Demons of the Dancing Gods

by Jack L. Chalker

  Kauri awoke with the setting sun. Kauri played games, danced, sang, flew around, and soared through the skies playing tag, then went to their toy box and played pretend with their pretty toys. At sunrise. Kauri went to sleep and dreamed only happy dreams, awakening again to do the same thing with minor variations the next day and the next. If they felt like it, on impulse or whatever, they ventured out of their faerie Never Neverland and played with the boys in the real world that was still nothing more than an extended playland to them, with the inhabitants merely toys like those on the scrap heap.

  Kauri didn't need to think. In fact, thinking was something that was an absolutely bad thing for them. Oh, they needed to talk—but innocuously and as vacuously as possible. That, in fact, was an advantage among the kind of men they liked to play with. Marge wondered how long she would be able to have this level of introspection, or even remember words like innocuous, vacuous, or introspection. Certainly her spoken vocabulary already seemed to switch to something more childlike and basic. Following the period of her binge, she now realized, she was speaking in a sexy variation of little-girl speech without even thinking about it.

  Without even thinking...

  At that moment, she heard a commotion in the hallway and went over to her door. To her surprise, she heard Ruddygore's booming baritone and then the sound of the door of the adjacent room opening and closing.

  The old Marge would have hesitated to disturb him and would have just sat and brooded, but she literally didn't think about it in this case. She opened her door, went down to the big double doors of the parlor suite, and just turned the handle and walked in without knocking.

  Both Ruddygore and Poquah turned in puzzled surprise at her entrance; but when the big sorcerer saw her, he broke into a grin and sat down in the chair. He looked very tired, but he said, That's all right, Poquah—leave us alone.

  The Imir looked a bit concerned for his boss, but bowed slightly and did as he was instructed, sliding his own door shut behind him.

  Ruddygore beckoned her over with his hand. Pardon me for not rising, my dear, but I'm about done in.

  That's all right, she told him. I guess I should have set up some better time to see you, but I don't seem much in control of myself any more.

  I think I understand, he said sympathetically. Don't worry about me. Although I hadn't intended to seek you out until another day or two, this is fine, since I'm not getting any younger and this pace is telling.

  I just want to know why.

  Huh? The comment took him by surprise. Why what?

  Why am I a Kauri? I was happy the way I was, after coming here. Why did I have to change?

  Those are two different questions, my dear. You seem to imply that I had something to do with it.

  Well? Didn't you? Not a thing, I assure you. As quickly and as clearly as possible, but with more detail on the fine points, he explained to her, as he had to Joe, why she had been made a changeling from the moment they crossed the Sea of Dreams. I made you neither changeling nor Kauri. You did that to yourself.

  Me! He nodded. Oh, with your mental state, I should have known from the start that you would be a changeling—but what sort was really up to you. He thought a moment. My dear, what is your vision of Heaven and Hell?

  She shrugged. Harps on the one side, fires on the other, I guess.

  Uh-uh. Would it shock you to learn that Heaven and Hell are actually the same place?

  Huh? He nodded. That's why Hell is such a curse. You can look around and see, with little difficulty, just what you missed, but you're stuck as you are, permanently. And the way you are is what you built for yourself. Let's see if I can explain it. If Joe should die, his soul would be re-formed according to the chain he forged in life, with his own mind, conscious and subconscious, creating his own Heaven or Hell. Most folks, as you might expect, wind up somewhere in between. Then, at the end of time, there will be a Judgment. Those of Hell will at that time suffer the true and total death, while those judged worthy will be able to perfect their own existences and live happily ever after in total communion with the Creator. That's the way it works. But not for me?

  Not quite. As a changeling, your physical form was burned off in the fires; and because you, as a fairy, exist in the physical world, you became what your mind said it should become within the limits of our world. You never wished to harm anyone, so you became something that can not consciously harm anyone. You felt that the world was out to do you harm, so you became something that can defend itself against the evil, cruelty, and malice of the world.

  She sighed sadly. I see. With a bad world all around, I wanted only to give and get pleasure, She stopped for a moment, suddenly feeling stunned. And since I ran down my education as getting me nowhere and nothing and being a real waste, I became something that didn't need any of that. Sweet Mother! I did do it to myself, sort of. But this wasn't what I had in mind!

  It seldom is, he told her, for anybody, and not just changelings. It's wonderful to see some of those Holy Joes permanently sitting on clouds, forever singing hymns and hosannahs, bored out of their skulls. You very seldom get what you really want, but you usually get what you deserve, based on your own life and thoughts and desires, both expressed and suppressed.

  Then that's it, I guess. I'm stuck until Judgment, and by that time I'll be as empty and bubble-headed as my sisters and probably just keep on going, like somebody with a lobotomy.

  He looked serious. So that's what it is. I should have guessed as much. And he did see. The Kauri form was exactly what that lonely loser on her way to suicide in Texas would have wanted; and, since it was from that woman that the forces of magic took their cue, that was what she'd become. But now Marge was not that woman; Husaquahr had given her a whole new life and outlook, and she was no longer a perfect match for what she now was.

  The best I can offer, he told her, is some hope, with work on your part, for something a little more than that. You are Kauri and you will remain Kauri. There is nothing anyone can do, since you of faerie may be destroyed but not transformed. But the fact that you're talking to me, here and now, shows that there's still you inside there.

  Yeah, but me, the Marge that's talking, is losing. I mean, I think I figured out that Kauri are elementals, not like the elves and gnomes and other creatures. There are water elementals, and wood elementals, even fire elementals, but we're a different kind, since we're out of Earth, Air, and Fire. I don't know about Water.

  You swim like a fish, he told her. Go on.

  We're—emotion elementals. Only certain kinds of emotions, though. The good ones, I guess. Singing, dancing, playing, even sex.

  That's close enough. Briefly he told her the function of fairies in the scheme of things, as he had told Joe. Now, Kauri, they have a very important place in the scheme of things. You may not know it, but each and every man you were with so far had some sort of problem. You're attracted to them without realizing it. They're not evil or nasty or anything like that, not in the main, but they have totally lost touch with that sense of childlike innocence and wonder. They're troubled by all sorts of things—business pressures, deadlines, deep depression, that kind of psychiatric illness—and you, believe it or not, help restore to them a sense of fun, of life worth living. That's the Kauri function.

  All I can say is there are a lot of men with hang-ups, she noted acidly. That and the fact that never have I felt less like a shrink and more like a homebreaker.

  Ruddygore chuckled. Homebreaker? No. You leave no guilt. That's part of the magic. Those men, like all who receive fairy gifts, take with them only the positive. They become better husbands, better fathers, better in their work for it. Believe me when I say that Kauri can do harm to no one unless that person attempts to harm them. Any kind of harm. The magic knows.

  Look, Marge—don't downplay your importance. Maybe if they had Kauri on Earth, they would have a lot fewer problems, although there are—counterparts—for the other side as well, you know. Incubi and succubi,
they're usually called, and their purpose is the opposite of yours. They are elementals of a far different sort and they are your sole true enemies.

  She considered that. Then is there a male form of Kauri? It seems only fair.

  He nodded. Yes, there is such a race, the Zamir. But let's get back to the Kauri. Tell me—what have you eaten in the past few days?

  She thought a moment, then realized that, while things were a blur, she was pretty sure of this answer. Nothing. Nothing at all.

  Feel hungry?

  Not in the slightest.

  Because what you eat is the collective terrors, insecurities, and nightmares of the men you serve. In an ironic way, they power you, as the succubus devours the good and leaves corruption. That's why you feel both physically wonderful and mentally down right now. In time you will transform that spiritual decay and it will lessen, but often it gets too much to bear. Then you must return to Mohr Jerahl and cleanse yourself in the fires of the Earth Mother. Otherwise it will tire you terribly and weaken you to a tremendous degree. You see the system now? I always thought it was rather nice.

  She did see the system, and that made her feel better, to a degree. It explained the very substance of Mohr Jerahl and the reason for the uninhibited innocence they all had there, as well as why they were concerned about her going outside it the first time.

  She gave a dry chuckle. So what you're saying is that I do my job, then revert to this adolescent level, only to build it up again. And because I've eaten my fill, so to speak, and because ol' Marge is really a collection of hang-ups, I'm only me when I'm carrying around everybody else's burdens.

  If you want to put it that way, yes, he told her. And the longer you go without eating, let's say, the more you will revert. It's actually a tough job, since you, the mistress of emotion, will be on an emotional roller coaster. That's why so many Kauri stay at Mohr Jerahl as long as they can, until their instincts force them out. No, Marge, you don't have to worry about forgetting yourself. Your big problem, particularly if you overdo it, will be carrying the extra weight of depression, neuroses, and anxiety.

  She thought about it, and it did make life sound a little better. Does Joe know this?

  No, not specifically, but I'll make certain he's instructed. Tiana will probably explain it all to him.

  Tiana? Very oddly, she felt a slight tinge of jealousy at the name. That made her feel a little guilty, considering how she'd chided him for that sort of feeling.

  Ruddygore nodded. They've hit it off very well. He smiled. You see? You just felt jealousy and guilt—I can tell. They're inside you now, until you transform them into energy as needed, but they are familiar to you from your past experience. In fact, I'd say that you can handle a far heavier load than a born Kauri, because you have experienced such things firsthand and know how to deal with them. No, Marge—you're not going to lose yourself, just take on a new set of problems. I'm counting on you to be able to handle a great deal in the weeks ahead, more than I'd ever ask a born' Kauri to handle.

  She got interested in spite of herself and lost some of her self-pity in the process. So this isn't just a vacation or a shakedown for me.

  He shook his head wearily. No, hardly. I hesitate to say this. Marge, but the odds are you might be the only one left at the end of this to tell the tale.

  Chapter 8

  THICKENING PLOTS

  The convention shall be limited to members of the Society and their authorized guests.

  —Rules, VI, 29(a)

  Tiana was proving a good guide to the complexities of the convention, but it was still a confusing blur to Joe. He felt like a truck driver at a convention of nuclear engineers celebrating Halloween.

  Registration proved to be no problem. Their names were on file, their single room number raised no eyebrows, and both were suddenly handed large bags full of written material and silver necklaces from which hung a bronze rectangular pendant with various cuneiform like letters on it, some large and some small. When they were away from registration, he got Tiana to translate.

  Well, the top row gives the name of the Society and says it is their four thousand two hundred and thirty-first meeting, which is abbreviated as Sachcon Nine Hundred and Two. Below that it says, 'Hello, my name is Joseph the Golden.'

  He looked at the last little figures. So that's my name in this chicken-scratch writing. I'll have to remember it, or keep this as a reference, in case I have to sign my name and pretend I know it all.

  She laughed. Keep that thing on whenever you are in the convention areas, she warned him. Each one has a spell personalized to the first wearer that admits you to all public areas. Try and get in without it and you will get a nasty shock.

  I'll remember, he promised. Where to now?

  Let us go back into the exhibition hall. I want to see how much has changed since I was a child.

  They went back, both clutching their bags, and Joe felt a little absurd. Mr. and Mrs. Barbarian go shopping, he thought. Any reason why I should lug all this stuff around when I can't read a word of it? he asked her.

  It is hard to say, but probably not. Why not just put it over in that coat room there and get it on the way back, if it is still there?

  He did just that and felt at least a little less foolish. They then entered the exhibition hall, and Joe was surprised to feel it comfortably air-conditioned. A minor housekeeping spell, Tiana told him.

  So this was more of the magic of Husaquahr. Pretty tame magic, he noted. I kinda figured that magic lands like this one had all sorts of stuff going all the time.

  Oh, of course not. It is true that magic is all around us all the time here, but it is not intrusive. In fact, the less it is used or has to be used, the better. It is sort of like a balance of power. Earth is a world dominated by nuclear bombs, yet I would say you have seen more magic in this world than nuclear bombs in yours.

  She had a point there, so he let it pass. The exhibition hall was huge and filled with large numbers of creatures, both human and fairy—and some he wasn't quite sure about—all in booths or behind long display tables. There was no logic or order to the arrangement, so the old crone selling the latest chemical advances in aphrodisiacs was right next to the bright young fellow selling the Handy Miracle Pocket Indexer, which was apparently less hype than a description of a portable quickfile system that could be clipped onto a belt or carried in a shoulder bag and that allowed the average magician to access and classify spells by all sorts of cross-indexing methods.

  They went on, passing a group of salesmen peddling a condensed Books of Rules—only three hundred volumes— complete with the magical Codex, a cross-indexed compendium allowing anything needed in the three hundred volumes to be found easily. Tiana tried to beat off one of the salesmen and finally got rid of him by commenting, You are already four years out of date, and by the time I received my volume a month on your plan, you would be twenty-nine years out of date. Arguments that a new edition was in preparation fell on deaf ears.

  Some of the exhibits were downright disgusting, like the demonstrations by the Entrail-of-the Month Club. Another service offered fresh bat's blood and monkey's eyes. There were also countless protective gadgets and amulets being sold—all worthless, Tiana assured Joe, since any value they might have had was compromised by their being so commercially available.

  Some of the salespeople were disconcerting, too. He didn't really mind the centaurs and their variations so much, nor the Panlike satyrs, and certainly not the nubile nymphs, but some of the creatures selling various artifacts and substances, the purposes of which could only be guessed at, were like nothing he'd ever seen before. There was that creepy blue creature, for example, with the wiry hair and buzzardlike beak whose huge, inhuman eyes kept following them, and the things that looked like giant swamp logs with eyes at the tip of each branch.

  There were also memory and concentration aids for sale, voodoo dolls and substances to make more— free demonstration on request —and much, much more. Small fair
y elves were hawking clothing spun in the fairy way out of fairy gold, for the wizard who truly wants to look the part.

  There were booths representing specific interest groups as well. At one booth an old black-clad hag straight out of Snow White was apparently representing the Wicked Witches Anti-Defamation League; at another an extremely fat sort of pixie in a blue Keystone Kops-type outfit offered membership to qualified individuals in the Elves, Gnomes, and Little Men's Chowder and Marching Society; while at a third a tough-looking mermaid was half sunk in a tank of water, smoking a big cigar, and representing something called the City-States' Benevolent Protective Organization. Tiana explained that traders bought insurance from them or their ships mysteriously sank somewhere.

  Joe could only shake his head in wonder and say, Gee, I always thought mermaids were real pretty and lovely and all that.

  Oh, many are, particularly the sirens who lure ships onto the rocks by bewitching the sailors. She is just one of the sirens' minor godmothers.

  It also took a little adjusting to get used to some of the titles, whose stated acronyms were more than a little disconcerting. Tiana was in a nostalgic mood and kept pointing out luminaries with a disquieting lack of understanding for the way his own mind worked. He decided that maybe it was the similarity of the common trade language to English that was doing it for him.