On the Hills and Everywhere

"John, the children have opened their presents, and I want them to have some hot rations inside them before they start in on that store-bought candy you fetched them. So why don't you tell us a Christmas story while Mother's putting dinner on the table?" 

It's Christmastime, and John's been asked to tell a story before dinner.

Mr. Abalsom and Troy Holcomb were the best of friends. But they started fighting over a piece of land between their properties, it went to court, and Mr. Absalom won. The crop planted on this new parcel failed, and the feud grew deeper, until Mr. Absalom called his friend a witch man.

Now Mr. Absalom calls a carpenter to do the unthinkable and set a wall on the property line where only a ditch divided the one-time friends' lands.

While the carpenter works, Mr. Absalom's crippled son Little Anse keeps the man company. An inquisitive lad, Little Anse asks the man questions as he hands over each tool. The Carpenter answers every one until the job is finished.

Mr. Absalom rushes out, ready to complain. He ordered a wall, not a bridge. But at the other end of the bridge is Troy. The two friends reconcile, and the Carpenter walks along his way. But before he leaves, he tells Little Anse that he no longer needs his crutches to walk. The boy flings them away, no longer crippled.

John then leads the children in a resounding hymn before dinner.

*****

I had a fancy that this might be John and Evadare with their family in the future, but I have family in the Ozarks, and there is no way they would allow their children to call their parents by their first name. They sure enough didn't let me.

"Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it." Hebrews 13:2

*****

This was published in 1956 in Fantasy & Science Fiction. Now such tales get banished to the ghettos of Christian publishing, where only a Stephen Lawhead or a Frank Perretti may escape the walls. Not only have expressions of faith been lost from science fiction, we currently live in a culture that does not know how religious people act. (Don't get me started on Donnie Yen's monk in Rogue One. Even aping the monks in The 36th Chamber of Shaolin would have been an improvement.) At one time, not that long ago, mainstream fantasy and science fiction writers would write stories of the faith in the magazines of their time. And the stories varied from the devotional to exploring the weird corners of the Holy Book. Now everything in SFF is ironic, anti-theist, and fluffy-bunny pagan--not even a shadow of that old time religion C. S. Lewis wanted in "Cliche Came Out of its Cage". And much was lost in the process.

But I'll keep an eye out for the Man who is six foot tall. For I've got a bridge needin' building...

Nine Yards of Other Cloth

But I knew she was Evadare. I’d fled from before her pretty face as never I’d fled from any living thing, not even evil spell-throwers nor murder-doers, nor either from my country’s enemies when I’d soldiered in foreign parts and seen battle as the Bible prophet-book tells it, confused noises and garments rolled in blood. Since dawn I’d run from Evadare like a rabbit from a fox, and still she followed, climbing now along the trail I’d tried not to leave, toward the smoke of the fire I’d built before I knew she was still coming. 

No getaway from her now, for night dropped on the world, and to climb higher would be to fall from some steep hidden place. I could wait where I was or I could head down and face her.

*****

John is leaving Hosea's Hollow, pursued by Evadare, a pretty young woman who has been following him all day. Understanding that he is well and truly caught, John waits for her to catch up and reflects on how they met.

In Hosea's Hollow, during a party sprung up around a hog butchering, John is coaxed into playing songs for the celebration. A fiddler named Shull Cobart takes the next turn making melodies, and as this master plays, John wanders off and finds the old grave of Hosea Palmer, a man thought to have been taken by Kalu, a bone monster. He continues on the trail and finds a cabin. He stops by the river, only to be confronted by Evadare.

The petite blonde is ready to run John off, thinking he is Shull Cobart, but when she sees the silver-stringed guitar, Evadare grows friendlier. Cobart has tried to court her, but when she refused, he picked up the fiddle and grew scarier. Evadare fled into Hosea's Hollow to escape him.

Shull Cobart arrives soon after, using his fiddle to charm Evadare and John. Evadare, he would have for wife, while John will be sacrificed to Kalu in return for the fiddler's gift. But there are two types of power music, and John's silver-stringed guitar sings out against Shull's black fiddle.

Then Kalu comes to the cabin...

*****

Gentlemen, don’t ask me to say too much what Kalu was. Bones, yes— something like man-bones, but bigger and thicker, also something like bear-bones, or big ape-bones from a foreign land. And a rotten light to them, so I saw for a moment that the bones weren’t empty. Inside the ribs were caged puffy things, like guts and lungs and maybe a heart that skipped and wiggled. The skull had a snout like I can’t say what, and in its eyeholes burned blue-green fire.

Most of the strangeness hidden in the hollows of the Silver John stories has been either evil or an amoral neutral ruinous to passersby. Despite Kalu's fearsome appearance, the creature was taught good by Hosea Palmer. Like Frankenstein's monster in the 1980s cartoon, Kalu fills the role of the protective monster, which makes him unique so far in the Silver John tales.

*****

This is the fourth tale where a pretty woman is pursued by a witch man in the hopes of snaring her into evil. And, like the rest, John frees Evadare from this vile threat. Shull Cobart's magic is in his music, and echoes of Robert Johnson's crossroads encounter with the devil appear in Cobart's tale. Once again, John pits white against black, and is saved by supernatural intervention. Finally, he leaves before he has to break the woman's heart.

This time, the woman gives chase. And unlike the women who used feminine charm and black magic charms, Evadare catches her prey.

But she didn’t stand, she came on. And I knew who she was. And if I asked her to marry she wouldn’t answer no.  

The rest of that day I fled from her, not stopping to eat, only to grab mouthfuls of water from streams. And in the dusky last end of the day I sat quiet and watched her still coming, leaning on her stick for weariness, and knew I must go down trail to meet her.  

She was at the moment when she’d drop. She’d lost her ribbon, and the locks of her hair fell round her like a shadow. Her dress was torn, her face was white-tired, and the rocks had cut her shoes to pieces and the blood seeped out of her tom feet.  

She couldn’t even speak. She just sagged into my arms when I held them out to her.

In later stories, Evadare becomes John's wife. But from this point on, John now helps other couples draw closer to each other instead of freeing pretty girls from sinister suitors.

*****

As seen before, Wellman uses actual songs in his stories. Here is one version of "Nine Yards of Other Cloth":

One Other

Her lips tightened, red and hard and sharp as her nails. “Nothing at all, John. You did nothing, you ignored me. Doesn’t it make you furious to be ignored?” 

“Ignored? I never notice such a thing.” 

“I do. I don’t often look at a man twice, and usually they look at me at least once. I don’t forgive being ignored.”

*****

John climbs to the top of Hark Mountain, and finds a woman casting a love charm for him. Annalinda, a big town beauty, wants John to fall in love with her, not for her longing but for her pride. Weeks earlier, John ignored her charms, and now she's turned to folk magic taught by a Mr. Howsen.

“I’d been told a charm can be said three times, beside Bottomless Pool on Hark Mountain, to burn a man’s soul with love. And you came when I called. Don’t shake your head, John, you’re in love with me.”

“Sorry. I beg your pardon. I’m not in love with you.”

As John and Annalinda argue over what brought him to the top of the mountain, Mr. Howsen arrives. Annalinda makes to pay him, but he says that she and John will pay the price instead to One Other by the Bottomless Pool. With a scratched mark, Mr. Howsen binds them to the mountaintop to await One Other's arrival...

 *****

One Other is a tempter from another dimension, and John's charms for angels and demons slide off this creature. He is looking for more servants to give him more power and influence in our world. Inspired by alchemy, John uses fire to drive One Other back into his dimension.

While not necessarily Mythos, "One Other" certainly resonates with the extended stories of Lovecraft's creations. Wellman had made Mythos homages before, in such stories as "The Terrible Parchment" and in such stories as "The Letters of Cold Fire:, John Thunstone's arch-enemy, Rowley Thorne, mimics the interests and misadventures of Mythos magicians. But while Wellman would namedrop several names familiar to the Mythos in his writings, as he was wont to do with many Weird Tales worlds, little of the actual Mythos could be found in his work. Yet he would return, time and again, to the idea of extra-dimensional terrors such as One Other and the Shonokins. But where Lovecraft wrote of strange beings incomprehensible to human understanding, Wellman's aliens share with the Devil an ability to assume a pleasing shape...or one that, while grotesque, is more pleasant than their true form. For more on Wellman and the Mythos, check out the page devoted to it on his estate's website.

 *****

One of the truisms currently out of favor in contemporary times is that men and women have different mentalities, and when women break, they break in a different manner than men. We've seen how the rich and the proud break men in "Vandy, Vandy" and "O Ugly Bird!", and how the need to control drives the witch men in those stories. In "The Little Black Train" and "One Other", vanity drives the women bad, and the need to be praised drives them to their evils. Wellman shows the faults of both sexes throughout his writings.  For instance, John mentions that "Nothing flurries a woman like being caught in the truth." But while evil is challenged no matter if committed by man or woman, the evil men get led to destruction while the women are usually saved from the full consequences of their evil. And not in a "make it go away" sense, but with the full moral knowledge of the choices they made.

The Little Black Train

“Only thing is,” the mouth-harp man went on, “folks say the train runs on that track. Or it did. A black train runs some nights at midnight, they say, and when it runs a sinner dies.”

*****

While out on a walk, John is pulled into an outdoor party and asked to play. It's a strange celebration, for it marks the last day of a curse on Donie Carawan, a women tending towards her 40s who inherited a small fortune. The reason for the curse is as follows:

“Donie Carawan was to marry Trevis Jones,” the mouth-harp man told me. “He owned the High Fork Railroad to freight the timber from this valley. He’d a lavish of money, is how he got to marry her. But,” and he swallowed hard, “another young fellow loved her. Cobb Richardson, who ran Trevis Jones’s train on the High Fork Railroad. And he killed Trevis Jones.”  

“For love?” I asked. 

“Folks reckoned that Donie Carawan decided against Trevis and love-talked Cobb into the killing; for Trevis had made a will and heired her all his money and property— the railroad and all. But Cobb made confession. Said Donie had no part in it. The law let her go, and killed Cobb in the electric chair, down at the state capital."  

“I declare to never,” I said. 
“Fact. And Cobb’s mother— Mrs. Amanda Richardson— spoke the curse.” 

“Oh,” I said, “is she the witch that—” 

“She was no witch,” he broke me off, “but she cursed Donie Carawan, that the train that Cobb had engine-drove, and Trevis had heired to her, would be her death and destruction. Donie laughed. You’ve heard her laugh. And folks started the song, the black train song.”

In contempt of the curse, Donie teaches the black train song to John. But, later, when John sings it, they both can hear a train coming an see ghostly tracks. Then, at midnight, the train comes... 

*****

The key concept of "The Little Black Train" lies in a piece of musicality lost in this age of overproduced electrical instruments and drum machines. Roots music, including the family of styles descended from the blues, often used the rhythms of the world around them in their music. At first, this might be the clop-clop-clop of a horse's hooves, the rainfall clatter of falling chains, or the hammer fall of iron on an anvil. But as the iron horses ran across America on tracks of steel, the train with its relentless shuffle and distinctive whistle quickly became the preferred rhythm. Take a listen to Joe Bonamassa's "Slow Train Coming" and hear how only a handful of instruments can mimic the rousing rhythm of the train:



Wellman's unique take on this lies in the modulation of key combined with the musician's tendency to continually speed up when playing. He explains it through the use of the Doppler shift, where objects coming closer to a listener have a higher pitch than retreating objects. Add a slow increase in pace and a slight crescendo, such as what tends to happen when bands get into the songs they play, and it is easy for even a small band, say that of a guitar and harmonica, to sound like a train speeding towards you. It's a clever bit of science in fiction--or scientifiction as Hugo Gernsback would call it--which crosses over into Weird Tales territory when it meets the ghost story behind Donie's curse.

But its with the curse itself that Wellman departs from the conventions of his Weird Tales work. Once again, the proud are laid low and sins find out their sinner, but unlike in "Laroes Catch Meddlers", where the thieves are led to their destruction at the hands of a Confederate mummy, Donie repents of her machinations and the cursed train leaves her. Judgment is replaced by mercy. And if the criminal excesses of Prohibition spawned a deep cry for justice that seeped from the pulps, Wellman in the 1950s had a strong theme of repentance and redemption. Perhaps enough blood had been spilled in the wars between the two times, perhaps the spectre of Mutually Assured Destruction gave cause to blunt the tyranny of law, or, more likely, that the beliefs and legends of the Appalachian people demanded that the Gospel be treated with the same reverence as their folk tales. For horrors exist in the backwoods hollows, but so does hope, given by the only Man ever to be exactly six feet tall. And of Him, we will speak soon.

*****

Another woman rebounds off of John's armor. Ever since leaving at the end of "Vandy, Vandy", women have been trying harder to catch his eye. One has used love magic to salve her pride wounded after John's refusal to notice her. Donie tried sex appeal. It was not effective. John is trying to live up to the virtue of previous men with his name, and, at least for the moment, he's an outright bum magnet, attracting a number of Proverbs 7 gals whose beauty often hides self-destructive character flaws. And, since bad company often drives out good character, John does not stay with them.

It is a refreshing change of pace to read stories where women are given enough actual moral agency to be evil instead of just misunderstood or tricked into their deeds. The current infantilizing pedestalization by men and women alike robs today's stories of any drama and promote the dreaded Mary Sue.

Vandy, Vandy

That valley hadn't any name. Such outside folks as knew about it just said, “Back in yonder,” and folks inside said, “Here.”

*****

John sets out in search for a good song. He runs into the Millen family in an out-of-the-way valley, who are protective of their daughter, Vandy. John asks them about "the Vandy song", one of many he is searching for. After telling John just how many generations the song has been in their family, the Millens sing for him, only to be interrupted by Mr. Loden, who has come to woo young Vandy.

Too neighborly to send both men away, the Millens invite them to eat. At the dinner, John plays a hunch, and as the songs and talk turn toward witchcraft, Salem, and "King" Washington, he scares Mr. Loden with silver. After Mr. Loden leaves, John learns that the "Vandy" song tells of a witch man who, every 100 years, tries to seduce the Millen girl bearing the name Vandy. Two Vandys have resisted his charms, but now a third has his attention. As the night grows dark, John makes his bed by the cottage door and waits.

Late at night, John confronts Mr. Loden as he sneaks in. Mr. Loden paralyzes him with magic from the Long Lost Friend, admitting to being the witch man that has plagued the Millen family. As Mr. Loden conducts a ritual of killing magic, John attempts a counter-charm and manages to fling a silver quarter into a fire. A shade from Mr. Loden's past--and America's--appears to avenge a long-standing wrong...

*****

At first blush, "Vandy, Vandy" holds to the same formula as "O, Ugly Bird!", where John comes across a pretty girl plagued by the attentions of a witch man who sees John as a rival for her hand. The witch man holds the upper hand by his magic, but John prevails through bravery, cleverness, and light magic. What sets "Vandy, Vandy" apart is the use of music as lore and the historical roots of the Mr. Loren's Faustian bargain. These provide an extra anchor of verisimilitude, and with the heightened stakes, I find "Vandy, Vandy" to be the better of the two.

And devotees to Lester Dent's Master Formula should see the familiar bones here, with the confrontations at each quarter of the way through the story, the pacing of the revelations, and the absolutely haunting punchline of Vandy singing the final verse of her song.

Once again, John flees before the young lady can tie him down. One day, he'll find one that will follow him...for Evadare awaits in his future.

*****

I recently started reading a history of story structure that described how the earliest novels that derived from a combination of epic poetry and the personal letter. Then, in Gothic times, the next step of the novel's development occurred:

Writers who took the next step in developing internal structure for the long prose narrative made it a small step: They built their novels around a series of entries in a journal or diary (Robinson Crusoe being a good example). 

Bickham, Jack. Elements of Fiction Writing - Scene & Structure (Kindle Locations 75-76). F+W Media. Kindle Edition. 

And many of the Gothic-inspired occult investigators of Weird Tales followed a form of this device, combining the immediate action of the pulps with personal correspondence for exposition, explanation, and revelation. Wellman would return to this device time and time again, in Weird Tales such as "The Undead Soldier", "Among Those Present", and "The Terrible Parchment". John the Balladeer's predecessors, Judge Pursuivant and John Thunstone, would use these correspondences to solve such mysteries as "The Dreadful Rabbits" and "The Dai Sword"--and link their stories to the works and characters of Seabury Quinn and E. Hoffman Price. With the cursed painting of "The Golgotha Dancers", Wellman starts to shift towards embedding clues in other media, be it print art or music. These tales are puzzles, with the clues obscured by riddle and by the threat of violence. "Vandy, Vandy" follows in this shift, with John having to rely on his own memory and cunning to defeat Mr. Loden, as opposed to sending away for another's wisdom. And, like "The Golgotha Dancers," the final confrontation was a near run thing, with a chance effort at the end saving him.

Despite being the embodiment of Campbell's new fantasy, Wellman maintained--and grows--the connection to fantasy's Gothic roots that Campbell sought to eliminate.

*****

Manly Wade Wellman was a musician as well. And while he often used existing songs such as the "Dry Bones" song in ""Can These Bones Live?", some of his original songs crossed over into his fiction. "Vandy, Vandy" is named for one of his original tunes, the lyrics of which help John save Vandy and her family from their curse. Versions of this tune have been recorded occasionally over the years, with few adhering to Wellman's original melody.

This isn't Manly Wade Wellman's preferred version of his "Vandy, Vandy" song--to claim otherwise would be to risk his wrath on the other side--but it is the cleanest recording I've been able to find.

Footprints on the Trail: John's Flash Fiction

Sprinkled throughout Who Fears the Devil? are a dozen or so flash-fiction stories. Like the rest of John’s journeys, these crash off the beaten path, bringing the reader face-to-face with the hidden things of the Appalachians, covering such strangeness as John meeting his future self, tales of man-eating gardinel house-plant, shooting magic, and folk alchemy. And just like a startled doe or fleeing centaur, the meeting with the weird is over in an instant, leaving you with only wonder and an appreciation for the strangeness of nature. Writers would do well to study Wellman’s economy of story and words herein.

Can These Bones Live

Man-eaters— such things were told of by old Indians, wise men who’d sworn to them. The wendigo, up in Northern parts. The anisgina, recollected in Cherokee tales to make you shiver. Supposed to be all died out and gone these days, but when bones rise up....

In "Can These Bones Live?", John heads for a strange clutch of bones discovered on a farm. Once there, he acts as a pallbearer for the dead creature, which might be a sasquatch or similar man-like cryptid. However, the deceased is close enough to human that a preacher says a word of grace for the departed. Later on, when conversation leads to a rousing round of the "Dry Bones" song, the bones connect and come to life. Now, with a walking skeleton swinging a club around, John must figure out how to undo this spell before his head gets smashed in.

This story is closer to the 1940s Judge Pursuivant and John Thunstone tales than the usual Silver John story. The cast is pared down compared to the usual community in John's stories, and John's peril and rescue follow the pattern of the earlier Wellman heroes. All it needed at the end was a message to Seabury Quinn's Jules de Grandin to complete the formula. However, the musical focus and homespun crowd keep this tale of hidden things square in John the Balladeer's world, as the Judge and his heir are of a higher, more genteel class.

The skeleton is dispelled by singing the "Dry Bones" song "in reverse." Instead of "the neck bone's connected to the head bone," it's "the head bone is connected from the neck bone." John takes the time to explain away this oddity of phrasing and how it undid the spell. But listen again to "Dry Bones" song, especially towards the end. The "reverse" part of the song is found in the actual lyrics! (And a lovely example of a descending chromatic melody line it is, too. But I music geek...)

All in all, this is a pleasant throwback to Weird Tales, but not quite up to John's normal adventures.

The Frogfather

As mentioned before, there are two stories included in the Kindle version of Who Fears the Devil? that predate John the Balladeer's introduction in "O Ugly Bird!".  "The Frogfather" is the shorter of the two, a tale following Johnny as he follows Mr. Cuff into unforeseen danger. With the same name, young age, and similar type of story as the older John, one might be forgiven for thinking that this might be one of John's adventures before he went off to war. And so "The Frogfather" got grandfathered into the Silver John stories as perhaps John's earliest adventure.

In it, John and an old Indian follow Mr. Cuff, their company town employer, into the swamps. As John would put it:

"Cuff was going to get a mess of frogs’ legs, which he loved, and which he’d love three times as much because he’d killed the frogs for them."

While in pursuit of their prey, Mr. Cuff demands that they paddle into an area where no sane Indian would dare go, as it is the home of Khongabassi. After Mr. Cuff pitching the protesting old Indian over the side, Johnny and Mr. Cuff head into the neck of water, which teems with frogs. Mr. Cuff gigs one, and out of the water rises Khongabassi, who tips over their boat and drags Mr. Cuff off to his demise. Johnny escapes, meets up with the old Indian, and ponders the strange things in the corners of the world. Afterwards:

“Oh,” said the old Indian, “we shall think of a story, you and I, that explains Mr. Cuff’s death. A story that white men will believe.”

*****

"The Frogfather" is more in line with Wellman's typical Weird Tales offerings than John the Balladeer. It echoes his earlier tales of Western men failing to give the native oddities and spirits the proper respect, such as "The Dreadful Rabbits". And while the location is in the South, "The Frogfather" doesn't sing of the mountains and hollows the same way John the Balladeer does. For Johnny is a boy experiencing things on his own, while John is always a member of a community, helping others and helped by them in turn. And it is these ties of community that enrich the Silver John stories beyond mere horror tales of spooky monsters.

The Desrick on Yandro

There were mountain night noises, like you never get used to, not even if you’re born and raised there, and live and die there. Noises too soft and sneaky to be real murmuring voices. Noises like big flapping wings far off and then near. And, above and below the trail, noises like heavy soft paws keeping pace with you, sometimes two paws, sometimes four, sometimes many. They stay with you, noises like that, all the hours you grope along the night trail, all the way down to the valley so low, till you bless God for the little crumb of light that means a human home, and you ache and pray to get to that home, be it ever so humble, so you’ll be safe in the light.

"The Desrick on Yandro," Manly Wade Wellman

In this adventure, John is entertaining at a party when he meets a Mr. Yandro, who coincidentally shares the name of one of his songs. Not content with his riches, Mr. Yandro seeks a treasure on Yandro Mountain, where his ancestor is rumored to have found the gold that made his family's wealth. He convinces John to come with him. At the foot of Yandro Mountain, they run into an old woman who tells of the witch in the desrick house atop the peak, and the strange bestiary that makes its home in the surrounding hills. Seems that the witch fell in love with Mr. Yandro's ancestor, and wants him back--or someone close enough like him. Mr. Yandro scoffs at all but the idea of treasure, and heads towards the mountain. John and Mr. Yandro find the desrick, and the weird creatures swarm, capturing Mr. Yandro. As the rich man is dragged into the witch's house, the creatures allow John to flee.

*****

If there is one theme that sets John the Balladeer apart from his more well-to-do occult investigating brethren, it is the constant chime of the wedding bells throughout his stories. Whether driving away persistent witchy suitors, reuiniting long lost lovers, or giving a couple a nudge towards the altar, many of John's adventures deal with matters of the heart. Thunstone and the Judge deal with more academic puzzles than the Balladeer, although Silver John has just as encyclopedic an understanding of the hidden things of the world as his predecessors. But magical machinations, both mundane and occult, have been wrapped up in romance since time immemorial, and not even John will prove immune to its call.

The haunted house in its many guises appears once more in Wellman's stories. Along with the Behinder, Skim, and Toller, the haunted house is a familiar monster to readers, although Wellman usually puts his unique spin on his creatures.

Finally, also common to John the Balladeer stories is that the rich and the proud usually come to bad ends. As the six foot tall Man says in Matthew 19:24, "I'll say it again--it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the Kingdom of God!" Mr. Yandro and Mr. Onselm are the first to be brought to destruction, and won't be the last. But it is not necessarily riches that destroy, but the lust for power that accompanies them. In one of the flash fiction stories in Who Fears the Devil?, John learns to turn rocks into gold, but he doesn't allow this potential windfall to corrupt him.

Long Lost Friend

For those in America and serving overseas, have a Happy Fourth of July.

*****

Rather than darken the mood of "King Washington's" victory (see "Vandy, Vandy") with talk of Ugly Birds, Salem witches, and the Frogfather, I instead want to take a look at the folklore in Wellman's writings. Having grown up in Africa and moved to the united States, Manly Wade Wellman drew on a wide variety of folk stories in his fiction, whether from the familiar ward of silver and laughter against evil or that an unburned werewolf would turn into a vampire. He would even create his own monsters and magics in his writing that fit the traditions he wrote about like a glove. The man-eating plant shaped as a house, known as a gardinel, is one such invention, while many of the Indian spirit monsters of the forest may--or may not--have been as well.

What is clear, however, is that the magic and folklore used by Silver John were not among his inventions. Named in that short stories "A Desrick on Yandro" and "Old Devlins Was A-waiting" are two books, The Long Lost Friend and Big Albert, or more commonly known as Albertus Magnus. These actually existed, and serve as a practical manual for Christian magic--or as the pentecostals might now recognize the body of lore among their spiritual warfare books. But while these current manuals rely on confrontation and faith, the classics used a bit more of ritual and charm. In some cases, this is a more modern form of the Christian amulets lining the inside of European museums such as the Rothenburg o. d. Tauber Medieval Crime and Justice Museum.

The website established by Manly Wade Wellman's estate even includes these books as part of their treatment of Wellman's involvement with the Cthulhu Mythos, complete with preferred texts.

*****

For another meaning of long lost friend, here's a story told by Wellman's friend and fellow science fiction writer, David Drake:

After he returned from Columbia in the late ’20s, Manly worked as a crime reporter for the pro-Democrat newspapers in Wichita. The wife of a small-time grifter whom Manly knew (I vaguely think he may have been called Rabbit) took up with the local drug lord. Wichita was on the route that brought cocaine up from Mexico. One day the drug lord was shot to death in bed by a rival gang; they killed the grifter’s wife also. 

They wanted a picture of the girl for the front page (this is 1930, remember), so Manly hared down to Rabbit’s two-room shotgun house. The front door was ajar. He knocked and called; no reply. He stepped into the front room, looked around, and then went into the bedroom. It was empty too, but there was a silver-framed photo of the woman on the dresser. 

Manly stepped to the dresser and grabbed the picture. As he did so, he heard the click of a gun cocking behind him. He turned to see Rabbit in the doorway, ‘looking at me over the sights of a .38 with the hammer roostered back.’ 

“Oh, Rabbit!” Manly cried. “I came as soon as I heard. I’m so sorry!” 

Rabbit lowered the gun, blubbered, “Manly, you know she was no good but I loved her. She was so beautiful!” And threw himself into Manly’s arms, crying. 

They commiserated for some while. At the end of the discussion, Rabbit gave Manly the photo. Manly swore he’d pull strings at the paper to get it printed on the front page so that all Wichita could see how lovely Rabbit’s late wife had been. 

And they did.

*****

 Tomorrow, we'll look at an ugly bird...

July's Puppy: Who Fears the Devil? by Manly Wade Wellman

Where I've been is places and what I've seen is things, and there’ve been times I’ve run off from seeing them, off to other places and things. I keep moving, me and this guitar with the silver strings to it, slung behind my shoulder. Sometimes I’ve got food with me and an extra shirt maybe, but most times just the guitar, and trust to God for what I need else.  

I don’t claim much. John’s my name, and about that I’ll only say I hope I’ve got some of the goodness of good men who’ve been named it. I’m no more than just a natural man; well, maybe taller than some. Sure enough, I fought in the war across the sea, but so does near about every man in war times. Now I go here and go there, and up and down, from place to place and from thing to thing, here in among the mountains.  

Up these heights and down these hollows you’d best go expecting anything. Maybe everything. What’s long time ago left off happening outside still goes on here, and the tales the mountain folks tell sound truer here than outside. About what I tell, if you believe it you might could get some good thing out of it. If you don’t believe it, well, I don’t have a gun out to you to make you stop and hark at it.

With these words, Manly Wade Wellman introduced John the Balladeer, also known as Silver John, and the strangeness of Carolina mountain hollows and Pennsylvania folk magic. With naught but his silver six-string, John walks the Appalachians in search of a good tune, encountering witch men and folk monsters along the way. Whether driving off a son of the Salem witches, challenging a Biblical giant, or escaping the snares of the house-like gardinel plant, John rises to the occasion with his command of folklore, music, and good old horse sense. After all, with a little homespun faith, a good song, and a jingle of silver in your pocket, Who Fears The Devil?

Please join the Puppy of the Month Club in July as we read Manly Wade Wellman's Who Fears the Devil?, exploring the works of one of America's celebrated fantasists.

The Price of Pain-ease

Dusk deepened. After a much longer bit, the Mouser said in a low, broken voice, “O Sheelba, great magician, grant me a boon or else I shall go mad. Give me back my beloved Ivrian, give me her entire, or else rid me of her altogether, as if she had never been. Do either of those and I will pay any price you set.”  

In a grating voice like the clank of small boulders moved by a sullen surf, Sheelba said from his doorway, “Will you faithfully serve me as long as you live? Do my every lawful command? On my part, I promise not to call on you more than once a year, or at most twice, nor demand more than three moons out of thirteen of your time. You must swear to me by Fafhrd’s bones and your own that, one, you will use any stratagem, no matter how shameful and degrading, to get me the Mask of Death from the Shadowland, and that, two, you will slay any being who seeks to thwart you, whether it be your unknown mother or the Great God himself.”

I've been dragging my feet on this story for a while. Like "The Circle Curse," this is more connective tissue than a story, filling in continuity gaps required to explain the events of the next story. In this case, it explains the relationship between Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser and the wizards Ninguable and Sheelba. It also finally frees Fafhrd and the Mouser from their mourning over their murdered first loves. There's more story to "The Price of Pain-ease" than "The Circle Curse," as Fafhrd and the Mouser are haunted by the actual ghosts of their lost loves. In an attempt to free them, the adventurers make deals with Ninguable and Sheelba; they would retrieve the Mask of Death from the Shadowlands in exchange for their girls' lives. But, as usual for their adventures, Fafhrd and the Mouser get the thorns, and not the roses.

"Thereafter Sheelba and Ningauble, showing no gratitude whatever, or remorse for their childish revenges, insisted on exacting from the Mouser and Fafhrd the utmost service established by the bargain they had set with the two heroes."

***

There is an interesting point of contrasts to Excalibur, Anduril, and all the other named weapons in fantasy:

"For a fourth, they habitually stole all their possessions, even their swords and daggers, which they always named Graywand and Heartseeker and Scalpel and Cat’s Claw, no matter how often they lost them and pilfered replacements."

Rather than carrying special named swords, any sword and dagger wielded by Fafhrd or the Gray Mouser becomes Graywand and Heartseeker or Scalpel and Cat’s Claw. It is a rare take on the idea of named weapons that might be unique to Leiber's works. Where other heroes might mourn the loss of their named weapon, Fafhrd and the Mouser will just steal another Graywand or Scalpel.

***

Edit: Apparently there was a mistake in the version of the ebook I was reading that listed the "Price of Pain-ease" as the "Prince of Pain-ease." I have updated the article to match the proper title.

Four more stories

THE BLEAK SHORE

A short story that, nonetheless, conveys a lot in its meager ten pages. The adage about how what matters is the travel but not the destination applies here, at least from the point of view of the reader. 

Under a powerful geas, the two rogues set off to the distant and mysterious Bleak Shore across the vast ocean. Most of the story -and its better parts- is narrated by the only surviving Mingol sailor that managed to return from the deadly trip. And the fact that he only knows about the initial trip but not what Fafhrd and the Mouser did when they got there only makes it better.

The narrator shift highlights and magnifies the sense of unreality and madness as he explains the foolish, inhuman,  and almost suicidal behavior of their (as he suspects) charmed masters. The distance between his knowledge as a uniformed participant and what we actually know or suspect amplifies the dread and eeriness that could have been lost with a more detached or omniscient narrator. Like the scraps and fragments of a diary narrating the unexplained horrors of a failed expedition, sometimes not knowing creates a stronger effect than knowing.

THE HOWLING TOWER

Another story with a ghostly theme, this one gave me a strong Edgar Allan Poe feeling, probably for the whole familicide and "vengeance from beyond the grave" themes. I enjoyed it, but your mileage may vary. I won't say more since I think it's better just to read this one.

THE SUNKEN LAND

A story with a clear Lovecraftian vibe. This is also one of the best stories in this collection, and since they are all self-sufficient (although it is implied they are all connected and arranged in chronological order,) you can jump straight to this one if you want.

Many stories that try to convey the Lovecraftian sense of horror fail for the simple reason that they go too far into the neurotic/psychological horror territory, going overboard by telling how shaken the protagonists are by the incomprehensible events they are witnessing, but we have little reason to believe it or care about things that are TOO incomprehensible. This is not the case here since the whole story depends on an -in isolation- plausible list of coincidences, which we later realize were the design of vast and malevolent intelligence. 

It is also clear that there is little that Fafhrd could have done to stop the chain of events, and his actions don't depend on any charm or supernatural influence either. He is just a human pawn who survives thanks to a fleeting gut feeling which tells him to run, to get out of the sunken city of Simorgya (akin to R'lyeh.)

When reading the final scene, it occurred to me that the cloak-like creatures that are mentioned are somewhat similar to the D&D monster the Cloaker. Reading about it, Wikipedia mentions that a variant of the cloaker appeared in the Lankhmar – City of Adventure booklet (1985) for D&D. And the name of the beast? Sea cloaker.

And if you search that term, you will find this article that explains the ecology of the cloaker and its background, and here's what it has to say about the subspecies of the sea cloaker:

"An aquatic aberration native to, and mainly inhabiting, the sunken city of Simorgya, which means minimal study has been done, but the numerous similarities between them and cloakers has led many ecologists to speculate on a relationship. "

There you go. I'm getting better at sniffing obscure D&D references.

THE SEVEN BLACK PRIESTS

"I think they're unreasonably angry," Fafhrd asserted, scrambling to his feet.
"Priests always are," the Mouser said philosophically,

I like to imagine Leiber watching the Disney movie Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937) and thinking to himself, Yeah, this is nice and all, but wouldn't it be better if the dwarfs were meaner, crazy, black, and worshiped a mind-controlling volcano god? Also, you know what? Screw Snow White and everything else, just keep the mad midgets.

[Obviously, this is a completely made-up and apocryphal explanation, but I encourage you to cite it anyway as if it were true.]

This must be one of the best sword & sorcery stories I have read (to be fair, I haven't read as many as others.) It has that bigger-than-life threat hanging over the protagonists, but the story in itself is quite lighthearted, focusing on the action and exploration, the fights (including one while skating on ice,) the comedic traps the priests set up, and the excellent banter between the two rogues. Nothing out-of-this-world, perhaps, but effective nonetheless.

You can also read Jon and Nathan's more useful analyses.

The Bleak Shore

"Now I have heard tell that death sometimes calls to a man in a voice only he can hear. Then he must rise and leave his friends and go to whatever place death shall bid him, and there meet his doom. Has death ever called to you in such a fashion?” 

Fafhrd might have laughed, but did not. The Mouser had a witty rejoinder on the tip of his tongue, but instead he heard himself saying: “In what words might death call?” 

“That would depend,” said the small man. “He might look at two such as you and say the Bleak Shore. Nothing more than that. The Bleak Shore. And when he said it three times you would have to go.”

"The Bleak Shore." With a third mention of this strange land, Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser leave Lankhmar on a red-sailed sloop, braving wave and storm to arrive at the cursed land. As the months grow long, the city believes the two men to be dead, but the last of Fafhrd's Mingol crew turns up in the city, spreading tales of their journey.

At the far end of the Bleak Shore's bonefield, a voice greets Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser. "For warriors, a warrior's doom." Then armored beasts rise from the sands...

*****

One of the shortest stories in Swords Against Death, "The Bleak Shore" is one of the most memorable, hooking me instantly with Death's call to action. While the plot is a stripped down version of what we've seen before, where Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser are hypnotized into some strange adventure and escape due to the Mouser's keen eye, the mood utterly captivates. Starting with Death's eerie introduction and summons, to the slave sailor's spooky sea tale, and, finally, the battle on the beach, each scene builds up the dread that  Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser might not return. While the Mingol sailor's sea story might violate the well-worn adage, "show, don't tell," the extra distance it places between the readers and Fafhrd and the Mouser only heightens the aloofness inflicted by whatever spell compels them. Not only that, but the contrast between the safe passage through the storms on the way to the Bleak Shore compared to the crew deaths as the sailors tried escape reinforces that someone wanted Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser to arrive. It is good to know the rules of storytelling, but it is better to when to break them for effect.

After five stories full of mesmerized characters, Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser need to do something about their willpower saves...

Claws from the Night

Valuables disappeared in broad daylight, even from chambers locked and carefully guarded, or from sheer walled roof-gardens. A lady secure in her home chanced to lay a bracelet on an inaccessible windowledge; it vanished while she chatted with a friend. A lord’s daughter, walking in a private garden, felt someone reach down from a thickly-leafed tree and snatch a diamond pin from her hair; the tree was immediately climbed by nimble servitors, but nothing was found. 

Then a hysterical maid ran to her mistress with the information that she had just seen a large bird, black in color, making off through a window with an emerald ring clutched securely in its talons.  

This story at first met with angry disbelief. It was concluded that the girl herself must have stolen the ring. She was whipped almost to death amid general approval. 

The next day a large black bird swooped down on the niece of the Overlord and ripped a jewel from her ear.

Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser use the terror from a rash of black bird thieves to cover their own heist. To gain the jewel a merchant has bought to appease his shrew of a wife, Atya, the adventurers have brought their own preparations: a fishing rod, to snare the jewel, and an eagle, in case the birds strike first. But when the black birds prove to be the quicker thieves, Fafhrd and the Mouser follow the flock to the hidden temple of Winged Tyaa and her angry priestess.

"Claws from the Night" is another standard Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser story, plotted to the same structure as the previous tales but lighter in tone than even "Seven Black Priests." Yet it's still a fun little rollick, as Fafhrd and the Mouser try to use the chaos of the bird thieves for their own ends before getting swept up in a serious mystery. Like a soloist in jazz, Leiber uses the established pattern as a guide to creativity, and not as an instruction set, with no two stories told in the exact same way.

I've noticed a pattern as of late. When a dynamic duo goes on an adventure, be it Fafhrd and The Grey Mouser; Doc Savage and the Shadow; or Reimu Hakurei and Marisa Kirisame, the problem-solving responsibilities tend to be split in a regular pattern. If you want something to stop, send the Fafhrd analogue. If you want to find out why something is happening, send the thieving wizard. And whenever the Fafhrd of the team gets bogged down, the Mouser clears the jam with a shout, a spell, a sword, or gunfire. I will need to think on this a bit more to properly formulate it.

*****

For a different take on the story elements presented in "Claws from the Night", check out Bridge of Birds by Barry Hughart. Clad in Chinese clothes, it recounts the adventures of Number Ten Ox and the sage Master Li as they try to save the children of their village from poison by stealing a treasure from the local lord. Nobler analogues of Fafhrd, the Gray Mouser, bird deities, and treasure-mad shrewish wives can be found in its pages.

The Seven Black Priests

The Mouser did not find his watch a pleasant one. In place of his former trust in this rocky nook, he now scented danger in every direction and peered as often at the steamy pit as at the black entrance beyond the glowing coals, entertaining himself with vivid visions of a cooked priest somehow writhing his way up. Meanwhile the more logical part of his mind dwelled on an unpleasantly consistent theory that the hot inner layer of Nehwon was indeed jealous of man and that the green hill was one of those spots where inner Nehwon was seeking to escape its rocky jacket and form itself into all-conquering man-shaped giants of living stone. The black Kleshite priests would be Nehwon-worshippers eager for the destruction of all other men. And the diamond eye, far from being a bit of valuable and harmless loot, was somehow alive and seeking to enchant Fafhrd with its glittering gaze, and lead him to an obscure doom.

Shortly after the skatefish of sunken Simorgya supped on Lavas Laerk and his Northmen crew, Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser trek through the snowy wastes even further north than the Cold Waste. They encounter a tropical priest who tries to kill them. After dispatching the speed bump, they find a green oasis in the snowy desert, six more black priests, and a diamond eye in a cliff face that ensorcels Fafhrd...

The seven priests ambush one at a time, and although they used jungle weapons such as blowgun darts, I never thought of their furs and hats as something as primitive as Fafhrd's barbarian kin, but something more...Cossack in nature.

With the exception of "The Circle Curse", the stories prior to "The Seven Black Priests" all originally appear in John Campbell's Unknown, at the end of the Golden Age of Pulp Fiction. "The Seven Black Priests," however, was written at the end of the Campbelline Era, appearing in Other Worlds Science Stories. The change in storytelling in the ten year gap between Unknown and Other Worlds shows the signs of Campbell's influence. "The Seven Black Priests" is less moody, more humorous, and less personal than the Weird Tales-inspired stories in this volume. The seven black priests meet their fate, one by one, in almost a slapstick manner, never posing a greater threat than a speed bump to Fafhrd and the Mouser. Truly, the priests were just doing their jobs protecting the world from the diamond eye. As such, there was no personal malice towards Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, as there was with Lavas Laerk and Lord Rannarsh. As the Campbelline influence gave way, some of this will return in future stories. Perhaps this might be due to Leiber's later friendship with Michael Moorcock.

The core formula, however, remains unchanged. Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser are out on a different adventure when they get swept up into something grander. In this case, a chance encounter as they trek across the frozen wastes entangles them with a shrine protecting the bones and magma blood of the earth. Whether it is "just" a titanic earth elemental or the world itself is unclear. Not that it matters, as whatever power that warms the green oasis is powerful enough to charm Fafhrd (again). The Mouser saves Fafhrd from the enchantment and the monster causing it, and the two adventurers walk away with less than what they had before their adventure. They contemplate a brief moment of sobriety, and then it's off to the next adrenaline rush. Hey, if it ain't broke, don't fix it, and Fafhrd and the Mouser still delivers fun.

Jewels in the Forest & Ancient Sagas of Heroes and D&D

THE CIRCLE CURSE

If this is your first Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, The Circle Curse works as an excellent introduction to the two adventurers (and two wizards that will return in later stories.) It sets the main theme and a bit of the mood that will guide the rest of the stories, sketching the reasons for their sudden departure from the city of Lankhmar. There is probably no more classical motive for a wandering hero than a broken heart, and in this case, this driving passion also humanizes the characters and gives them a more complex personality, something important once they start their less unsavory exploits.

This story negates the traditional direction taken for granted in most fantasy, where the narrative begins in a small physical location, almost a prison for the main protagonist who yearns to discover what lies beyond the literal or metaphorical walls of his homeland. On the other hand, Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser aren't really yearning for adventures as much as they are fleeing from their own demons. But that world beyond Lankhmar and their travels, something that could have been the story for a whole book, are barely described in a few short but evocative paragraphs. The journey doesn't bring them the peace they need, and since they have traveled all around the world and the pain has not yet subsided, the solution seems inevitable: they must return to the hated city of Lankhmar. And this is where the real story begins.

"And in any case Lankhmar seemed no worse than any other place in Nehwon and more interesting than most. So they stayed there for a space, making it once more the headquarters of their adventurers."

THE JEWELS IN THE FOREST

Although the events of the previous story are not mentioned, it is implied this story happened after those, after the two adventurers had settled once again in Lankhmar.

Having pilfered from a Lord an old and cryptic letter that hints at a gigantic and apparently unprotected treasure in a tower hidden deep inside the forest, the two protagonists set off on their next adventure. It's hard to find a more D&D motivation than "huge cache of jewels in an abandoned tower, probably protected by an unknown menace," so it's easy to see why the adventures of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser were always at the top of all the list of things that inspired D&D.

I'm sure the other contributors will write better analyses of this story (actually, they already have,) so I'll focus on a D&D-related piece of trivia hidden in this short story. Now, I don't know where I first heard about this, I guess it was some Old-School Revival blog years ago, but I haven't managed to find the original source. Still, I'm pretty sure I'm not making this up or, at least, I'm not the only one who has made this up.

There's a scene in this story where Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser are fighting some noble's henchmen (the same one from whom the Gray Mouser had stolen the letter,) and this happens:

"Fafhrd, his back to a great oak, had his broadsword out and was holding off two of Rannarsh's henchmen, who were attacking with their short weapons. It was a tight spot and the Northerner realized it. He knew that ancient sagas told of heroes who could best four or more men at swordplay. He also knew that such sagas were lies, providing the hero's opponents were reasonably competent. 

And Rannarsh's men were veterans."

Used to other fantasy stories, where the hero slashes through hordes of enemies as if the were hay, this is an interesting shift in tone and style. But I want to focus on a specific sentence, the one about the ancient sagas and the four or more men. Because I think that sentence is the source of a D&D element: the name levels.

If any non-grognard is reading this, name levels (or "Titles") was a curiosity from the days of OD&D and Basic D&D. The official title of your class wasn't really "Magic-user, level 5" or something equally bureaucratic and bland, but Enchanter, which was the Title for 5th level magic-users. For example, this is the table for the Thief class, as found in p6 of the Expert Rulebook (1980.) 

Now, I'm sure most people just said "my character is a level X-whatever, " but the Titles were kinda cool, and going from Apprentice to Master Thief probably felt great. Also, people like Titles.

Having explained that, we'll still have to go back even further, to the most distant origin of the RPGs, the Fantasy Supplement that appeared in Chainmail, the miniature wargame that Gygax and Jeff Perren designed. That supplement included many fantastic creatures we now take for granted, and also a lot of spells that would later appear in D&D, like Slow, Haste, Confusion, Fireball, etc. Being a wargame, there were no Player Characters, but there were special units, like Wizards and Heroes (and Superheroes)

HEROES (and Anti-heroes): included in this class are certain well-known knights, leaders of army contingents, and similar men. They have the fighting ability of four figures, the class being dependent on the arms and equipment of the Hero types themselves, who can range from Ligh Foot to Heavy Horse. 

SUPER HEROES: Few and far between, these fellows are one-man armies! (Particularly when armed with magical weaponry.) They act as Hero-types in all cases, except they are about twice as powerful.

Some of you may have already realized what I'm trying to say, but if not, here's the table for the Fighter class as it appeared in the same Expert Rulebook, D&D 1st edition:

And that part about "they fight like four figures" was transferred directly to the old OD&D, since "fighting like a Hero" literally meant "fighting like four Men and having the Hits of four Men."

You can see that the title for level 4 and 8 are Hero and Super Hero, which are a reference to those Chainmail rules: Heroes have "the fighting ability of four figures, " and Super Heroes are "twice as powerful."

Now, reread that part I quoted from The Jewels in the Forest. This sentence to be specific:

"He knew that ancient sagas told of heroes who could best four or more men at swordplay."

"Hero" and "four (or more) men"? Well, isn't that a coincidence? Also, another coincidence, the title for a level 1 fighter is Veteran, as in "And Rannarsh's men were veterans." Translated into D&D-speak: 

"He knew ancient rules that told of level 4 Fighters who could best four or more men at swordplay. He also knew that was horseshit, providing the opponents were reasonably competent and not level 0 mooks. And Rannarsh's men were level 1 Fighters."

Now, I'm not saying this short paragraph was the source of the whole idea of class levels but... it's a fascinating possibility. In any event, it seems clear that at least it did inspire the Titles and power-level (first via Chainmail) of Hero and Superhero.

Also, if anyone ever tells you that "heroic" adventure starts at level 12 or somesuch, or that level 4 characters are "low level," remind them that level 8 was already considered Superhero back then, before the Great Level Inflation.

The Sunken Land

“Sh! Do you care so little for life? Remember, you are Lavas Laerk’s henchman. But I will tell you what you would know.” He sat down on the wet bench beside Fafhrd, looking like a bundle of black rags someone had dropped there. “Lavas Laerk has sworn to raid far Simorgya, and he has put a vow of silence upon himself and his men until they sight the coast. Sh! Sh! I know they say Simorgya is under the waves, or that there never was such a place. But Lavas Laerk swore a great oath before his mother, whom he hates worse than he hates his friends, and he killed a man who thought to question his decision. So it’s Simorgya we seek, if only to steal pearls from the oysters and ravish the fishes.

"The Sunken Land" starts with Fafhrd's joyous shout as he rips a strange ring from the belly of a fish as he cleans it. The discovery lays heavily on the Gray Mouser's mind. Our adventurers are on the sea once again, and the effect of ring and wave has charmed Fafhrd. The ring brings first a storm and then Lavas Laerk's ship, gone a-viking to loot the sunken land of Simorgya. Now impressed into Lavas Laerk's crew, the barbarian chief recognizes Fafhrd's ring. As the lookout cries "Land, ho!", Lavas Laerk declared Fafhrd to be a Simorgyan spy...

This is Fafhrd's tale, as he spends much of it isolated from the Gray Mouser, whether through physical separation or charm-induced navel gazing. The easy banter between the two is not present, filled instead by the barbarian's growing gloom.  The Gray Mouser is not absent, however, as his off-screen adventures save Fafhrd's life, making the pair the sole survivors of what would have otherwise been a total party kill.

Of particular interest is just how much of the story in general takes place off screen. Starting with Fafhrd's discovery of his ring, any part of the story that was not Lavas Laerk's mad rush on the phosphorescent sunken city was relegated to dialogue. The effect is an exercise in indirect horror, for while the gloom is set up by the storm and the trudge through the city's phosphorescent skate murals, it is Lavas Laerk's rash vow and the Hitchcockian discovery of his fate that adds the chills to this  story.  As Sophocles said, those whom the gods would destroy, they first make proud. And Fafhrd eventually recognizes that everything since the discovery of his ring had been "intended by something or someone." And by leaving the terror of that discovery to the theater of the mind, Leiber creates an impact far more chilling than explicitly showing each blow.

It is not hard as all to see the significant debt Pratchett's Discworld owes to Leiber's Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser. In addition to Lankhmar and the Thieves' Guild, Pratchett also borrowed the sunken city, putting a humorous spin on it in line with the changes that John Campbell wanted to make to fantasy with his Unknown magazine. But Simorgya stands vivid in the imagination where Leshp does not because humor defuses tension, robbing Leshp of the dark glamour of its forebear, Simorgya.

The cloaks of Simorgya...

The Circle Curse

As unmoved by this prodigy as by the thunder-stroke, Fafhrd bellowed above the storm toward the doorway, his voice sounding tiny to himself in his thunder-smitten ears, “Hear me, witch, wizard, nightgaunt, whatever you are! I shall never in my life enter again the foul city which has stolen from me my dearest and only love, the incomparable and irreplaceable Vlana, for whom I shall forever grieve and for whose unspeakable death I shall forever feel guilt. The Thieves’ Guild slew her for her freelance thieving— and we slew the slayers, though it profited us nothing at all.” 

“Likewise I shall never lift foot toward Lankhmar again,” the Gray Mouser took up from beside him in a voice like an angry trumpet, “the loathy metropolis which horribly bereft me of my beloved Ivrian, even as Fafhrd was bereft and for similar reason, and left me loaded with an equal weight of sorrow and shame, which I shall bear forever, even past my perishing.”

Want to make wizards laugh? Tell them your plans.

In this case, Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser are leaving Lankhmar on a green pilgrimage - self-imposed exile, never to return. Their loves from Swords and Deviltry lay buried, along with most of the Theives' Guild that killed them. As they leave the city's gate, a walking hut follows them, taunting the adventurers that they must return to Lankhmar. After years of adventures, and another encounter with a different meddling wizard, Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser have seen and done it all. Bored out of their minds, they return to Lankhmar.

"The Circle Curse" serves as a bridge between "Ill Met in Lankhmar" in Swords and Deviltry and "The Jewels in the Forest." At the end of "Ill Met in Lankhmar," the youths Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser slaughter the Thieves' Guild in revenge for their murdered loves. After the deed is done, they flee the city. "The Circle Curse" picks up as soon as they leave the gates, tying up loose ends. The catalog of adventures and lands serves to explain the air of easy expertise the adventurers show in "The Jewels in the Forest." And the pair's boredom explains why they're back in Lankhmar. Time might not heal all wounds, but it can dull them.

I wouldn't go so far to say that "The Circle Curse" could be skipped; it does fill a continuity gap. But it is another example of the dreaded travelogue in fantasy, a tour through the author's worldbuilding. Fortunately, Leiber works through it in mere pages, where today's authors might require books. Think of it as the boys' boot camp, where youths become men. Like an appetizer, the story's true purpose is to prepare the palate for the course to come.

The Jewels in the Forest

“Let kings stack their treasure houses ceiling-high, and merchants burst their vaults with hoarded coin, and fools envy them. I have a treasure that outvalues theirs. A diamond as big as a man’s skull. Twelve rubies each as big as the skull of a cat. Seventeen emeralds each as big as the skull of a mole. And certain rods of crystal and bars of orichalcum. Let Overlords swagger jewel-bedecked and queens load themselves with gems, and fools adore them. I have a treasure that will outlast theirs. A treasure house have I builded for it in the far southern forest, where the two hills hump double, like sleeping camels, a day’s ride beyond the village of Soreev.  

“A great treasure house with a high tower, fit for a king’s dwelling— yet no king may dwell there. Immediately below the keystone of the chief dome my treasure lies hid, eternal as the glittering stars. It will outlast me and my name, I, Urgaan of Angarngi. It is my hold on the future. Let fools seek it. They shall win it not. For although my treasure house be empty as air, no deadly creature in rocky lair, no sentinel outside anywhere, no pitfall, poison, trap, or snare, above and below the whole place bare, of demon or devil not a hair, no serpent lethal-fanged yet fair, no skull with mortal eye a-glare, yet have I left a guardian there. Let the wise read this riddle and forbear.”'

-Fritz Leiber, "The Jewels in the Forest"

So is anyone else hearing the rattle of dice and the call to adventure? I don't mean that in the pejorative sense of today; despite Lankhmar's wargame origins, I never have the inkling that Leiber is merely turning gaming sessions into stories. Rather, even in Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser's various moods and frenzies, their enthusiasm for adventure is infectious. It isn't just greed that compels them to search for Urgaan's treasure, as they realize that, nine times out of ten, the treasure won't be at the end of the map. People boast, and someone else might have beaten them to the goal in the centuries prior. but Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser search any way. It'll be fun. Who knows what sights they'll see? And, yes, a diamond as big as a man's skull will buy wine, wenches, and song in Lankhmar. These boys aren't plaster saints.

I will pass on the summary this time.  Leiber meters out information slowly.  We meet his adventurers caught in an ambush well before the Gray Mouser reads Urgaan's challenge. Then we discover the identity of the ambushers, and that, thanks to the Gray Mouser's quick fingers, the ambushers do have a legitimate quarrel with Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser. Rather than front loading the action with these details, Leiber lets the Gray Mouser ponder each - after the ambush is routed, of course. It serves to establish the adventurers' priorities as adrenaline junkies and curiosity seekers, and it would be a shame to mar such a slow burn with the compactness required in a summary. Besides, this is a pulp treasure hunt. We know that Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser will find the treasure, but not yet what twists await their discovery.

Seven foot tall Fafhrd is a barbarian from the snowy North, a fighter and a skald with a curiosity toward civilization, even if he sees the downside as well. He is an idealist, but with a strong tendency towards practicality that keeps him alive. The Gray Mouser is a wizard's apprentice-turned thief, dexterous enough to be a fencer or a stage magician.  He is more cynical than Fahrd, but has a sentimental streak. Both are experienced professionals, knowing when to run or fight, and when discretion is the better part of valor. This experience keeps them alive after a second set of ambushes. However, practicality and sentiment allow them to escape the murderous traps at the end of "The Jewels in the Forest".

Back when my first introduction to D&D was the Baldur's Gate video games, I wondered why the mages used slings. Thank the Gray Mouser for that, as he uses his sling to great effect in the fights here.  Also, Discworld owes much to Lankhmar - Ankh-Morpork, the Thieves' Guild, and the recurring odd pairing of Cohen the Barbarian and Rincewind the Wizzard .

And for today's bit of awesome, here's James Earl Jones reading the first part of "Jewels of the Forest." Contemplate this on the Tree of Woe...