The Green Pearl

by Jack Vance

  "The proposition seems generally sound," admitted Cwyd. "Still, it must be remembered that ‘friendship' is temporal, while ‘reason' transcends both human caprice and time itself."

  "And ‘avarice'?"

  Cwyd pondered. "I would define ‘avarice' as a consequence of the human estate: a condition arising from turbulence and inequality. In none of the paradises, where conditions are no doubt optimum, does ‘avarice' exert force. Here, we are men struggling toward perfection and ‘avarice' is a station along the way."

  "That is an interesting point," said Aillas. "Am I correct in my belief that I have felt the first drops of rain?"

  The horses were stabled and fed generous wisps of hay. Aillas and Cwyd returned to the main room of the cottage.

  For supper Threlka set out a savory soup of onions, greens, barley and mutton, with milk, bread and butter, while Aillas contributed what remained of the potted goose, as well as a goodly portion of cheese. Meanwhile the wind howled and roared and rain battered in a steady hard tattoo on the turf roof. A dozen times Aillas gave thanks to the providence which had afforded them shelter.

  The same ideas had occurred to Cwyd. He said: "Hear how the storm yells, like a giant in pain!" And again, with russet eyes fixed knowingly upon Aillas: "Pity the poor traveller who must brave such ferocities! And all the while we sit snug before our fire!" And again: "In conditions like this the word ‘avarice' loiters sickly by the wayside while the concept ‘gratitude' marches forward in triumph, like Palaemon's conquering army!"

  Aillas responded: "When storms rage, then is when folk become aware of their common humanity, and like you and Threika, they willingly extend hospitality to those unfortunate enough to be at disadvantage, just as you, in your hour of inconvenience, will hope for the same! In these cases, the thought of payment is cause for embarrassment, and the host cries out: ‘What do you take me for? A jackal?' It is heartwarming to meet such folk out here on the high moors!"

  "Exactly so!" cried Cwyd. "Out here on the high moors where conditions are hard, ‘sharing' is the watchword, and each gives of what he has without stint! I open my larder wide and light my best and most cheerful blaze; you are of the same disposition with your superfluity of silver coins; thus we honour each other!"

  "Precisely to the point!" declared Aillas. "I will reckon up my little store of coins and whatever I find to be superfluous you shall have! We are in accord; let us say no more on the subject."

  When supper was done, Threika sat Tatzel in a chair with her leg propped upon a stool. She cut away the dark green breeches, which were now soiled and stained. "This is not a good color for healing. We will find you ordinary clothes, by which you will profit. You may remove your tunic as well... . Come, girl," she said as Tatzel hesitated. "Cwyd cares nothing for your breasts; he has seen them by the hundreds on cows and sheep, and they are all the same. Sometimes I think that modesty is merely a ploy so that we can pretend a difference to the animals. Alas! We are very much alike. But here! If you are uncomfortable, wear this blouse."

  Threika cut away the splint and threw it into the fire. "Burn, wood, burn! Pain, in smoke fly up the chimney; disturb Tatzel no longer!" From a black jar she poured a syrup upon Tatzel's leg, then sprinkled on crushed dry leaves. She wound the shin with a loose bandage and tied it with a coarse red string. "And so it goes! In the morning you shall know no more weakness."

  "Thank you," said Tatzel with a wan smile. "The splint was most tiresome. How may I pay you for your healing?"

  "I want nothing but the pleasure of your smile," said Threika. "Oh, if you wish, give me three hairs of your head for remembrance; that shall suffice."

  "It is not enough," said Aillas. "Here is a silver penny, worth a whole head of hair, and also useless in magic, should it fall into improper hands."

  "Yes, that is wisdom," Cwyd agreed. "And now it is time to sleep."

  All night long the storm wailed and roared across the moors, and only began to slacken with the coming of day. The sun rose in a cataclysmic welter of black, white, red, pink and gray; then seemed to assert itself and from a peculiarly black sky sent long low shafts of rosecoloured light across the moors.

  Cwyd blew up the fire and Threika prepared porridge, which the group consumed with milk, berries and rashers of fried bacon provided by Aillas.

  Threika removed the bandage from Tatzel's leg, and threw the bandage into the fire with an incantation. "Rise now, Tatzel, and walk! Once more you are whole!"

  Cautiously Tatzel tested the leg and discovered neither pain nor stiffness, much to her pleasure.

  Aillas and Cwyd went to saddle the horses, and Aillas asked: "If I were to question you about the lands I intend to travel, would you be happy if in gratitude I made you a present of several copper pennies?"

  Cwyd mused. "Our conversations have raised a number of interesting points. I could describe every turn of a long road, reciting each of the perils to be found along the way and its remedy, thus saving your life a dozen times, and you would gratefully reward me with a bag of gold. However, if I casually mentioned that the man you wished to see at the end of this road were dead, you might thank me but give me nothing, though all went to the same effect. Is there not an inherent disequilibrium at work here?"

  "Yes indeed," said Aillas. "The paradox resides once again in the distortions worked upon the fabric of our life by greed. I suggest that we free ourselves of this ignoble vice, and seek to help each other with full and wholehearted zeal."

  Cwyd grumbled: "In short, you refuse to pay me what my information is worth?"

  "If you saved my life even once, how should I pay you? The concept is meaningless. For this reason such services are generally held to be free."

  "Still, if I saved your life a dozen times, as well as your father and mother and the virtue of your sister, and you gave me a single copper groat, at least I could put my belly up to the board and drink a mug of beer to your health."

  "Very well," said Aillas. "Tell me all you know. It may be worth a copper groat."

  Cwyd threw his hands in the air. "At least in dealing with you I exercise my tongue... . Where do you fare?"

  "North to Dun Cruighre in Godelia."

  "You have come the proper route. A day's ride to the north the moors end at a great declivity: the Cam Brakes. This is a series of ledges or terraces arranged like steps, which, according to myth, the giant Cam laid out to ease his way from Lake Quyvem up to the moors. On the first, or topmost, brake, you will find many ancient tombs; give them all due respect. This place was sacred to the ancient Rhe-daspians, who inhabited the land three thousand years ago. Ghosts are common, and it is said that sometimes old friendships are renewed and old antagonisms find vent. If you by chance see such ghosts, make no sound and give no interference, and above all, never agree to act as arbiter at one of their ghostly tribunals. Act as if you see nothing nor hear nothing and they will ignore you. There is my first information."

  "And a good information it is!"

  "On the second brake lives a ghoul who has the power to change his guise. It will meet you in sweet friendship, and offer wine and food and kindly shelter. Accept nothing—not so much as a sup of cold water—and cross down over this brake, no matter what the cost, while the sun is in the sky; at sunset the ghoul assumes its true shape and your life is in the balance. If you take its gift you are lost. That is the second information."

  "It is even better than the first!"

  "The third brake, which is in the middle, is fair and wholesome, and here you may rest, if you choose... . Still, I advise against entering any enclosure, hut or hole, and whatever benefits the land provides, give thanks to the god Spirifiume, who rules this place and also a goodly duchy on the planet Mars. That is the third information."

  "Interesting, as always."

  "The fourth and fifth brakes are generally safe to the traveller, though all the brakes are haunted in some degree. Pass these by without delay. When you come to Lake Quyvern, you will discover Kernuun's
Antler, which is the inn of Dildahl the Druid. He is, so it seems, a kindly man, and offers a hospitality of moderate cost. This is hardly true and you must eat none of his fish! He will serve it in many guises: as roe, and croquettes, and pickles, and pudding, and in soup. Eat only the items whose cost is specified. This is the fourth information."

  "These are all valuable instructions."

  "The east shore of Lake Quyvern is unsafe owing to mires and bogs and morasses. The western shore is a place beyond my understanding. Arch-druids are rife, as well as a complementary sect of Arch-druidesses, with whom they hold social intercourse and discuss topics relating to their creed. At grand banquets it is said that they eat the flesh of children, in accordance with ancient ritual. The islands of Lake Quyvem are sacred to the druids, and if you set foot on them your life is forfeit. This is the fifth information."

  "Once more: most interesting! I am impressed by your knowledge!"

  "Lake Quyvern empties into the River Solander, which flows north to the Skyre, and Godelia spreads before you like a bad smell. That is the sixth information." And Cwyd made a gesture to signify that his tale was told, and stood smiling modestly, as if waiting for Aillas' further applause.

  Aillas said: "Ah, Cwyd, my dear fellow, your informations are most helpful. Are there more?"

  Cwyd asked dolefully: "Have I not told enough?"

  "You have done so, but you would not be withholding three or four other informations, just in case I prove an ingrate for the first six?"

  "No. I have fully and frankly disclosed all I know to your advantage."

  "Then here is a gold crown in exchange, and know that I have enjoyed this evening with you. Further, I will tell you this: I am favorably known to the magician Shimrod, and to the King of South Ulfland and Troicinet as well. Should events ever bring you near these persons, you need but mention my name and your needs will be met."

  "Sir, I am sorry to see you go: so much so that I offer you another day and night at three-quarter rate!"

  "Most generous!" said Aillas. "But we cannot delay."

  "In that case, I wish you good luck on your venture."

  II

  AILLAS AND TATZEL RODE AWAY from the cottage of Cwyd and Threlka. Tatzel now wearing a peasant's blouse and baggy breeches, cut of oatmeal-coloured homespun. She had bathed; the fresh garments and the curing of her leg put her almost in a cheerful frame of mind, sullied only by the presence of the odious Aillas, who still pretended to regard himself as her master... . His manner was puzzling. At Sank, by his own admission, he had come to admire her, but now, out on these lonely moors, where he could do as he pleased, he acted as if under frigid constraint—perhaps the deference a house-servant owed a Ska lady of high birth?

  Tatzel covertly studied Aillas. For an Otherling he was personable enough, and she had already noticed that he seemed quite clean. Last night, as she had listened to his conversation with Cwyd, she had been mildly surprised to hear talk so flexible and easy coming from the mouth of a one-time house-servant. She recalled his duel with Torqual; he had attacked this universally feared Ska warrior with almost casual confidence, and in the end it was Torqual who had quailed.

  Tatzel decided that Aillas did not think of himself as a house-servant. Why, then, had he kept so remote, even when, for sheer caprice and experiment, she had sought to arouse him? To just a trifling degree, of course, with events very much under her control, but still he had ignored her.

  Might the deficiency lie in herself? Did she smell bad? Tatzel shook her head in puzzlement. The world was a strange place. She looked around the landscape. After the storm the day was still and fresh, with a few lost clouds wandering the sky. Ahead the moors seemed to dissolve into air, partly by reason of water-haze and partly due to the Cam Brakes, where the land fell away in descending ledges.

  At sunset Aillas elected to make camp, with the Brakes only a mile ahead. In the morning he waited until the sun was half an hour high before setting off to the north. Almost immediately they came to the verge of the brakes, with far regions spread before them and Lake Quyvern extending away from the foot of the fifth brake.

  The faintest of trails led along the side of a stream which tumbled down into the first brake. After a few hundred yards the stream entered a steep-sided gulch and the trail, which evidently had been traced by wandering cattle, disappeared.

  Dismounting, Aillas and Tatzel picked their way afoot down the slope and in due course arrived at the first brake: a pleasant meadow a mile or so wide spattered with red poppies and blue larkspur. Solitary oaks of great size stood at intervals, each with a hoary individuality of its own. At the back of the meadow an irregular line of tombs defied weather and time. Each displayed a plaque carved in the sinuous Rhedaspian characters now incomprehensible to living men. Aillas wondered if the ghosts mentioned by Cwyd might be persuaded to read the inscriptions and thus contribute to the knowledge of contemporary scholars. It was an interesting idea, thought Aillas, which he must discuss at some later occasion with Shimrod.

  Giving the tombs a wide berth, and observing no ghosts, Aillas and Tatzel rode to the edge of the brake, over and down toward the second brake. Again they traversed carefully back and forth, slipping and sliding on occasion, and at length came out upon the second brake.

  Aillas instructed Tatzel: "Now we must be wary! According to Cwyd, an evil creature lives here, and he may appear in any guise. We must accept neither gifts nor favors! Do you understand? Take nothing whatever, from anyone or anything, or the ghoul will take your life! Now! Let us cross this brake with all possible speed."

  The second brake, like the first, was a long ribbon of meadow a mile or so wide. At intervals grew solitary oaks and on the left a forest of elm and horse-chestnut obscured their view to the west.

  Halfway across they met a young man trudging up the brakes. He was stalwart and handsome, with a fresh complexion, a crisp golden beard, and a head of short golden curls. He carried a staff, a rucksack and a small lute; a dagger hung at his belt. His brown smock and trousers were plain and serviceable; his green cap boasted a jaunty red feather. As he drew near Aillas and Tatzel he halted and raised his hand in greeting. "Bonaventure, and where do you ride?"

  "Toward Godelia; that is our immediate destination," said Aillas. "What of you?"

  "I am a vagabond poet; I wander where the wind blows me."

  "It would seem a pleasant and careless life," said Aillas. "Do you never yearn to find a true home for yourself?"

  "It is a bittersweet dilemma. I often find places which urge me to tarry, and so I do, until I remember other places where I have found joys and marvels, and I am compelled again to my journey."

  "And no single place satisfies you?"

  "Never. The place I seek is always beyond the far mountain."

  "I can offer you no sensible advice," said Aillas. "Except this: do not delay your wandering here! Climb to the top of the brakes before this day is done; you will live a longer life."

  The vagabond gave a carol of easy laughter. "Fear comes only to those already frightened. Today the most alarming sights have been several hummingbirds and a tangle of fine wild grapes which now I am tired of carrying." He proffered fresh purple grapes in a pair of clusters to both Aillas and Tatzel.

  Tatzel reached out in pleasure; Aillas, leaning, struck aside her arm and reined back the horses. "Thank you; we do not care to eat. On these brakes you are well-advised to take nothing and to give nothing. Goodday to you."

  Aillas and Tatzel rode away, with Tatzel resentful. Aillas said shortly: "Did I not warn you to accept nothing while on this brake?"

  "He did not seem a ghoul."

  "Would that not be his intent? Where is he now?" They looked back the way they had come but the young vagabond had vanished from view.

  "It is very strange," muttered Tatzel.

  "As the ghoul himself asserted: the world is a place of marvels."

  Almost as Aillas spoke, a Hide girl in a white frock jumped up from under a t
ree where she had been tying garlands of wild-flowers. Her hair was long and golden; her eyes were blue; she was as pretty as one of her own flowers.

  The girl came forward and spoke: "Sir and lady, where do you ride, and why in such haste?"

  "To Lake Quyvem and beyond," said Aillas. "We ride in haste the sooner to join those we love. What of you? Do you always wander these wild places so freely?"

  "This a region of peace. True, on moonlit nights the ghosts come out and march to their ghostly music, and it is a sight to behold, since they wear armour of gold, black iron and silver, and helmets with tall crests. It is a fine sight to see!"

  "So I should think," said Aillas. "Where do you live? I see neither house nor hut."

  "Yonder, by the three oak trees: there is my home. Will you not come to visit? I was sent out to gather nuts but I have delayed among the flowers. Here: this garland is for you, since your face is so handsome and your voice so soft."

  Aillas jerked back his horse. "Away with you and your flowers! They make me sneeze! Hurry now, before Tatzel pulls your nose! You will find no nuts under the poplar trees."

  The girl moved back and cried out: "You are a coarse cruel man, and you have made me cry!"

  "No great matter." Aillas and Tatzel rode away, leaving the little girl forlorn and wistful, but after a moment, when they turned to look back, she was gone.

  The sun rose up the sky, and without further interruption they came to the edge of the brake. Aillas halted to pick out the best way down the slope; the pack-horse, meanwhile, took advantage of the occasion to lower its head and snatch a mouthful of grass from the meadow. Instantly, from behind a nearby tree came running an old man with a shock of white hair and a long white beard. "Hola!" he cried. "How dare you steal my good pasturage for your use, and almost under my very nose? You have compounded larceny and trespass with insolence!"

  "Not so!" Aillas declared. "Your charges have no merit."

  "What! How can you contradict me? Each of us saw the dereliction in process!"