Songs of the Dying Earth

by Gardner Dozois

  About Midday, Evillo caught up to Canja Veck, who had paused on a wooded spur. Far below, the river was now visible, splashing like a hurried serpent through the ravine.

  “Mighty sir—”

  Canja Veck did not turn.

  “Sir—great magician—”

  To this, Canja Veck responded. “My title is Fabler.”

  “Mighty Fabler—” but here Evillo, steeped so long in village concepts, could think of no means to convey his wants. Instead, in embarrassed banality he asked, “But are you not hungry, sir? Have you eaten today?”

  “No,” replied Canja Veck gravely, “but I have eaten tomorrow, that tomorrow when the sun goes black. Eaten it entire.”

  Evillo waited in great awe.

  “By which I mean,” Canja Veck amended gently, “as any story-maker will, that I see the future as well as the past. I think you have not,” he added, “drunk their vile brew of fermented erb berry. Good. It is named, like the similarly styled tea, less for its stimulous than for the sting included in over-imbibition. Since an actual erb, as you may know, is a combination of man, bear, lank-lizard, and demon. Or so certain sorces report.”

  “Phandaal’s Purple Book?” hazarded Evillo, referring back to the Fabler’s tales.

  Canja Veck shook his head. Mildly, he inquired, “What do you wish from me?”

  Evillo felt that he could not speak. He spread his arms and gazed in desperation. “I wish—to live—the life of such a hero as Guyal—or Turjan—or Cugel! Cugel the most.”

  “Callous and manipulative Cugel? Clever Cugel the fool?”

  Evillo deemed himself incapable of constructing sentences. He put his hands into his filthy hair and tore it in frustration.

  “Peace,” said Canja Veck. “Look how far already you have come from your beginnings. If you will be the hero of a story, that fate is yours to conjur. There lies the river, and there the ancient broken road that will lead you to Porphiron Scar, and thence to white-walled Kaiin.”

  “And Almery—” whispered Evillo.

  “A journey of long months,” said Canja Veck, cool as distant stars. “Unless your transport should be super-normal.”

  Evillo, in a sort of exultant panic, stared out across the river to the road, which, when seen from this height, was narrow as a thread of woven flint. A shadow shifted, noiseless, sudden. Looking about, Evillo saw that Canja Veck had once more serenely vanished. The young man stood alone upon the brink of his destiny, and of the cliff. And in that second, a ghastly and insane shriek sounded from the air. Down swept a gaunt black bird, one third the size of a full-grown man, its scarlet beak levelled squarely at Evillo’s newly-woken heart. Whether it were self-determined or the misstep of terror, Evillo sprang straight off the spur, and, in another moment, was hurtling towards the river far beneath.

  2: Khiss

  Three winds slapped Evillo’s face as he fell. Then he was dashed into the river, which, possibly irritated by his unanounced advent, beat him as severely as any Ratgradian. Plunged through silver water to black, Evillo grew unaware for an indeterminate duration.

  This trance ended however when an opposite propulsion seized him. He was borne again upward and crashed back through the surface of the Derna, as if through a plate of exploding glass.

  Evillo, fighting for breath, found himself held high in the air by the brawny arms of a blue-scaled and blackly scowling man-creature of considerable girth.

  “By Pizca Escaleron, incomparable god of my race, how darest thou violate the sacred deeps of the river?”

  “I—” attempted Evillo, as he choked forth a percentage of said deeps from his lungs.

  “Cease thy verminous squeaks, thou minuscule! Whence camest thou, with such impertinent rush? Didst even knock, thou rustical? Nay, thou didst in no sort. Know, thou intruding inculco, that I, a mighty lord among the river Fiscians, was just then in exquisite dalliance with a fair lady of my realm, which delicious process thou, by thy foul and uninvited entrance, hath disrupted. Had I not sworn upon the eternal fins of peerless Pizca Escaleron, to take no more than three lives in any morning, and having already availed myself early of today’s quota, I would tear thee, limbs from torso, devour thine unworthy liver before thy degraded eyes, and cast thy remains into the realms of dreadful Kalu.”

  “I—” attempted Evillo once more.

  “Pearl-button thy lips, thou failed oyster. I am done with thee. Go forth and suffer!”

  And with these and similar sentiments, the creature flung Evillo all across the Derna and into some bushes of stinging leaves beyond the road.

  Evillo crawled from the bushes and presently sat by the highway.

  In fact, the road was often broken up by the ingress of the river. The traveller would be forced to detour here and there among banks of thorn and tubegrass, from which fluted the usual inane whistling. Leagues off, so Evillo thought, the land seemed to check. This was perhaps Porphiron Scar? As shock abated, Evillo felt his eagerness return. And not long after, he noted a tall male figure striding over the terrain towards him.

  When the man drew level, Evillo got to his feet.

  “Pardon an ignorant nobody,” he cautiously began, “but does the city lie in that direction?”

  The man was indeed very tall; his height was well above one and three quarter ells. Long black hair coursed to his waist, and his garments were the indigo and ebony shades of day sky and night. With dark blue eyes, he regarded Evillo. “My name,” said this man, “is Kaiine. What do you deduce therefrom?”

  “That you are a citizen of the city of Kaiin?” immoderatly supplied Evillo.

  “Which may, naturally,” said the man “be a false deduction. All of which you should certainly avoid. On the other hand, you are correct in my case. Be wary however, when you resume your trek, of the large and beautiful snail that lies in the grass at your feet.”

  In surprise, Evillo glanced down and beheld the snail. The tall gallant had already disappeared around a bend in the road, but Evillo had been most impressed by the care the man had taken over the fate of a snail. Unwarned, Evillo might well have trodden upon it. How very sensitive and civilized therefore must be all Kaiinians!

  Evillo prepared to step carefully over the snail, which was indeed attractive, with a jade tinge to its body, its shell a crystalline whorl. The snail spoke: “Forgive me, my friend, I could not but overhear your exchange with the Darkographer Kaiine. Are you en route to the city?” Evillo exalted. A snail which spoke! And was also urbane! This surely was the very stuff of fable, magic, and sophistication!

  “I am.”

  “Might I then trouble you to permit my accompanying you? I fear that you will need to port me, or I shall lag sadly behind. But I weigh little, and the occasional wholesome leaf or lactuca will sustain my existence. Nor do I crave any expensive alocholic beverages.”

  Evillo conceded this, and raised the snail. He placed it on his left shoulder, from which vantage, as the snail explained, it could see the road as well as he.

  For a while then, they progressed in silence. Evillo was shyly tongue-tied, if the truth were told.

  Eventually, the snail inaugurated a brief conversation. “The man with whom you formerly spoke is, as I mentioned, a darkographer. You ask, what then is a darkographer? He is one who maps the world, before the sun goes dark and melds everything with shadow.

  “But it may be that you are curious too as to the circumstances of my being here, so far from my house at Kaiin. It chanced, during pursuit of my livlihood, which is to cure burns by silkenly crawling across the afflicted area, that a rogue subdued me with a drugged lettuce and bore me off. He intended, he shamelessly confessed, to boil me with garlic to tempt his desired mistress, avile frog-eating harridan of Thamber Meadow, who is known to send men regularly to their deaths. My abductor meanwhile ranted that he had avoided someone unavoidable, by the simple expedient of not going near him, despite some inducement to do with a tapestry of gold, or some such yarn. Fortunately, another of the
rogue’s fellowship, being displeased with him, came after, and slew my persecutor on the road. Unnoted during the proceedings, I escaped. Since then, I have spent six days and nights on my return journey.

  “Yet enough of me. Let us discuss you. What do you seek in white-walled Kaiin?”

  Evillo was nervous that he might bore his eloquent companion. Modestly, he replied, “I am only a peasant of no account. But even I have heard of the wonders of the city.”

  “And your name?”

  “I—call myself Evillo.”

  The snail seemed to cogitate. “That is a name unfamiliar to me. I myself am known as Khiss.”

  A couple more miles passed in quietness.

  Then Khiss spoke again. “Tell me, friend Evillo, what trade or abilities do you bring to the city?”

  Evillo sighed. “None that I know of.”

  “To succeed therein,” Khiss continued in its musical, faintly tinkling voice, “you will require at least the skills of reading, numeracy, and fighting, not essentially in that order.”

  “I possess none of them.”

  “Alas,” said Khiss. “Let us pause.”

  Dejectedly, Evillo, and so, the snail, once more sat down. They were by now on a long sweep of land, and saw the hyacinthine brink of the Scar directly before them. But what use was that? Plainly, Evillo was unfit to continue.

  “What shall I do? Must I go back to the wedded despondancy of Ratgrad and Plodge?”

  “Do not contemplate such a tragedy,” advised Khiss fastidiously. “Attend now. I myself am willing to teach you the three abilities I have listed, plus several others. I will even teach you to cure burns, and a little magic, for example, perhaps, Phandaal’s geas of the Unputdownable Tome, if not the indespensible but alarming Locative Selfulsion, this last being, I consider, a double-edged sword. In return for these lessons, however, due to the unmitagable Laws of Equivalence, you must in turn perform some slight corresponding services for myself. You will barely note these. Are you agreeable then to engage in such barter?”

  Evillo’s head whirled. He stared into the emerald eyes of the snail Khiss which, mounted on their tender jade stalks, gazed beadily into his.

  “But how long will it take you to educate me? I am an ignoramus:”

  “All the more swiftly then shall we go on. Erroneous old knowledge often impedes the entry of new. Be aware that my kind, being slow of motion, are flame-swift of thought and tutor accordingly. Had men only realized as much, their empires of stars had never floundered, nor would the expiring sun now pant and swoon, but, regenerated, have reinvented the entire earth.”

  Evillo sat astounded, as well he might.

  Khiss eyed him a moment more, then spoke certain uncannily soporific phrases, which included the mellifluous words Twylura Phlaim, Phurn, and Undimmoril.

  As the young man sprawled senseless yet again among the tubegrass, Khiss climbed to the top of a flowering blush-hyssop, and began the hypnotic schooling.

  The sun meanwhile, which seemed to have picked up Khiss’ boast, fretfully veiled itself in mauve vapour. This phenomenon, understandably, caused fright and pandemonium throughout the land, since humanity naturally expected possible eternal dark at any moment. But the vapour passed within three minutes; leaving all as before.

  When Evillo awoke, he at once knew that he was possessed of many handy knacks, not the least being martial art. Later that day, directly against Porphiron Scar, he was enabled to test this when a leucomorph sidled from a covert.

  No sooner seen than recognized from the tales of Canja Veck, Evillo leapt feet first against the monster and brought it down. Then, reaching instinctively for his sword, Evillo impaled the leucomorph’s pallor on a solitary tree.

  “But how,” Evillo wondered, “do I come to have sword belt and sword? It was instantly there to hand, and I was aware of a curious blue sheen upon it as I wielded the blade.”

  “That is because it is well polished. While you slept, I came upon the assemblage in the grass. Given your new talents, I assumed it should be yours,” Khiss answered, with the utmost reasonableness.

  Below the Scar lay Kaiin, and beyond the city, the smalt-blue waters of Sanreale Bay. Evillo descended quickly, and passing by the elevated arena of Mad King Shin, sight-saw the preposterously enhanced palace of the present ruler, Kandive, sometimes nicknamed the golden.

  The streets were full of interesting people, black-skinned and pale, and scented women in long-stemmed gowns. Khiss, with ‘a few discreet murmurs, directed Evillo presently away through a grid of complex streets decked firstly with tall houses, and then with houses less tall, and at last with the lowest of houses. So they moved along the scabrous bank of a canal, reeking of components best left undescribed. Here rose a crumbling hostelry, the Inn of the Tired Sun.

  “Enter, and seek a room,” commanded Khiss.

  “I? How will I know what to say—”

  “Trust in the superior tutelage lavished on you.” Evillo, having already been thrilled by his prowess with the lurking, now skewered, leucomorph, strode manfully into the inn. At once, words sprang to his tongue.

  “A room, I pray you,” he announced to the landlord. “And meantime, a meal with alcoholic additions.”

  The landlord, a brooding man of no teeth, frowned unencouragement.

  “Expand initially upon why you enter clad in rags, and with dirt in your hair. Besides why you carry a snail on your shoulder? Do you wish it cooked for your repast? Be enlightened: we serve only our own viands, and never stoop to prepare take-in. Nor do we serve paupers. Payment is anticipated. I doubt if you have ever seen a terce, let alone been awarded one.”

  Again and at once, dialogue leapt from Evillo’s mind to his lips.

  Ringingly, he declared, “Know, unworthy innkeep, I am the noble Lord Evillo, sent in disguise to inspect the taverns of Kaiin, and by no less exalted a personage than Prince Kandive himself. The prince wishes to learn how business is conducted in his city, and especially what politenesses and kindnesses are extended to strangers. Already I perceive, and hearken to, your bent for rudeness and sulk. Had I not heard better formerly of you from my cousin—” here Evillo hesitated, unable in fact to coin a name—“who shall be nameless, that he thought you both charitable and courteous, I would even now have reported your conduct to his highness. But I will grant a second chance.”

  The landlord hurried from behind his counter. “Good sir, forgive my joke—which was, of course, but too easy to misinterpret. I saw at once that you are who you say you are. I will myself show you to the nicest room, and arrange a fine dinner. It will be my personal delight to cook the snail for you myself—”

  “Pish! The snail is not for cooking. It is a sorcerous brooch of incredible value, bestowed upon me by a descendant of the magician Phandaal. Say nothing else lest you offend me further.”

  In the room above, Evillo bathed and barbered himself, then found in a closet some clean garments and linen of an unusual richness, including a long-billed hat of a claret hue. These donned, he was prompted to regard himself in the mirror also unexpectedly found in the closet. While doing this, his pleasure was distracted. A blue-green image suddenly misted the glass. It conveyed a landscape of opalescent beauty, with waters, woods, and mountains, all folded in turquoise luminescence. Next instant, it was gone. While Khiss had seemed to notice nothing. Evillo blamed the mirage on his over-stimulated nerves.

  They went down to supper, and so passed the evening. Never in his days had Evillo known such luxuries, for although the inn was not of the best, by comparisom with Ratgrad, it seemed a very-heaven of the Overworld. Khiss dined on a lettuce.

  All around, the other patrons nudged each other. “See, see, there is Prince Kandive’s courtier, no doubt related to the ruler also, for note his silk jacket and behold the colour of his hair!”

  About this time, Evillo conceived the notion that Khiss had grown a little larger, due no doubt to the nourishment of his salad.

  When Evillo and Khiss m
ade to retire, an alluring young woman with amethyst hair and fine eyes, if dressed rather to extremes, approached Evillo in the upper corridor.

  She inquired if he might be uncomfortable on his own during the night in an unfamiliar building, and offered to keep him company. She would only charge him, she assured him, for the cost of her own chamber at the inn, which obviously, through being with him, she would not use. This room was somewhat sumptuous and accordingly highly-priced, she regretted to say. But she was always prepared to give it up, she said, if needed elsewhere. Evillo was touched, and taken with her, and so about to concur, when Khiss sternly murmured, reminding him that in actuality he had no money at all. With sorrow then, Evillo declined the lady’s offer.

  At this, her manner inexplicably altered. She shouted vigorously in several octaves. Finally, she called on a demon, whom she named Cardamoq, demanding that it chastise whoever so insulted a poor working girl. In haste, Evillo and Khiss withdrew.

  Quiet returned. Outside, the tired sun sank behind the Tired Sun, and unspeakable things playfully splashed into the canal.

  3: The Old Town

  During the night, the leucomorph, having with some difficulty detached itself from the branches of the tree, bounded through the inn window. It had followed Evillo’s scent trail and entered the city—an act unusual for its kind—next clambering up the inn’s rickety wall.

  A deal of noise resulted. Yells and curses, sounds of blows and counter-blows, the crash of furniture, augmented by warbling growls.

  Next, the chamber door burst wide. Evillo and the leucomorph erupted forth, to the elaborate consternation of other guests. Within minutes, many of these rushed screaming from the inn and down the street, wrapped only in bed-sheets. Others hid below tables in the main hall where, in the general distress, a lamp was inevitably knocked from a low rafter, causing a fire. At last, Evillo and the leucomorph, still locked in combat, retired once more into the upper room, where the young man succeeded in braining the thing with the night-pot, then casting it back from the window into the canal. Here it sank amid a cloud of white bubbles. Below, the fire was extinguished. Evillo lay down, ignoring his bruises, and returned exhaustedly to sleep. Sleep was of short duration however.