Spellsinger 03 - The Day of the Dissonance
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"Fricasseed water rat," she told him, with relish.
"Wot, me?" Mudge squeaked.
"Give the main course a bottle of elf dust. What better
end for a guilty assassin?"
Up till now Jon-Tom had considered their predicament
as nothing more than a matter of bad communication. This
new vision of a bunch of carnivorous fairies feasting on
Mudge's well-done carcass shoved everything over the
edge into the realm of the surreal.
"Listen, you can't eat any of us."
Grelgen rested pudgy hands on soft hips. "Why not?
Jon-Tom struggled for a sensible reply. "Well, for one
thing, it just doesn't fit your image."
She squinted sideways at him. "You," she said decisively,
"are nuts. I'm going to have to consult with the Elders to
make sure it's okay to eat crazy people."
"I mean, it just doesn't seem right. What about your
honey rolls and custards and like that?"
Grelgen hesitated. When she spoke again, she sounded
slightly embarrassed.
"Actually, you're right. It's only that every once in a
while we get this craving, see? Whoever's unlucky enough
to be in the neighborhood at the time ends up on the
village menu." She glanced over at Folly and tried to
regain some of her former arrogance. "We also find it
helpful now and then to bathe in the blood of a virgin."
Folly digested this and collapsed, rolling about on the
ground while laughing hysterically. Grelgen saw the tears
pouring down the helpless girl's cheeks, grunted, and
looked back over a shoulder. Jon-Tom followed her gaze.
On the far side of fairy town a bunch of muscular,
overweight enchanted folk were sliding an oversized wooden
bowl down a slope. At the sound of Grelgen's voice they
halted.
"Right! Cancel the bathing ceremony!"
Cursing under their breath, the disappointed bowl mov-
ers reversed their efforts and began pushing their burden
back into the bushes.
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"So you think it's funny, do you? Right then, you're
first on the fire instead of the water rat."
That put a clamp on Folly's laughter.
"Why her?" Jon-Tom demanded to know.
"Why not her? For one thing she's already depelted."
"Oh, no you don't." Folly braced herself against the
bare granite wall, as far from Grelgen as she could get.
"You just try and touch me! I'll squash you like a bug."
Grelgen looked disgusted, waved her wand almost
indifferently, and whispered something under her breath.
Folly leaped away from the wall, clutching her backside.
The stone had become red-hot.
"Might as well resign yourself to it, girl," said Grelgen.
"You're on this morning's menu and that's all there is to
it. If there's anything that gets my gall it's an uncooperative
breakfast."
"Please," Jon-Tom pleaded with her, dropping to his
knees to be nearer eye level with their tormentor. "We
mean you no harm. We only came into your lands to ask
you for some information."
"Sorry. Like I said, we've got the craving, and when it
comes upon us we've got to have meat."
"But why us?" Mudge asked her. "These woods must
be full o' lizards and snakes enough to supply your 'ole
village."
"Food doesn't wander into our custody," she snapped at
him. "We don't like hunting. And the forest creatures
don't stage unprovoked assaults on our person."
"Blimey," Mudge muttered. "'Ow can such small
'eads be so bloomin' dense? I told you that were an
accident!"
Grelgen stared silently at him as she tapped one tiny
glass slipper with her wand. Jon-Tom absently noted that
the slipper was three sizes too small for her not-so-tiny
foot.
"Don't give me any trouble. I'm in a disagreeable mood
as it is." She whistled up a group of helpers and they
started through one archway toward Folly. Her initial
defiance burned out of her, she hid behind Roseroar.
Jon-Tom knew that wouldn't save her.
"Look," he said desperately, trying to stall for time as
he swung the duar into playing position and tried to think
of something to sing, "you said that meat isn't usually
what you eat, that you only have this craving for it
occasionally?"
"What about it?" Grelgen snapped impatiently.
"What do you eat normally? Besides what you told me
earlier."
"Milk and honey, nectar and ambrosia, pollen and sugar
sap. What else would fairy folk eat?"
"So that's it. I had a hunch." A surge of hope rushed
through him.
"What's it?" she asked, frowning at him.
He sat down and crossed his legs, set the duar aside. "I
don't suppose there are any professional dieticians in the
village?''
"Any what?"
"No, of course not. See, all your problems are diet-
related. It not only explains your unnatural craving for
protein, it also explains your, uh, unusually rotound fig-
ures. Milk's okay, but the rest of that stuff is nothing but
pure sugar. I mean, I can't even imagine how many
calories there are in a daily dose of ambrosia. You proba-
bly use a lot of glucose when you're flying, but when you
stop flying, well, the problem only compounds itself."
One of the Elder fairies waiting impatiently behind
Grelgen now stepped forward. "What is this human raving
about?"
Grelgen pushed him back. "It doesn't matter." She
turned back to Jon-Tom. "What you say makes no sense,
and it wouldn't matter if it did, because we still have our
craving." She started to aim her wand at the trembling
Folly. "No use in trying to hide, girl. Step out here where
I can see you."
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Jon-Tom leaned sideways to block her aim. "Wait!
You've got to listen to me. Don't you see? If you'd only
change your eating habits you'd lose this craving for
protein."
"We're not interested in changing our eating habits,"
said another of the Elders. "We like nectar and honey and
ambrosia."
"All right, all right!" Jon-Tom said frantically. "Then
there's only one way out. The only other way to reduce
your craving for protein is for you to start burning off all
these extra ounces you've been accumulating. You've got
to break the cycle." He picked up the duar.
"At least give me a chance to help you. Maybe I can't
do it with spellsinging, but there are all kinds of magic."
"Consider carefully, man," Grelgen warned him. "Don't
you think we're aware that we have a little problem? Don't
you think we've tried to use our own magic to solve it?"
"But none of you is a spellsinger."
"No. That's not our kind of magic. But we've tried
everything. We're stuck with
what we are. Your spellsinging
can't help us. Nothing can help us. We've experimented
with every type of magic known to the enchanted folk, as
well as that employed by the magic-workers of the greater
world. We're trapped by our own metabolisms." She
rolled up her sleeves. "Now let's get on with this without
any more bullshitting, okay?" She raised the wand again.
"Just one chance, just give me one chance!" he pleaded.
She swung the wand around to point it at him, and he
flinched. "I'm warning you, buster, if this is some sort of
trick, you'll cook before her."
"There's one kind of magic I don't think you've tried."
She made a rude noise. "Worm dung! We've tried it
all."
"Even aerobics?"
Grelgen opened her mouth, then closed it. She turned to
conference with the Elders. Jon-Tom waited nervously.
Finally she stuck her head out of the pile and inquired
almost reluctantly, "What strange sort of magic is this?"
Jon-Tom took a deep breath and rose. Putting aside the
duar, he began stripping to the waist.
Roseroar came over to whisper in his ear. "Suh, are yo
preparin' some trick ah should know about? Should ah be
ready with mah swords?"
"No, Roseroar. No tricks."
She shrugged and moved away, shaking her head.
Jon-Tom started windmilling his arms, loosening up.
Grelgen immediately retreated several steps and raised
the wand threateningly. "All you need is to learn this
magic," he said brightly. "A regular program of aerobics.
Not only will it reduce your unnatural craving for protein,
it should bring back your old aerodynamic figures."
"What does that mean?" asked one of the younger
fairies.
"It means we'll be able to fly again, stupid," replied
one of the Elders as he jabbed the questioner in the ribs.
"Fly again." The refrain was taken up by the rest of the
crowd.
"It's a trick!" snapped Grelgen, but the weight of
opinion (so to speak) was against her.
"All right." She tucked her wand under one arm and
glared up at Jon-Tom. "You get your chance, man. If this
is a trick to buy time, it better be good, because it's going
to be your last one."
"It's no trick," Jon-Tom assured her, feeling the sweat
starting to trickle from beneath his arms. And he hadn't
even begun yet.
"Look, I'm no Richard Simmons, but I can see we need
to start with the basics." He was aware he had the
undivided attention of several hundred sets of eyes. He
took a deep breath, thankful for the morning runs which
kept him in decent condition. "We're going to start with
some deep knee-bends. Hands on hips... watch those
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wings, that's it. Ready." He hesitated. "This would work
better if we had some music."
Grelgen grunted, turned, and barked a command. There
was a brief delay. Several small figures made their way
through the enchanted mob and took up positions atop the
stone wall. Each carried a delicate instrument. There were
a couple of flutes, a set of drums, and something that
resembled a xylophone which had been in a bad traffic
accident.
"What should we play?" piped one of the minuscule
musicians.
"Something lively."
"A dance or roundelet?" They discussed the matter
among themselves, then launched into a lively tune with
faintly oriental overtones. Jon-Tom waited until he was
sure of the rhythm, then smiled at his attentive if uncertain
audience.
"Ready? Let's begin! Imitate me." He dipped. "Come
on, it's not hard. One, two, three, and bend; one, two,
three, and bend;... that's it!"
While Jon-Tom's companions looked on, several hun-
dred fairy folk struggled to duplicate the human's move-
ments. Before too long, groans and moans all out of
proportion to the size of the throats they came from filled
the air.
Grelgen was gasping and sweating. Her orange chiffon
gown was soaked. "You're sure that you're not actually
trying to murder us?"
"Oh, no." Jon-Tom was breathing a little hard himself.
"See, this isn't an instantaneous kind of magic. It takes
time." He sat down and put his hands behind his neck,
wondering how far he could go before Grelgen gave up.
"Now, this kind of magic is called sirups. Up, down, up,
down ... you in the back there, no slacking, now... up,
down..."
He worried constantly that Grelgen and her colleagues
would become impatient before the new exercise regimen
had time to do its work. He needn't have worried. The
enchanted folk took weight off as rapidly as they put it on.
By the second day the most porcine of the villagers could
boast of shrunken waistlines. By the third the effects were
being felt by all, and by the fourth even Grelgen could stay
airborne for short flights.
"I don't understand, mate," said Kludge. "You said it
'tweren't magic, yet see 'ow quick-like they're shrinkin'
down!"
"It's their metabolic rate. They burn calories much
faster than we do, and as soon as they get down to where
they can fly again, the burning accelerates."
The results were reflected in Grelgen's changing atti-
tude. As the exercises did their work, her belligerence
softened. Not that she became all sweetness and light, but
her gratitude was evident.
"A most wondrous gift you have given us, man. A new.
kind of magic." It was the morning of the fifth day of their
captivity and a long time since any of the enchanted folk
had suggested having one of their guests for supper.
"I have a confession to make. It's not magic. It's only
exercise."
"Call it by whatever name you wish," she replied, "it
is magic to us. We are starting to look like the enchanted
folk once more. Even I," she finished proudly. She did a
deep knee-bend to prove it, something she couldn't have
imagined doing five days earlier. Of course, she did it
while hovering in midair, which made it somewhat easier.
Still, the accomplishment was undeniable.
"You are free to go," she told them.
Roseroar stepped forward and cautiously thrust out a
paw. The invisible wall of fire which had kept them
imprisoned had vanished, leaving behind only a little
lingering heat. The tigress stepped easily over the tiny
stone wall.
"Our gratitude is boundless," Grelgen went on. "You
said you came to us for help." She executed a neat little
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THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
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pirouette in the air, delighting in her rediscovered mobility.
"What is it you wish to know?"
"We need directions to a certain town," he told her. "A,
place called Crancularn."
"Ah. An ambiguo
us destination. Not mine to
why. Wait here." She flew toward the village, droning
a wasp, and returned several minutes later with four newh
slimmed Elders. They settled on the wall. Between them,
the four Elders held a piece of parchment six inches
square. It was the biggest piece of writing material the
village could produce.
"Crancularn, you said?" Jon-Tom nodded at her.
She rolled up the sleeves of her burgundy-and-lime
dress, waved the wand over the parchment as she spoke.
The parchment twisted like a leaf in the wind. It continued
to quiver as a line of gold appeared on its surface, tracing
the outlines of mountains and rivers, trails, and paths.
None of them led directly toward the golden diamond that
shone brightly in the upper-lefthand corner of the parchment.
Grelgen finished the incantation. The parchment ceased
its shaking, allowing the concentrating Elders to relax their
grip. Jon-Tom picked the freshly inscribed map off the
grass. It was warm to the touch. One tiny spot not far from
a minor trail fluoresced brightly.
"The glow shows you where you are at any time,"
Grelgen informed him. "It will travel as you travel. Hold
fast to the map and you will never be lost." She rose on
diaphanous wings to hover near his shoulder and trace over
the map with her wand. "See? No easy journey from here
and no trails directly to the place."
"We're told Crancularn moves about."
"So it does. It has that characteristic. But the map will
take you there, never fear. This is the cartography of what
will be as well as of what is. A useful skill which we
rarely employ. We like it where we are."
Jon-Tom thanked her as he folded the map and slipped it
carefully into a pocket of his indigo shirt.
Grelgen hovered nearby. "Tell me, man. Why do you
go to Crancularn?"
"To shop for something in the Shop of the Aether and
Neither." She nodded, a grave expression on her tiny face.
"We've heard many rumors," he went on. "Is there
something dangerous about the shop?"
"Indeed there is, man. Included among its usual in-
ventory is a large supply of the Truth. That is something
most travelers seek to avoid, not to find. Beware what
purchases you make. There are bonuses and discounts to
be had in that place you may not find to your liking."
"We'll watch our step," he assured her.
She nodded solemnly. "Watch your hearts and souls as
well. Good luck to you, man, and to your companions.
Perhaps if you return by a similar route we can show you