Spellsinger 02 - The Hour of the Gate

by Foster, Alan Dean;

  now," he told the exhausted Jon-Tom. "He's worn

  out."

  "But what was it all about?" the man asked. "What was

  the purpose of the trance?"

  "Won't know till he wakes up. Got ta do it naturally.

  Dere's nothin' ta do but wait."

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  THE HOUR OF THE GATE

  Jon-Tom eyed the comatose form uncertainly. "Are you

  sure he'll come out of it?"

  Pog shrugged. "Always has before. He better. He owes

  me...."

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  Once there were inquiring words at the curtain and Jon-

  Tom had to go outside to explain them away. Time passed,

  the distant music faded. He slept.

  A great armored spider was treading ponderously after

  him, all weaving palps and dripping fangs. Run as he might

  he could not outdistance it. Gradually his legs gave out, his

  wind failed him. The monster was upon him, leering down at

  his helpless, pinioned body. The fangs descended but not into

  his chest. Instead, they were picking off his fingers, one at a

  time.

  "Now you can't play music anymore," it rumbled at him.

  "Now you'll have to go to law school... aha ha ha!"

  A hand was shaking him. "Da master's awake, Jon-Tom

  friend."

  Jon-Tom straightened himself. He'd been asleep on the

  floor, leaning back against the chamber wall. Clothahump

  was sitting up on the creaking wicker bed, rubbing his lower

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  jaw. He donned his spectacles, then noticed Jon-Tom. His

  gaze went from the man to his assistant and back again.

  "I now know the source," he told them brightly, "of the

  new evil obtained by the Plated Folk. I know now from

  whence comes the threat!"

  Jon-Tom got to his feet, dusted at himself, and looked

  anxiously at the wizard. "Well, what is it?"

  "I do not know."

  "But you just said... ?"

  "Yes, yes, but I do know and yet I don't." The wizard

  sounded very tired. "It is a mind. A wonderfully wise mind.

  An intelligence of a reach and depth I have never before

  encountered, filled with knowledge I cannot fathom. It con-

  tains mysteries I do not pretend to understand, but that it is

  dangerous and powerful is self-evident."

  "That seems clear enough," said Jon-Tom. "What kind of

  creature is it? Whose head is it inside?"

  "Ah, that is the part I do not know." There was worry and

  amazement in Clothahump's voice. "I've never run across a

  mind like it. One thing I was able to tell, I think." He

  glanced up at the tall human. "It's dead."

  Pog hesitated, then said, "But if it's dead, how can it help

  da Plated Folk?"

  "I know, I know," Clothahump grumbled sullenly, "it

  makes no sense. Am I expected to be instantly conversant

  with all the mysteries of the Universe!"

  "Sorry," said Jon-Tom. "Pog and I only hoped that—"

  "Forget it, my boy." The wizard leaned back against the

  black wall and waved a weary hand at him. "I learned no

  more than I'd hoped to, and hope remains where knowledge

  is scarce." He shook his head sadly.

  "A mind of such power and ability, yet nonetheless as dead

  as the rock of this chamber. Of that I am certain. And yet

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  Eejakrat of the Plated Polk has found a means by which he

  can make use of that power."

  "A zombie," muttered Jon-Tom.

  "I do not know the term," said Clothahump, "but I accept

  it. I will accept anything that explains this awful contradic-

  tion. Sometimes, my boy, knowledge can be more confusing

  than mere ignorance. Surely the universe holds still greater

  though no more dangerous contradictions than this inventive,

  cold mind." He reached a decision.

  "Now that I am sensitized to this mind, I am confident we

  can locate it. We must find out whose it is and destroy him or

  her, for I had no sense of whether the possessor is male or

  female."

  "But we can't do dat, Master," Pog argued, "because as

  you say dis brain is under da control of da great sorcerer

  Eejakrat, and Eejakrat stays in Cugluch."

  "Capital city of the Plated Folk," Clothahump reminded

  Jon-Tom.

  "Dat's right enough. So it's obvious dat we can't.. .we

  can't..." The words came to a halt as Pog's eyes grew wide

  as a lemur's. "No, Master!" he muttered, his voice filled

  with dread. "We can't. We can't possibly!"

  "On the contrary, famulus, it is quite possible that we can.

  Of course, I shall first discuss it with the rest of our

  companions."

  "Discuss what?" Jon-Tom was afraid he already knew the

  answer.

  "Why, traveling into Cugluch to find this evil and obliter-

  ate it, my boy. What else could a civilized being do?"

  "What else indeed." Jon-Tom had resigned himself to

  going. Could this Cugluch be worse than the Earth's Throat?

  Pog seemed to think so, but then Pog was terrified of his own

  shadow.

  Clothahump's strength had returned. He slid off the bed,

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  started for the doorway. "We must consult the rest of our

  party."

  "They may not all be in a condition to understand,"

  Jon-Tom warned him. "We have generous hosts, you know."

  "A night of harmless pleasure is good for the soul now and

  then, my boy. Though it should never descend to unconscious-

  ness. I am pleased to see that you have retained control of

  yourself."

  "So far," said Jon-Tom fervently, "but after what you've

  just proposed, I may change my mind."

  "It will not be so bad," said the wizard, clapping him on

  the waist as they swung aside the concealing curtain and

  moved out into the tunnel. "There will be some danger, but

  we have survived that several times over."

  "Yeah, but it's not like an innoculation," Jon-Tom muttered.

  "We haven't become immune. We keep taking risks and

  sooner or later they've got to catch up with us." He ducked to

  avoid a low section of iron ceiling.

  "We shall do our best, my boy, to see that it is later."

  Pog remained behind, hanging quietly from the oil lamp in

  the now empty room. He considered remaining behind

  permanently. The Ironclouders would shelter him, he was

  sure.

  That would mean no transformation, of course. All that

  he'd suffered at the wizard's hands, and mouth, would

  have been for naught. Also, as the only arboreal of the

  group, he knew how they depended on him for reconnaisance

  and such.

  Besides, better death than life cursed by unrequited love.

  He let free of the lamp, dipped in the air, and soared oin

  into the tunnel after the two wizards.

  There was the anticipated debate and argument the nexl

  morning. One by one, as before, the various members of the

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  little group were won over by Clothahump's assurances,

  obstinacy, and veiled threats.


  Their course decided, it was time to ascertain the position

  taken during the night by the inhabitants of Ironcloud. Five of

  the great owls faced Ihe travelers on the plateau below the

  cave city. Two were homed, two pale bam, and one a tiny

  hoot, who was smaller than Pog but equal in dignity to his

  massive feathered brothers. With them were five lemurs. The

  sun was not yet up.

  "We do not doubt your seriousness nor the truth you tell,"

  Tolafay was saying, "nor the worth of your mission, but still

  we doubted whether it was worth breaking a rule of hundreds

  of years of noninvolvement in the arguments of others." He

  gestured at Ananthos.

  "Yet we share such feelings with the inhabitants of the

  Scuttleteau and they have nonetheless agreed to help you. So

  we will help, too." Murmurs of agreement came from his

  companions.

  "That's settled, then," said a satisfied Clothahump. "You

  will be valuable allies in the coming war and—"

  "A moment, please." One of the lemurs stepped forward.

  He had a high, stiff collar and light vest above billowing

  pantaloons of bright yellow. "We did not say that we'd be

  your allies. We said we'd help.

  "You asked us to give the Weavers permission to travel

  through our country and to provide a route southward through

  the mountains so they can reach the Swordsward and then

  make their way to the Jo-Troom Gate you speak of. That's

  what we'll do. We'll also try and find you a way to the

  Greendowns. But we won't fight."

  "But I thought—" Jon-Tom began.

  "No!" snapped one of the other owls. "Absolutely no. We

  simply can't do any more for yooooo. Don't ask it of us."

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  "But surely—" A restraining hand touched Talea and she

  quieted.

  "It is more than we'd hoped for, friends. It will suffice."

  Clothahump turned to face Ananthos. "We have the allies we

  came to find."

  "so you do," said the spider at last, "provided the army

  can be assembled in time to make the march."

  "I can only hope that it does," the wizard told him

  solemnly, "because the fate of several worlds may depend on

  it."

  "Not Ironctoud," said another of the owls smugly. "Ironcloud

  is impregnable to assault by land or air."

  "So it is," agreed Caz casually, "but not by magic."

  "We'll take our chances," said Tolafay firmly.

  "Then there's nothing more to be said." Clothahump

  nodded.

  Wordlessly the Ironclouders departed, owl and primate

  soaring to join their brethren high in the night sky. Great

  wings and glowing eyes shone as the night hunters returned in

  twos and threes to their black home. They filled the air

  between earth and moon.

  Another pair lifted from the plateau, heading for interior

  darkness and a good, warm day's sleep. Jon-Tom could

  only hope those homes would be as invulnerable as their

  inhabitants believed from the eventual attacks of the Plated

  Polk.

  The last of the lemurs stared at them curiously while her

  companion owl kicked impatiently at the ground. The sun had

  peeked over the eastern crags and those great eyes were

  three-quarters closed in half sleep.

  "There's one tiling I'd like to know. How do you warmlanders

  expect to penetrate Cugluch?"

  "Disguise," Clothahump told her confidently.

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  "You do not look much like Plated Folk," replied the

  lemur doubtfully.

  Clothahump shook a finger at her, spoke knowingly. "The

  greatest disguise is assurance. We will be protected because

  no Plated One would believe our presence. And where

  assurance operates, magic is not far behind."

  The lemur shrugged. "I think you are all fools, brave

  fools, and soon-to-be-dead fools. But we will show the

  Weavers the path they require and you the path to your

  Deaths." She looked upward. "Your guides come."

  .Two owls descended to join them. One motioned to the

  waiting Ananthos. The Weaver trembled slightly as he made

  his farewells.

  "we shall meet at the gate," he told them. "that is, if I

  survive this journey, i am not afraid of heights, but I have

  never been in a high place where i could not break a fall by

  attaching silk to some solid object, you cannot spin from a

  cloud."

  He climbed on the owl's back, waved legs at them. The

  owl took a few steps, flapping mighty wings, and then soared

  into the air of morning. He wore dark shades to protect him

  from the sunlight.

  They watched until the wings became a black line on the

  horizon. Then the pair faded even from Caz's view.

  The small hoot owl stood muttering to herself nearby. Her

  kilt was black, purple, and yellow. "I'm Imanooo," she

  informed them brusquely. "Let's get on with this. I'll point

  you the way for two days, but that's all. Then you're on

  your own."

  The remaining lemur mounted his saddle. "I still think

  you're all fools, but," he smiled broadly, "many a brave fool

  has succeeded where a cautious genius has failed. Fly well."

  He saluted with an arm wave as he and his friend rose

  skyward.

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  Alone in their cold-weather garb, the travelers watched

  until the last pairing vanished into the hematite. Then Imanooo

  rose and started off to the south, and they followed.

  The path where there was no path carried them steadily

  lower. The unvarying downhill hike was a welcome change

  from the tortuous march to Ironcloud. The day after Imanooo

  left them they began to discard their heavy clothing. Soon

  they were down among trees and bushes, and snow was only

  a fading memory.

  Jon-Tom slowed his pace to stay alongside Clothahump.

  The wizard was in excellent spirits and showed no ill effects

  from the past weeks of marching.

  "Sir?"

  "Yes, my boy?" Eyes looked up at him through the thick

  glasses. Abruptly Jon-Tom felt uncomfortable. It had seemed

  so simple a while ago when he'd thought of it, a mere

  question. Now it fought to hide in his throat.

  "Well, sir," he finally got out, "among my people there's

  a certain mental condition."

  "Go on, boy."

  "It has a common name. It's called a death wish."

  "That's interesting," said Clothahump thoughtfully. "I

  presume it refers to someone who wishes to die."

  Jon-Tom nodded. ' 'Sometimes the person isn't aware of it

  himself and it has to be pointed out to him by another. Even

  then he may not believe it."

  They walked on a while longer before he added, "Sir, no

  disrespect intended, but do you think you might have a death

  wish?"

  "On the contrary, my boy," replied the wizard, apparently

  not offended in the least, "I have a life wish. I'm only putting

  myself into danger to preserve life for others. That hardly
r />   means I want to relinquish my own."

  "I know, sir, but it seems to me that you've taken us from

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  one danger to another only to take successively bigger risks.

  In other words, the more we survive, the more you seem to

  want to chance death."

  "A valid contention based solely on the evidence and your

  personal interpretation of it," said Clothahump. "You ignore

  one thing: I wish to survive and live as much as any of you."

  "Can you be certain of that, sir? After all, you've already

  lived more than twice a normal human lifetime, a much fuller

  life than any of the rest of us." He gestured at the others.

  "Would it pain you so much to die?"

  "I follow your reasoning, my boy. You're saying that I am

  willing to risk death because I've already had a reasonable

  life and therefore have less than you to lose."

  Jon-Tom didn't reply.

  "My boy, you haven't lived long enough to understand

  life. Believe me, it is more precious to me now because I

  have less of it. I guard every day jealously because I know it

  may be my last. I don't have less to lose than you: I have

  more to lose."

  "I just wanted to be sure, sir."

  "Of what? The reasons for my decisions? You can be, boy.

  They are founded upon a single motivation: the need to

  prevent the Plated Masses from annihilating civilization.

  Even if I did want to die, I would not do so until I had

  expended every bit of energy in my body to prevent that

  conflagration from destroying the warmlands. I might kill

  myself if I suffered from the aberration you suggest, but only

  after I'd saved everyone else."

  "That's good to hear, sir." Jon-Tom felt considerably

  relieved.

  "There is one thing that has been troubling me a little,

  however."

  "What's that, sir?"

  "Well, it's most peculiar." The wizard looked up at him.

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  "But you see, I'm not at all certain that I remember the

  formula for preparing our disguises."

  Jon-Tom hesitated, frowned. "Surely we can't enter Cugluch

  without them, sir?"

  "Of course not," agreed Clothahump cheerfully. "I sug-

  gest therefore that you consider some appropriate spellsongs.

  You have seen one of the Plated Folk. That is what we must

  endeavor to look like."

  "I don't know if..."

  "Try, my boy," said the wizard in a more serious tone,

  "for if you cannot think of anything and I cannot remember

  the formula, then I fear we will be forced to give up this