by Tanith Lee
She went to the barrow and tipped out all the remaining cracked and sat-on nuts to the road.
Then she began to wheel the empty barrow off, the way she had been going.
There seemed to be new shadows in the trees.
Tanaquil hurried after her.
"I really am sorry. Can I do anything?"
"Maybe you can. Maybe you can't."
"You're still going to the city, anyway?"
"Might as well. Nearly there. Then again, perhaps I'm not."
Did everyone here speak in this manner?"
The forest ended about half an hour later, the jungly trees thinning out. The sun was westering, mild gold in the apple-skin sky, and flocks of birds flew over, twittering.
Beyond the last trees, the ground rose slowly up, covered in thick grass and mounds of flowers, to an impressive rock. The rock too was green, and from it leapt down a picturesque white waterfall. At the foot of the rock were roofs, with some peacful smoke rising.
"Tweetish," said the woman. "Sweetish to the east. Or not." She pointed upward. "Tablonkish."
The city crowned the rock, just like a crown. And was crowned in turn by a wonderful gleaming, translucent-looking green building, that seemed carved from a single jewel.
"What is that?"
"Might be the palace."
"It's very beautiful."
"Do you think so. It might be, it might—"
"Not," Tanaquil helped out.
A silver banner fluttered up there, in a gentle late afternoon breeze.
There were some pale pink goats grazing near the village. The old woman wheeled the barrow past them and all the goats stared with wicked gray eyes.
"And what's that?"
"What?"
"That shining?"
"The sea," said the old woman. She seemed to think there was no doubt about that.
From the edge of the village under the rock, you could see the sea properly, like a calm jade mirror, folding away and away to the rim of the green sky.
It really was beautiful, all this. Not a perfect world, certainly, but glamorous, survivable?
"The Sulkan died," said the woman, "Sulkan Tandor, that is. Now his daughter rules. Sulkana Liliam."
"Oh, yes," said Tanaquil, interested. Something like a clock seemed to start ticking in her head. Some weird memory . . .
"Then there's the other girl," said the woman. "You might get a glimpse of her, or you might not."
"Mmn."
"Red hair like you. Not that I ever saw her. Or I might have. Princess Tanakil."
Tanaquil turned slowly. She stared at the old woman. "I'm sorry, you said, what did you say she was called?"
But the old woman was waving now to the goatherd, showing the barrow empty of nuts. And Tanaquil anyway knew, with a jolt of her heart, precisely the name she had just heard: Tanakil, almost, if not exactly, the same name as her own.
VII
After apparently everyone in Tweetish had inspected the empty wheelbarrow, and said various useless or consoling things about coming through the forest-jungle, sqwulfs, and being a female on her own, the old woman took Tanaquil to her nephew's house.
"It's very kind of you, especially since—"
"Might be. Might not be."
The nephew, Domba, let them straight in. His wife was frying aubergines and potatoes for an early supper, but did not seem to mind two extra guests.
"Sqwulfs got the nuts again, eh, Auntie?"
"Might have," said the old woman, "might . . ."
Domba laughed, and led them to the table.
While they ate, Domba explained to Tanaquil, the 'foreigner,' that aubergines were in fashion. "Even Sulkana Lili will be eating these tonight."
"I'd be interested to know," said Tanaquil cautiously, "about the Sulkana."
"She's all right. Very quiet. And brave. It's her sister who's the problem. Bashing about causing trouble."
"Her sister Tanakil," prompted Tanaquil.
"That's the one."
When they had asked her own name, Tanaquil, inspired, had named herself 'Feather,' for the last bit of her real name.
"My sister's called that," said Domba's wife. "Small world, isn't it?"
"Might be. Might not be."
"And where are you from?" Domba asked Tanaquil, trying to put the stranger at her ease.
"Oh . . . Um."
"Um? That's that town to the far north, isn't it? Where the Sulkana's pet daffodils come from."
Tanaquil decided, if they knew about a place called Um, (with . . . daffodils?) she had better not be from there.
"No, sorry. It's just a shortened name we give it. It's really Umbrella."
"Never heard of that."
Bemused, they ate the aubergines. Tanaquil remembered how Honj had taught the peeve many words, and the peeve had mistakenly thought that aubergine was a pretty awful swear word.
"Don't be sad," said Domba. "Homesick, I expect. My friend is going up to the city tomorrow. He'll take you, I daresay. See the sights. He's dropping in later. I'll ask."
Sure enough, in the fading peachy light, Domba's friend knocked on the door and stepped in. He was a strapping young man named Stinx.
Very ironically, a light rain was spangling down outside, and Stinx carried—an umbrella. Tanaquil glanced at it uneasily, and, as he was shutting it, chanced saying, "We don't have those at Um. What a clever idea."
"This? Me old rainshade? Yes, that's useful, that is." However, he then gave her a long, astonished, worried stare.
When the rain ended, warm darkness came. Domba and Stinx sat smoking pipes on the porch, among the climbing vines.
Tanaquil helped Domba's wife, Honey, wash the plates.
"I think Stinx took a shine to you."
"Oh. Really?"
"If you were thinking of staying in these parts, you could do worse. He has a house and some land, and ten goats."
Tanaquil decided to keep quiet. But when she went up to the room where she and the old woman were to sleep that night, she could not resist eavesdropping from the narrow landing, as the two men were on the porch directly below.
They were, however, only saying things, thankfully, about their goats and aubergines, and that the next foodfashion might be tomatoes.
There was no moon, but the sky was alight with blue and silver stars. Then, from the forest below, a group of huge stars began to rise as one. There seemed fifteen or more in the cluster, which had a sort of spiral, flower-like shape. Tanaquil recalled irresistibly the complex star patterns of the Perfect World. But this was very pretty.
While she gazed, she heard Stinx say suddenly, in a hoarse, loud whisper, "Here, that girl, that Feather. I hope you've been careful what you've said."
"Why's that, then?"
"Well. She's a dead ringer for the red-haired princess on the rock."
"Get away."
"No, I tell you she is. Yer auntie'd tell you. She's seen Tanakil, too."
"Auntie'd say, 'Might be, might not be.' "
"Well, you take my word for it. I reckon if I take her up tomorrow, I'll find meself involved in court matters."
"Don't then."
"I don't mind. Makes a change from me goats."
Tanaquil crept to the bedroom, the second of the two rooms on the upper floor.
The old woman lay on her mattress under a quilt. Tanaquil thought her asleep, but the old woman said quietly, "If you ask me, you're up to some secret business."
"Me? Oh no."
"Listening at the window. Hear something you didn't like?"
"I might have. I might not."
The old woman grunted. Surprisingly she added, "Don't bother about those nuts. I've tried a hundred ways, and never got any of them through the forest. But if you come from anywhere I've ever heard of, I'll eat this quilt."
Tanaquil sat on the other mattress.
"You don't get many strangers here."
"We get hundreds of strangers. None like you."
"You
. . . don't think I'm like anyone else, then?"
"Might be," said the old woman. "Might not."
Tanaquil did not think she would be able to relax, but at last she did. By then the flower-coil of stars was in the window. Counting them, she fell asleep.
She dreamed that she had made a fire at the edge of the forest, and was sprinkling into it the red wine they had drunk with supper. Then she cut her finger, like a true witch, and added a drop of blood.
The fire raced up, and out of it burst the red unicorn.
It ran in circles round and round her, the many stars of this unknown world glittering on the green flickers of its bronzy tail and mane. The horn was dark, but gilded with red.
"Stop still," said Tanaquil. "Stop."
But the unicorn ran round and round, and she spun slowly to keep up with it, until she fell over and lay on the grass, and then the unicorn leapt into the sky, and vanished among the stars.
In the morning, Stinx arrived bright and early. He wore an elaborate brown velvet tunic and a belt with a silver buckle; his boots were polished, his shirt crisp. Tanaquil felt untidy and slovenly beside him. But there was no help for that. Honey had lent her a hair brush, and sewn up a tear in her divided skirt that the sqwulf had made when knocking Tanaquil over.
After breakfast, Stinx and Tanaquil walked through Tweetish village, stared and waved at.
"There is one difficulty," Tanaquil said, as they came out on a broad road leading away up the rock, "I don't have any money."
"You were robbed, I expect," said Stinx.
Tanaquil tried to be truthful, even though it always seemed to complicate things. "Well actually, I just stupidly came out without anything. I didn't . . . think I'd come so far."
"I can let you have a few coins."
"No, please. I wasn't asking you for that. It's only I can't pay for anything. Usually I earn my money by mending things. I asked Honey and Domba if there was anything in the house that was broken, but they said there wasn't."
"There'll be plenty to mend up in the city," said Stinx, looking at his clean fingernails. "A lot gets broke, up there."
"Does it?"
"I should say so, meself."
They walked on, and began to ascend by the steep road.
In parts, it changed into flights of steps. Then there were terraces where you could rest. The waterfall fell splashing down, very loud now, so that sometimes Stinx and Tanaquil had to shout at each other to be heard. Dark green willows poured out of the rock. Enormous laurels and bay trees leaned towards the fall. In the droplets hung rainbows, and dragonflies darted about.
Soon there began to be houses, and above, the city wall was now visible. It was a red wall with turrets and towers. The silky silvery banners hung still.
The air smelled washed and vital. Birds flew over. Then the noise of the city began to come down. It was the noise Tanaquil remembered from all cities. A mix of shouts and laughter and argument, of wheels and doors and foorsteps, machineries, trades, movement, life.
The first city she had ever seen had been a city by the sea. The city where she found her sister, Lizra.
From Jaive's knowledge of magical parallel worlds, Tanaquil knew that what seemed to be happening was possible. For here there was a Sulkana called Liliam, or Lili, and her sister Tanakil, who might be Lizra and Tanaquil, their equivalent parallel selves.
It was a mad and yet frightening thought.
Tanaquil still hoped it was not a fact. Of course, she had got to learn. Was that foolish meddling, or some other magical law, compelling her?
Meantime, she must get by as best she could.
Near the wall was a market. Huge gates stood open above, leading into the city, but here all sorts of activity went on. There were carts and stalls loaded with items for sale, wines in tall red or black jars, pens of animals, some quite unusual, for example, the turquoise sheep. Bolts of cloth fluttered, books stood in stacks, musical instruments leaned. There were tables and baskets of foodstuff. Tanaquil saw enormous piles of purplish aubergines, selling fast. But seemingly aubergines were 'in fashion.'
The sky was glowingly green.
Stinx led her to an outdoor tavern, and bought her a glass of fruit juice and a large chocolate biscuit. She thanked him, and wondered if this might mean he would anticipate special treatment. Stinx still probably believed she was officially connected to Princess Tanakil.
"This is all so interesting to me, as I'm a stranger," said Tanaquil. "I don't know anyone at all."
"Right," said Stinx. He rolled his eyes.
Had he put on his finery because he thought Tanaquil would introduce him to the princess and the Sulkana?
"There's a performing magician," said Tanaquil brightly.
"Lots of those," said Stinx.
They went to see.
The elderly bald man in the long robe reminded her of Worabex at once, because he was so totally unlike him.
"For my next illusion," said the old man, "I will show you a wonderful beast. The very beast that is the device on the banner of our revered princess."
There was some muttering. Tanakil, evidently, inspired little enthusiasm.
The magician clapped his hands, and before him on the rock was lit a little fire. Producing a wine flagon from his sleeve, he poured red wine into the fire, which coughed and flared up, releasing a big plume of smoke.
Everyone was coughing now, including the mage.
"Erk erk—just a little hitch—erk erk. "
"Useless," said Stinx.
Tanaquil, though, recollected her dream.
"Just let's see. I mean, the princess's banner, what is it?"
"A red unicorn."
The expected chill wormed down the back of Tanaquil's neck.
Yes, the magician had stuck a pin in his finger. He shook a drop of blood into the fire.
Instantly it settled. And slowly up from the flames rose a red animal with a glittering horn.
"Not bad," said Stinx, after all impressed.
The crowd gave mocking cheers.
Tanaquil saw this was not the unicorn of her dream. Indeed not. It was twisting about and wriggling now. It sat down on the fire and sneezed.
The crowd laughed. "That's funny! Yeah, well done."
The magician seemed put out.
Then the unicorn gave an extra wriggle. Its horn fell off, then its skin. With a huge pounce it came walloping out of the fire, scattering bits of flame and smoke and magic, cursing and snorting.
"My God," said Tanaquil.
She froze in a combination of horror and delight, as, covered in bizarre melted substances, muck and wine, into her arms there kickingly jumped the peeve.
VIII
Having folded his arms, the elderly magician glared at them. "I tell you, it's my property. I made it, I conjured it up."
The rest of the crowd yodelled agreement, or pro-Tanaquil support.
"I can quite understand it seems that way," said Tanaquil, as the peeve licked her face and scratched himself. "But actually . . ."
"I won't have this," declared the magician. "I'll call a guard from the gate. This animal is worth a lot of money."
"No it's not," said Stinx, "it's only a veepe. And it's got fleas, too."
"A sorcerous veepe," said the magician. "These are my witnesses. I made this animal."
"Rrh," said the peeve, giving him a look. "Wet fire."
The magician seemed astounded, then gratified. "As you hear, it speaks. This proves it to be mine."
Stinx leaned forward. He took the mage by the collar. "Look, you. She says it's hers. It only barked. I'll give you the price of a goat for it."
The crowd applauded. They said that was fair.
But the magician scowled and pushed Stinx off. "Don't manhandle me or I'll turn you into a pigeon."
"Just try it."
"I shall call a guard!"
Stinx hissed into the magician's ear. Tanaquil heard the name Tanakil.
The mage drew back.
"Ah, well, in that case."
"Me friend, here, Feather," said Stinx, "and I, and her veepe, are now going on. Take this. Full goat price. And shut up."
The peeve spat out a small flame, which set the magician's shoe on fire. As he was beating it out, Stinx and Tanaquil walked with dignity away.
"Come quick as," said the peeve. "Got here."
Stinx shot the peeve one look, then concentrated on the road ahead and the gate.
"You were wonderful," said Tanaquil. She hugged the peeve, who struggled, descended her, tearing open her skirt again, and trotted along at her side. "Where I come from," she said to Stinx, "we call these animals peeves."
"Veepes," said Stinx.
"I see. You're a veepe," said Tanaquil to the peeve. He took no notice, still scratching the mage's spell out of his fur.
It—no, he—had left their own world, left even his lady love, Adma, and somehow followed Tanaquil into this one. She would have to question him as to how, because that might provide the means to get back. Better to wait for that until they were alone.
As they went in under the gate, one of the guards standing there goggled.
"She looks like the princess!"
Tanaquil lowered her head, letting her hair fall round her face. Although the guards did not stop them, and Stinx made no comment, she began abruptly to see she might soon be in very hot water.
Tablonkish had a scent of its sea, along with all its other smells—new bread, horse manure, perfume—but this sea did not have the same aroma as in Tanaquil's world. It was not fishy, not salty. It smelled more like the bubbling Gascain Worabex had uncorked.
She had asked Stinx if he would mind buying her a large hat. She said the sun was bothering her a little. Really she wanted, particularly after the gate guard, to hide her face and hair. She promised Stinx she would repay him as soon as she could. He said, himself, he didn't want repaying. And the hat he chose was a bit much. Pink straw with lots of red roses and ribbons. Put with the rest of her untidy clothes, Tanaquil thought she probably now looked insane. But she tucked her hair into the hat, and it shaded her face rather well.