She definitely took some getting used to, he reflected. She'd been okay before; Ruddygore had given her a pretty good figure. But, particularly after that witch in the wood got hold other, she'd been less of a looker and more like a female jock. This new Marge—or new, new Marge—was something else again. Small, petite, cute, sexy as all hell, and naked to boot. The batlike wings were so beautifully colored that they seemed more like some precious butterfly's than anything negative. She was definitely no longer human—no real person had ever been put together so absolutely perfectly, except maybe in some artist's dreams—but the old Marge personality and an incongruous trace of a Texas accent still came through.
Those wings, they were funny things, he decided. He'd seen her fly and knew that she just lifted off effortlessly, like Peter Pan or something, often hovering as if gravity didn't exist for her, and quite often without spreading those wings at all.
They weren't necessary for her to fly, that was for sure, and he wondered if they were just decorative or whether they had some different kind of function. They definitely made wearing clothes impossible, so her unnatural endowments were out there for the world to see. That, too, would take some getting used to. He wanted her, and he knew that any other man who was the least bit turned on by women would want her, too. He wasn't sure how he'd take that. He'd gone crazy during her whole celibacy period, but at least it had been the same for every other man she knew. Now, though—well, creatures weren't put together that way just for the hell of it. Every fairy he'd run into since being in Husaquahr had a particular role to play and was more or less designed for the part. It didn't take a lecture in fairy lore to tell him what the Kauri's obvious role in the supernatural scheme of things was.
In a sense, it made him feel even more alone, since he knew that there was now a gulf separating them forever. She was no longer human, nor could she be expected to be human again. The fairies always did what they had to do, what they were supposed to do, his teachers back at Terindell had assured him. While that made them somewhat predictable, it made Marge and him more than a world apart.
He continued to brood as they slowly approached the Firehills, alternately cursing Ruddygore for bringing him here and himself for feeling weaknesses inside himself he never really knew were there.
The Firehills looked more intimidating the closer he got to them. Less a mountain chain than a whole line of continuous small volcanoes, their tops were shrouded in white smoke, through which occasional flashes of fire were visible now. He was worried about that fire, and by the fact that there seemed no break as far as the eye could see in that solid, if fairly low, black wall. They had been following the now tiny Bird's Breath all the way, but soon it petered out into a not-very-wet marsh, while the path continued right toward the barrier ahead, with no pass in sight.
There were bushes and many odd-looking groves of trees, but now in the air there was the unmistakable smell of sulfur and the rotten-egg odor of hydrogen sulfide. The path led through brilliantly colored mud pots, some of which occasionally gurgled and bubbled and steamed their foul odors. Here and there were pools of very clear water, but he could see within the pools the discolorations from the settling out of minerals and the steam rising off their surfaces. Clearly the Bird's Breath had its origins in volcanic waters, and probably should have been named Dragon's Breath. It sure smelled like it, anyway.
Off in the distance, a geyser spouted a hundred feet or more into the air with a great rush and roar, and he stopped momentarily to watch it, then became acutely aware that there were a lot of geyser holes all around him. He sighed and pressed on, trying to reassure himself that it had been Ruddygore who had recommended this route. It didn't reassure him all that much, though, since Ruddygore had always been more certain to get them in trouble than out of it in the past.
The sun was low in the sky when, threading his way through a virtual mine field of volcanic manifestations, not to mention leading Marge's horse through it, he finally reached the base of the Firehills themselves. The horses were getting jumpy and acting uncomfortable from all the hissing, roaring, bubbling, smoke, and smells, but they didn't feel anything he didn't feel double. He decided that it was time Marge woke up, no matter how much beauty sleep she needed.
After finding that yelling and shaking her produced only a dreamy reaction and shifting, he finally got fed up and did some obscene and not-very-gentle things to her. She gave a big, dreamy smile and sighed; her fairy eyelashes fluttered a bit, and those great, sensuous eyes opened a crack. Under any other circumstances, he would have been delighted at the reaction, but the fear of being roasted alive had a tendency to drive all other impulses from his head.
Marge! Wake up! he screamed as the lids started to flutter back, and he reached over, cursing, and dropped the dark glasses back into place.
From Marge's vantage point, it was at first like being awakened from a pleasant sleep filled with erotic dreams to a disorienting confusion; but when the glasses slid down, she suddenly saw perfectly and sat bolt upright. Wha—what's happened? She looked up at the blackish cinder wall rising just ahead of them and the strange and violent landscape behind and grew instantly alert. “How'd we get here?”
“We rode, he responded sourly. The map says there's a path over this damned hill. Not only do I not see one, but darkness is coming on, and I sure don't want to spend the night here!”
She glanced around. Looks okay to me. Real pretty, in fact. She stopped short for a moment, realizing her reaction and comparing it with her memories. The Kauri were creatures of this earth-fire, but others were not. The land posed no problems for her, yet she could sense Joe's fear and discomfort with that empathic ability and she grew concerned for his safety. She looked up at the Firehills, so dark and featureless to their smoke-covered tops, and she could indeed see the flashes of molten fire through that smoke. It looked as if the whole ridge had a crack most of the way to the top, a crack running horizontally as far as the eye could see. Let me have the map, she said, suddenly serious. She looked at it for a moment, frowning. Let me go up and see what's what.
Without waiting for his reply, she rose effortlessly off the horse and into the air, moving straight up until she was out of sight. All he could do was wait there, calming the horses and starting to worry more and more.
She was gone for what seemed like ages; then, as silently as she'd left, she returned and quickly settled, standing daintily atop her horse's saddle. He could see by her expression that things were at least as bad as he'd imagined.
Trouble, she told him needlessly. I've been all over the area, and finally I figured out that we took a wrong turn. There's something of a break in the Firehills about twenty miles northwest of here, in a place where they're not very active, and there's an old path to it and across. There's a second branch of the Bird's Breath we were supposed to take and didn't.
He sighed and shrugged. The thing was so small I never saw any junction. That damned map doesn't show which is which, so I followed what looked like the main course all the way here.
Yeah, this is the source, but it's not the stream we were supposed to follow.
He looked toward the darkening, nightmare landscape to the northwest., So I guess we'll have to detour.
She shook her head. Uh-uh. You don't want to go through that mess, I'll tell you. This is a calm and stable part, I'll swear. You could never be sure of the ground elsewhere. It's a good twenty miles back to the fork, then another thirty to the pass. That's two, maybe three days, and I don't think the horses could take it. They're straining now.
He sighed. So what else can I do? You can fly over and be safe and comfortable in bed tomorrow, but I sure as hell can't, and I'm not going to abandon the horses and supplies unless I have to. In this stuff, it would be their death warrant.
She nodded. Then the only way is to go up. If we can cross over, the horses can get a good rest and watering on the other side. She paused. You, too.
He wiped sweat from his forehead and
looked up at the ominous hill. So how do we do it?
First let me go up and check it out, see if there's any place we can cross. Then we'll risk my horse, with me leading. If the stuff underfoot holds her, it will hold you and yours.
He nodded. Fair enough. But be careful—I don't want you melted down.
She laughed. No danger of that. I can swim in the stuff, Joe. I have done it. She sighed and looked up at the swirling smoke. Well—here goes! And with that, she was gone, flying up the side and into the dense cloud at the top.
This time she was gone for only a couple of minutes, reappearing and setting down in front of her horse. There's a way, I think, she told him, but it's going to be a real hairy time for you and the horses. It's cinder most of the way, but I think it will hold. Up just into the smoke, though, the heat comes and goes. There are real nasty cracks all over the place. She pointed. But in one spot, just over there, it seems fairly cool. It's been hot, though, and the heat has melted and remelted the stuff up there. The surface is almost like glass, and it's bound to be slippery. If you slip, it's pretty nasty on either side.
He looked up and swallowed hard. Well, let's try it. Anything to get out of spending a night around here. I want to get it over with while there's still some light.
She nodded. Taking her horse's bridle, she stepped out onto the cinders. The horse resisted for a moment, then went along when she saw Marge being supported. Then the horse sank a bit into the cinders and ash and thrashed for a moment in confusion. It took precious minutes of Joe's daylight to calm her down and get her to go on.
Beyond, the cinders and ash were so dense that they gave
a surprisingly solid footing. Joe decided to lead his horse as well and was relieved to Find that the hill felt, at least at the beginning, cool. He was, however, really beginning to wish he could trade his thick sandals for some even thicker boots. Asbestos boots, preferably.
The slope was rather gentle, and they took it at an angle, but it was slow going, and several times the material gave way, causing a momentary loss of footing. The horses were a big problem here, but, fortunately, none were sufficiently unbalanced by the occasional loss of footing to go tumbling over and back down.
Almost before Joe realized it, they were up to the smoke level and into it. The stuff stank and stung his eyes, causing even more problems with the horses, but the gases weren't very dense, once he was in them, and he could, at least, see ahead to the rear of Marge's horse. One thing for sure, though—the air was getting really hot, and he was sweating as he never had before. The volcanic surface, too, was getting pretty damned warm, although not bad enough to cause burning.
And then they hit the remelted area. He had imagined a smooth slope. In fact, it was rough and irregular, but it was shiny and slippery. Only the irregularities in its surface, almost like a frozen sea, allowed them any chance of footing. The stuff was hot, too—he felt as if he were in somebody's giant oven, and the bottom of his sandals were becoming very, very warm.
He soon saw why. Only ten feet or so on either side, the glassy surface dropped away to reveal a bubbling, hissing pit.
I'm already well done! he called out, coughing at the smoke and miserable from the intense heat- How much farther is it?
Not far, she called back. Just ten more minutes and we're home free!
He groaned. He wasn't sure he or the horses could last that long. Right about then he was so miserable he didn't give a damn about the horses.
Suddenly Marge stopped, and he almost screamed out in agony. Now what?
We're not alone up here, she responded, sounding worried. I think you better draw Irving.
He's so damned hot I can't even touch him, Joe called back in disgust, but he did try the sword hilt—and found he wasn't kidding.
A series of small, dark shapes that looked like moving globs of obsidian formed around them on the peak. Joe couldn't get a good look at them, but Marge had no trouble at all. They did, in fact, appear to be made out of the same stuff as the melted material on which they all stood, but these creatures had definite form. They looked like, funny little men—or, rather, statues of funny-looking little men, she decided, with short, stocky bodies, stubby limbs, and huge balloonlike noses. She couldn't help thinking of Grumpy from Snow White as she stared at them, and that certainly fitted their expressions and mean-looking gazes.
Are you union or scabs? the lead one rasped out in a stem, deep, gruff voice.
The question took her aback. What do you mean? All we're trying to do is cross this mountain before the man with me and the horses die. Please let us past!
Are you union or scabs? the creature repeated, unmoved.
I am Kauri, and no scab! she responded angrily. You should know we have no need of a union!
Hah! Sexual exploitation without love or involvement and all for some cheap bauble, another of the creatures muttered. And they're so dumb they don't even see how they're exploited.
Marge was acutely aware that time was running out, but she decided she had to play their game before they forgot their challenge and started debating among themselves. She'd had enough of that with the Kauri. We're independent, yet collective! You know that! It's in our nature to be so! What sort of creatures are you that you don't know this?
We're kobolds, of course, the leader snapped.
And we're on strike, another piped up. Joe felt his horse shudder, and began to feel that he was going to pass out on his feet, as well. He couldn't take much more of this.
Aye, another kobold responded. No more of them fairy rings and stuff until we get our contract! The rest of them cheered.
Your dispute is none of our affair, Marge argued pleadingly. Please—this man will die if we're delayed even a few moments longer.
The leader looked over at Joe. How do you stand on unions?
Right then Joe was not feeling in a fraternal mood. He decided that, if he weren't about to die, he'd like to chop these bastards up into-little pieces. He tried to snarl a reply, but only inhaled more of the acrid smoke and started coughing.
He is a union man! Marge told them, thinking furiously. He's a Teamster.
The kobolds all looked at Joe critically. Indeed? He don't look like no wagon driver to me, the leader noted. Let's see your union card!
At that moment, Joe's horse gave another great shudder and this time collapsed onto the hot surface. Joe whirled, then fell almost completely over the horse.
Marge yelled in a mixture of anger and panic, In the name of the Earth Mother, help me get him off this place before he dies and quickly!
Religion is the opiate of the masses, one of the kobolds muttered, seemingly unmoved.
Still, the leader mused, we can't have a popular workingmen's movement—
And women, another added.
—sullied at its great beginnings by a lack of compassion ... Hmm... You! Imli! Zimlich! Grab his head and feet! You, Kauri—get going! We'll follow!
Quickly the little men snapped to action. They were extremely strong and powerful, despite their small size. It took only two of them to lift Joe as if he weighed next to nothing, and four more actually lifted the horse and started after Marge and the others at what was close to a trot.
The obsidian bridge thinned appreciably as they went, and it was none too clear just how much longer it could support weight, but Marge's horse needed no urging. They were across, followed by the kobolds, in a few brief minutes. The weight of Joe's horse, though, was the final straw for the weakened bridge; just as they cleared the last of it, the entire center shuddered and collapsed with a rumble back into the volcano.
Joe awoke slowly in the darkness. He had been nearly comatose for several hours, often delirious and out of his head. He felt a cold compress being applied to his forehead and groaned, although it felt really good.
Joe? Marge asked tentatively, and he could hear the concern in her voice.
Yeah, he croaked, his voice a dry rasp, I guess I'm here.
Her joy at his c
oming out of it was such that not only was it evident in her physical reactions but also was radiated from her into him. It was a strange, warm sensation, unlike anything he'd experienced before, and he was deeply moved by it.
How bad am I hurt? he asked her, trying not to show what he was receiving. To his relief, the joyous emotions didn't change.
You're not bad. A little scorched around the edges, but mostly it was dehydration. I've been feeding you water in small doses all night and getting compresses on you to bring the temperature down. She handed him a canteen, and he drank from it so greedily that she had to pull it away. Uh-uh. I know something about dehydration, and you take water in slow doses, she cautioned. Here. Take a little of this.
She handed him a small, crumbly ball of gray-white stuff, and he put it in his mouth, then almost sat up and spat. That's salt.
Yeah. I got it from a salt lick. You need it to replace what you lost and help keep in the water.
He took a little more water, forcing himself to go slow, and did feel a bit better. What about those bastards on the mountain?
They finally carried you most of the way here, she told him. They're a very funny sort, but not bad really, once you get to know them.
I know what I'd like to do to them, he grumbled.
You couldn't if you wanted to. They're hard as rocks; and since they're related to the dwarfs, iron has little effect on them. Besides, they could melt your sword before it ever got to them, anyway.
Where'd they get all that militant labor crap, though? They sounded more like our world than this one.
She nodded. I wondered about that, too. Apparently there's been a movement going around to organize all the fairy workers, particularly the heavy-labor types like the kobolds. Nobody's sure where the idea came from, but it's going around and it's catching on with some like the kobolds. I think we better tell Ruddygore about it when we get there, though. There was one thing that really puzzles me. Huh? Only one?
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