Forward the Mage

by Eric Flint

  "Trees, trees, trees, trees, trees—at their foot, hugging the narrow path, crept the little coach, timid, tentative, a fearful mouse creeping about the catacombs of the Temple—no, not even!—rather, a sightless worm slithering under the shadows cast by the sarcophagi of mummified emperors. It made you feel very small, very alone, very lost—but glad to be lost; hoping not to be noticed by anything—very insignificant, completely insignificant; insignificance defined as never before—and glad of it—wanting to be insignificant!—yearning for microscopic status!—very—"

  "Will you get on with it, Barley?" growled the Director. "Pretty soon you'll be babbling about the heart of darkness and God knows what else."

  "Well, yes,—but! In any event. Around midday a roll of drums—fear! prehistoric the fear and the cause of it—did it mean war?—or peace?—prayer?—well!—we could not tell; but the drum roll passed, fell behind; became distant; more hours passed.

  "Just then it happened. It must have been four in the afternoon; the sun's rays filtered through the forest at a pronounced angle, although it was still daylight. The dwarf had been staring out the window all day; long after the rest of us had turned away from the overpowering stillness, he continued to peer into the gloom. Several times he tugged at the wizard's sleeve to point out some feature of the forest that the gnome found of especial interest—he alone of us seemed enraptured, oblivious to the looming sense of disaster. Now again the dwarf tugged at his master's sleeve; nothing to note—but perhaps it was the look in his eyes, impossible to recapture. Whatever it was, I was moved to peer out the window. For a moment I saw nothing; nothing—a gloom; massed trees; immensity of forest. Then—a hint of motion; vagueness—I thought, an animal disturbed by the passing coach; but then, just then—suddenly—like the veil of fog stripped for an instant from the unremarked wave just when it crests; an empty casket just then mysteriously filled—I peered right through the dimness and the shrouding branches, became still—what was it? My blood congealed in my veins.

  "The coach came to a sudden halt. The passengers were thrown about in confusion; before we could untangle ourselves the doors were flung wide; the driver and the guard piled in; slammed the doors behind; scrambled into the baggage racks above the seats; cowered behind the luggage. And now—this very moment—it was as if a wind swept away the gloom and for the first time we saw the forest clearly, saw it for what it was. Screams of horror rent the still arboreal air; the passengers swarmed with panic—Sir Carayne shouting at the guard and driver, ordering them to their duty; but they just burrowed deeper into the baggage. There was nothing to be done—we stared at one another with frozen eyes; immobilized—lost, doomed—gripped in terror.

  "Just then the wizard looked up from his parchment and peered out the window. 'Forest snarls!' he exclaimed. 'And most magnificent specimens of the breed!' To our astonishment, he opened the door and stepped down. 'Come, dwarf, this opportunity cannot be lost. It is extraordinarily rare that one has the opportunity to examine the forest snarl in his natural state; and there is no other, for the beasts cannot be kept in captivity.' The dwarf, normally so timid, immediately followed his master, almost—I would have said—eagerly. Hastily we slammed the door behind them. The monsters beyond drew near; just then, from the forest, moved a wild and gorgeous apparition of a woman.

  "She walked with measured steps, draped in striped and fringed cloths, treading the earth proudly, with a slight jingle and flap of barbarous ornaments, carrying her head high—her hair in the shape of a helmet—her breasts high—her buttocks high—everything high! She had brass leggings, brass gauntlets, brass breastplates, brass bellyband, brass buttplates—a tawny flush on her dusky cheek; a set of six necklaces of beads and cowry shells on her sultry neck—charms, bizarre things hanging from every part of her voluptuous body—you'd hardly think she could walk—but what a body!—did I mention that?—she was savage and superb and wild-eyed and magnificent and unblushing and brazen-faced and immodest and—

  " 'What a piece!' cried Sir Carayne. A vast and guttural roar rose from the great throats of every snarl lurking in the forest. The knight blanched and fell back; all concupiscence fled from his face—mine too—then—suddenly; she opened her arms and threw them rigid over her head, as though in an uncontrollable desire to touch the sky; the swift shadows darted out from the trees, onto the path, gathering the coach in their embrace. Then, staring directly at the wizard, she asked—'What do you seek?'

  " 'I myself, madame,' we heard the wizard speak, 'wish to advance my knowledge of the lore of snarls. There is a great mystery which surrounds these beasts, which I have not yet fathomed. It emerges even in the most ancient texts.'

  "Silence; then—astonishing! The monsters suddenly circled the dwarf, sat back on their huge haunches, gazed down at the gnome with an intensity impossible to describe. They whined softly in their throats, as if puzzled and confused. For his part, the little runt stared back, completely unafraid—or so it seemed. Then, the woman spoke again. 'If you would know about the snarls, ask them,' she said to the wizard; a motion of her hand—the largest of the monsters left the circle around the dwarf and padded over to stand, like a statue, before the sorcerer.

  The giant creature spoke, the voice issuing with a strange timbre—hoarse, bestial, yet not without a palpable strength, an immensity, like the forest itself. 'So—you would know about snarls?'

  " 'Certes!' spoke the sorcerer. 'From whence do you come?'

  " 'We have always lived in the forest.'

  "The wizard cleared his throat. 'Sirrah snarl—'

  " 'Forest snarl,' growled the beast. 'I am a forest snarl—not a desert snarl, not a mountain snarl, not a swamp snarl—a forest snarl; my gorge rises when the distinction is lost.'

  " 'Most certainly!' spoke the mage. 'As it happens, the sharp distinction between greater and lesser breeds of snarls has long been one of my philosophy's principal tenets.' He cleared his throat again. 'Sirrah forest snarl, I have learned in my studies that there can be more than one meaning to the same word, a different purport poured into the same verbal vessel, if you will—nevertheless, it is possible—'

  " 'Cut to the chase,' growled the snarl. A hideous purple tongue licked its immense jaws. 'If you will pardon the expression.'

  "Another clearing of the wizard's throat. 'Quite so. Then, let me ask—how long is "always"?'

  " 'Wizard, we were here in the time of Joe.'

  " 'Blasphemy!' cried out the cleric, who suddenly lunged from the seat where he had been cowering and leaned out the window. 'O gross animism! Idolatry! J—nay, I cannot speak his name—this creature is a concoction of heathen fantasies! The legend is an abhorrence before God!' He stretched forth a hand to the woman. 'Repent, urchin of the forest! Repent! For while an anarchist beast has no soul and may utter abominations with wild abandon, you stand in mortal peril—nay, immortal peril! Take heed! For the wrath of—'; a snarl glided to the coach and rose up before the parson; two gruesome paws seized the door. The monster was mute; but its gaze was enough to send the parson reeling back, ashen-faced. 'Shut up, you fool,' hissed La Contessa.

  "The wizard made to continue his questioning, but the woman cut him short. 'Begone, sirrah. The snarls grow restless; of all human flesh, my friends find that of clerics sweetest—they say the sanctimony adds flavor to the meat.' She turned slowly away and passed into the forest; once only her eyes gleamed back. Then all was silence; the snarls vanished as if by magic—but I saw the huge one stop for a moment in front of the dwarf, and lick his face with that horrid purple tongue.

  " 'Come, dwarf,' spoke the wizard. 'We shall pursue our investigations upon some other occasion.' The two returned to the coach. Meanwhile Sir Carayne, his courage of a sudden regained, roared at the driver and the guard. 'Get out, you dogs!' He yanked the shivering fellows out of the baggage rack and booted them out the door. 'Back to your posts! Knaves! Deserters!' They made no protest; clear enough it was their only thought to depart the area at once. In a moment the c
oach was clattering down the path at a reckless pace.

  "Most of us—you can imagine—were overjoyed to see the incident past; not so the mage. 'You, sirrah,' he stormed at the cleric, 'have by your folly impeded the progress of science!' The cleric, who had been blubbering in terror since hearing of the dietary preference of snarls, burst forth in reply—'My God-given duty it is to forestall paganry! The very mention of J—nay, that cursed name!—uttered, the very name alone is grounds sufficient for inquisition!'

  " 'Bah!' oathed the wizard. 'Maunderings of a puerile fool! How can one avoid discussion of Joe? Is not every noteworthy geographic feature twixt land and sea named after him? Do we not refer to that great ocean around whose vast expanse almost all civilized lands exist by the name of Joe's Sea? Are not the very mountains which form the spine of Grotum—and upon whose crest, I might mention, perches the Temple of the Ecclesiarchs—named Joe's Mountains?'

  " 'Not by the Ecclesiarchs!' cried the parson. 'Those mountains are properly named the Prominences of Holiness—and the sea is named the Ocean of Devotion. So hath the church decreed!'

  " 'Bah!' oathed the wizard. 'None but superstitious mummers use those preposterous names! Joe's Sea and Joe's Mountains—such are the names used by illuminati and common folk alike.' He turned to Il Conde and his wife. 'You are gentle folk. I ask you—what do you call the aforementioned geographic items?'

  " 'Joe's Sea and Joe's Mountains,' replied La Contessa promptly. 'Everybody does—but I always thought they were just names; do you mean that they are actually named after somebody—I mean, somebody real?'

  " 'Milady!' wailed the cleric, aghast. 'Think upon your soul! Think upon the gates of Paradise closed before your beseeching pleas! Think—'

  " 'Oh, shut up, you old bore! I want to hear about Joe. Tell me!'—This last to the wizard; the parson lapsed into a pained silence; his hands covered his ears.

  " 'In reply to your query, madame,' spoke the wizard, 'it is difficult to speak with precision. Of all legends and myths, none is so fascinating as that of Joe—none so full of weird portent; none so pregnant with veiled surmise.'

  "He paused for a moment; then continued. 'By my studies, I have deduced that he was the first of the Grotum People, that long-since-vanished race of primevals believed to have inhabited this land at the dawn of time. For years, the opinion advanced by Leakey Laebmauntsforscynneweëld—that the Grotum People were an offshoot of the human family which died out without issue—was accepted by all students of paleoanthropology without question. In recent years, however, Leakey's cousin Johanson Laebmauntsforscynneweëld has argued that the Grotum People were, in fact, the direct ancestors of modern humanity, and has even advanced a handful of fossil remains to substantiate his claims.'

  " 'I myself accept neither of these views, for I tend rather to agree with the more ancient view of the venerable F. Mayer Laebmauntsforscynneweëld that all these purported "vanished species" and "extinct races" are confused myths of deformed, but human, personages. Thus even the existence of this legendary race of proto-humans, these "Grotum People," remains, to my mind, unproved. But this is not the sole mystery surrounding the matter—by no means! For, if the Grotum People did exist, they disappeared most strangely—overnight, it would seem; with no apparent reason. Other than Johanson's questionable fossils, the only record exists in the folklore of primitive savages—and in the shorter tales told by night round gypsy campfires, in the darkness of troglodyte caves, in the tenement cellars of dwarves; and, of course, in the ravings of revolutionists and such-like heteroclites; even there, little is said, for little is known.'

  " 'On one point all legends agree—the Grotum People were giants, much larger than modern folk; though given, it would appear, to great hairiness and frightful deformities. Beyond that, the stories are obscure, apocryphal, fragmented, contradictory—opaque in all aspects. Only a single substantive scrap of verse remains extant concerning the life of Joe himself; this, a chant sung by the wild men of the Sssuj at the initiation rites of puberty.'"

  "Oh, Mrs. Lang—" whispered the Director of Companies; Barley coughed—hurried on—

  " 'Would milady care to hear this chant?' asked the wizard. 'Certes!' came her answer.

  " 'I have had my apprentice commit it to memory—no small feat, I assure you!—though less so on this occasion than usual, I will grant the dolt that. Dwarf, recite Joe's Chant!' The gnome sat up straight on the edge of the seat, his legs dangling. His beady little eyes glazed with effort; then, in a shrill voice, the following—

  One day Joe was loping along

  and all the people came up to him.

  All this loping along is killing us,

  We need something to keep us going,

  they said.

  So Joe invented food.

  But one day Joe was loping along

  and all the people came up to him.

  All this loping along is boring,

  There must be something else to do,

  they said.

  So Joe invented fucking.

  But one day Joe was loping along

  and all the people came up to him.

  Ever since you invented food and fucking,

  there's too many people and not enough food,

  they said.

  So Joe invented work.

  But one day Joe was loping along

  and all the people came up to him.

  Ever since you invented work,

  everything's too hard to keep straight,

  they said.

  So Joe invented bosses.

  But one day Joe was loping along

  and all the bosses came up to him.

  The people won't listen to our bossing,

  and they tell us we're full of shit,

  they said.

  So Joe invented cops.

  But one day Joe was loping along

  and the bosses and cops came up to him.

  We've got to have some cover,

  So the people'll stop calling us hogs,

  they said.

  So Joe invented priests.

  But one day Joe was loping along,

  and all the priests came up to him.

  We've almost got everything perfect,

  But we still need that last big push,

  they said.

  So Joe invented God.

  But one day Joe was loping along,

  and God came up to him.

  Ever since you invented Me,

  you're nothing but a dangerous nuisance,

  He said.

  So God froze Joe in a flash ice age.

  " 'How fascinating!' exclaimed La Contessa. 'A crude verse,' grumbled Il Conde, 'utterly lacking in rhyme or cultured meter.' The wizard shrugged. 'As to that, milord, 'tis true enough. But what would you? The savages of the Sssuj are well known to be bestial. Think of the ingratitude with which they have greeted all attempts to bring the benefits of civilization into their midst—merchants and traders broiled and baked—entire armies tossed into the stew pot! And what of the fate of Father Cosmo?—too horrid to contemplate!'"

  "Oh, Mrs. Lang—" whispered the Director of Companies; Barley coughed—hurried on—

  "Silence followed; the coach clattered and battered down the path—the natural darkness of the forest deepened; twilight drew near; then, just as the last rays of the sun flickered out like emblems of hope snuffed by an immutable fate, we burst out of the forest gloom; a great interminable plain stretched before us—barren beyond belief, but it was a welcome relief from the Grimwald—a cheer went up.

  "The coach continued its mad pace down the road, which seemed now to have straightened to an unswerving line, as if drawn by a great rule for an obscure purpose. Suddenly—it was dark now—we stopped; no inn was to be seen. Perhaps, I thought, it is a ways off down the road—it was impossible now to see more than a few feet. But it wasn't so; the driver clambered down, came to the window; 'might's well get some sleep,' he said. 'There's no hostel in these parts—not till w
e get to the Caravanserai tomorrow; you'll have to sleep in the coach.'

  " 'What about our evening repast?' demanded the knight. 'Dunno,' replied the driver indifferently. 'Brought m'own.' He vanished into the darkness. 'Insolence!' bellowed Sir Carayne; he turned fiercely on the messenger. 'You, sirrah! You are an agent of this company—what is the meaning of this outrage?'

  "The messenger looked up from his case, now open on his knees; a small sandwich in his hands—clearly he had traveled this route before! 'The GGNESW etc. is in no way at fault,' he sneered. 'You have no grounds for complaint. Shelter is provided by the stout walls of this coach'—not without humor, this man, I now perceived—'and, as for food, you should have thought upon it earlier and brought your own, as I have done; failing that, nothing prevents you from foraging—though, I should tell you, they do not call this region the Drear for nothing.'

  "The messenger ate his meal in silence; the rest of us, grumbling, settled down to sleep. There was nothing to be gained by blundering about a pitch-black wilderness hunting for rabbits—so much was clear.

  "We set out at dawn the next morning. There was still a long day's journey before us if we were to reach the Caravanserai by nightfall. As the sun rose, we gazed over this new stretch of territory.

  "What a cursed wasteland! I still shiver to think of it; behind, on the horizon, the dark mass of the Grimwald could be seen for some little while—ugly as it was, I was almost sorry to see it slip out of sight. Now nothing surrounded us but the Drear. The Drear! Never, I think, have I seen a place so aptly named! Nothing; nothing-ness—that's it! It was the most barren desert conceivable, inscrutable in its immensity, but without the searing heat that makes most deserts such a reassuringly palpable experience. Parallels everywhere, the land and the sky, the four points of the compass—a sameness!—to all points and every place between stretched this flat—utterly flat!—spread of naked soil. Hard, crusted dirt; nothing else—quite literally, nothing else; and gray!—not brown; can you imagine that? Gray soil, not brown soil—inscrutable, unknowable—of course, no trees!—but neither was there vegetation of any kind; not a bush, not a shrub, not a flower, not a weed, not a blade of grass. Even the soil itself was of that same opaque uniformity; upon that vast plain not a rock stood higher than a clot of earth.