Unidentified funny objec.., p.8
Unidentified Funny Objects 6, page 8
Her muse was drifting just outside the reach of her sword, Suzanne estimated. Perhaps if she swung the blade and simultaneously leaped forward over Inconstant's head . . .
"Any good story ideas coming to you?" Calliope asked.
"I'm considering a few ideas," Suzanne replied, her voice quavering as her body shook with cold. "I don't suppose the powers of a muse include any way to start a fire in this weather?"
"A writer must suffer for her art," Calliope declared airily. "How would your character find shelter in such a storm?"
Suzanne winced as a fresh sheet of rain hit her. Shaking off the frigid water, her hand so tight on her sword that she could feel the hilt biting into her palm, Suzanne glared at her muse. "I'm not a character! I'm a writer!"
"Then listen to your muse. Be creative."
"Go away! I don't want a muse anymore! I want to go back to the city!" Suzanne tried to turn Inconstant's head around, but found herself unable to as the pull of her muse dragged on her.
"A writer must follow her muse," Calliope chided, as she drifted ahead of Inconstant. "And you can't make me go away. The goddess Inspiration's priest-editor warned you about that."
"Since when do writers listen to priest-editors?" Suzanne grumbled.
"They rarely do. That's why they need the help of their muses." Calliope paused dramatically, still floating in mid-air just out of Suzanne's reach, and raised one hand to her chin as if thinking. "I wonder if there are any caves in these mountains."
Suzanne glowered into the storm, wondering how badly her soaked trousers were chafing her thighs as she rode. She had lost feeling in them a while ago and dreaded discovering the answer.
"Caves," Calliope repeated. "Dry caves."
That last penetrated through Suzanne's misery. She glared suspiciously at her muse. "Would these caves happen to be the homes of bears? Or bandits?"
"Unknown perils in the dark! Wouldn't that be wonderful?"
"No. Can you at least tell me—" Suzanne broke off the question as Calliope vanished like a soap bubble bursting.
Muttering curses, Suzanne tried to turn Inconstant around again, only to find herself still unable to do so. Praying to the goddess Inspiration for aid, she aimed Inconstant off the path to one side and uphill through the trees. They hadn't gone far before a wall of bare stone that marked the steep side of a mountain rose out of the rain-lashed darkness. Turning Inconstant left, Suzanne rode slowly along the flank of the mountain, thinking dark thoughts of mudslides and avalanches.
Inconstant jerked to a halt, pitching Suzanne forward onto his neck, then stood unmoving as she muttered curses into his ear. Kicking didn't get the horse moving, so Suzanne dismounted, keeping a firm grip on the reins, and walked forward so she could pull her mount ahead.
Instead of advancing under Suzanne's tug, Inconstant jerked his head to one side. Suzanne's feet went out from under her as her boots slipped on the wet grass and mud, causing her to flop backward into more mud and lose her grip on the reins.
By the time she struggled to her feet, Inconstant had once again lived up to his name and vanished into the storm.
Suzanne considered sitting back down in the mud, then began trudging along the mountainside, one hand running along the slick rock as she went to help keep her balance on the slippery grass and mud under her feet. This worked well for a little while, even though walking close to the mountainside meant she was constantly stumbling over talus fallen from above. It was while carefully stepping over a pile of stone fragments that the supporting rock wall vanished from under her hand and Suzanne fell again, sideways this time.
It took her a moment to realize she wasn't being rained on anymore. Suzanne looked around, unable to see much in the gloom except for the lighter patch of black which marked the entrance to the cave into which she had fallen. She couldn't smell any bears or hear any bandits, so Suzanne cautiously searched for the cave wall. Finding it, she huddled on the ground, listening to the rain pour down outside.
A glow lit the cave as Calliope reappeared. "That's no way to find adventure," Suzanne's muse scolded.
"All I want to find is a fire and something to eat."
"You are so easily discouraged! A writer must suffer for her art! But perhaps some unexpected plot development will occur despite your character's lack of motivation."
"What? Plot development? I don't want to be motivated!" Suzanne's head came up in alarm as Calliope vanished again. Worried, Suzanne stood up, drew her sword and eyed the pitch black around her. She almost dropped the weapon when a deep voice rang out from the depths of the cave.
"It is death to enter here!" the voice bellowed in tones too loud and too deep for even a troll.
"I was just going," Suzanne answered hastily, groping for the entrance to the cave.
"Too late. Are you ready to die?"
"No, not really." Suzanne backed away from the voice, trying to move silently.
"Hold still!" Suzanne froze as the voice continued almost peevishly. "What kind of fool disturbs me? Are you an adventurer in search of wealth or glory?"
"No, I'm a writer, not an adventurer, and I've kind of given up on the whole wealth thing because the priest-editors of Inspiration don't pay all that much, and as for glory no one really knows who I am and—"
"You're a writer?" the deep voice interrupted.
"Yes. Yes, I am."
"How do I know you're telling the truth?" Now the voice sounded suspicious. "That was a run-on sentence just then, wasn't it?"
"Sometimes in dialogue you have to—"
"You could be a writing instructor. Or a priest-editor who doesn't know what she's doing. How do I know you're really a writer?" the voice demanded in tones that slightly deafened Suzanne and shook the walls of the cave.
"Uh . . . I'm not wearing much make-up. And I have on sensible shoes , and . . ." Suzanne reached quickly into her pocket and pulled out the object she kept there. "I have a pen."
"Anyone can have a pen," the deep voice grumbled. "Maybe I should just kill you."
"And I have a muse," Suzanne added desperately. "I followed my muse into these mountains."
"A muse?" The deep voice pondered that for a while. "Come."
To Suzanne's horror, the one-word command resulted in her being seized by some unseen force that felt like a huge hand. She was rapidly dragged by the invisible grasp deeper and deeper into the cave, fighting off a dizzying sensation of being pulled at great speed far beneath the surface, until she came to an abrupt halt in a large cavern dimly illuminated by the glow from a massive creature in the center of the space. The invisible grasp fell away, but Suzanne felt her legs lock with fear as she stared at the creature, which looked like what would happen if a giant human had been haphazardly combined with pieces of other giant creatures.
The monster gazed at Suzanne impassively for a moment. "Where's this muse?" it thundered in a voice that echoed from the walls of the cavern.
"She's . . . she's not here," Suzanne quavered in reply. "She never comes when I want her to but when I don't want her she's always there and—"
"Silence!" Fragments of rock fell from the top of the cavern in response to the roar from the creature. "You have just proven to me that you are a fellow writer! Only we understand how fickle a muse can be."
"A . . . fellow writer? You have a muse?" Suzanne gasped.
"Had. I ate it." As the monster picked at his fangs in memory, a cobra rose from the gloom along the floor and spat venom into its face. The creature flicked away the steaming venom and sighed. "Try not to step on the cobras."
Suzanne's hair rose on end as she saw that the floor of the cavern was writhing with snakes. She watched another cobra spit a dose of venom at the monster. It wiped the latest assault away as Suzanne found her voice again. "I didn't know a muse could be eaten."
"You couldn't eat one," the creature rumbled. "I could because I'm a god. Gothlack. I assume you know the name. The only things I get to eat are whatever wanders into this cave, and my muse. Lucky for you, I'm in a good mood today."
"G-Gothlack? The god of chaos? B-but you're supposed to be—"
"Confined by the other gods beneath a mountain with snakes spitting venom at me," Gothlack finished in annoyed tones as he waved one hand around to indicate his surroundings. "You didn't notice? And I didn't even do anything to deserve this fate."
"You tried to destroy the world," Suzanne pointed out.
"And I'll try again! That's my job. Chaos. I destroy things." Gothlack flinched as another cobra spat into his face. He hefted a thick pile of vellum on which words literally burned with tiny flickering flames. "But sometimes even I create things. Like my novel here. That's why I'm in a good mood. I finished it today."
Suzanne stared at the manuscript, wondering why the flaming words didn't consume the vellum.
"My masterpiece. The End of Everything." Gothlack laughed like a pile of rusty metal falling. "It's a great title, isn't it?"
"A wonderful title. Is there any chance I could go right now to tell people about it—"
"Because," Gothlack continued with a hard look at Suzanne, "that's exactly what it is. The whole manuscript, all one thousand pages, is a very carefully crafted curse. The first time anyone finishes reading the whole thing the entire world goes poof. Get it? The End of Everything. What is that? Irony?"
"I'm not sure. I could go look it up—"
"But to be read, the manuscript has to be given to my agent and my publisher, and as you see, I can't deliver my manuscript in person." The god of chaos gestured again, this time toward the tremendous chains of orichalcum holding him prisoner. "That's why you're going to deliver it for me."
"Me?" Suzanne tried to back away, but the unseen force held her in place. "I was actually planning on—"
"Did I mention that I'm a god? So this isn't a request. It's a waddayacallit. A geas. You've got to do it."
He held out the manuscript and Suzanne felt her legs carry her forward through the cobras, which fortunately remained focused on spitting venom at Gothlack. Suzanne's hand rose of its own accord to take the vellum. The god of chaos frowned as he measured Suzanne's hand against the tall stack of vellum, then compressed the manuscript between his palms until it was thin enough to fit into her grasp. Suzanne winced in anticipation of being burned, but the cold flame of the words left her untouched.
"Where am I going?" Suzanne asked as her legs tried to walk her out of the cave. With a tremendous effort she held herself still for a moment.
"To my agent. Mani the Agent in Nwe Yerk. Say hi to him for me."
"Nwe Yerk?" The largest city in the land. Suzanne had never dreamed of actually visiting it.
"Yeah. My publisher is there, too. The Temple of Inspiration in Nwe Yerk. Nothing but the best for the god of chaos. You've heard of them, right? 'We treat our writers like gods, because some of them are.' One of their priest-editors visited me here once. I ate him, too." Gothlack shrugged. "Inspiration wasn't too happy with me about that, but who needs Inspiration or editors to write a thousand page novel? Have a nice trip." He gestured a final time and Suzanne felt herself yanked backward at tremendous speed again through the utter black of the cave's passages until she came to a sudden stop right at the entrance.
Outside the rain was still falling in sheets. Suzanne gazed out into the storm. Maybe by morning the rain would've stopped and she could—
"Get moving," Gothlack's voice rumbled behind her, and the unseen force kicked Suzanne out into the downpour.
Suzanne stumbled several paces, gasping against the renewed drenching, then came to a halt as she ran face first something wet, hairy, smelly, and fairly solid. Blinking away rain, Suzanne realized it was her horse Inconstant, who stood unconcerned as if nothing had happened.
Snarling a few curses, Suzanne stuffed Gothlack's flaming manuscript into one of the saddlebags, then mounted Inconstant, her soaked pants settling into the wet saddle with a squishy thump.
A small glow marked the reappearance of Calliope a short distance away. "Did you have any interesting experiences?" the muse inquired. "Something you could include in a story?"
Suzanne yanked Guardian from its sheath and kicked Inconstant into a gallop toward the muse, who vanished just before Suzanne's sword cleaved the air the muse had once occupied.
Nwe Yerk occupied a long island just off the coast, a few weeks' travel from the mountains where Suzanne had left Gothlack. Forced along by both her muse and the god's geas, Suzanne had gotten fairly adept at quickly grabbing food and dealing with other necessities during the brief stops she was permitted. At least Inconstant had stayed on the right roads so Suzanne had been able to sleep in the saddle.
Suzanne slumped wearily in the saddle as Inconstant plodded through the crowds moving across one of the great bridges connecting Nwe Yerk to the mainland. The lines outside the city sorely tested the patience of her geas, but eventually Suzanne reached the gate guards.
The guards, who looked remarkably like close relatives of the gate guards in Suzanne's home city, studied Suzanne with worried expressions as they took in her bedraggled appearance, sword, leather armor, shirt, and pants. Finally their leader spoke up. "Are you a crazed but unusually modest-dressing barbarian swordswoman?"
"No. I'm a writer."
"But you have a sword," the guard noted accusingly.
"I've also got a pen." Suzanne hauled out her pen for the guard's inspection.
"It's been used, sure enough," the guard announced, after examining the pen closely. "What brings you to Nwe Yerk?"
"I'm under a geas from the god of chaos."
The gate guards stared.
"And I'm following my muse."
The guards broke into understanding smiles. "Oh, that's okay, then," the leader announced as he waved her inside the gate, Suzanne following the tug of her geas through the teeming streets of Nwe Yerk.
Calliope appeared, smiling benignly. "Nwe Yerk. The queen of cities, where Inspiration can be found on every street corner."
Suzanne cast a glance at the scantily-clad women occupying the nearest corner as they waved invitingly at passing males, doubtless inspiring many ideas in those men. She wondered for the thousandth time—in the last couple of weeks—whether Gothlack would eat Calliope if Suzanne begged hard enough. "Go away."
"But this adventure is just beginning."
"I'm about to be forced to deliver a manuscript to the agent of chaos, who will read it, and then the world will end. What about that classifies this as the beginning?"
"Try to think of another plot twist," Calliope suggested. She vanished again as Suzanne felt the geas' tug abruptly yank her sideways toward a modest three-story building.
Suzanne took advantage of the geas' power to help jerk Inconstant's stubborn head in the same direction, then dismounted, her entire lower body screaming with chafing and aching from the long trip. Tying up her horse and grabbing the saddlebag containing the manuscript, Suzanne ran one hand through her hopelessly-tangled hair, settled her sword in its sheath, then staggered into the building as passing women desperately tried to shield their children from her.
The geas tugged Suzanne up two flights of stairs, then down a hall to a door bearing a sign reading Mani – Literary Agent to the gods and other Writers. Shoving open the door, Suzanne stared at the short, rumpled man seated at a desk. "I'm looking for an agent."
Mani groaned. "Send me an outline and the first three chapters and I'll try to get back to you within three or four seasons. Maybe five."
"Really? You'll look at three chapters? I've got—" Suzanne stiffened as the geas locked on her. "No, it's not about me. Gothlack says hi."
This time Mani sighed elaborately, waving Suzanne inside. "He wants another extension, right? Tell Gothlack if he wants Deadline to grant him more time, then he's in a lot better position to talk to another god than I am."
"No, he finished the manuscript." Suzanne pulled the vellum from her saddlebag. "But there's a problem."
"Sweetheart," the agent of chaos assured her with a grin as he grabbed the document, "if he turned in a manuscript, there's no problem."
"Terrible things will happen if anyone reads it!"
"Let me assure you," Mani stated solemnly, "that no matter how bad Gothlack's novel is, I've read worse. You'd be amazed."
"I'm not talking about quality! The manuscript is a curse for destroying the world!"
Mani drooped in his chair, grimacing. "Writers never listen. You need a series, I tell Gothlack. That's the way to go. Set up a sequel. What does he do? Write a book that destroys the world. How much sequel potential does that have, I ask you?" He frowned at the manuscript. "Is it any good?"
"I haven't read it!"
"Want to be a reader?"
"I—" Susan hesitated. "How much does it pay?"
"Pay? You want me to pay you for the privilege of being my intern? For the honor of being the first to see the submissions from hopeful writers?"
"The slush pile? You want me to read your slush pile and not get paid?"
"That's right," Mani beamed. "What an opportunity to break into writing!"
"But—Look, I can't. Anyone who reads that manuscript will destroy the world."
The agent of chaos flipped through the pages rapidly. "A thousand pages long and you say it'll destroy the world. Maybe I'll let the priest-editors at the temple worry about reading it."
"But . . ." Suzanne cast around desperately for the right motivation for an agent. "If the book destroys the world, you won't get paid."
Mani smiled. "Wrong. Gothlack is a celebrity author. Not only does his book not have to be any good, but he gets a huge advance, payable on delivery of the manuscript, so I get my fifteen percent upfront. I get paid, and if you're right, then the world ends. Not a problem." The agent of chaos peered at Suzanne as she fidgeted under the pull of the geas. "You wouldn't happen to be going in the direction of the temple of Inspiration, would you?"
"Gothlack's geas forces me to deliver the manuscript to the publisher, too," Suzanne admitted.
"I get the advance for the novel and I save on a delivery fee?" Mani exulted. "Gothlack, you are one great writer," he told the ceiling.
