doubt, he now had Rotn’bair’s attention.
He laid this to one side and returned to the mudskunk which lay writhing in a swampy pool. He picked it up and deftly sliced off its head without even offering up a prayer for its soul. Thus he defiled its death. Now, he had Nils’n’s attention.
Using the bladder of the slug as a mixing bag, he began to construct a potion of powdered ramsbone, extract of hunger, odeur of sheepsblood, and several other elements that I could not identify; but I suspected that all of them were designed to arouse the wrath of Nils’n, although in what manner was not yet clear.
Shoogar surveyed the nest of the mad magician on its riverward side. Then he began to paint his soupy potion in broad lines across its black flank in a pattern of eleven stripes by eleven. Having finished, he sketched in the sign of the deformed changeling, the favored son of the sheep god. This half of the spell would anger Nils’n. Shoogar had defiled a mud creature in order to celebrate the greatness of Rotn’bair. To complete the other half of the spell, Shoogar would now desecrate his earlier celebration of Rotn’bair, the horned box sketched on the other side of the nest.
He returned to the bone bowl, the one containing the anger gland of the mudskunk, and using the leg bone of a ram, he crushed the gland into a sick-smelling paste. This he mixed with ramsblood, defiled water and a greenish powder from his travel kit. I recognized that powder — it was an extract of fear, usually used where potent action is desired. It is derived from animals of the cloven hoof. Six sheep must have been sacrificed just to provide the small amount Shoogar was now mixing into his spell.
Stepping to the landward side of the nest, and chanting a song of praise for Nils’n, Shoogar began painting a familiar symbol across the chalk sketch of the horned box. It was the sign of Nils’n, a diagonal slash with an empty circle on either side.
The crowd gasped appreciatively. Such originality in spell-casting was a delight to behold. No wonder he was called Shoogar the Tall. Rotn’bair would not allow such a desecration of his sheep to exist for long. And Nils’n, the god of mud creatures, would not long be complacent while mud-skunks were being sacrificed to Rotn’bair.
The antipathy of the two gods is demonstrated every time the sheep are led to the river. Sheep are careless and clumsy. As they mill about on the banks, they trample scores of frogs, snakes, salamanders, lizards, chameleons, and other amphibians that live in the mud. At the same time many of the more dangerous mud creatures, the poisonous ones, the fanged ones, the ones with venom lash back at the sheep, cutting their legs, ruining their wool, infecting them with parasites, giving them festering sores, leaving them bleeding from angry cuts and slashes. The two gods hate each other, and in their various incarnations, as sheep and mud creatures, they work to destroy each other at every opportunity.
Now Shoogar had inscribed insults to both upon the same nest. He had defiled creatures of each in order to celebrate the greatness of the other. If Purple did not make immediate amends, he would have to suffer the wrath of both simultaneously.
Purple had said he did not believe in the gods. He denied their existence. He denied their powers. And he had stated that he was above Shoogar’s magic.
I hoped he would return in time to see the spell take effect.
I followed Shoogar down to the river, and helped him with his ritual purification. He had to cleanse himself of the odeurs of offense against the gods, lest he be caught up in his own curse. Sometimes the gods are nearsighted. We bathed him with six different oils before we even let him step into the river. (No sense in offending Filfo-mar, the river god.)
Even before we finished with the cleansing we could hear the curse beginning. We could hear the cheers of the crowd; and beneath that was a dull sort of booming. Shoogar wrapped his robe around himself and hurried back up the hill, me trailing excitedly in his wake.
We reached the crest of the hill in time to see an angry ram butting his head insistently against the side of Purple’s nest. More rams were arriving, and they too began to attack the looming black globe. The focus of their anger was the desecrated homage to Rotn’bair, and it seemed as if the very substance of the Nils’n symbol was enough to anger them. The smell of the mud skunk was potent enough to raise anyone’s hackles.
Red-eyed and breathing heavily, the rams jostled and shoved and butted even at each other in their frenzy to attack that odious desecration on the side of Purple’s nest. Each time they struck it, that same dreadful booming echoed up and down the hill, and each time a great cheer went up from the crowd. I expected at any moment to see one of the rams go crashing through the walls of that fearful nest, but no — those walls were stronger than I had thought. Perhaps even as strong as metal.
The only effect I could see was that each time a ram struck it, it seemed to lift slightly out of the mud for a moment before sinking wetly back. Bleating in frenzy, the rams raged at that offensive spot — they were the living in-carnation of Rotn’bair’s anger. Again and again, they hurled themselves at that dull black surface.
Old Khart, the lead ram, had shattered both of his horns (sacred items in themselves — I mourned the loss), and several of the other rams were also injured. Their eyes were red with fury, their nostrils flared wide; their breath came in hot puffs of steam and the sounds of bleating and snorting filled the air with a madness born of wrath. The steam rose from their sides; their hoofs slashed wetly through the ground, churning the grass and mud into a meaningless soup.
Some of the rams were having trouble with their footing already, and indeed, as we watched, one of the older ones slipped and slid through the mud. He crashed against two others and brought them both down with him; all three were caught under the frenzied slashing hooves of the others.
Their angry snorts were punctuated by grunts of pain, and by the dull thud and hollow boom that rolled up and down the slope each time they struck the side of Purple’s nest. But the creatures had strength beyond all natural en-durance, and continued to clamber over one another, butting at that offending spell.
And each time they did so, each time they struck it, the nest rose up out of the ground and threatened to slide down the bank and into the river; but each time it would pause and then sag wetly back into its hollowed out cradle of mud. Several times it trapped slow-footed beasts under the curve of its wall. I felt a great surge of emotion within myself — any moment now Purple’s great egg-shaped nest would be toppled onto its side.
Then, abruptly, three of the rams hit the nest at the same time, and it seemed to leap into the air. One more struck it at just the right instant, and as it rose out of its hollow it just seemed to keep on moving. Suddenly it was sliding downslope with a great wet slosh. Angry rams scrambled after it, butting at it all the way down, churning the mud with their hoofs and leaving a long angry scar through Ang’s carefully terraced frog-grading pools. I shouted in triumph with the rest.
The great black globe struck the river with a resounding smack and splash; a loud cheer of delight went up from the villagers. Only I was silent, for the terrible nest had not deviated even a thumbnail’s width from its perfectly upright position. Had Shoogar noticed too? His puzzled frown was a match for mine.
But the nest was in the river! The rams slid and skidded down the slope, destroying what was left of the frog pools in the process. Almost joyfully they leapt into the water, still butting at Purple’s nest.
Others milled around the banks, churning the mud. Mud-skunks and salamanders ran panic-stricken under their hoofs and a new shade of red added itself to the stains on the heaving flanks of the crazed rams. Crushed mud-skunk mingled with the blood of the sheep, and the terrible smell reached us on the crest of the hill along with the hysterical splashing and bleating.
Now the black nest was within Nils’n’s reach. So far only Rotn’bair had had a chance to avenge the insult. Now the banks boiled with life as salamanders, lizards, crabs, venom-bearing snakes and other river creatures came swarming up out of the mud and darkness. They scrambled across the churning surface and attacked anything that moved, even each other, but more often the rams.
The rams continued to charge the nest, oblivious to the mud creatures caught in their wool, hanging from their sides biting and slashing at their legs. Their once proud flanks, now torn and slashed, were stained with angry strokes of red and great washes of muddy brown river water. It was an awe-inspiring sight, sheep and mud creatures together attacking that ominous unmoving sphere.
The villagers stood on the flanks. of the hill and cheered the frenzied activity below. One or two of the braver shepherds tried to work their way down the slope, but the snapping claws of the mud crabs drove them quickly back up to the crest.
The rams were slowing down now, but still they continued to mill about Purple’s nest — still they continued
