"Thank you," Nona said. "But I know so little—only that I must enlist the help of the Megaplayers."
"By that you mean those who left the large instruments on your world," Angus said. "I can tell you a good deal about that. But perhaps it will be easier to understand if first I tell you one of our leading myths, which I think is not current on your own world."
"A myth?" Nona asked. "What I want is to bring the anima. How can a myth relate to that?"
"It does relate," the giant assured her. "It concerns the bringing of the animus to Jupiter by a peon named Earle. I believe it will provide insight into a task whose nature you may not as yet perfectly understand."
She considered that. She nodded. "It is true that there is no such myth among my people. We don't even have peons; we have theows. If you believe it will help—"
"I believe it will. Then we shall discuss it, and perhaps come to understand how to accomplish your purpose. Make yourselves comfortable, for the telling will take an hour."
Nona made pillows for them all, and they settled down to listen to the Myth of Earle.
CHAPTER 7
EARLE
IN the early eons, the anima governed our world you call Jupiter, and the women had the magic and ruled the men. Earle was too virile for this, and resolved to bring the animus and set things right. He was the firstborn son of the firstborn son, down through the eight generations since the anima had taken hold. He alone had the power, for the amazons had killed all the other perfect firstborn males on all the other worlds. Jupiter was a tiny world in an almost endless chain of worlds along a filament that went into a dead-end curl. This alone accounted for its being overlooked by the dread forces of the anima. They had killed most firstborns here too, but had been somewhat lax in the outlying provinces, so his family line had escaped.
So Earle had magic, and he dared not show it. But if he could bring the animus, then he could found a new and glorious age of men, replacing the tyranny of women. Yet how could he accomplish his purpose? He didn't know, and did not dare inquire. So to his friends and associates he was merely an ordinary peon with a certain flair for music who might, were he lucky, be employed to entertain the amazons at court instead of having to labor as a weed-chopper. Actually his power of music, too, was greater than others knew; he could hammer the dulcimer so cleverly and sweetly as to charm the very bees of the flower fields into dancing, and the honey in their combs to added sweetness. But he had the caution to mute this ability too.
He reasoned that since he was the firstborn of the firstborn, eight times over, his answer might lie at the first world of the first world, which he believed was the head of a chain of eight. That is, the origin world, from which all others derived. So if he went to that world, he might succeed.
How could he travel there? He knew it was possible to travel along the filaments, for his ancestors had done it. But the secret was known only to the red-cloaked amazons, who would not tell any black-cloaked peon. He had to find out for himself.
Yet there were legends that circulated furtively among his people, and they hinted that the right person might be able to do it if he stood in the light of the filament and wished hard enough. Was Earle the right person? He hoped so!
So he buckled on his sword, used a spell to reduce his precious magic dulcimer to pocket size, and traveled to the East Sea. It was a far distance, so when he was sure no one was watching, he used his magic to fly, and this was much faster, though it also tired him faster. He had to rest for a day once he reached the sea. Then he risked using his magic to enable him to breathe the water, and he walked down under the surface until he came to the crevice and the filament. He bestrode it and wished with all his might that he might travel along it to the larger world at its other end.
Suddenly he was flying along the filament, so fast he was amazed. It was working! He shot straight along, passing many smaller worlds whose folk never noticed, and landed at the larger one, called Sol by certain folk. This, by his reckoning, was the seventh world in the chain, his own world of Jupiter being the eighth.
But it was so big! Judging by the height of the trees, which were in proportion, it was about thirty-six times as far across as Jupiter. It had been wearing to fly across part of Jupiter; how could he fly from one end of Sol to the other? And what of the yet larger worlds to come, which would make Sol seem as small as Jupiter now did? There had to be a better way! So he approached a native of Sol. It was an aspect of Earle's magic that he could tell whether a person was friendly or unfriendly, and he selected the friendliest one in the nearest village of giants.
But when he flew to that house, he was taken aback. It was a red-clad woman! An amazon! Surely no member of the ruling class would help any man to reverse the anima, especially not one who stood about two of her inches high.
Yet his magic indicated that she was the most likely prospect. So he explored the matter. He flew in a window and sat on the sill and watched her. She was monstrous, of course, but also beautiful. Her hair was dark brown and waist length, her face pretty, and her body marvelously well formed. Had she been his size, he would have loved her immediately. Except that she was a red amazon and he a black peon.
Could his magic be wrong? If it was, then he was lost, for he would never complete his journey without help. So he nerved himself and addressed her. He did not try to use words, knowing that their languages would differ, but illusion was a common mode of communication. He made a picture of himself, greatly expanded, and flashed it before her face.
She paused in her activity, which happened to be making a tasty-looking cake from grains of wheat. She made an illusion of her own, a giant question mark.
Earle introduced himself. "Earle," the image of him said, tapping his chest.
The woman smiled. She tapped her breastbone. "Kara," she said. Then she turned to look at him directly, tuning in on him with her magic. If she turned hostile now, he would be finished, for his magic was no greater than that of an ordinary amazon, and Kara was a big amazon.
Indeed, she caused him to float to her hand, and he knew he would not be able to escape her power. She held him up before her face and inspected him closely. Her mouth opened, and he feared she was going to eat him. She could bite him in two without erTort! Then she smiled again, remaining friendly. He was greatly relieved.
Her curiosity satisfied, she sought to put him aside, her interest in this novelty fading. She meant him no harm, but she had other things to do.
This was not what he wanted. He needed her active help, not her mere tolerance. How could he convince her to take him seriously?
His desperate eye fell on a monstrous long-necked mandolin hanging on her wall. Music—she was musical!
He generated a picture of himself playing his dulcimer.
That got her attention again. Her eye went to her own instrument. Then she looked at him, there in her hand.
He brought out his tiny case and took out his dulcimer. He sat and crossed his legs, then used magic to restore his instrument to its proper size. He set it against his legs, which was not the best position from which to play, but would do in this emergency.
He took his two little hammers and struck the strings. The music came out, clear and strong, every note a delight. Now he could let his full skill manifest, and he reveled in it, making music that was almost painfully beautiful. All that was good in his soul was evoked in that sound, as his hammers moved with blinding cleverness across the strings.
Kara listened. At first her eyes widened slightly with surprise to discover that his skill was genuine; then she relaxed and let it carry her.
When he was done with the piece, she set him carefully on a pillow and went to fetch her own instrument. She sat and played it, and the sound came out so deep and resonant that Earle himself was charmed. She was not as skilled as he, but she was good enough. She was also absolutely beautiful herself as she played, her hair rippling in waves as her body swayed to the music, her bosom gently heaving.
Then they pla
yed a piece together, his tiny sound magically amplified to match hers, and it was a truly enjoyable experience. Never before had Earle allowed himself to indulge his full proficiency, and this would have been a delight even had he not done it in the company of a lovely giant amazon.
After that, her interest was changed. She wanted to communicate further with him, to learn all about him. He realized that the music had done what his magic could not: it had moved her heart.
They talked, exchanging illusions. He showed a map of his origin world, though that could hardly have surprised her, considering his size. Earle, encouraged by her surprisingly positive attitude, finally made so bold as to show his mission: travel to the center of the universe, where he hoped to invoke the animus.
He waited, knowing that now she would destroy him, if she was going to. But she merely considered. Then she smiled. I HELP YOU, her pictures indicated.
Earle was amazed and gratified despite her consistent friendliness. Yet also doubtful. Could he really trust an amazon giant? It seemed he had to. Besides, she was lovely.
So Kara tucked him into her breast pocket, and flew into the sky of Sol. She traveled much faster than he could have, because her flight magic was in proportion to her size. Still, it was a long journey, because she lived on the head, at the west end of Sol, while the filament onward connected at the East Valley. He found it a comfortable ride, for her great bare breast beneath the pocket was marvelously soft and warm and supple. After a time he slept, secure and cushioned in the pocket, and that was pleasant too.
He woke as she came to land at the verge of Jupiter's East Sea. She stumbled as her feet touched; she w.as tired.
"Rest!" he cried, making a picture of a pile of pillows, of a woman lying down, of eyes closing.
She smiled, agreeing. But first she had things to do. She went to squat in bushes, not bothering to remove him from her pocket. Earle, intrigued, peered down as she hiked up her skirt. She seemed to be exactly like a woman of his own planet in every detail he could see, except for size. He began to wish she were his size, for though she was an amazon, she was a perfect woman. Indeed, her status as an amazon added to her allure. He had been close only to peon women, intriguing in their white tunics, and had seen amazon women only as imperious members of the elite class. But the amazons, having more leisure than the peons, could afford to make themselves beautiful, and some of them were extremely so. As this one was, in every part.
Kara made herself a bowl of gruel and mug of cocoa and fell to. Earle was surprised again; this was common fare, not the elegant repast expected of a member of the governing class. But it seemed she was too tired to get fancy, and had no need to be artificial. He liked that. He conjured his own gruel and cocoa, and ate where he was, in her pocket.
Then he had a need of his own. He made a picture, getting her attention. It showed the bushes.
She had the grace not to smile, this time. She lifted him out and held him on her flat hand, and he then flew down to where he could do his business in privacy. He could have flown dinectly from her pocket, but preferred to check in and out, as it were, so that she would always know where he was. This seemed safest, considering that his whole body was somewhat smaller than her little finger.
He returned in due course to her hand, and she returned him to her pocket. Then she made the pillows he had suggested, and lay down on her back. She made a blanket, and when the mosquitoes came, she made a bottle of perfume that seemed to repel the bugs as much as it attracted Earle. He needed no pillows or blanket; he had as soft a mattress as he could wish, and her body warmed him.
But she did not sleep. He understood the problem: she had performed an extraordinary feat of magic, flying the entire length of the planet, and that aspect of her was depleted. It was like having painfully sore muscles, that would not let a person relax enough to sleep.
Earle, having rested and slept during the long flight, had plenty of energy. He decided to try to help her to relax. He brought out his dulcimer and made it the proper size. He sat on her breast, there by the pocket, and played his music.
Kara smiled, appreciating his effort. She relaxed. But not enough. Something more was needed.
So he made a picture for her, angling it so that she could view it comfortably without lifting her head. It was of a fence between pastures, and a flock of sheep in one. But the grass was greener in the other pasture, so an enterprising sheep leaped over the fence, landing with a musical thumping of his four hooves. Naturally it was followed by another, and another, making an endless chain, all of them jumping to the music. It was the standard device used by his folk; his mother had put him to sleep when he was tiny with just this vision. Counting sheep—and soon the monotony of the distraction caused relaxation and dreams.
Kara smiled with wan appreciation, but even so did not relax quite enough to sleep. So he put a goat in the line, and then a deer, and then other animals, until finally he had bouncingly fat hippopotami doing it. They made heavy music as they struggled across. Kara enjoyed the show, but not enough. So he made images of himself, black-cloaked men, hurdling the fence, one after the other.
She laughed, and joined in the picture: red-cloaked women of the same size alternated with the men. The hems of their garments flared as they came down, showing their legs. Each one who landed had her dress rise a little farther, until at last one hem flared so high that her most private region was revealed. Whereupon the man who followed her, staring at the legs and perhaps a bit more, tripped on the fence and fell on his face. Such was his distraction that his smile remained even after his face made a dent in the sod.
The red woman turned back and came to the black man solicitously. She helped him up. The other figures faded out, leaving only those two beside the fence.
Earle was amazed. This was an interactive illusion! He had participated in games and contests in which peons tried to best each other's images, but the only interaction was when one blotted out another. He had known that amazons had superior illusion, and realized that his own facility was equivalent, but had never dared play the game this way. Now, with an amazon, he was doing it, and it was wonderful.
The picture woman did not let go of the man once he was stable. Instead she embraced him. The man looked exactly as startled as Earle felt: just how friendly would an amazon get with a peon, even in illusion?
Well, maybe he should find out. It wasn't as if any of this was real. It was just a game, a distraction from Kara's tiredness, so she could sleep. So he made as bold as he dared. His figure returned the embrace, and moved his face slowly toward her figure's face.
She did not pull away. Instead, her face met his. They kissed. There was a marvelously romantic melody.
Earle's heart was pounding. A peon man was kissing an amazon woman! In fact, an Earle image was kissing a Kara image. That was not only remarkable, considering the extreme difference in their stations, it was wonderful. He wished he could kiss Kara like that. But of course it was impossible. She was playing a game with him, teasing him, as women were wont to do with men.
Her huge real hand came up to her bosom. Earle quailed. Had he taken the image too far, and she was now going to take him out of her pocket and throw him away?
But her hand only touched him, her fingers squeezing him ever so gently in the pocket, then relaxing. It was reassurance, not censure. She liked the image-game.
He put away his dulcimer and wrapped his arms around her forefinger and hugged it. Her hand remained, resting on her breast, no weight on him. She did not object.
Earle had hardly dared believe before, but now he began to. Kara was lonely, as he was, so was willing to play a game with images that she would never have done in reality. Yet how far would she go, in illusion?
The image had frozen in place. Now motion resumed. The woman disengaged and stepped away from the man. But she did not depart. She drew off her tunic and stood before him in her glorious nakedness, except for her slippers. Then she removed these too. Somehow that magnifie
d the effect. She waited.
The image man hesitated, then slowly pulled off his own tunic and stood in his slippers. He hesitated again, but the woman waited. So he took off the slippers too. Earle had to decide in what state the man should be presented, and decided that any man in that situation would be most ardently inclined. So as the slippers came off, the masculine desire of the image man manifested. Certainly Earle himself was in such a state of desire, futile as it might be. How would the image woman react?
She smiled and came to the man. She kissed him again, and pressed in closely, running her hands across his body as eagerly as he was running his hands across hers. Then they were in the throes of the kind of lovemaking that worked best in imagination: no miscues, no objections, no misalignment of actions. Everything was perfect, and her ardor matched his. Despite the perfection, it took a wonderfully long time to run its course, for illusion could endure for inhuman lengths.
Then the woman faded from the scene. Earle found himself embracing and kissing Kara's huge finger. But Kara herself was relaxed. In fact, she had fallen asleep.
The shared image had finally distracted her enough so that she had tuned out her fatigue. That had after all been the point of it. But in the process, Earle had discovered something awesome. He was falling in love with the giantess.
IN the morning Kara evidently felt better, but Earle was nervous and confused. How could he love an amazon giant? The notion was ludicrous. Nothing could ever come of it. Yet his pulse raced as he gazed up at her face, and it raced again as he gazed across and down at her body. She was his ideal woman, in personality, magic, and form—except for her size. To her it had been a game of idle fancy; it should have been the same for him. After all, the same sequence that had aroused his ultimate passion had put her to sleep. That showed that even had they been the same size in life, she would not have taken any such relationship seriously. It was no more than innocuous diversion for her. A harmless flirtation without true emotional involvement. Only a complete fool would see it otherwise.