Crewel Lye (26 page)

“We'll sing!” I exclaimed. The gnomes had a truly compelling argument! That was often the way of it, when reason met fanaticism.

So we sang, my pretty melody and Threnody's deep, resonating accompaniment. In this larger space it worked well; the sound sort of spread out and mellowed, and those bass notes reverberated while the high notes cut straight through to the ear. It was a nice effect, if I do say so myself.

And the cowboys responded. The aggressive bull unaggressed and returned to his grazing. Beyond him was a cowgirl, with a body not unlike the one I was using. That one listened attentively, her ears cocked toward us.

“Move them down to the far side,” Gnasty told us, gruffly pleased. “We want to work here.”

So Threnody and I slowly walked to the far side of the cavern, and the cowfolk followed us, so as to be close to the song. Behind us, the gnomes unlimbered their picks and had at the wall, gouging out chunks of it, then using their mallets to smash apart the chunks. When they had reduced the rock to gravel, they sifted through it, searching for gems. They didn't find many, but of course such work is slow, as is anything worthwhile. I couldn't fault the industrious gnomes, but I was sorry to see the natural walls being torn down and the rubble accumulating. The gnomes were more civilized than the cowfolk, so naturally they had more destructive ways. Once the gnomes were through with a section, no one would have any use for it-

All we had was one song, but the cowfolk seemed satisfied with it. The cowgirl gradually came closer to me, avoiding Threnody, and I realized that she, like the gnomides, felt more comfortable with her own sex. Once again, the camaraderie of the gentle aspect prevailed.

I held out my hand to her, and she made so bold as to sniff it, then shied away, alarmed by her own boldness. These were basically shy folk, not looking for trouble; the bulls simply stood their ground when they had to. Maybe the aversion spell of the gnomes did work on the cowboys, but they became desperate when defending their diminishing pastures, so resisted it. My sympathy was with them. I seemed to have a lot of female sympathy now; maybe it derived from my present body, yet somehow I doubted it was any carryover from Threnody's personality.

But we were captives of the gnomes, and we didn't know much about the cowfolk, and my body had not yet recovered its full strength. We had to remain with the gnomes until we saw our way clear to escape.

We sang until we began to hoarsen, which was bad for pacifying cows, so we had to quit for the day. But the gnomes had done good mining during this period and were well satisfied. The gnomides carried several small diamonds; evidently they were the guardians of such stones.

The gnomes returned us to our cell and fed us well. I would have appreciated it more if I hadn't known they wanted us fat for the pot, at such time as our usefulness as singers ended. Once our effect on the cowboys diminished, or the gnomes completed their operations in cow-folk caves, we would be in hot water.

There didn't seem to be any gnomes near our cell this evening, but a barbarian never trusts appearances completely. They could have one of their number lurking in a nearby cell, listening to make sure we didn't make any secret escape plans. So I said nothing on this subject to Threnody. But as darkness closed at the ventilation shaft, I settled down next to her, put my face near hers--that is, near mine--and murmured: “They're going to cook us one of these days.”

“Yes, we'll really go to pot,” she agreed.

“So we must plan our escape. You'll be stronger tomorrow, but it will take one more day for full strength. Do you think we can wait that long?”

“I think so,” she said. “That's a big cavern they're mining, and maybe not the only one. But let's plan it carefully now, just in case we have to try it tomorrow. I think the cowfolk will let us pass through their home passages--but we need to be sure there's a way to the surface from there.”

I was propped on one elbow, so as to address her ear. My arm was getting uncomfortable, but I didn't want to move away and have to talk louder. “Uh, may I lean against you?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said gruffly. “Here, put your head against my shoulder, and I'll hold you in place.”

So I rested my head in the crook of her shoulder and neck, and she put her brawny arm around my body. One big hand fell rather familiarly across my bosom. “Uh, your hand--” I said.

“What?” She sounded annoyed. And she put both hands on my shoulders, drew me in to my face, and kissed me on the mouth.

I wrenched away, brought up my own hand, and slapped her on the cheek, smartly. Then I scrambled out of her grasp.

“What did you do that for?” she demanded angrily. Even in the dark, I was aware of her big muscles tensing and I was uncomfortably conscious of the disparity in the powers of our bodies. She was not yet at full strength, but she could pick me up and throw me across the cell if she wanted to.

“You behave yourself, or I'll scream for the gnomes!” I said tersely.

“But all I was doing--” she began in a baffled voice.

 “All you were doing was responding to your strong masculine passions! You think any available female is yours to--to--” I could not continue, appalled at the prospect.

“My masculine passions!” she retorted, outraged. Then she laughed ruefully. “You know, it's true; I've never felt stirrings like that before. I'm all--I--is that the way men react to women?”

“To pretty ones,” I said guardedly.

“I never realized before how it was with men! How do you ever manage to control yourselves?”

“It isn't always easy,” I admitted, grudgingly mollified. “That night when you lay against me, and breathed--”

She laughed again. “I know! Now I understand exactly how you felt. That dirt you said you have in your mind--I think some of that rubbed off on me, because--well, never mind. Oh, Jordan--you were a saint!”

“Saints are mythological Mundane creatures,” I muttered, further mollified. But this experience had unsettled me, too; never before had I properly appreciated the woman's position.

“I apologize,” Threnody said. “I got carried away.”

“I accept your apology,” I said graciously. And so we were reconciled. But we did not resume physical contact and we did not discuss our plans for escape that night.

Next day was much like the first. We ate, rehearsed another song, and sang it later for the cowfolk. This time three cowgirls approached. One was young, really a calf-child, with cute little horns. “Yooo nnize vvoook,” she mooed as we paused between songs. We had found we didn't have to sing continuously; they would give us a few minutes for silence if it was obvious there would soon be more music.

I did a double take. Was she talking? It seemed so. The bovine lips and tongue were not well adapted for speech, but when I realized that the Z sound substituted for the S sound, and the V for the F, it made sense. “Thank you,” I murmured. “You nice folk, too.”

“Nnize zoongz,” she said, pleased.

“Nice songs,” I agreed, glancing to make sure the gnomes weren't paying attention. “Can all of you talk our language?”

She shook her head no. “Oonee mmeee. Mmiii zaalenz.”

“Your talent,” I agreed, understanding. I hadn't realized that nonhuman folk had magic talents, but of course, the cowfolk were mostly human. All except the heads. So it made sense that they should have souls and magic.

This was a very interesting development. Could we turn it to our advantage? We certainly needed an advantage!

We sang another song, to preserve appearances. Then I talked with the calfchild again. “What is your name?” I asked.

“Mmooola,” she replied richly. “Hwaaz yoorz?” She had trouble with some consonants, but I could understand her increasingly well as I became attuned.

“Threnody,” I said, feeling a twinge of guilt for this necessary deception. There was no way I could make these folk understand my real situation; and if I could, it would only frighten them away. I believe in good old-fashioned barbarian integrity, but there are times when it doesn't seem to apply.

“Zrennozee,” she repeated carefully.

“You speak very well,” I complimented her, and her nostrils dilated with appreciation. I leaned forward confidentially. “Just between us girls--I have a secret.”

Her beautiful bovine orbs brightened. All girls love secrets! Her furry ears twitched. “Zeekrez?”

“Yes. We are captives of the Gnobody Gnomes. Will you help us escape?”

Moola's nose wrinkled in perplexity. “Eezave?”

“Correct. Escape. The gnomes mean to cook us in a big pot when they're through with our singing.”

“Vvigg vozz?”

“A big, big pot,” I agreed. “We must escape--tomorrow. Will you help?”

The calf-brow creased and the ears twitched uncertainly. “Mmuuz aazg,” she lowed, glancing at the largest bullhead, who was evidently in charge.

“Tomorrow,” I repeated. Then we had to sing again, for the herd was getting restless.

That night we definitely had to make plans, so I trusted my valuable and delicate feminine body close to the brute hunk Threnody was using and discussed our escape. “I think all we have to do is walk into the midst of the cowfolk,” I said. “The gnomes couldn't stop us. If Moola says it's okay.”

“But can we trust them?” she asked with typically masculine suspicion. “What do they eat, besides moss?”

“Their mouths aren't suited for meat-eating,” I said.

“Or for talking?”

“That's just Moola's talent.” But I wasn't entirely easy, since I now inhabited what was surely a delectable carcass. “Anyway, what choice do we have? We don't want to wait for the gnomes to light a fire under the pot.”

The notion of that smoking fire and boiling pot seemed to bother her as much as it did me. A pot is best left unsmoked. “We'd better trust them,” she agreed. “They do seem like decent bovine folk.”

“A better risk, anyway.” I made ready to draw away, but she held me close.

“I'm sorry I killed you,” she said.

We had been through that before. “Are you getting ready to make another pass at me?” I demanded, trying vainly to free myself from her grip.

“Of course not,” she said insincerely. Then she laughed ruefully. “I never suspected what a difference a body makes,” she said. “I mean, I have assumed many forms in the past, but always female.”

“You could assume the male form, couldn't you?” I asked. “Maybe I should try it.”

“It wouldn't work. My talent is form-changing, not--that. Maybe my body could look male, but inside, it would always be female.”

That seemed reasonable. Yet now, in our exchanged bodies, she was assuming male attributes, and I female ones. Form did make a difference! Still, I definitely thought of myself as a male, and surely she remained female in outlook. Some questions have no easy answers, and I suspect the question of sexual outlook is about as uneasy as any.

We separated and slept. But perhaps we respected each other more than we had before.

Next day was as before, until we came to the cowfolk's cavern. About half the wall of it had been chipped away, so that there was much less grazing than previously. We sang the first song, and Moola approached. “Verzinanz zayz ogaa,” she reported contentedly.

“Ferdinand says okay,” I relayed to Threnody.

“Then let's get the hell on our way,” she said gruffly. I don't know why males can't be more gracious about accepting favors, and I wish they would watch their rough language.

We got up and walked to the far end of the cave, where the main herd of the cowfolk was.

“Hey!” Gnasty Gnomad shouted, brandishing his pick. But two bullheads stood in the way, their horns lowered, and he could do nothing. “And we had the pot ready to smoke tonight!” he raged.

“Such a pity, creep,” Threnody muttered without much sympathy. Males can be quite callous at times.

Moola skipped along ahead of us, showing the way. But neither of us escapees was completely sanguine about where this was leading.

It led to a huge, barnlike cave, where motherly cows nursed small baby calves, and old bullheads chewed cud complacently. Standing in a Kingly stall was Ferdinand, a huge and noble bull of a man. Moola conducted us straight to him.

Moola had to translate, as we did not comprehend bovine language. The King, however, appeared to understand our speech well enough. Royal creatures do seem to place a premium on education, and at times that really helps.

“Greetings, your Majesty,” Threnody said, making a formal bow. It was evident that the males dominated this herd, so she, as our apparent male, was expected to be the important person. I stifled my annoyance at this rank sexism for now; I'd give Threnody a piece of my mind later. “We are deeply grateful for your timely assistance in rescuing us from the gnomes.”

The King mooed. Moola translated: “Zoze Mnovozzee Mnomz arr aa vaane!”

“Those Gnobody Gnomes are a pain,” I repeated quietly for Threnody's benefit, as her masculine ear seemed to be less attuned to nuances. No wonder she couldn't sing as prettily as I could!

“They certainly are!” Threnody agreed. “They were going to smoke us in a pot.”

The bullheaded King mooed again, and Moola said: “Nnoow yoo ghann zzingg vorr uz voreverr.”

Oops! “Now you can sing--” I began, whispering.

“I heard!” Threnody snapped with insufferable masculine crudity. She raised my voice for the King. “Your Majesty, we deeply appreciate what you have done for us. But we have business elsewhere. Perhaps there is some other service we can do for your good folk to show our gratitude.”

“Mooo?” the King asked, disappointed.

“We can not stay here,” Threnody said firmly. “This is no aspersion on your region or culture. It is just that we have a prior commitment. I am a King's daugh--a King's offspring, and the duties of my status--”

Regretfully, the King mooed again. He was not one to argue against the honoring of duties of royal status.

“The only other thing we need is more pasture,” Moola translated in her fashion. I'm rendering it for the moment in our normal mode, though of course it wasn't. Actually, her accent was not bad, for a heifer, and I don't mean to disparage it; I'm sure we sounded as odd to the bovines. “But our deepest and best pastures are controlled by the Knights, and already we pay a terrible rental for the use of some of those caves.”

“Nights?” Threnody asked. “They are very dark?”

“Knights,” Moola said precisely, managing to convey a hard K sound at the beginning of the term. “We are bracketed above by the gnomes and below by the Knights. The Gnobody Gnomes and the Knock-Kneed Knights.”

The story, as it emerged, was that terrible armored creatures called Knights allowed the cowfolk to graze in some nether pastures, but required the sacrifice of the finest bullocks and heifers each year. If the cowfolk refused to send their tribute, the Knights would cut off the pastures entirely. Now, with their upper pasture depleted by the ravages of the gnomes, the bovines would not have enough left to survive.

The annual ritual had started many years before, when the Knights had moved into the caves and proved to be too strong for the cowfolk. The invaders were from a far place called Kon-Krete, where everything was very hard. The bovines had tried to fight, but their horns were no match for the pikes of the Knights, and they had been driven relentlessly to the very fringe of their range, up against the gnomes. The Knights could have exterminated the cowfolk entirely, but preferred to save them for entertainment. So the tribute was not just for grazing; it was for the very survival of the bovine community. But it was a sporting thing, as the Knights liked sport. The sacrificial cowfolk were given swords and sent into the dread labyrinth to meet the Knight Tourney Champion. If they could run that gantlet and defeat him in battle, the tribute would be forgiven, and thereafter the bovines would be permitted to graze free. That gave them a genuine incentive to fight well--but so far none of them had prevailed, even though the bull and heifer were permitted to tackle the lone Knight together. The Knights' Champion had been too strong.

“But how do you know they would keep their word, if you ever won?” Threnody asked with male suspicion.

“Oh, the Knock-Kneed Knights always keep their word,” Moola assured her. “They are creatures of chivalric honor. They believe that, without honor, they would be nothing at all. They are tough warriors and heartless creatures, but they would never dishonor their word.”

I began to perceive a certain barbarian ethic here. Maybe we could come to terms with the Knights.

The only escapes from these caves were through the territories of the gnomes or Knights. So, if we did not wish to remain here, we would have to go one way or the other. If we really wanted to do the cowfolk a favor on our way out...

Threnody was doubtful, but I wasn't. “We ought to help these good folk,” I said. “Not just because it's a way out, but because they are in genuine need. Besides, it sounds like a grand adventure.”

“Grand adventure!” she exclaimed. “More like a night-mare! We could get killed!”

“I'd rather get killed in a good fight for justice than boiled ignominiously in a pot. Of course, the easy thing would be to stay here and sing for the bovines forever while they slowly starve.”

“You retain some of those bold masculine notions,” she muttered. “But I suppose we have little choice. You could change into a mouse and sneak out alone, but I can't--and anyway, I want my body back before you ruin it.” She straightened my massive shoulders and addressed the King again. “Your Majesty, we have decided to take the place of your two sacrifices and go to battle with the Knights' Champion. Perhaps we shall defeat him and free you of your annual tribute; if not, at least two of your own folk shall be spared this year.”

King Ferdinand made a bellow of pleased surprise. “Zhiz is aa heroig zhing yoo dzoo!” Moola translated. “Yoo arr aa graaze mmaann!”

“Aa graaze mmaann,” Threnody agreed with irony. And privately to me: “You and your damned noble instincts!”

The sacrifice wasn't due until next month, but the King was sure the Knights would accept it early. We decided to go the next day.

First we had to prepare for the encounter. The cowfolk cooperated in fitting Threnody with a bullhead, so that she looked very much like the King himself. The bovines were fairly clever with their human hands and had fashioned likenesses of the heads of their heroes of the past, made from cloth, plaster, and paint. This particular mask-head was a representation of the Minotaur, a bygone hero who had gone to Mundania to seek his fortune. He was believed to have acquitted himself very well in labyrinth competition there, slaying many Mundanes. Naturally, things were better with fewer Mundanes. “Iv oonlee wee hadz hiz llighe aagenn,” Moola said reverently. “Vudz wee arr zoo veesvull nnow.”

“Too peaceful,” I agreed. “Yet there is merit in that.”

For my part, I used my body's talent. First I expanded my size to that of Threnody's body. My body, technically. Next I increased my density to make myself normal again. Then I changed my head to become that of a horned cow.

The cowfolk, watching this one-hour transformation, were amazed. So was Threnody. “You did it three times as fast as I do!” she exclaimed.

“I started to change to a giant twice as tall as you, I stopped when I was your height, so only ten minutes had passed. Then I started to increase my mass eightfold, but stopped after fifteen minutes, when it was only double. Finally I changed my head, leaving the rest of my body alone, so that only took half an hour.”

“But the whole body has to change!” she protested.

“No, it doesn't. If you change from human shape to cowgirl shape, only the head changes. Otherwise you couldn't assume some partly human forms, such as this one or that of a harpy or centaur.”

She shook her head. “I wouldn't believe it, but I just saw you do it; you've learned more about my talent in three days than I did in a lifetime!”

“Just lucky,” I said smugly.

Her eyes narrowed. “I thought barbarians were sort of stupid. You're smarter than--” She shrugged. “You're really quite a--a person.”

I shrugged. “I'm close to nature, that's all. Your talent is a natural thing, your demon heritage.”

“Natural!” she muttered with mixed emotions.

We had a supper of fresh moss, as that was all that was available. It wasn't tasty by our standards, but it did feed us. We slept in a chamber lined with old straw, which was a precious substance here; the cowfolk were treating us royally.

Next day we set out for the challenge. Moola had explained how to find the Knights, who would give us swords if they accepted our status as Sacrifice. It was simply a matter of walking to the lower level and mooing for attention. The Knights, like most arrogant conquerors, did not bother to speak the subjects' language.

“Vaarr wwelll!” Moola said as we departed, a big, lovely bovine tear in her brown eyes.

“Fare well, Moola,” I replied, giving her a female hug. I was now much bigger than she, but the sentiment was the same. I had increased my size because I felt that would give me a better chance in the action to come. Part of what sets women at a disadvantage is their smaller size, and that was one disadvantage this body did not have to put up with.

We walked down the indicated route. The caves looked strange from my bovine eyes; I could see behind me as well as before me, but detail was not as clear as I liked. Very soon we were in the forbidden territory, so we started mooing to advertise our presence. Otherwise, we had been warned, we could be slaughtered casually as trespassers or as strays from the herd.

It wasn't long before a figure in metal armor appeared. It was large--as large as we were--and so completely covered that no flesh was visible. A forbidding apparition, indeed!

“Moo!” we mooed together.

The specter studied us, one gauntleted hand on the huge sword slung at its metal hip. Then it turned and walked away. Its armor did rattle some, but its knees did not actually knock. Nervously, we followed, presuming we had been accepted as the Sacrifice and would be permitted the privilege of Running the Gantlet.

Sure enough, we were brought to an arena. It wasn't really a labyrinth, or a gantlet, but rather an open area surrounded by a warren of low channels. As we stood in the center, more suits of armor filed in, taking seats on these low walls. In fact, I now saw that these were tiered benches, the ones behind set higher than those before, so that the Knights could all see clearly into the arena. Empty, it looked like a labyrinth; filled, it was an audience chamber.

In the center of the arena, beside us, was a ramp. It started level with the floor, fairly wide, and rose at a slight incline as it crossed the arena. Near the edge, the ramp curved and went back, still rising. Across the arena, it bent once more and had another straight run. By this time it was fairly high, so that a person would not want to fall from it.

At the uppermost end of the ramp, far overhead, was a metal gate--and beyond that was the light of day. That was the route to the surface! That was our escape! That distant spot of light looked wonderful. Below, the only illumination was by murky torches.

What was to prevent us from simply marching up that ramp and out that gate? Well, the gate was closed and surely locked; we'd have to break through, which would be very difficult and perhaps impossible, or get the key to the lock. That key could be anywhere and certainly not where we could get it. The gate would open when the Knights chose to open it, not otherwise.

But why, then, make a ramp up to it? Was this a highway the Knights used themselves? Then why have it in the arena? Surely they did not form an audience every time one of their number went topside!

We were not kept waiting long. Once the theater was filled, a Knight walked to the base of the ramp. He faced us and drew out a chain with a large metal key on it. Then he walked up the ramp, swinging the key, tramping around each curve until he was high above the floor, approaching the gate. He used the key on the lock of the gate, and the gate swung open. Then he pulled the gate closed, locked it, and walked back down the ramp. No question about it; this was our escape route. We would have to earn that key.

As the Knight reached the base of the ramp, he looped the chain about his armored neck. Then he walked to the far wall. A door opened, and an armored horse emerged. The Knight went to this steed, mounted, and took up a long, sharp lance.

“But what about our swords?” Threnody asked nervously.

The Knight spurred his steed, who charged forward. The monstrous lance descended to point at us.

“I think the cowfolk got the wrong information about that!” I cried. I had kept a human tongue in my cowhead so I could talk readily.

“Or these honorable Knights have broken the agreement,” Threnody said bitterly. “No wonder no cowboy has ever won this challenge!”

“But they're supposed to be nothing at all, without honor,” I said. “Does this count as a breach of--”

We dived to either side as the mounted Knight charged through. The hooves of the steed barely missed us as it passed.

We scrambled to our feet as the Knight braked his steed, slowed, and turned. “We're lambs for the slaughter!” Threnody cried.

“You escape up the ramp while I distract him,” I said, as the Knight started his next pass.

“No good without the key!” she cried.

The Knight charged again. That sent us both diving over the ramp. We had better sidewise maneuverability than the Knight did, but sooner or later that terrible lance would skewer one of us.

Again we scrambled as the Knight slowed and turned. “We've got to get rid of that lance!” I exclaimed.

“Sure! How?”

“I'll drop on him from above,” I said. “You distract him so I can--”

The Knight thundered at us again. Threnody ran away to the side, while I raced up the ramp. With diverging targets, the Knight had to choose one, and he went after Threnody. She ran and dodged with the fleetness of desperation and a powerful body. The Knight swerved to pursue her, and I got the feeling that this was what the knightly audience really wanted--the sport of the hunt. We were not opponents, we were fleeing prey. One victim would have been too easy to dispatch, but two was more of a challenge, so they set it up that way. To help provide the illusion that the prey might escape.