Chapter 9 - LLANO
They arrived at the site of their first regular booking. The hall had a fair audience, but was not filled. It
seemed that the news of their talent had not filtered all the way down to the larger paying public. Still, it
was the largest audience they had faced, and Orb was sure they had drawn a better crowd than ordinarily
attended.
Many of the people seemed bored or cynical, as if refusing to believe that this out-of-town group could
be worthwhile. Perhaps some were critics expecting to give indifferent ratings.
Orb smiled privately. She expected that to change.
The performance started-and indeed it changed. The numbers ranged across the musical horizon, but all
were imbued with the magic, and the magic held the audience rapt. The truth was that even poor music
would have sufficed with the magic, and good music would not have without it. But the music was good
and getting better as they refined it.
They gave a second performance the following evening. This one was a sell-out.
So it went, as they settled into the routine of the tour. Half a dozen cities into it, the Livin' Sludge had
become the hottest group on the circuit. Mrs. Glotch reported that at the rate they were going, every
member of the group would be wealthy by the time the tour concluded.
Recording companies approached them for albums. They discussed it and decided not to record, because
they weren't sure the magic would come through. Indeed, that seemed to be the case, because an illicit
recording was made of one of their performances, and later reports were that it was deemed a fake
because it lacked the impact of the live act.
They traveled the eastern part of the nation, then the southern, and then the southwestern. They had little
need of maps, because Jonah simply swam to each city requested. Nevertheless, Jezebel liked to know
where she was, so she obtained a map.
"Say!" she exclaimed. "Here's Llano!"
Orb almost dropped her harp. "What?"
"Right here," the woman said, showing the map.
Suddenly everyone was there. They found a region, and a river, and even a town by that name. "Do you
think that's where-?" Jezebel asked.
"I wonder," Orb said. "It never occurred to me that it would be on a map! I suppose it could be
coincidence."
"Not much coincidence in this world," Jezebel said. "Not when you fathom how things operate."
"We've got a gig near there," the drummer said eagerly. "Geez, if we could find that song, and if it
works..." He looked at Lou-Mae.
The others nodded. They all knew that that romance had become more serious with every performance
of "Danny Boy," and that only the black girl's adamancy about H prevented it from going further. She
would not commit herself to a drug addict; that was absolute. This only increased the drummer's desire
to get off it, but he could not.
They had their performance in the nearby city, then directed Jonah to swim to the Llano. He set forth,
and they slept.
In the morning they found the fish hovering over a broad, flat, treeless plain.
"Did he get lost?" the drummer asked. "Not a town or river in sight!"
"Cursed immortal creatures don't get lost," Jezebel said. "I know."
The drummer shrugged. By this time everyone knew Jezebel's nature, and that she was as totally
uninterested in obliging any of their big notions as was Orb. The boys regarded it as a phenomenal loss,
though it didn't seem to bother them by day. By night, however, their frustrated conversations were a
source of continuing amusement to all three women. It seemed to be the consensus that never in history
had three such attractive and virile young men been so intimately housed with three such beautiful
women with so little significant action. What a ghastly loss! Lou-Mae was shocked by some of their
notions, Orb was disgusted, and Jezebel bored. But not one of them ever hinted to the boys about this
aspect of Jonah's nature; it was too much fun to listen. In fact, they discovered that they could talk freely
to each other, from their individual chambers, simply by doing it; it seemed that by Jonah's definition,
talking to a person was the same as talking about a person. It was convenient.
They rechecked the map, and found that Jonah had brought them to the Llano Estacado, or Staked Plain,
instead of to the county, town, or river.
"But maybe he's right," the guitarist said. "Maybe this is the real place."
"I don't know," Lou-Mae said, teasing him. "See how all the little counties are real squares, here, straight
up and down. But down next to the County of Llano they're all jumbled, as if God just took them and
shoved them over to make room for Llano."
He contemplated the map. "Maybe you're right."
"I'm not sure that human boundaries have any meaning for this," Orb said, though she, too, was struck
by the manner that a large section of the counties had been skewed, as if riding a tectonic plate that had
rotated forty-five degrees. Could that relate?
They decided to accept Jonah's verdict: that the plain was the correct Llano. The fish descended, and
they disembarked.
Orb walked out on the plain, seeking the song. She did not know what she was looking for, but she
hoped that if she made herself receptive it would come to her. If this truly was the place for it. She had
been disappointed in India; the source of the Gypsies had not been the source of the Llano.
The Gypsies. It made no obvious sense, but maybe She looked around. The others were far removed,
looking in their own fashions. No one would see.
She began to dance the tanana, hoping that it would somehow attract the song to it. She moved her body
in the ways that were calculated to inflame men's minds, and assumed the poses that no decent girl
should know. She was dancing for neither man nor fish, but for the song. Would it work?
She got into it, the spirit of the dance hauling her body and mind into it, making her wanton. Then it
seemed that a melody began to come, very faint but evocative. Its theme was lovely, prettier than any
mortal tune, but underneath was a richness and power that was to any ordinary song what the ocean was
to a lake. The essence of it reached into the very heart of her, reshaping that heart to its own likeness,
changing her being in an ineffable manner. Ah, the song, the song...!
Then it faded, and she found herself exhausted, standing alone. Had she tuned in on the Llano? Had she
imagined it? She could not be sure of its source, but there was something; she felt it within her, like the
onset of a pregnancy.
A pregnancy. What had happened to her baby, Orlene? Would she ever know?
Disheartened, she walked back to the floating fish. She was not sure whether she had accomplished
anything.
The tour continued. They played to larger and larger halls, always filled to capacity. It seemed that the
whole world now knew of the Livin' Sludge; news items manufactured from nothing appeared daily in
the media. But they were bound to their quest, telling no one else about it. The Llano-where was it?
Orb's power of music was growing; there was no longer any doubt. She could tell this not so much by
the way the Sludge performances mesmerized ever-larger audiences, but by the way the other members
of the group performed. She no longer had to sing or play; she merely had to be there. That had not been
the case at the outset of the tour. Now Lou-Mae could sing alone, and the magic reached out; the
drummer could play a solo, and the magic was there. But the others informed her that when they
practiced while she was out of the fish, it didn't work. They could play well enough, but there was no
magic; they all felt the difference.
"When you're with us, it's in three-dee color," the drummer explained. "Otherwise, two-dee black/white.
Without you, we're just another nobody group."
"Well, we are a group," she responded, trying not to feel flattered, knowing that her talent was from no
virtue of hers; she owed it to heredity. "We will always perform together."
But she spoke prematurely. They were looping north, now, and it was winter; storms and snow
interrupted communications and transportation. A few days before Christmas the weather was so
threatening at the city of their engagement that they decided to set up at the hall early. Jonah nudged up
to the building, and they unloaded the instruments. They no longer needed the mikes and amplifiers and
speakers, because the magic reached the members of the audience more effectively. That was another
evidence of Orb's increased power. The drummer and Lou-Mae and the organist remained there to warm
up, while Orb and Jezebel elected to fit in some Christmas shopping. The guitarist hesitated, then
decided to return to the fish with them. Orb knew why; away from Jonah, he was subject to the call of
the H and he preferred to avoid that.
They boarded the fish, and Jonah swam up over the city. They went downtown, where Orb and Jezebel
got off. The wind cut cruelly along the streets, driving them quickly into the stores. That was all right;
shopping was what they had come for. Orb intended to get token gifts for all the members of the group,
and Jezebel was interested in new books for her library.
They forgot the time and were late finishing. Dusk was closing when they stood on the street with their
arms full of packages, and Orb mentally called Jonah.
Normally the fish arrived promptly, but this time he didn't. They waited somewhat impatiently, the wind
seeming to become more cutting. Orb's cloak automatically thickened, keeping her warm, and Jezebel
was immune to temperature, but they didn't like getting their hair mussed. Finally they backed into an
alcove for shelter-and found themselves in the company of several shivering musicians of another kind.
They were of the Salvation Army, and it was evident that their effort to raise funds had been practically
blotted out by the weather.
Orb set down her armful and reached into her purse-only to discover that she had spent all her available
cash. She looked at Jezebel, who shook her head in negation. "They wouldn't care for demon-offering,"
she muttered.
"Oh, I don't know," Orb said. "Isn't it the spirit that counts?"
Jezebel shrugged and brought out a golden coin. She tossed it in the kettle-and the moment it touched, it
burst into flame, taking with it whatever paper money had already been there. "Damned money!" the
succubus exclaimed, meaning it literally. "Now look what I've done!"
Appalled, Orb looked at the musicians. How could she apologize for this? She knew that Jezebel had not
intended evil, but the evil attached to her without her choice.
"I-I'll try to make it up to you," Orb said. She borrowed a book from the hands of the nearest musician,
and opened it, and began to sing:
"Onward Christian Soldiers, marching as to war,
With the Cross of Jesus going on before."
She did not have her harp with her, knowing that it was quite safe in Jonah. But the magic was present,
and the melody rang out across the street. Jezebel shrank away, but the others joined in. The magic
spread out to touch them, too, the effect amplifying.
People hurrying by paused to listen. Others emerged from the stores. By the time the song was finished,
there was a crowd-and offerings were pouring into the kettle, far more than enough to make up for what
had been lost.
Then Orb saw Jonah nudging in. She hurried to pick up her packages. "Bless you, soldiers!" she cried.
"Come on, Jez!"
Jonah opened his mouth and they stepped in. No one seemed to notice. The crowd was beginning to
dissipate, but money was still coming into the kettle. The musicians seemed bewildered, but pleased.
They had boarded just in time, for now the sun was setting, and Jezebel became her nocturnal self. "I
was afraid I'd get caught out there too late!" she said. "But you know, Orb, if you don't have the Llano,
you surely have something like it. What you did was what the Llano does."
Orb paused, surprised. "I never saw it that way," she said. "But I suppose-"
"We got to get moving!" the guitarist said, hurrying up the throat. "It's almost time for the show!"
"I know!" Orb exclaimed, sweeping on toward her chamber. "We forgot the time, then Jonah delayed.
Where were you going, so far away?"
"Nowhere," he protested. "Jonah was just sitting there waiting; it only took him a minute, once he
started moving. You mean you called him before?"
"Certainly I called him!" Orb snapped as she picked up her harp. "A good ten minutes before he came!"
"Maybe he didn't hear you."
"He must have, because he did come-eventually."
Jonah was swimming down again. Orb and the guitarist stood just inside the piscine lips, ready to jump
out the moment the mouth opened. "I'll have cocoa waiting for you," Jezebel said, standing behind them.
They had discovered by experimentation that no drug, alcohol included, had any effect within the fish,
so the boys had gravitated to the more wholesome snacks that the girls preferred. Even the caffeine in
coffee was nulled. Clean living was the order of the day and night, in Jonah.
The mouth opened. The tongue flipped, and abruptly they were out.
"Hey!" Jezebel exclaimed.
Orb looked at her, startled. "But I thought you were staying in!"
"That's what I thought!" the succubus replied.
"Jonah spat us all out," the guitarist said.
Orb turned to face the fish. "Jonah, she wasn't supposed to-" But she broke off, for Jonah was gone.
"Where are we?" the guitarist asked.
"Why, at the auditorium for-" Orb broke off again. For that was not where they were. Instead they stood
before the city hospital.
"Jonah got the wrong address!" the guitarist cried. "He never did that before!"
"Did he?" Jezebel asked. "Then why did he spit me out? You have to watch these demonic types; I
know. I think he wanted to clear us all out of him."
"I can't believe that!" Orb said, flustered. "All he had to do was make known his wish, and we would
have left."
"Listen, we can't worry 'bout that right now," the guitarist said. "We got a show to make!"
"But the hospital is all the way across the city from the engagement hall!" Orb said, upset. "The program
is set to begin now; we can't possibly get there on time."
"What about me?" Jezebel asked. "You know what's going to happen within my hour?"
Orb put her hands to her head. "I don't know what to do"
"Call the hall, call a taxi," the guitarist said. "I'll do it."
But there was no phone on the street, and no taxis in sight, and the blustering wind was buffeting them.
"Inside, there must be a phone," Orb said.
They piled into the hospital. But they had entered by a side door, and there was no desk and no phone.
They moved down an endlessly long series of halls.
A white-gowned doctor emerged from a side hall, almost colliding with the guitarist. "Ah, there you
are!" the doctor said. "Not a moment too soon! We ran out an hour ago, and our replacement can't get
through till tomorrow."
"This is a misunderstanding," Orb said quickly. "We don't belong here; we're just looking for a phone."
"You don't have the medication?" the doctor asked, appalled. "The message said an entertainment group
was bringing it. We have terminal patients in pain; we don't know how we're going to tide them through
the night! Listen."
They listened. Now they heard a low groaning that seemed to come from several rooms, punctuated by a
sudden scream. "They are beyond ordinary drugs," the doctor said. "The pain reaches through and it
doesn't stop."
The guitarist swallowed. "Could you use spelled H?"
The doctor looked at him with renewed hope. "You are the courier!"
The guitarist brought out his packet. "Guess so."
The doctor took it eagerly, weighing it by heft. "This is potent?"
"Strongest H on the market."
"Excellent! This amount should tide us through the night. What's the charge?"
The guitarist gulped again. "No charge. It's-you know, gray market."
The doctor nodded. "We certainly appreciate this! A dozen patients will bless you, sir!" He hurried off.
"You gave away your H?" Orb asked, still hardly believing it.
"Well, it's, you know, good for killing pain, when the legal stuff don't work."
"But how will you get through?"
"It was them or me, and what am I worth?"
"About what I am," Jezebel said glumly. "Damn, I hate what I'm going to do!"
Orb made as if to tear her hair. "Why did Jonah do this to us? Everything we have had is going to fall
apart tonight!"
Jezebel looked at her. "You know, when you sing, your magic touches everyone near. I wonder-if Jonah
can do it-"
"Yeah!" the guitarist agreed as if grasping at a straw.
"You make us more than we are! Maybe if you sing now-" Suddenly Orb remembered her experience in
the Llano Estacado. That feeling of wholeness, of power. Was it possible?
"Take my hands," she said.
They took her hands, standing there in the hospital hall. Orb sang the song that came to her, heedless
whether it was relevant.
"You must walk that lonesome valley You have to walk it by yourself..."
The magic came, spreading through her body slowly, as if encountering resistance. She fixed the image
of the plain in her mind, seeing it as the valley of the fate of those with desperate compulsions. She
walked that valley, not by herself, but with and for those who could not otherwise get through it.
"Oh, nobody else can walk it for you..."
But somebody else could walk it with them, and that was what she was doing. They walked for
themselves, but buttressed by her song, that was spreading slowly to their bodies. It was not the Llano,
but it suggested it, as the magic suggested that of Jonah, stabilizing them. She became a conduit for a
hint of the enormous power she sought, the power to put a hold on a curse. The walk of life itself,
through lonesome territory, but not alone. Sustained by the strength of friendship and commitment.
Orb became aware that the song was over when they disengaged their hands. "It's backing off!" the
guitarist said. "I think I can fight it, now!"
"Yes," Jezebel agreed. "Not as far off as it is in Jonah, but distanced just enough."
Orb wasn't sure what she had accomplished, or whether they had merely convinced themselves that she
had helped. She decided not to question it. Certainly something had passed through her.
They resumed their walk down the hall. Now they came to a desk. "Ah, you must be the entertainers," a
nurse said. "That ward's about to burst at the seams! We promised them their kind of music, but with
this weather we were afraid you wouldn't get through. Right this way."
"Their kind of music?" Orb asked. "What is that?"
"They call it 'rusty iron'," the nurse said. "It's horrible." She paused, glancing back at them. "Uh, no
offense, of course. To each his own peculiar taste."
"You know that kind?" Orb asked the guitarist.
"Some," he admitted. "But listen, that stuff is bad! We used to try it once in a while, before we got with
you, but, well, that's part of what got our other singer out of her head. You have to be insane to go for
it."
"Here we are," the nurse said. "The psycho ward. Go right in."
"Suddenly it makes sense!" Jezebel said.
"Wait!" Orb protested. "We can't do this! We-"
"You have to," the nurse said, looking harried. "They'll riot if we renege now! We had to promise-"
"You don't understand," Orb said. "I'm the only one here with an instrument, and I have no knowledge
of-"
" You don't understand," the nurse said. "The season and the storm have brought the inmates to the point
where any trifling thing can set them off. We're shorthanded for the same reason. Once things get out of
control, there will be absolute mayhem!" She unlocked the door and drew it open.
The sound hit them like the roar of ocean breakers. It was bedlam. Patients were running around, some
in dishabille, some screaming unintelligibly, some banging against the furniture. Harried aides were
trying to attend to the needs of individuals, but it was evident that they were so tired that they were
hardly better off than the patients. This might once have been an orderly ward; now it was at the verge
of chaos.
"They're here!" the nurse screamed. "Find your places!"
The effect was magical. "Rusty iron!" a patient cried jubilantly, and suddenly every person was
scrambling for his chair. This was evidently intended to be a social setting, with comfortable chairs and
television and assorted board games, cards, and books; the cards and books were scattered across the
floor, and the television screen was filled with an interference signal, appropriately. Live entertainment
was what was required.
"We've got to do it, somehow," the guitarist said. "But you know I can't sing a note, and without my
strings-"
"I'm not part of this at all," Jezebel reminded them. "Cooking's the only mundane skill I ever tackled."
"But I couldn't possibly do this-this rusty iron," Orb said. "The best I can do is support someone else
who performs it. All I can do alone is my kind of song."
"Do what you have to do!" an aide cried urgently. "Maybe they'll buy it!"
"A skit!" the guitarist said. "Like Danny-Boy and Lou-Mae! We could act the parts, and you sing."
"Let's get it going!" a patient exclaimed, banging his fist against the wall beside him. There was a
clamor of agreement.
"Anything!" the nurse hissed.
"I'm no actress," Jezebel protested. "At night I only do one thing well and I'm damned if I'll do that
here."
"Come on," the guitarist said, taking the succubus by the arm. "You can do this much. Just stand here
and look at me, and I'll look at you, and Orb will sing, and we'll just follow when we hear. With her
magic it can work!"
"Get it on!" the patient cried. He began to stamp his feet on the floor. This was quickly echoed by the
others.
"Shut up, you freaks!" the guitarist yelled. "How can we do anything with all this noise, and no amp
system? Get it quiet; then we'll perform!"
The stamping subsided. Quiet came to the ward. "Okay, Orb," the guitarist said. "Make it come to life."
Orb had her harp in place, her fingers poised. She was ready-except that her mind had suddenly gone
blank. "I can't think of any song!" she whispered, horrified.
"Any of the ones we do!" he whispered back. "Maybe they'll buy it!"
But Orb's mind remained blank; she could not remember any of their regular numbers. She seemed to
have been struck by a kind of stage fright that depleted her entire store of music. Too much had
happened; Jonah had undermined her security by stranding them like this, and her effort of song and will
to stabilize her two companions had seemed to have used up her magic. She was powerless.
"Believe me, if all these-" the nurse said, her gaze scanning the assembled patients nervously. Already
the feet were preparing to resume their stomping. From there it would surely lead to worse things, for
these were not sane people.
Believe me, if all these-Orb thought, as if reading the words on a sheet of music.
Then her fingers moved on the strings of the harp, and she began to sing.
"Believe me if all these endearing young charms Which I gaze on so fondly today, Were to fade by
tomorrow and fleet in my arms Like fairy gifts fading away..."
Orb heard herself with new horror. She was launching into one of the oldest and staidest of the mundane
favorites, totally alien to the craving of this audience! Yet it was all she had, suggested by the chance
words of the nurse. All she could do was throw herself into it and hope that the magic helped.
But the patients weren't stamping; they were listening, perhaps in amazement at the irrelevance of this
effort. The guitarist was gazing at the succubus as if she were the most innocent of lovely young
maidens, and she was gazing back at him as if it were true. How long could this hold?
She continued singing, aware of the audience as if apart from herself. Their astonishment was turning to
something else as the song progressed; every pair of eyes were fixed on the two standing figures, who
continued to look only at each other. They seemed impossibly young, untried, unsure, yet loving.
"No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close, As the sunflower
turns on her God when he sets, The same face which she turned when he rose."
It ended, but no one moved. The audience seemed locked in stasis, looking at the pair on stage, who
continued to gaze at each other. It was as it had been the first time they acted out "Danny Boy," but
more general; every face was a sunflower. The guitarist looked devoted and handsome, animated by his
loyalty to his love; Jezebel looked radiant, as if she had never before received such a look, and was
animated by it.
Jezebel turned. Now Orb saw her eyes. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Then, silently, she
collapsed.
Startled, the guitarist grabbed, catching her before she struck the floor.
Then the monstrous nose of Jonah came through the wall. The mouth opened. The guitarist picked
Jezebel up in his arms and stepped in. Orb scrambled up with her harp and followed. The audience
remained frozen.
Jonah closed his mouth and swam strongly on through the hospital, passing rooms and people as if they
were illusions, and emerging from the upper level. The fish was on his way-somewhere.
The guitarist carried Jezebel on down the throat and to her chamber, where he set her carefully on her
bed-region. "Is she all right?" he asked worriedly.
Orb knelt down and checked the woman as well as she could. "I think so. She's not mortal, you know; I
don't think she can be killed. She must have fainted. But I can't think why."
"Look at her face," he said. "She was crying..."
"I didn't think that demons could cry," Orb said.
"She just looked at me when you sang, and the tears started." He shook his head. "God, she's beautiful! I
guess I love her."
"But she's a succubus!" Orb protested. "She's a century old!"
"I'm going to kiss her."
Somewhat dazed. Orb backed away. The guitarist knelt down beside the unconscious woman, leaned
over, and kissed her on the lips.
Jezebel stirred. Her arms came up to embrace the young man, then stiffened. "No!" she said. "I have no
right!"
"No right?" the guitarist asked.
"To play such a role. I am not, was never, never can be...oh!" She turned her face to the side, the tears
flowing again.
The guitarist looked at Orb, baffled. "What does she mean?"
Now Orb understood. "The song-took her. But she's a demoness, sullied by a century of her nature. She
believes she has no right to pretend to be what you saw in her."
"I know what she is!" he said. "Look at what I am! God, when you sang-"
"I think demons can weep-when they experience true emotion," Orb said, working it out. "She may
never have experienced it before, and it overwhelmed her."
"Then she-?"
"Loves you," Orb finished. "To whatever extent such a creature can. But she feels unworthy."
"She'd have to be a hell of a lot lower than that to be unworthy of me!" he exclaimed.
Then the fish nudged down. They were at the hall where the engagement was supposed to be. In fact
they were in the hall; Jonah was delivering them right to the stage. Orb could see the others there, gazing
up.
"We have to go," Orb said.
"Yeh." The guitarist got up. But he pointed a finger at Jezebel. "This isn't over," he said.
She just looked sadly at him.
Orb and the guitarist hurried on out, stepping from the mouth directly onto the stage. They took their
normal places, and the show went on.
In a few days there was an item in the local newspaper describing the mysterious manner in which a
contingent from the Livin' Sludge had pacified the psychotic ward with a single song. The patients had
shown much improvement, and many had taken to painting pictures of sunflowers.
Similarly the scheduled concert had started off uncertainly, but developed into a rousing success when
the absent members reappeared. Only two of the early numbers had the magic, but all of the later ones
did. The reviewers were uncertain why, but Orb and the others worked it out when they compared notes.
Orb had sung twice in that period: once to stave off the awful hungers of her companions, and once for
the psycho ward. At the times she had done that, the remaining Sludge had come alive. The magic had
reached out to them, too, enabling them to thrill the audience.
She also had private conversations with Jezebel and the guitarist. Nothing had been said to the others
about that aspect of recent developments.
"This is ridiculous," the succubus said. "Demons can't love!"
"And you do?"
"Even if I were mortal, I'd be four or five times his age!"
"And it makes no difference?"
"I've always hated my nature! I did it because I had to. When I got free of that, here in Jonah, I knew I'd
never do it again, as long as I had any choice!"
"And now you want to?"
"Not by day. But by night it's driving me crazy! Now that hasn't changed. But I just want to be with him,
to please him, and if that pleases him..."
Orb remembered how it had been with Mym. "Then why don't you go to him?"
"And corrupt him? I'd rather die! Anyway, what future can there be in it? How could I face him by day,
with the others knowing?"
Orb shook her head. She didn't know.
But when she talked with the guitarist, the answer came clearer. "I know she swore off that stuff the
moment she could, but God, I wish I could be with her, you know, just, I mean I wouldn't have to touch
her, I don't want to make her hate it, but if I could just be with her at night..."
"What about the day?" Orb inquired.
"Yeh. That's rough, too. I wish it could be like now. I mean, nobody knowing. She's just the cook. But at
night you know, secret love. Nobody knowing that either."
Orb took a deep breath. She felt responsible, because her song had triggered this. "Go to her at night.
She will keep your secret."
"But she doesn't want-I mean-"
"Yes she does. She feels about you as you feel about her, the awkwardness and everything. Secret love-
that seems best."
"You mean it?" he asked incredulously.
"You did a very nice thing, when you gave away your H. Perhaps this is your reward."
"But-"
"Go to her," Orb said firmly.
He looked as if he had just received news of a phenomenal inheritance. "If you're sure-"
"Just remember her nature. We won't be in Jonah forever, and then she will revert to her normal state.
What I did was only temporary. Even if you stay with her then, you will have to share her, in her
fashion."
He nodded soberly. "Better a little time than none," he said. "I do know her nature."
Orb was left to her own thoughts. Back in Ireland, she would never have thought she would send any
man to a succubus, not even a drug addict. But she had learned something of the ways of life and love
and had become less judgmental. Every person was caught in the web of circumstance, and right and
wrong became matters of opinion. If a man who thought himself worthless had found someone who
thought otherwise, and if a creature who had been a slave to sex now was discovering the positive side
of it, where was the evil?
Evil. That reminded her of the prophecy-she might marry Evil. Others had taken that to mean she would
be the bride of Satan. Orb doubted that; as far as she knew, Satan had never married, and certainly she
would never do such a thing. So the obvious interpretation had to be wrong, and some more devious one
would eventually manifest.
And what would that be? That she would marry an evil man? Why would she do that? She was getting
over her loss of Mym; time had passed, after all, and she had another life now. But he set the standard
for her; she could not get interested in a lesser man.
Ah, but interest had not been specified. Suppose she married for some reason other than love? Yet what
could that be? She would not do it for money, certainly!
But perhaps she would do it for good. If she discovered that she could do a great deal of good in the
world by making a token marriage with an evil man. She shook off the notion. The prophecy simply
didn't make much sense, so the sensible thing to do was to dismiss it. What would be, would be, and
surely the truth would turn out to be other than the implication.
Already there were strange aspects, though. She was a musician, utilizing her natural talent of magic
projection to amplify her trained talent of music. But now her magic was spreading to the whole group
she was with, and sometimes even when she was not close by. This most recent series of events, where
she had seemingly put a hold on both the succubus' nature and the drug addict's craving-that was more
than music! She knew, in a way, what she had done; she had borrowed from Jonah, copying the manner
he held those urges in abeyance. She didn't understand the mechanism, but somehow her magic had read
it and brought it to them. Still, that was a power she either had not had before or had not known she had.
Jonah-why had the big fish deserted them for that period? He had spit them out at the wrong place, then
come for them later. Could that be coincidence?
Hardly! That session had put Orb on the spot and forced her to extend herself, drawing on her magic.
The fish's lateness in picking them up from their shopping trip had a similar effect; she had done some
good for those who were trying to collect money for a good purpose. Jonah must have known!
Was the big fish trying to guide her? Why?
Then, perhaps, she understood-the Llano. They all wanted to find that magical song. There must be
some way to do that, which Orb could use-if she first mastered the full powers of her own magic. If she
found the Llano, so would Jonah.
"Very well, Jonah," she murmured. "I will seek to explore and develop my full potential. You help me
when you can."
There was no response by the big fish, but Orb knew she had in him an ally and perhaps a friend. She
needed that support, for though she was back in a group, with constant activity, she was lonely. If only
Mym had been able to...Orb found herself crying, for no apparent reason.
Some months later Orb happened to see a picture on a page of a newspaper. She froze. That was Mym!
She read the caption. PRINCE AND PRINCESS OF INDIA VISIT, it said.
Now she looked at the woman in the picture. She was indeed a princess, regal and stunningly beautiful.
This was the marriage they had arranged for her beloved. Orb forced herself to read the article and
learned that the Princess was his betrothed, called a complex Indian name that translated to "Rapture of
Malachite," and indeed she wore malachite, costly green stones. The Prince had a speech affectation, so
the Princess did most of the talking, eloquently expressing the sentiments that he unobtrusively signaled
to her. They had come to negotiate a loan for their nations, and their prospects were very good, for the
Prince was forceful and clever despite his affectation, and the Princess most persuasive. When she
leaned forward to make one of the Prince's points, even the most cynical official paid close attention.
Orb noted the woman's evident cleavage. Of course the official paid attention!
But this was a showcase liaison, intended to appeal to westerners. Was there any genuine feeling
involved?
Orb stared at the picture and into the picture, feeling her magic reach through it and to the reality
beyond. The picture was old; she felt that now; it was a dated newspaper. But still she felt the reality
behind it. There was love there. Mym did love her, and she loved him.
Orb felt something breaking in her. Of course she was happy for Mym, she told herself. She wanted him
happy, whatever his situation. The woman was blameless and good; no fault in her. But oh, the hurt,
even after all this time!
She had to get away from here for a time, to be by herself. Far away!
Her vision blurred. Her mind seemed to blur, too. Somewhere in the far distance she heard a melody,
and she knew it was a fragment of the Llano. She tuned in on it and felt her whole body blurring.
She seemed to expand, diffusing across the chamber, then across the giant body of the fish. She
remained herself, but larger, and her substance thinned as her dimensions increased. She seemed to be
no more than fog, now as large as Jonah, now larger.
She continued to diffuse, becoming so large that Jonah was only an object intersecting her torso. There
was no discomfort; she seemed to occupy a different plane, able to overlap without contact. There was
wind, but it did not bother her either. There were clouds, and her substance phased through them without
resistance. Simultaneously it extended down to the ground and beneath it, completing a phenomenal
sphere. No, not a sphere-a shaped representation of herself. She grew and grew, and thinned and
thinned, yet her identity remained. She was the most monstrous of invisible giants!
Her center remained within the fish, but the fish was now a minnow, entirely contained within her body.
Near her geographic center, which was-never mind! Still she expanded, her legs plunging down through
the globe that was the world, her head reaching up beyond the sky. She was increasing at a greater rate,
a geometric rate, doubling her size every second or so, as fast as she might want.
She became so vast that the globe itself began to seem confining. Her feet poked out through the bottom
of it, and she stood with it slowly turning around her legs and getting smaller, casting its shadow into
space. She was larger than all the world!
But she had been in quest of something-a sound, a melody. Where was it? She bent to peer down,
cocked her ear, and tuned it in, faintly. It was from the surface of the great Pacific Ocean, a spot just
within her right thigh. She put her finger on it. "Here," she said.
Her word did not sound, for her head was beyond the effective atmosphere, but it had meaning, for it
was backed by her will. She began to shrink, but not as she had grown. Her center of awareness was at
her finger now, and she was coalescing about that. The world expanded much faster than it had shrunk,
and she closed precipitously on the spot.
Then, abruptly, she was there. She stood on a tiny isle in the sea, beside an inlet, and in the inlet was a
single lovely sponge, growing just beneath the water's surface. It was from it that the evocative sound
came.
Orb squatted. A musical sponge?
Then she came to her senses. What was she doing here, and how had she come? She was alone on a
Pacific isle, with no other land in sight, no civilization. She might have imagined her diffusion and
condensation, but this was real!
She walked around the island, finding only sand and rocks. Wind blew back her hair. The sun shone
down. She picked up a stone and tossed it into the water. It splashed. Reality.
Well, she had wanted to be alone. The melody had come from an alone-place. She had sought it and
found it. Now what was she to do?
What had caused her to seek isolation? Oh, yes-the picture of Mym. But already that jolt was passing; he
was happy with his new life, and she was no part of it, and that was the way it had to be. The little
snake-ring had informed her truly; she had seen him again, but not as before. That aspect of her
existence was done.
It was amazing how quickly she found herself accepting that. She must have been ready for it, merely
awaiting the signal. She was free of Mym, to the extent she needed to be; she could now seek other
romance.
With Satan? She kicked the sand with sudden anger. No! That prophecy could have no validity! She
would seek her own, and to Hell with Satan!
Well. So nice to have decided. Now how did she get back home to Jonah?
She came again to the inlet. She peered into the calm water. There was the sponge, its faint music
continuing.
"That music brought me here," she said aloud. "It must be part of the Llano. Magic. But how do I
return?"
She tried to remember what she had done before, but could not. She had just, somehow, expanded-and
contracted here. Thus she had in a few seconds traveled thousands of kilometers.
Now she was stuck here, no longer wishing to be alone. The wind was picking up, stirring the waves.
Clouds were shaping overhead, possibly considering a storm. She had no shelter, no umbrella, no
mackintosh. No food, no company. Except for the sponge.
She peered down at it. The water was becoming turbulent here as the wind whipped the waves across.
"What are you going to do when your water starts frothing?" she asked it. The music of the sponge
intensified. It began to grow. "You!" Orb exclaimed. "I emulated that technique from you!"
The sponge continued to grow, fading as it did so. It became an expanding shadow of itself, projecting a
gauzy portion above the water. Soon it enlarged itself out of sight; there was only thinning mist where it
had been, and then nothing. "Wait for me!" Orb cried. She concentrated, tuning in on the music, joining
it, becoming part of it.
She expanded. This time the process was much faster than before. In a moment she was towering
invisibly over the isle, shooting out in all directions. She grew to encompass the world. Where was
Jonah? She reoriented and found him, cruising along over the continent. This time she did not need to
put her finger on the target; she merely coalesced about that portion of her that included the big fish. She
could solidify at any site within her expanded body; all it required was the melody and her attention.
Soon she was back inside Jonah. Her targeting was imperfect, and she solidified within the wrong
chamber.
Jezebel and the guitarist were locked in a most passionate embrace. Embarrassed, Orb puffed into whale
size, then recoalesced about her own chamber. She was glad that things had worked out so well for that
couple, but she had never intended to snoop on them!
Then, solid, she marveled at what she had done. Just like that, she had enlarged, then contracted,
changing her location silently and efficiently.
She had caught a part of the Llano and traveled across the world!
But her exploration of the fragments of the Llano was far from complete. Perhaps her most significant
progress occurred because of a deceptively irrelevant item.
The drummer and Lou-Mae were, as they put it, an item; the guitarist had his secret love to sustain him,
and that continued to be the way he wanted it. The organist had a girl friend with whom he communed
via a tiny magic mirror he had bought for the purpose. She had been a Livin' Sludge fan and had sent her
picture, nude to the waist. That had been enough for him; their correspondence had intensified. But she
declined his frequent invitations to join the tour; her family needed her on the farm, she said.
The organist had discussed the matter freely with his companions, Orb and Jezebel included. Was Betsy
stringing him along? Was her picture faked up, so that her assets were not as represented? Did she just
want a distant association with him for the purpose of notoriety? She seemed like a really nice girl-and
that led to another question. What would a nice girl want with a creep like him?
"Sometimes a nice girl can get to like a creep, if he has redeeming qualities," Lou-Mae said, looking at
the drummer.
"Gee, thanks," the drummer said, smiling. He was poring over fan mail, methodically working his way
through a monstrous pile of it. "How about getting a nice girl to answer some of these for me?"
"I've got my own pile to answer!" Lou-Mae protested. "They never told me that success would bring so
many letters!"
"We need a damned secretary," the guitarist said.
"Don't look at me!" Jezebel said. "I've got all I can do to keep up with the housework!"
"An undamned secretary," the guitarist amended himself, smiling.
"I wonder," Orb mused. "Does Betsy do that sort of work?"
The organist looked at her. "You mean-?"
"Why don't you visit her," Jezebel said, "and take Orb along, and sing your girl a song? Then she'll come
here."
The organist nodded. He looked at Orb.
"If she is as represented..." Orb agreed. "But I have one question: does she know about the H?"
"What I thought," the organist said, abashed, "was if she came here to Jonah, there wouldn't be any
problem about that. I know she wouldn't go for H, but maybe when we find the Llano that won't matter
any more."
"But if we don't find the Llano, you may have trouble trying to fit into her world."
"We've got to find the Llano!" he said fervently.
They happened to be within range of Betsy's farm, though there was an engagement scheduled for the
following day. "We'll do it now," Orb said. "Jonah can drop us off, then take the rest of you to the city,
where you can set up. Then Jonah can come back for us in plenty of time."
"Uh, remember what happened last time," Jezebel reminded her. "Sometimes Jonah doesn't come on
call."
"He seems to have reason when he doesn't," Orb replied. "If he strands us this time, it will surely be for
the best." But she hoped they would not be stranded; that had been an uncomfortable adventure, despite
its net benefit.
Jonah obligingly deposited the two of them at the farm. Orb had her knapsack with her harp and her
carpet, just in case. When they were safely on the ground, the big fish swam away, quickly disappearing.
The farm did not look healthy. Rows and rows of plants were wilting in the baking heat. There were
channels for irrigation, but they were dry.
They approached the house. A young woman in coveralls was cleaning manure out of stalls. The horses
did not look well fed.
"It's her!" the organist whispered, terrified.
"Then let's introduce ourselves," Orb said, taking the initiative. She strode forward, and the organist had
to follow.
The girl paused as she spied them coming. She was grimy and sweaty, and her hair was matted against
her head, but she had an excellent superstructure. It seemed that her picture had been an honest
representation. "What can I do for you?" she inquired tiredly. "You come to buy a horse?"
"Not exactly," Orb said. "I am Orb, a singer for the touring group called the Livin' Sludge, and this is-"
"It's you!" Betsy exclaimed, recognizing the organist. "Oh, I'm a sight!"
"You're beautiful!" he said.
She paused as if straight-armed. "You think so now?"
"Sure! I mean, I never knew a girl before who really worked."
She flushed, flattered. "I'm not really working, I'm just filling in. I need to get out on my own. But-"
"But not on some freak show," he said.
"I didn't say that!" she protested.
"I thought maybe you were some groupie, you know, or maybe just stringing me along. Why'd you send
your picture like that?"
She grimaced. "Well, I guess it was more or less of a joke. Farm life-it's like this. I wanted to seem
different. And I really like your music. And when I got to know you-" she shrugged. "I didn't think you
were serious. I mean you musicians have a girl in every city, don't you?"
"No," Orb said. "You're the only one he's kept in contact with. He asked me to help convince you to join
us on the tour."
"But I can't sing or play!" she protested. "All I know is farm life, and not a lot of that."
"We need a secretary," Orb explained. "It really isn't professional work. It's just that there is a lot of mail
coming in, and we'd like to answer it, but with the rehearsals there just isn't time to do it properly. We
need someone who can go through it on a full-time basis, and sort it out, and call our attention to the
important letters, and-do you type?"
"Oh, sure, I do that. But-"
"We could pay you, of course. We have a housekeeper already. But you would have to travel with us."
"Now wait!" Betsy said. "I sent that picture, sure, but I'm not that kind of-"
"We can see that you aren't," Orb said. "This is a legitimate offer. It is true that this man would like to
have you with him, but there would be no commitment apart from that of the job."
Betsy looked at her. "You know, I don't think I'd believe him, even though I like him a lot. But you-you
I believe."
"Then you'll do it?" the organist asked, hardly daring to believe it.
"I don't know. It would be like a dream come true, to travel with the Livin' Sludge and see the whole
country. But with the farm drying up like this, I'd sure feel guilty about walking out."
"I saw that you had irrigation ditches," Orb said. "But why aren't you running water in them?"
"What water? They're taking it all for the poison gas plant, drying up our river. If we don't get rain soon,
we're finished! Us and every other farm in this area!"
"For what kind of plant?" Orb asked, appalled.
"Well, they claim it's a chemical plant. But there was a leak-I mean a news leak, not the other kind,
thank God! and we found out it's making poison gas for the next war. And it uses an awful lot of water-
something about the refinement process. We got up a petition to close it down, but they went to court
and they had the money, and now they've got first call on the water. In this drought-" She shrugged.
"Nothing anyone can do. If only it would rain!"
"A poison gas plant!" the organist exclaimed, horrified. "I wish we could get rid of that!"
"Oh, enough rain would do it," Betsy said. "Enough to wash right down that channel of theirs and flood
the thing out! That would do us some good, too."
"Rain," Orb said, a farfetched idea coming to her.
"Bring us a deluge, and I'll go anywhere with you!" Betsy said, laughing somewhat bitterly.
The organist spread his hands. "I wish we could! But that's not the kind of magic we're into."
But Orb was tuning in on what she believed to be another fragment of the Llano. She concentrated,
seeking it out. It was similar to the melody for traveling, but different, too; it involved expansion, but
not of her own body. Contraction, of something else. A summoning and intensification "Say, Ms. Orb,
are you all right?" Betsy inquired.
"Hey, wait!" the organist cautioned her. "I think she's caught a piece of the Llano."
"The what?"
"It's the magic song we're all looking for, to get us off the-I mean, it's like nothing you ever heard. It-she
got some of it a few months back, and-" He faltered, not wanting to speak of either H or the succubus.
"Is there something I ought to know about?" Betsy asked alertly. "Just what's going on, on your tour?"
Orb was concentrating on the elusive melody of summoning, ferreting it out, strengthening it in her
mind. But it wasn't enough. "Get-harp," she gasped, not looking at him.
The organist scrambled to obey. In a moment Orb's harp was in her hands. Still she clung to the tail of
the melody, resonating to its enormous power without quite being able to grasp it. "Set me up!" she
snapped, unable to spare the attention to do this for herself.
They took her by the arms and guided her to the ground. They drew up her legs-she felt the organist's
hands on her knees, but knew he was not being familiar. The harp came back into her hands.
"She epileptic?" Betsy asked, worried.
"No. It's the song. It-"
"Tell her the truth!" Orb said, as her fingers sought the proper strings. She couldn't start playing until she
found the precise place, but she had to be ready.
"We're into H," the organist said reluctantly. "We want the Llano to get us off it."
"You're all drug addicts?" Betsy asked, shocked.
"Not her. Just us, the original Sludge. Once she sang my friend free of it for a while. But she can do it
only a little; she needs the Llano to do it all. Meanwhile, Jonah holds it down."
"Who?"
The organist went into his answer, but Orb tuned out. She had zeroed in on enough of the melody to
amplify! Her fingers moved, playing chords on the harp, and its magic amplified the effect. It was
strange music, unlike anything she had played before, but its power manifested increasingly as she
grasped it, the feedback providing her more and more of it. It was the melody of the operating system of
the Elements! With it she was moving the Element of Air, stirring it-but not enough. All she could
generate was a light breeze; the leverage simply wasn't there.
She needed something else. And she thought she found it, in a distant variation of the theme. The
Element of Air related to what she had done when traveling: diffusion and concentration. This other
related to heat. In fact, it was the Element of Fire. She pursued this melody, her fingers dancing over the
strings of her harp. More quickly than before, she caught it; she was learning how.
She tuned in on Fire, juxtaposing it with Air, at the site she watched with her mundane eyes. The air was
now being heated. But it was already hot; she was doing only what the sun was doing-and doing no
good for the parched crops. It was water she needed, not fire.
She quested for the Element of Water, scenting its melody. More quickly yet, she traced it down, caught
hold of it, tuned it in. Using it, she summoned water. She knew the humidity was rising.
But that was not enough for rain. The air would simply drift onward, retaining its moisture. She needed
to make it yield that water, to precipitate it. To do that, she had to cool it-but all she had was heat, not
cold. She had the melody of intensification, but not of alleviation. Should she quest for the rest? She
risked losing what she had, for her mind was already overflowing with these vast and potent new
themes. How long could she retain them?
No-she could do it with the tools she had acquired! Air-Fire-Water. She concentrated her attention,
fixing it on a large region of air. Then she summoned water into it, raising the humidity. Then she
summoned the heat, heating the moist air. This increased its capacity to support water. So she
summoned more water.
The process accelerated as she became conversant with the separate themes. She was, indeed, tuning in
on the Llano: the great processes of nature, the wind and sun and moisture, that together shaped the
weather. She continued the intensification, building up an enormous mass of hot, moist air above the
parched fields. Something would soon have to give!
It did. The heated air was less dense than the cooler air surrounding it, and began to rise. Air swept in
from the great geographic torus, displacing the heated mass, squeezing under it. Orb continued to heat
the region, so that the incoming air warmed and followed the prior air up.
The process accelerated further. The outer air swept in with greater authority, and the warm mass rose
faster. The original mass expanded as it achieved elevation, and cooled as it did so, bringing itself to the
dew point. Precipitation occurred; the air now carried too much water to support, and the water emerged
as tiny droplets. The circulation of the air carried positive and negative charges into the cloud, mostly
positive above, mostly negative below, and so the droplets became charged in positive and negative
layers. These charges built up, until intra-cloud lightning occurred to nullify the disparity. But the
process was constant, so more lightning was needed, and more. The lightning, instead of causing the
precipitation to ease off, increased it a thousand fold.
Now Orb could relax. The storm had become self-sufficient, drawing in its own air and water and
ionized particles. It would continue until it dropped some of its water on the parched ground.
Betsy and the organist were staring at the thickening storm. What Orb had done at the start had been
invisible to ordinary senses, but now there was no doubting the effect. A phenomenal deluge was in the
making.
Soon the rain came. Quickly Orb put away her harp. The three of them stood there, getting soaked.
Betsy, her clothing plastered to her body, was nevertheless radiant. "I think our farm is saved," she said
and turned to embrace the organist.
So it was that the last of the Sludge got his woman. But Orb realized that she had stepped into a new
dimension of potential. She had used her music and the power of a fragment of the Llano to influence
the course of nature itself. She realized that this was just the beginning. If a poorly grasped fragment
could do this, what could the full melody do? Suddenly her reasons for pursuing this song seemed
trivial; she might as well have gone naked into the jungle to pursue a tiger.
10119 words
Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: AzTruyen.Top