The Bane of the Black Sword - Michael Moorcock [51]
"A strange equation," said Rackhir.
"Aye—but memorise it, meditate upon it and then we will leave."
"We—you as well?"
"I think so."
The hermit was old. Rackhir did not want him on the journey. But then he realised that the hermit's knowledge could be of use to him, so did not object. He thought upon the equation and, as he thought, his mind seemed to glitter and become diffused until he was in a strange trance and all his powers felt greater, both those of mind and body. The hermit got up and Rackhir followed him. They went out of the cave-mouth but, instead of the Sighing Desert, there was a hazy cloud of blue shimmering light ahead and when they had passed through this, in a second, they found themselves in the foothills of a low mountain-range and below them, in a valley, were villages. The villages were strangely laid out, all the houses in a wide circle about a huge amphitheatre containing, at its centre, a circular dais.
"It will be interesting to learn the reason why these villages are so arranged," Lamsar said, and they began to move down into the valley.
As they reached the bottom and came close to one of the villages, people came gaily out and danced joyfully towards them. They stopped in front of Rackhir and Lamsar and, jumping from foot to foot as he greeted them, the leader spoke.
"You are strangers, we can tell—and you are welcome to all we have, food, accommodation, and entertainment."
The two men thanked them graciously and accompanied them back to the circular village. The amphitheatre was made of mud and seemed to have been stamped out, hollowed into, the ground encompassed by the houses. The leader of the villagers took them to his house and offered them food.
"You have come to us at a Rest Time," he said, "but do not worry, things will soon commence again. My name is Yerleroo."
"We seek the next Gate," Lamsar said politely, "and our mission is urgent. You will forgive us if we do not stay long?"
"Come," said Yerleroo, "things are about to commence. You will see us at our best, and must join us."
All the villagers had assembled in the amphitheatre, surrounding the platform in the centre. Most of them were light-skinned and light-haired, gay and smiling, excited—but a few were evidently of a different race, dark, black-haired, and these were sullen.
Sensing something ominous in what he saw, Rackhir asked the question directly: "Where is the next Gate?"
Yerleroo hesitated, his mouth worked and then he smiled. "Where the winds meet," he said.
Rackhir declared angrily: "That's no answer."
"Yes it is," said Lamsar softly behind him. "A fair answer."
"Now we shall dance," Yerleroo said. "First you shall watch our dance and then you shall join in."
"Dance?" said Rackhir, wishing he had brought a sword, or at least a dagger.
"Yes—you will like it. Everyone likes it. You will find it will do you good."
"What if we do not wish to dance?"
"You must—it is for your own good, be assured."
"And he—" Rackhir pointed at one of the sullen men. "Does he enjoy it?"
"It is for his own good."
Yerleroo clapped his hands and at once the fair-haired people leapt into a frenetic, senseless dance. Some of them sang. The sullen people did not sing. After a little hesitation, they began to prance dully about, their frowning features contrasting with their jerking bodies. Soon the whole village was dancing, whirling, singing a monotonous song.
Yerleroo flashed by, whirling. "Come, join in now."
"We had better leave," Lamsar said with a faint smile. They backed away.
Yerleroo saw them. "No—you must not leave—you must dance."
They turned and ran as fast as the old man could go. The dancing villagers changed the direction of their dance and began to whirl menacingly towards them in a horrible semblance of gaiety.
"There's nothing for it," Lamsar said and stood his ground, observing them through ironic eyes. "The mountain gods must be invoked. A pity, for sorcery wearies me. Let us hope their magic extends to this plane. Gordar!"