to the echoes of the wail.

  “Somebody dying hard,” said Jasmine. The forest resumed.

  They walked alongside a small cool stream for a while, wary, but gaining confidence. Josh stooped to drink; the others followed. All along the bank wild flowers sprouted colorfully, interspersed with ferns, mushrooms, clover. The travelers lay in the flora for many minutes—unexpectedly tranquil—and quietly contemplated the humming stream, its lucent depth; its smoky curve into the trees. Josh flared his nostrils. He savored the flowers with them, for a moment at peace beside the crystalline water. Beauty dipped his head into the stream and kept it under, letting the refreshing currents play in his beard. And so immersing his senses in the soothing liquidity, he too was calmed.

  When finally Josh stood up again, he paused, cocked his head. “Did you hear that?” he asked. It was something like a sound, but subtler than thought. “What?” said Jasmine, rising. “I’m not sure. It sounded like a song. Or something.”

  “There, I hear something now,” Beauty claimed. His ears pointed. “It is music.”

  Finally Jasmine heard it. A voice: plaintive, keening, beckoning. She didn’t like it. “Let’s leave. This way. I think I’m on to Bal’s sign …” But the other two didn’t move. “Come on,” she shook them. She didn’t believe in enchantments, but she had a bad feeling about this place; and she did believe in feelings.

  Reluctantly, they followed her, off the course of the river.

  Ena pinned Rose to a tree, drinking from her neck. Rose put herself into trance. “I will not die,” she thought. “I will not die, I will…”

  Ena backed off and spat. “You’ve been eating garlic, you foul-blooded—”

  “Sire Ena!” Bal roared. Ena stopped. Rose gasped, put her fingers against her neck wound to halt the bleeding. Bal continued in a softer, sterner voice. “No more blood from these prisoners. We have lost too many as it is. Is that clear?”

  Ena nodded sullenly. Uli smiled to himself. Bal turned back to join Dicey at the head of the troop.

  “Thank you,” whispered Dicey. She stood facing him, looking up to him from the depths of eyes that were black with hunger, bright with knowledge.

  “No, you were correct. Your friend was looking pale. And Ena is a fool.” He breathed through his mouth.

  She cupped her right palm around his muscular left breast; and tilting her head, exposed her frail peaked neck to him.

  Ena looked on from a distance, fuming.

  “There it is again,” said Josh. He stood listening by a banyan tree.

  They all heard it clearly. Two voices, now: seductive, ancient. Pleading.

  “I have … never heard such singing,” whispered Beauty. He took two steps toward the melodious sounds.

  “This way,” said Josh, passing the Centaur and going five paces farther.

  “Wait,” said Jasmine. “The Vampires are this way,” pointing away from the brook they’d left behind.

  Hypnotic, runic. Sensual. Begging.

  “Wait,” Jasmine repeated; but now even she was beginning to forget what was so important about the direction they’d been following, was beginning to wonder what manner of Angel could be singing such compelling music; was beginning to walk, enraptured, toward the sound.

  CHAPTER 11: In Which The Travelers Lose Some Time

  THEY followed the creek downhill until it became a river, as the singing voices swelled, then faded again into the afternoon steam. There was a dropoff suddenly, the running water cascading over the twenty-foot falls. The hunters scrambled down the embankment.

  Here
the singing was intense. Whimpering, teasing. The companions looked at each other. Multiple emotions played across their faces in quick succession: fear, excitement, bewilderment; despair, obsession. The song seemed to be coming from the waterfall itself. With a single motion, the three friends stepped into the river; plunged under, and then through the pouring falls.

  When they emerged on the other side of the falls, they found themselves standing in a still, green pool. It was fed, at its darker end, by a small quiet stream that wound back into the descending caves. They waded through the water, which was quite shallow, as it twisted even deeper into the caves. Up, down, spiraling away. At every turn the music became clearer, until, at last, a new cave mouth opened, emptying Jasmine, Josh, and Beauty into a sunny, grassy clearing. And there, by the side of the crystal river, lounged the three laughing Sirens.

  They were exquisite: frail, blushed faces; lithe woman-bodies, lusciously covered in fine down and dove feathers of raging color, covered everywhere except over their sensitive faces, delicate necks, pale-skinned breasts. Bird-women, softer than sleep.

  The Sirens rose, speaking a strange musical language in voices like harps. They came forward, took the three wanderers in hand, and led them up a gentle rise to a poppied knoll, from which they saw before them a city: a garden city, cut out-of—yet still laced through with—the jungle. Verdant, sultry; fantastic.