Wall of Serpents Page 2

  "Oh-oh. What happened?"

  "I spun sprackly wise about a few corners and so eluded them for the time, but ..."

  "Oh, boy. They'll have your license number and be here any time."

  "A pox and a murrain on them! What is there more to assemble? Til have all ready in half an hour's space."

  "Not half an hour. Now. Stay there! No, don't try to put on those new clothes now. Hug the bundle and it'll come along with us. Get your bow and stuff."

  He jumped up and ran up the stairs. Presently his voice came, muffled from the depths of a closet. "Belphebe!"

  "Yes?"

  "Where the hell are those thick wool socks of mine?"

  "In the big carton. You haven't used them since last winter."

  "Okay ... And that yellow scarf? Never mind, I found it ..."

  Minutes later, he reappeared in the living room with his arms full of clothing and equipment. To Belphebe he said, "Got your bow? Good. And plenty of arr-"

  The front doorbell rang.

  Belphebe took a quick look out the window. " Tis they! There squats their car! What's to do?"

  "Beat it for the Kalevala, quick. Sit on the rug beside me and hold my hand with one hand and your duffel with the other."

  The bell rang again. Shea, throwing himself into the lotus posture of Yoga, concentrated on the cards in front of him.

  "If A is not not-B, and B is not not-A...

  The room went out of focus.

  There was nothing in front of him save the cards, arranged in a square of five cards on a side. Twenty-five cards.

  "... and if C be the Land of Heroes, the Kalevala. ..."

  On went the spell. The cards dissolved into a million little spots of light, whirling in a rigadoon of their own mysterious meaning. Shea tightened his grip on Belphebe's hand and his bundle of gear.

  There was a sensation of being borne, feather-light, along the avenues of a gale. Colors. Sounds that could not quite be heard. A feeling of falling. Shea remembered how he had been scared witless the first time this happened to him—and how at the end of it he had landed in Norse myth at the Ragnarok instead of the Irish myth he had desired. ...

  The whirling lights sorted themselves out into a fixed pattern, solidified, materialized. He was sitting in long, worn grass, with Belphebe and a couple of piles of clothes beside him.

  Chapter Two

  The grasses, nodding to a gentle breeze, closed in the view around them. Overhead a blanket of close-packed low clouds marched across Shea's vision, shutting off the sky. The air was mildly cool and moist. At least they had not arrived in the midst of one of those terrifying Finnish winters.

  Shea gathered his long legs under him and rose with a grunt, pulling Belphebe up after him. Now he could see that they stood in a wide meadow. To their right, the meadow ran out into the edge of a forest of mixed birch and fir. To their left ...

  "Hey, kid! Look at those," said Shea.

  "Those" were a group of animals grazing around a big old oak that stood alone in the meadow. Shea made out three horses, rather small and shaggy, and another animal, belonging to the deer family. With antlers. Either a caribou or a very large reindeer.

  "We shall not lack for meat," said Belphebe. "Certainly this is a noble stag, and too proud to fear."

  The four animals, after a ruminant look at the time-continuum travelers, had returned to their grazing.

  "It must be a reindeer," said Shea. "They use them for draft animals around here."

  "Like the gift-giving sprite called Santa Claus in your legends of Ohio?"

  "Yeah. Let's get our junk over to that fence and put on our woods clothes. Damn, I forgot toothbrushes. And extra underwear ..."

  He thought of other items he'd forgotten in their haste to get away, such as grease for their boots. However, there were two of them, and they had his well-tempered epee and her longbow, not to mention his command of magic. By the use of these in such an environment, it should be possible to get whatever else was really necessary.

  The fence was one of the wood-rail, Abraham Lincoln type. As they neared it, picking up their feet to force them through the long grass, the forest opened out a bit, and Shea glimpsed a group of low, long log houses, half hidden among the trees. A thin blue plume of smoke issued from a hole in the roof of one. There was a faint sound of voices.

  "People," said Shea.

  "Grant they may be friendly," said Belphebe, glancing toward the building as she inserted herself into an angle of fence and began to pull her dress over her head.

  "Don't worry, kid," said Shea. "Vainamoinen's the best egg in this whole space-time continuum."

  He began to change to his woods clothes.

  "Oh, Harold," said Belphebe. "We brought with us no scrip or other carrier wherein to transport our possessions, and I am loath to leave this good dress. It was the first you bought me, when we were in New York."

  "Fold it up, and I'll make a bag out of my shirt. Hello, company's coming!"

  They hurriedly completed their change and were lacing their boots, when the man who had appeared from the direction of the houses reached the gate in the fence and came toward them.

  He was a short man, of about Harold Shea's own age (in other words, on the naive side of thirty), with a snub nose, wide Mongoloid cheek bones, and a short, straggly black beard. His thumbs were thrust into a broad embroidered leather belt that gathered in a linen blouseshirt which fell over a pair of baggy, woollen pants, which in turn were tucked into boots with hair on the outside. A cap of some high-grade fur sat precariously on one side of his head. He swaggered notably.

  Shea buckled on the scabbarded epee and said: "Good day, sir!" confident that his transition to this continuum had automatically changed his language to the local one.

  The man cocked his head on one side and combed his beard with his fingers, surveying them from head to foot. Finally he spoke.

  -

  "Oh, ye funny-looking strangers,

  It is plain for all to witness,

  Ye are from a foreign country!

  Tell me of yourselves, O strangers;

  Whence ye come from, what your station,

  Who your forebears, what the purpose

  Brings you to the land of heroes?"

  -

  Oh, no you don't, thought Shea. I've read the Kalevala, and I know that when you get the ancestry of a man you can clap all sorts of spells on him. Aloud he said courteously, "I'm Harold Shea, and this is my wife, Belphebe. We come from Ohio."

  -

  "Harolsjei? Pelviipi? Ouhaio?" said the man.

  "Truth to tell, I do not know them.

  From a distant land ye must be,

  Farther than the realm of Hiisi,

  Than the dreaded deeps of Mana.

  Though ye come a long way hither,

  Never shall ye lack for welcome,

  So that beautiful Pelviipi

  Ever smooths the path before you

  By her smile so warmly radiant,

  Warmly radiant as the sunbeam."

  -

  "Thanks," said Shea drily. "And if it's all the same to you, I'd just as soon you spoke prose. My wife was bitten by a poet once, and it gave her an allergy that makes her uncomfortable when she hears more of it."

  The man glanced at Shea suspiciously and at Belphebe appreciatively. "Hear me now, O Harolainen ..." he began, but Belphebe, playing up nobly, made a face and a slight retching sound, so he checked, and lowering his voice, said, "Is it not that in far Ouhaio you control your women?"

  "No, they control us," said Shea rapidly.

  Belphebe frowned; the stranger smiled ingratiatingly. "In our noble land of heroes early do we learn the manner of teaching women their places. Now will I make you the fairest of offers-—we shall for one wife exchange the other, and fair Pelviipi shall be returned to you, made most obedient, and with a knowledge of poetry gained from the greatest singer in all Kalevala, all the land of heroes."

  "Huh?" said Shea. "No,
I don't think I'd care to go into a deal like that ..." and as he caught the stocky man's frown "... at least until I know more about your country. Is Vainamoinen up there at the houses?"

  The stranger had been leading them toward the gap in the fence. He said sullenly, "Not there now nor ever will be."

  "Oh," said Shea, thinking that he must somehow have made a positional error. "Then whom does this establishment belong to?"

  The man stopped, drew himself up, and with as much hauteur as a shorter man can give himself before a taller, said,

  -

  "Stranger, it is clear as water

  You are new to Kalevala.

  No one from the land of heroes

  Could mistake great Kaukomieli,

  Oft as Saarelainen mentioned.

  Surely have the fame and glory

  Of the lively Lemminkainen

  Wafted to your distant country!"

  -

  "Oh-oh," said Shea. "Pleased to meet you, Lemminkainen. Ye-es, your fame has come to Ohio."

  He shot a nervous glance at Belphebe. Not having read the Kalevala, she was in no position to appreciate exactly how serious the positional error was. Instead of reliable old Vainamoinen, they had made contact with the most unreliable character in the whole continuum: Lemminkainen, the reckless wizard and arrant lecher.

  But trying to pull out now would only make things worse. Shea went on, "You have no idea what a pleasure it is to meet a real hero."

  "You have met the greatest," said Lemminkainen, modestly. "Doubtless you have come to seek aid against a fire bird or sea dragon that is laying waste your country."

  "Not exactly," said Shea, as they reached the gate. "You see, it's like this: We have a couple of friends who got stranded in another world, and the magic of our own world isn't strong enough to bring them back. So we thought we'd come to a country where they had real magicians and find somebody with skill enough to manage the job."

  Lemminkainen's broad face assumed an expression of immense craftiness. "What price shall be offered for this service thaumaturgic?"

  Damn it, thought Shea, can't the man speak plain language? Aloud he said, "What might you want, for instance?"

  The stocky man shrugged. "I, the mighty Lemminkainen, have few needs of anybody. Flocks and herds in plenty have I, fields of rye and barley, girls to kiss and serfs to serve me."

  Shea exchanged a glance with Belphebe. As he stood there, debating whether to mention his own technique in magic, Lemminkainen went on, "Perhaps, if the beautiful Pelviipi ..."

  "Not on your life!" said Shea quickly.

  Lemminkainen shrugged again and grinned. "As you wish, O Harolainen. I have no desire to haggle—and in any case, I have my own wrongs to right. Curses on the Mistress of Pohjola, who refused to let me wed her daughter, and not only that, did not even invite me to her wedding with Ilmarinen the smith. I will slay these wretched people of the land of fog and darkness!"

  He suddenly snatched off his cap, flung it on the ground and danced up and down in a paroxysm of rage. Shea tried to recall his Kalevala. There was something about a journey of revenge like that in it, and it had not turned out too well for Lemminkainen, as he recalled.

  "Wait a minute," he said, "maybe we can make a deal at that. This Pohjola is a pretty tough nut. If you take the two of us along, we might be of a good deal of help in cracking it."

  Lemminkainen stopped his capering. "Shall a hero of my stature fear the land of frost and midnight?" he asked. "Tall you are, but lack the mighty thews of Kalevala's heroes. You might help if the battle were with children."

  "Now look here," said Shea, "I may not be built like a truck-horse, but I can do one or two things. With this." He whipped out the epee.

  At Shea's draw, Lemminkainen's hand flashed to the hilt of his own broadsword, but he refrained from producing it when it was evident that Shea had no immediate intention of attacking him. He looked at the epee.

  "Certainly that is the oddest sword-blade ever seen in Kalevala," he said. "Do you use it as a toothpick or with thread to patch your breeches?"

  Shea grinned in his turn. "Feel that point."

  "It is sharp, but my wife Kylliki does my darning."

  "Still, it wouldn't do you any good if it poked into you, would it? All right, then. Want to see how I use it?"

  Lemminkainen's short, broad blade came out.

  "No, Harold," said Belphebe, putting down her own bundle and beginning to string her bow.

  "It's all right, kid. I've dealt with these cut men before. Remember the hillside near Castle Carena? Besides, this is just practice."

  "Do you wish to try at flatsides?"

  "Exactly. Ready?"

  Clang-dzing-zip! went the blades. Lemminkainen, pressing forward, was as good a swordsman with the edge as Shea had ever encountered. He swung forehand, backhand and overhand with bewildering speed, not seeming even to breathe hard. His theory seemed to be to get in close and hit as hard and as often as possible, and to hell with the consequences.

  Shea, backing slowly, parried the vicious swings slantwise, wondering what would happen if one of them caught his thin blade at a square enough angle to snap it off. A crack like that could maim or kill a man, even though only the flat of the blade was used. Once Shea tried a riposte; Lemminkainen leaped backward with catlike agility.

  Round and round went Shea, giving ground steadily, trying to save his own breath. Once his foot was not quite firm; a swing almost got him and he had to stagger back three steps, with Belphebe's "Oh!" in his ears. But at last the whirlwind attack slackened. The epee slid out and scratched along Lemminkainen's forearm.

  "You can tickle with that piece of straw," admitted the hero. He swung again, not so accurately this time. Shea turned the blade aside and the epee darted forward to scratch Lemminkainen's shoulder.

  "See," said Shea. Lemminkainen growled, but a quick attack brought the point squarely against his midriff before he could even begin an attempt at a parry.

  "Now what would happen if I pushed?" said Shea.

  "Boastful stranger, that was but a chance occurrence."

  "Oh, yeah? Well, let's try it again, then."

  Dzing-zip-tick-clang went the blades. This time Lemminkainen, though not in the least winded, was frowning and overanxious. There were only a couple of exchanges before he was off balance and once more Shea put his point against the broad chest before him. He said, "That, my friend, was no accident. Not twice in a row."

  Lemminkainen sheathed his blade and waved a contemptuous hand. "Against an unarmored foe your tricks might gain you a few minutes more of life. But the men of black Pohjola go to war in mail. Do you think that little skewer will do them damage?"

  "I don't know what kind of armor they have, but it had better be tight at the joints if they're going to keep this point out."

  "I will take you to Pohjola—but enough has not been shown me that I should put the service of my magic to your need. You may be my servant."

  Shea shot a glance at Belphebe, who spoke up. "Sir Lemminkainen, the men of your land are marvelous boasters, it appears, though falling somewhat short of the fulfillment of their claims. Yet if losing a contest makes one a servant, you shall be mine, for it would greatly astony me could you or any of yours surpass me in archery."

  Shea suppressed a grin. Belphebe might not have any formal training in psychology, but she knew how to deal with braggarts. The trick was to out-brag them on some point where you knew you could deliver the goods.

  Lemminkainen squinted at Belphebe and said, "Harolsjei, I withdraw my offer. In this wife of yours I see she a vixen who needs nothing but chastisement. Wait for my returning."

  They were close to the buildings now. Shea noticed for the first time a row of ill-clad serfs who had been watching the contest with their mouths gaping open. "My bow!" shouted Lemminkainen as they fell back before him.

  Presently he was back with a crossbow under his arm and a fistful of bolts stuck in his belt. Shea noticed that the
instrument had a bow of steel, with a strip of copper for backing and silver inlay. Quite a handsome piece of artillery, in fact.

  "Harold," said Belphebe, softly, "not so certain am I that I can in truth best this knave. A strong crossbow of steel in practiced hands can prove most deadly sure."

  "Do your best, kid, you'll slaughter him," said Shea, feeling a good deal less confident than he sounded.

  Lemminkainen said, "Will you have a fixed mark, red-haired baggage, or shall I set a serf to run that we may have the better sport?"

  "A fixed mark will do," said Belphebe. She looked as though the only moving target she wanted was Lemminkainen.