Marianne, the Magus, and the Manticore

by Sheri S. Tepper

  ‘Actually, sir, it was Marianne’s. She became very determined, all at once. Very wild, almost, taking no advice at all.’

  ‘Actually, it was I,’ agreed Marianne, coming forward to lay her hand upon Goat’s muzzle, stroking. ‘I had reached the end of my patience. Though I didn’t expect … you.’

  ‘What did you exssspect?’ hissed Snake. ‘A prinssse in ssshining armor? On a white horssse?’

  Marianne drew back, away from the weaving head of Snake, in so doing confronting Lion’s lustfully adoring eyes. Lion shook his head, fluffing his great mane and posing for her, semi-rampant.

  ‘Pat him,’ whispered Goat, ‘or we’ll never get away from here.’

  ‘Away?’ She was suddenly unsure, doubtful.

  ‘My dear, surely you don’t think the Manticore and the woman have gone forever? They have simply made a strategic retreat. It must be now, or never, don’t you think? I am often accused of making unconscionable delays, but my sense of occasion is very strong and it tells me that now is the time of their defeat – or ours.’

  Marianne, hands sunk deep in Lion’s mane, nodded to this. ‘Where, where is Helen?’ she asked, turning to take inventory of the little group.

  ‘She went after them,’ said Grassi. ‘Waving a bludgeon of some sort and crying for blood. If we are to be part of this denouement, we had best follow.’

  ‘If you will ride, Marianne,’ said Goat, ‘we may get on a bit faster.’ And he crouched the back legs a little to let her get on Chimera’s back, holding herself well forward by gripping Goat’s horns. They set off at Lion’s usual heedless pace, Mr Grassi puffing along behind and Marianne holding on in deep dread of Snake’s fangs, so close behind her. They fled down dark streets littered with bits of the posters which were shedding from the walls as leaves drop in the fall, a constant shower of fragments slipping from the walls to pile on the streets in a whispering mass. Here and there as they ran they saw lights coming on in upper windows. They came to a region of tall, narrow-fronted houses staring over their stoops, a littered park around a dilapidated band stand, shrubbery, a corner, and then the portico of the library itself, gray ghost light shining out at them from behind tall, glass doors. Around this place the resistance had gathered, figures capering around bonfires and voices screaming defiance and threat. Marianne thought she could see the Manticore inside the building, crouched on the great stairway, peering out at them, but she could not be sure. She dismounted, standing close to Chimera, one arm thrown around its neck, cheek close to Goat’s lips.

  ‘They are invulnerable in there,’ said Goat. ‘It is a redoubt, a fortress, bound about with enchantments and spells. From there they can strike at us when they will, and all we can do is bottle them up, perhaps, for a time. We cannot get at them to defeat them. It is not good enough merely to stay here forever, for then we might ask whether we hold them or they us.’

  ‘If we were in Mr Grassi’s apartment,’ said Marianne, ‘I would take my book and read in it, as he has taught me to do, finding in my own story the thing I must do next. Since the book is not here, then I must simply remember what is in it.’

  ‘Can you do that?’ asked Goat, curiously. ‘We find ourself unable to remember accurately things that have happened in the past. We often mis-remember them in order to make them more logical or more appropriate to their time or circumstance, or they become mis-remembered through too frequent repetition or not being remembered enough. To remember one’s own story accurately is a talent too few creatures are capable of …’

  ‘I will do it,’ said Marianne, ‘because it is necessary.’ She sat down on the ground, leaning on one of Lion’s great front legs with his massive head sheltering her from above, and put her face into her hands. The capering figures had put her in mind of the time she had seen them last, when their black shadows cavorted around the fire outside the basement room. They had been burning the book she had put out the coal chute. The coal chute. There had been a way out – for something. There could be a way in – for someone. ‘Mr Grassi, find Helen, will you? Tell her to find David and bring him here. I have thought of a way to get in.’

  He came quickly, face smudged with torch soot, panting from the running, face no less hard-set against her than it had been when last she had seen him. ‘What now?’ he demanded. ‘Have you decided to help us?’

  ‘I was always willing to help you,’ she replied, ‘as you would have known if you had stopped accusing me and listened. Were you among those who asked that a book be put out the coal chute? When I was in the library?’

  ‘He was, and I,’ cried the cloud-haired woman who stood just behind him. ‘We burned the book, and at least one of us got away.’

  ‘If I could put the book out, why couldn’t some of us get in?’ asked Marianne. ‘We could open the doors from inside.’

  There was a chorus of approbation at this, interrupted by Goat and Grassi, both speaking at once. ‘Dear pretty lady, think, do! Could you open them from inside before?’ and ‘If it were that simple, Marianne, I think they would have thought of it and set some guard against it.’

  ‘No, no,’ she exclaimed. ‘Of course I couldn’t open them before, because I was under a malign enchantment. You told me that, Mr Grassi. You also said that Macravail was the expert on malign enchantment, and is he not here, now? You said he was.’ She stood up, away from Chimera and looked at him with measuring eyes. ‘Are you, indeed, expert in malign enchantment? Can you undo whatever it is the Madame has done with that place?’

  The question was meaningless to Lion. It meant much to Goat, much of a disturbing nature, making him believe that in some other place or time Chimera might have been otherwise than now presented to this mob. Malign enchantment. Ah. Now there was a question meriting some lengthy study. Unfortunately, there would be no time for lengthy study, or even for brief study, for the mob gathered ’round had it in mind to force some issue, whether or no, and to make something happen, for good or for ill, they seemed to care not. Still, Goat’s curious mind told them that they were in some danger from this suggestion, and that if the occasion were to be saved, Goat must do it.

  ‘Marianne,’ he said, turning the neck so that he faced her and the crowd, ‘if we had much uninterrupted time, we might deal with Madame’s enchantments. We have no time at all. Whatever we do must be done in the next moments, for she is a sly horror who will escape us if we give her time.’

  ‘Araagh,’ roared Marianne, sounding not unlike Lion in that moment, full of fury, the flywheel of anger within her spinning as though to fling its fragments upon all the world. ‘Either there is too much time or not enough, either we may act or we may not, we may remember or we may not, and all at her behest. Then if there is no time to do anything sly and guileful, be done! Let us burn the building down, and her within it!’

  Goat nodded. ‘Much though it pains me to say so, in this case – and in this case only, not to establish a precedent for future action – I believe you are right.’

  This was greeted with a louder roar of approval than before, augmented by Lion, who obviously considered the suggestion timely. He gave Goat no further time to talk, but leaped upon the portico and breathed flame upon the doors of the place. Inside, Manticore leaped back, bleating its odd, plaintive cry, so timid in comparison to the scream with which it had terrified the city. Still, it was a terror for no reason. Chimera’s flames splashed against the great glass doors and did no more than darken them slightly.

  ‘The building is brick,’ said Marianne. ‘It won’t burn.’

  ‘Oh, it will burn,’ said David. ‘We have only to find the weak places. There are other doors, ones made of wood. There are window frames, also of wood. There are shingles, casements, porches, all of wood. Come, beast, let us find the way to kindle this fire …’ And the mob swept away, leaving Grassi and Marianne to sit alone upon the curb.

  ‘Well, lady, it seems we have made a great turmoil here. You are suddenly so forceful, you have taken this world in a storm. Tsk
. I was not even needed.’

  ‘Oh, you were,’ she hugged him briefly. ‘Certainly you were. It’s just that I finally got tired of flopping about in this ridiculous world. I mean, why hadn’t it occurred to us how silly it was to run from a stuffed Manticore? Had you thought of that? The thing is stuffed! It lives in a taxidermist’s window!’

  ‘Still, it rages lively enough,’ he objected.

  ‘Well, yes. But so do … puppets. So do … machines. So do many things which are not really alive.’

  ‘Things which can kill one dead enough, pretty lady. Things which can do much evil, whether they are alive or no.’

  ‘True. Still, being afraid of them rather than of the power which moves them is not sensible, is it, Mr Grassi? Or so I have told myself this night. Do you know what those resistance people told me? They told me that I knew the Manticore, knew its name. Was kin to it. That made me very angry, Mr Grassi. So angry I have forgotten to be afraid.’ And she sat steamily listening to the crash and roar of the crowd, the upwelling shouts as they found something vulnerable to their liking in the library. Her attention was drawn to the building by a flickering light which came through the front doors, firelight, dancing light from deep within the building. The Chimera had succeeded in setting the place on fire.

  ‘All the books,’ she crowed, ‘free. All the people let go. No more Manticore.’

  She spoke too soon. There was a crash of glass, a crash exactly like that with which the Manticore announced his usual walk as the doors shattered in lethal shards and the great beast stood forth upon the porch, fur smoking, hair ablaze, driven into madness by pain and terror. Screaming its challenge the beast ran toward her, mouth gaping wide, slavering, teeth bared and claws extended as they tore into the ground. Chimera was behind the building. There was no place to hide. Sobbing, Grassi tried to get in front of Marianne only to have her thrust him away with the strength of ten women. She rose from the curb, rose, and went on rising, higher and higher, a giantess, looming in her height as tall as the tower they had left, growing greater with each moment, so blown up with rage that Grassi could not see her eyes where they looked down from the darkness of that looming height, though he heard her voice thundering at them like continents colliding.

  ‘Down, dog. Down, beast. Down, you fat cat, you murdering monster from a child’s dream; I have had enough of you. I have had enough of that suffocating murderess, your aunt. You have killed what was dear to me. It was you killed Cloud-haired mama, Harvey, you. I will have vengeance on you. Run now, cur, before I squash you as I would squash a beetle on this street.’

  There was silence, utter silence, and Grassi hid his head between his hands, expecting that the sky would fall. Nothing. Nothing. He peeked between his fingers to see her standing upon the curb, staring at the space where the Manticore had been. There was no Manticore. Before them the library burned briskly, sending great clouds of foul-smelling smoke into the general murk. There was cheering from the crowd. Chimera came around the corner of the building, paused when he saw the broken doors, and leaped toward them, roaring a challenge for Manticore. When this was not answered, he bounded about, repeating it. When it was still not answered, he came to Marianne and lay down at her feet, beginning to purr with enormous satisfaction.

  She put her arms around his neck and stared away into space thoughtfully, while Goat nuzzled at her neck. Above them the sky began to lighten. The noise of the crowd grew soft, then softer still. The outlines of the city wavered, began to pulse, then dim. Grassi blinked, blinked again, and found himself seated beside Makr Avehl on a grassy bank beneath a flowering tree. Water leaping downward told him they were in mountainous country. There was no sign of Marianne.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  That part of Makr Avehl Zahmani which was of a calm and considering nature was not surprised to find itself in the forests of Alphenlicht, within sight of the Holy Mountain which held the Cave of Light. That part of Aghrehond which was also of a calm and considering nature was not surprised to find Helen Navidi and her husband, David, on the slopes of the same mountain, evidently having lost their way during a mushroom hunting expedition. At least, so Helen said, shaking her head and giving every appearance of confusion. David was less sure and had the look about him of a man recovering from a serious illness. Since the couple had disappeared some four years before, Makr Avehl was of the opinion the illness was recent and largely illusory, but he said nothing of the kind to the couple. How they had moved from whatever place Madame had sent David to Marianne’s own world was a mystery which he had no time to solve at the moment, though he resolved to do it at a later time.

  That part of Makr Avehl Zahmani which was impetuous and fiery was in a frenzy to find itself thousands of miles from the place it assumed Marianne Zahmani to be. That part of Makr Avehl crossed miles of countryside in less time than good sense said it could be done to lead a panting Aghrehond into the Residence and to a telephone. Phone service into and out of Alphenlicht was always problematical. After too much time and some confusion, he was connected with Ellat, where he had known she would be, in Marianne’s apartment in a city thousands of miles away.

  ‘By Zurvan, Makr Avehl, where are you? The Residence? How? When? Why didn’t you …’

  To all of which he merely repeated what he had been saying since she answered the phone, ‘Is Marianne there, Ellat? Have you seen her?’ receiving the same answer of incomprehension and at last, verbal confirmation.

  ‘I haven’t seen her. Makr Avehl, I haven’t seen her. About an hour ago, a man came to the door who said he had just bought the house a week or so ago and was surprised to find anyone in it. The people downstairs, Mrs Winesap and her friend, have disappeared. It doesn’t even look recently lived in down there. A piece of plaster fell off the wall in the front room a while ago. Something – Makr Avehl, something—’

  He thought furiously, unable to think and yet forced to consider something, whatever thing it might be. Finally, full of passionate sorrow, he said, ‘Ellat. Pick up the things I gave her – the pictures, the little carvings, that medicine bag on the window seat. The pot of crocuses, Ellat. If you see anything else there that looks as though she treasured it, bring it. Then get out of there. The car is still there. Drive to a hotel. When you get there, call me. Don’t linger, Ellat. I have a feeling about this …’

  He let her go, feeling that to hold her longer on the phone might be to hold her in some position of danger. He walked about the Residence, moving here and there like a frustrated animal in a cage, moving, moving, not knowing where he went or what he did. Eventually he was called to the phone once more to hear Ellat’s voice.

  ‘There was nothing there, Makr Avehl. Nothing of hers at all. When I left, the walls were turning dingy. The curtains were all tattered. There was nothing in her closet, nothing in the drawers of her dressing table. Nothing in the bathroom medicine cabinet. Only the things you gave her, and I brought them away. When I left, the place was all overgrown, as though no one had lived there for years, decades. It was frightening.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Then she chose another world, somewhere else …’

  ‘A false world, Makr Avehl? One of the false worlds?’

  ‘I don’t know. When I have rested, perhaps I will ask the Cave. Perhaps it is not one of the false worlds at all. Perhaps some other … well. Aghrehond says that at the end she was very strong, Ellat, a giantess. Nothing could stand against her. She was powerful, shattering. Still, she hugged me … I …’ He could say nothing more, and she asked him nothing more.

  Later she called Aghrehond and learned that they had given Makr Avehl something to make him sleep, for he had been tearing at himself in his rage and frustration until they feared for him. ‘When will you be home, Mistress?’ he asked. ‘We need you here.’

  ‘As soon as a plane can bring me. I’ll have to come in to Van, in Turkey. Lake Urmia is out of the question with Iran behaving as it is. I’ll come to Van, Hondi. I will send word when I leave. Send a
car to meet me.’

  She came within the few days it took for Makr Avehl to resume the outward appearance of the calm, loquacious, humorous man he had been before, though there were shadows in his eyes and he occasionally hissed in a powerless fury which only Aghrehond understood. He was, if anything, more inclined to lecture on any subject whatsoever, and it was obvious to those who knew him well that he was a man hovering at the edge of breakdown. Ellat, seeing him, was not relieved of anxiety.

  ‘He must go to the Cave, Hondi. He must find an answer. He is eating himself up not having an answer.’

  ‘So I have urged him, Mistress. He will not go. He is afraid there is no answer, and he dares not let himself know that.’

  ‘No. If there is no answer, he must know that. He cannot begin to heal until he knows.’ And she set about the business of seeking the Cave on Makr Avehl’s behalf.

  He was not helpful – not resentful, not overly full of excuse or delay, simply not assisting in the process. He ate the ritual meal without comment and without enjoyment. He was dressed in the ritual robe at dawn, for Ellat had determined that a dawn reading would be most likely to produce results. He suffered himself to be driven to the foot of the mountain where the easy slope of the trail wound upward toward the entrance of the Cave, and to be urged from the car toward the ascent. Once on the path, however, it was only the pressure of Ellat’s arm on the one side and Aghrehond’s on the other which forced him upward. Birds were twittering their pre-dawn exercises as they crossed one of the small streams which striped the mountain with silver sound. Far away cows were lowing in a meadow, and Aghrehond smiled, glad of the sound in the stillness of morning. They turned to wind their way back, then turned again and again, coming at last to the carven door which stood guard at the east portal of the Cave. There Nalavi and Cyram and the girl waited, the girl Makr Avehl thought had scary eyes. Therat. They lighted their way into the Cave, down the sandy, narrow cavern which opened into the great, round hall, there to group themselves around the altar, utter the proper words, and put out their lamps.