Through Caverns Measureless to Man

by D G Rose

  I turned to Amy to get her help in quaking some answers out of Christabel but she was gone. I looked around and saw her running away from us screaming in a high pitch. I ran after her, looking quickly behind me for the monster but seeing nothing. I saw her fall and her screaming only got louder. I ran faster. Only when I was almost on top of her did I see that she hadn’t fallen at all, rather, she was crouched down, her arms around some kind of animal and her screams were squeals. Squeals of delight. She was hugging a baby unicorn. One out of a whole herd of baby unicorns.

  Christabel pulled up beside me. “This kind of crap always follows a dreamquake.” She was disgusted.

  From where we stood watching Amy, I could see a river. I assumed it was Alph, the Sacred River, but it just looked like any ordinary river. That is until its surface started to boil. Then it looked very different.

  “Do Sacred Rivers always do that?” I asked Christabel, genuinely interested.

  She looked up “That’s more like it!” and she started to run towards the river, waving her arms as she ran. The herd (flock?) of baby unicorns took flight because, apparently, they were flying baby unicorns. Pegasusacorns? As Christabel approached the River a giant snake-like head, on a giant snake-like body (so pretty much a giant snake) broke the water to tower over the unsuspecting Amy and the baby unicorn she still held in her arms. The unicorn, whose head was over Amy’s shoulder saw the snake and struggled to break free. Amy held on, but a kick to the chest knocked her back and the unicorn sprang into the air. The rest of the flock was barely visible in the dark sky behind the snake’s head, having circled around to escape Christabel. The baby, seeing his flock, took off after them, but the giant snake mouth snatched him out of the sky with a snap of brittle bones and a thin trickle of blood.

  Meanwhile, Christabel had reached the shore and leapt onto a coil of the snake’s back that protruded from the river and from there onto its head. Somehow in this process she had procured a sword (although she definitely did not have one before) and standing on the flat top of the head she thrust the sword savagely downward into the skull. The snake made a soundless roar and flailed its head to shake her off, but Christabel, still holding the sword, flung herself to one side and allowed her weight to twist the sword, neatly cutting the snake’s head more or less in half. Then, releasing the hilt of the sword, she dropped to the river bank, sticking the landing and walked away without so much as a drop of blood on her. I looked at the stain on my sleeve from the bloody rabbit’s foot and felt shamed.

  Amy was wailing in shock and grief while I was stunned into silence, so I wondered who was clapping. I looked around and saw a man slowly applauding. He was… odd. I don’t know how exactly to describe him. His clothes were old fashioned and roughly made. But he, himself, was, somehow, ill-defined. Like his edges blurred and blended into the scenery (such as it was). And although, at first, I thought it was a man, after a while I was uncertain. It might just as well have been a woman.

  “Oh well done! Well done!” The odd man shouted. “Truly a champion fit for a god!”

  Christabel, seeing the man, ran towards him, her hands curled into fists (she’d left the sword in the snake’s head). “Away with you! You have no power here!”

  “On the contrary.” The man replied. “I have the only power here. The only power that counts.”

  Christabel lowered her head and charged at him but somehow she missed and passed to one side to land sprawling in the gravel at his feet. It seemed strange that she could have been so acrobatic and effective just moments ago and so clumsy now.

  “Have you ever thought that maybe God is unhappy?” Asked the man, leaning on a walking stick to look down at Christabel. “That certainly would explain a lot.”

  Christabel started to rise, but the man put his walking stick on her back and leaned forward again pressing her into the ground. She mumbled something, but I couldn’t make it out.

  Then he turned to me, as if just now noticing I was there. “I knew a man once.” He said, without preamble. “Every day he would walk past a certain bar on his way to work. The bar had mirrored windows and the man, who I once knew, noticed that he always looked particularly good in one window. Better than he looked in other mirrors. He began to alter his path so that he walked by this bar, with its mirrored windows, more and more. Eventually, he bought the window and had it installed in his home. Even there, this mirror was better than other mirrors. He thought, ‘If only other people could see me the way I am in the mirror’. So he had a device constructed, it strapped to his chest and held the mirror in front of his face. Others had to talk to him from behind, only seeing his reflection in the mirror.”

  I’m sure that my confusion showed on my face. I mean this was a weird moment that stood out from a whole string of weird moments for its weirdness. First the dreamquake, then the flying baby unicorns, the giant snake, the tragedy of the baby unicorn, Christabel killing the giant snake as if it was what she did on weekends to relax, the whole odd scene between Christabel and this man, and finally this idiot tells me some meaningless story as if it means something. I made a gesture of confusion with my hands. “Wh-Wh-What?” I’d reached maximum eloquence.

  “Well,” the man says with a smile. “I would love to stay and chat, I am sure that you are a fascinating conversationalist, but miles to go before I sleep and all that.”

  “Frost!?” Roared Christabel.

  “It is heresy. I know.” The man admitted. “But I love the god enough to blaspheme. Well. If you will excuse me, I am wanted in Xanadu.” And with a tip of his hat, he vanished. It wasn’t an instant affair, rather he became more and more indistinct, his middle blending into his edges and his edges blending into the world until there was no telling the man from the landscape.

  Christabel got to her feet and herded us off. We were a quiet parade. Amy still in shock from the tragedy of the unicorn, who had won her heart one instant and died the next. Christabel seemed disturbed by her own encounters, with the snake and the man and, as for me, well, I was confused about everything and unsure where to begin.

  “There was something strange about that man.” I ventured.

  “Person.” Christabel answered. “I know! It’s like they have a personal grudge against contractions!”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s it. By the way, where did you get the sword?”

  It was like shaking Christabel awake. “Oh. The Lady of the River. The sword was Excalibur.”

  “Don’t you mean the Lady of the Lake?” Amy surfaced from her gloom to exercise her pedantry. “Excalibur is given to Arthur by the Lady of the Lake, not the River.”

  “Look who’s suddenly an Arthurian scholar. They teach you that in art school?” Christabel asked with a sneer.

  Amy shrugged. “No. It’s just a thing everybody knows.” She cleared her throat. “The Lady of the Lake, her arm clad in the purest shimmering samite.” Then with a bit of a sheepish look. “Monty Python.”

  “I love that movie!” I shouted. I did love that movie. Miranda and I must have watched it, together, twenty times when we were kids. At one point, we had practically memorized the whole thing and we would spend days at a time trading quotes. One of our most enduring arguments was who said ‘Alright, let’s call it a draw.’ at the end of the duel between King Arthur and the Black Knight. Of course, all reasonable people know that it was the Black Knight. There was no reason for Arthur to say it; he had already won. Miranda’s point, and now more than thirty years later I can acknowledge it was a good one, was: If the Black Knight said ‘let’s call it a draw’, why was he so upset when Arthur rode off? I wondered if Miranda would even remember the movie or our argument. What would she be like now? Somehow, even though, to my mind, I hadn’t changed much, it was impossible to think of Miranda as unaltered in the same way.

  Christabel huffed her annoyance. “Look. I jumped on to the serpent’s back and I got the sword, Excalibur, from the Lady IN the river, therefore,
OF the river. Q.E.D. Which is Latin for ‘shut the fuck hell up’. Or didn’t they cover that in your schools?” And then, just when I was sure this was going to move from an argument to a full-blown fight, she added. “I’m well aware that strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government.” And everybody smiled. We were all just part of the Monty Python and the Holy Grail fan club – in exile.

  We trudged along in silence for a few minutes. “So. Who was that strange man?” I asked.

  “Person.” Christabel replied and then nothing more.

  “Are we still doing Monty Python?” I asked.

  “It’s not a man. It’s a person.” And then she stopped talking as if she had explained something.

  Amy broke in. “What’s the difference? Isn’t a man a person also?”

  Christabel sighed. “A man is strictly masculine. A person can be either sex.”

  Amy nodded. “Right, I remember that from learning to talk. So, was that a woman?”

  “No.” Christabel said in frustration. “It was a person, The Person from Porlock.”

  “OK…” I pushed. “You mentioned this person before. But just saying the Person from Porlock doesn’t actually tell us anything. So who was that Person?”

  Christabel lifted her hands, palms up at the sides of her shoulders. “What is the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow?”

  Which I guess was her way of telling us ‘Q.E.D.’ because she wouldn’t say anything else.

  CHAPTER 9 - Some gods are darker than others.

  We walked along the banks of the River. There was more light here and the River, itself, was a pretty thing, flashing and sparkling and murmuring. Near the banks, there were tree-like fungus growing and the footprints of small animals, and in the water, there were reed-like fungus and the quick movement of fish. Maybe this is where the rabbits came from, although I didn’t see any rabbits.

  “Be careful not to fall in the river.” Christabel said as I was about to dip a toe.

  “Why?” I asked. “The current doesn’t seem very swift.

  She replied; “Tiny vicious things dwell in the river, hoping to wander through your veins and build a nest in your heart.”

  “And that’s a sacred river?” Amy asked.

  Christabel gave a shrug. “Some gods are darker than others.”

  So, with that warning under our belts, we walked more carefully along the river bank. As had become our habit, Christabel and Amy walked together in front and I walked a little behind. Suddenly Amy stopped, her head jerking up and then swinging side to side. “It’s gone.” She sighed. “So beautiful and strange and new. I almost wish I had never heard it since it was to end so soon.”

  Christabel smiled but said nothing and we walked on.

  “No! There it is again!” Amy cried, her whole body tense, searching. “Now it passes and I begin to lose it.” She turned back to me and took my hand, which was an odd thing for her to do. “Oh! Nick! The beauty of it! And the call in it is stronger even than the music is sweet!” And she took off running, still holding my hand and I ran after her, although I’d heard nothing.

  Christabel followed, and Amy led, stopping every now and then to search for the music that only she seemed to be able to hear. The trees (I’m just going to go ahead and call them trees) grew thicker the more we ran until the river was passing through a forest. And we ran on, seemingly untiringly, our feet soaked by inlets we crossed, the call that Amy heard apparently too urgent to allow any detour.

  Amy veered into the great forest and followed a path that only she could see. Until we came to a small lake almost perfectly round with an island set in its center. The trees on the island were silvery in the twilight, formed from some different, almost luminous, kind of fungus. Amy gripped my hand tighter and pulled me into the lake, splashing loudly in the water until it was too deep to walk, then dropping my hand, she swam until she reached the shore of the island. Christabel and I followed and soon all three of us were pulled up on the island beach.

  “I’ve lost it!” Amy began to cry and Christabel put her arm around her shoulder.

  “No.” Christabel told her. “You haven’t lost it. You’ve found it. Wait a moment. He comes in his own time, but surely he comes.”

  And Amy put her head onto Christabel’s shoulder and seemed comforted by the reassurance, but I just felt lost and left out. Amy could hear some music and Christabel seemed to know all about it, but I couldn’t hear anything and I knew nothing.

  We waited there on the beach for what seemed like a long time and my pants dried. I wanted to get moving, but there was nothing in the way either Amy or Christabel looked to hint that they would even consider continuing until he came. Whoever he was.

  And then I heard it! A single note, high and distant and impossibly beautiful. A sad comedy. And it entered me from below and it rose up in me and almost lifted me from my feet. And I turned at a rustling from the forest in time to see the trees part of their own accord and then he came through.

  I was gripped by a great Awe, an awe that turned my muscles to water and rooted my feet to the ground. I fell on my knees and bowed my head. It was no panic terror, I felt completely at peace.

  He played a trill on his pipes and ecstasy ran along the notes and I embarrassed myself in pleasure. And then he stopped playing and the lack of music was so very sad and I embarrassed myself in tears.

  At length I found myself free to lift my head and I saw him, the great backward sweep of his curved horns, the stern hooked nose and sharp eyes, the half-smiling bearded mouth, the rippling muscles on the arm that lay across his broad chest, the splendid curve of his shaggy legs, ending in hooves digging into the sand of the beach and, of course, let’s not forget, his giant-erect-cock.

  As soon as the last note faded away, Christabel was on her feet and threw herself into his arms, apparently thinking nothing of the giant-erect-cock trapped between their bodies. “Pan!” She shouted.

  “M..Urp!” He began to say something, but she clapped her hand over his mouth.

  “No! Don’t speak. Let me enjoy the moment.” She stepped out of his arms and looked him up and down. Then rushed forward and whispered something in his ear and stepping back again she turned to us. “Nicky, Amy, I, your companion, Christabel, present you to the Great God Pan.” She bowed low at the waist and we followed her lead.

  The Great God Pan waved his hands. “No need for that. Any friends of Christine’s are friends of mine.”

  I don’t know about anybody else, but I could not take my eyes off his giant-erect-cock. I know it was probably rude, but there it was. And as I looked at it, I was doubly embarrassed by my own growing erection. And confused.

  “So.” Began the Great God Pan, conversationally. “Where are you off to on this beautiful day?”

  “We follow the Sacred River.” Christabel took a formal tone. “Down to the Sunless Sea and thence to Xanadu.”

  “Oh.” Pan said with a smile. “I can get you to Xanadu, much easier. No need to tramp along the boring river bank, no need to brave the docks of Folkestone, no need for the dreary crossing of the Sunless Sea and certainly no need to pass through those dreadful Caves of Ice.” He put a protective hand on his naked chest. “The cold hurts my nipples.” He added with a shudder. “And I’d be happy to help you out, you know, friend to friend, if you could see your way clear to help me with a little something.” And he gestured meaningfully at his giant-erect-cock.

  I was shocked! I mean was this goat-man seriously suggesting Christabel trade sex for some kind of godly travel agent services!? I turned to Christabel to tell her… something, but she was gone from beside me and already had the god’s hand in hers.

  “Don’t wait up!” She giggled. Giggled! Christabel whose face seemed permanently locked in a scowl, giggled!

  And they walked off into the forest.

  “Do you believe that!?” I shouted at Amy.

  She shook
her head, sadly. “No. I can’t believe it.” And she started to cry.

  I was completely flummoxed. I’m pretty sure I’ve never been as flummoxed before, maybe nobody has ever been as flummoxed before. I had no idea what was going on or what to do and I still had that inconvenient erection.

  Uncomfortable sounds began to emerge from the forest, I mean they were uncomfortable for me. Christabel and Pan sounded very comfortable.

  Eventually, Amy stopped her crying and she looked at me with an odd smile. “Let’s go watch.” She suggested.

  “Watch?” If I’d thought I was flummoxed before, I was wrong. Now I was well and truly flummoxed.

  “Yes! Watch! How many chances are we going to get to watch a Goat-God fuck a human? I’ll tell you how many! Exactly one! Let’s go!” And she took my hand and pulled me into the forest.

  I pulled back on Amy’s hand. “At least let’s go quietly. They’ll hear us.”

  “Listen to them! They won’t hear anything. Come on!” And she pulled me onward, crashing through the trees with not a thought for stealth.

  At least she had the presence of mind to stop at the edge of the clearing and didn’t just barge right in.

  We crouched down just behind the last line of trees and watched. It was impressive and… engrossing and I finally understood Amy’s tears. Although I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the scene in the clearing, I also couldn’t stop thinking about Amy’s hand in mine and her shoulder pressed into mine and her lips were pressed against my neck. What? And where was her hand again? But we were not well hidden and just at that moment the God’s eyes found mine and held me for an instant that lasted forever and I cried out and then I remember nothing else.

  I woke on the beach beside a large fire. Amy lay beside me and Christabel and Pan sat together on a log toasting spongy fungus on sticks and laughing. Seeing me awake, Pan tossed me a bottle. “Drink!” He shouted. “Wine is good for the soul!” and I hadn’t had a drink yet today so I drank. It was strong and smooth and refreshing in the way that wine usually is not. Amy woke also and took the bottle from my hand, oddly shy, and she drank too and we both got up and sat down on the logs they had arranged around the fire. Unsure exactly what had happened in the woods, Amy and I, by what seemed like mutual agreement, sat as far from each other as possible. And Pan still had a giant erection.