The Wildside Book of Fantasy: 20 Great Tales of Fantasy Read Online Free PDF Page A

a bear on the prowl.”
    “And then I curl up and sleep.”
    “Indeed, you have sleepy eyes. I will certainly call you Bear.” He paused. “Were you looking for Circe?”
    “Circe, the enchantress?” I cried. “Is that who lived in the palace?”
    “Yes, but you are much too late. A hundred years ago—so the dolphins say—a galley came for her, rowed by pygmies. Bears and rabbits, gathered to say goodbye. She smiled at them and spoke a few words—multiply, don’t eat each other, and that kind of thing. When she boarded the galley, a black boy fanned her with ostrich feathers, and a crimson canopy shielded her from the sun. One of the bears—you will love this part—jumped into the water and swam after her, but she waved him back and disappeared into the misty south.”
    “Did the bear get back to shore?”
    “Oh, yes. His friends helped him up the stairs. He became, in fact, something of a hero.” He hesitated and smiled sheepishly. “I made up the bear because I thought he would please you.”
    “It was a charming touch. But tell me more about Circe. Was she still beautiful? Odysseus knew her many centuries ago.”
    “The dolphins say she was like the sun, white and burning. When she left it was the sun sinking into the sea.”
    “Do you know where she went?”
    “Beyond the Pillars of Hercules.”
    “North to the Isles of Tin?”
    “South along the coast of Libya.”
    “How far?”
    “Who knows? To the land of the Gorillae, perhaps.”
    My senses reeled. Libya, the continent of mist and jungles, pygmies and giants, griffins and sphinxes, and yes, the hairy, horrible Gorillae. The Phoenicians claim that a Tyrian captain once sailed through the Red Sea and around the continent from east to west, but who can believe such a boast? Whether, as Homer thought, the earth is flat and surrounded by the stream of Ocean, or whether, as the Ionians think, it is shaped like a cone or a sphere, a voyage around Libya is like searching for the Golden Fleece—without the help of Jason.
    He looked at me wisely. “You will go to find her?”
    “To look for her, perhaps.”
    He shook his head. “I wish you were Greek instead of Etruscan.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I would like to go with you, but you are too sad. Like most Etruscans.”
    “Etruscans sad?” I protested. “Our robes are as gay as flowers. We dance and sing even at funerals, and paint our tombs with banquets and chariots.”
    “Ah,” he said, “but your eyes are sad. They give you away.”
    It was true, of course. In the polished bronze of a mirror, the eyes which met my stare were dark and slanted, like those of my ancestors, the Lydians, and old with accumulated sorrows, with the weight of dead cities, buried and moldering, of battles and tortures and beautiful shameless queens who smiled and shook poison from rings like golden spiders.
    He saw that the truth had hurt me. “Except for your eyes,” he added, “you look like”—he searched for words—“a well-kept farm! There is plenty of meat to hide your bones, and your cheeks are as red as apples. Your eyes, of course, don’t belong to the farm. They belong to the woods.” His tail sparkled greenly with drops of sea-water, but his chest and shoulders were as pale as foam. Translucent skin traced the delicate bones of his face, and his green, deep-set eyes looked faintly shadowed, as if he were tired or a little hungry.
    I ran my hand through his hair. “Astyanax,” I said, “I must leave you soon. But first come aboard my ship and dine with me.”
    He hesitated.
    “I am not going to steal you.”
    “Perhaps you should.” He plunged in the water. “Hold to my tail,” he called. “I will give you a ride!”
    When we reached the side of the ship, the crew and the captain crowded the bulwarks. They threw us a rope and Astyanax, using his tail for propulsion, clambered up the side. When I reached the deck, I found him surrounded by sailors. Three of them, adolescent brothers who