The Warlock Rock

Chapter Seven

As they moved after the scarabs, Magnus asked his sister, "I ken how that music did fascinate those children—yet how can it have gained so thorough a hold on thee?"

"Thou canst not know till thou hast begun to dance to it." Cordelia shuddered. "Do not ask, brother—but when thou hast begun to move thine whole body to its rhythms willingly, it doth seem quite natural to continue."

" Tis a foul twisting of all that's right in the use of one's body," Geoffrey said, disgusted. "Thy limbs should ever move with purpose, one set forth by thy mind and made effective by practice; they should not twitch to some sound that doth but pass by thy brain."

" 'Tis horrid to see children so young become victim to it." Magnus had to clasp his dagger to keep his hand from trembling. "I might credit it in one of mine own age, though I would still deplore it. Yet in children!"

"Aye, grandfather of seventeen," Cordelia said, with full sarcasm. After all, she was almost as tall as he, at the moment.

But Gregory said only, "How can mere music have absorbed them so completely?"

"How can it have become so much louder?" Geoffrey retorted. "I can comprehend how it can induce bodies to move, for I do feel mine own limbs respond to the beat of the music, almost as to mine heartbeat…"

"Thine heartbeat! Thou hast it!"

"Why, I should hope I do, else would I be dead." Geoffrey frowned. "How is this, little brother?"

"Thy body is accustomed to doing all to the beat of thine heart! In truth, dost thou not gauge the strength of thy feelings by its speed? Thus when the music doth pulse, thy limbs do respond!"

"A most excellent notion, brother," Magnus agreed. "Yet the music's beat is not my heart's—unless it should by some happenstance beat with a very odd rhythm."

"Such as a comely lass passing near," Cordelia said sweetly.

Magnus gave her a dark look, but Gregory said, "Ah, but 'tis therefore that thy limbs do move to the music! For an 'twere but thine heartbeat, look you, thy limbs would be as much in accord as they ever were!"

"Gregory may have a point," Fess said slowly. "There are certain natural rhythms to the body's functions; the heartbeat is only one of them. And, as Geoffrey points out, once the music becomes too loud to truly ignore, the body naturally tends to respond."

"I wot no physician would countenance such a notion," Magnus muttered.

"Yes, but I am not a physician," Fess noted. "And I must stress, Magnus, that the idea we are discussing is only conjecture at the moment; it is not yet sufficently detailed to even be termed an hypothesis."

"Yet what hath made the music so much louder?" Geoffrey demanded.

"Why, the grown folk, brother," Cordelia explained. "When they threw so many stones together, there was more music in one place!"

"That would suffice for that one field, sister," Geoffrey answered, "yet it doth not explain the greater loudness all around us."

Cordelia stopped, casting about her. "Why, it hath grown! I do hear it all round! How is't I had not noticed that sooner, Fess?"

The robot started to reply, but a sudden cry belted from farther down the woodland path, around the bend. "Ho!" followed by a "Ha!" all in the woodwind timbre of adolescent boys' voices, repeating and repeating. "Ho! Ha! Ho! Ha!" Then, above their rhythm, came girls' voices, chanting:

"What manner of song is that?" Geoffrey asked, goggle-eyed.

Cordelia's nose wrinkled. "Oh! 'Tis vile! Is love naught but the press of bodies?"

"Yet who doth sing it?" Magnus asked, frowning.

Round the bend of the path they came, a chain of thirteen- and fourteen-year-olds, linked by clasped hands, their feet stamping out the pattern of a dance, their bodies and heads tossing in time to the music.

The Gallowglasses stared, astounded.

"What comes?" Geoffrey demanded.

Then the line of youths and maidens was upon them, twining them into their cordon as the Gallowglasses lurched staggering from one to another.

"Oh, come, or thou wilt never stand," a pretty maiden said, laughing. "Thou must dance or fall!"

"Must I truly?" Magnus muttered.

"I do not wish to dance!" Geoffrey snapped.

"Then leap aside," a hulking boy behind him retorted lightly. "Yet what ails thee, that thou dost not wish to step?"

"What ails thee, that thou dost wish it?"

But the boy didn't even seem to hear him; he had turned his head to gaze into the eyes of the girl behind him.

"What manner of music is this, that doth order thy feet?" Gregory gasped, hurrying to keep up.

"Why, 'tis our music!" the girl next to him answered. "Its strains are woven solely for folk of our age!"

"Canst thou not control thine own feet?"

"Wherefore?" The girl laughed. "I do love what they do!"

"Brace thyself against it!" Cordelia enjoined her. "Thou must needs be thine own master!"

The girl looked at her as though she were some sort of monster. "What manner of lass art thou, to not wish another to guide thee?"

"Mine own! A lass who will not be a chattel! Dost thou not see this throbbing sound doth rob thee of thy self?"

"Nay! How could it?" said another girl, also laughing. " 'Tis but entertainment!"

"Who hath told thee that?" Cordelia demanded furiously.

"Why, the very rocks do cry it!"

"The throbbing of it is wondrous!" a third girl said, eyes glowing. "It doth beat within thy blood; it doth set thy whole body to humming!"

Cordelia's eyes widened in horror. "Assuredly thou dost not believe the foul lie its words do sing!"

The first girl frowned at her. "What lie is that?"

"There is no lie in them, but truth!" said another girl farther down the line. She was a little taller than the others, buxom, and very pretty. She smiled at Magnus, eyelids drooping. "Dost thou not hear the wonder of them? Love!"

Magnus's eyes were fixed on her, fascinated, but he mustered the strength to answer, " 'Tis not love those words do speak of, but the hot, unbridled passion of the body's lust."

"What difference?" the girl asked, puzzled. Then she smiled again and leaned backward, and her lips seemed to grow fuller as her face swayed close to Magnus's. "Wherefore dost thou not dance? Doth not our company please thee?"

"Nay," Magnus managed, but he knew he lied.

She knew it, too. "My name is Lalaina. Wilt thou not tread the measure with us?"

"There is no measure, nor no rule, in that which thou dost seek." But Magnus's feet began to fall into step with hers, and his gaze was riveted to her face.

"Wherefore should there be?" Lalaina breathed. "We are young, in the season of joy! An we do not take our pleasures now, when shall we?"

"Dance," the boy behind him commanded, "or step aside! For we would raise the boughs with our singing, and thou dost bind us to the earth!"

"Canst thou not dance?" jeered another boy, Magnus's own size.

"Thou canst not be our friend an thou dost not tread the welkin with us," said a third, grinning.

Lalaina swayed a little further back, and let her lips brush Magnus's. He jolted to a stop, electrified, and the dancers rocked to a halt with him. All stood watching him, lips smiling, holding their breaths, poised…

Then Cordelia screeched. "Thou hussies! Thou vile, grasping liliths! Wouldst thou then drag him down with thee?"

"Aye," answered one tall girl, "with all my heart."

"And body." Lalaina gazed deeply into Magnus's eyes.

"He cannot wish to dance with them," Geoffrey cried, appalled.

"He doth hang in the balance." Gregory twisted away from the girl holding his hand and dove toward his big brother. "Magnus! Wake thee! They do weave a spell, they do enchant thee!"

"Why, 'tis no enchantment," a boy scoffed. "Tis but entertainment."

"Thou heartless wretches!" Cordelia stormed. "Dost thou think a woman's naught but a plaything?"

"Believe them not!" Gregory shouted to Magnus. "They do seek to ensorcel thee, to draw thee into the selfsame maelstrom of droning and stamping as they are caught in!"

"Give in to it," a boy coaxed. "Thou wilt not believe the pleasure of it, the heady giddy feeling!"

"Hold fast!" Gregory reached up to thump his big brother's arm. "Thou art thine own man, not some mindless puppet!"

"The music is great, the music is all!" another boy countered. "Submerge thyself in it; let it roll over thee! Then reach to find another's hand, to touch, to stroke!"

"Thou knowest right from wrong!" Gregory insisted. "Thou hast so often told me of it! 'Tis wrong, thou didst say, to let another think for thee! How much more wrong must it be, then, to let mere music make thee mindless?"

"Aye." Magnus's face hardened and, with a huge effort, he squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head, and turned away from Lalaina. "I am my own man still."

"Then thou art not ours!" the hulking youth cried. "Avaunt thee! Get thee hence!"

"Didst thou say we are naught but things of play?" taunted a girl not much older than Cordelia. "What more should we wish to be? Thou art but jealous for that thou hast so little of thine own!"

"What I have is mine own!" Cordelia answered hotly. "What! Wouldst thou give thyselves to boys who see thee as naught but toys?"

A long, scandalized gasp raked along the line of dancers. Then the girls' faces hardened, and they stepped forward.

"What a foul mouth thou hast!" a smaller boy snapped at Gregory. "We must stop it for thee!" And he caught up a fistful of dirt.

"Stand away!" Geoffrey leaped in front of his little brother, glaring. "Thou shalt not touch him!"

"Then we shall bury thee!" the hulking youth cried and, with a roar, several of the boys leaped at Geoffrey.

"Thou hast spoke too much now," Lalaina grated, glaring at Cordelia. "Have at thee, wench!"

Magnus leaped up beside his brothers, catching two of the boys by their collars and hurling them at the hulking youth, while Geoffrey dispatched the third with a left jab and a quick right cross.

"Thoul't not touch my brothers whilst I can stand!" snapped Magnus.

"Why, then, we shall hale thee down!" the hulking youth bellowed. "Out upon him, lads!"

With a roar, the boys all leaped at Magnus.

With one unified scream, the girls leaped on Cordelia.

"Repel them!" Magnus shouted, catching his brothers' hands, and Gregory caught Cordelia's. Their faces turned to stone with strain, and the air about them glimmered a split second before the girls and boys fell upon them with the howl of a wolf-pack…

… and slammed into an invisible wall.

They bounced back, crashing to the ground with howls of surprise and fright—but Lalaina screeched, "They are witches!"

"Then we should fly," Magnus grated, tight-lipped. "Away, my sibs!"

And the word ran through the mob like a trace of gunpowder: "Witches! Witches! Witches!"

"Then we shall burn them!" cried the hulking boy, and the crowd answered with a roar.

But the Gallowglasses had already disappeared down the woodland path and around the bend, so the pursuing mob careened into a great black horse, with a bong like a boxful of bolts in a belfry. They recoiled, yammering and clamoring, and ducked under, around, and over as the great horse danced about, maneuvering to make it harder for them—but they all twisted past somehow, and sprang after their quarry, howling in full voice.

"We must go aloft," Magnus panted.

"There is no space!" Cordelia answered, tears in her eyes. "There are too many branches, all too low!"

The pack rounded the bend, saw them, and burst into wild yelling.

Then out of the roadside brush sprang slavering jaws with furious barking, red-rimmed eyes above and sharp claws below, leaping and growling and snapping, and the mob screeched to a halt in sheer shock with howls of panic.

"Throw!" Cordelia cried. Her brothers skidded to a stop, whirled about to look, and every loose stick around leaped up spinning to shoot whirling at the mob. The pack stood for a second, wavering; then the first stick struck, and they turned about with a woeful yell, fleeing in panic.

Magnus and Geoffrey stood tense, unbelieving, but Cordelia and Gregory collapsed with a sigh. "I shall never trust a crowd of folk again," Gregory croaked.

"Nor ever did, I wot," Geoffrey answered. "Mayhap thou hadst the right of it, small brother."

The dog turned and came up to them, wagging its tail. It was a tall, rangy beast with long ears, drooping eyes, and jowls; but the eyes were all friendliness now, and guileless. It sat down in front of Geoffrey, cocked its head to the side, and barked.

In spite of himself, the third Gallowglass began to grin.

"And who art thou, who hast come so timely to help us?" Magnus stepped forward, still wary, but opening his mind to the dog's.

The dog barked again, and both boys read its feelings. "It did like us the moment it saw us," Gregory said, grinning widely now. "What! Wouldst thou be my friend?"

The dog barked and wagged its tail.

"Mama will never allow it," Cordelia warned.

"Wouldst thou sleep in the stables?" Magnus asked.

The dog nodded, panting and still wagging its tail.

"There is another tenant in that room," Gregory reminded.

Right on cue, the great black horse came round the bend toward the children.

Cordelia scrambled to her feet. "Do they rally, Fess?"

"They do not," the horse told her. "In fact, as soon as you were out of sight, they seemed to forget you; and when they had calmed for a minute or two, they began to dance again. They have gone on their way, and one would think they had never seen you."

"Praise Heaven for that!" Cordelia sighed. "Mayhap this nepenthe of music hath its uses!"

"But how did you rout them, children? I trust you did no irreparable harm…"

"We only threw sticks," Magnus assured him, "few of which struck. But the greatest work was done by this stalwart." Gingerly, he placed a hand on the dog's head. "He sprang upon them so suddenly that the surprise itself did rout them."

"Then he is a friend in deed." Fess came closer, and the dog stretched its nose up at him, sniffing. Then it sneezed, and stared up at him indignantly.

"There is no deceiving a large nasal cavity." The horse sighed. "He knows I am no true equine."

"Can I take him home, Fess?" Geoffrey asked.

The robot horse stood immobile for a moment, then said, "You may bring him, Geoffrey—but whether you may keep him is for your parents to say."

The dog's tail beat the ground furiously.

"Papa could not turn away a valiant ally," Geoffrey protested.

"I suspect you may be right—though I refuse to commit myself on the issue. Bid him stay here, and he may join us when we return home."

Geoffrey dropped to one knee, holding the dog by the sides of its head and staring into its eyes. The animal panted up at him eagerly. Concentrating, Geoffrey projected into the dog's mind a picture of him watching the four children and the horse walking away, and the dog shut his mouth, staring. Then Geoffrey made the picture darken into night, then lighten with dawn, fill to midday, and darken to night again; then, on the second dawn, the children and the horse came in sight again. The dream-Geoffrey reached down to pet the dog, and the final picture showed the four children, the horse, and the dog walking away together.

The dog whined, and Geoffrey read in his mind a succession of pictures of him leaping and snapping at five wolves until he drove them away, while the four children cowered behind the horse; of the dog barking furiously at a band of robbers, who turned tail and ran; and of the dog taking on a huge bear single-handed, biting and clawing and howling until finally the bear lay dead, and the children crowded around with petting and cries of admiration.

"Brother," Geoffrey said, "he doth…"

"I have seen; he doth wish to protect us from all the hazards of the forest, for he doth believe himself to be twenty times more powerful than any canine could be." Magnus knelt down beside the beast, shaking his head sadly. "Thou canst not do such great deeds, for thou art nothing but a hound, dog. And we may not take thee with us now, for we know not to what we go, and cannot halt for another member of our party."

The animal's head drooped, and his tail flopped still.

"Nay, 'tis not so bad as that," Geoffrey protested, rubbing the dog's head and scratching behind its ears. "Thou art a most wonderful beast indeed, and I do long to have thee for my companion all the years of my youth!"

The dog lifted its head with a hopeful look.

"Canst thou not bide here in patience?" Geoffrey asked. "Then, when we return, we shall take thee to our home. Wilt thou so serve me?"

The dog stared up at him. Then its mouth lolled open again, and its tail beat the earth a few times.

"Stout fellow!" Geoffrey tousled its ears and jumped to his feet. "Bide in readiness, then, and thou shalt yet be a stable-dog… An thou wilt, Fess?" With trepidation, he looked up at the horse.

"I would be honored to share my stable with so faithful a companion, Geoffrey—but you understand that the decision must still remain with your parents."

"Oh, surely, Fess! Yet an thou wilt permit him the stable, I do not think Mama will object!"

"Come, then." Cordelia had been watching the whole affair with ill-concealed impatience. "The West awaits."

"Aye! I will come gladly!" Geoffrey turned and strode away, turning back to wave goodbye only twice as he and his brothers and sister moved away down the path with Fess behind them. He didn't even hear Cordelia muttering under her breath, something about a great, smelly, slobbering beast.