The World of Tiers Volume Two: Behind the Walls of Terra, the Lavalite World, Red Orc's Rage, and More Than Fire

by Philip José Farmer

  “Don’t drink it swiftly,” she said.

  Kickaha was used to nudity, but those huge, round, and unsagging breasts across the table from him aroused a strange feeling. It was partly sexual and partly … what? It evoked an image of himself as an enwombed fetus and the sloshing of the amniotic sea rocking him back and forth while he slept and dreamed dreams without words. No, without any knowledge of words. He just thought. And he thought not only without language. He thought without images. He was without words, and his brain was equally empty of images. He was floating and rocking in pure emotion. He was safe and well-fed and quite cozy and never wanted to leave this place. Here was heaven, and outside it was hell.

  Quickly, the feeling slipped away. The amniotic ocean receded with a low roar as if there were a hole in the sac and it was pouring out in a waterfall. Panic shot through him, and then he was again the man he had been a second ago.

  He shook his head slightly and swore silently that he would drink no more of the green liquor. Not in this room and not when she was present, anyway.

  Manathu Vorcyon smiled as if she knew of his moment of transport. She said, “I have been aware for a very long time of Red Orc and his plans. For a much shorter time, I have also been aware of you. And I know somewhat what has been happening in many of the worlds.”

  Not looking behind her, she stabbed a backward-pointing thumb at the silvery mirror on the wall. “Through that, I hear and see people and events in other worlds. It’s hooked up to gates made by others and to gates that I’ve made in the weak places in the walls among the universes. The transmission is not always good, and I often have trouble maintaining the frequency lock on the gates. But I can keep watch on certain key places. You could say that I have my finger on the pulsebeat of many worlds. My people believe it’s a magic mirror.”

  Kickaha wanted to ask her if the device was an ancient one she had inherited or if she had made it herself. Anana had told him stories about her. One was that she was the only scientist, with the possible exception of Red Orc, among the Lords. But, true or not, she did have the device, and that was all that mattered now.

  “I have heard about you and now and then seen you,” she said. “But, until recently, when you were detected by the glindglassa”—she indicated the seeming mirror again—“I had set no traps to gate you through to me. I had no strong reason then to do so. As soon as I had a reason, I set up more traps—no easy thing to do by remote control—hoping to catch you someday. I also connected alarms to the gates to sound when you and you alone were in one.”

  “How did the detectors know me?” Kickaha said.

  “The skin of every person has unique patterns in its electric field. The glindglassa detects these and also registers the individual’s mass. It employs a visual detector, which I don’t use very often because it’s so difficult to keep a lock on it. But I had put your physical description, which I got from other sources, into the computer. It stores a display of every person caught in its field. When you were finally detected, it emitted an audio and visual notice along with your image and frequency field.

  “From then on, the traps were set to detect you when you were in the range of the glindglassa and to shunt you here. The probability that you would be caught was very low because there are thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of gates, and I could only lock into a thousand.”

  “Why don’t you also trap Red Orc?”

  “I doubt that he knows that I would like to do that. But he probably knows that such a device as the glindglassa exists. I believe that he carries a frequency-emitter canceler.”

  Kickaha said, “Wouldn’t the absence of a frequency field at the same time that a mass is detected identify Red Orc? And what about the visual detector?”

  She smiled. “You’re not just a tricky but simple killer of Lords. For one thing, the visual detection field often drifts away from the transmission-reception lock. For another, Red Orc has never entered any of my traps—not to my knowledge, anyway. He may have a visual-detector damper and a false-mass emitter. You’re not the only wily one.”

  “Why did you gate me through into the forest instead of directly to your tree?”

  “You needed time to adjust and to be peacefully greeted by Lingwallan. Who knows what might have happened if you had appeared among strangers? You’re very quick. You might have used your beamer before you understood the situation.”

  “Not me.”

  “You don’t lack self-confidence. That’s beneficial for a person, up to a point.”

  Kickaha did not believe her explanation. The probable truth was that she was very cautious. She just did not want anyone she had gated through to be close to her when they came through. The gatee might carry a very powerful bomb or some other very destructive weapon. The trees around him when he came through doubtless held hidden detectors. They would notify her if he carried any such weapons.

  She said, “This is not the time for minor questions. But I will answer one you must have. Why did I not shunt to here all persons in my traps? One of them might have been Red Orc. I did try that method for a long time, five hundred years to be exact. I quit doing that when I learned that he was somehow able to avoid being caught.

  “Now. Hold your tongue until I tell you that you may loose it.”

  10

  Manathu Vorcyon had long ago known about Red Orc, his wars against his father, Los, and against other Lords after he had slain his father.

  “I also have heard about you, Kickaha. Many Lords fear you. They identify you with the leblabbiy who an ancient prophecy says will destroy all Lords. Prophecies are nonsense, of course, unless they’re self-fulfilling. Despite their mighty powers, the Lords are not only decadent but are superstitious.”

  So far, Red Orc had not tried to invade her universe. She had too many weapons of the ancients for him to attack her even if he brought about the deaths of all other Lords.

  “That is,” she said, “I thought so until recently. But he now has the Horn of Shambarimem. That may give him the courage to try to invade my world. And I have heard through my spies that he is again striving to get into Zazel’s World though he had ceased doing that several millennia ago. The Horn may enable him to enter it. It is said that he knows that the last of the ancient creation-destruction machines is buried in there. My spies have told me that Red Orc has often said that he would destroy all universes except one if he could get his hands on the creation-destruction engine.”

  Ah! Kickaha thought. So, that’s it! Red Orc would tell me only that he wanted “certain data” in the Caverned World. That data was this creation-destruction engine, whatever that is.

  “Your pardon for interrupting, Great Mother,” Kickaha said. “Hearing you say that, I just can’t keep quiet. That is not accurate information. The machine is not there. However, the data to build it is. I know because Red Orc himself told me so. I mean, he might just as well have told me that he wanted to find the data, plans, schematics, I don’t know. But from what you said, I’m sure the engine itself isn’t there.”

  She raised her thick and glossy black eyebrows. “That is so? He is the lord of all liars and may not have told you the truth.”

  “He thought I was unable to escape him and that I was certain to return to him. Thus, he revealed much that he would not otherwise have told. He is indeed a great liar. I don’t hold that against him since I’ve indulged in a few untruths myself. In this case, however, he had no reason to lie.”

  Manathu Vorcyon was silent for a half-minute. Then she said, “It may be best that you do speak now. First, tell me how you, an Earthman, came to the World of Tiers. I have heard parts of your story. These may or may not be true. Tell me your story from the beginning until now but do not make an epic of it. I need now only a swiftly told outline.”

  Kickaha did as she commanded. But when he described the scaly man, he heard her gasp.

  Her eyes opened very wide, and she cried, “The Thokina!”

  “What’s the matter?�
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  “Just go on. I’ll tell you later. What happened after you first saw him?”

  Kickaha told her how the scaly man, whom they had thought dead, had begun to move just as he and Anana gated out of the tomb.

  She got to her feet and began pacing back and forth while vigorously swinging her arms. She looked disturbed.

  He thought, Even goddesses can lose their composure.

  “The Thokina! The Thokina!” she muttered. “It can’t be!”

  “Why not?”

  She swung around to face him. “Because they are only creatures of folklore and legend born of primitive fears and imagination! When I was a child, my parents and the house slaves told me stories about them. In some of these, the Thokina were a nonhuman species who were the predecessors of the Thoan. In other tales, they made the first Thoan and enslaved them. Then the Thoan revolted and killed all but one. That sole survivor fled to some unknown universe, according to the story, and put himself into a sort of suspended animation. But the tale, which was a very spooky one for a child, told how he would rise one day when the time was ripe and would join the greatest enemy of the Thoan and help him slay all of them. That greatest enemy would be a leblabbiy.

  “The tale also described how he would then kill the last Thoan and become the Lord of all the worlds.

  “But another story said that he would join the leblabbiy and help them overthrow the Lords. The tales made enjoyable hair-raising stories for the children. But that the Thokina could actually be … that … that …”

  “I am not lying,” he said. “And I was wondering about the image of the scaly man I saw on a goblet during the feast.”

  “If a Thokina has risen from his sleep and is somewhere out there, what does he intend to do?”

  “All you know now is that they did and do exist. You really don’t know if he’ll be hostile or friendly.”

  He wondered if some of that fright she’d felt as a child when hearing the tale was still living in her.

  She sat down, leaned toward him, and clamped her hand around his wrist. He winced as his wristbones seemed to bend in toward each other. Her grip was as strong as he imagined a gorilla’s would be. He certainly did not want to tangle with her, not in a fight, anyway.

  “This scaly man is an unknown factor. Therefore, until we know better, he’s a danger. Tell me. Did you tell Red Orc about him?”

  “I did not. I wouldn’t tell him anything that he might use.”

  She loosed her grip. Kickaha felt like rubbing his wrist, but he was not going to let anyone, not even a goddess, know that her grip was so powerful that she had hurt him.

  She said, “Good. We have that advantage. Another is that Red Orc does not know where you are. Now, when you resume your journey to the Caverned World, you …”

  One does not twice interrupt a goddess, but he did it anyway.

  “Resume my journey?”

  “Of course. I took it for granted that you would. You did give your word to him that you would, didn’t you?”

  “It doesn’t matter if I did or not. He knew I’d return to him because he said that Anana might be alive and his prisoner. I doubt very much that she did survive the flash flood. But I can’t chance it that she didn’t.”

  “You didn’t get to tell the rest of your story.”

  He ended his narration at the point where he had jumped into the trap she had placed before the Thoan’s gate.

  She said, “You’re an extraordinary man, though you’ve had more luck than most would have had. It may run out soon. Then, again …”

  They talked of other things. Kickaha sipped on the liquor. Near the end of their conversation, he felt even more hopeful than he usually did, and he was almost always high on optimism.

  The goddess stood up and looked down at him. Her expression seemed to show fondness for him. He felt more than fondness for her.

  “It’s agreed that you will go on looking for Zazel’s World. You’ll have an advantage doing that because I know a gateway that I doubt anyone else knows. My powers are not small, though this is a mammoth project. I will try to keep you within detection range of the glindglassa, though I am not at all sure that I can do that. You will spend several more days here resting and exercising and discussing with me the details of our plan. You look tired. You will go to bed, and you may rise when you feel like it.”

  “I sometimes rise when I don’t feel like it.”

  She smiled and said, “Unless I’m wrong, you are implying more than appears on the surface of your words.”

  “I usually do.”

  “For a leblabbiy, you are very brash.”

  “There’s some doubt that I am a leblabbiy, completely leblabbiy, that is. I may be half-Thoan, but I’m not eager to find out if I am. What is is, and I am what I am.”

  “We’ll talk about that some other time. You are dismissed.”

  She’s really putting me in my place, he thought. Oh, well, it was the liquor talking. Or was it?

  Anana’s bright face arced across his mind. For a moment, he felt as if he were going to weep.

  She patted him on the shoulder and said, “Grief is a price paid for admission to life.”

  She paused, then said, “Bromides help few people in times of sorrow. But there are some things I know that could ease the grief.”

  She said nothing more. He went up to his room and prepared for bed. When he got into it, he had some trouble getting to sleep. But only fifteen or so minutes passed before he was gone from the waking world. He awoke with a start and reached for the beamer under his pillow. A noise? A soft voice? Something had awakened him. By then, the beamer, which he kept under his pillow, was in his hand. Then he saw, silhouetted in the doorless entrance against the dusk-light of the hallway, a woman’s figure. She was so tall that she had to be Manathu Vorcyon. He smelled a faint odor. This might have brought him up out of sleep; the nose was also sentinel against danger. The odor was musky but not perfume from a bottle. It hinted at fluids flowing and fevers floating hot and steamy from a swamp, a strange image but appropriate. The odor was that of the flesh of a woman in heat, though stronger than any he had ever smelled.

  She walked slowly toward him.

  “Put the beamer down, Kickaha.”

  He placed it on the floor and waited, his heart thudding as if it were a stallion’s hooves kicking against a stall door. She eased herself down on her knees and then on her side against Kickaha. Her body heat was like a wave from a just-opened furnace door.

  “It has been eighty years since I have had a child,” she whispered. “Since then, I have met no man whose baby I cared to bear, though I have bedded many splendid lovers. But you, Kickaha, the man of many wiles, the man who is never at a loss, the hero of many adventures, you will give me a child to love and to raise. And I know that I have stirred in you a mighty passion. Moreover, you are one of the very few men not afraid of me.”

  Kickaha was not sure of that. But he had overcome fear most of his life, and he would ride over this fear, which was not a big one, anyway.

  He thought of Anana, though the withdrawal of blood from his brain for nonmental uses paled the thought. If she were dead, she would be no barrier for him to other women. But he did not know if she had died, and he and Anana had sworn faithfulness to each other. They would honor the vow unless they were separated for a long time or were forced by circumstances to suspend it for a while. What they did in such situations was left to each to justify to himself or herself.

  Her mouth met his, and the right breast of Mother Earth, in itself a planet, rested on his belly.

  He thought, I am in her power. I depend upon her to help me in the battle with Red Orc. The fate of whole universes is on the scales. If I say no to her, I might weigh the balance in favor of Red Orc. No, that’s nonsense, but she might not be so enthusiastic in helping me. Also, a guest does not offend a hostess. It’s not good manners.

  Mainly, though, I want to do this.

  He sighed, and he said,
“I am indeed deeply sorry, Great Mother. But Anana and I swore absolute fidelity to each other. Much as I desire you, and I’ve desired only Anana more than you, I will not do this.”

  She stiffened, then got up. Looking down at him, she said, “I honor your vow, Kickaha. Even though I can see plainly in this dim light that you are not at all indifferent to me.”

  “The body does not always override the dictates of the mind.”

  She laughed, then said, “You know the Thoan proverbs well. I admire you, Kickaha. Fidelity is a rare trait, especially when I am the temptress.”

  “That is the truth. Please go before I weaken too much.”

  Three days later, Kickaha and Manathu Vorcyon were standing before the silvery screen of the glindglassa. Kickaha was fully clothed and well armed with various weapons. His backpack contained food, water, and some medical supplies. His head was full of advice from the Great Mother.

  She leaned close to the glindglassa and whispered a code word. Its surface instantly shimmered and expanded slightly, then contracted slightly. Kickaha looked into it but could see nothing beyond.

  Manathu Vorcyon turned, enfolded him in her arms, pressed him close to her breasts, and kissed his forehead.

  “I shall miss you, Kickaha,” she murmured. “May you succeed in your mission. I will be attempting to keep you under surveillance as much as possible, but even that will not be much.”

  “It’s been more than fun,” he said. “It’s been very educational. And you have highly honored me.”

  She released him. He stepped toward the gate. She lightly touched the back of his neck and ran the tip of her finger down his spine. A shiver ran through him. It felt as if a goddess had blessed him.

  She said, “If anyone can stop Red Orc, you’ll be the one.”

  He wondered if she really meant it. It did not matter. He agreed wholeheartedly with her. However, his best might not be enough.

  He stepped through the wavering and shimmering curtain.