The Beyond (27 page)

Cley laughed. “It's been a long time since I have made love, but, still, I don't think I can generate the passion to join with a dragon.”

Vasthasha turned his back to Cley. “Pick the fruit that grows at my back. Take it in your hands and do not let it go. This contains the seed that will cause the serpent eventually to spawn offspring.”

The hunter reached out and grasped the dark fruit. When he pulled it away from the foliate there was a distinct snapping noise followed hard by a deafening scream that echoed across the mountainside. The cry was so unexpected, he almost dropped the large plum. When Vasthasha turned back to face him, Cley could see the green man sobbing.

“This is madness,” said the hunter. “I'm sorry.”

“Now,” said Vasthasha, heaving, “you must tempt the serpent.”

Inside the cave, there was a pool, and it reminded Cley of the water that was in the cave where he had discovered Pa-ni-ta's physical remains. A few yards beyond it there was another opening, covered by a very thin, blue membrane. Through this rippling blue window, he saw a beautiful landscape of trees and flowers and ferns. It was how he had pictured Paradise since the idea first presented itself to him years ago in Anamasobia.

His clothes lay in a pile on the floor, the black hat resting atop them. Cley was completely naked, holding the fruit in one hand and the crystal given to him by the body scribe in the other.

“Explain to me one more time why this is necessary,” said Cley.

“The serpent distrusts anything from the Beyond, because the wilderness has become infected against it. That is why it is sealed in this garden chamber. The fruit has been in your hand long enough now to have taken on your scent. Also, that which has brought you so far, the desire that burns in you to rectify a great wrong, to achieve an equilibrium of peace with your conscience, recommends you for this task. The wilderness must reacquire that same balance. You will find the sleeping Sirimon and tempt it to open its mouth. Then, throw the fruit into its maw,” said Vasthasha.

“What if I miss?” asked Cley.

The foliate did not answer.

“It might kill me, though,” said the hunter.

Again, there was no comment.

“I see,” said Cley.

“The crystal will give you passage through the blue entrance. Don't lose it, or you will never get out. Once you have delivered the seed, run as fast as you can. Do not look back. I will be waiting for you,” said Vasthasha.

Cley stepped up to the blue membrane. It was like a window made of water. He passed one hand through it, then brought it back.

“This is the only way that you can complete your own journey,” said the foliate.

The hunter held his breath as if he were about to dive into a wave, and stepped forward through the portal. He felt an intense cold and lost consciousness for a split second. Then he heard birds singing, felt the warmth of the sun, and opened his eyes, knowing he had been born into Paradise.

Vasthasha stood in the cave, watching through the membrane as Cley walked off through the trees. Behind the foliate, from within the pool, two webbed hands appeared at its edge. A red-scaled being with the bubble eyes of a fish and fanlike fins at the sides of its head pulled itself up onto the dry rock of the cave. Water dripped off it, and its rasping, gilled breaths echoed through the cave. Barnacles grew on its arms and stomach, and its wide mouth was rimmed at the top lip by two long feelers that formed a kind of mustache. Hair, like yards of seaweed, flowed down its spiked back and tail, undulating as if still below the surface of the pool.

The creature slithered up next to Vasthasha in time to see Cley disappear around a flowering hedge.

“How did you convince him to come?” asked Shkchl, the scaled being.

“I told him a story,” said Vasthasha.

“You lied,” said the other.

“As you wish,” said the foliate.

“Does he know we are all now joining together to revive the Beyond?”

“I didn't bother. Things were complex enough. Besides, as I understand his species' concept of a story, there must be a villain,” said Vasthasha.

Shkchl's rasping increased, and the foliate knew he was laughing.

“Does he understand the sacrifice he must make—the other ingredient besides the fruit?”

The foliate shook his head.

“What if he escapes before the serpent tastes his blood?”

“He won't,” said Vasthasha.

“don't be afraid.”

I am certain that the use of sheer beauty is illegal in the town of Wenau, but I hid two vials of it and a syringe in the fold where my right wing meets my back. The only other belongings I brought with me were my pen and ink and the manuscript of the hunter's journey. What choice did I have, seeing as where I had last left Cley, about to encounter the great serpent? I knew I would be staying here for a few days, and I could not, in that time, forestall the story, which is now, I feel, at the point of some apotheosis. The tale had left my mind in great turmoil, which was probably a blessing in that it distracted me somewhat from concerns at facing Semla Hood and my other detractors.

I sit now, in a second-floor apartment, overlooking the main street of the flourishing town. This place that Feskin has arranged for me is very fine, even though the furniture has not been adapted for my idiosyncratic physiognomy. Now that it is late, and Wenau is asleep, I have taken the beauty. I am impatiently waiting, as usual, for signs of the Beyond to slither through my mind. In the meantime, allow me to describe for you the events of my own encounter with a serpent perhaps as dangerous as Cley's, namely the prejudice and ingrained suspicion of humanity.

I arrived this morning, as had been arranged, dressed in my suit and hat, trembling with a very real fear of being rejected. Feskin said I looked fine, but I went to the mirror in the small bathroom at the back of the schoolhouse no fewer than three times to check my attire and to do some last-minute practice at smiling without showing my fangs. Once I had remembered the exact facial contortion that was necessary for a convincing closed-mouth grin, I told the teacher that I was ready.

We left the sanctuary of the school and started down the street. The day was clear and very mild. Citizens of the town were out and about, shopping in the stores and standing on the corners engaged in conversation. I tried to pay no attention to the stares I was receiving, nor to the voiced insults. Some people moved to the other side of the street when they saw us coming, and a very brave few called out wishes of good luck and waved, albeit from a distance.

“We are going before Constable Spencer,” said Feskin. “He is the sole proprietor of law and order in this town. I have always known him to be a fair and honest man, not given to rampant emotion but always working from the empirical evidence of any given case.”

“And what will happen when we arrive?” I asked.

“There will be quite a few people there I suspect,” said the teacher. “Do not be alarmed by the armed guards. Spencer will make sure that the spectators remain silent. Your detractors will enter and make their case against you. You will then have a chance to answer their charges. The constable will render the final verdict. I have already spoken to him, and he is greatly impressed that you are coming to stand up for yourself.”

We turned into a side street and arrived at a large building that houses the court, the jail, and Spencer's office. There was a mob of people outside, two of whom carried rifles. My heart began to pound. Then Emilia broke away from the crowd and came running up to greet me. She put her hand out and I took it in mine and held it for a moment.

“Don't be afraid, Misrix,” she said.

Of all those present, the child was the only one who could understand what it might be like to be me.

As we approached the crowd, the two armed guards ordered everyone to step aside and make way for us to enter. In passing through their ranks, I was reminded of Cley passing through the Beshanti lines when he left Fort Vordor, and it struck me that there was nothing that could prevent a disgruntled citizen from pulling out a hidden weapon and putting a slug into my head. At the last moment, before we could pass through the entrance, one angry-looking large fellow moved into Feskin's way, and the thin, bespectacled schoolteacher reached out and nonchalantly shoved the man out of our path.

“Step aside,” said Feskin, and I was mightily impressed with his courage. I had been so wrapped up in my own fear I had not considered the chance that my friend was also taking by being my representative.

I whispered a word of thanks to him as I followed, but I'm sure it was drowned out by the sounds of voices cheering me while many more yelled, “Death to the Demon!”

My mind was literally swirling like a whirlpool, and it was all I could do to stand straight and not walk like I was drunk. We moved inside and across a spacious room. To the right there were rows of seats that were already filled with townspeople, and to the left was a large desk at which sat a man dressed completely in black. I realized that this must be Constable Spencer. He was much shorter than I had imagined but powerful-looking, with a wide chest and shoulders. His hair was thinning and gray, and he had a bushy mustache of the same color. His expression was the lack of an expression, his mouth a straight line across a large, red face.

Upon seeing us, Spencer stood and lifted his hand high to bring it down hard on the desktop. The sound made me jump, and at the same time quieted those gathered behind us.

“Silence,” he said to all. “If anyone interferes with these proceedings, he or she can expect to spend some time in jail.”

Feskin walked forward and shook hands with the constable. “This,” said the teacher, “is Misrix,” and swept his arm back toward me.

“Step forward,” said Spencer.

I did and as I approached him he put his hand out. I, in turn, offered mine. He grabbed it, not seeming to fear the claws, and pumped my arm up and down. “I know you did not have to come, and this will be considered when I decide the outcome,” he said.

I nodded to him and stepped back.

“State your case,” said the constable, as he sat once more.

“We have come before you today for two reasons,” said Feskin. “One is so that my friend, Misrix, may answer the charges leveled against him by Semla Hood and others, namely that his having in his possession a certain stone knife that she believes once belonged to Cley proves he has murdered our town's most illustrious founder. Second, and more important, we come to ask that Misrix be given a chance to prove his goodwill and be allowed an opportunity to become a citizen of Wenau and to live among us.”

“Two very distinct issues,” said Spencer. “We will not decide the latter today, but I must add that Mr. Misrix's presence here can only improve his prospects for citizenship later on. Now, as to the charges leveled …” The constable waved toward the audience. “Come forward, Mrs. Hood,” he said.

I turned around and saw approaching the old woman who had visited me at the ruins. Three other gentlemen followed her. She carried in her hand the knife she had taken from my museum.

“I understand that you bring with you a piece of evidence,” said Spencer.

The old woman stepped up to the desk and placed the knife before the constable. “This,” she said, “is Cley's knife. I know it, these men know it, and I am sure this creature, whom we foolishly entertain as a human being, has killed my old friend.”

“And what makes you believe this knife once belonged to Cley?” asked Spencer.

“Besides the fact that I had seen him use it on numerous occasions when he and my husband were close friends, it has a distinct design on the handle, the image of a coiled snake. In addition, the blade is made of stone, not metal. It was given to him by the Traveler, that native of the Beyond, Ea. You know your history, I should hope, Constable Spencer.”

“Yes, madam,” said Spencer, smiling. Then he turned to me, and asked, “Was this knife in your possession?”

“It was in a collection I kept; a museum I have been constructing from items I have found in the ruins of the Well-Built City,” I said, and bowed inanely when I was finished.

“And where in the ruins did you find it?” he asked.

“My recollection is vague, but I believe it was stuck in a section of remaining wall,” I said.

“And why would a knife be stuck in a wall?” he asked.

I felt I was losing ground in the investigation, and blurted out, “And why would anything be anywhere in that jumbled offspring of explosions? I once found a child's skeleton embedded in a column of coral.”

One of the men with Semla Hood spoke up. “I too knew Cley, and that is his knife. There were no others like it in the realm until the Traveler appeared. I also know that Cley would not be separated from it, since he used it for all purposes from fishing to hunting to delivering babies. He showed me once that it cuts like a scalpel.”

The other two men behind the old woman nodded in agreement.

“I see …” said Spencer, but here, Feskin spoke up.

“If you will allow me,” said the teacher, who did not wait for a nod of approval but continued speaking. “When the Traveler was captured by Below, would he not then have been carrying a knife? He obviously would not have been allowed to keep it in his captivity. Perhaps this is the object we have before us now. It could have been left in one of the offices of a ministry and then been embedded into a wall as a result of an explosion. Ea must have made Cley a knife when they both lived in close proximity in the early Wenau.”

“Then where is Cley?” asked the old woman, directing her question to Misrix.