Shimrod returned to Twitten's Corner on his feathered feet. He proceeded to the glade where he had left Melancthe; she stood as he had left her. He searched the glade; no one skulked in the shade. He looked into the portaclass="underline" green striations swam and swirled to blur the passage into Irerly. From his pouch he took a ball of yarn. After knotting the loose end into a crack in the iron of the door, he tossed the ball into the opening. Now he rewove the seven strands of time, and re-entered the ordinary environment. Melancthe's words still hung in the air: "And then you will see."
"You must promise."
Melancthe sighed. "When you come back, you shall have all my love."
Shimrod reflected. "And we shall be lovers, in spirit and body; so you promise?"
Melancthe winced and closed her eyes. "Yes. I will praise you and caress you and you may commit your erotic fornications upon my body. Is that definite enough?"
"I will accept it in lieu of anything better. Tell me something of Irerly and what I must look for."
"You will find yourself in an interesting land of living mountains. They bellow and yell, but for the most part it is all braggadocio. I am told that they are ordinarily benign."
"And should I encounter one of the other sort?"
Melancthe smiled her pensive smile. "Then we shall avoid the qualms and perplexities of your return."
That remark, thought Shimrod, might as happily been left unsaid.
Melancthe went on in an abstracted voice. "Perceptions occur by unusual methods." She gave Shimrod three small transparent disks.
"These will expedite your search; in fact, you will go instantly mad without them. As soon as you pass the portal, place these on your cheeks and your forehead; they are sandestin scales and will accommodate your senses to Irerly. What is that pack you carry? I had not noticed it before."
"Personal effects and the like; don't concern yourself. What of the gems?"
"They occur in thirteen colors not known here. Their function, either here or there, I do not know, but you must find them and bring them away."
"Exactly so," said Shimrod. "Now kiss me, to demonstrate good will."
"Shimrod, you are far too frivolous."
"And trusting?"
Melancthe, as Shimrod watched, seemed to flicker, or give a quick jerk of movement. Now she was smiling. "'Trusting'? Not altogether. Now then, even to enter Irerly, you will need this sheath. It is stuff to protect you from emanations. Take these as well." She tendered a pair of iron scorpions crawling at the end of golden chains. "These are named Hither and Thither. One will take you there; the other will bring you here. You need nothing more."
"And you will wait here?"
"Yes, dear Shimrod. Now go."
Shimrod enveloped himself in the sheath, placed the sandestin scales to his forehead and cheeks, took the iron charms. "Thither!
Take me to Irerly!" He slipped into the passage, picked up his ball of yarn and went forward. Green fluctuations swarmed and pulsed. A green wind whirled him afar, another force of mingled mauve and blue-green sent him careening in other directions. The yarn spun out between his fingers. The iron scorpion known as Thither gave a great bound and pulled Shimrod to a passing luminosity, and down into Irerly.
Chapter 15
IN IRERLY CONDITIONS WERE LESS EASY than Shimrod had hoped. The sheath of sandestin-stuff lacked consistency and allowed sound and two other Irerlish sentiments, toice and gliry, to chafe against his flesh. The iron insects, both Hither and Thither, at once shriveled into mounds of ash. The fabric of Irerly was viciously malign, or—so Shimrod speculated—the creatures might not have been sandestins after all. Further, the disks intended to assist perception were out of proper adjustment, and Shimrod experienced a startling set of dislocations: a sound that reached him as a jet of ill-smelling liquid; other scents were red cones and yellow triangles which, upon adjustment of the disks, disappeared completely. Vision expressed itself as taut lines striking across space, dripping fire.
He worked at the disks, testing various orientations, quivering to implausible pains and sounds which crawled across his skin on spider-legs, until by accident the incoming percepts made contact with the appropriate areas of his brain. The unpleasant sensations dwindled, at least temporarily, and Shimrod gratefully took stock of Irerly.
He apprehended a landscape of vast extent dotted with isolated mountains of gray-yellow custard, each terminating in a ludicrous semi-human face. All faces were turned toward himself, displaying outrage and censure. Some showed cataclysmic scowls and grimaces, others produced thunderous belches of disdain. The most intemperate extruded a pair of liver-colored tongues, dripping magma which tinkled in falling, like small bells; one or two spat jets of hissing green sound, which Shimrod avoided, so that they struck other mountains, to cause new disturbance.
Shimrod in accordance with Murgen's instructions, called out in an amicable voice: "Gentlemen, gentlemen! Tranquility! After all, I am a guest in your remarkable domain, and I deserve your consideration!"
One great mountain, seventy-five miles distant, roared in a crescendo: "Others named themselves guests, but instead proved to be thieves and predators! They came to plunder us of our thundereggs; now we trust no one. I request the mountains Mank and Elfard to concatenate upon your substance."
Shimrod again called for attention. "I am not what you think! The great magicians of the Elder Isles recognize the harms you have endured. They marvel at your stoic patience. Indeed, I have been sent here to make commendations for these qualities and your general excellence. Never have I witnessed magma ejected with such precision! Never before have there been such grotesque gesticulations."
"That is easy to say," grumbled the mountain who previously had spoken.
"Further," declared Shimrod, "I and my fellows vie in our detestation of thieves and predators. We have killed several and now wish to restore the booty. Gentlemen, I have here as many of your thunder-eggs as was possible to recover on short notice." He opened his knapsack and poured out a' number of river pebbles. The mountains displayed doubt and bafflement, and several began to produce small jets of magma.
A strip of parchment emerged from Shimrod's sack. He plucked it from the atmosphere and read:
"I, Murgen, write these words. You now know that beauty and faith are not interchangeable qualities! After you deceived the witch Melancthe with a hiatus, she worked a similar trick and plucked you clean of your thunder-eggs, so that the mountains might strike you with jets of magma. I suspected such a trick and stood by, to work a third hiatus, during which I replaced in your pouch the thunder-eggs and all else she had stolen. Proceed as before, but go warily!"
Shimrod called out to the mountains: "And now, the thunder-eggs!"
He groped into his pouch and brought forth a sack. With a flourish he spread the contents upon a nearby excrescence. The mountains became at once mollified and gave over their displays. One of the most notable, at a distance of a hundred and twenty miles, projected a meaning: "Well done! Accept our friendly welcome. Do you intend to reside here at length?"
"Urgent business calls me home almost immediately. I merely wished to restore your property and to take note of your splendid achievements."
"Allow me to explain a few aspects of our beloved land. As a basis you must understand that we subscribe to three competing religions: The Doctrine of Arcoid Clincture; the Shrouded Macrolith, which I personally consider a fallacy; and the noble Derelictionary Tocsin. These differ in significant detail." The mountain continued in this wise for a goodly period, propounding analogies and examples and from time to time gently testing Shimrod's understanding of the unfamiliar enlightenments.