Songs Of The Dancing Gods Read online

  And now here he was, sticking the kid in this kind of danger, just because he couldn't bring himself to leave Tiana free in that town for a night.

  Not that he was a great shining example of fidelity, either. She, at least, could tell herself it was the Rules, and maybe be right. She was not the same woman he had married and was becoming less so as time passed. He was the poor dumb Injun who wound up marrying the highly educated and cultured princess like some fairy tale and it had really fed his ego. Now he was the same poor dumb Injun with a dancing whore for a slave and mistress.

  He didn't blame her for that. It was nobody's fault, as she said, and even this beat the boring hell out of being reigning gods. The thing was, he'd reached the heights of society and acceptance and found out that it was less fun than driving a truck. Now he found himself wondering if he'd married her for love or lust, the same as he had the first time, or just because .some of her blue blood and education might rub off on him and cause all those other educated blue-blooded males to turn green-with envy.

  It still wasn't fair to her, though. He had to give it up; he was strangling as ruler and lived again only when they had to go into action. She, on the other hand, had given it up for his sake. He was back where he wanted to be, but she was lower than her worst nightmares because of him.

  He knew well how absolute those Rules were when they all kicked in, too. He'd never been aware of them as a barbarian, a warrior, but when he'd been dumped in that wood nymph's body, he'd slowly become a wood nymph—at one and the same time becoming two hundred percent seductive fairy female and forgetting his knowledge, his experience, his common sense, just to go with the flow emotion. Joe de Oro had literally ceased to exist; it took a wish from that most powerful of magic things, the Lamp of Lakash, ancient product of that third world beyond even this one, the Land of the Djinn, where only magic, no natural law at all, applied. But for mat, he wouldn't really exist; there'd just be some sexy, curvaceous, light green, barely thinking bimbo living inside a tree and thinking about nothing but seducing all and sundry until Judgment Day.

  Irving had been forced to grow up too soon; maybe it was time he did, too. He couldn't really help Ti, but he owed her, and particularly he owed her protection, loyalty, and a very loose leash.

  He had started to doze in his musings in spite of himself, but something suddenly stirred him awake. His hand went automatically to his sword, but he did hot draw it or wake the others, not yet. It might just be nerves or a figment of a dream.

  It might be, but it wasn't.

  There was definitely something out there. Many somethings. He heard the horses stir nervously and, slowly, he withdrew the great sword from its scabbard. The great sword had a life of its own and, awakened by being drawn, pulsed with energy, as if eager to be put to use. He felt its power, as if arm and sword were one, and he was never quite sure who was boss.

  Well, they weren't firesprites or they'd light up the night; and they weren't banshees, because they weren't howling, but that only left a few million other possibilities. He feared zombies the most'; you had to hack zombies to pieces and, even then, get away from the pieces. Damn him for thinking with his emotions and not sorting out this business with Tiana when no harm could be done! How dare he put Irving in such danger?

  Filled with rage at himself, he stood to face his attackers.

  Suddenly he made out a figure, about the size of a small child, over to his right. It was odd, but he wasn't actually seeing the creature; rather, he was seeing a kind of glowing soft, green outline of it. It looked, somehow, familiar, as if he'd seen it somewhere before, but he couldn't place where or when.

  Now, suddenly, he could see other figures in front of him— two, three, no, four of them, all nearly identical as only fairies might be, yet, somehow, he could sense a very slight difference in each one.

  Wood nymphs! They were being surrounded by wood nymphs! And that was why this spot had attracted him, had somehow sent a signal that it was safe. The great sword in his hand changed its humming pitch to sound much like a disappointed, metallic Bronx cheer. There were things to fear from wood nymphs, but the most threatening was dying of exhaustion.

  He sheathed the sword, literally feeling its irritation, and stepped forward to meet them halfway. He didn't want his son to meet a bunch of wood nymphs in their usual full heat right now. Still, he found going to them and meeting with them more unnerving than fighting a horde of homicidal zombies. The sight of them brought back memories he'd been trying to forget, and it unsettled him that he could not only see their fairy auras even now but also tell them apart, something virtually no human could do. As he drew close he could make out their full form and detail, although he was still not seeing in a normal sense. They stared at him, wide-eyed, looking less their insatiably lustful selves at the sight of a naked human male than completely confused.

  "What manner of fairy are you, who has the husk of a human man and handles iron, yet glows inside with the aura of our Sisterhood?" one asked in that cute, sexy, seductive voice they all had.

  He stopped. "I—what?"

  "What kind of sorcery puts a wood nymph in the body of a big, handsome, human hunk?" another asked.

  "I'm a man, not a wood nymph," he retorted, not knowing why he suddenly felt so cold in the damp heat.

  "Your soul and aura are as ours," a third maintained. "It burns through the oversized husk."

  "This husk is my body."

  "The soul is hid real good," the first one agreed, " 'cept'n it's plain to us. Were you changed by some sorcery or did somebody make you f'get your real self?"

  "I was born like this. The Master of the Dead took my soul once and put it in the body of a wood nymph, but the most powerful magic of all wished me back in my original body," he told them. "I really don't like to discuss it."

  "Oh, I see," the first nymph replied. "Your soul was in a husk of the Sisterhood, and it didn't get put back the same way. You were a human who became a fairy, not by nature or Rule or birth, but it happened. You were fairy. You are fairy. No mere magic or sorcery, no matter how strong, can change a fairy soul, only hide it like the leaves hide the ground."

  "Wait a minute. Are you saying that, deep down, I'm still a wood nymph? I don't feel like a wood nymph. I feel like my old self. I bleed, I bruise, I handle iron, I like girls, and I don't want any time in the grass with any man."

  "The flesh magic protects and shelters you," she replied. "The magic is real strong, too. It made you a body like your old one and gave you all that you knowed 'n' felt 'n' should feel. But it couldn't change the fairy soul inside. Your flesh makes you look 'n' think 'n' act like a mortal man, but only to mortals. You get turned on by us?"

  He didn't want to hear any more of this, but he had to, and he had to answer honestly. "No. Not a bit." And come to think of it, Irving had his tongue hanging out for those water nymphs on the ferry, but he'd felt nothing at all. These living refugees from a Playboy cartoon would turn on almost anybody, but, somehow, to him, it would be like, well. . .

  Like kissing your sister.

  "Are you telling me this is all a fake? That I'm not really a human man?"

  "Oh, no. The magic is real strong, strongest I ever seen, and I been around a couple thousand years. You'll live your life as you are. But when the flesh is gone, your soul will still be of us. Only if iron stabs your fairy heart would you really die—and forever."

  Although it was close to his worst nightmares, he knew, somehow, that it was true. He was Joe de Oro; nothing had changed about that. And he would be Joe, in every way, until death. But when death came, he would not pass on, or be reincarnated, or whatever happened to human souls; instead, he would be one of these once again, forever until Judgment Day.

  It was the most unsettling certainty of a hereafter he could have imagined.

  This was something to take up with Ruddygore, if they ever got there.

  Unfortunately, it also explained some of his own changes since returning here. His sudden
liking for the outdoors and outdoor living, for one thing. His strange, unsettling dreams, for another, and his otherwise uncharacteristic lapses in selfcontrol such as the one that got them stuck here now. If Ti wasn't Tiana anymore, he wasn't—quite—Joe, either.

  Still, he felt anger at finding out this way, in the middle of nowhere, in a situation still fraught with dangers. "Who other than wood nymphs could tell this about me?" he asked.

  She shrugged. "Of course, any of the Sisterhood right off. You can't hide from your own. Any other fairy could see it, if they was lookin' for it, but most wouldn't. Most times folks see what they expect to see, not what's there. Same as fairy sight. You could see like we see if you knowed you could and really wanted to."

  He tried to dampen his emotions as best he could, though, become Joe the Barbarian. There was nothing at all he could do about this now, and, at least, he was no longer ignorant of it. The fairy soul might panic at this news, but Joe would accept it as something to be dealt with later and, for now, something to be used. If wood nymphs saw him as one of their own, then they were potential allies. Not in a fight—wood nymphs were totally passive, as he well knew—but that wasn't what he needed right now. And this head nymph, while no Einstein, talked smarter than any other one he'd known. Maybe if you lived long enough you had time to learn something. Or, possibly, the clan leaders were always a bit smarter. Although he'd been one of them, he'd, never lived among them, and he was totally ignorant of their ways when they were among one another. No matter now.

  "All right—sisters—can you help us with some information?"

  The nymph leader shrugged. "Maybe. We don't go far from our trees, you know."

  "What's in this neighborhood that we have to worry about? "

  "Nothin" much right 'round here," she told him. "But there's hundreds of them walkin' dead all holed up at the edge of the forest, run by some witches workin' for the Master of the Dead. We dunno what they're doin' here. There's lotsa firesprites up another coupl've miles, but they don't come near here and they sleep days. 'Round here there's just the usual snakes 'n' lizards 'n' stuff like that."

  "How do you know about the sprites and coven and zombies if you never go far from this spot?'' he asked, genuinely curious.

  She shrugged. "Oh, we heard it through the great vines."

  He let that one pass. Some things it was better not to know.

  "Can you do me a favor, then? As one of you to another? Keep a watch out tonight for anything that might harm us and awaken me if it draws near before sunup?"

  "Yeah, sure. But can't you wake up the young one, there? It's been a real long time for most of us."

  He stiffened. "That young one's my son, and he's still not ready for the likes of you yet."

  That seemed to amaze them. "Your kid," one breathed, almost in awe. "Ain't none of us ever had a kid. The only time one of us is born is When one of us dies, and ain't none of us ever died yet. Wow. ..."

  "Will you do it, then? And keep out of his sight if he wakes up?"

  The leader sighed. "Oh, well, what the hell. Sure."

  He bid them a good-night, then realized he was well away from the glade and it was still pitch dark. Something in him didn't want to admit to them he couldn't see out here, but what was that they'd said about having fairy sight if he really believed in it?

  He let his mind go and stared into the darkness, and he found that it was oddly easy. How many times could he have used this, if only he'd known and believed in its existence? But he'd spent nights when his mind continually refused to admit what they had now told him was true, and now he knew.

  The scene came alive. Not with normal sight, but truly alive, magically so. He was seeing not reflected light but the auras of a forest teeming with life. Each tree, each weed, had its own unique pattern. About ten feet from where he stood, two forms blazed brightly.

  He walked confidently back and lay down beside them. Now that he knew the truth, it really wasn't that hard to deal with. If a nymph could walk off in his old barbarian body and become mortal, then he could eventually find a way to fix his own unique problem. In the meantime, use it, and try not to get killed or stabbed through the heart with iron, two things he was earnestly trying to avoid in any case. Don't fight it, use it.

  In the midst of a dank rain forest, naked and undefended against all sorts of things that lurked, he had his best sleep in months.

  When Ti awakened it was false dawn. The sun still hadn't come up, but there was some light from its reflections from over the horizon, and the forbidding scene around them was dimly glowing. It was sufficient to keep from breaking your neck, but it was kind of eerie, with wisps of ground fog about and a deathly silence.

  She looked down at Joe. Why hadn't he awakened her? Irving didn't look as if he'd been up for hours, so Joe had simply decided to go to sleep. She didn't like the thought that they'd been undefended, without guards, through that night, but, on the other hand, they seemed to have lucked out. Still, it disturbed her.

  I should have had the watch, all night if necessary. It was my duty to do so, and I have failed my master.

  She caught herself with the thought and analyzed it. That wasn't a thought she'd have ever had before. Joe was husband, lover, equal, or just plain Joe, but never her "master." And yet, somehow, the thought, the attitude it represented, felt right. Intellectually, she still rebelled at the mind-set, but the mindset remained stubbornly there, none the less.

  She went off a ways and relieved herself, then checked the horses, who all seemed well rested and even able to have munched on some of the vegetation. Joe's loincloths were still damp, but they would do. Likewise, the horse blankets and gear were drying out, but would need to get out of here and into full sunlight to get right. In places like this there was always the danger of jungle rot on clothing.

  Irving's leather outfit wasn't in very good shape as it was, and she decided that it was time he stopped being the tough guy and suffering with it and maybe trying one of his dad's loincloths for a while. It would be oversized, but she could adjust it to protect his manly modesty.

  The food was also not in good shape. She got a knife from Joe's pack and trimmed off some of the mold that was already creeping in, keeping what was edible, and laying it out on a blanket, but, although she was quite hungry, she ate none of it.

  Slaves eat last.

  It was something she'd known, of course, but she'd never thought of that with herself as the slave. Defiantly, she reached out and picked up the stump of a carrot, as if to show that she was still in charge of her life, but, somehow, she just couldn't bite into it.

  So it had happened. After slowly building one step at a time over a period of months, she was now so thoroughly defined by the major Rules that all the minor ones just tumbled in at once, filling in the gaps.

  She recalled an incident, forgotten until now, when she'd asked one of the maids at the palace if the girl, who was bright and intelligent, resented being a slave. "Oh, no, my lady," she had responded. "It is much like being a housewife, only you don't expect your husband to say thank you and, while you owe him your loyalty, you do not owe him fidelity. It all works out. There is nothing dishonorable about being a slave, and it is necessary work. I would certainly rather be living this way, in such a fine place, than as my mother did, living in a small place where meat was a luxury we rarely could afford and her dying of complications in the birth of her fifteenth child at age twenty-eight."

  It was a sobering thought, particularly when thinking of all those women at the town wells and small cafes.

  There were other compensations. She would much rather be out in the world and in adventurous circumstances than being cooped up in a satin prison. And Ruddygore had estimated the physical age of her body at possibly fifteen, certainly no older than sixteen, which meant she had lost more than a decade in physical aging. Physically, at least, she was closer in age to Irving than to Joe.

  "There is nothing dishonorable about being a slave, and it is nec
essary work. . . .".

  It would be hard, but that was the way she had to think, had to look at it. As she had told Irving, it wasn't a matter of liking or not liking it, it was a matter of acceptance and adjustment. The only" alternative was to wage futile war against the reality arid dishonor herself by doing it badly as a result.

  She went over and quietly nuzzled Joe awake. He came to with a sweet smile, stretched, looked around, and saw at once all the work she'd done. "Impressive."

  "You're my master now, remember," she said softly. "It's part of my job."

  He looked at her strangely for a moment, then smiled. "That's the biggest turn-on statement I can think of."

  At that moment, Irving stirred, spoiling the mood.

  Joe sighed. "Well, it looks like the sun's coming up and we shouldn't have much trouble getting out of here this morning. You know, I had the oddest dream last night. . . ."He looked around at the still forest, and let his mind run free for a moment; somehow, in the larger stand nearby, he sensed friendly presences. Or maybe not a dream, he added to himself.

  "I should have taken the watch," she said flatly. "That, too, is part of my job. If anything had happened to us last night it would have been my fault."

  "No," he responded enigmatically, looking at the grove, "we were okay. Don't ask how, but we were well defended."

  She wanted to get elaboration on that cryptic comment, but she sensed that she'd get no more out of him.