Read King of the Scepter'd Isle (Song of Earth) for Free Online

chance. “
I will not kill any mortal creature. I will not work any malleable substance. I will not kindle the Wrath of Agni.
Oh, Great Grasshopper,” Bart improvised, running out of traditional prayers, “I will not do any bloody thing at all, just so long as you spare me. I’ve been a treacherous and unworthy gnome!”
    “It’s all right, Bart,” said Pong. “It’s all right.” The cliffs werestill there, and he could see the dark entrance to his cave. The forest stood behind Mara Zion beach, and the sea was still the sea, although dirtier than usual. Bubbles and muck rose to the surface as he watched.
    But no mythical monster straddled the boat, inviting them to the Unknown.
    Bart uncurled slightly and squinted up at Pong. “What do you mean, it’s all right?”
    “The Great Grasshopper hasn’t come for us. It was a false alarm. I think it was just a tidal wave.” In a way, thought Pong, it was quite disappointing. He unhooked the sail from the cleats and hoisted it.
    Bart scrambled onto his seat and cast an eye over the cluttered waters. “Ah, yes,” he said.
    “All the same, we’d better get ashore and pull the boat well clear. Tidal waves rarely come in ones.” Pong settled himself in the stern and set sail for the beach with a light wind behind him. “Everything’s all right,” he repeated for the benefit of Bart, who seemed to be shuddering excessively.
    “Everything’s all right,” repeated Bart woodenly, ashen-faced.
    “What did you mean, you’re not the gnome I thought you were?” asked Pong.
    “What?”
    “A while ago. You said you were unworthy.”
    “Oh, that. A moment of humility, Pong. It pays to be humble when you’re about to meet your Creator.”
    Pong was about to comment on the absence of the Gnome from the North in their hour of greatest need when, “Bart,” he said urgently, “does the water seem kind of …
bright
to you?”
    “No.”
    “That’s because you’re not used to being out on the sea. Usually it’s quite dull compared to the land, because—Bart!” He pointed. “Look! The umbral waves have gone! That’s the real sky up there!”
    “So it is.”
    “Butthat’s not … not
right.
What does it mean?”
    “Listen to me, Pong, I don’t care a bugger what it means. There’s something about this boat that makes me sick to my stomach, and I’d be very glad if you got us ashore.”
    “The umbral waves are
always
up there. It’s a fact of nature. Not many gnomes know that, not being sailors.” Pong pondered on the phenomenon as they slid toward the beach. He felt an inexplicable dread, but he concealed it from Bart. Not for nothing was he known as Pong the Intrepid.
    “Thank heavens,” muttered Bart as they carried the boat up the beach and laid it beside the entrance to Pong’s cave.
    Pong did not share his companion’s relief. His misgivings were mounting by the minute. “The sea,” he said. “Look how far up the beach it’s come.”
    “The tide’s in, Pong. I thought you sailors knew all about tides.”
    “The tide never comes this high.”
    “Of course it does, Pong. There it is, see? That proves it.”
    “Come on, Bart. We must go and see Fang. There’s something strange going on around here.”
    “I don’t have a rabbit.”
    “Then we’ll have to walk. It’s only a couple of miles.”
    The gnomes made their way along the base of the cliff. Soon they reached another beach; and this time it was Bart who first noticed the change. “The trees, Pong. Look!”
    Cliffs tend to be cliffs on whatever happentrack they exist. They do not differ perceptibly from one world to the next, except perhaps where a rock has fallen in one happentrack but is merely unstable in another.
    But the umbra was always very noticeable in the forest. A tree, growing tall and straight in one happentrack, might never have existed in another, particularly if the branching of happentracks had occurred a long time ago.
    For millennia past, the gnomes of Mara