Dawn of Nothing:
One Moment in Annihilation’s Waste,
One Moment, of the Well of Life to taste,
The stars are setting and the Caravan Starts
for the Dawn of Nothing-Oh, make haste!
— Fitzgerald, The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (§38, 1859)
EIGHT
Magic shadow shapes
1
Rap had sunk into a stupor. The sound of hooves on the flags roused him enough to glance behind him with farsight. Instantly he twisted around for a proper look at the procession advancing along the harbor road. The man in front was obviously a groom or a guide of some sort, and the four persons behind him were just as obviously rich visitors—a fat, balding man in front, an even fatter overdressed matron behind him, and then two overweight daughters.
They were riding hippogriffs.
A rush of memory sent his mind skittering back to a gloomy garret on icy winter nights in Krasnegar, with the debonair Andor suavely describing the great world to his wide-eyed young friend. In telling of Sagom’s visit to Faerie, claiming it as his own, he had mentioned his ride on a hippogriff. Of all the tall tales he had told in those yarn-spinning sessions, that had been the only one that Rap had wanted to disbelieve. He loved horses so much that he had been revolted by the idea of a half-horse monster. But obviously hippogriffs were real, and now he was seeing them with his own eyes.
And they were splendid. The one in front was black as midnight, its head and neck shaped like an eagle’s, but as large as a horse’s. Its beak was a fearsome scimitar, its golden gaze ferocious. The taloned forelegs could have torn a man in half, and they paced in strange silence, while the hooved rear feet clopped loudly on the cobbles. The great wings were folded back, shrouding the riders’ legs, and the feathers shone like jet. The second mount was a snowy gray; the other three were bays of various shades.
Entranced, Rap squinted, striving to squeeze the blurring out of his vision. As horses, these would have been beautiful creatures, and the daunting raptor heads made them magnificent. Unconsciously he reached out with his farsight and stroked the sable plumage of the lead mount. The hippogriff would feel nothing, but Rap could sense the texture of the feathers—hard, yet silken soft.
But . . . something was wrong.
He closed his eyes, and still his farsight said that there were wings there, and eagle beaks. The troop had drawn level with him in their stately progress, floating above their own inky shadows. The locals were going about their business unperturbed, accustomed to seeing these handsome wonders, but some visitors were conspicuously pointing and making appreciative noises. Some had pulled out sketchbooks.
Rap opened his eyes again and still he felt confused. These lovelies looked like hippogriffs. Obviously they rode like horses, placid, well-trained horses. All mares, he saw. They were not the ugly hybrids he had imagined. Sunlight rippled on their plumage and their coats. They had beauty and grace. Why, then, was he so upset?
The troop had gone by him before understanding came. He could not see inside a horse’s mind exactly, but he had enough empathy to sense its emotions and understand its concerns. He could summon most horses, or send them away, or calm them. He could do the same with dogs and cattle—with almost anything on four legs. And they all felt different. Mules and jackasses did not think like horses, although more like them than sheep did. These hippogriffs had minds like horses. They thought like horses.
They thought they were horses.
And a drayman’s ancient hack standing between its shafts thought they were horses, too. It was watching them quite placidly. It would not have reacted so calmly to a donkey.
Again Rap reached out, and this time not with farsight. He stroked the lead mount’s horsey mind, as he might have patted its neck, or it might have nuzzled his hand. He said a silent hello.
The hippogriff swung its great raven head up to look for him. Hello, Rap said again. I’m over here.
Claws scratching, rear feet clattering, the hippogriff turned toward him, wanting to be friendly, just as a horse would. The groom on its back swore and tugged at the reins and kicked.
Rap said hello to all the hippogriffs.
The rich visitors were not as skilled as the groom. Their mounts veered toward Rap. The daughters screamed, and the hippogriffs flinched at the noise as horses would, rolling their eyes and twisting their ears . . . What ears?
They twisted their heads, too, as if the bits were hurting. How could bits hurt beaks like those?
But Rap was making trouble. The three bays were coming to visit him, ignoring their frantic riders. The man on the gray was disciplining it so crudely that it was fretting, rolling yellow eyes in its milk-white head, and starting to fight against his kicking and rein jerking. Why did hippogriffs not flap their wings when they were upset like that? The spectators were starting to notice.
This was folly! Hastily Rap sent soothing farewells, adding his efforts to those of the furious guide. The hippogriffs calmed at once and set off along the road. Rap turned around and faced the harbor again. Peace returned to the waterfront. A fugitive was crazy to create such disturbances in his own vicinity, right under the eye of the Gazebo.
So the hippogriffs were another deception? Undoubtedly all the other monsters in the zoo would be false, too, a fake threat to keep visitors from straying too far from town, perhaps. How long had this been going on, for God’s sake? More than just centuries, obviously—thousands of years! Emine and his Protocol had just regulated it, that was all, and perhaps one reason even then had been to save the fairy folk from being exterminated completely.
Idiot! There was his answer! He had been forgetting his mastery over animals, and there were horses going by all the time. All he needed to do was find an unattended horse and call it over to him. Then he could unharness it, if it came with a wagon, and ride off to hide in the jungle until his ankle healed. Easy! And he could steal a dog from somewhere, just as he had once taken Fleabag from the goblins. The dog could catch food for him! Why hadn’t he seen that sooner?
“You’re the one called Rap,” said the woman. It was more a statement than a question.
“Yes, ma’am.” Rap had not noticed her before, sitting where Gathmor had, on the far end of the bench, but she was much more welcome company. Even if her gown was a simple white thing, sleeveless and plain, it was obviously well made, and she wore silver sandals. Clearly she was a lady of wealth, as well as no small beauty. She was shading herself with a parasol decorated in white, red, green, and blue, but otherwise she bore no color at all, no gems or flowers or embroidery. Just red lips, black eyes, brown skin, white damask, and silver sandals.
It was a long, long time since a pretty girl had smiled at him. His vision had cleared. The world was back in hard-edged focus. His head had stopped pounding, and the swelling on his ankle . . .
May the Good preserve me!
“You are feeling better?” Again, barely a question. Neat white teeth.
“Yes, ma’am, thank you.”
She frowned very slightly. Her face was a lovely thing, slender and delicate. She had a glorious complexion, far better than most imps’. Her dark hair was tied up in a tight bun. Quite obviously, she was a sorceress.
“You had a bad concussion, you know. And your ankle was broken. How on earth did you manage to walk this far?”
“I don’t know, ma’am.”
She shook her head reprovingly, but then she smiled again, a smile like a joyous carillon of bells. “Well, I want to hear the whole story.”
“Starting where, ma’am?” She had the same sort of calm, inoffensive authority he’d seen in King Holindarn or his sister; it assumed a right to command so natural and unarguable that somehow the person being ordered around was not diminished by it. Inos had been starting to show some of the same manner when he had last met her. The sorceress must do her duty, which included giving orders; Rap’s duty required him to obey them. They were equals, both just doing their duty.
“Start at the beginning, of course,” she said. “No, you’ll take that too literally—I’ll try a few more questions first. You comfortable?”
He nodded sadly. He thought he had been happier before she cleared his head for him. Oh, what a mess he was in now! But he did feel good physically. He would sing and dance if that was what she wanted.