Fred Saberhagen - The Book of the Gods 02 - Ariadne's Web

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Ariadne's Web

By Fred Saberhagen

One

All through the hours of darkness there had been a howling of the wind, and

perhaps of livelier things than wind, in the chimneys and around the parapets of

the sprawling palace in the elder city of Kandak. A scud of low clouds kept

driving in from the empty reaches of the Great Sea, across the island kingdom of

Corycus. Outside the stone walls of the palace, winter's offensive from the

northland seemed at last about to conquer the territory that had been occupied

for several pleasant months by autumn. Inside the palace walls, a frightened

king, driven to desperate steps in his efforts to cling to his throne, had spent

the night attending to the efforts of his chief magician, a wrinkled and

shriveled man named Creon.

For long hours a young soldier called Alex the Half-Nameless had watched them

both, the king and Creon, as they went through the recitation of spells, and the

bloody sacrifice of animals, all seemingly without producing the least result.

The mess of the sacrifice had been cleared away, and king and magician,

conferring together in low voices, had seemed on the point of abandoning the

effort, when suddenly the god they had been trying to summon stood towering over

them, bleary-eyed and swaying like a drunk.

With the first light of morning, Alex the Half-Nameless was shivering, mostly

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with excitement, though with the fires ignored and untended a damp cold had

begun to dominate the great hall of the palace.

Except for the business going on in front of him, it had been a night of routine

guard duty, interrupted only by a couple of short latrine breaks. With his short

spear in hand, Alex had spent the hours of the night standing more or less at

attention with three of his comrades in arms. All four, like soldiers

everywhere, were waiting to be told what to do next. A fair amount of effort had

gone into trying not to think. For tonight's duty all had been ordered to wear

full battle dress, including light helmet and breastplate. Greaves armored their

shins above their sandaled feet, while chain mail reinforced the kilts of their

uniforms. They were accustomed to the weight of their formal arms and armor, but

it had been a long night, and the hardware was becoming burdensome.

Much earlier in the night, when the king's magician had begun his efforts to

evoke the god, a fire had been roaring in each of the huge hearths, one at each

end of the hall, flames surging and bending as the wind drove down the chimneys.

But by now the light and heat had dimmed to mere ghosts of their full selves.

The only visible flame was in the north hearth, small and wispy, in the heart of

a section sawn from a great log. Meanwhile, half of the torches burning in

sconces on the high walls had guttered and gone out.

Gripping his short spear, tensing and relaxing youthful muscles in an effort to

generate some bodily heat, Alex, like most of the handful of other people

present, was looking at King Minos on his throne at the moment when the god

arrived. Two other men were standing near the throne, and naturally none of the

three, not even the seated king, was more than merely human mortal. There came a

moment of silence in which Alex happened to blink. At that same instant, a

fierce gust of autumn wind rattled the closed shutters defending all the

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windows, and jostled the doors of the hall's two entrances against the latches

that held them shut. And in the next moment, in the time consumed by a mere

flicker of a young man's eyelids, there were four figures in his field of

vision. So it seemed to the young soldier that the new arrival must have ridden

the very wind to appear where he was.

The fourth figure was no mere human being. A god was standing in front of Alex

the Half-Nameless now, and a single glance was enough to tell him that this god

was Dionysus.

Like the great majority of humans anywhere in the world, Alex had never seen a

god. But unlike many of his fellow mortals, he had never doubted the existence

of such beings. Tonight he and the handful of others gathered in the great hall

had been waiting through the hours of darkness for this amazing thing to

happen—and now at last the wonder had occurred, a real deity had manifested

himself.

A swirl of mist, and a stale odor as of wet, dark, dead leaves had entered with

the visitor. There sounded also, in the four corners of the hall, a murmuring of

soft voices, snatches of song from invisible throats, accompanied by the music

of invisible flutes. Alex could recognize details from many of the stories. By

all these signs it was obvious that the being who stood before them was an

avatar of Dionysus, the Twice-Born.

But a silence had fallen over the humans gathered in the great hall. This was

not quite the appearance which Alex, at least, had been expecting. The

realization forced itself upon them all that the visitor was no greater in

stature than humanity—there was of course no reason why he should be—and at the

moment he appeared less impressive than many merely mortal men.

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The shocking and ugly fact was that Dionysus was fat. Not only fat, bloated, his

once-fair skin blotched red and gray. At a closer look, Alex could see that

there was gray in the god's hair and beard, and patches of both had fallen out.

There were still remnants of a once-considerable beauty in that face, a

comeliness now all but erased by the all-too-human ravages of age and

dissipation. The cloak of the Twice-Born, which he kept tightly wrapped around

his massive body, was stained and frayed.

Judging by the strange newcomer's appearance alone, Alex might have dared to

suspect that he was an impostor. But no impostor, unless he were a god himself,

could have contrived such an entrance.

As a child and youth, Alex the Half-Nameless had been fascinated by stories of

the gods, and had eagerly gathered every scrap of knowledge that he could

regarding them. Now it crossed his mind to wonder that the Twice-Born had not

arrived in a chariot drawn by panthers, bedecked with vine branches and ivy.

But what had actually occurred so far was quite marvelous enough to keep the

young soldier staring, open-mouthed.

Now and then, mingled with the continued wind, there was a rapid, light clopping

sound, suggesting to Alex's active imagination the hooves of invisible satyrs on

the paved floor.

Greener leaves, conveying no hint of wet or darkness, were garlanded around the

brow of the newcomer, entangled with the flow of his brown hair, and his right

hand clutched a golden wine cup. His laughter boomed. But the longer Alex

watched, the more he was convinced that there was something wrong with this

divine visitor. Besides the look of bloated shabbiness, there seemed an attitude

of desperation.

King Minos was an unimpressive monarch, well into middle age. He still sat

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staring silently at the new arrival, and the expression on the king's face was

one that Alex had seen there before, that of a man accustomed to dealing with

disappointment. Tonight Minos wore a gloriously brocaded robe, of scarlet

interwoven with the blue of the sea, and a light gold circlet of a crown. He

carried no arms, nor did anyone in the great hall, except for the small detail

of soldiers.

"Welcome, my Lord Dionysus." It was Creon, the cadaverous magician-priest, who

broke the silence at last. In his sepulchral voice there was more wonder than

heartiness, as he extended his hand in a ritual movement toward the god. "In the

king's name, welcome."

Dionysus did not move forward the two or three steps that would have allowed him

to touch the magician's outstretched hand. The Twice-Born gave no sign that he

was impressed by his welcome, or by the king's magician who claimed to be his

priest, or, for that matter, by the king himself. Silently the visitor directed

his world-weary gaze, in turn, at each of the humans who had been anticipating

his arrival. To judge by his reaction, what he saw was no better or worse than

he had expected. When the god's gray-eyed gaze fell on Alex, the main impression

the young soldier received was one of exhaustion.

"What do you know of the gods?" The voice of Dionysus was a kind of parody of a

conspiratorial whisper, but still it had a resonance, and was so far the most

impressive thing about his person. Again the god glanced from one human to

another, as if he hoped for answers to his question not only from the king and

his magician, but from their soldiers too, and even from their menial servants.

But it was only the king who answered. After exchanging looks with his

priest-adviser, Minos evidently decided that this was a time when protocol and

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ceremony should be minimized.

In a tone and manner that seemed to claim his equality with the one he

addressed, Minos said, "I know what it is necessary to know, Twice-Born Lord.

That all of you who are now gods began your lives as mortal men and women."

Perhaps the royal manner and tone sounded simply impertinent to Dionysus. The

pudgy chin lifted. "Oh?"

"Yes." Minos persisted bravely. "That each god or goddess whom we see on earth

has attained divinity by somehow coming into possession of a Face. Yours is of

course the Face of Dionysus—or do you prefer to be called Twice-Born, or by the

name of Bacchus?"

"It does not matter."

The king nodded. Now his hands, bejeweled and soft with years of luxury,

sketched a flat, small object in the air. "Each Face is a thing as clear as fine

glass, they say, but with a suggestion of flow, of movement, visible inside

it—is that not correct?"

But the visitor seemed tired of the subject. He made an impatient gesture. "Why

me, Minos? Of all the deities you might have tried to summon, why did you choose

me?"

The king paused, as if to consider. Then he said: "We have long worshipped you,

great Dionysus. From one end of my kingdom to the other, my people have long

sought your favor, with prayer, and sacrifice, and—"

"Yes, yes. And the real reason?"

There was a pause, in which Minos exchanged looks with his magician before

answering. "The truth is, Lord Dionysus, that we chose to summon you because, of

all the mighty powers who could be helpful, we thought you most likely to

respond."

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"Because you thought that I was weakened, I suppose."

There was a rustling sound, sharp but not loud, almost at the king's elbow,

running up along the massive column that stood there supporting stone arches

that curved above. The young soldier Alex, gaping like everyone else, began to

notice a process that was already well under way, the greening of the great

hall, the writhing of vines up through the stone-and-timber floor, wrapping the

columns that held up the roof.

Alex thought he heard a faint birdsong, and felt a welcome ghost of summerlike

warmth. And now there was more evidence that the god had not come unattended,

for some of those who had accompanied him were now taking on half-visible form,

in the far corners of the great chamber, where the light was faintest. The

little that Alex could see and hear of them suggested they were less human than

the one who'd brought them. The soldier glimpsed what had to be a kind of satyr

darting by, the upper body small, like that of a naked child, but that

appearance belied by the beard that curled around the chin, and by the hairy

nether parts. The creature, whatever it was, moved with great nimbleness upon

two shaggy goat-legs. Now the faint voices from invisible throats, some of them

sounding too high-pitched to be human, were crooning a drinking song, to the

accompanying music of unseen flutes. Any suspicion that the visitor could be an

impostor had long since vanished into the realm of fairy tales.

For a moment Alex had been distracted from what Dionysus was saying. But he

caught the end of it: "—right enough. Right enough, so far, as far as you go."

And then without warning the god fell into a paroxysm of coughing that almost

bent him double, a racking noise that sounded as if it might be damaging his

lungs.

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The king politely ignored his guest's spasm. But, magical vines and satyrs

notwithstanding, Minos gave the impression of being less and less impressed by

his visitor as the interview went on. The king's own voice was gradually

reverting more and more to its accustomed royal tone.

"One day," said the king, now almost lecturing, "when you were still only a

mortal man, you somehow found, or were given—or perhaps seized by force—the Face

of Dionysus. That might have happened a year ago, perhaps a hundred years—"

"Sometimes it feels a thousand," the other wheezed, when he had done with

coughing.

The monarch pressed bravely on. "—and at that time you were brave enough, or

perhaps frightened enough, to put it on. The Face melted into your head, as

Faces always do when people wear them. And there yours still rests at this

moment, somewhere behind your eyes, as invisible as your soul. And like your

soul, your spirit, it will remain with you until you . . . for the rest of your

life. And as long as it is with you, you enjoy all the powers of a god."

The Twice-Born did not seem to have been bothered by the casual suggestion that

he might once have been frightened. Indeed, it did not seem impossible that he

could even now be well acquainted with fear. He only nodded his head gently.

" 'Enjoy.' Oh, I enjoy them, yes." Cough again, and cough. "You have said

nothing," he observed hoarsely, "about all the pain."

Then the visitor gestured negligently toward Creon. "Tell me, King Minos—did

this adviser of yours, this self-anointed priest of mine who stands beside

you—did any of your wise informants, your magicians, or perhaps they call

themselves odylic experts—did even one of them tell you anything about the

pain?"

The gaunt magician frowned, but held his peace. The king said, "I am sorry if

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you are currently experiencing any kind of discomfort, Lord Dionysus, but I

suppose it will get better. All authorities agree that gods are very hard to

kill."

"And so we are." In the left hand of Dionysus there suddenly appeared, clean out

of nowhere, a sturdy wooden staff, perhaps seven feet long and thick as a man's

wrist. That is the thyrsus, Alex told himself, in silent awe, recognizing an

element from the stories. The shaft was ivy-covered, and tipped with a pine

cone, just as in the legends and the tales.

Dionysus was now leaning part of his considerable weight upon his staff, as if

he really needed its support.

"You should remember that," the god continued. Once more he turned his head to

look around the hall. "So, this is the welcome you've arranged. Lucky for you

that I place little value upon ceremony. But you're right, for now my wants are

simple, I desire only a few months of peace. I must rest until the spring. As

you say, things'll be better then."

"Would you care to sit down, Lord Dionysus?" The monarch gestured courteously

toward one of the empty chairs, of which there were a few nearby.

"I'll sit when I'm ready."

Now Alex was having a hard time taking his eyes off the thyrsus, as if with some

part of his mind he could sense that power was centered there. All the mortals

in the room, except for the king and his chief magician, had been impressed by

the sudden appearance of the ornate staff. Alex thought there was something

written on it, thin lines of small, graven characters going up and down the

wooden shaft. The writing was too small for him to read, even supposing that it

had all been in the only language that he knew. Certainly no more than one of

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the sets of characters was in that tongue.

Minos was speaking again. "There is nothing in this world that I want more than

to provide my Lord Dionysus with a secure place to rest during the tiresome

winter that is only now beginning. All the comforts, magical and, um,

otherwise." The king paused for a deep breath. He seemed to have finally found

the tone, the manner, that he wanted to use; one that might have been

appropriate speaking to an important ambassador, a human from one of the

kingdoms ringing the shore of the Great Sea.

"But," the king continued, "there is a certain problem that must first be

solved, before any of us will be able to rest in safety."

"Ah, hum. Yes, I supposed there would be. Everyone has problems. What is yours?"

"My brother," said Minos simply. "He wishes to take the throne away from me."

"Oh he does, hey?" Dionysus drew himself up a little taller, straightening his

shoulders. "Seems a damned unbrotherly thing to do."

In the privacy of his own mind, where as a private soldier he entertained nearly

all of his important thoughts, Alex was coming to the conclusion that what his

early quest for knowledge had taught him about the nature of the gods, and what

the king's brief speech had just confirmed, was very probably the truth. The one

who stood before them, staff in hand, gave the impression of possessing a dual

nature. The man, who was one component of that nature, was terrified, feeling

that death was near, even if the god was not.

Alex stared, with a mixture of fear and fascination, at what a great god had

become—at the evidence that those who were called immortal were not, after all,

immune to damage and to failure. Only the Faces were immortal, indestructible,

while their wearers came and went. He remembered all the stories that were told,

of all the marvels wrought by the one some called the God of Many Names.

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Ariadne'sWeb ByFredSaberhagen OneAllthroughthehoursofdarknesstherehadbeenahowlingofthewind,andperhapsoflivelierthingsthanwind,inthechimneysandaroundtheparapetsofthesprawlingpalaceintheeldercityofKandak.AscudoflowcloudskeptdrivinginfromtheemptyreachesoftheGreatSea,acrosstheislandkingdomofCorycus.Ou...

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Fred Saberhagen - The Book of the Gods 02 - Ariadne's Web

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