The Many-Coloured Land sope-1

by Julian May

  Sukey pondered this pronouncement for three tearful weeks before concluding that she would surely be able to find the way into the hollow Earth by traveling back into time. She had dressed herself in robes reflecting her Welsh heritage and come eagerly to the Pliocene, where…

  Creyn says his people founded the paradise!

  Oh Sukey.

  Yes, yes! And I powerful healer can belong! Creyn’s promise!

  Calm. You can become metapractitioner of stature. But not instantly. Much, much to learn dear. Trust listen follow then act.

  Want/need to. Poor Stein! Other poor ones I can help. Feeling them all around us do you feel too?…

  Elizabeth withdrew from the fidgeting immaturity of Sukey’s mind and cast about. There was something. Something completely alien to her experience that had only glimmered on the fringes of her perception earlier in the evening. What was it? The enigma would not resolve itself into a mental image she could identify. Not yet. And so Elizabeth put the problem aside and returned to the task of instructing Sukey. The job was a difficult one that would keep her busy for quite some time, for which thanks be to God.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Bound for the River Rhône, the party rode for three more hours into the deepening night and coolness, coming down from the plateau via a steep trail with precarious switchbacks into a forest so thick that the bright light of the stars was blocked out. The two soldiers ignited tall flambeaux; one man rode in the van and the other at the rear. They continued their eastward progress while eerie shadows seemed to follow them among the massive gnarled trees.

  “Spooky, isn’t it?” Aiken inquired of Raimo, who was now riding beside him. “Can’t you just imagine these big old cork oaks and chestnuts reaching out to grab you?”

  “You talk like an idiot,” the other man growled. “I worked in deep forests for twenty years in the B. C Megapod Reserve. Ain’t nothing spooky about trees.”

  Aiken was unabashed. “So that’s why the lumberjack outfit. But if you know trees, you must know that botanists credit them with a primitive self-awareness. Don’t you think that the older the plant, the more attuned to the Milieu it must be? Just look at these trees along here. Don’t tell me they had hardwoods eight-ten meters across on the Earth we knew! Why, these babies must be thousands of years older than any tree on Old Earth. Just reach out to ’em! Use that silver torc of yours for something besides an Adam’s apple warmer. Ancient trees… evil trees! Can’t you feel the bad vibes in this forest? They could resent our coming here. They might sense that in a few million years, humans like us’ll destroy ’em! Maybe the trees hate us!”

  “I think,” said Raimo with slow malevolence, “that you’re trying to make a fool outa me like you did with Sukey. Don’t!”

  Aiken felt himself hoisted up from his saddle. His chained ankles caught him like a victim on a rack. Higher and higher he rose, until he was suspended dangerously close to the branches overhanging the trail.

  “Hey! It was only a joke and that hurts!”

  Raimo began to chuckle and increased the tension still more. Squeeze. Pummel the glacial mind-grip of the Finno-Canadian and make him let go, let go, let go!

  With a crash that made the startled chaliko squeal, Aiken plummeted back into his saddle. Creyn turned around and said, “You have a penchant for cruelty that will have to be curbed, Raimo Hakkinen.”

  “I wonder if all your kind would think so?” inquired the former woodsman in an insolent tone. “Anyhow, you can make this little shit stop bugging me. Tree-spooks!”

  Aiken protested, “A lot of old-time cultures believed that trees had special powers. Didn’t they, Bryan?”

  The anthropologist was amused. “Oh, yes. Tree cults were almost universal in the ancient world of the future. The Druids had an entire alphabet for divination based on trees and shrubs. It was apparently a relic of a more widespread tree-centered religion that derived from utmost antiquity. Scandinavians revered a mighty ash-tree named Yggdrasil. Greeks dedicated the ash to the sea-god Poseidon. Birches were sacred among the Romans. The rowan was a Celtic and Greek symbol of power over death. The hawthorn was associated with sex orgies and the month of May, and so was the apple. Oak trees were cult objects all over preliterate Europe. For some reason, oaks are especially vulnerable to lightning, so the ancients connected the tree with the thunder-god. Greeks, Romans, Gaulish Celts, the British, Teutons, Lithuanians, Slavs, they all held the oak to be sacred. The folklore of almost all European countries featured supernatural beings that dwelt in special trees or haunted the deep woods. The Macedonians had dryads and the Stvrians had vilyas and the Germans had seligen Fraulein and the French had their dames vertes. All woodland sprites. Scandinavian people believed in them, too, but I’ve forgotten the name they gave them…”

  “Skogsnufvar,” said Raimo unexpectedly. “My grandfather told me. He was from the Aland Islands, where the people spoke Swedish. Full of dumb fairytales.”

  “Nothing like ethnic pride!” chortled Aiken. And that brought on another row, as the forester lashed out again with his enhanced PK function and Aiken fought back with his coercive power, trying to make Raimo ram his own forefinger down his throat. At last Creyn cried, “Omnipotent Tana, enough!” Both men groaned, clutched at their silver torcs, and subsided like a pair of whipped schoolboys, silent but unrepentant.

  Raimo pulled a large silver flask from his pack and began nursing from it. Aiken curled his lip. The forester said, “Hudson’s Bay Company Demerara, one-fifty-one proof. Grownups only. Eat your heart out.”

  Elizabeth’s cool voice requested, “Tell us about the Skogsnufvar, Bryan. Such an awful name. Were they beautiful?”

  “Oh, yes. Long flowing hair, seductive bodies, and tails! They were your standard archetypal anima-female menace, luring men into the deep woods in order to sleep with them. And ever after, the poor chaps were completely in the power of the elf-women. A man who tried to leave would sicken and die, or else go mad. Victims of the Skogsnufvar were written about well into the twentieth century in Sweden.”

  Sukey said, “Welsh folklore had such creatures, too. But they lived in lakes, not forests. They were called the Gwragedd Annwn and they came up to dance on the water in the misty moonlight and lured travelers into their underwater palaces.”

  “It’s a common folkloric theme,” Bryan said. “The symbolism is easily grasped. Still, one has to feel a bit sorry for the poor male elves. They seem to have missed out on a lot of good dirty fun.”

  Most of the humans laughed, including the guards.

  “Are there any parallel legends among your people, Creyn?” the anthropologist asked. “Or didn’t your culture produce tales of enchantment?”

  “There was no need,” the Tanu replied in a repressive tone.

  An odd notion occurred to Elizabeth. She attempted to slide a microprobe through Creyn’s screen without triggering his awareness.

  Ah Elizabeth don’t. These petty aggressions games idle scrabblings for superiority.

  (Innocent incredulity scorn-colored taunt.)

  Nonsense. I am old tired civilized of goodwill to you and yours even ultimately crushable. But others my kind not. Beware Elizabeth. Reject not Tanu lightly. Remember puffin.

  Puffin?

  Child poem your folk from human educator among us long deceased. Lonely bird only one of kind ate fishes bewailed solitude. Friendship proffered by fishes if bird refrained devouring. Deal accepted meal habits changed. Fishes only game in town for puffin.

  As you Tanu are for me?

  Affirm Elizapuffinbeth.

  She burst out laughing and Bryan and the other humans looked at her in blank astonishment.

  “Somebody,” Aiken remarked, “has been whispering behind our minds. Are you going to let us in on the joke, lovie?”

  “The joke’s on me, Aiken.” Elizabeth turned to Creyn. “We’ll have a truce. For now.”

  The exotic man inclined his head. “Then permit me to change the subject. We are approachi
ng the bottomlands of the river, where we’ll have our night’s rest in the city of Roniah. Tomorrow we shall resume our journey in a more agreeable fashion, by boat. We should arrive in the capital city of Muriah in less than five days, if the winds are right.”

  “Sailboats on a turbulent river like the Rhône?” Bryan said, aghast. “Or, is it calmer here in the Pliocene?”

  “You’ll have to judge that for yourself, of course. However, our boats are quite different from those you may have been accustomed to. We Tanu are not fond of water travel. But with the coming of humanity, safe and efficient boats were designed and river commerce became extensive. We now use boats not only for passenger travel but also to ship vital commodities from the north, especially from Finiah and from Goriah in the area you call Brittany, to the southern regions where the climate is more to our taste.”

  “I’ve brought a sailboat with me,” the anthropologist said. “Will I be permitted to use it? I’d like to visit your Finiah and Goriah.”

  “As you’ll see, upstream travel is generally not feasible. We rely on caravans for that, using either chalikos or larger beasts of burden called hellads, a species of short-necked giraffe. In the course of your researches you will doubtless make visits to several of our population centers.”

  “Without a torc on him?” Raimo interjected. “You’d trust him?”

  Creyn laughed. “We have something he wants.”

  Bryan flinched; but he knew better than to rise to the bait. He only said, “These vital commodities you ship. I suppose they include mostly foodstuffs?”

  “To some extent. But this Many-Colored Land is literally overflowing with meat and drink for the taking.”

  “Minerals then. Gold and silver. Copper and tin. Iron.”

  “Not iron. It is unnecessary in our rather simple techno-economy. The Tanu worlds have traditionally relied on varieties of unbreakable glass in those applications where humanity utilized iron. It is interesting that in recent years you, too, have come to appreciate this versatile material.”

  “Vitredur, yes. Still, your fighting men seem to prefer the traditional bronze in their armor and weapons.”

  Creyn laughed quietly. “In the earliest days of the time-portal it was considered wise to restrict human warriors in that way. Now, when the restriction has become obsolete, humans continue to cling to the metal. We permit a bronze technology to flourish among your people where it does not conflict with our own needs. We Tanu are a tolerant race. We were self-sufficient before humans began to arrive and we are by no means dependent upon humanity for slave labor…”

  Elizabeth’s thought loomed large: OTHER THAN REPRODUCTIVE ENSLAVEMENT.

  “…since the tedious and difficult work such as mining and agriculture and comfort maintenance is undertaken by ramas in all but the most isolated settlements.”

  “These ramas,” Aiken broke in. “How come there weren’t any back at the castle to do the dirty work?”

  “They have a certain psychic fragility and require a tranquil environment if they are to function with minimal supervision. At Castle Gateway there is inevitable stress…”

  Raimo gave a derisive grunt.

  Bryan asked, “How are the creatures controlled?”

  “They wear a much simplified modification of the gray torc. But you must not press me to explain these matters now. Please wait until later, in Muriah.”

  They rode into an area where the trees were not so thickly clustered, among giant crags at the base of a sparsely forested ridge. Up where the crest met the starry sky was a glow of colored light.” Is that the town up there?” Sukey inquired.

  “Can’t be,” Raimo said contemptuously. “Look at the thing move!”

  They reined in their chalikos and watched the glow resolve into a thin skein of luminescence that twisted in and out of the distant silhouettes of the trees at considerable speed. The light was a blend of many hues, basically golden but with knots that flared blue, green, red, and even purple in a panoply of sparkling commotion, wild and urgent.

  “Ah!” Creyn said. “The Hunt. If they come this way you’ll see a fine sight.”

  “It looks like a giant rainbow glowworm racing up there,” Sukey breathed. “How lovely!”

  “The Tanu at play?” Bryan asked.

  Sukey uttered a disappointed cry. “Oh, they’ve gone over the ridge. What a shame! Tell us what the Hunt is, Lord Creyn.”

  The exotic man’s face was grave in the starlight. “One of the great traditions of our people. You’ll see it again, many times. I’ll let you discover for yourselves what it is.”

  “And if we’re good,” Aiken put in impudently, “do we get to join in?”

  “Possibly,” Creyn replied. “It is not to every human’s taste, nor even to every Tanu’s. But you… yes, I think perhaps the Hunt would appeal to your particular sporting instinct, Aiken Drum.”

  And for an instant, the healer’s emotional tone was plain for Elizabeth to read: disgust, mingled with an age-old sense of despair.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Richard saw flames.

  They were moving toward him or he was moving toward them and they were vivid orange and resin-smoky, rising tall into a wavering queue in the nearly windless dark. He saw that it was a pile of burning brush the size of a small hut, crackling and hissing but throwing no sparks, seeming to draw abreast of him, pass him by and recede, disappearing at last behind a grove of black trees that had crept up unseen in the night but now stood backlighted by the bonfire’s glow.

  It hurt his neck to look back. He let his head loll forward. There was something bulky in front of him that had long hair and moved rhythmically. It was very strange! He himself was rocking, firmly supported in some kind of seat that held him upright. His legs were thrust forward at an angle, the calves resting on unseen supports, feet braced against wide treads. His arms, clad in the familiar sleeves of a master spacer’s coverall, rested in his lap.

  A funny kind of starship, he mused, with a hairy control console. And the environmental must be on the fritz because the temperature was nearly thirty and there was dust in the air and a peculiar smell.

  Trees? And a bonfire? He looked around and saw stars, not the proper colored stars you see in deep space, but little twinkling specks. Far away, in the black below the starry bowl, was another small exclamation point of fire.

  “Richard? Are you awake? Would you like some water?”

  Well! Would you look at who was flying the right-hand seat of this crate? None other than the old bone hunter! Would have thought he was too creaky to qualify. But then you don’t need much finesse to fly on the ground…

  “Richard, if I pass you the canteen, can you hold on to it?”

  Smells of animals, pungent vegetation, leather. Sounds of creaking harness, brisk clumping feet, huffing exhalations, something yipping in the distance, and the voice of the persistent old man beside him.

  “Don’t want water,” said Richard.

  “Amerie said you’d need it when you woke up. You’re dehydrated. Come on, son.”

  He took a closer look at Claude there in the darkness. The old man’s figure was illuminated by starlight; he was astride a huge horse-like creature that was loping easily along. Damnedest thing! He was riding one, too! There were the reins draped over the pommel of a saddle right in front of him below the hairy control console, neck, of the critter. And it was trotting straight and level without any guidance at all.

  Richard tried to pull his feet up and discovered that his ankles were fastened somehow to the stirrups. And he wasn’t wearing his seaboots, and someone had exchanged his opera costume for the spacer’s coverall with the four stripes on the sleeves that he had stuffed into the bottom of his pack, and he had an imperial grand champion hangover.

  “Claude,” he groaned. “You got any booze?”

  “You can’t have any, boy. Not until the drug Amerie shot into you wears off. Here. Take the water.”

  Richard had to lean far out to grasp t
he canteen and the starry sky lurched. If his ankles had not been fastened, he would have fallen from the saddle.

  “Jesus, I been chewed up and spit out, Claude. Where the hell are we? And what’s this thing I’m riding?”

  “We’re about four hours out from the castle, riding due north and parallel to the Saône River. As near as I can judge, you’re riding a nice large specimen of Chalicotherium gold-fussi, which the locals call a chaliko, not a calico. The beasts travel a pretty fair clip here on the plateau, maybe fifteen or sixteen kloms an hour. But we lost time fording creeks around a little swamp, so I guess we might be thirty kloms above Lyon. If there was a Lyon.”

  Richard cursed. “Bound where, for God’s sake?”

  “Some Pliocene metropolis called Finiah. From what they told us, it’s on the Proto-Rhine about in the position of Freiburg. We get there in six days.”

  Richard drank some of the water and discovered he was very thirsty. He could remember nothing beyond the welcoming smile on Epone’s face as he followed her into the dazzling inner chamber of the castle. He tried to marshal his wits, but all he could rake up were tattered dreams in which his brother and sister seemed to urge him to get up or he’d be late for school. And the penalty for that would be cruising the gray limbo forever and ever, searching for a lost planet where Epone would be waiting.