The Tarn of Eternity Part 57

And rather than attacking the problem head-on, he was talking his way around it.

"Ah, indeed, Sire! Just the other day I was telling my mother .

"Yes, yes, but what I mean is, there is also the unseen. The world in transition. It was, and now is not. Yet, in a strange sort of way, it is. Understand? (More rhetorical questions.) It will be, eventually; it hasn't become, yet. It's a world in . .

. well, it's a world in transition. And during the transition, it isn't. Hmmm, very simple, actually. Must make a note of that, - A world in transition - should go over well at the club."

He reached above his head, unrolled a long papyrus, and jotted a few notes on the bottom. As he let go the papyrus rewound, disappearing when the last page was snugly wrapped. Zeus smiled, took a slight bow, and tossed his pen into the air. It, too, disappeared. But, not, unfortunately, before several drops of ink splattered the divine face. With a growl Zeus reached up and a white towel appeared. He started to wipe away the ink.

"Drop that! Not with my clean towel!"

Hera rushed into the room, seized the towel, handing Zeus instead a well-used one. With a sigh he wiped away the ink, dropped the towel into the waste disposer. The waste disposer growled, wagged its tail, and devoured the towel with a single gulp.

"Anyway, that's where you need to go. It's the one region outside of my domain. I just don't have any power there, because it really doesn't exist, you understand. Well, it exists, kind of, to be scientifically precise."

Zeus prided himself on his scientific knowledge.

"And, Sire, what is the purpose of my visit."

"That, my boy, is a good question. Let us see if we can fabricate a good answer." He paused, walked back and forth twice, did a hop and a skip and a slight curtsy.

"I don't know! You will have to define your mission yourself.

You see, this transition world, this shadow land - that's it, that's what I wanted to say. Shadow land! It is that. That is where you are to go. And what are you to do? Improvise!

Improvise, my lad!"

"Yes sir, but to what end?"

"That tomorrow may come."

"That tomorrow may come?"

"Great! You've got it! Farewell, and a safe journey!"

Transitions? Shadow land? So that tomorrow will come? Has Zeus reached his dotage! Demo would ask more, except that he found himself suddenly alone. Alone, but where? Surely this was not his own world.

The gray fog swirled, settled, then swirled again. Dimly objects could be seen. And movement. They were there, or so it seemed. Yet, what objects? And what moved?

Silence accompanied the fog. Or, perhaps, preceded it.

Regardless, the only sound was his own breathing.

A light was approaching. Small, at first almost non-existent, it loomed larger, though no brighter. A silhouette, vague and distorted, carried the lantern. At times both disappeared as the fog thickened.

The approach stopped. Plainly they sensed his presence. The lantern was held higher, and he could catch glimpses of a woman's face. There was anxiety in her eyes, even fear, as she gazed at him.

"Sir, whence cometh thou? Thee be not of our world. Flee to thy home, for he walks the moors this night!"

"I . . . I am sent by Zeus. You say one walks this night? Who walks the moors this night? And why should I fear?"

"None is safe alone in the dark. If you have not where to go then come with me. Quickly, quickly!"

He followed her down dark alleys, twisting streets. The earth was wet, and muddy water flowed in rivulets crisscrossing their way. Varied smells, of vegetables, of cooked meats, and of decay, tinted the air. At times lights were visible through small barred windows along their way.

The fog became ever more intense. She held his hand that he not go astray. Her hand was small and cold. He enwrapped it in his own to give it warmth. She smiled at his concern.

They pa.s.sed a pond where floated debris, bodies of dogs and cats, and perhaps objects of more unsavory character. As they reached the far edge of the pond she turned to the right, slipped and shuffled down a mucky side street.

She slid the door open and motioned him to remove his footwear.

When they stepped inside she took a soiled towel from its rack, wiped his feet and her own.

The room was small. A straw mat covered the floor, and cheap cotton tapestry decorated the walls. A small barred window looked out from the back wall. A mat unrolled on the floor beneath the window served for sleeping.

She closed the door, dropped a strong wooden bar in place to block it from opening. "He will not enter. Still may the Powers help whomever he meets on these dark streets. You are fortunate I took you in. Others might have taken you for a changeling, and left you to your own devices. Many a young maid has lost her life by mating with handsome changelings!"

"You are most kind. No, no changeling I. My name is Demo, and I am here on a mission. When it is done I must once more depart."

She seemed little interested in his mission, regarded his face and figure with marked curiosity.

"Thy clothes are not as ours. Thy skin is dark from rays of sun, and here there is no sun. And thee speaketh strangely, with words and accent unknown in this land." She stopped, a bemused look on her face.

"What call you this land and its people? What is your name?"

She smiled at his questions.

"This is the world of Brume, and we are named Brumians. As for me, you may call me Mist. It is only a t.i.tle, not my name. Our names we hold sacred, and to give them to others invites dire consequences. Yes, to Mist I shall answer."

"Well, I suppose I should likewise be as reticent. Anyway, my name is . . ."

Quickly she put her hand to his lips. "Speak it not again! You are a stranger, a sojourner in a strange land, and its customs are not of your world. You need not believe in our customs, but do not needlessly court danger. I shall name you."

She walked around him, a smile touching her lips. "Thou art tall, youthful, strong. Thou traveleth from far lands to our world. I name thee Wanderer."

She opened the back window and the white vapors of fog crept in. Sliding a small door to the side she removed a pot and some utensils. Toward the center of the room she removed a block of floormat, revealing a pit in which firewood lay.

Soon the room was warmed, and the aroma of a thick soup tantalized his nostrils. Gladly did he eat, little noticing that only spoonsful remained for her. "Ah, you cook like my own mother! What meat is this?"

"Do not concern yourself. It is nouris.h.i.+ng, and harmless to you. It is the night season, and you may share my pad. Though you may think me forward, ask nought of me, for I am pledged.

Only my company can I grant thee."

He slept. The fire died, the fog shrouded the room.

Of early morning he woke to find her fast asleep beside him. He reached out to tuck the blanket around her shoulders.

His eyes widened. Taking a deep breath he drew back his hand in consternation and sudden dread.

The shoulder was without substance. His hand felt cold and clammy air, nought else, pa.s.sed through to touch the mat beneath.

She woke, looked at him with sad and pensive eyes. "Doth thee understand. Thou are not as we. We are but shadows, and thou art real. Waking, we can have semblance of reality. Sleeping, it fades. But touch me once more, for now I am."