Songs of the Dying Earth

by Gardner Dozois

  5: In the Lig Thig and At the Blue Lamped Inn

  As the daylight ebbed, the tallest Deodand approached Evillo. The Deodand spoke.

  “What a pleasure that you have entered the glade. My friends and I have not eaten a morsel for several days. The last of our—shall I say—patrons did however leave us this pipe and pouch of pods and herbs. A selfless thought. We have much enjoyed it.”

  Evillo glanced at the Deodand. “A tonic to hear you speak of friendship. I fear that my own friend, a very fat fellow named Huge, has lagged behind. Already I miss him painfully, he is such fine company, and though hardly the height of that tree, is at least three times its girth.”

  The Deodand paused, appearing interested.

  “Is he so? Why then is he so disappointingly late?”

  “Initially, I believe, in order to persuade two other grand fellows of our acquaintance, by name Gargantuan and Likewise, to come with us on our jaunt.”

  “Well, then,” said the Deodand, with a winning grin, “while we await such excellent extra confreres, we may partake of a starter dish before the feast. Come! We insist that you participate; indeed, it is essential. That seen to, we will greet your friends when they arrive with equal gladness.”

  “This causes embarrassment,” grieved Evillo. “Without a certain act, Huge, Gargantuan, and Likewise will not appear. Let me elucidate. You will have noted my supernatural method of arrival? I can translocate from any one place to any other at the blink of an eye. Huge, inevitably, can do the same. However he has recently become prey to a silly habit of wishing me always, when once I reach any destination, to observe a fussy ritual. Without this, which infallibly he detects from afar, he refuses to follow me. Nor obviously, therefore, will our hefty friends.”

  By now, the two other Deodands had approached. They sat elegantly on nearby tree-stumps, the pipe stowed. One sang a little ditty.

  “A passing pelgrane called good-day,

  But good for whom it did not say.” 4

  “What then does the ritual entail?” another asked at length.

  “It is so tiresome,” replied Evillo, “I feel I should omit it. Let us simply proceed to the food. After all, three such enormous gentlemen as my friends will surely deplete your stores.”

  “Not precisely,” the first Deodand reassured him. “No, no, we long to meet with them. I urge you to enact the ritual. We will patiently stand by.”

  “Alas, I must ask you to assist. But no—it is beneath you! Let us make do with the starter dish, of whatever sort it is.”

  “Not at all. Be assured. We are more than willing to help you.”

  The other two Deodands concurred with enthusiasm. “Very well then, I must bind your eyes with these strips torn from my shirt, as so—yes, indeed, they must come from my own garments or Huge will know, and withhold his company. There. I trust they are not too tight. Now each of us must lie face down on the ground and count, one after the other, to the number one hundred. You, sir, the first. Then you, sir, and lastly, sir, you. I must do the counting last of all, for so my foolish friend Huge will have it.”

  The Deodands lay down and pressed their faces to the soil.

  By now, the forest was darkening through impressive tints of Kauchique Ale and Violet Mendolence. Evillo, bolt upright by the oak, made pretence that he too had lain down.

  “We are all now in position,” he informed the Deodands. “Some final advice. Do not begin your counting until I give the signal—Huge is most touchy. After that, and when you are done, do not stir, let alone look about until I have concluded my own count, during which Huge and the others will join us. Be aware that Huge, owing to his extreme bulk, so disturbs the equilibrium of anywhere that he translocates himself to, let alone if in company, that you will be vastly endangered by precipitate motion, especially of the eyes—for just this cause, I have blindfolded you. Hold tight to the ground. Await my signals. And for such inconvenience, accept a thousand apologies.”

  Evillo paused. The sky was black as ink and only Lyraleth remained visible.

  “Commence!” he ordered, and hastily, on silent feet, sought the avenues of the forest.

  He had been running for less than a count of fifty however, when he detected sounds of pursuit.

  Above him in the dark, Evillo also heard a small and plaintive call. Seizing the trunk of a massive tree, he climbed at speed to an elevated bough.

  The owner of the little calling voice squinted at him with tiny luminous eyes. He was a Twk man, and nearby, his dragonfly sat preening its wings among the leaves.

  “To repay this favour,” said the Twk, “I require salt.”

  “I have none. Which favour?”

  “I am owed,” said the Twk. “Know that flights of my kind were recently lured toward the northern limits, with a promise of endless salination, by the unsympathetic mage Pendatas Baard, in his relentless search for the usufructdom of Undimmoril. He claimed of us many and various deeds. When wages came due, he directed us to the sea’s edge, and recommended we pan the tideless waves for our reward.”

  “I am sorry to hear this,” whispered Evillo, “but hush a moment, if you will. My hunters prowl below.”

  The Twk gazed over at the three Deodands, who, illumined by the single large star, sniffed about the tree roots beneath, now and then glancing thoughtfully up into the branches.

  “Perhaps I shall betray you to them,” mused the Twk. “Sometimes Deodands carry salt, to season less tasty kills.”

  Evillo felt an eerie coolth on his arm. Looking distractedly, he found Khiss. But Khiss had grown startlingly during their separation, to the size of a cat.

  From below came the discouraging sound of agile feet attempting the tree.

  “Contain your amazement,” instructed Khiss, in a new and testy tone. “We must depart at once. Due to your inanity, not only did we once more miss the target, but were segregated during the transmission. We shall now again try the Selfulsion. On this occasion, by all five demons of Lumarth, think only of some terminus secure, and, preferably, blue.”

  Evillo’s mind became a perfect blank. But already, Khiss and he were pulsing as their bodily atoms disbanded. From nowhere, a sourceless memory of blueness filled his thoughts. He interpretted this as another of Cugel’s temporary haunts, and conjured the Inn of Blue Lamps, southward, in Saskervoy.

  Such had been the delay and confusion none the less, that the two wayfarers entered the inn by a high closed window, and so descended in a hail of glass upon several dissatisfied diners.

  Evillo and Khiss extricated themselves from a roast fowl and a large platter of stewed callow with roseberry. The Twk and dragonfly, involved in the Selfulsion owing to proximity, dived into the salt-dish.

  A landlord loomed. Evillo assumed that he was Krasnark, the very same who had waited on Cugel in the Fabler’s tale. Black-browed and tall, he glowered. On his forehead, a faint scar boded ill.

  “Am I never to free my premises of these surreal incursions? Ever since the fateful night when those two wretches played their gambler’s tricks, the villainy of which only later were revealed to me, bad cess has plagued this inn!”

  “It is true,” confided a buxom dame in cerise plast, beaming upon Evillo despite his antisocial entrance. “Poor Krasnark was brained by an unseen force and fell into the still-room below, spilling and breaking items to the value of nineteen florins! Besides, a worthy worminger was wounded in the foot by a crustaceous sphigale let go from its tank, the lighting was damaged, beards were sliced, and gentlemen harried at the trough of convenience.”

  “And now,” snarled Krasnark, “the ghoul-goat Cleenisz has taken up residence in the cellar, where it lies in wait for my potboys!”

  On this cue, a malevolent bleating of inappropriate volume resounded from below. The floor shook.

  “If you have stirred up the thing,” threatened Krasnark, “by your louche flop into my hall, I will charge you the sum of two hundred terces. The probity of Saskervoy is at stake.”


  Most of the patrons were now evacuating the inn, even the lady in cerise. Seemingly, they did not take to the voice of Cleenisz.

  “I regret, landlord,” said Evillo, “I have not a copper shaving to my name.”

  “But,” hissed Khiss, its whisper loudly audible due to its current size, which was now more approximate to that of a small lion, “hand him this ring gleaming there in the spilled salt. It will pay for all.”

  Evillo took the ring. It was worth more than the entire inn, very likely, a great smouldering gem of bluish-green set in blue tantalum, and chased with blue gold.

  Krasnark’s manner altered. “That will tally to a nicety, sir. Let me entreat you to finish the dinner you have already sampled…or should you wish to follow me to the urinal?”

  Evillo did not attend. A turquoise radiance was flaring from the jewel’s heart. It seemed to fill the inn, fading the blue lucifer lamplight to ashes.

  There again appeared to him then the mysterious misty woods, hills, valleys, and mountains, the lakes like moire silk, which he had glimpsed so many times before. Evillo, dazzled by the sheen, wondered if this vision, as had the violet eye cusps of the Overworld, at least in Cugel’s experience, so effected the organ of sight as to influence also all other senses. For Evillo seemed to smell the fragrance of trees, flowers, and water, and he almost felt the brush of satin leaves against his face.

  And then a woman appeared at the heart of the wonder. Her figure was slender, but with exquisite accentuations. Her skin resembled the palest and most clear nacre. Long lustrous hair, in colour the spice pink of a cold dawn, streamed about her. Her eyes were like emeralds in a lavender dusk. She was beauty incarnate, and instantly Evillo found he knew her name, which in ecstasy he breathed aloud: “Twylura Phlaim!”

  “Never decant your curses on me:” thundered Krasnark. “Know that I am protected by amulets. Douse the witchlight and hand over the gewgaw. On reflection, I see it will barely cover the cost of dinner, let alone the broken window and lost custom. And still I must pay for eviction of the goat.”

  Two things thereafter occurred as one. Khiss spoke in a penetrating and masculine tone, rendering to Krasnark an uncensored direction. At this, the landlord bellowed in affront. While from beneath came the noise of smashing pilasters, and out of the collapsing floor shouldered the ghoul-goat Cleenisz.

  “We apply the Selfulsion,” ordered Khiss, with the utmost authority. “Evillo, fix your eyes upon the image in the ring, and summon no other of your ridiculous Cugelesque venues.”

  The lucifer, by which the inn lamps were powered, blew up in a furl of royal blue fire. All else was fog and spinning.

  6: Undimmoril

  On every side, and to each horizon, stretched the fair, liberally-laked land of Undimmoril. It was as already Evillo had partially viewed it, landscaped enchantingly by unknown gods, and coloured with irri-descent blues and greens and every ethereal shade between. Above, the sky was also a composition of jade and azure, and lit sourcelessly, not in the way of sunlight, but more a vivid twilight under a full and incandescent moon.

  Presently, Evillo looked about for Khiss. But the snail was again absent. Instead, beside him on the lake shore sat a princely young man, of about Evillo’s own age. The newcomer was both tall and strong, with long hair the tint of verdigris and eyes like the darkest malachite. He was clad in velvet dyed cyanide and yu-sapphire, and a wide brimmed hat sporting seven peaks, trimmed with carmine effulgence.

  “Gawp, if you must,” he said, in off-hand condenscension. “I should guess I am, as in the past, a sight to ravish all eyes.”

  “Where is Khiss?” Evillo asked.

  “Ha! Where do you think?”

  “You are—it.”

  “Indeed. I am Prince Khiss. I know you are a simpleton. There is no demand that you should labour the point.”

  “And this place?”

  “The lovely usufructdom of Undimmoril, where never can shine a sun nor ever can a sun die. This is my realm, from which I was ousted, by the plots of the magician Kasteraspex. And here, I believe, is my clariot.”

  Certainly a powerful and well-groomed clariot, ready caparisoned, a riding animal of the crossed breed of wheriot and claris, and, in this instance, peacock blue, was stepping tidily along the shore, tossing its four-horned head and chartreuse mane.

  Rising, the prince who had been a snail vaulted lightly into the saddle. Graciously, he invited Evillo: “Run beside me if you wish. I am bound for my home, the incomparable palace of Phurn.”

  Evillo, seeing nothing else to be done, did as Prince Khiss suggested.

  As they advanced then, prince and steed galloping nimbly, Evillo stumbling breathless and groaning alongside, Khiss related his story, and Evillo’s part in it.

  “Kateraspex entered the usufructdom of my domain by means of Phandaal’s theoretic Locative Selfulsion, which he, the unworthy Kateraspex, had somehow—and doubtless by accident—realized. Kateraspex then annexed the territory of Undimmoril. I, of course, opposed him. Although myself well-versed in thaumaturgic art, the devil overcame me by a ploy too complex to explain. Since to explain it would exceed our time together, and decidedly your intellect. Suffice it to say, Kateraspex exiled me to the paltry alter-world of the earth, and robbed me, once there, of the ability to reveal my plight. However, owing to the Laws of Equivalence, the villian was yet compelled to allow me to retain certain benefits. These comprised my knowledge and skill in various fields, and those formulas I had mastered of magery. Also he must permit me, albeit haphazardly, to recoup my royal sword, one set of princely clothing, and a ring that marked my status as ruler.

  “However again, such was the magician’s vile cunning that he made sure I might not put to use any of these elements. He decreed that, my feet once touching the ground of Earth, I should become a more attractive copy of the first creature I beheld there. Which was, as even you may fathom, a snail.

  “My only hope then, which Kateraspex failed to foresee, was that I might find some gullible dunce. For if I could but imbue his noddle with some of my own talents, currently useless to me, he and I would together make up a source of power. Meanwhile, every piece of fair fortune my pupil might expect to encounter would instantly magnetize to my own self, he then suffering a counterbalance of lucklessness. As this happened, my reserves of energy would be recharged.

  “Generously, I shall not chide you with the long wait I had, due to your tardy arrival. For though I met many dunderheads, they were too fly to trust me. While the gullible were already so mentally crammed with idiocies my tuition found no room. You, however, were perfection. An imbecile, empty as the night of moon.

  “Soon enough you gained my sword, then the garments, and, at length the ring. With each acquisition too you obtained a fleeting glimpse of Undimmoril. Finally, a vision of my land was established in your imagination. Thus primed, the Selfulsions needed lesser and then no intervals between them. Only your intransigent Cugeline fad caused difficulty. In the end, even that did not avail. We achieved Undimmoril. Where, once more on hallowed ground, I reverted to my true persona and emptied your brain of my wisdom. All is now mine. Notice, even the sword has come back to me.”

  Khiss laughed with joy. Evillo sensed that his own mind was hollow and confused. Khiss was prompted to one more admission:

  “By the by, it was not you at whom that farlock, Pendatas Baard, sat staring at in the prison. He stared at me. He had never seen me, either as prince or snail, yet he sensed some remnant about me of his accursed father. Who, you may be entertained to know, Pendatas himself dispatched, on a rare paternal visit, with a venom of the Saponids. Ever after, Pendatas has sought for Undimmoril himself. With slight success, as we note.”

  Exhausted by this far from terse account, as much as by enforced exercise, Evillo plunged face forward in the grass. From this vantage, he grew aware of the palace of Phurn standing close by. It was supplied with pillars of turquoise and many thin towers like sticks of angelica. Gardens garlanded
all, crowded with terebinth and myhrhadion, eluent teff and gentians.

  In the gateway was the wonderful woman with pink hair. Khiss cried aloud in delight and reined in the clariot. “Behold, my wife, Twylura Phlaim, the only female worthy to partner my splendour!” Glancing back, Khiss added, “Evillo, you may depart. In a moment, I will open a portal, and you will then be propelled back to the fount of your useless and unaesthetic existence.”

  Before this was done however, the beautiful Twylura Phlaim mounted a cat-headed chariot, which leapt on hare’s legs up the hill.

  “Art thou home so soon?” she exclaimed to her husband, in a peculiarly raucous tone. “Be cautioned, Khiss, in thy long absence, Twylura Phlaim grew bored and ran away with an untypically handsome gleft. Instead I have taken her place.”

  “Who then are you?” demanded Prince Khiss.

  “The demon Cardamoq. Come thou now and embrace me.” Khiss had grown white. The clariot reared and unseated him. Khiss landed by Evillo.

  “Oh, Evillo, dear friend, despite my restored powers, the demon’s strength overwhelms me! Let us therefore at once return to our beloved dying earth—”

  “Nay, husband. Thou shalt stay with thy beloved Cardomoq!” screeched the demon unmusically. She had grown two heads, and smoke billowed from the six nostrils of each. “To be sure of it, I shall transfer some of thy powers to the yellow-haired human there. He may keep them as a momento of this happy reunion.”

  A blow fell on Evillo’s head. He sensed the portal open in the alter-world of Undimmoril, and wisely knew no more.

  In fact, he fell to earth in the red sunlight of Kaiin. A multitude of hands were assisting him to rise, and the air rang with voices detailing how he had been searched for everywhere. Next came the militia and ringed him round.