A BARNSTORMER IN OZ by Philip José Farmer Read online

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’ll say a prayer for him. It couldn’t hurt.”

  “No. But he may be only the first. Others will follow him, I’m sure. What you must know is that we won’t tolerate any more. One of you is enough. We can handle one—especially since he is Dorothy’s son. One is even welcome. But no more than one. We will not be invaded!”

  Hank was startled. The last sentence had been uttered so strongly and with such a hard face and eyes. Glinda meant what she said.

  “My anger is not for you,” she said, smiling. “But you’re intelligent. You must have known from your strict quarantine that we are very disturbed at the prospect of disease from Earth. We had those here once, and they must have killed many. Then the plagues died out. Why, I don’t know. Perhaps that was because of something the Long-Gone Ones left here. Some sort of anti-disease protection which fills... radiates? ...over this land.”

  “The Long-Gone Ones?”

  “The ancient aborigines. The nonhumans who originated on this planet. Or, at least, they did as far as we know. They must have died out or been exterminated or left this world before the first humans came through the openings. We do not know, but the stories that have come down to us, in distorted form, I’m sure, from our ancestors... these say that there were no indigenes then. But there are the half-buried ruins of a city of the Long-Gone Ones in the far northwest comer of the land. We don’t know much about it since it’s in Natawey territory. I have been there, but I wasn’t able to make much from what I saw during my brief stay. I had other things to occupy my interest then.”

  She paused, looking as if she were contemplating the past. Then she said, “It was very fortunate that neither you nor your mother were carrying any diseases when you came here.

  But I know that these foulnesses sicken and kill many of you. And if these are brought in, well...”

  She grimaced as if she were seeing visions of hell.

  “My people would be defenseless. They would be swept away by the thousands, perhaps all or almost all would die. Be honest, wouldn’t that happen?”

  Hank thought of the American Indians who had died from the diseases contracted from the whites. He thought of the Polynesians who had been struck down by tuberculosis, smallpox, scarlet fever, and syphilis when the whites came.

  “I don’t think they’d be wiped out, Your Witchness,” he said. “But the results might be horrible. Devastating. However... you said that there was something here which now keeps diseases away. Why wouldn’t that apply to new diseases? Why would your people be infected? Wouldn’t they be unaffected?”

  “I told you that the ancients suffered from these. It was only after a hundred or so years, if the chronology is right, that the plagues disappeared. There seems to be a certain time required for whatever the agent is that fights disease to assert itself. By the time that it did its work, the diseases would kill us by the hundreds of thousands.

  “In any event, I would not want even one to die from these things you Earthpeople carry around as nonchalantly as you do your handkerchiefs.”

  “Pardon me, The Highest, but that’s an exaggeration. We’re not indifferent...”

  “No?”

  “Anyway, what can I do about an, uh, invasion?”

  “You’re the only one who can interpret for us. We may need you as a go-between. I intend to have some of my people learn English, and I wish to do so, too. Just now, we have more to deal with than Earthpeople.”

  She frowned and bit her lip.

  Hank waited.

  “First, though, the Earth problem. There is more than disease to it. Even if there were none, you people would destroy our society. You’d bring in your religions, your customs, your institutions. You’d change us for the worse.

  “And we have so much gold and silver, so many precious stones. Your greed would ravish the land. But, in order to make your piracy lawful, to make the robbery accord with your images of yourself as honest and lawful and Godfearing, you’d find a pretext for declaring war on us. You’d send in your armies and conquer us. Then you’d start the rape.”

  Hank, his face red, cried, “That’s not so, Glinda! It wouldn’t be that way! You make us sound like savages, but—“

  “Yes? Be honest. Isn’t that the way your people have always been? By that, I don’t mean just your nation. Hank. I mean all the nations. Haven’t they always done just such things if they happened to be powerful enough to do it? And haven’t those that weren’t powerful enough wished that they could?”

  “You seem to know much about Earth!” Hank said. “Very strange for someone who hasn’t been there!”

  “I didn’t say I hadn’t,” Glinda said.

  “When? Where?”

  “I’ll tell you at another time. Perhaps. Now, Hank, the other crisis. There hasn’t been a war here for thirty years. It seems that one is unavoidable now, though. Your mother undoubtedly told you that she was visited by the Witch of the North, Helwedo, shortly after she came here.”

  “That was in Baum’s Wizard, too,” Hank said. “But he didn’t mention her name. My mother didn’t tell him that.”

  “Helwedo was then near a thousand years old.”

  Hank rolled his eyes. He wanted to ask her how some people could live so long, but this was not the time. When would it be? Events were racing like Barney Oldfield. Like Alice and the Red Queen.

  “Helwedo heard about Dorothy’s arrival from one of her hawk spies, and she came immediately to see your mother.”

  The Witch was indeed a witch. She had appeared before Dorothy with a bang of suddenly displaced air, a phenomenon which Dorothy had forgotten to tell Baum. Helwedo had some means of transportation unknown on Earth, unless the witches of old there had had some such power. He did not believe that they did. Maybe “magic” was possible here. Not there.

  “Helwedo encouraged Dorothy to wear the dead Witch of the East’s silver shoes.”

  Glinda paused, then said, “At least, they looked as if they were of silver. Real silver would never have stood up under all the walking and running your mother did in them.”

  I’ll bet, Hank thought, that Helwedo told you about Dorothy. Or perhaps one of your bird spies did. I’d mortgage my ass to Rockefeller to get enough to place a bet on that.

  It was then that he began to suspect that Glinda may have been subtly guiding Dorothy all through her quests. But he did not have time to dwell on that subject. He had to concentrate on Glinda’s words.

  “Ten years ago, Helwedo, the Witch of the North, the queen of the Gillikins, died suddenly. I did my best, but I could not prevent a young witch named Erakna from seizing power. Erakna the Uneatable. She is so clever that she even hid from me that she was a red witch until it was too late.

  “I felt sorry for the Gillikins. They were as oppressed as the Munchkins had been under the East Witch and the Winkies under the West Witch. But I bid my time, and Erakna made no moves against me. In fact, she sent word that she had no ambitions beyond the borders of her nation. She would be content to stay there and rule. I did not believe her. No red witch can be believed.”

  Can the white witches? Hank thought.

  “However, she had her troubles. Revolts, increasing raids by the Natawey from the mountains, a struggle with another red witch. But she seems to have put down all opposition now, and the ambition she’s kept like a hungry wolf in a cage has slipped out now.

  “For the past year we’ve had some border incidents with the Gillikins. Erakna says that the troublemakers are outlaws, but I know that the incidents were instigated by her. Also, she has taxed her subjects heavily to build up a big standing army, and they’re holding maneuvers now on the borders of Winkieland and Ozland. It’s evident that she’s ready to invade.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “But...?”

  “What does that have to do with you? You’ll find out. I want to confer with the Scarecrow and the Woodman. Very soon. I could send messages by hawk, but I prefer to s
ee them personally. Andaugi bi andaugi. Face to face.”

  “You want me to fly up there and get them?”

  Glinda smiled. “Very good. Lamblo’s lover is not only a handsome giant, he is intelligent.”

  Hank blushed.

  Glinda laughed again and said, “How long will it be before you can leave in your flying machine?”

  Hank told her what had to be done. The engine of the Jenny had to be altered slightly to burn ethyl alcohol. He had to ensure that there were supplies of fuel along the route on places flat and long enough for a plane to land. He needed maps, too. Those he’d seen were not good enough.

  “A hawk who knows the way will ride with you,” she said.

  “Is there likely to be trouble on the way?”

  “There is. Erakna, I’m sure, knows about you. That you’re working for me is enough excuse for her to attack you. However, she may not have an opportunity.”

  Glinda sent for a female hawk named Ot, a purple-and-bronze feathered bird he had seen before. Hank made sure that they understood exactly what he required. They discussed the distances between the supply depots, the purity of the grain alcohol, and many other requirements.

  Lunch time came. Food and drink were brought in. Ot only fed once a day, and she passed up lunch. Hank asked her what she ate. In that weird gramophone-like voice, she said, “When I’m among the tame ones, nuts and insects. These are prepared for me in a meatlike consistency. But when I’m in the wilds, I eat mice, rats, rabbits, and anything not too big to fight back.”

  That answered several questions. One of them had been whether or not sentiency extended to the insects.

  Hank concluded that he could take off for Winkie country in ten days. Glinda told Ot that there was no need to spend more time with them. The hawk launched herself from the chair and flew through the open door.

  “Why, Glinda,” Hank said, “don’t you just transport the Scarecrow and Woodman here? If Helwedo could whiz from one place to another in practically nothing flat, you must be able to do so. And if you can do that for yourself, why not others?”

  Glinda stared at him for a moment before speaking. “You’re still strange to our customs and laws,” she said, “so I’ll forgive you. However, in the future, remember this. No one asks a witch about her professional secrets.”

  “I beg your pardon,” he said coolly.

  “Granted. However, I don’t mind telling you some things. One is that it takes an enormous amount of energy for the transportation via... how shall I name it? The word is not in the vocabulary of the people and the word itself has power. Only witches know it. This power does not come without hard payment, and it is used only when absolutely needed. I could bring those two here quickly after certain preparations. But it is not necessary.

  “You, however, even if you’ll take ten days to get ready and six for the trip, will have them here long before they could get here by ordinary means.” Glinda stood up.

  “You’ll have all the blacksmiths and millwrights and labor and materials you need. You will begin at once. Be ready at four o’clock, though, to attend the funeral for the dead flier.”

  A half hour later, Hank met the dozen men summoned by Glinda. He spent two hours organizing them and making sure they understood exactly what he wanted. He helped them draw schematics and diagrams on paper made from rags. At fourteen o’clock, he went back to the castle. Lamblo came for him a half hour later. She wore a uniform he’d not seen before, all-black garments and a scarlet shako bearing a silver death’s head emblem.

  “I only put these on when I’m in the honor guard of a funeral,” she said. “Sit down, Hank. I have to ask you some questions. I know the answers, but the forms have to be filled out.”

  He sat down. “Shoot.”

  “What? Oh, I see. Very well. What is your name?”

  “My God! You know it!”

  “That’s a funny name,” she said, and she giggled. Then, her face smoothing out, she said, “Just give me the right answers. It’s required, and if you clown around, we might be late. Little Mother wouldn’t like that.”

  “My name is Henry Lincoln Stover.”

  “Are you related to the dead man?”

  “No.”

  He wondered what the reasons were for this interrogation. It was probably required by the government bureaucrats. Even Quadlingland had these.

  “Are you a friend?”

  “Of yours?”

  She smiled slightly but said, “Of the dead man.”

  “No. I never heard of him before.”

  “Would you be willing to act as a bereaved?”

  “You mean a mourner?”

  “Yes.”

  Hank twisted one side of his mouth and looked sharply at her. “What is this? What do I have to do if I say yes?”

  She told him.

  He paled, and he said, “For God’s sake! What kind of barbarism is that?”

  “It’s our ancient custom.”

  “Hell, I wouldn’t do that for my Own mother!”

  She shrugged and said, “Very well. The professional mourners will earn their pay.”

  She stood up. “Let’s go.”

  Hank followed her. He felt uneasy, and his stomach seemed to be turning over. If he could have refused the invitation to attend the funeral, he would have done so. But then both his courage and finer sensibilities would be doubted by these people, not to mention by himself. Besides, his curiosity was driving him.

  Lamblo’s company met them at the north main entrance to the castle. They formed around Hank, and presently he was marching in their midst, his stride cut down so that their short legs could keep up with him. They went west on the road through the town. It was deserted. Apparently, everybody, including the animals and birds, was at the cemetery. This, like all burial places, was on the western edge of town and on a hill. West was where the souls of the dead went, the far west beyond the land of the living, somewhere out beyond the desert.

  Hank had been told this late one night by Lamblo.

  “There, so the priests and priestesses say, is another green land where God and His angels instruct the dead on their errors and faults. Then the dead are sent back in the form of amaizhuath (mind-lights) or fonfoz (firefoxes). They come back across the desert and possess the bodies of animals and birds and sometimes human beings or even inanimate objects.” Hank had had a flash of that stormy night when he had seen the nude Glinda going through that weird ceremony or battle in the vast room of the sphinx and the shadows.

  “How can they possess a body that’s already possessed?”

  Lamblo had said, “I don’t know. They just do.” She had looked very uneasy.

  “What happens to the dispossessed soul?”

  “It goes back to the land of God, where He and His angels explain what the soul did wrong. Then it is sent out again to the land of the living.”

  “Sounds like a game of musical chairs for spirits,” he had said and then had had to explain what “musical chairs” meant.

  “Do you believe what you’ve told me?” he had said. “Do you have a better explanation? Let’s not talk about such things. Let’s try the saitigzhuz-nyuh position.”

  God was called either Guth or Chuz. Hank thought that the Chuz came from Tius, and was related to the Old Norse god Tyr and Old English Tiw. An angel was anggluz, a word that had come from the Greek and indicated some early contact with Christianity. But, somehow, an angel had become confused with a slanchuzar, a semi-divine maiden something like the Old Norse Valkyrie.

  The ancient confusion was also evident in the crosses on the gravestones in the cemetery. There was the simple cross, the Celtic cross, the saltire or X, and the swastika, called the thyunz-hamar, Thor’s hammer, the symbol used worldwide on prehistoric and historic Earth.

  Most graves had monuments, sculptures representing not only humans but many types of nonhuman life. Next to a woman’s grave was a deer’s.

  Though he had been verbally prepared by Lamblo, he
was still shocked when he saw the priests, priestesses, and the professional mourners. The holy men and women looked more like African witch doctors than anything else. They wore tall headdresses of varicolored long feathers; their faces were streaked with black and red paint, necklaces of bones and teeth flapped on bare painted chests, their naked genitals were shaven, and their legs were painted like black-and-red barberpoles. They danced like medicine men, shaking rattlegourds, ringing tiny bells, and whirling bullroarers. The mourners, men and women, were naked and gashing their naked flesh with stone knives.

  He had stepped out of a quaint, even “cute,” village into the Old Stone Age.

  Lamblo ordered her troops to halt. Hank stopped also. The soldiers stepped aside for him, and Lamblo gestured with a sword that he should go on. Feeling numb, he walked towards the coffin, a limestone hemisphere. Its lid was off, and the charred body lay unclothed in the recess on top of the dome-shape.