“That would be true,” she admitted, “but men are occasionally lured there in collusion with sirens and other allies of the sea. They usually act as expected, waking up on an island of women, and the Circeans let them. In that way the population is renewed.”
“Sounds like a fun place to be shipwrecked,” he murmured.
“Think you so? I said it was an enchanted isle. After the people are done with the men, the enchantment is brought into play. A piece of sacred wood, like this, is brought out, and the man is touched so.” She touched him with the stick. “Then the man is useful in other ways, and Circe is all female once more.”
He felt suddenly dizzy and dropped to all fours. “Hey!
What ?” he exclaimed, but his talk turned into an outlandish bellow.
She stepped back and looked at him with satisfaction. “I am from that island,” she told him. “Exiled for reasons that do not concern anyone but me. Eventually I came here with my enchanted wand and built this place from barren fields. I transform few, for sorcerers such as your Ruddygore could do as they willed with me. But you owe me your life. And you have no future here, as we both agreed. So now you are what you reminded me of the moment I saw you. You are my new bull, bound by my powers to do my bidding and bound, too, to the limits of my land. Your power and your horns will guard the land and herds from unseen interlopers, and you will keep my cows in milk. It’s not so much to ask. No petty magic or sprites need you fear ever again, for you are under my protection.” With that she turned and went back into her house, leaving him there.
Vision and balance cleared in a bit, and he found what she said was impossibly true. He could turn his massive head enough to see his huge black body, and he could wag his barely seen tail. His vision, he discovered, was poor after twenty feet or so, things started to blur and he was totally color blind, but his powers of hearing and smell were increased tremendously.
He turned and looked back at the house, but knew he could never fit through that door in any case. He needed time to think, he decided, and wandered off toward the fields where the cows were grazing, following scent? Yes, that seemed to be it.
Almost without thinking, he found himself lowering his massive head and munching the tall grass, which tasted extremely good. But all he could think of was that he’d been suckered again.
He sulked most of the afternoon, munching grass and feeling rotten, and wandered across the farm without really realizing it. He was both shocked and startled late in the day to hear somebody addressing him.
“So you’re the new bully boy,” a thin, reedy, male voice said casually. “Welcome to the club.”
His massive head came up, and he looked around with all the concentration his weak eyes could muster but saw no one.
“Not there, bright eyes,” came the voice. “Down here. And watch where you’re stepping!”
He looked down and saw in front of him a handsome, strutting rooster.
“So what d’ya want, big boy? A bear?”
“But you’re a rooster!” he exclaimed in a deep series of snorts and grunts.
“And you’re a bull. You wanna make something of it?”
“But you can talk!”
“To you, anyway,” the rooster admitted. “And to any of the other former men who are around here. Maybe a couple of dozen. The rest are real animals.”
He hadn’t considered this. Just the opportunity for two way communication excited him. “I’m Joe. How long have you been here?”
“Macore’s the name,” the rooster responded. “Been here forever, it seems. You lose your sense of time, though. Don’t much matter, anyway. We’re all stuck here.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. “Nobody ever tries to escape?”
The rooster crowed derisively. “Escape? Man, you’re bound to this land by that stick she’s got. No need for fences. It’s like hitting a stone wall.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Joe thought a moment. “Sayyou say it’s the stick that does it?”
“Yep. From her native island. She never is without it.”
His mind was suddenly racing with even this tiny glimmer of hope. “But surely she sleeps?”
“Oh, sure. Oh, I see where you’re headed. You figure to swipe the stick, maybe hide it or break it up, right?”
“Something like that,” he admitted.
“Well, don’t think it hasn’t been thought of before. You want to risk her catching you and turning you into a snail or worm or something, that’s fine with me. Bein’ a rooster maybe ain’t so much, but it’s lot better than the alternatives.”
“I wonder. I wonder if everybody’s as content as you are to be an animal slave for the rest of his life.”
“Hey! Wait a minute! Now, don’t get me wrong. If there was a real chance, I’d grab it for sure. But take it all the way.
Say we snatch the stick and get away with it. Her hold is gone.
We can leave. Hooray! But you’ll still be a bull and I’ll still be a rooster. The spell’s worked through the charm, as with all spells. It will hold even if she don’t have the stick and without the stick not even she could undo it. Think about it.
You’d be steaks in the Machang markets before long, and I’d be chicken salad. Even if we escaped that, what kind of life would it be? Worse off than here, I’d say. Now do you see why nobody tries?”
Joe nodded, but didn’t really accept it all. Something the woman had said kept rattling around in the back of his head, something he couldn’t quite pin down.
“You all right?” Macore asked, concerned about the silence.
“I know it’s tough to accept, but “
“Quiet! I’m trying to think!” he snapped. Something she had said... Yeah! That was it!
“I transform few, for sorcerers such as your Ruddygore could do as they willed with me...”
“How’s that?” the rooster asked, sounding concerned.
“Ruddygore! Sure! You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?”
“Oh, sure. Everybody has, I guess. One of the most powerful sorcerers in the world, it’s said. Also nuttier than a squirrel’s hoard, by all accounts.”
“I think you’re right on both counts. But what she said, just after she got me, was that Ruddygore was tremendously more powerful than she. She’s scared of him. Don’t you see? If Ruddygore personally took over, he could break her spell in a minute. He could restore us and protect us from her!”
Macore thought it over. “I dunno. Maybe you’re right. But what good does that do us? These necromancers don’t give one small damn about folks like us.”
“This one cares about me, for some reason,” Joe said, hope returning full within him, and with it a sense of self confidence.
“He suckered me from another world to this one, gave me a new body, then trained, me with the best trainers around. If I could get to him and make him know it was me, he’d change me back for sure. And as long as he broke the one spell, he’d do it for everybody. I think I know him well enough to promise that.”
The rooster looked and sounded interested. “So Ruddygore’s a buddy, huh? How do I know you’re not just putting me on?”
Joe sighed. “The best I can do is tell you the whole story,”
And he proceeded to do so.
The rooster listened attentively, then finally said, “Well, I believe you, for what this’s worth. But I’m not the one you got to convince. I couldn’t possibly lift that stick, even though I could get into the house, and you wouldn’t fit through the door. Uh uh. We need help. I think it’s time you met the rest of the boys.”
The rest of the boys proved to be a couple of magnificent looking stallions, two pigs, a gander, four oxen, a ram, and a billy goat. They were harder to convince than Macore had been.
Many had been there so long they barely remembered being anything else, and a strong undercurrent of fear of their mistress ran through all of them. In the past, there had been examples made that several remembered clearly. There wer
e a lot of unpleasant things the Circean could turn somebody into, and Joe heard the whole catalog.
“It’s not a bad life we have here,” argued Posti, one of the horses, “Plenty to eat. Security. An easy job.”
Joe just couldn’t see it. “Is that all being a man meant to you? I mean, really, is that all life means to you? Agh! Better she turned you into a carrot! Then you wouldn’t even have to think!”
“If you wasn’t so damned big and mean lookin’, bull, I’d tear you apart for that,” Posti shot back. “What does anybody want outta life ‘cept food, sex, and security?” There were several murmurs of agreement.
“If that’s all being alive means, then you are better off here,” Joe told them. “If being human means something more maybe doing some great thing, or maybe being a part of some great enterprise then you’re wrong. Maybe love, kids, learning something new, and teaching it to others count for something, too, though.”
“Listen, buddy,” Houma the goat broke in, sounding more sheepish than goatish, “what you say may be true for you, but not for most of us. I mean, how many people ever can do them great things you talk about? Most of us are just plain, simple folk. Me, I was stuck on a farm workin’ my ass off for some duke I never even seen, roamed off young to a gal who looked worse than Grogha here “ He meant one of the pigs. “and saddled with a half dozen kids, all of which looked like her and acted like demons. Hell, wanderin’ on this place one day was pretty good luck for me.”
Joe looked from one to the other, understanding the problem while not being able to understand fully how people could be like that. He was conscious, though, that he was losing ground in the debate and had little to offer. What kind of men were these, who’d rather stay draft animals? He looked at Grogha the pig. “You, too, hog? You like your life here?”
“It’s not bad,” Grogha grunted. “Not like what you people seem to think it is.”
It was Macore who came to Joe’s rescue a little. “I can give you a couple of arguments for going along with the bull here,” he said. “The best reason, Grogha, is how you’d like your life if the old bag got a sudden yen for pork chops.”
The entire group gave a shocked gasp.
“Yeah,”the rooster persisted. “Pork chops. Bacon. Sausage.
That’s what you’ll wind up, you know, when you’re too old to produce the little piglets. Same goes for me. I don’t like being somebody’s chicken dinner. How long do we live in this form? A few years for me at best. Maybe five, six for pigs.
Longer for horses and oxen, shorter for sheep and goats, but not very long. How long we been here? Anybody really know?”
“Ten or fifteen years is fine with me,” the stubborn Posti responded. “How long was I gonna live back home?”
“Yeah, but you been here the longest, I think,” a hesitant sounding Houma said thoughtfully. “How long has it been, Posti? You ain’t as young as you used to be, I know that.”
Mentally thanking Macore for the opening, Joe pressed the advantage while it held. “Yeah, Posti. And what happens if you break a leg? All you got to do is make one slip, break down once, and you’re nothing but several hundred pounds of dog food.”
“Hey! Now wait a minute!” the horse responded defensively, but neither Joe nor Macore was willing to let him off the hook.
“Yeah,” the rooster pressed. “What happens to a man with a broken leg? You get an adept in the healer’s art, rest a couple of weeks, and you got it. And how old might you grow? To sit around the alehouses and swap the old yams and be the object of respect or to that certain fate our new friend here predicts if you remain the same? As for me, I do not look forward to my certain slaughter, but even if, as a man, I were then to die, I would rather die a man than live this kind of life.”
As with any group of basically pedestrian, unimaginative minds, sentiment shifted with the latest decent argument. Now heads were nodding in favor of Macore’s words. Joe decided not to let anybody else swing things the other way.
“A vote!” he called. “Let’s have a vote! Those with us will try it. Those not with us can go back to their ways for a while, until fate takes them, or until they are overrun and enslaved by the Dark Baron’s forces because they were not there to fight him like men!”
That last, said in the heat of passion, shocked them a little more. He’d forgotten how out of touch they’d be and he hoped he hadn’t gone too far. Macore’s rooster head cocked and looked at him a bit dubiously, but there was nothing to be done. “Yes,” the rooster agreed. “Let us vote now. In turn, I will call your names and you tell me aye or nay.”
“I think” Posti began, but Macore cut him off by starting the roll call. The early vote was clearly for escape, but beginning with Posti it seemed to go the other way. In the end, it was Joe, Macore, Grogha, Houma, and the other horse, whose name was Dacaro, who voted to escape. The others, the majority of the group, decided against.
“Very well,” Macore told the dissenters. “Go back to your stables and fields and vegetate. We will be gone soon.”
“Or turned to maggots,” one of the oxen snorted. Slowly the nay votes ‘drifted away into the gathering darkness.
Macore sighed. “Okay. Sorry if I have problems, but I have no night vision at all. I make it five of us. We’ll need a plan.”
Joe looked at the odd barnyard assortment. “I’d say our roles are pretty clear. Macore, you absolutely guarantee we can get off this farm if she doesn’t have the stick?”
“If she doesn’t have ownership, then yes,” the rooster assured him. “That means it must be in the possession of one of us or hidden where only we, not she, know about it.”
“I have no intention of chancing her getting it back again,”
Joe said flatly. “Who knows what she might do? So once we have it, I’ll take the stick. But I can’t get inside her house to get it. Our friends the pig and the goat must be the actual burglars.”
“I figured something like that,” Grogha grumped. “Hell, she’s a light sleeper. She’s lasted a long time. Our hooves will clatter on that stone floor of hers.”
“Then you must go silently and slowly,” Joe told them.
“But once one of you has the stick securely in your mouth, both run like hell. I’ll be waiting outside and I’ll grab it. Then we all start running.”
“Damn! Wish I could see in this,” Macore swore in frustration. “Well, let’s work it out as best we can. First the burglary, then the getaway. We can’t afford to get separated once we’re clear of here.”
“Then let’s get to details,” Joe responded anxiously.
“When do you want to do this?” Houma asked uneasily.
“Frankly, I’d like to do it right now,” Joe told him, “but none of us have had any rest and we’d better be at our best for this. There’s no reason for waiting, though. There’s just as much chance of getting caught if we rehearse it as if we do it.
I’d say tomorrow, at mid eve, about halfway through her sleep.
Macore you seem to know a lot of her habits. When does she usually go to bed?”
“She’s asleep now,” the rooster told the bull. “She eats her meal shortly after sunset, makes a final check of the outbuildings, then turns in. There’s one help, too she snores.”
“How do you know so much?” the goat asked.
Macore laughed. “I been dreaming of this for a long, long time. But I’m not strong enough to lift that stick, and no good at night. Believe me, though I’ve worked it out again and again...”
The company gathered in the dark away from the house about an hour after moonrise. Joe didn’t like the clear, moonlit night much it would make them very easy to spot but Macore liked it just fine. Although his vision was bad, there was light enough for him at least to see what was going on.
They were surprised to find an addition to the night’s work, Posti, the leader of the opposition. “I just keep dreamin’ and dreamin’ about dogs,” he grumbled. “Besides, if you pull this off, it migh
t get lonesome around here.”
“Glad to have you,” Macore said, “but there’s little for you to do. Just stand out here with Joe and Dacaro and be ready to run interference if you get the chance.”
“When I get the stick, run like hell in any direction except the one I take until you’re out of sight, then double back to the west gate.” Joe looked around, his vision not so hot, either.
Finally he saw a small stick actually the broken handle of a shovel or something similar. “Hey! There’s a thought. Find one more like this. Then all three of us tearing off will have something in our mouth. She won’t know which one to chase.”
They scouted around and finally found an old piece offence.
Joe sighed, looked at the company, said, “All right we all know what we’re going to do. If we do it, we’re free and clear.
If not, well, I’d rather try than sit and say I never did.”
They moved slowly, singly or by twos, to the cottage. All was dark inside, and they could hear that Macore had spoken the truth when he said she snored, although it was soft and low and would not mask much in the way of sounds.
Macore perched on Joe’s back. “I can’t get far alone and I don’t want to miss this,” he explained. Joe just nodded, then turned to the two smallest members of the team.
Grogha and Houma had been very hesitant about this from the start; but once they had made up their minds, there was no second guessing.
“I figured we needed a small one or two,” Macore explained to Joe. “That’s why I got the roll call in that order. The sure ones first, then Grogha and, finally, Houma. I figured, if it looked at first like everybody was going to make the break, Houma’d come in. When it turned out different, he was too stubborn and too proud to back down.”
“I never could have gotten this far without you, Macore. I owe you one,” Joe told him.
“Maybe,” Macore replied, almost to himself. “But maybe I owe you one, Joe.”
The pig and the goat had already disappeared inside the house.
The fact was that the witch had little to fear and so had taken few precautions. As long as the spell of her staff was on the farm, anyone could get onto the property, but never off.
The River Of Dancing Gods Page 13