World and Thorinn Read online

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  November 18, 2006

  The World and Thorinn

  Damon Knight

  contents

  1 How Thorinn Goryatson learned he was not the son of his father, and descended into the Underworld

  without wishing to do so.

  2 How Thorinn lost his sword in a lake, and became a stonemason to get it back.

  3 How Thorinn discovered that it is easier to fall into paradise than to get out again.

  4 How Thorinn roasted two fat waterfowl for his supper, and what happened thereafter.

  5 How Thorinn entered a treasure cave and found a magic box that could speak, albeit foolishly.

  6 How Thorinn fell five hundred leagues in a day and a night.

  7 How Thorinn was the guest of demons, and how he repaid their hospitality.

  8 How Thorinn was made captive by a flying engine that carried him deeper into the Underworld.

  9 How Thorinn tried to cross a river, and found it unlike other rivers.

  10 How Thorinn entered a town of seven towers, and dissolved its enchantment by accident.

  11 How Thorinn tried to fly without success, and built a bladder instead.

  12 How Thorinn battled flying engines in their cavern, and solved a riddle wrongly.

  13 How Thorinn died and was brought to life again, but resented it.

  14 How Thorinn was offered dominion over the world at a price, and learned his true name.

  Portions of this book appeared in a different form in Galaxy , copyright © 1968 by Galaxy Publishing Co., as follows: "TheWorld and Thorinn," April, 1968; "The Garden of Ease," June, 1968; "The Star Below." August, 1968.

  This Berkley book contains the complete text of the original hardcover edition.It has been completely reset in a type face designed for easy reading, and was printed from new film.

  THE WORLD AND THORINN

  A Berkley Book/published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley-Putnam edition published February 1981 Berkley edition/December 1981

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 1980 by Damon Knight.

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission.

  ISBN: 0-425-05193-5

  A BERKLEY BOOK

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  for KATIE, at last, and for our son JONATHAN

  1

  ^ “

  How Thorinn Goryatson learned he was not the son of his father, and descended into theUnderworld without wishing to do so.

  In the days of King Alf there was a house in windy Hovenskar at the hub of the world, where thesky turns round the Pipe of Snorri. The house was of sods, with a stone roof, for no other sort ofroof can stand against the winds that blow, this way and that way, over cold Hovenskar as thesky turns.

  Now Hovenskar is like a yellow bowl, and from this side of it to that side is three days' journey.Long is the spoon with which the gods eat porridge from that bowl! Northward can be seen thehalf of Snorri's Pipe, a gray-green column three leagues in thickness, yet so tall that it seems toprick the sky like a needle; and around it the sky swings, half light and half dark. Therefore athigh noon there is an eye of darkness peering over the rim of Hovenskar, and at midnight an eyeof brightness. And the wind blows from the dark to the light, this way and that way overHovenskar.

  In this unlucky place, in the days of King Alf, lived a man called Goryat and his three sons, whowere outlaws driven out of Kjelsland. Goryat and the two elder sons were gray-skinnedLowlanders, four ells tall, with tusks like daggers; but the youngest son was pink as aHighlandman, and stood no taller than Goryat's belt-buckle. Though he had a withered leg, hewas sturdy and quick, and could jump higher than his own head. Thus he was called Thorinn,which is a kind of flea.

  Now it happened on the last day of King Alf (when a roof-tile dashed his brains out) that forthousands of leagues, even unto the land of the Skryllings, the earth became flat where it hadformerly risen, and arose where it had been flat. Rivers left their banks, lakes became marshes,the air was one black scream of birds, and everywhere cook-pots rolled out of kitchens, while thecooking-wenches tumbled after.

  But of all this the four of Hovenskar knew nothing. They knew only that Snorri's Pipe had begunto roar, with a sound that thrummed in the bones and could not be shut out, though they stoppedtheir ears with their fingers; that their bodies had turned light, as in a dream; that there was anearth-shock that made men and horses dance on the ground like lice on a griddle; and that bits ofthe sky were falling like frostflakes.

  Before they could gather their wits about them, one of the horses, a mare with foal, had brokenher leg in the peat bog, and the rest were scattering up the high curve of the valley, from whenceit was half a day's work to drive them home again.

  Now this was a weighty matter, and it grew weightier still on the second day, when the other fourmares went dry. Goryat took the finest of the remaining horses, a stallion of two summers, andsacrificed him to Snorri. But the demon did not leave off roaring: instead, as Goryat finished hisprayers, there was a second earth-shock, and from the well nearby came the crack of stonebreaking, and all the water ran away into the Underworld, leaving the well dry as a skull.Then the two elder sons urged their father to leave Hovenskar and fare southward, but the oldman, whose hand was still heavy though his mane had turned white as frost, would have none ofit. "In all the Midworld there is no safety for me or those of my blood save in Hovenskar," saidGoryat to his sons. "Nor may Thorinn leave, for I have sworn by Wit and Bal to keep him. " Thusdid the two sons learn from their father's lips for the first time, though in truth it was plain to beseen, that Thorinn was no blood brother of theirs.

  "But if we sacrifice another horse, we may go empty-bellied through the winter," said Withinga,the eldest son.

  "Moreover, it's plain enough that Snorri wants no horses. " Thus spoke Untha, the second son. "Ishe the demon of waters, or not? When the horse was offered, he was vexed and broke our well. "

  "We must give him something better, " said Withinga.

  "Idle is boasting when the hands are empty," Goryat answered. "What, must we fare toSkryllingsland and bring back a sacrifice?"

  "Not so far as that, " Withinga said. And he pointed his chin toward the hillside, where Thorinnwas leading the horses to the spring.

  Goryat said then, "Would you make me an oath-breaker? I tell you, I swore to keep the boy untilSnorri takes him. "

  Untha rose, and pointed to the black mouth of the well. "Then give him to Snorri. "So it was agreed. When Thorinn came down, suspecting nothing, they said to him, "Go into thewell, see whether it can be mended. " Then when he was in the well, they pulled up the bucket andcovered the well-mouth with a great stone, and prayed over it.

  The Flea lay upon his back, hands behind his head, the knee of his good leg cocked over the other. His left leg was shorter than the right and had always been so; he could grip a horse with his thighs well enough, but when he was afoot, the bad leg was too feeble to bear his weight for more than a moment, and so he hopped everywhere (though Goryat's sons always said the short leg was good for walking on the hillside, so long as he took care to go withershins).

  The blades of yellow grass formed a wall close around him, shielding his body from the wind that rustled overhead. Through half-shut eyes he could see the wavering patch of brightness that was the sky. Drowsy scents of grass and blossoms were in his nostrils, mingled with the faint but pungent smell of horse that clung to his leather garments. He could hear the stiff grass-blades crackling as insects crawled among them; the snort and stamp of the horses farther u
p the hillside; and, more distantly, the unending drone of Snorri's Pipe.

  Deliciously hidden and at ease, more than half asleep, he was daydreaming of distant mountains and brightly-dressed people when a new sound roused him.

  He started up on one elbow, listened: there it came again. He pivoted with one hand on the matted grasses, sprang up. Far below, over the thousand moving waves of yellow grass, he could see Goryat's steading in the bright half of the valley—the house with its roof of gray stone and its thread of smoke bent by the wind, the horse-barn, the meathouse, the tanyard, the well, all tiny as pebbles. Near the house a mannikin stood; its mane was only a dot of yellow. The arms were lifted; it shook a fist. After a second the hail came again:... ooorriii... Thorinn waved his arms in answer. The tiny figure gestured with one hand, then turned away. It was already loping slowly toward the house when the sound arrived... ooom doww... They had thought of some other task for him; that was only to be expected. Breathing the keen wind, Thorinn forgot all disappointment as he raised his head. It was mid-morning, and where the tip of the Pipe touched the sky beyond the valley rim, the dome was split by a clean arc that soared high over Thorinn's head, dividing the sky into pale light and greenish darkness. Half the valley below was daylit; the other half lay still in deep night, pricked here and there by the witchfires of fallen sky-stuff. Over in the peat bog, wisps of night mist were rising like ghosts; dew still sparkled in the grass along the daylight edge.

  As the day wore on, the arc in the sky would creep around the rim of the valley. One could almost see it move; Thorinn had lain many an hour on the windswept hill, watching it, until he fell fast asleep, and the horses roamed where they would.

  Tits and fieldfares were busy in the cropped grass around the spring, quarreling and chirruping over the bits of grain they found in the horse droppings. Hawks were awheel over the high rim; but in the dark side, Thorinn knew, owls and nightjars were stirring. Northward from Hovenskar, it was said, there were night creatures that never ventured into daylight, but followed the darkness eternally, around and around. Someday Thorinn would go and hunt them; Gory at would give him leave when he was a man. The world was good, though Snorri rumbled.

  Above him near the outcrop and the spring, the eleven giant horses turned their heads alertly. Thorinn filled his lungs and shouted. "Ho, Biter! Ho, Stonehead!" The horses snorted, tossed their manes; Stonehead, the old stallion, showed his wicked teeth. Thorinn bent his knee, leaped over the grasstops, alighted two ells higher on the slope, leaped again. The horses, pretending fright, wheeled and lumbered away. Thorinn's leg pumped furiously; he bounded, leaped like a grasshopper after the soaring horses. He passed two stragglers, nervous young colts. The earth trembled, bouncing him higher. Blood burned in his veins; the wind whipped his cheeks, made his eyes smart with tears. Head down, his massive hindquarters bunching like fists, old Stonehead flew before. Stones and clots of turf spattered Thorinn like hail. He was flying, lungs afire. Into—the yellow—sea—and out. Ahead, the stallion's round eye glinted; the old horse turned, laboring upslope. In two breaths Thorinn was beside him; a final leap, and the rough mane was against his face, his arms and thighs gripping the shaggy neck, while the world wheeled.

  Winded and utterly happy, Thorinn clung to the stallion's neck. After a plunge or two, earth and sky steadied around him; obedient to his will, the old stallion, who could have flung him five ells if he chose, stood snorting and trembling. Thorinn reached up, grasped a thick hairy ear at the root, pulled gently. The stallion dipped his huge head, turned and sprang.

  The other horses, standing at gaze a few hundred ells away, fell upward into distance. The steep yellow bowl of the valley came plunging up, the wind whined in his ears—down, with a bone-breaking jolt, another leap—down, another. Bounding below, the tiny shapes of the houses grew larger with each dizzy arc. The stallion's neck strained against Thorinn's cheek; they were flying like the wind, they would leap and never come down!

  The descent grew shallow, the hillside was behind them; now they were bounding across the level earth toward the stone-roofed house, and the gray figure beside it. Thorinn recognized Withinga, tall as the house-eaves, in his stained leather jerkin and his belt studded with metal bosses. Obedient to Thorinn's touch, Stonehead planted his hooves, slid to a bone-jarring halt. While Withinga watched sourly, Thorinn vaulted to the ground, slapped the old stallion's rump. Stonehead snorted, wheeled and bounded away toward the distant shapes of the other horses high on the hill.

  "Do you want to break your neck, Flea?" Withinga asked, taking a stride forward.

  "When Snorri calls, man must answer," said Thorinn. He hopped back, expecting a blow, but Withinga only stared at him for a moment, then said: "So it is. Come, the Old Man has a task for you." Thorinn followed him around the moss-grown sods of the house. Under the weight of the roof, the sod walls had bulged year by year until the house had lost all its squareness and was shaped like a cheese. Beyond in the dooryard, Untha and old Goryat squatted at the well-curb, beside the empty leather horse trough. They looked up as Withinga and Thorinn approached; Untha, who had been scratching the bare earth idly with his dagger, gaped witlessly, showing tusks as long as Thorinn's thumb. His yellow eyes, slitted like a goat's, stared at Thorinn as if he were a stranger.

  Without speaking, Withinga sank down beside the other two. Squatting in a row, the three stared at Thorinn. Their massive, yellow-maned heads were on a level with his. Beyond them, the split sky arched over the rim of Hovenskar. At last Goryat spoke. "The well is broken."

  "Did you call me down here to tell me that?" asked Thorinn in honest surprise.

  "Hold your tongue and listen," said Goryat. "It is in my mind that the well may be mended. Therefore, jump into it and see."

  Thorinn hopped to the well-curb and looked down. The deep shaft receded into darkness, past the leather thong and the dim round shape of the bucket; he could not see the bottom.

  "How shall we mend it?" he asked.

  "With stones," grunted Withinga. "The fool asks, wise men must answer. Go down, Flea." Thorinn bent toward the dark receding shaft, from which a faint cool breath arose; then a new thought struck him. "If this should be long in the doing," he said, "who will cook the dinner?" The two brothers glanced at each other again, and Withinga stroked his chin with a taloned gray hand.

  "Well asked," he said grudgingly. "Also, who will fetch peat for the fire, and tend the horses?"

  "And milk the mares, supposing they turn fresh again, and make cheese?" put in Untha, scowling and toying with his dagger. "That is no work for a man."

  Thorinn stared from one to another, for their words made little sense; but Goryat said, "Peace," and gave them a hard look under his frosty brows. "Witlings have I for sons. The thing is decided." In his hands was a little framework of yellowed ivory carved with runes, a magical implement which Thorinn had seen only twice before. "Go down."

  Thorinn hesitated, but he felt a pressure as if an invisible hand had been laid along his back, and he realized that the old man had put a spell on him, a geas: go down he must. He bent and picked up the bucket thong. He tugged at the end of it, where it was knotted around one of the stones of the curb, found it secure, and backed over the rim of the well-mouth, lowering himself hand under hand. The three white-and-yellow-maned heads turned to watch him. They disappeared over the rim of the well, but a moment later, as he descended, they came back into view, peering down. The three silhouetted figures seemed to rise and become foreshortened, the horizon sank, the ground bulged upward like water closing over his head. Clods and an occasional pebble, scraped loose by his feet, rebounded below. After a moment or two he heard something strike the bottom. Cold air breathed up past him. The edge of the leather bucket touched his thighs. Holding the thong with one hand, he pulled the bucket up free of his legs, hung a moment, and dropped.

  The bottom drifted nearer. Dimly he saw it, bent his knees, took the shock. But the bottom of the well was tipped bey
ond his expectation, and it threw him against the side, making his head ring. He straightened himself and breathed deep. How cold it was down here! and no wonder, for the water they got from the well, before it went dry, had been cold as ice. That was natural, for the deeper you went, the farther from the warmth-giving sky. Thus it was colder here on the floor of the ancient ocean than it was in the Highlands; colder again at the bottom of the well; and if you could dig deeper still into the earth, eventually you would come to the land of eternal ice, the Underworld, where Snorri ruled. Go down.

  Thorinn crouched and felt for the source of the steady slow current that breathed up around his legs. Oddly, although the air was cool, it seemed warmer than the earth and stones around him. His hands found an opening, half choked with mud. So far as he could tell, the rock table under the well had broken, and he was now crouching on a tilted slab of it that had fallen and stuck. He heard a sound, twisted to look up. The mouth of the well was a disk of brightness, surrounded by concentric half-circles of gray reflected light. The sound was repeated, and Thorinn saw a tiny black dot rise to the well-mouth, bob and disappear.

  For a moment he could not believe it; then he stood hastily and shouted, "Hi! Don't pull up the bucket!

  How am I to get up again?"

  A maned head appeared, in silhouette against the sky, and looked down at him silently. It vanished; another appeared at a different place; then it, too, was gone. "Ho!" shouted Thorinn, hearing his voice boom up the shaft.

  He listened. Over the slow sighing of the wind, a sound so familiar in Hovenskar that it was heard only when it changed, he caught the grumbling voice of Goryat.

  "Lift your end!"

  Footsteps scraped on the pebbles beside the well-curb. Then something dark came into view and hung suspended in the middle of the disk. The broken circle of brightness around it flickered and vanished, the light on the walls turned gray and went out. A stony clang echoed down. The black air pressed close to Thorinn's eyes, and seemed as heavy to breathe as water. There was a long pause, then another clang. Thorinn's heart was leaping, but he reached for his wallet calmly enough, found the wooden light-box and uncovered the window of mica at the end. The pale witchfire of the sky-stuff inside brought his arms back in ghostly dimness, and a vague circle of the dirt wall; but though he shielded it with his hand, it would not reach the top of the shaft.