Julian May - The Many-Coloured Land

“We must introduce our new companions to you,” Madame said graciously. “You have seen them, of course. The Reverend Sister Amerie, Professor Claude, Captain Richard… and Felice.”

“May the Good Goddess smile on you,” the little man said. “I’m Fitharn. But you can call me Pegleg.”

Richard goggled. “Christ! You’re a Firvulag?”

The one-legged man laughed and climbed to his feet. There beside the fire stood a tall, dead-black apparition with coiling tentacles for arms, slitted red eyes, and a mouth full of shark’s teeth that slavered foul saliva.

Amerie’s little cat let out a spitting screech. The monster vanished and Pegleg resumed his seat by the fire, nonchalantly drinking his wine.

“Impressive,” said Felice. “Can you do others?”

The Firvulag’s eyes twinkled. “We have our favorites, little one. The visions-of-the-eye are the least of it, you understand.”

“I do,” said Felice. “Since you had to flee the amphicyons, I conclude that they’re not affected by your powers.”

The exotic sighed. “A perverse species. We have to watch out for the hyaenids, too, but at least they can’t be tamed by the Foe.”

“I can control bear-dogs,” Felice said in soft persuasion. “ If I had a golden torc, I could help win this war of yours. Why won’t you give me what you’ve already given Madame Guderian?”

“Earn it,” said the Firvulag, licking his lips.

Felice clenched her fists. She forced a smile. “You’re afraid. But I wouldn’t use my metafunctions against any of you. I swear it!”

“Prove it.”

“Damn you!” She started toward the little man, her doll-like face twisted with rage. “How? How?”

Madame intervened, “Felice, compose yourself. Be seated.”

Fitharn stretched out his peg and groaned. “More wood for the fire! I’m chilled to the bone and my leg-long-gone torments me with phantom pain.”

Amerie said, “I have a medication… if you’re certain that your protoplasm is near-humanoid.”

He gave her a broad grin and nodded, extending the stump. As she applied a minidoser he cried, “Ah, better, better! Té’s blessing, if you can use such a thing, Sister.”

“Masculine, feminine, only aspects of the One. Our races are closer than you think, Fitharn of the Firvulag.”

“Perhaps.” The little man stared morosely into his winecup.

Madame said, “When you arrived, Fitharn, I was explaining to the newcomers my plan. Perhaps you will be good enough to assist me. Tell them, if you will, the story of the Ship’s Grave.”

Once again, the exotic’s cup was filled with wine. “Very well. Come close and listen. This is Brede’s Tale, which was told to me by my own grandfather, gone these five hundred years to Te’s dark womb until the great rebirth, when Te and Tana shall be sisters no more, but One, and Firvulag and Tanu cease at last their contention in the truce that shall have no end…”

He was silent for a long while, holding the cup to his lips and closing his eyes against the hot wine’s rich fumes. Finally he set the vessel beside him, folded his hands in his lap, and told the tale in an oddly cadenced singsong:

“When Brede’s Ship, through Té’s compassion, brought us here, its mighty striving drained its heart and strength and mind, and so it died that we might live. When we left the Ship our flyers spread their curving wings, and people sang the Song together, friend with foe. We made our weeping way to where the Grave would be. We saw the Ship come burning from the east. We saw it coming through the high air and the low. It howled its agony. As the rising of a planet’s sun dismisses night, so did the flaming of our Ship transform the very day, and make the Earth-star dim.

“The passing of the Ship devoured the air. The forests and the eastern mountains fell and thunder rolled around the world. The waters steamed within the brackish eastern seas. No living thing survived along the westward-trending path of death, but we watched sorrowing until the end. The Ship cried out aloud, it burst, it yielded up its soul. Its falling made the planet moan. The air, the waters, planet-crust, and Ship had merged into a glowing holocaust of stormy wound. But we stayed there until the fire was quenched by rain and tears of Brede, and then we flew away.

“Then Pallol, Medor, Sharn, and Yeochee, Kuhsarn the Wise and Lady Klahnino, the Thagdal, Boanda, Mayvar, and Dionket, Lugonn the Shining One and Leyr the Brave, the best of Tanu and of Firvulag, went forth into the setting sun to find a living-place while still the Truce prevailed and none should fight. The Tanu chose Finiah on the riverside; but we, far wiser, took High Vrazel on the fogbound mountain crag. This being done, one task alone remained, to consecrate the Grave.

“In final flight the aircraft took to air. We rode within them to the place, and all embarked to stand upon a rim of land above a cup of liquid sky too wide to see across, while all around the land lay scorched and still. We watched a Great Ordeal, the first upon this world, with Sharn contending for the Firvulag and for the Tanu, bright Lugonn. With Sword and Spear they smote until their armor blazed and birds fell from the sky and heedless watchers lost their eyes. They battled for a month of hours and longer still, until the folk who watched screamed out as one, transfigured in the glory that redounded to the Ship and solemnized its death.

“At last, brave Sharn could bear no more. He fell with Sword in hand, steadfast until the end. The victory was won by bright Lugonn whose Spear had caused the crater’s lake to boil and liquefied the rocks and conjured sparkling dew that merged its tears with ours. And thus the votive offerings of Man and Blade were chosen for the consecration of the Grave. We marched away, the voices of our minds raised up in Song for one last time in honor of the Ship and also him who there was offered up to captain it upon its voyage to the healing dark. There, comforted within the Goddess’s womb, they wait the coming of the light…”

The Firvulag raised his cup and drained it. He stretched his arms with a pop and crackle of ligaments and sat staring at Felice with a whimsical expression.

Madame Guderian said, “Within this ancient tale are certain pieces of information that repay our study. You will have noted the reference to aircraft. These are clearly machines of some sophistication, since they were able to leave the moribund Ship prior to its entrance into Earth’s atmosphere. Given the advanced technology implied by the encapsulation of the passengers within the intergalactic organism, one can hardly assume the smaller craft to be simple reaction-engine fuelers. It is more likely that they were gravo-magnetically powered, like our own eggs and subluminal spaceships. And if so…”

Richard interrupted, wide-eyed. “They’d probably still be operational! And Pegleg said his people marched away from the Grave, so they must have left the aircraft there. Son of a bitch!”

“Where are they?” cried Felice. “Where’s this Grave?”

The little Firvulag said, “When a person dies among us, the remains are taken by the family or friends to a secret place, one that none of the mourners has ever seen before. After the interment ceremony, the grave is never visited again. Its very location is blotted from the mind lest the remains be disturbed by the Foe or by irreverent rascals who would steal the funerary offerings.”

“Quaint customs,” Richard said.

Felice wailed, “Then you don’t know where the Ship’s Grave is?”

“It’s been a thousand years,” the little man replied.

Richard flung the ladle into the stewpot with a dang. “But, dammit, it’s gotta be a whackin’ great crater! What’d he say? ‘A cup of liquid sky too wide to see across.’ And it lies east of Finiah.”