Here Be Dragons (14 page)

Before I move on to the second border, another term needs to be clarified.
Faerie, the mysterious home of any number of magical beings, is a popular location in much fantasy fiction. There is, however, no consensus about what the (often) nonmagical, everyday domain of humans should be called in opposition to Faerie. Many suggestions, such as the
real
world, the
natural
world, the
mortal
world, or the world
of men
, are problematic, since Faerie is often portrayed as a place just as real and natural as its counterpart, where both men and women live as well as die. (These expressions generally include the word
world
; in my own terminology [see
chapter 1
], Faerie would not be a “world” but a “domain”—that is, a part of a world where the laws of nature and causality differ from the rest of the world.) Tolkien, in
Smith of Wootton Major
, counters Faerie with the World,
¹¹
a distinction that would lack precision in a critical discussion. More precise, and poetic, is Lord Dunsany's “the fields we know,” which he uses throughout
The King of Elfland's Daughter
;
¹²
but such an expression suggests that the critic would look at Faerie from without and at those well-known fields from within. In his introduction to
The King of Elfland's Daughter
, however, Neil Gaiman refers to the
mundane
world,
¹³
a term that, apart from being somewhat tautological, captures the quality of the earthly as well as the prosaic, connotations that are well suited to opposing the glamour of Faerie. To avoid the tautology, I simply use the term
mundanity
when referring to that which is not Faerie. This noun, while retaining connotations of the world and worldliness, refers to the “quality or fact of being commonplace, trivial, or ordinary” as well as to “that which is commonplace,”
¹⁴
and seems an apt designation for the fields we know and inhabit.

The second border I turn to is thus the one between Faerie and mundanity. The exact relationship between the two domains varies widely among those texts that deal with them both: fantasy stories, folktales, and taproot texts. In general, the relations between domains fall into one of three categories: either Faerie is an Otherworld, accessible from mundanity only by magic or certain portals (for example, in John Crowley's
Little, Big
[1981], Susanna Clarke's
Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell
[2004], and Tad Williams's
War of the Flowers
[2003]); or Faerie and mundanity intermingle in so-called crosshatches (as in Delia Sherman's
Changeling
[2006], Charles de Lint's Newford books [1998–present], C. J. Cherryh's
Faery in Shadow
[1993]—and, of course, in William Shakespeare's taproot text
A Midsummer Night's Dream
[1600]),
¹⁵
where, in many cases, fairies and humans share a common world but the former generally remain invisible to mortals; or Faerie lies next to, or is surrounded
by, mundanity. Examples of this third category would include Tolkien's
Smith of Wootton Major
(1967), Poul Anderson's
Three Hearts and Three Lions
(1961), Dunsany's
The King of Elfland's Daughter
, and Hope Mirrlees's
Lud-in-the-Mist
(1926). For the discussion that follows, I have selected the illustrated novel
Stardust
(1997–98), by Gaiman and Charles Vess, for its obvious awareness of the long tradition of Faerie in fantasy. In
Stardust
, Faerie abuts mundanity, if only for a short stretch. The border between them is guarded to keep mundanity from adversely affecting Faerie, a refuge for the imaginary and fantastical, while mundanity itself grows increasingly scientific and skeptical.

The third type of border takes the division between the mundane and the magical even further and divides the world into one domain ruled by science and technology and another domain where magic works. The stories move from one domain to the other and display the differences between them. An early text that separates a place of magic from a world of technology is Theodore Cogswell's “The Wall around the World” from 1953, in which the boundary has been used to allow for the development of magic (although the change takes place in people, not in the environment). The opposition between magic and technology is even more in focus in Garth Nix's Abhorsen series (
Sabriel
[1995],
Lirael
[2001], and
Abhorsen
[2003], and the novella “Nicholas Sayre and the Creature in the Case” [2005]). Nix's border is guarded both by a medieval-looking wall and by guns, concertina wire, and modern troops, portraying a conflict between the two sides. The border defenses' shortcomings are crucial, as the differences between the two sides are central to the plots. Other examples can be found in Roger Zelazny's
Jack of Shadows
(1971) and in the Borderland series of shared-world anthologies and novels (1986–present), created by Terry Windling.

Just as Joseph Campbell's monomythical hero crosses the threshold on his way to adventure, returning in due course, the heroes in the Brust, Gaiman/Vess, and Nix stories cross borders into the unknown. These borders are not what they initially seem, however; they are areas of transition that subvert and undermine the reader's first impressions. They provide the hero with a “there” while never promising that the same hero will come back again.

A Final Injustice: The Dragaeran Paths of the Dead
¹⁶

Hades, Hel, Yomi, Hell—whatever the underworld has been called, journeys there have long been the stuff of myths and stories. In Steven Brust's
Dragaera books, the soul's destination after death is the Halls of Judgment, home of the gods. Two visits to this realm of the dead are described in Brust's books.
¹⁷
In
Taltos
, the fourth Vlad Taltos novel, Vlad is sent there together with the Dragonlord Morrolan to bring back an imperial heir. In
The Paths of the Dead
, volume one of the third novel of the Khaavren Romances,
¹⁸
the true heir to the imperial throne, Zerika, makes her way to the Halls of Judgment to reclaim the Imperial Orb with which she intends to restore the Empire.

The Dragaeran class system, which permeates both the Vlad Taltos novels and the Khaavren Romances, can also be found in the realm of the dead and is even reflected in the border between the domains of life and death. By examining how each novel's narrator—Vlad Taltos in
Taltos
and Paarfi of Roundwood in
The Paths of the Dead
—treats what is basically the same setting and very similar plots, it is possible to see how the border and the crossing of it can create quite dissimilar views of this class system. The two narrators, from opposite sides of the social spectrum, stress different aspects of how the border is constructed, while agreeing on some fundamental features. The discussion to follow begins with an outline of the Dragaeran social hierarchy and the narrators' respective places in it, followed by an examination of how they present the border and what is required of those who cross it in either direction. Finally, there is a brief consideration of how the portrayal of the border reflects each narrator's social position: Vlad's return journey subverts the social order, whereas Zerika's celebrates it. In either case, death in Dragaera brings no final justice; having a geographically accessible land of death does not change this, but rather emphasizes it.

The narrators of the two novels come from completely different social positions. Dragaeran society is strictly hierarchical, with Easterners as well as members of House Jhereg occupying unprivileged positions. Devoid of citizenship, Easterners are at the very bottom of society. Above them are the commoners of House Teckla, and the sixteen noble Houses are found at the top. The most exalted of all nobles is the Empress (or Emperor). Segregation between Houses is fiercely maintained, and only House Teckla and House Jhereg accept inter-House liaisons and any resulting offspring. While counted among the sixteen noble Houses, Jhereg is in fact more of a criminal syndicate, and its members are therefore despised by the other Houses. Their unpopularity is emphasized by the fact that the animal from which the House has taken its name is a scavenger and generally considered to be vermin. Vlad, both Easterner and Jhereg,
embodies the lowest rung on the social ladder, being a part of Dragaeran society and yet an outsider; his (bought) title in House Jhereg grants him citizenship, but it entitles him to very little respect outside his own House. Paarfi, on the other hand, is a nobleman, and very popular at that (
Paths
[xv]–xvii); he writes about the concerns of the noble Houses, the restoration of Dragaeran society, and the establishment of the Empress. While not at the pinnacle of society, he certainly writes from a privileged perspective.

Vlad and Paarfi agree that the most salient features of the border between the domains of the living and the dead can be determined: the actual border is located somewhere between the lip and bottom of a waterfall, hidden by mists. Above it circle giant jhereg, and upstream along the river, animal sculptures indicate where the various Houses launch their dead over the Falls. There is a distinctness about this border, an abruptness evoked by the water cascading down Deathgate Falls, although the actual border is not visible from the top. Here, where the Blood River rushes down a sheer cliff, is the only place where the Paths of the Dead and the domain of death can be entered. Incidentally, the similarity between the Blood River and the Phlegethon is one of several parallels to Dante's
Inferno
¹⁹
that can be found in Vlad's journey into the Paths of the Dead. Others include how Vlad's companion throws down a rope to descend the Falls, just as Virgil does (
Taltos
105–7; canto xvi), and although Vlad and Morrolan climb down themselves, the serpentine, two-legged jhereg that circle in the air above the Falls echo the monstrous Geryon who carries Virgil and his charge down from the seventh to the eighth circle (canto xvii). Even the encounter with Lord Baritt, believed by Morrolan to be still alive (
Taltos
131), parallels a similar meeting with the friar Alberigo (canto xxxiii). But where Alberigo's body supposedly remains among the living inhabited by a demon, Baritt explains his presence by the temporal peculiarities in the Paths. (Paarfi discusses the behavior of time in the Paths in detail; see
Paths
175–76, 358.)

“[T]he foot of the falls,” Vlad explains, “isn't in the same world as the lip.” He adds that attempts have been made to reach the bottom of the Falls by other routes but that no one has succeeded (
Taltos
99). The exact point where you pass from one domain into the other is obscured by mists and water spray, which also make it impossible to estimate the height of the waterfall. Vlad relates how people who have returned from the dead (as undead) vary in their assessment of the waterfall's height: “The reports say it is a mere fifty feet, that it is a thousand feet, and any
number of distances in between. Your guess is as good as mine, and I mean that” (
Taltos
99). Vlad's emphatic invocation of the narratee underscores how unknowable the height of the Falls is—if the guess of someone who has never been there is as good as that of Vlad, who has climbed down the cliff, it must be impossible to know. The fact that neither the height nor the exact point of crossing can be determined (and bearing in mind Clute's description of a threshold, discussed earlier) suggests that rather than constituting a distinct demarcation, the waterfall marks a gradual transition from one domain to the other.

The gradual transition may in fact extend into the valley above the waterfall. Depending on who the narrator is, the domain of the dead affects the domain of the living, turning the valley into a crosshatch where both domains inhabit the same space. This crosshatch effect is most evident in Vlad's narrative, as he mentions how two characteristics of the land of death affect the land of the living a fair distance from the Deathgate. Sorcery becomes more difficult to perform as he and Morrolan approach the Deathgate; and the atmosphere of the place is somber—it is too quiet to be in the vicinity of a large waterfall (
Taltos
96, 100–101). Paarfi, on the other hand, mentions nothing like a crosshatch at all.

The two narrators' differences on this point cannot be reconciled, although it is clear that they owe partly to the narrators' difference in character. Vlad's narrative is informed by his apprehension about going into the domain of the Dragaeran dead, a domain that he has been told he is not allowed to enter. In
Taltos
, the overall atmosphere around the Deathgate Falls thus becomes one of hesitation rather than certainty, as the descriptions tend to emphasize impressions as much as actualities: “it
seemed
like you could wade in it,” “[t]his did not
seem
normal,” “it
seemed
to me that this was a calculated effect” (100–101; my emphasis). The narrator of the Khaavren Romances employs a different style altogether; both the style and the contents of his story restrict the border to a space between the lip and the foot of the Deathgate Falls, so that the valley does not form part of it. Paarfi attempts to give an account of the events that is as factual as possible (albeit with some poetic license). To him, as a Dragaeran, the Paths of the Dead hold much less mystery than they do to Vlad, and although he professes no personal stake in the affairs he narrates, his is the heroic tale of how the current Empress won her throne and reinstated the Empire. Paarfi's third-person narrative leaves out descriptions of any perceived atmosphere or other crosshatch effects noted by Vlad; the historian's straightforward narration dispels the suspense
associated with the Deathgate through meticulous descriptions of the topography, flora, fauna, and population of the surrounding area (
Paths
314–15). His insistence that there are “mysteries surrounding Deathgate Falls that the historian [i.e., Paarfi] will make no claims to have solved” (
Paths
319) does not add much in the way of mystery to his hindsightimbued accounts.