World Enough, and Time

by James Kahn

  “Isis,” said Josh. Isis smiled.

  “Who is that?” demanded Beauty suspiciously.

  “The Cat in the house last night. Remember? She warned us about Jarl’s men, in the windmill.”

  “Well, why is she here?”

  Isis opened her strange eyes wide. “Noooo. Howwww?” she purred.

  “Yes, and how, indeed?” the Centaur continued.

  “She must have picked up our scent,” said Josh. “We’re not really all that far from the brothel, after the big circle we made.”

  “Surrrrre,” smiled Isis. She stood up, padded over to Josh, leaned her back against his leg, and purred.

  Beauty shook his head. “Dumb animals just seem to love you.”

  Whereupon Isis arched her back, fluffed up to twice her size in fur, and hissed viciously at the Centaur. Beauty raised his eyebrows. Isis quieted down a bit, looked sulky, and growled, “We’rrrrrre nooooo foo-ooooolllll.”

  “Got a bit of Human blood in her, I’ll wager,” Beauty laughed. Then, more seriously: “I do not like how easily she found us, though. Or how silently she crept.”

  “Why did you come?” Josh asked the little creature.

  Isis looked down, then up. “We’rrre yourrrr girrrrl,” she pouted. She flopped over on her back, played wildly with Joshua’s bootstring for a few seconds, then rolled onto her side, resting her paw lightly on his toe.

  The two hunters laughed. Josh stooped down and scratched the Cat’s belly furiously. She had a delicious spasm around his hand, brought her hind legs up and kicked wildly at his arm, bit him on the back of the wrist, jumped away, then stood calmly preening herself as if nothing had happened.

  Beauty pawed the ground. “Your following is faithful, Joshua. But we must go.”

  Isis stopped her preening. “Nooooooo,” she mooned.

  “We’ve got to go, Fur-face,” explained Josh. “We’re after the Vampire whose room you were in last night.”

  Isis opened her eyes wide, then nodded knowingly. “Ohhhhh,” she purred.

  Beauty pricked up his ears. Josh said, “Why, you know something about them? You know where they went?”

  The Cat nodded discreetly. “Knowwww wherrrr-rre.”

  “We are not taking a Cat on a hunt,” warned Beauty.

  “But she may know something,” Josh considered. “And she already helped us at the brothel, and she found us here, so she’s obviously got a good nose. Besides, she’s sneaky. I think that may come in handy.”

  Beauty looked skeptical. “It will be dangerous, little Cat. Are you ready for that?”

  “Surrrre,” she swaggered, strutting over the leafy dirt between them.

  “It would be easier for you back at the brothel,” added Josh.

  She raised her eyebrows, turned her head to the side, and spoke, as if to the rock that lay in the path, “We’rrrrre borrrrred.”

  “And you know which way the Vampire is headed?” pressed the Centaur.

  She shrugged a Yes, as if being asked to repeat herself didn’t deserve further comment.

  “Then let’s go,” smiled Josh.

  Isis grinned and leapt up on Joshua’s chest. Involuntarily his hands came up and held her there. She looked up, hissed in a low, sultry voice, “Kissss,” and licked his lower lip once. Then she leapt down, ran ten yards into the forest, stopped, turned around, looked at them and drew open her eyes, her pupils dilated with dark excitement. Josh and Beauty stared into the subtle strangeness of her black Cat face, and realized at the same moment that staring back at them were black round pupils in blue round irises balanced between curving eyelids with black eyelashes; eyes that were not Cat-eyes; but were Human.

  The corners of her mouth pulled back, and she hissed: “Yesssss.” Then she turned and ran, Cat-fast into the forest, and Josh and Beauty ran after her.

  “You there, what are you doing?” the Vampire demanded. He had long black hair, and his name was Bal.

  Dicey shook her head bleakly. She was too frightened to speak. Bal strode over to where she sat, pulled her roughly off the floor of the cave. No one else moved. Rose stood still as earth a few feet away, holding a rock behind her: it was in her mind to bash the Vampire’s head in if it looked like he was going to hurt Dicey.

  Bal looked at the ground where the young girl had been sitting. He saw she’d found a piece of chalk, and had been writing a sentence over and over on the stone. He read aloud: “WORDS SAVE US. WE ARE FREE.” He laughed, tore the chalk from Dicey’s trembling hand and inserted his own block letters in the top line of her writing, so it now read: WORDS ENSLAVE US. WE SCARED. FREEDOM IS AN ILLUSION. He laughed again, turned on his heel, and walked back among the milling Vampires.

  Rose moved close to Dicey. “It’s okay, it’s over now,” Rose whispered; but Dicey couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t tear her eyes off the markings on the floor, the way Bal had twisted her words.

  Bal was shouting orders to the assembled creatures now. A Griffin stood at the Vampire’s side, sharpening his broken beak on a stone. “All right,” Bal called, “time to move out. Get the prisoners moving, seven in a cart. Be quick about it there, Ice take you. We split up at South-marsh and rendezvous at the other side of the Forest. Step lively, there, you bloat. Here, Uli, give that Accident a hand.”

  Harshly, the Accidents and Vampires began herding the Humans into the covered tumbrils. Some of the Vampires exchanged words in the high-frequency beeps they used only when under stress, or very excited. These sounds were inaudible to most other creatures, but not insensible: they caused fear and distraction. Even a sluggish Accident would step lively to get out of range of the signals.

  The dispersal continued. Rose held on tightly to Dicey and Ollie, to keep them together in the confusion.

  Dicey couldn’t stop shivering.

  The woods were lovely, dark and brief. The three hunters left them quickly, and continued mostly east, if a bit north.

  The area was hilly, covered with a thick brown-purple heather that scratched their legs but had a wonderful spring smell. An exaltation of larks passed at one point, flying west to east. A good omen. Vernal flowers tested the air, and the breeze was a gentle laughter. All in all, a good day for journeying.

  And nobody loved an adventure better than Isis. She was positively exhilarated. She’d race ahead through brier and short grass, outdistancing the other two by a hundred yards. Then something would catch her eye, some movement or vapor, and she’d hunker down and stare intensely at the occult perception, and then her back legs would start to rev up; and then she’d pounce—have it out with the bramble or grasshopper or molecule she’d focused on—and then Josh and Beauty would catch up, and Isis would run ahead.

  Occasionally they passed a totem, or a fetish—a pile of bones, a mask of feathers—constructed by some local shaman to ward off passing evil. These affected Isis in strange ways. Some she would approach cautiously, on tiptoe, and sniff all around for minutes; some she ignored entirely; one she hissed at, attacked, and ran away from; one she pranced up to as if she’d been expecting it, and unceremoniously urinated on it. Josh and Beauty treated them all with equal disinterest—the only significance to them of such signs lay in their state of disrepair, which reflected how long it had been since interested locals had been around.

  They crossed a great plain, next, where craters pocked the land. Many battles in many wars had been fought in this area between the sea and the Forest of Accidents. These large holes that they passed were scores of years old, for they were smooth and variably shallow, and filled with soft yellow grass.

  At the end of the plain they came to a rise, which they climbed easily. It was topped by a plateau—absolutely flat, hard, and gray—upon which they stood and rested a minute. The plateau was shaped like a huge table, perhaps fifty feet wide and extending one hundred fifty feet long, where it crumbled into dirt at each end. It afforded a grand view of the plains they’d just left and the valleys beyond.

  At one end of the long
table of rock was a small square hut of rusted steel, chipped paint, broken glass. They walked up to it and stared inside. Empty. Beside it was a mound of sun-bleached bones. Atop the door of the hut was a series of strange white markings on a faded green board. The travelers stared at the marks a few moments. Then Beauty turned to Josh and said, “Scribery.” Josh nodded. Beauty went on: “What is its meaning?”

  Josh stared a moment longer, then answered. “It says Toll booth.’”

  Beauty furrowed his brow and tilted his head. “But what is the meaning?” he repeated.

  Joshua pursed his lips. “I think it means this was a road once.”

  Beauty snorted. “It seems a lot of effort was expended to go a short way.”

  Josh nodded. Suddenly Isis said, “Morrrre,” and pointed down the hill. Josh and Beauty followed the direction of her paw, and saw, in the valley, three or four hundred yards distant, two tiny figures pulling a cart. In an instant Beauty was running at a full lope, and Josh not far behind.

  When they were a hundred yards short, they saw the two creatures look up, shout, break away from the cart, and begin running. Beauty galloped down and headed them off, his bow taut. Joshua covered the creatures’ retreat. Everyone stopped.

  It was not the Vampire and the Griffin. It was an Elf and a Rool, and they quivered with fear. Joshua walked over to the cart they’d been pulling, and looked inside: dishes, flowers, a rocking chair, colored fabrics. He walked back as the Elf was saying, in a voice that cracked, “Are you going to kill us?” The Rool was tall and thin, covered in soft amber fur; he wouldn’t open his eyes.

  Beauty lowered his bow. Josh relaxed. “No, we won’t kill you,” he said. “How are you called?” asked Beauty. The Elf seemed to relax a little. He was only two feet tall, but wore high-heeled boots to try to look larger. “I am Fofkin,” he said. “This is my friend, Rool.” Rool kept his eyes closed. Rools were all named Rool, because nobody could tell them apart—not even other Rools, it was said.

  “You gave us a wicked scare,” Fofkin went on. “Our people are taken by demons, our home is sacked. We run all day and mourn all night.”

  “Rooooool,” cooed Rool, like a wounded dove. His eyes stayed closed.

  “We beg your pardon,” Beauty bowed sincerely. “We have lost our own, and seek them now.”

  “What manner of creatures did this to you?” asked Josh. “Was it a Vampire and a Griffin?”

  Fofkin jumped a foot in the air and sat in the grass.

  “A Vampire, yes. He was in charge. But no Griffin. Three others. A big Lizard, a Sphinx, and a Faceless One.” He shuddered. “The Sphinx used to live right up there, in that little shack up on the flats. Used to eat anybody who wandered by, but he never bothered anyone down in the valley before. Must’ve been the Vampire put him up to it. Poor Mary.”

  The Rool curled up into a big ball of fur and rolled over next to Fofkin. The little Elf petted him tenderly.

  “Your people,” said Beauty. “Are they also Elves and Rools?”

  Fofkin shook his head. “Humans, every one. Kidnapped. Every one drug off and stuck in a big closed-cart and pulled away. Poor Mary.” A tear filled his eye and dawdled down his cheek.

  “Rool,” came the muffled sound from inside the ball of fur.

  “Which way were they headed?” Josh asked softly.

  “South,” said the Elf.

  Isis strolled up, sat down, and began licking her belly. Joshua looked down at her. “You still know where you’re taking us?” he demanded.

  “Surrre.”

  There was a faint humming above them, and Josh looked up to see the red-and-gold Flutterby hovering excitedly over their heads. Isis leapt straight up, six feet in the air from a sitting position, took a swipe with her paw, and almost bagged the Flutterby with one blow. As she landed on her feet in a crouch, Josh swatted her backside with the flat of his hand. “You leave that Flutterby alone,” he scolded. Isis looked unconvinced, half ready to spring again. The Flutterby gained altitude.

  Beauty laughed. “Dissent among your minions,” he chortled, and Joshua gave him a dirty look. The Flutterby settled on Josh’s shoulder.

  “Looks like it’s made up its mind to follow us,” Josh fretted. “I guess we’ll have to call it something.” The Flutterby smiled demurely and hummed.

  “How about Humbelly?” suggested Beauty. Isis kept a dour eye fixed on the gentle bug.

  “Humbelly it is,” agreed Josh, and tossed the creature back into the air, where it fluttered giddily all around.

  They bid good journey to Fofkin and Rool, wished them well, and set off once more east, in the direction Isis led them. Humbelly bobbed playfully over Joshua’s head, and then over Isis’. Isis swatted and jumped at the dancing wings, but to no avail, until she finally just purred “Whorrrre” under her breath, and ignored the silly creature entirely.

  Once, around midafternoon, they saw a battle in a dale off to the northeast—fifty-odd creatures fighting, hand to hand on a bloody field. It looked like some of Jarl’s Guard against an unknown faction. Josh was tempted to stop, to see what was what; but Beauty just shook his head and kept walking: whatever it was, it wasn’t for them.

  In the early evening they came upon the tracks. Wheel tracks, from a heavy cart, mingled with the foot and claw prints of the animals they wanted. Isis almost touched her nose to one of the prints, sniffing intently at its meaning. Finally she lifted her eyes to Joshua’s, and nodded her head. “Herrrrre,” she said.

  They followed the trail due east for several miles. At the edge of a pine grove, the tracks were joined by those of another cart, and other animals. Here they all turned southeast for a while, until they were met by still a third set of wheels, and five more animals.

  The terrain was becoming rocky now, and it was increasingly difficult to distinguish whose prints were whose. In addition, some tracks would disappear, where an animal had flown away; some walked off; some joined up. It was a confusing melee. At the north rim of a quarry still almost a mile from the Forest of Accidents, the three wagons split in three different directions; and despite intensive sniffing and study by Isis, Josh, and Beauty, it was impossible to tell which set of tracks belonged to the cart carrying Rose and Dicey.

  After much debate, they decided to follow the trail going east for a ways, at least until they could decipher more about the animals in that group. They hadn’t gone more than a half-mile, though, past some ancient broken tombstones, when they saw her.

  Lying, still and pale behind a furze bush, was a figure. They approached slowly and stared. It was the nude figure of a young woman. Smooth, red-haired, vulnerable, beautiful. Lifeless. Josh walked up to her and felt for a pulse.

  “Nothing. Cold as earth,” he said. Isis smelled the woman’s foot and backed off.

  Joshua looked at the motionless face. She couldn’t have been more than twenty, yet there was something about the face that bespoke age; reason; depth. It was more than the distance and darkness that color the mask of death, it was more than the lure of amnesiac sleep; it was subtler, it was …

  She opened her eyes. “Help me,” she whispered.

  Isis laid her ears back, Beauty shuffled in the dust. Josh picked the woman’s head up off the ground, and as his fingers cupped the back of her scalp, he felt a slow trickle of oily liquid oozing out a small nozzle that was almost flush with the skin.

  “You’re not Human,” he muttered in surprise.

  “I’m Neuroman,” she whispered. “Help me.”

  “How?” he asked.

  “The quarry back there,” she gasped. “At the bottom of the north slope, under a slab of white granite with a red vein in the shape of a J. You know what a J is?”

  Joshua hesitated, then nodded. “I can read,” he said. In some places, people were burned for being able to read.

  “There’s a container there.” She faltered, closed her eyes. “Bring it to me.”

  Josh got up and ran back to the quarry, slid down the north grade
, and easily found the J-veined rock. Under it was a steel pint can. Stenciled on the can in blue and gold paint was the word HEMOLUBE. And then in small black letters underneath it: GRADE AA, U.S.P.

  Josh stuck the can in his belt and scrambled back up. He sprinted over to the supine figure. Isis sat on her haunches, watching. Beauty was kneeling down, feeling the woman’s forehead. “Cold and dry,” he said. Humbelly sat in the grass at a distance, wings moving slowly up and down.

  Josh pulled out the can. The woman seemed to be aware of his return, and opened her eyes. She said in a low voice: “Roll me over. Fill me up.”

  Josh rolled her on her belly, parted her hair. On the very back of her head, a small valve was open, the size of a fingernail. There was a slightly smaller spigot on the can. Josh punctured this with the point of his knife and carefully poured the viscous red fluid from the can into the hole in the back of the head of the prone figure. When the can was empty, Josh closed the head-valve with a snap.

  The figure lay still for sixty seconds, during which period Josh once again had the odd physical sensation that time had stopped, or at least slowed down considerably. Suddenly the woman turned over and sat upright.

  “I’m alive,” she said, simply.

  Joshua took a step back. “Who are you?” he said.

  “My name is Jasmine.” Pause. “I owe you my life.”

  “You don’t owe me anything. I do what I do.” She had a feeling, and smiled.

  Beauty interrupted softly. “Who did this to you?”

  She shivered. “A beautiful, long-haired Vampire, and a Griffin.”

  Beauty stiffened in tense satisfaction. “Whyyyyy?” whined Isis.

  “They thought I was Human,” said Jasmine sadly. “The others were. They left me for dead when they found out I wasn’t.”

  “What others?” Josh stepped forward.

  “Six others, in a carriage, tied together. All Humans.” She stopped. “Were they your people?”

  “Most likely,” Josh breathed, eyes ahead.

  “Well, then,” said Jasmine, standing up, “we must find them.”