by Alison Baird
The head of the larger animal moved cautiously forward, with the other following it closely. Then it moved out of the bushes, and Ailia gaped at it in disbelief. The creature’s long neck was attached to a two-legged body like a bird’s, with clawed feet and a pair of stubby, vestigial wings. But strangest of all, the head she had thought belonged to a second animal was attached to the end of the creature’s long tapering tail. As she watched, the tail—or was it a neck?—rose erect, and the second head swept its gaze about the clearing.
There was another crashing sound in the underbrush. At once both heads uttered croaking cries of alarm, and the odd little biped dropped onto its back, as if playing dead. The larger front head clamped its jaws on those of the hind head, the two necks curving and the back arching until the whole body formed a circular shape. One clawed leg shoved hard against the ground, propelling it forward, and the creature began to roll away like a hoop.
But it was too late. The crashing noise drew nearer, and out of the greenery many dark winding shapes came coiling like tentacles—only each had at its tip a long wicked head with a darting tongue. A hydra! Ailia froze where she stood.
Hydras were found in many worlds, she knew: long ago Valdur had released great numbers of them on the planets of his Archon enemies, to poison the air and water and terrorize the inhabitants. But whether they were natural animals or magically altered creatures was not known. The two-headed beast screamed and wheeled right into a tree trunk in its haste to escape, crumpling into a heap. It cowered as the long necks advanced, followed by a squat body with four short, clawed legs. The hydra could not move very quickly on those bowed limbs, but it would not have to: its breath was venomous, and could reach its victim more than a dozen paces away. The two-headed beast cried out again, not a scream this time but a twittering, chittering sound. Ailia sensed patterns behind the sounds, distorted with fear but still recognizable as thought. No, no, no, oh no—please no!
This little oddity was an intelligent, thinking being.
Awareness of her own physical weaknesses had made Ailia deeply sympathetic to all defenseless things. Emotion thrust aside thought. She sprang forward, forgetting her own danger and the exposure any use of sorcery would bring, drawing on all her Nemerei power to cast a glaumerie before the hydra’s many eyes. A firedrake seemed to appear out of the misty air, a mass of black scales and claws and horns filling all the clearing, red flames licking forth from its jaws.
The hydra recoiled, every one of its heads hissing in alarm. Then, whipping its great bulk around with surprising speed, it scuttled back into the undergrowth. The thrashing sounds of its hurried retreat faded into the distance. Ailia was left alone in the clearing with the small creature, which lay prostrated in terror at this new and still more deadly menace.
“No, no—it’s not real!” she called, stepping forward so that she stood before the illusory monster’s forefeet. With a wave of her hand she banished it. “It was only my magic. You’re safe now.”
Very cautiously the head at the creature’s tail-end peered at her. Then the front head came up and also fixed its eyes on her. “You are sorceress! Great Nemerei!” twittered the being, approaching her with a cringing posture. Both its heads were held low: the hind one, she noticed, still had its eyes trained nervously on the bushes where the hydra had vanished. “You save us! We grateful, your servant always, beautiful sorceress-lady!”
“That’s all right,” Ailia replied, gazing anxiously about her. Too late, now, she realized the great risk she had taken. Were there any other sorcerers in the vicinity, and had they felt that burst of power she drew from the Ether? “Think nothing of it. I must go now, but—tell me, do you happen to know where the ruler of this world lives? It’s not near here, is it?” She hoped it was not, or Mandrake would surely have felt her use of magic.
“Ruler! Yes, yes, we know!” it replied, fawning. “Is not far, in great city. Loänanmar. We show you way there, sorceress-lady.” It was clear that the creature, having found itself a powerful and benevolent protector, had no intention of ever being parted from her again.
Ailia was about to say she had no interest in actually going to Mandrake’s home. She wanted only to leave this terrible world and return to her guardians. But she could never do so on her own, she reflected, while in a city there might just be a portal or other means of transport that could carry her back into the Ether. In any case, she could not hide in the jungle forever. She was beginning to feel faint with heat and hunger and loss of sleep. She must dare the city, then, hide and disguise herself in the hope of finding a way to escape.
The creature hopped closer to her and spoke again. “Let us introduce ourself: we are called—” It made a chattering sound that might have been “Twidjik.”
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, ahh—Twidjik,” she said. “Will you please lead me to this city of yours, then?”
She was eager to leave the area. That surge of power must certainly have betrayed her location, and the watchers of this world would soon be hunting her again.
“Yes, yes, we lead. This way, lady.”
SHE WOULD HAVE BEEN GRATEFUL for almost any company after her prolonged solitude, but Twidjik proved to be an unexpectedly valuable guide. Ailia could not make out whether the creature was male or female: since it referred to itself in the plural, it might easily be both—a sort of hermaphrodite, like an earthworm; or perhaps it was just an it, and its kind reproduced in some way unimaginable to her. Not wishing to broach the delicate subject, she did not ask. But as they journeyed together she soon learned that he (or she, or it, or they) knew all about surviving in the jungles of Nemorah. Twidjik showed her the fruits that were safe to eat as well as those that were poisonous (there were many more of these than of the former), and instructed her on other dangers to avoid. She began to see that her seemingly rash act of mercy had been rewarded, after all. There were far more perils here than she had realized.
“Beware,” Twidjik cautioned her as it led her through one dense grove where the suns’ light was muted to a green dusk by the overhanging branches. “Are jaculi in trees here.”
“Jaculi?”
“Tree snakes, with scaly flaps like wings.” The creature’s front head swept from side to side, watching for danger, while its hind head gazed at her. “A jaculus will wait on branch, very quiet, then leap down fast on those who pass beneath.” And Ailia, looking up into the shadowy canopy, saw that what she had taken for hanging vines twined throughout the trees were in fact large green snakes coiled around the boughs.
There were many other dangerous creatures here, Twidjik told her as they hastened away from the grove. There were scitales, snakes that could change the color of their scales with dazzling effect, fascinating their prey into immobility, while their relatives the hypnales relied on a form of mesmerism, swaying to and fro in a languorous dance. The cerastes or “hornsnake” used the sharp curving horns on its head as weapons in place of fangs. Then there were the guivres, giant serpentine creatures that lived in the rivers and seized animals that came down to drink; and the horrible lindworms, which had powerful hind legs on which they loped along at great speed, but no forelimbs at all: they scooped up their living prey in their huge jaws, swallowing it whole. Worst of all was the basilisk, a many-legged reptile that breathed out poison like a hydra. It was very much smaller than a hydra, but that made it more deadly, not less: it could creep right up close to you before you had realized your danger.
“How can you bear to live in such a dreadful place?” she asked, appalled.
“We have no choice, no other place to live. All here learn of poisonous beasts, learn to fear them. There are sauras—little lizards, that smell venom of other reptiles, and leap about in alarm. Humans carry these in cages, get warning of serpents that way.”
“There wouldn’t be any of those lizards hereabouts?” Ailia asked.
“We do not know. But is not much farther to place where humans are.”
Ailia refle
cted that humans were as dangerous in their own way as any beast. She was beginning to feel worried about this unknown city and its inhabitants. Would they welcome a stranger, or not? “And what are your people called, Twidjik?” she asked, trying to distract herself from her thoughts.
“Amphisbaena your word for us,” Twidjik replied. “We live in jungle, very careful, always looking around us, always moving fast.” To demonstrate, the amphisbaena swung both necks to and fro, looking both behind it and ahead, then rolled on its back and formed a hoop again. In this fashion, she saw, it could progress with surprising rapidity.
“Wait!” she called out, breaking into a run. “I can’t keep up with you!” Employing its feet as brakes, digging its claws into the earth, Twidjik resumed its upright position with both necks raised.
“We go slow for you,” the amphisbaena said.
About midafternoon clouds began to cover the sky, changing it from green to gray-green. A murky underwater light lay all around them, and soon it was pouring. The amphisbaena was of course quite unconcerned by the rain pouring down its scaly sides. Ailia held up her tattered skirts and trudged on grimly through the mud. Already the chiton she carried was badly torn from her passage through the thick undergrowth. She looked at the jungle stretching in dull shades of green and gray about her, the seemingly interminable aisles of tree trunks. The rain soon ceased, as quickly as it had begun, but a dense steam took its place. She felt as though she were suffocating.
Something moved at the corner of her vision, and she whirled and gave a yell, echoed by a double shriek from her guide.
“What is it?” the amphisbaena gasped, staring wildly about it with both sets of eyes.
But Ailia only repeated its words. “Heavens—what is it?”
What she had taken at first for the leafy limb of a huge tree was moving—bending, swinging to and fro without any wind to blow it. And now other boughs behind it were also in motion, dipping and swaying. As she gaped at the nearer one she saw that the clump of leaves and twigs at its end did not sprout from it, but rather from a torn tree branch that was clenched in a pair of long toothy jaws. The giant reptile’s head had small dark eyes and scaly gray-green skin, rough as bark. There was a row of spiky upright scales along the back of the neck.
“Stop! Stop!” Twidjik called as she turned to flee. “These not dangerous!”
“Not—dangerous!” she cried.
“No—see, they eat only leaves.”
Ailia stared. The enormous serpentine creatures were grazing on the foliage of the trees, like camelopards. And then she saw that they were not serpents at all; the long scaly necks were attached to vast gray-green bodies, with tapering tails behind. She had taken their massive legs for tree trunks, while the foliage had hidden their bodies. As she and Twidjik walked on she saw more of the monsters—whole herds of them, some with their young at their sides: colossal infants the size of full-grown behemoths. “What are they?” she asked.
“Creatures from other place. Are not from Nemorah, but brought here from another world by First Ones.” Twidjik gestured with its front head at the giant grazing beasts. “Those who lived here long ago, before Loänei. Many, many years ago they came, placed these creatures here. Tanathon they named them—tree-eaters.”
Ailia was again filled with awe at the power of the Archons. What beings would have kept such huge creatures as pets?
They walked on, leaving the giant reptiles to their grazing. At long last the great river appeared through the trees, a swift red-brown torrent. They followed its bank for about an hour, and presently came upon a small wooden jetty with a roofed shelter attached. Ailia was gladdened at the sight of it. It was a very ramshackle affair and the wood of planks and roof were rotting; but it was of human make, humble and modest in size, constructed by creatures akin to herself.
“Now we follow river,” said Twidjik. “It go near city.”
“Thank you,” said Ailia. “But not just now, if you don’t mind. It’s starting to rain again.”
They waited, huddling under the shelter. Twidjik curled up with his front head resting on his paws—when exactly had she begun to think of “it” as “he”? She was not certain, but there had been a shift in her thoughts regarding him. He was a personality to her now, not merely an alien curiosity. As she watched he fell fast asleep—his front end at least; the eyes of the hind head, she noticed with fascination, remained wide open and watchful, and the tail-neck turned from side to side in slow sweeps as if searching for any signs of danger. Once more she saw that her impetuous intervention on the amphisbaena’s behalf was not without benefit to herself: with such a companion she need not worry again about being attacked while she slept. She was grateful, for she was exhausted. Stretching out on the floor, she made a pillow of her gown and laid her head on it. The invisible suns went down, and darkness dropped again like a muffling curtain.
At morning light she rose, stretching painfully stiff muscles, and looked about the inside of the shed. There was no food anywhere to be seen, but a cupboard set into one wall held some other supplies, belonging no doubt to those who used the jetty. There were straw hats with wide sheltering brims, and several long wooden staves: the latter, Twidjik told her, were used to defend against snakes as one walked. Ailia took one of each, and also a loose, coarse garment that somewhat resembled a burlap sack. Then after some hesitation she removed a thin gold necklace that she was wearing still, and left it in the cupboard as payment. It would not be wise to begin her stay among the people of this world as a thief.
They moved on up the river. All around them reared the strangely shaped hills, very narrow at the base and pointed at the top, that Ailia had seen from the air. The rugged outcroppings spoke of the tumultuous powers of the earth, of upwelling extrusions from the planet’s fiery heart, and they loomed above the river swathed in green cloaks of foliage, exuding an eerie presence. And some, indeed, had faces. Huge human faces, and smaller figures of people and animals, and flat-topped doorways were carved into the dark gray rock that showed here and there through the clinging vegetation.
“That is old city,” said Twidjik, seeing her stare. “No one live there now. We go to newer city, where many people are. Hills were carved in olden days. Great city stood here once, city of Loänei people. Are many like it, but no one living in them now. No Loänei. Jungle swallowed cities up.” They walked closer to the nearest hill, and she gazed at the surviving images of the old city’s rulers: majestic robed people, with proudly chiseled and fierce-looking faces, looking back at her from under the layers of moss and winding tree-roots. “Loänei—children of dragons,” said Twidjik.
So these were Mandrake’s people. She saw the resemblance now: the elegant, arrogant features, the tall lean bodies. Ailia turned away from the staring stone faces, not relishing the reminder of her strong and treacherous foe. Once more she reproached herself for falling so easily into his trap, and wondered if she would ever find a way to flee this world without confronting him.
A league or so farther up the river the jungle gave way with surprising suddenness to cleared areas, wastes of stumps; and cultivated fields sown with vegetables and grain. The crops looked healthy and abundant: volcanic soil, she had once heard, was very fertile. And this region, like the islands, was certainly prone to volcanism. Steaming hot springs sent up white plumes here and there, like the smoke of great fires.
They were drawing near to the city of Loänanmar. Ailia hurriedly cast a glaumerie that would make her look to any observer like a nondescript young woman with a plain broad face, braid of straight brown hair, and dark eyes. Her star sapphire ring, her last remaining item of jewelry, was also concealed by the illusion. Twidjik showed no surprise at her sudden transformation, apparently taking in stride this latest manifestation of powers that he had already accepted as godlike and illimitable. They passed on together under a stone gate formed by the figures of two rearing, snarling dragons. There were two guards by the gate, dressed in old and rusty armor, with
long snoutlike visors to their helmets and halberds clenched in their gauntleted hands. They resembled men in size and shape, but when one raised its visor to look more closely at Ailia she saw the face within was not human, but canine: it had a long muzzle covered in brown fur, and a black nose twitched as it drew in her scent. Cynocephali: one of the Morugei races, bred by Valdur to be sentinels and watchdogs in one. Neither of the dog-guards prevented her from entering, to her relief.
As Ailia walked through into the city, she looked about her curiously. Loänanmar was a thriving, crowded metropolis: the streets thronged with pedestrians, with peddlers hawking their wares from baskets borne on poles atop their shoulders—fresh fish, breads, strange-looking gourds and vegetables. Some were driving goats or geese; one young man had a large striped snake draped about his shoulders, though whether this was a pet, or his dinner, or part of a snake-charming act, she never learned. Large pools were filled with live carp, but they were not for ornamental purposes: people were dipping small nets into them and scooping up the struggling fish.
There was, she saw, only one temple in this city: a grand structure covered in decorative gilding, with a cluster of onion-shaped domes and fearsome fanged beasts cast in bronze guarding its door. Ailia peered inside the temple as she passed it and saw that the floor was strewn with dead leaves and litter. In the sanctuary was a pool, and behind it the gigantic figure of a crowned Loänan carved of some green stone. It had once been plated with gold leaf: bright yellow traces still clung to the crown and edged some of its scales. But the fane was empty, and had a sad, abandoned air.