Lyonesse II - The Green Pear and Madouc (46 page)

Aillas said: “You do not infect me with optimism.”

“There is none to be had. Come; Weare has laid out our supper and I will tell you of Tanjecterly.”

Dhrun asked: “Where is Tanjecterly?”

“You shall hear.”

Aillas and Dhrun ate cold beef and bread while Shimrod spoke. “I will start at the starting,” said Shimrod. “Some hundreds of years ago Twitten the Wizard either himself compiled, or obtained from another source, a volume which became known as Twitten’s Almanac. This same Twitten, for purposes unknown, placed the iron post at a crossroads in the Forest of Tantrevalles, despite legends which state otherwise.

“The almanac, so I learn, describes a cycle of worlds one of which is Tanjecterly.

“Hippolito the Magician owned the almanac, and apparently instructed his apprentice Visbhume in its use; when Hippolito disappeared, presumably to his death, Visbhume made off with the almanac.”

Aillas said: “I know something of this Visbhume. By all reports he is a strange and unpleasant person, and works in the service of Casmir. He came before to Troicinet, and put assiduous inquiries regarding Dhrun to Dame Ehirme and her family, who seem to have given him hints as to the circumstances of Dhrun’s birth, of which Casmir still knows nothing.”

“Here may be the basis of Visbhume’s acts,” said Shimrod. “He has taken Glyneth that he may learn all there is to be known in this regard.”

Dhrun groaned. “Let him give us back Glyneth! I will tell him all he wants to know and more!”

Aillas spoke between clenched teeth: “Show me the gate into Tanjecterly; if he has laid a rude finger on her, I will break all his bones!”

“Just so,” said Shimrod with a sad smile. “Murgen feels that Tamurello is responsible, and Tamurello hopes that all who love Glyneth most will recklessly hurl themselves into Tanjecterly, and there be lost forever. Murgen has forbidden any such acts.”

“Then what can we do?” demanded Dhrun.

“Nothing, until we receive word from Murgen.”

IN THE MORNING DHRUN LED THE WAY tO the woodcutter’s hut deep in the Wild Woods to which his dogs had followed Glyneth’s trail. As before, the hut stood alone in a little glade, and appeared to be deserted.

Aillas approached and started to step through the doorway. He was stayed by a sharp cry: “Hold, Aillas! Stand back! As you value your life, do not enter the hut!”

Murgen came forward. Today he seemed a tall erect woodsman with close-cropped white hair. He spoke to Dhrun: “When you traced Glyneth to this place, did you enter the hut?”

“No, sir. The dogs stopped at the doorway, and acted in a peculiar manner. I looked through the doorway and saw that the hut was empty; the place gave me an eerie feeling and I came away.”

“That was well-considered. See this golden shine around the doorway? It is barely visible in the light. It marks the way into Tanjecterly, and the way is still open. If you wish to bring great rejoicing to the heart of King Casmir, step through the doorway.”

Aillas asked: “May I call out through the doorway?”

“Call away! Your voice can do no harm.”

Aillas stepped close to the doorway and called through the opening: “Glyneth! It is Aillas! Can you hear me?”

Silence was profound; Aillas reluctantly turned away and watched as Murgen scratched an outline in the turf before the hut, in the shape of a square twenty feet on the side. With the most meticulous care he scratched a number of other marks inside the perimeter and then stood back. From his wallet he brought a small box carved from a single block of red cinnabar and tossed the contents toward the delineated square.

Dense white vapor filled the interior of the square, to dissipate with a sudden soft explosion, leaving behind a structure of gray stone. The single means of ingress was a tall black iron door, adorned with a panel displaying the Tree of Life.

Murgen went to the door, swung it wide, beckoned to the company. “Come!”

Aillas, passing through the portal, felt a puzzling sense of familiarity, as if he had come this way before. Shimrod knew their location precisely: the entry to the great hall at Swer Smod.

“Come,” said Murgen. “There is reason for haste. The ten places slide and move past each other. Visbhume’s passage seems firm but who knows when it will break. Since we cannot pass through, we need an agent of suitable sort. I have done the needful study; now the synthesis. Come; to my workroom.”

Murgen took the company to a chamber furnished with shelves, cabinets, and tables burdened with unfamiliar machinery. Windows to the east overlooked the foothills of the Teach tac Teach and, beyond, the dark expanse of Forest Tantrevalles.

Murgen pointed to a bench. “Sit, if you will… . Notice this cabinet. It has cost me large toil and a dozen obligations in unseemly places. Still, what must be, is. The cabinet glows with a green-yellow light; it is in fact the stuff of Tanjecterly. The creature within is a young syaspic feroce from the Dyad Mountains of Tanjecterly. Now he is a mere schematic; when activated he will also manifest the stuff of Tanjecterly and will form the armature of our construction. It has other virtues as well: it is strong, alert, agile and cunning. It is immune to fear and is loyal to the death. Its flaws are the other side of the same coin: it is savage and becomes a monster of destructive fury when provoked, or sometimes even in the absence of provocation. It is also prone to unpredictable frivolities which propel its kind on expeditions of ten thousand miles that they may dine on a particular fruit. This is the basis of our agent.”

Aillas eyed the creature dubiously. It stood a few inches over six feet tall and displayed a rudely man-like form, with a heavy head resting on massive shoulders, long arms with taloned hands and prongs growing from the knuckles. A black pelt covered its scalp, a strip down its back and about the pelvic region. Its features were heavy and crude, with a low forehead, a short nose and ropy mouth; tawny-gold eyes looked through slits between ridges of cartilage.

Murgen spoke again: “This is not the beast itself, which would be of no use to us, but its constructive principles, which define its nature. Last night I sought across a hundred worlds and a million years of time. I still am not content but in so short a time I can discover none better.” He closed the cabinet on the syaspic feroce, and opened another to reveal the simulacrum of a strong young man wearing leather trousers buckled at the belt. “This creature appears to our eyes as a man because our brains make such an interpretation; it is unnecessary to think differently. He lives among the far moons of Achernar, and he is accustomed to the most extreme outrages of terror and the hourly proximity of death. He survives because he is ruthless and intelligent; his name is Kul the Killer. To our eyes and our brains he seems a handsome clean-limbed young man of fine physique, and we will make use of this matrix when we join him to the feroce, as we do now.”

Murgen joined the cabinets, then, at a table, took what appeared to be a sheet of paper cut into patterns and laid it on , another similar set of patterns. He worked for a moment with patterns, cabinets and machinery. “Now!” said Murgen. “The synthesis is done. We shall call the product ‘Kul’. Let us observe him.”

Murgen opened the cabinet door, to reveal a new being with attributes of both its constituent beings. The head rode on a short heavy neck; the face was less brutally modeled; the arms, hands, legs and feet were more distinctly human. Kul wore his short leather trousers, while the pelt of black hair now covered only the scalp, the neck and part of the back.

Murgen said: “Kul is not yet alive, and needs still another component: direction, full intelligence, and sympathetic juncture with our own humanity. Any of you three can supply these qualities; each of you, in his own way, loves Glyneth. Shimrod, I deem you the least suitable. Dhrun, you would gladly give your life for Glyneth; but the quality I seek I find in Aillas.”

“Whatever you need, I will give it.”

Murgen looked at Aillas. “It will mean discomfort and weakness, for you must invest the strength of your spirit and a goodly quantity of your red human blood in this creature. Kul will have no knowledge of you, but his human virtues, if such words apply, will be yours.”

Murgen nodded. “Shimrod, Dhrun: wait in the hall.”

Dhrun and Shimrod departed the workroom. An hour passed. Murgen appeared. “I have sent Aillas to Watershade. He gave more of himself than I expected and he is weak. Let him rest; in a week or so he will be himself.”

“And what of the creature Kul?”

“I have instructed him, and already he has fared through the hole into Tanjecterly. Come; let us learn what news he sends back.”

The three returned through the foyer to the glade in the Wild Woods. Murgen dissolved the gray stone structure; the three approached the woodcutter’s hut.

A black glass bottle flew through the doorway and landed at their feet. Murgen extracted a message:

I find neither Gfynah nor Visbhume close at hand. I have questioned one who watched all that happened. Glyneth took flightt from Visbhume who went in pursuit. The trail is plain. I will follow.

ON A BRIGHT SUMMER’S MORNING Glyneth rose with the sun. She washed her face, and combed out her hair, which had grown to hang in loose dark golden curls somewhat past her ears. It was beautiful hair, so she had been told: full of glints and gleams, but perhaps a trifle longer than truly convenient, since now the wind could blow it into a tousle, so that it needed attention to keep it neat. To cut, or not to cut? Glyneth pondered carefully. Gallants of the court had assured her how nicely her hair set off the contours of her face. Still, the one person whose opinion truly mattered to her never seemed to notice whether her hair was long or short.

“Ah ha,” said Glyneth to herself. “We will soon put a stop to that kind of nonsense, since now I think I know what to do.”

On this bright morning she made a breakfast of porridge, with a boiled egg and a glass of fresh milk, and the whole day lay ahead of her. On the morrow, Dhrun would be arriving for the summer; today was her last day of solitude.

Glyneth considered riding her horse into the village, but only yesterday, when she rode to visit her friend Lady Alicia, at Black Oak Manor, a peculiar man in a pony cart had signaled her to a halt and had put the most surprising questions.

Glyneth had politely acknowledged her identity. Yes, she knew Prince Dhrun very well; no one knew him better. Was it true then that Dhrun had lived for a period in a fairy shee? At this point Glyneth had excused herself from further conversation. “I cannot assert this of my own personal knowledge, sir. Why not put your questions to King Aillas at the court if you are truly interested? There you would learn which facts are real and which are idle speculation.”

“That is good advice! Today is a fine day for riding. How far do you go?”

“I ride to visit my friends,” said Glyneth. “Good day to you, sir!”

On this morning Glyneth decided that she did care to risk another encounter with the odd gentleman-it was almost as if he had been waiting for her to ride past-and so she decided to wander in the woods.

She took up her berry basket, kissed Dame Flora, and promised to be home in time to eat the berries she planned to pick for her lunch. So saying, she set off into the Wild Woods.

Today the forest was at its best. The foliage glowed a thousand shades of green in the sunlight, and a breeze from the lake made a pleasant murmur as it passed.

Glyneth knew a place where wild strawberries grew in abundance, and never seemed to fail, but as she walked along the trail her attention was attracted by the most beautiful butterfly she had ever seen. It floated before her, on wings of orange, black and red fully six inches across, and of a most unusual shape. Glyneth increased her pace hoping that it would settle, that she might examine it at her leisure, but it flew even faster, and eventually, entering a glade, it flew into a woodcutter’s hut.

Most odd, thought Glyneth. What a foolish butterfly! She looked through the door, and seemed to notice an odd greenish-yellow glow, but paid it no heed. She stepped into the hut, and looked all around, but the butterfly was gone. On an old table across the room lay a scrap of parchment. Glyneth read:

You may be surprised but all is well, and all will be well. Your good friend Sir Visftfuune will help you and is obout to bring you a great happiness. Once again Feel no fear. Put all trust in noble Sir Visbhune, and do his bidding.

Most strange, thought Glyneth. Why should she be surprised? And put her trust in Visbhume and do his bidding? Not likely! Still, undeniably, something strange was in the air! First the butterfly, then the peculiar light which now pervaded the room. Magic hung in the air! Glyneth had known a surfeit of magic and wanted no more of it. She turned to the door; never mind the butterfly, and the berries; she wanted only to be safe home at Watershade as quickly as possible.

She stepped from the hut, but where was the forest? She looked out on a strange landscape; where could she be?

Two suns hung at the zenith of a heather-gray sky, lazily circling each other: one green, the other lemon-yellow. Short blue grass grew along a hillside sloping down to a slow gentle river, which flowed from right to left and out on a wide flat plain. Where the river met the horizon an object like a black moon hung in the sky, and the very look of the object caused Glyneth a spasm of unreasonable fear, even horror. Feeling ever more frightened, Glyneth turned away to look elsewhere.

Across the river, low hills and dales rolled in a majestic rhythmic succession, finally blending together. A range of mountains, black and yellow-brown, slanted down from the far left, to disappear over the horizon. Closer at hand, along the banks of the river, grew trees with nearly spherical crowns, dark red or blue or blue-green. At the riverside a short man hunched over to dig in the mud with a spade. He wore a dark brown smock, and a widebrimmed brown hat concealed his features. A hundred yards along the shore a boat swung at a rude dock.

Scanning the countryside, Glyneth could not help but marvel at the brightness and clarity of the colours. They were not the colours of Earth! Where had she wandered? … From behind her came the sound of a small polite cough. Glyneth whirled around. On a bench beside the hut sat the strange man who had spoken to her on the previous day. She stared at him in mingled wonder and consternation.