The Colour of Magic

Garhartra’s spell had been the little-used and hard-to-master Atavarr’s Personal Gravitational Upset, the practical result of which was that until it wore off Rincewind’s body was convinced that “down” lay at ninety degrees to that direction normally accepted as of a downward persuasion by the majority of the Disc’s inhabitants. He was in fact standing on the wall.
    Meanwhile the flung bottle hung supportless in the air a few yards away. In its case time had—well, not actually been stopped, but had been slowed by several orders of magnitude, and its trajectory had so far occupied several hours and a couple of inches as far as Twoflower and Rincewind were concerned. The glass gleamed in the moonlight. Rincewind sighed and tried to make himself comfortable on the wall.
    “Why don’t you ever worry ?” he demanded petulantly. “Here we are, going to be sacrificed to some god or other in the morning, and you just sit there eating barnacle canapés.”
    “I expect something will turn up,” said Twoflower.
    “I mean, it’s not as if we know why we’re going to be killed,” the wizard went on.
    You’d like to, would you?
    “Did you say that?” asked Rincewind.
    “Say what?”
    You’re hearing things said the voice in Rincewind’s head.
    He sat bolt sideways. “Who are you?” he demanded.
    Twoflower gave him a worried look.
    “I’m Twoflower,” he said. “Surely you remember?”
    Rincewind put his head in his hands.
    “It’s happened at last,” he moaned. “I’m going out of my mind.”
    Good idea said the voice. It’s getting pretty crowded in here
    The spell pinning Rincewind to the wall vanished with a faint “pop.” He fell forward and landed in a heap on the floor.
    Careful—you nearly squashed me
    Rincewind struggled to his elbows and reached into the pocket of his robe. When he withdrew his hand the green frog was sitting on it, its eyes oddly luminous in the half-light.
    “You?” said Rincewind.
    Put me down on the floor and stand back The frog blinked.
    The wizard did so, and dragged a bewildered Twoflower out of the way.
    The room darkened. There was a windy, roaring sound. Streamers of green, purple and octarine cloud appeared out of nowhere and began to spiral rapidly toward the recumbent amphibian, shedding small bolts of lightning as they whirled. Soon the frog was lost in a golden haze which began to elongate upward, filling the room with a warm yellow light. Within it was a darker, indistinct shape, which wavered and changed even as they watched. And all the time there was the high, brain-curdling whine of a huge magical field…
    As suddenly as it had appeared, the magical tornado vanished. And there, occupying the space where the frog had been, was a frog.
    “Fantastic,” said Rincewind.
    The frog gazed at him reproachfully.
    “Really amazing,” said Rincewind sourly. “A frog magically transformed into a frog. Wondrous.”
    “Turn around,” said a voice behind them. It was a soft, feminine voice, almost an inviting voice, the sort of voice you could have a few drinks with, but it was coming from a spot where there oughtn’t to be a voice at all. They managed to turn without really moving, like a couple of statues revolving on plinths.
    There was a woman standing in the pre-dawn light. She looked—she was—she had a—in point of actual fact she…
    Later Rincewind and Twoflower couldn’t quite agree on any single fact about her, except that she had appeared to be beautiful (precisely what physical features made her beautiful they could not, definitively, state) and that she had green eyes. Not the pale green of ordinary eyes, either—these were the green of fresh emeralds and as iridescent as a dragonfly. And one of the few genuinely magical facts that Rincewind knew was that no god or goddess, contrary and volatile as they might be in all other respects, could change the color or nature of their eyes…
    “L—” he began. She raised a hand.
    “You know that if you say my name I must depart,” she hissed. “Surely you recall that I am the one goddess who comes only when not invoked?”
    “Uh. Yes, I suppose I do,” croaked the wizard, trying not to look at the eyes. “You’re the one they call the Lady?”
    “Yes.”
    “Are you a goddess then?” said Twoflower excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to meet one.”
    Rincewind tensed, waiting for the explosion of rage. Instead, the Lady merely smiled.
    “Your friend the wizard should