The Wildside Book of Fantasy: 20 Great Tales of Fantasy by Fritz Leiber, Gene Wolfe, Robert E. Howard, Paul di Filippo, Lin Carter, Tanith Lee, Clark Ashton Smith, E. Hoffmann Price, Thomas Burnett Swann, Brian Stableford, John Gregory Betancourt, Brian McNaughton, Nina Kiriki Hoffman, Lawrence Watt-Evans, Clive Jackson, Darrell Schwetizer, Achmed Abdullah Page A
Authors: Fritz Leiber, Gene Wolfe, Robert E. Howard, Paul di Filippo, Lin Carter, Tanith Lee, Clark Ashton Smith, E. Hoffmann Price, Thomas Burnett Swann, Brian Stableford, John Gregory Betancourt, Brian McNaughton, Nina Kiriki Hoffman, Lawrence Watt-Evans, Clive Jackson, Darrell Schwetizer, Achmed Abdullah
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told us how Tarchon, the Lydian prince, had sailed to Hesperia and built a city with roads of basalt and temples raised on platforms; how Charon, the demon, waited for souls in Hades; and how gray-winged Vanth, goddess of fate, brooded above a world she did not love. Tonight he sang about Circe, and his rich, musical voice surged like the wine-dark sea:
Round that place lay the beasts of the mountain, lions and gray wolves
Whom with evil drugs administered Circe had enchanted…
Then the words of Odysseus’ friend, Polites, before he is metamorphosed:
Listen, O friends. One sings within as she weaves at her great loom.
Lovely the song she sings—the whole house throbs with the music—
Goddess it may be she is, or a woman…
Lit by the torch, the mast seemed a burning tree; somewhere ashore a wolf cub howled in hunger and, very close, a lamb bleated in terror. I thought of Circe, the end of all my voyages, the last and loveliest of the will-o’-the-wisps I had chased through twenty-five years. A hyacinth over the hill, a murex at the bottom of the sea: the distant and the perilous. I had sometimes loved in the past, for a week or a month; one girl had tired me with tears, another with laughter; I had tired of red hair and dark and hair the color of barley when the harvesters come with their scythes; and most of all, of the waiting which love demands, the standing still while the moon curves up the sky and birds fly south. But who could weary of Circe? Only Odysseus had left her, because of home.
“Do you think she will turn us into pigs?” asked Balder with shattering suddenness.
“Nonsense,” cried his brother. “Nobody knows such secrets.”
“The Egyptians knew them,” said Aruns. “Hence, their fondness for gods with the heads of jackals or cats. They are said to have taught them to the Cretans, and Circe, of course, is Cretan.”
“You won’t become a pig, Balder,” Astyanax reassured. “A mountain lion, perhaps, with tawny hair and powerful legs.”
Balder did not look consoled. “And Bar will be a bar?” He and Frey, with their Scandian accents, could not pronounce my name.
“Bear will be a prince, and Circe will take him for her lover.”
“Husband, you mean?” asked Balder, shocked.
“Lover,” Astyanax repeated. “Bear is too experienced to tie himself down. Like Odysseus, he will dally and depart.”
I concealed a yawn. Every evening, regardless of the conversation, an urge to sleep possessed me.
“Bear is sleepy,” Astyanax announced. “It is time for bed.”
Aruns and I shared the cabin, he on a reed mat, I on the couch with Astyanax at my feet. When the weather was clear Balder and Frey slept on deck; when it rained they descended to the hold among our supplies, the skins of wine, the great yellow cheeses, the jars of olive oil. In the morning they would smell of cheese and hurry to take a dip before Astyanax could threaten to eat them for breakfast. Atthis dozed on the surface beside the ship, opening her eyes several times a minute to avoid attack by sharks or other killers. The heavy sighs of her airhole, like thunderous snores, were noisily reassuring. I had almost forgotten my early doubts about her.
I stretched on the couch and, before I could fall asleep, felt Astyanax snuggle against my feet. I shivered. As usual he had taken a swim and forgotten to dry himself.
“Bear, what do you think Circe will change me into?”
“What do you want to be?”
“It has nothing to do with what I want. Odysseus’ men didn’t want to be pigs.”
“Maybe you deserve what you want.”
“No,” he said. “Nobody deserves that much.”
Then I fell asleep.
We skirted the coast of Liguria, keeping far from shore to avoid the bushy-haired natives who kidnap sailors and sacrifice them to a bloodthirsty god on Mt. Begos. The brothers grew daily taller, or so it looked, and their pale fair skin became brown with the sun. Aruns forgot to be sad. He persisted in wearing
Round that place lay the beasts of the mountain, lions and gray wolves
Whom with evil drugs administered Circe had enchanted…
Then the words of Odysseus’ friend, Polites, before he is metamorphosed:
Listen, O friends. One sings within as she weaves at her great loom.
Lovely the song she sings—the whole house throbs with the music—
Goddess it may be she is, or a woman…
Lit by the torch, the mast seemed a burning tree; somewhere ashore a wolf cub howled in hunger and, very close, a lamb bleated in terror. I thought of Circe, the end of all my voyages, the last and loveliest of the will-o’-the-wisps I had chased through twenty-five years. A hyacinth over the hill, a murex at the bottom of the sea: the distant and the perilous. I had sometimes loved in the past, for a week or a month; one girl had tired me with tears, another with laughter; I had tired of red hair and dark and hair the color of barley when the harvesters come with their scythes; and most of all, of the waiting which love demands, the standing still while the moon curves up the sky and birds fly south. But who could weary of Circe? Only Odysseus had left her, because of home.
“Do you think she will turn us into pigs?” asked Balder with shattering suddenness.
“Nonsense,” cried his brother. “Nobody knows such secrets.”
“The Egyptians knew them,” said Aruns. “Hence, their fondness for gods with the heads of jackals or cats. They are said to have taught them to the Cretans, and Circe, of course, is Cretan.”
“You won’t become a pig, Balder,” Astyanax reassured. “A mountain lion, perhaps, with tawny hair and powerful legs.”
Balder did not look consoled. “And Bar will be a bar?” He and Frey, with their Scandian accents, could not pronounce my name.
“Bear will be a prince, and Circe will take him for her lover.”
“Husband, you mean?” asked Balder, shocked.
“Lover,” Astyanax repeated. “Bear is too experienced to tie himself down. Like Odysseus, he will dally and depart.”
I concealed a yawn. Every evening, regardless of the conversation, an urge to sleep possessed me.
“Bear is sleepy,” Astyanax announced. “It is time for bed.”
Aruns and I shared the cabin, he on a reed mat, I on the couch with Astyanax at my feet. When the weather was clear Balder and Frey slept on deck; when it rained they descended to the hold among our supplies, the skins of wine, the great yellow cheeses, the jars of olive oil. In the morning they would smell of cheese and hurry to take a dip before Astyanax could threaten to eat them for breakfast. Atthis dozed on the surface beside the ship, opening her eyes several times a minute to avoid attack by sharks or other killers. The heavy sighs of her airhole, like thunderous snores, were noisily reassuring. I had almost forgotten my early doubts about her.
I stretched on the couch and, before I could fall asleep, felt Astyanax snuggle against my feet. I shivered. As usual he had taken a swim and forgotten to dry himself.
“Bear, what do you think Circe will change me into?”
“What do you want to be?”
“It has nothing to do with what I want. Odysseus’ men didn’t want to be pigs.”
“Maybe you deserve what you want.”
“No,” he said. “Nobody deserves that much.”
Then I fell asleep.
We skirted the coast of Liguria, keeping far from shore to avoid the bushy-haired natives who kidnap sailors and sacrifice them to a bloodthirsty god on Mt. Begos. The brothers grew daily taller, or so it looked, and their pale fair skin became brown with the sun. Aruns forgot to be sad. He persisted in wearing
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