DG5 - Horrors of the Dancing Gods

by Chalker, Jack L

  They waited, and finally Irving whispered, "How long do we stay here?"

  "Learn patience," Poquah cautioned. "Being too impulsive and in too much of a huffy can get us all killed down there."

  "A mature sentiment, sir," said a strange, deep, but quite pleasant voice that seemed half cleric and half schoolmaster for some reason. They all turned and saw that Mephistopheles had arrived through the wall.

  He was dressed in dark earth-brown robes like a monk, and there was nothing about him to suggest that he was a major supernatural entity or in fact that he was demonic in any way. The face, deep within the hood of the robe, was next to impossible to make out and darkly shadowed, but the hands looked quite human and, interestingly, quite unblemished.

  "They will not let you get in, you know," the demon prince commented.

  "Then how do we do it?" Poquah asked him.

  "It might have been possible to sneak in even a few weeks ago, but now they have pretty well secured the entire region and the three provinces around it. A great many have been impressed to build some sort of structure in the center of the forest. We're not quite certain what it is or why, but there could be thousands of their minions working on it. It is certain that this is where they will come through."

  "When?"

  "Soon. There is not much time. We thought we had several months, but now that looks far less likely. One ... entity ... has already passed through; we don't quite understand how. The entity itself is quite small, certainly not one of them, and must have come through primarily by using their linking of power to push himself through, a worrisome and unheard-of effort. They do not tend to like each other very much, although the Ancient Ones are somewhat elemental in nature and thus can work together to split the rewards. There is one for the sea, one for the land, one for air, one for fertility, one for the space between the stars, and so on. The entity has gathered, built, organized, and seems ready to open the way."

  "How does the way get open?" Irving asked, genuinely curious.

  "That we do not really know, but already there are nightly rituals in the structure. You must get in, and you must close the way as quickly and unobtrusively as possible."

  'Two others went before us," Marge noted. "They had an exact map with the location of the object that can close the way to the Ancient Ones. Did they not reach the valley or not get in, or was it that neither one could see it?"

  "The companion could see it, halfling or not," Mephistopheles replied. "The key is half-human and mortal, and she is almost precisely that. She is also otherwise a total and complete cipher—to us, to them, to herself. They were in fact a complication, and we moved to stop them lest they get the McGuffin and not use it in the way it must be used. We missed. They got into their dominion and beyond ours. We know, however, that they did not get it, for the energy disruption would be easily monitored. The Grand McGuffin remains in its sanctuary. We assume, then, that they are either dead or have suffered an even worse fate at the hands of our mutual enemy."

  Poor Joe, Marge thought, then realized that Joe couldn't die. That meant that falling into the hands of whatever they were was almost dead certain. She almost would have preferred Joe dead. If they had the same kind of powers, or greater, that Hell had, then it might well come down to fighting Joe for the McGuffin—and Joe couldn't die.

  "We will marshal our main forces and push through a hole that you can use to enter," Mephistopheles told them. "It will be a challenge, but so long as the Rules hold, we can do this—and so far, the Rules still command. A legion of Hell will ride before you, clearing a path straight to the wood, but it cannot enter. Once you are inside the valley, you will be entirely on your own. Use every power of magic and intellect that any of you possess; show no mercy, for they will show you none. Avoid contact with the enemy if you can—we shall keep the pressure on and thus keep their attention upon us for as long as we can. If your companions are caught and their lives or worse threatened, you must be willing to sacrifice them, since all else can be fixed but once the others come through, what difference will your friends' lives make?"

  Marge sighed. "We really don't have all that much. I can't see how we can hope to win."

  "All the signs, all the Rules, say that you are the only ones who might do it. Also, you will find them more deadly and repulsive than filled with strange powers. Their followers devolve; there is emotion and animalism within them more than sheer intellect, even though it is intellect that gets them hooked in the first place, a phenomenon with which I am very familiar myself. Avoid, however, the Dark Faerie who serve them, for they have such power. We do not believe that there are many of these, and they are at least subject to the same restrictions and vulnerabilities as those on your side."

  Irving considered that. "Then are there iron weapons available here? In deference to these two, I've carried only bronze up to now."

  "It will be provided to you, but do not be overconfident with your iron. As it would have little effect on me, it may not work on the entity, depending on its true nature. Unlike its masters, when it emerged here, it was not of godlike strength and thus was bent to conform to the Rules. They must have known that and prepared for it, even come with some sort of template for serving their aims. The entity would have been energy alone in the Sea of Dreams but would have solidified here. As what we cannot say, but beware of putting too much faith on any one thing. Your best bet is secrecy, dedication, and the McGuffin."

  "Do you know exactly where the McGuffin is?" Poquah asked smoothly.

  Mephistopheles was silent for a moment. Finally he said, "No, but you do. You have the map from the thief?"

  It wasn't an admonishment, merely a demonstration and reminder. They were not dealing with just another faerie creature here; this was a creature of Hell, of nearly godlike powers, as comfortable in his own dominion or here as on Earth. Although this was his traditional way of appearing to men, he must in reality have been something incredibly grand and powerful.

  He read their thoughts, also child's play for such a one, and asked, "Do you know the difference between monotheism and polytheism?' Nobody answered, and so he went on.

  "Semantics," he answered. "One angel can slay an entire army or pick out only the firstborn of a nation. That which you read in the ancient books of the powers of angels is understated; they would be gods in any other pantheon under a chief god, just like Odin or Jupiter or Zeus."

  "Good point, I suppose," Irving responded after a moment, feeling the power radiate from the strange monk but figuring he had little to lose. "But if you're that powerful, why don't you go in and we'll stay back here."

  The others gasped at his nerve and impudence, but Mephistopheles wasn't at all disturbed, or at least didn't sound so. "Quite correct. There are limits. Were there none, we would own you all and not have to work nearly so hard. We need each other. You need us to get you in there past a kind of power you cannot imagine. We need you to go the rest of the way. It is good to notice, however, who allies with whom here. Hell is at the side of human and faerie. You see none of Heaven here. A bit of war or pestilence or disease from us and everyone curses. But if Heaven commands Joshua to kill all the men, women, and children in three cities and bum them to the ground, it's 'praise God!' Our influence here is about the same as on Earth, no more, no less. Their influence would be absolute if they were allowed to materialize here. You'll see their minions. You'll see what this world will easily become under them. And Heaven is content to allow it to happen. Keep that in mind."

  Nobody wanted to argue theology with Mephistopheles under the best of circumstances and particularly not now. Instead, Marge asked, "So when do we go?'

  "The King has given his blessing. My own ruler has sanctioned the plan. The legion even now is being gathered and briefed. Do you wish to go in by day or by night?"

  Now it was the military one among them, Poquah, who took over. "Is there an advantage one way or the other?"

  "Not really. We're not dealing with minor creatur
es like vampires and the like here. Some of the greatest accomplishments of Hell were achieved in bright sunshine. Likewise, they tend to a more normal sort of schedule, with heavy work and such during the day and then reduced activity at night, with little advantage one way or the other in overall powers."

  'Then we should go in near sunset," the Imir told him. "This will give us sufficient light to establish ourselves and set up a camp and some, cover if we have opportunities later."

  "So be it. Use today to try and shift yourselves a bit in schedule and prepare. Use tonight for practice. Tomorrow sleep most of the day and then awaken refreshed and prepared," the demon instructed. "We will insert you at the gate of the forest tomorrow at one hour before sunset. Meet me on the battlement here precisely at eighteen hundred tomorrow night. Let us end this matter, resolve this grave crisis, and quickly."

  There had been little discussion about what they should and should not bring. They had traveled light up to now, and even cooking would be risky once they were inside, so supplies would be mostly things that were dried or sealed and could be eaten cold or raw. Although the forest was fruit-bearing, there was little likelihood that a large workforce in there would have left much edible.

  For Irving they secured a full and well-balanced sword of a nice iron alloy with a plain but quite solid hilt. He wasn't a master swordsman, it was true, but this weapon might well be just as effective handled crudely. Nothing that might withstand it or ward it off was going to be any less clumsy when it did.

  For Larae they took a sling, since she claimed to be adept with one, and a spear of light but aerodynamic wood that ended in a serrated and polished stone tip that had been dipped in and coated with a paint high in the mineral magnetite. It would do the same damage, depending on where it struck, whether the object was mortal or faerie. Finally, she selected a sharp dagger that might well be thrown if it could not be plunged, again with an iron alloy blade.

  Poquah could not handle the iron, but his own short sword, his bow and quiver, and a sharp boomeranglike device he called a jerun satisfied him as much as anything could. All those familiar with or flout Earth agreed that a nice submachine gun and grenades would be handy, but they weren't very common in those parts.

  Marge took nothing, as always, and Thebes seemed more trustworthy without a weapon than with one and not all that much of an asset considering his cowardice in the face of the zombies. Still, he had begged to go, swearing that one way or the other he could get in there anyway. Short of killing him, which would have been easy enough but still would have bothered the Company, the only way to make sure he wouldn't blow their entry was to take him along.

  They studied the maps, they studied the drawings Thebes had of a ravenlike bird sculpture that was allegedly what they sought, and they decided on the weight and duration of supplies. The valley was only roughly nine miles long by three wide; they decided that if they couldn't accomplish what they sought in seven days, then it was unlikely they, would be able to do so at all. The shrine of the McGuffin was nestled right into Mount Doom along the valley wall, but it was only about halfway back on the western side of the valley and a bit up the side. This would bring them past whatever was being constructed there but, they hoped, well west of it and clear.

  Finally; there was little to do but practice, and wait, and hope that they would be tired enough to fall asleep by dawn.

  Marge spent the early morning hours walking the area and flying up to the battlements. She was anxious to get away, to get in there, to get it all over with, if only because she was finding it harder and harder to control her behavior here. There were men all around, awake and asleep, and not just those damned "mechanic” ciphers and imaginary types that kept changing all the time. Real mortal men. She felt a powerful hunger, a craving that two cleanings the night before hadn't even dented.

  She had hoped to stave it off with a couple of the Hollywood types, but she couldn't sense that they had any souls; they were as meaningless to her as the "mechanics."

  There was no one there, she was all alone, but something seemed to be whispering in her mind, feeding her Marvationlike sensations.

  "Too late," it whispered. "Too late. You've already gone over. You are just fighting it. Park your mind and your reservations. Did you not find it possible to be alert in daylight today? Could a Kauri do that? Physically it has already happened. Deep down you already know that. You need only to accept it and let your body do what it must do. Unlike the Kauri, it will give you true power; real strength. Can you stand it, anyway? Can you stand another hour, another day, another week like this? Give in while you can still gain and use that energy . . ."

  She felt like crying, but the voice was right; it was like heroin to an addict, blood to a vampire. She could not resist it.

  Something inside her just snapped, and she remembered very little of the details of the next few hours, only an eventual sense of enormous strength, of well-being, of being satiated at all levels. She awoke and brought herself to a comfortable sitting position and stretched. She felt different. Not completely; she remembered who she was and particularly what was to happen later today. There was a certain irony in that, she who had been in a force fighting those of Hell more than once was now being protected, guarded, and aided by those very same forces.

  It was daylight, in fact at least midday, yet she felt no tiredness, no sense of coma. She walked into the hotel bathroom and stared at the mirror. There was no reflection there, none at all.

  She hadn't expected one and wasn't all that upset. In fact, it was impossible to remember just why she had fought this so desperately. It wasn't as if she were going to endanger Irving or even Larae.

  She turned away from the blank mirror and went over to the polished black marble tile on the wall. In this she was reflected, although not terribly clearly. It was certainly good enough, though, to show the royal purple tinged with gold, the sculpted and overly large insectlike wings, the incredibly exaggerated female form that made even a Kauri seem plain. Dark lips, too. Huge Bardot-in-spades sexy lips.

  She felt better, sexier, more gorgeous than ever before, and she could also feel within her the pulsing of the energy she had from using, perhaps overusing, those attributes.

  Poquah wasn't going to like it a bit, but the old prude had expected it, anyway, and if the Kauri leader, whom she now could not even remember clearly, and Ruddygore had not wanted or expected this, then it was their job to have told her how to avoid it.

  Not that she wanted to avoid it, not now. Unlike most, she felt no compulsions of obedience to anyone, no servility, nothing. She was totally, absolutely, and one hundred percent a free agent, in total control of herself and what she did, subject only to that one restriction that she found bothered her not a bit.

  She was a sexual vampire, and she had total power over men to feed her needs. All the power she needed and not a fear in the world.

  Unless the Ancient Ones came through. If the Ancient Ones prevailed, what kind of future would any of them have?

  That, too, though, seemed to give her confidence. Those Kauri wimps could barely knock over a leaf, and they had little offense otherwise at all. She, on the other hand, now had some very great power if the opportunity came to, use it. She very much hoped it would.

  INTO THE WOODS AT MOUNT DOOM

  Hell may intervene directly in world affairs rather than by surrogate only to preserve the status quo.

  —Rules, Vol. XIII, p. 17(a)

  NOBODY EXCEPT MARGE HAD SLEPT VERY WELL DURING the morning, but all had adrenaline pumping at a massive rate by the time they assembled that evening at the battlement, including whatever Poquah's race substituted for it. He of course was still the only one who did not seem to feel undue concern.

  Irving had decided on a minimalist approach, with the idea of wearing a single loincloth seeming both impractical and silly, not to mention unclean. Instead, he opted for nothing but a belt with a basic leather scabbard that would handle the sword and keep it fr
om cutting his leg off in a fall, a black leather codpiece, and the leather straps to support them. He would also carry a backpack into the valley, but that would be left wherever they made camp. Everyone was to carry his or her own supplies.

  Larae opted for almost exactly the same thing, except that she had her sling, stones in a pouch, and dagger on a slightly wider belt and would carry her javelinlike spear. The sight of the codpiece looked silly on that body, but Irving knew it was damnably necessary and not just part of the outfit.

  Poquah wore brown and green britches and a more standard sword belt and scabbard affair, but he looked a lot more basic and a lot more sinister, as he had the times the others had seen the usually silent Imir go into battle.

  Joel Thebes wore his crumpled and very dirty white suit and black saddle-style tie shoes.

  They all gasped when they saw Marge,, and she gave them the sexy smile and a movie star pose. "Really stunning, the new me, huh?'

  "Criminal," Poquah sniffed. "I knew this would happen! If you touch either of these two, I'll risk iron myself to finish you!"