Songs of the Dying Earth

MIKE RESNICK Inescapable (#ulink_65e7dd24-0cba-59ed-a55f-f742fe0fcaea)

SOMETIMES YOU’RE better off if your heart’s desire is out of reach…

Mike Resnick is one of the best-selling authors in science fiction, and one of the most prolific. His many novels include Santiago, The Dark Lady, Stalking The Unicorn, Birthright: The Book of Man, Paradise, Ivory, Soothsayer, Oracle, Lucifer Jones, Purgatory, Inferno, A Miracle of Rare Design, The Widowmaker, The Soul Eater, and A Hunger in the Soul. His award-winning short fiction has been gathered in the collections Will the Last Person to Leave the Planet Please Turn Off the Sun?, An Alien Land, Kirinyaga, New Dreams for Old, and Hunting the Snark and Other Short Novels. In the last decade or so, he has become almost as prolific as an anthologist, producing, as editor, Inside the Funhouse: 17 SF stories about SF, Whatdunits, More Whatdunits, and Shaggy B.E.M Stories, a long string of anthologies co-edited with Martin H. Greenberg—Alternate Presidents, Alternate Kennedys, Alternate Warriors, Aladdin: Master of the Lamp, Dinosaur Fantastic, By Any Other Fame, Alternate Outlaws, and Sherlock Holmes in Orbit, among others—as well as two anthologies co-edited with Gardner Dozois. He won the Hugo Award in 1989 for “Kirinyaga”, the story that follows. He won another Hugo Award in 1991 for another story in the Kirinyaga series, “The Manumouki”, plus the Hugo and Nebula in 1995 for his novella “Seven Views of Olduvai Gorge,” the 1998 Hugo for “The 43 Antanean Dynasties,” and the 2005 Hugo for “Travels With My Cats”. His most recent books include the novel The Return of Santiago, and the anthologies Stars: Original Stories Based on the Songs of Janis Ian (edited with Janis Ian), and New Voices in Science Fiction. His most recent books are the collection The Other Teddy Roosevelts, the novels Starship: Mercenary, Starship: Rebel, and Stalking the Vampire, and a “Kirinyaga” related novella, Kilimanjaro: a Fable of Utopia. He lives with his wife, Carol, in Cincinnati, Ohio.

Inescapable MIKE RESNICK (#ulink_65e7dd24-0cba-59ed-a55f-f742fe0fcaea)

His name was Pelmundo, and he was the son of Riloh, Chief Curator of the Great Archive in the distant city of Zhule. Like all fathers, Riloh wanted a son who followed in his footsteps, but like many sons, Pelmundo was determined to make his own way in the world.

He had been a soldier, and then a mercenary, and finally he became a Watchman of the city of Maloth, which nestled alongside the River Scaum. He wore a shining silver medallion, his pride and joy, full five inches across, as a token of his office, and a plain sword that had tasted blood more than once rested in a well-worn scabbard at his side. His leather garments bore the mark of not only his station, but the horned bat that showed him to be favored by the city’s true protector, Umbassario of the Glowing Eyes. It was Pelmundo’s job to keep the streets safe from drunks and rowdies, and the homes safe from thieves. The greater dangers, the other-worldly and nether-worldly, were the province of Umbassario.

It was a symbiotic relationship, reflected Pelmundo; Umbassario protected the town against all other magicks, and in turn the town turned a blind eye toward his own.

But it was not Umbassario and his creatures that dominated Pelmundo’s thoughts. No, it was a golden creature that played havoc with his mind and his dreams. Her name was Lith, perfect in form and movement, golden of skin and hair, a youthful witch, still in her teens, but already with a woman’s body and a woman’s power to enchant even without magic.

Pelmundo was totally captivated by the young golden witch. She had left her village and never spoke of her parents, dividing her time between her home in a hollow tree in the Old Forest, and, when she had business in the city, Laja’s House of Golden Flowers, and of all the golden flowers who plied their ancient trade there, her blossoms were the sweetest.

Time and again, Pelmundo would approach her, awed and tonguetied by her sensuous beauty, but determined to plead his cause. Time and again, she would laugh in amusement.

“You are but a Watchman,” she would say. “What can you possibly offer in exchange for my love?”

He would speak of honor, and she would speak of trinkets. He would promise love, and she would snicker and point out that the poorest jewel lasted longer than the greatest love. He would beg just to be with her, and the golden witch would vanish, only the echo of her amused laughter lingering in the empty air.

Pelmundo sought out Umbassario, who lived in a snake-filled cave high in the rocky outcroppings beyond Maloth. It was lit by black candles, and the light flickered off a thousand bats that slept their days away hanging upside down between the stalagmites before being sent off on their unholy errands.

“I have come to—” he began.

“I know why you have come, Watchman,” replied the mage. “Am I not Umbassario of the Glowing Eyes?”

“Will you help me, then?” asked Pelmundo. “Will you enchant her so that she can see only me?”

“And be blind to the rest of the world?” asked Umbassario with an amused smile. “That would almost be fitting.”

“No, I don’t mean that,” protested the Watchman. “But I burn for her. Can you not instill the same fire within her?”

“It is there.”

“But she teases and ignores me!”

“The fire is there, but it does not burn for you, son of Riloh,” continued the mage. “It burns only for Lith. She is a physically perfect woman, so she seeks only physical perfection—in jewels, in clothes, in men.”

“But you can change that!” urged Pelmundo. “You are the greatest of all the magicians who ply their trade up and down the River Scaum. You can make her love me!”

“I could,” acknowledged Umbassario. “But I will not. There once was a woman, almost as young and almost as perfect as the golden witch of your heart’s desire. I made her fall in love with me when I was younger and more foolish. Every night on the silken mat, she was the most responsive female that has ever lived, I truly believe that. But each time I would look into her eyes, even as her body jerked and spasmed in ecstasy, I would see the repugnance that my magic had banished to some secret inner part of her, and the taste of our erotic bliss turned to dust in my mouth. Finally, I removed the spell, and she was gone within an hour. Is that what you would want with Lith?”

“I truly do not know,” answered Pelmundo. “If I just had the chance, I know I could make her love me.”

The old mage sighed. “I don’t believe you have heard a word I have said. The golden witch loves only herself.”

“She will love me, with or without your spells,” said Pelmundo with iron determination.

“Without, I should think,” replied Umbassario as the Watchman left his cave.

Pelmundo walked back to Maloth in a foul mood that was apparent to one and all. People stayed out of his sight, and even the curs that scoured the street for scraps remained hidden until he passed by. Finally he entered the Place of the Seven Nectars, glared at the innkeeper and ordered the nonexistent Eighth Nectar, and, a moment later, was given a flagon filled to the brim. It tasted, he thought, exactly like the Seventh Nectar, but as it eased its way down his throat and warmed his insides, his temper began to improve and he decided not to protest.

He left the tavern and headed across the street to Laja’s House of Golden Flowers, where he found Taj the Malingerer standing in the street, staring at the front door.

“Greetings,” said Taj. “You can tell she is here today. She attracts men as honey attracts bees.”

“Who do you mean?” asked Pelmundo, feigning ignorance.

“Why, the golden witch,” replied Taj. “It is as if men read a secret signal on the winds, for I am drawn here only when she comes to Maloth from the Old Forest.” He winked at the Watchman. “Confess, friend Pelmundo: that is why you are here too.”

The Watchman glared at him and said nothing.

“My only question,” continued Taj, “is why she is here at all. Probably she is not yet skilled enough to pay her way as a witch.” Another wink. “Or perhaps this is the kind of witchcraft and enchantment at which she excels, for I love and honor my wife except on days Lith has come to town, and I have never seen you so much as look at any other woman.”

“You talk too much,” said Pelmundo irritably, because he disliked hearing the uncomfortable truths that rolled so easily off Taj’s tongue.

“I am almost through talking,” answered Taj. “For when the next man is escorted out of the house by Leja, it is my turn to pay my respects—and my tribute—to Lith.”

As the words left his mouth, Leja, old wrinkled crone who had once been almost as beautiful as the golden witch—some said two hundred years ago—led Metoxos the silk merchant to the door and bade him farewell. Suddenly, both men became aware that Lith herself was standing next to Leja—slender, with an animal grace, full ripe breasts, golden skin, hair that seemed to be made of spin gold, full red lips, and laughing eyes that seemed like sparkling embers.

“Prepare yourself, golden one,” said Taj, “for you are about to meet a real man, not a used-up walking wrinkle like that pathetic Metoxos.”

Leja reached out with her walking stick and cracked Taj across the shin.

He yelped in surprise. “What was that for?” he demanded.

“Be careful what you say about us walking wrinkles,” she answered.

“Come,” said Taj, taking Lith roughly by her bare arm. “Let us leave this crazy old woman behind and let me feast my eyes upon you in private.”

“Your eyes have become bloated by the feast,” said Lith. “I do not like bloated eyes.” She turned to Pelmundo. “You are the Watchman. This person is annoying me.”

“He is a braggart and a boor, but he has every right to be here,” said Pelmundo unhappily. “This is, after all, the House of Golden Flowers.”

“Get rid of him and I will give you a kiss,” said Lith.

“He is my friend,” said Taj. “He laughs at your offer.”

“Look at him,” said Lith, obviously amused. “Is he laughing?”

Taj turned to face Pelmundo, who was clearly not laughing.

“Move on,” said the Watchman.

“No!” shouted Taj. “I have the tribute. I have waited my turn!”