The fairies exist in all humankind and are hot bound by any world or its rules, only by those rules imposed upon the race by the Creator. We were the models and the overseers in the grand design. Humans who go against their own natures— as many do for a variety of reasons, not all under their control— suffer all the more for it. For, you see, that is the true curse laid upon man after Eden—that he will turn his back on supernature and will fight his own soul. In such a way do misery, unhappiness, and evil breed.
She was startled by this information and its implications. What you are saying, then, is that we are all changelings.
Yes, all. But when death comes to the mortal and frees the soul, and that soul is purged of its sin, it lives apart from us, within the Sea of Dreams, in a world that is wholly supernatural. Fairies, being of the world, do not have an afterlife. The price is paid—we may achieve the true balance of our natures only by remaining alive until the end of all time, when Creation shall be undone. That is Our curse for being lax and allowing the chief Rebel to slip unnoticed into Eden. That is the curse you now share, a fair exchange for shedding your mortality. But a cleansing is needed to make you truly of faerie and allow your full supernature to come out. To do that, you must surrender to me.
Marge understood now the logic of it all, understood the nature of the fairies and the soul as few had understood before her, yet she could not bring herself to yield. Most of her wanted what was offered, but there was still that comer of her that was afraid, that feared tampering with her mind as this world had tampered with her body.
Or, to put it another way, the goddess of the volcano added, if you don't yield to me, you'll swim around in this hot muck, frying your little buns off for all eternity. For emphasis, the pain began, and slowly increased.
A Kauri goddess might be somewhat intellectual, but she was the mold of the race and not much more patient than her children. The vision, the sensation, of the classical Hell of Marge's Christian upbringing was a really persuasive argument. As the pain continued to rise, she could stand it no longer. All right! Take me! her mind screamed.
The pain ceased, and the entity, whatever it was, assumed complete control. Marge was aware and fully conscious, yet not in control of even her own thoughts. Her memory was triggered and read out in reverse order, every moment of her past flowing from her and into the creature. Her mind was incapable of digesting the minutiae that were stored in her own brain, and she tended to seize upon and partially relive only brief scenes of major events.
She was outside the volcano. She was walking through the forest. She was leaving Joe. She was at the entry station, now back at Terindell, then in the Glen Dinig. In fits and starts and in a sort of backward review, she relived the great battle, the Land of the Djinn, the fight for the Lamp, and the battle at the pass. Backward, ever backward.
She crossed the Sea of Dreams once more and found herself totally shorn of hope, direction, or self-interest, walking along a lonely west Texas road.
His face was a furious red with anger, hatred, and frustration, and he was beating her repeatedly, all the while shouting, What the hell good are you? Can't even make a damned kid in this Godforsaken hellhole!
I, Marge, take thee, Roger...
I'm sorry, but less kids means less teachers and lower budgets. You know how it is. Now if you'd been in math or science...
She stood on the steps outside the administration building, still in cap and gown, holding the diploma up to the bright, blue Texas sky. See, Momma? I did it!
Mommy! Guess what! Tommy Woodard asked me to the prom! Tommy Woodard!
It was blood! She was bleeding from there! Oh, God! Mommy!
There, there! It's just a skinned knee. Mommy'll put a little stuff on it and lass it and make it all better ...
She didn't like playing hide-and-seek when there were boys playing. They always cheated or ganged up on the girls. Eight... nine... ten! Ready or not, here I come! She could hear the squeals of laughter and see just a comer of somebody's foot behind the bush. She ran for the hider, who, suddenly knowing she'd been spotted, broke from her hiding place and started heading for the tree base. Marge felt a thrill and whirled, trying to beat Mary Frances to the...
Sufficient, a voice said from somewhere. Freeze.
Quickly, methodically, she began to come back toward the present. All of the events were there, all the traumas, all the heartbreak, but it wasn't quite the same as it had been. It was real, it was hers, it was even totally comprehensible, but somehow it just didn't matter so much any more. The dark times that had formed her were there, all right, but the good times, the happy times, the fun times stood out. She could reach out and touch any of those dark spots at any time, but, left alone, it was the good times, the fun times, the innocent times that seemed somehow forward, filling in the empty spaces.
The goddess of the Kauri had in fact been truthful, honest, and correct. Marge understood now, understood the nature of the Kauri and the reason for it. She had recaptured it, with the goddess' help—that essence of childhood that adults could fondly and wistfully remember but never really re-experience, except vicariously through watching their own children. She realized, with a tremendous surge of excitement, that she had indeed buried the horrors of her past, even though she was still and would always be shaped by them. She was new, reborn, free...
Free!
She burst out of the top of the volcano and flew up, up into the night, with a feeling of incredible energy and joy. She spread out her arms and let her wings catch the air currents she could easily see. Not even thinking about what she was doing, or how,-she did whirls and flips and laughed and giggled at everything like a drunken flyer on a real tear. The world looked subtly different, and very, very beautiful, with every single object, every single substance, in clear focus as far as she could see; yet, unlike her earlier experience, it was also a riot of colors. She began to shift through all the levels she could see, and the world changed dramatically each time.
The colors, the rainbow of colors—why, the whole world was magic! She saw below, above, all around, the world of faerie, and it was more beautiful than she could have ever dreamed.
And now others were joining her, playing, looping around in the air. She knew them without having to think at all; her sisters, the Kauri, each radiating a subtly different magical pattern and emotional register. They greeted her, welcomed her, by drawing from her the tremendous feelings she was having, and they played, chased, showed off, and generally had a really good time themselves.
They soared together beneath the stars, protected in the glow of the Earth Mother's radiant embrace, skimming the treetops, then rising upward, ever upward, until the whole magical land was spread out before and beneath them. With no cares, no worries, they soared like superchildren, everything new, everything a wonder.
She saw the treasures of the Kauri and plucked a beautiful, gem-encrusted tiara out of the pile and crowned herself queen of the air; others scrambled for even grander headwear and challenged her reign, laughing and giggling all the while, flittering about and snatching crowns, tiaras, and all sorts of other regal stuff from one another. There were forty or fifty queens crowned that night, all self-anointed—and the same number dethroned by playful, giggling subjects with ambitions of their own.
There were toys and games and maddening puzzles, and all sorts of fun things. And never once was there hatred, malice, anger, or fear.
They plucked ripe fruits from trees and bushes and ate them, often throwing them at one another, and walked on the waters of a deep volcanic lake without sinking in. And they were all queens of this mystical, magical, happy place.
When the sun came up, turning the land a new set of colors, they went to the trees, high up and far beyond any ground dwelling things, and settled into happy, dreaming sleep. For Marge, it was a sleep filled with the happy experiences of childhood and the best and deepest sleep she had had in many long years.
The next night was more of the same. T
here was total acceptance of her by the native Kauri; like her, they could see and feel inside one another, and she was one with them. This time they ranged far, almost to the Firehills, great ridges in the earth that seemed to hiss and glow from long fissures in their sides—mountains that were at once solid and yet continually on fire.
She did wonder that they never ventured forth by day, but she was told that the brightness of the sun hurt their eyes and could actually blind them for a while. Paradoxically, the Kauri were attracted to light, or, at least, to open flames, and great fires could have a near-hypnotic effect on them. While it could not harm them, it induced an odd sort of catatonia of mind and body, and this, in turn, left them defenseless. It was a hard thing to explain, being more related to brightness than to the size or shape of the light; but, they assured her, she would know the first time she left the protection of Mohr Jerahl. That comment for the first time brought her thoughts back to Joe, who would be waiting for her only this one more night. Tomorrow he would enter Mohr Jerahl in search of her, committing the ultimate sacrilege of bringing iron into the enchanted land.
I must go to him while the dark still holds, she told them with much sadness and regret. He must not be allowed to enter here.
But you'll get rid of him and return soon enough, Coasu, one of her new friends, responded.
She thought about it. No, not right away. I think I must leave for a time, my sisters. Something pulls me that I can not explain, something that is still important. I am Kauri for a reason, and that reason pulls me away, but only for a time.
They could read her sincerity, but they could not understand it. Then we will go with you, too, Coasu said. Aislee, me, and perhaps others. If this matter is so important, then if one Kauri can help, perhaps many can help more. You are sad to leave, and one must never leave Mohr Jerahl in sadness.
Her deep affection for them and their offer reached out to them, so that no words were needed, but she shook her head. No, I am sad to leave only because I love this place and you all so much. But once I looked in the face of Hell, and I know that somehow I must help defeat it here and now. They ail knew this—the Earth Mother, Ruddygore, Huspeth.
This is getting heavy, Aislee noted, grumbling. We have nothing to do with that kind of thing.
The thought came, unbidden and from elsewhere, into Marge's mind. The Earth Mother knows. We have no dealings with the affairs of politics, but this is beyond that. All of faerie is involved in this. Ask the Earth Mother.
They knew instantly that it was not Marge who had spoken, and they became quiet and almost reverential. Marge smiled and kissed them all in turn. I'll be back, she promised them. I am a Kauri now, and a Kauri forever, until the end of time. Besides, she added, part seriously, it could be a lot of fun being a Kauri out there. She laughed. And I'll bring back a new present and let you drool all over it.
That broke the mood. Yes! Something really good! one
cried in anticipation. Make them pay well for your services! It is a Kauri tradition.
Visions of tacky plaster sculptures came into her mind and gave her a mild case of the giggles, but, she promised herself, there would be none of that here.
It was an emotional farewell, a party of sorts that got enough out of hand in the Kauri's usual anarchistic way so that she finally just slipped out on it and flew to the Bird's Breath.
Crossing the little creek and leaving Mohr Jerahl gave her a cold, eerie feeling—a feeling of being somehow cut off from a warm and friendly glow.
She flew down the river a bit, until she saw Joe's camp. Its fire was just a few glowing embers, and both the big man and the horses were fast asleep. It was easy to find him, though— the iron in the sword, deadly to her even in the early stages of her transformation here, was now a tangible and terrible, cold darkness that she would simply have to adjust to. She knew that it gave these sensations to all fairies, save only the dwarfs, whose special power it was to handle iron and its deadly magic, and in that alone was there some comfort. Although all iron threatened her, this was as close as she could come to friendly iron, and she knew Joe had been well trained and was accustomed to shielding the fairies on his side from its power.
She flittered down near the fire, just across from him, with the unnatural silence that only a fairy could have, and stood there a moment, looking at the sleeping man.
The sword began to hum softly but irritatingly. She took a single step forward and the noise became a terrible, grating sound. In that same instant Joe rolled, grabbed the sword, and was on his feet, at the ready. As with all dwarf things, Irving was far more than a mere sword of iron alloy. Now, unsheathed, it seemed almost to bum her with a cold, deadly radiation all its own, a flow that ebbed and pulsed with the humming sound.
Who are you? the big man challenged menacingly.
Put the sword away, Joe, she almost pleaded with him. It's hurting me.
He made no move to do so. How do you know my name?
It's Marge, Joe. This is the way I look now. All the Kauri look like this.
He frowned a moment. The creature was incredibly, voluptuously beautiful, but it was not reminiscent of Marge in any definitive physical feature. Can you prove it? I've had some bad experience with good-looking nymphs and sprites that didn't mean me any good. He thought a moment. What's the capital of Pennsylvania?
Oh, good grief. She sighed. I don't know. Philadelphia?
I was thinking Philadelphia, but it's really Hamsburg, he snapped back. You're just reading my mind!
She could feel his anger and suspicion flowing out of him and into her, and it was an ugly feeling indeed. She could counter it, of course, even bring him down, but the empathic projection might not have much power over that damned sword, which had a mind of its own and could protect against some spells as well. Instead she countered, Joe—what's the capital city of Missouri?
He was startled. Huh? St. Louis? She shook her head. Columbia? Kansas City?
Jefferson City, she told him. See all that proves? But I'll describe every inch of every truck stop in Ozona, Texas, for you and even describe all the damned tacky sculptures I can remember being in Ruddygore's basement.
He relaxed, and so did the sword, as his face reflected an unthreatened but incredulous feeling. Marge? Is it really you?
She nodded. Now put that damned pig-sticker away. Feed it a bone and tell it to be a good dog or something.
He sheathed the weapon, which lapsed back into silence, reading his conviction, but he still could hardly believe it. He walked over to her and examined her closely, dwelling, she noted, on some rather interesting parts. Damn! he swore. This is like coming out of Ruddygore's lab, way back when, all over again. You're—smaller.
That was true enough. Not only was she the four-foot-ten that was the height of all adult Kauri, but her exaggerated shapes and curves gave her an even more elfin appearance.
But I've grown my wings, she pointed out.
He cleared his throat. Yeah—and other things, too.
You called me a nymph, and that's right. In fact, we're the prototype for all nymphs. They say this is my true nature coming through. She chuckled. No wonder I kind of fell into prostitution back in Texas for a while. But back there I had so many problems and hang-ups, they drove me crazy. Over here, like this, I'm free of all that.
He grinned at the implications of that. They had a long way to go, after all. That did, however, bring him back to the future. We should be going in the morning. Ruddygore's convention is still a rough ride from here, and it's all paths rather than roads.
That brought her up short a bit. That could be a problem, she told him. I'm nocturnal. The sun kind of saps my strength, puts me to sleep.
He laughed and walked over to the packs, then rooted through them for a moment before coming up with an object. That explains this, then. I didn't have much to do, so I decided to look at what Ruddygore had put in here. Among the things was this. He brought the object over and handed it to her.
; It was a pair of sunglasses, a wraparound sort that hugged the face, with cupped lenses that blocked all light not coming through them, almost like goggles. She put them on and was not surprised to find that they were a perfect fit, even adjusted properly for her pointed, elfin ears and the new shape of her face. She took them off again and looked at them, then giggled. See the printing down here on the frame?
He shook his head. It's too dark for me.
It says,'Made in Taiwan'! .
Chapter 5
A FEW MINOR OBSTACLES
It is best to avoid volcanoes whenever possible.
—Rules, XXII, 196(c)
The glasses proved sufficient for Marge to endure day light, but did nothing to restore needed sleep. She fitted on the horse fine, though, despite the membranous wings and her smaller size, and found no trouble keeping an almost effortless balance. Finally she just told Joe that she had to nod out, and he told her to do so. Although the fearsome Firehills loomed in front of them, they would not reach them until late in the day, and the land was pretty much a flat semidesert, requiring no real riding skills. Her horse was well trained, although Joe wished often for Posti, the gray mare who was really a transformed dirt farmer. Posti had returned safely to Terindell, but was not allowed to make this trip to Sachalin. Ruddygore had been more than worried about a transformed horse in the midst of a bunch of drunken sorcerers.
Things went smoothly for several hours. Joe was a little bored, but he'd made his living in the old days driving a truck, and this was a lot easier to handle than a fully loaded semi. He did wish now, as he had often wished, that saddles came with tape decks, but he compensated by singing his favorite old Ferlin Husky and Way Ion Jennings tunes. He had a lousy voice, but it was always impossible to convince him of that fact in this world or the one from which he'd come; as he belted out tune after tune, he hardly took notice of the hordes of insects, small animals, and birds fleeing in all directions before him as if from a forest fire. As for Marge, when she was out, she was out, it seemed, which suited him just fine right now. He needed some time to think.
Demons of the Dancing Gods Page 5