by Jack Vance
“Interesting indeed,” murmured the Precursor.
“My second disclosure is this: at one time I served as incense-blender at the Temple of Teleologues in a far land, where I learned that each of the sacred images was constructed so that the priests, in case of urgency, might perform acts purporting to be those of the divinity itself.”
“Why should this not be the case?” inquired the Precursor benignly. “The divinity, controlling every aspect of existence, persuades the priests to perform such acts.”
Cugel assented to the proposition. “I therefore assume that the images carved into the Black Obelisk are somewhat similar?”
The Precursor smiled. “To which of the five do you specifically refer?”
“Specifically to the representation of Gilfig.”
The Precursor’s eyes went vague; he seemed to reflect.
Cugel indicated the various talismans and instruments. “In return for a service I will donate certain of these contrivances to the care of this office.”
“What is the service?”
Cugel explained in detail, and the Precursor nodded thoughtfully. “Once more, if you will demonstrate your magic goods.”
Cugel did so.
“These are all of your devices?”
Cugel reluctantly displayed the erotic stimulator and explained the function of the ancillary talisman. The Precursor nodded his head, briskly this time. “I believe that we can reach agreement; all is as omnipotent Gilfig desires.”
“We are agreed then?”
“We are agreed!”
The following morning the group of fifty-five pilgrims assembled at the Black Obelisk. They prostrated themselves before the image of Gilfig, and prepared to proceed with their devotions. Suddenly the eyes of the image flashed fire and the mouth opened. “Pilgrims!” came a brazen voice. “Go forth to do my bidding! Across the Silver Desert you must travel, to the shore of the Songan Sea! Here you will find a fane, before which you must abase yourselves. Go! Across the Silver Desert, with all despatch!”
The voice quieted. Garstang spoke in a trembling voice. “We hear, O Gilfig! We obey!”
At this moment Cugel leapt forward. “I also have heard this marvel! I too will make the journey! Come, let us set forth!”
“Not so fast,” said Garstang. “We cannot run skipping and bounding like dervishes. Supplies will be needed, as well as beasts of burden. To this end funds are required. Who then will subscribe?”
“I offer two hundred terces!” “And I, sixty terces, the sum of my wealth!” “I, who lost ninety terces gaming with Cugel, possess only forty terces, which I hereby contribute.” So it went, and even Cugel turned sixty-five terces into the common fund.
“Good,” said Garstang. “Tomorrow then I will make arrangements, and the following day, if all goes well, we depart Erze Damath by the Old West Gate!”
4
The Silver Desert and the Songan Sea
In the morning Garstang, with the assistance of Cugel and Casmyre, went forth to procure the necessary equipage. They were directed to an outfitting yard, situated on one of the now-vacant areas bounded by the boulevards of the old city. A wall of mud brick mingled with fragments of carved stone surrounded a compound, whence issued sounds: crying, calls, deep bellows, throaty growls, barks, screams and roars, and a strong multiphase odor, combined of ammonia, ensilage, a dozen sorts of dung, the taint of old meat, general acridity.
Passing through a portal the travelers entered an office overlooking the central yard, where pens, cages and stockades held beasts of so great variety as to astound Cugel.
The yard-keeper came forward: a tall, yellow-skinned man, much scarred, lacking his nose and one ear. He wore a gown of gray leather belted at the waist and a tall conical black hat with flaring ear-flaps.
Garstang stated the purpose of the visit. “We are pilgrims who must journey across the Silver Desert, and wish to hire pack-beasts. We number fifty or more, and anticipate a journey of twenty days in each direction with perhaps five days spent at our devotions: let this information be a guide in your thinking. Naturally we expect only the staunchest, most industrious and amenable beasts at your disposal.”
“All this is very well,” stated the keeper, “but my price for hire is identical to my price for sale, so you might as well have the full benefit of your money, in the form of title to the beasts concerned in the transaction.”
“And the price?” inquired Casmyre.
“This depends upon your choice; each beast commands a different value.”
Garstang, who had been surveying the compound, shook his head ruefully. “I confess to puzzlement. Each beast is of a different sort, and none seem to fit any well-defined categories.”
The keeper admitted that such was the case. “If you care to listen, I can explain all. The tale is of a continuing fascination, and will assist you in the management of your beasts.”
“We will doubly profit to hear you then,” said Garstang gracefully, though Cugel was making motions of impatience.
The keeper went to a shelf, took forth a leather-bound folio. “In a past aeon Mad King Kutt ordained a menagerie like none before, for his private amazement and the stupefaction of the world. His wizard, Follinense, therefore produced a group of beasts and teratoids unique, combining the wildest variety of plasms; to the result that you see.”
“The menagerie has persisted so long?” asked Garstang in wonder.
“Indeed not. Nothing of Mad King Kutt is extant save the legend, and a casebook of the wizard Follinense —” here he tapped the leather folio “— which describes his bizarre systemology. For instance —” he opened the folio. “Well … hmmm. Here is a statement, somewhat less explicit than others, in which he analyzes the half-men, little more than a brief set of notes:
GID: hybrid of man, gargoyle, whorl, leaping insect.
DEODAND: wolverine, basilisk, man.
ERB: bear, man, lank-lizard, demon.
GRUE: man, ocular bat, the unusual hoon.
LEUCOMORPH: unknown.
BAZIL: felinodore, man, (wasp?).
Casmyre clapped his hands in astonishment. “Did Follinense then create these creatures, to the subsequent disadvantage of humanity?”
“Surely not,” said Garstang. “It seems more an exercise in idle musing. Twice he admits to wonder.”
“Such is my opinion, in this present case,” stated the keeper, “though elsewhere he is less dubious.”
“How are the creatures before us then connected with the menagerie?” inquired Casmyre.
The keeper shrugged. “Another of the Mad King’s jocularities. He loosed the entire assemblage upon the countryside, to the general disturbance. The creatures, endowed with an eclectic fecundity, became more rather than less bizarre, and now they roam the Plain of Oparona and Blanwalt Forest in great numbers.”
“So then, what of us?” demanded Cugel. “We wish pack-animals, docile and frugal of habit, rather than freaks and curiosities, no matter how edifying.”
“Certain of my ample stock are capable of this function,” said the keeper with dignity. “These command the highest prices. On the other hand for a single terce you may own a long-necked big-bellied creature of astounding voracity.”
“The price is attractive,” said Garstang with regret. “Unfortunately we need beasts to carry food and water across the Silver Desert.”
“In this case we must be more pointed.” The keeper fell to studying his charges. “The tall beast on two legs is perhaps less ferocious than he appears …”
Eventually a selection of beasts numbering fifteen was made, and a price agreed upon. The keeper brought them to the gate; Garstang, Cugel and Casmyre took possession and led the fifteen ill-matched creatures at a sedate pace through the streets of Erze Damath, to the West Gate. Here Cugel was left in charge, while Garstang and Casmyre went to purchase stores and other necessaries.
By nightfall all preparations were made, and on the following morning when the fi
rst maroon ray of sunlight struck the Black Obelisk, the pilgrims set forth. The beasts carried panniers of food and bladders of water; the pilgrims all wore new shoes and broad-brimmed hats. Garstang had been unable to hire a guide, but had secured a chart from the geographer, though it indicated no more than a small circle labeled “Erze Damath” and a larger area marked “Songan Sea”.
Cugel was given one of the beasts to lead, a twelve-legged creature twenty feet in length, with a small foolishly grinning child’s head and tawny fur covering all. Cugel found the task irking, for the beast blew a reeking breath upon his neck, and several times pressed so close as to tread on his heels.
Of the fifty-seven pilgrims who had disembarked from the raft, forty-nine departed for the fane on the shores of the Songan Sea, and the number was almost at once reduced to forty-eight. A certain Tokharin, stepping off the trail to answer a call of nature, was stung by a monster scorpion, and ran northward in great leaps, screaming hoarsely, until presently he disappeared from view.
The day passed with no further incident. The land was a dry gray waste, scattered with flints, supporting only ironweed. To the south was a range of low hills, and Cugel thought to perceive one or two shapes standing motionless along the crest. At sunset the caravan halted; and Cugel, recalling the bandits who reputedly inhabited the area, persuaded Garstang to post two sentries: Lippelt and Mirch-Masen. In the morning they were gone, leaving no trace, and the pilgrims were alarmed and oppressed. They stood in a nervous cluster looking in all directions. The desert lay flat and dim in the dark low light of dawn. To the south were a few hills, only their smooth top surfaces illuminated; elsewhere the land lay flat to the horizon.
Presently the caravan started off, and now there were but forty-six. Cugel, as before, was put in charge of the long many-legged beast, who now engaged in the practice of butting its grinning face into Cugel’s shoulder blades.
The day passed without incident; miles ahead became miles behind. First marched Garstang, with a staff, then came Vitz and Casmyre, followed by several others. Then came the pack-beasts, each with its particular silhouette: one low and sinuous; another tall and bifurcate, almost of human conformation, except for its head, which was small and squat like the shell of a horseshoe crab. Another, convex of back, seemed to bounce or prance on its six stiff legs: another was like a horse sheathed in white feathers. Behind the pack-beasts straggled the remaining pilgrims, with Bluner characteristically walking to the rear, in accordance with the exaggerated humility to which he was prone. At the camp that evening Cugel brought forth the expansible fence, once the property of Voynod, and enclosed the group in a stout stockade.
The following day the pilgrims crossed a range of low mountains, and here they suffered an attack by bandits, but it seemed no more than an exploratory skirmish, and the sole casualty was Haxt who suffered a wound in the heel. But a more serious affair occurred two hours later. As they passed below a slope a boulder became dislodged, to roll through the caravan, killing a pack-beast, as well as Andle the Funambulous Evangel and Roremaund the Skeptic. During the night Haxt died also, evidently poisoned by the weapon which had wounded him.
With grave faces the pilgrims set forth, and almost at once were attacked from ambush by the bandits. Luckily the pilgrims were alert, and the bandits were routed with a dozen dead, while the pilgrims lost only Cray and Magasthen.
Now there was grumbling and long looks turned eastward toward Erze Damath. Garstang rallied the flagging spirits: “We are Gilfigites; Gilfig spoke! On the shores of the Songan Sea we will seek the sacred fane! Gilfig is all-wise and all-merciful; those who fall in his service are instantly transported to paradisiacal Gamamere! Pilgrims! To the west!”
Taking heart the caravan once more set forth, and the day passed without further incident. During the night however three of the pack-beasts slipped their tethers and decamped, and Garstang was forced to announce short rations for all.
During the seventh day’s march, Thilfox ate a handful of poison berries and died in spasms, whereupon his brother Vitz, the locutor, went raving mad and ran up the line of pack-beasts, blaspheming Gilfig and slashing water bladders with his knife, until Cugel finally killed him.
Two days later the haggard band came upon a spring. In spite of Garstang’s warning, Salanave and Arlo flung themselves down and drank in great gulps. Almost at once they clutched their bellies, gagged and choked, their lips the color of sand, and presently they were dead.
A week later fifteen men and four beasts came over a rise to look out across the placid waters of the Songan Sea. Cugel had survived, as well as Garstang, Casmyre and Subucule. Before them lay a marsh, fed by a small stream. Cugel tested the water with that amulet bestowed upon him by Iucounu, and pronounced it safe. All drank to repletion, ate reeds converted to a nutritious if insipid substance by the same amulet, then slept.
Cugel, aroused by a sense of peril, jumped up, to note a sinister stir among the reeds. He roused his fellows, and all readied their weapons; but whatever had caused the motion took alarm and retired. The time was middle afternoon; the pilgrims walked down to the bleak shore to take stock of the situation. They looked north and south but found no trace of the fane. Tempers flared; there was a quarrel which Garstang was able to quell only by dint of the utmost persuasiveness. Balch, who had wandered up the beach, returned in great excitement: “A village!”
All set forth in hope and eagerness, but the village, when the pilgrims approached, proved a poor thing indeed, a huddle of reed huts inhabited by lizard people who bared their teeth and lashed sinewy blue tails in defiance. The pilgrims moved off down the beach, and sat on hummocks watching the low surf of the Songan Sea.
Garstang, frail and bent with the privations he had suffered, was the first to speak. He attempted to infuse his voice with cheer. “We have arrived, we have triumphed over the terrible Silver Desert! Now we need only locate the fane, perform our devotions; we may then return to Erze Damath and a future of assured bliss!”
“All very well,” grumbled Balch, “but where may the fane be found? To right and left is the same bleak beach!”
“We must put our trust in the guidance of Gilfig!” declared Subucule. He scratched an arrow upon a bit of wood, touched it with his holy ribbon. He called: “Gilfig, O Gilfig! Guide us to the fane! I hereby toss high a marked pointer!” And he flung the chip high into the air. When it alighted, the arrow pointed south. “South we must fare!” cried Garstang. “South to the fane!”
But Balch and certain others refused to respond. “Do you not see that we are fatigued to the point of death? In my opinion Gilfig should have guided our steps to the fane, instead of abandoning us to uncertainty!”
“Gilfig has guided us indeed!” responded Subucule. “Did you not notice the direction of the arrow?”
Balch gave a croak of sardonic laughter. “Any stick thrown high must come down, and it will point south as easily as north.”
“You blaspheme Gilfig!” Subucule drew back in horror.
“Not at all; I am not sure that Gilfig heard your instruction, or perhaps you gave him insufficient time to react. Toss up the stick one hundred times; if it points south on each occasion, I will march south in haste.”
“Very well,” said Subucule. He once again called upon Gilfig and threw up the chip, but when it struck the ground the arrow pointed north.
Balch said nothing. Subucule blinked, then grew red in the face. “Gilfig has no time for games. He directed us once, and deemed it sufficient.”
“I am unconvinced,” said Balch.
“And I.” “And I.”
Garstang held up his arms imploringly. “We have come far; we have toiled together, rejoiced together, fought and suffered together — let us not now fall in dissidence!”
Balch and the others only shrugged. “We will not plunge blindly south.”
“What will you do then? Go north? Or return to Erze Damath?”
“Erze Damath? Without food and only four pack-be
asts? Bah!”
“Then let us fare south in search of the fane.”
Balch gave another mulish shrug, at which Subucule became angry. “So be it! Those who fare south to this side, those who cast in with Balch to that!”
Garstang, Cugel and Casmyre joined Subucule; the others stayed with Balch, a group numbering eleven, and now they fell to whispering among themselves, while the four faithful pilgrims watched in apprehension.
The eleven jumped to their feet. “Farewell.”
“Where do you go?” asked Garstang.
“No matter. Seek your fane if you must; we go about our own affairs.” With the briefest of farewells they marched to the village of the lizard folk, where they slaughtered the males, filed the teeth of the females, dressed them in garments of reeds, and installed themselves as lords of the village.
Garstang, Subucule, Casmyre and Cugel meanwhile traveled south along the shore. At nightfall they pitched camp and dined upon molluscs and crabs. In the morning they found that the four remaining pack-beasts had departed, and now they were alone.
“It is the will of Gilfig,” said Subucule. “We need only find the fane and die!”
“Courage!” muttered Garstang. “Let us not give way to despair!”
“What else is left? Will we ever see Pholgus Valley again?”
“Who knows? Let us first perform our devotions at the fane.”
With that they proceeded, and marched the remainder of the day. By nightfall they were too tired to do more than slump to the sand of the beach. The sea spread before them, flat as a table, so calm that the setting sun cast only its exact image rather than a trail. Clams and crabs once more provided a meager supper, after which they composed themselves to sleep on the beach.
Somewhat after the first hours of night Cugel was awakened by a sound of music. Starting up, he looked across the water to find that a ghostly city had come into existence. Slender towers reared into the sky, lit by glittering motes of white light which drifted slowly up and down, back and forth. On the promenades sauntered the gayest of crowds, wearing pale luminous garments and blowing horns of delicate sound. A barge piled with silken cushions, moved by an enormous sail of cornflower silk, drifted past. Lamps at the bow and stern-post illuminated a deck thronged with merry-makers: some singing and playing lutes, others drinking from goblets. Cugel ached to share their joy. He struggled to his knees, and called out. The merry-makers put down their instruments and stared at him, but now the barge had drifted past, tugged by the great blue sail. Presently the city flickered and vanished, leaving only the dark night sky.