by Jack Vance
Garstang, frail and bent with the privations he had suffered, was the first to speak. He attempted to infuse his voice with cheer. “We have arrived, we have triumphed over the terrible Silver Desert! Now we need only locate the fane and perform our devotions; we may then return to Erze Damath and a future of assured bliss!”
“All very well,” grumbled Balch, “but where may the fane be found? To right and left is the same bleak beach!”
“We must put our trust in the guidance of Gilfig!” declared Subucule. He scratched an arrow upon a bit of wood, and touched it with his holy ribbon. He called, “Gilfig, O Gilfig! Guide us to the fane! I hereby toss high a marked pointerl” And he flung the chip high into the air. When it alighted, the arrow pointed south. “South we must fare!” cried Garstand. “South to the fane!”
But Balch and certain others refused to respond. “Do you not see that we are fatigued to the point of death? In my opinion Gilfig should have guided our steps to the fane, instead of abandoning us to uncertainty!”
“Gilfig has guided us indeed!” responded Subucule. “Did you not notice the direction of the arrow?”
Balch gave a croak of sardonic laughter. “Any stick thrown high must come down, and it will point south as easily as north,”
Subucule drew back in horror. “You blaspheme Gilfigl”
“Not at all; I am not sure that Gilfig heard your instruction, or perhaps you gave him insufficient time to react. Toss up the stick one hundred times; if it points south on each occasion, I will march south in haste.”
“Very well,” said Subucule. He once again called upon Gilfig and threw up the chip, but when it struck the ground the arrow pointed north.
Balch said nothing. Subucule blinked, then grew red in the face. “Gilfig has no time for games. He directed us once, and deemed it sufficient.”
“I am unconvinced,” said Balch,
“And I.”
“And I.”
Garstang held up his arms imploringly. “We have come far; we have toiled together, rejoiced together, fought and suffered together — let us not now fall in dissidence!”
Balch and the others only shrugged. “We will not plunge blindly south.”
“What will you do, then? Go north? Or return to Erze Damath?”
“Erze Damath? Without food and only four pack-beasts? Bah!”
“Then let us fare south in search of the fane.”
Balch gave another mulish shrug, at which Subucule became angry. “So be it! Those who fare south to this side, those who cast in with Balch to that!”
Garstang, Cugel and Casmyre joined Subucule; the others stayed with Balch, a group numbering eleven, and now they fell to whispering among themselves, while the four faithful pilgrims watched in apprehension.
The eleven jumped to their feet. “Farewell.”
“Where do you go?” asked Garstang.
“No matter. Seek your fane if you must; we go about our own affairs.” With the briefest of farewells they marched to the village of the lizard folk, where they slaughtered the males, filed the teeth of the females, dressed them in garments of reeds, and installed themselves as lords of the village.
Garstang, Subucule, Casmyre and Cugel meanwhile traveled south along the shore. At nightfall they pitched camp and dined upon molluscs and crabs. In the morning they found that the four remaining pack-beasts had departed, and now they were alone.
“It is the will of Gilfig,” said Subucule. “We need only find the fane and diel”
“Courage!” muttered Garstang. “Let us not give way to despair!”
“What else is left? Will we ever see Pholgus Valley again?”
“Who knows? Let us first perform our devotions at the fane.”
With that they proceeded, and marched the remainder of the day. By nightfall they were too tired to do more than slump to the sand of the beach.
The sea spread before them, flat as a table, so calm that the setting sun cast only its exact image rather than a trail. Clams and crabs once more provided a meager supper, after which they composed themselves to sleep on the beach.
Somewhat after the first hours of night Cugel was awakened by a sound of music. Starting up, he looked across the water to find that a ghostly city had come into existence. Slender towers reared into the sky, lit by glittering motes of white light which drifted slowly up and down, back and forth. On the promenades sauntered the gayest of crowds, wearing pale luminous garments and blowing horns of delicate sound. A barge piled with silken cushions, moved by an enormous sail of cornflower silk, drifted past Lamps at the bow and stern-post illuminated a deck thronged with merrymakers: some singing and playing lutes, others drinking from goblets.
Cugel ached to share their joy. He struggled to his knees, and called out. The merrymakers put down their instruments and stared at him, but now the barge had drifted past, tugged by the great blue sail. Presently the city flickered and vanished, leaving only the dark night sky.
Cugel stared into the night, his throat aching with a sorrow he had never known before. To his surprise he found himself standing at the edge of the water. Nearby were Subucule, Garstang and Casmyre. All gazed at each other through the dark, but exchanged no words. Ail returned up the beach, where presently they fell asleep on the sand.
Throughout the next day, there was little conversation, and even a mutual avoidance, as if each of the four wished to be alone with his thoughts. From time to time one or the other looked half-heartedly toward the south, but no one seemed in a mood to leave the spot, and no one spoke of departure.
The day passed while the pilgrims rested in a half-torpor. Sunset came, and night; but none of the group sought to sleep.
During the middle evening the ghost city reappeared, and tonight a fete was in progress. Fireworks of a wonderful intricacy bloomed in the sky: laces, nets, starbursts of red and green and blue and silver. Along the promenade came a parade, with ghost-maidens dressed in iridescent garments, ghost-musicians in voluminous garments of red and orange and capering ghost-harlequins. For hours the sound of revelry drifted across the water, and Cugel went out to stand knee-deep, and here he watched until the fete quieted and the city dimmed. As he turned away, the others followed him back up the shore.
On the following day all were weak from hunger and thirst. In a croaking voice Cugel muttered that they must proceed. Garstang nodded and said huskily, “To the fane, the fane of Gilfig!”
Subucule nodded. The cheeks of his once plump face were haggard; his eyes were filmed and clouded. “Yes,” he wheezed. “We have rested; we must go on.”
Casmyre nodded dully. “To the fane!”
But none set forth to the south. Cugel wandered up the fore-shore and seated himself to wait for nightfall. Looking to his right, he saw a human skeleton resting in a posture not dissimilar to his own. Shuddering, Cugel turned to the left, and here was a second skeleton, this one broken by time and the seasons, and beyond yet another, this a mere heap of bones.
Cugel rose to his feet and ran tottering to the others. “Quickl” he called. “While strength yet remains to us! To the south! Come, before we die, like those others whose bones rest above!”
“Yes, yes,” mumbled Garstang. “To the fane.” And he heaved himself to his feet. “Cornel” he called to the others. “We fare south!”
Subucule raised himself erect, but Casmyre, after a listless attempt, fell back. “Here I stay,” he said. “When you reach the fane, intercede for me with Gilfig; explain that the entrancement overcame the strength of my body.”
Garstang wished to remain and plead, but Cugel pointed to the setting sun. “If we wait till darkness, we are lostl Tomorrow our strength will be gonel”
Subucule took Garstang's arm. “We must be away, before nightfall.”
Garstang made a final plea to Casmyre. “My friend and fellow, gather your strength. Together we have come, from far Pholgus Valley, by raft down the Scamarider, and across the dreadful desert! Must we part before attaining the fane
?”
“Come to the fane!” croaked Cugel. But Casmyre turned his face away. Cugel and Subucule led Garstang away, with tears coursing down his withered cheeks; and they staggered south along the beach, averting their eyes from the clear smooth face of the sea.
The old sun set and cast up a fan of color. A high scatter of cloud-flakes glowed halcyon yellow on a strange bronze-brown sky. The city now appeared, and never had it seemed more magnificent, with spires catching the light of sunset Along the promenade walked youths and maidens with flowers in their hair, and sometimes they paused to stare at the three who walked along the beach. Sunset faded; white lights shone from the city, and music wafted across the water. For a long time it followed the three pilgrims, at last fading into the distance and dying. The sea lay blank to the west, reflecting a few last umber and orange glimmers.
About this time the pilgrims found a stream of fresh water, with berries and wild plums growing nearby, and here they rested the night In the morning Cugel trapped a fish and caught crabs along the beach. Strengthened, the three continued south, always seeking ahead for the fane, which now Cugel had almost come to expect, so intense was the feeling of Garstang and Subucule. Indeed, as the days passed, it was the devout Subucule who began to despair, to question the sincerity of Gilfig's command, to doubt the essential virtue of Gilfig himself. “What is gained by this agonizing pilgrimage? Does Gil-fig doubt our devotion? Surely we proved ourselves by attendance at the Lustral Rite; why has he sent us so far?”
“The ways of Gilfig are inscrutable,” said Garstang. “We have come so far; we must seek on and on and on!”
Subucule stopped short, to look back the way they had come. “Here is my proposal. At this spot let us erect an altar of stones, which becomes our fane; let us then perform a rite. With Gilfig's requirement satisfied, we may turn our faces to the north, to the village where our fellows reside. Here, happily, we may recapture the pack-beasts, replenish our stores, and set forth across the desert, perhaps to arrive once more at Erze Damath.”
Garstang hesitated. “There is much to recommend your proposal. And yet—”
“A boat!” cried Cugel. He pointed to the sea where a half-mile offshore floated a fishing boat propelled by a square sail hanging from a long limber yard. It passed behind a headland which rose a mile south of where the pilgrims stood, and now Cugel indicated a village along the shore.
“Excellent!” declared Garstang. “These folk may be fellow Gilfigites, and this village the site of the fane! Let us proceed!”
Subucule still was reluctant. “Could knowledge of the sacred texts have penetrated so far?”
“Caution is the watchword,” said Cugel. “We must reconnoiter with great care.” And he led the way through a forest of tamarisk and larch, to where they could look down into the village. The huts were rudely constructed of black stone and housed a folk of ferocious aspect. Black hair in spikes surrounded the round clay-colored faces; coarse black bristles grew off the burly shoulders like epaulettes. Fangs protruded from the mouths of male and female alike and ali spoke in harsh growling shouts. Cugel, Garstang and Subucule drew back with the utmost caution, and, hidden among the trees, conferred in low voices.
Garstang at last was discouraged and found nothing more to hope for. “I am exhausted, spiritually as well as physically; perhaps here is where I die.”
Subucule looked to the north. “I return to take my chances on the Silver Desert. If all goes well, I will arrive once more at Erze D?math, or even Pholgus Valley.”
Garstang turned to Cugel. “And what of you, since the fane of Gilfis is nowhere to be found?”
Cugel pointed to a dock at which a number of boats were moored. “My destination is Almery, across the Son-gan Sea. I propose to commandeer a boat and sail to the west.”
“I then bid you farewell,” said Subucule. “Garstang, will you come?”
Garstang shook his head. “It is too far. I would surely die on the desert. I will cross the sea with Cugel and take the Word of Gilfig to the folk of Almery.”
“Farewell, then, to you as well,” said Subucule. Then be turned swiftly, to bide the emotion in his face, and started north.
Cugel and Garstang watched the sturdy form recede into the distance and disappear. Then they turned to a consideration of the dock. Garstang was dubious. “The boats seem seaworthy enough, but to ‘commandeer’ is to ‘steal’; an act specifically discountenanced by Gilfig.”
“No difficulty exists,” said Cugel. “I will place gold coins upon the dock, to a fair valuation of the boat.”
Garstang gave a dubious assent “What then of food and water?”
“After securing the boat, we will proceed along the coast until we are able to secure supplies, after which we sail due west.”
To this Garstang assented and the two fell to examining the boats, comparing one against the other. The final selection was a staunch craft some ten or twelve paces long, of ample beam, with a small cabin.
At dusk they stole down to the dock. All was quiet: the fishermen had returned to the village. Garstang boarded the craft and reported all in good order. Cugel began casting off the lines, when from the end of the dock came a savage outcry and a dozen of the burly villagers came lumbering forth.
“We are lost!” cried Cugel. “Run for your life, or better, swim!”
“Impossible,” declared Garstang. “If this is death, I will meet it with what dignity I am able!” Aad he climbed up on the dock.
In short order they were surrounded by folk of all ages, attracted by the commotion. One, an elder of the village, inquired in a stern voice, “What do you here, skulking on our dock, and preparing to steal a boat?”
“Our motive is simplicity itself,” said CugeL “We wish to cross the sea.”
“What?” roared the elder. “How is that possible? The boat carries neither food nor water, and is poorly equipped. Why did you not approach us and make your needs known?”
Cugel blinked and exchanged a glance with Garstang. He shrugged. “I will be candid. Your appearance caused us such alarm that we did not dare.”
The remark evoked mingled amusement and surprise in the crowd. The spokesman said, “All of us are puzzled; explain if you will.”
“Very well,” said Cugel. “May I be absolutely frank?”
“By all means!”
“Certain aspects of your appearance impress us as feral and barbarous: your protruding fangs, the black mane which surrounds your faces, the cacophony of your speech — to name only a few items.”
The villagers laughed incredulously. “What nonsense!” they cried. “Our teeth are long that we may tear the coarse fish on which we subsist We wear our hair thus to repel a certain noxious insect, and since we are afl rather deaf, we possibly tend to shout Essentially we are a gentle and kindly folk.”
“Exactly,” said the elder, “and in order to demonstrate this, tomorrow we shall provision our best boat and send you forth with hopes and good wishes. Tonight there shall be a feast in your honor!”
“Here is a village of true sainttiness,” declared Garstang. “Are you by chance worshippers of Gilfig?”
“No; we prostrate ourselves before the fish-god Yob, who seems as efficacious as any. But come, let us ascend to the village. We must make preparations for the feast.”
They climbed steps hewn in the rock of the cliff, which gave upon an area illuminated by a dozen flaring torches. The elder indicated a hut more commodious than the others: “This is where you shall rest the night; I will sleep elsewhere.”
Garstang again was moved to comment upon the benevolence of the fisher-folk, at which the elder bowed his head. “We try to achieve a spiritual unity. Indeed, we symbolize this ideal in the main dish of our ceremonial feasts.” He turned, clapping his hands. “Let us prepare!”
A great cauldron was hung over a tripod; a block and a cleaver were arranged, and now each of the villagers, marching past the block, chopped off a finger and cast it into the pot.
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The elder exxplained, “By this simple rite, which naturally you are expected to join, we demonstrate our common heritage and our mutual dependence. Come, let us step into the line.” And Cugel and Garstang had no choice but to excise fingers and cast them into the pot with the others.
The feast continued long into the night. In the morning the villagers were as good as their word. An especially seaworthy boat was provided and loaded with stores, including food left over from the previous night's feast.
The villagers gathered on the dock. Cugel and Garstang voiced their gratitude, then Cugel hoisted the sail and Garstang threw off the mooring lines. A wind filled the sail and the boat moved out on the face of the Songan Sea. Gradually the shore became one with the murk of distance, and the two were alone, with only the black metallic shimmer of the water to all sides.
Noon came, and the boat moved in an elemental emptiness: water below, air above; silence in all directions. The afternoon was long and torpid, unreal as a dream; and the melancholy grandeur of sunset was followed by a dusk the color of watered wine.
The wind seemed to freshen and all night they steered west. At dawn the wind died and with sails flapping idly both Cugel and Garstang slept.
Eight times the cycle was repeated. On the morning of the ninth day a low coastline was sighted ahead. During the middle afternoon they drove the prow of then-boat through gentle surf up on a wide white beach. “This then is Almery?” asked Garstang.
“So I believe,” said Cugel, “but which quarter I am uncertain. Azenomei may lie to north, west or south. If the forest yonder is that which shrouds East Almery, we would do well to pass to the side, as it bears an evil reputation.”
Garstang pointed down the shore. “Notice: another Tillage. If the folk here are like those across the sea, they will help us on our way. Come, let us make our wants known.”
Cugel bung back. “It might be wise to reconnoiter, as before.”
“To what end?” asked Garstang, “On that occasion we were only misled and confused.” He led the way down the beach toward the village. As they approached they could see folk moving across the central plaza: a graceful golden-haired people, who spoke to each other in voices like music.