The Warlock Rock

Chapter Nine

For Rod and Gwen, it had been a slow journey, since they had to wait for the rocks to absorb enough witch-moss to split. A few times they cheated by rolling a fragment of stone into the nearest patch of the fungus. The children were well out of sight before they had gone more than a hundred yards.

So the sun was setting as they backtracked a flying stone out of a small woodlot into a meadow. Before them, dimly seen in the dusk, another line of trees loomed.

"We must give the poor wee thing a chance." Gwen nudged the stone toward a crop of grass webbed with fungus.

But Rod heard a sound, and turned back to look. "Gwen…"

"Aye, milord?"

"We're, uh… being followed."

Gwen turned to look, and stifled a shriek.

It was at least as big as a pony, but it had a long, bushy tail and a shaggy gray coat.

"Grandma, what big teeth you have," Rod murmured.

It was a wolf, dancing toward them on pads the size of platters.

"Fight, or fly?" Gwen readied her broomstick—as a quarterstaff.

"Go, but I think we can stay on the ground." Rod nodded at the huge beast. "It can't go very fast, that way."

The wolf's paws were weaving in the steps of an intricate dance. It was surprisingly graceful, but it took two steps backward for every three forward.

"True," Gwen agreed. "Let us move toward the far wood, my lord, for there may we entrap it, if we see need."

"Good point." Rod moved with her, with quick glances back over his shoulder. "Uh… it's not working."

Gwen turned to look, and saw that the wolf had speeded up its dance. It was stepping closer to them with every measure. "Let us walk as swiftly as we may—the wood is better for us."

"Anything you say." Rod was beginning to feel the old, atavistic dread of teeth that go clash in the night. As much to reassure himself as her, he said, "We can wipe it out any time we want to, of course."

"Certes." Gwen frowned. "Yet I am loath to do so, for 'tis a living being, even as we are."

"Living," Rod agreed, "but dangerous to sheep and small peasants. We can't really leave a thing like that around to roam the countryside, Gwen."

"Mayhap it can be tamed," she offered.

Rod shook his head. "Whether it was generated by imagination or genes, it was born to be wild. We're going to have to find some way to pull its teeth."

Those teeth were coming entirely too close. The wolf's tongue lolled out between them, almost in a smile, and the great eyes glowed in the dusk.

"First," Rod said through stiff lips, "I think we'd better go aloft. Ready?"

Something shot over their heads, a flurry of night wings and a long, mournful, echoing call. The stepping wolf howled, dodged aside, then leaped up, jaws snapping, but the giant bird banked away. It came circling back, though, and the dancer had no attention to spare for its erstwhile quarry. The night-spirit cupped its wings and stretched its claws down, landing between the wolf and the humans—an owl eight feet tall, poising wings that seemed to stretch out forever as a shield for the tender ones at its back. Rod saw the gleam of a curved bill the size of his arm, and eyes the size of dinner plates that stared at the predator. A long cry filled the night again.

"Who-o-o-o-o-o-o," the great bird called. "Who-o-o-o-o't"

"Doth he mean to threaten?" Gwen asked.

"Threat or comfort, it's music to my ears. But he can't really hold off that wolf, can he?"

The four-footed dancer seemed to have come to the same conclusion. It crouched, snarling, readying itself for a leap.

"Whol" the great owl exclaimed with a snap of its wings, and the wolf rocked back, startled for a moment.

Before it could regain its poise, a sonorous gong-roll filled the night, and an awkward figure appeared, flapping long-sleeved arms for balance, teetering in front of the giant owl. It wore a tall, pointed cap painted in spirals of mauve and lavender, interspersed with stars and crescent moons, which also adorned its patchwork robe, five sizes too big. "Here now, here now, what's all this?" the small man said in a peevish tone. He looked up at the great owl through a huge pair of circular spectacles. "What did you call me for, Hoot?"

The night-king gave a hoot, nodding its head toward the wolf. The patchwork wizard turned to peer into the gloaming, adjusting his spectacles. "What's this, what's this? A dancing wolf, you say? Well, let him dance!"

The owl hooted again.

"People?" The wizard looked up at Rod and Gwen, startled. "Oh! Good evening. I am Spinball the wizard."

"Um—pleased to meet you." Rod hoped he wasn't staring too obviously. "I'm Rod Gallowglass, and this is my wife, Gwen."

"The High Warlock?" Spinball straightened, startled. "And the Wonder Witch, too! Why, you have no need of me! You could skin and stuff this animal before it even noticed!"

"Well, yes," Rod admitted, "but we're a little reluctant, you see. I mean, it's just doing what it was born to do, and we hate to end an innocent life if we can avoid it."

Spinball lifted his head, a glint of respect in his eye. "Ah, well. I can understand that. Of course, yes."

"Cannot this beast be tamed?" Gwen asked gently.

"Oh." Spinball knitted his brows. "You haven't much of a knack with beasts, eh? Well, that makes a difference. I'll see what I can do, then." Abruptly, he smiled. "Nice to have a feeling of purpose for a change." Then he spun away to the wolf.

"He is quite nice," Gwen said carefully.

"Definitely," Rod agreed. "Seems to be a bit of a screwball, though."

"Here, now, Dancer," the wizard said. His tone was firm, but gentle. "You really mustn't bother these people."

The wolf growled.

"Oh, yes, I know you're hungry," Spinball said, "but they have a right to live, too, you know. Now, I can understand the occasional sheep, and possibly even a small cow now and then—but human beings are absolutely forbidden!"

The wolf's growl became more ominous.

"No!" Spinball said, with determination. "Absolutely out of the question! Really, you should limit yourself to deer and rabbits, you know, with now and then a bit of a boar. Taking livestock always brings hunters with wolfhounds, after all."

At that, the wolf threw back its head and howled. Rod and Gwen stared, amazed—but were even more amazed when the howling began to slide up and down in pitch, then to rise and fall with a definite feeling of structure. Somehow, it seemed to synchronize perfectly with the thrumming beat from the music-rocks that littered the meadow. It ended with a long, high, mournful howl that held and rang, then dwindled away into the night. The evening was still, except for the shrilling of crickets and, somewhere in the distance, the drumming of a bullfrog—or was that a music-rock?

But Spinball was nodding. He whisked something long and thin out of a sleeve.

"A magic wand?" Rod asked.

But Spinball put the wand to his lips and began to play. A lovely melody lilted out into the night, wafting toward the wolf, rising and falling in time to the beat of the music-rocks. Then Spinball took the pipe away from his lips, and began to sing:

The wolf sat, head cocked to the side, studying the wizard, who with a flourish raised his pipe to his lips again, blew a last, lighthearted, skipping tune, then whisked the pipe away as he bowed to the wolf. He rose out of the bow to stand, head cocked to the side at the same angle as the lupine's.

The huge wolf rose, danced lightly up to the wizard, and held up a paw.

Spinball took the huge pads with a grave bow, looked into the wolf's eyes, and nodded. The wolf returned the nod, turned away, and stepped back into the woodland from which it had come.

Gwen released a long-held breath, and Rod said, "Astonishing! Did he really understand what you were trying to tell him?"

"Oh, yes, of course! What I couldn't tell him with words, I told him with melody! After all, a dancing wolf does have music in his heart, you know."

"I do now," Rod said, and Gwen added, "Art thou certain he will harm no human person?"

"Quite sure," said Spinball, "for the music brought our minds into harmony for a brief time. But I promise you, I'll seek out his thoughts every day for a few weeks, just to be absolutely certain."

"I thank thee," Gwen said slowly. "Such befriending of a wild thing doth surpass my gifts."

Spinball reddened with pleasure, but said, "Oh, no, my lady, not at all! I couldn't even come close to your abilities, no, not if you're even half as deft as rumor says. You must be a far greater magician than I!"

That brought a smile to Gwen's lips. "Say not so, good sir. Yet I must also thank your friend, who called you to us in this hour of need."

"Who, Hoot?" Spinball looked up, surprised. "But he didn't call me, you know—he made me!"

Hoot gave an angry call.

"No, it's true, Hoot, and you know it!" Spinball said stoutly, then turned to explain. "He says that it was I who made him, but of course we know that's nonsense, now don't we? Yes, of course it is, for how could such a dizzy-head as I have sense enough to imagine a wondrous bird like Hoot?"

"Who-o-o-o-o-o!" the great owl said, with conviction.

"Oh, that's silly!" Spinball scoffed. "And don't you ever call yourself a birdbrain again! I'll have you know you're my special friend, yes, my closest friend in all the universe, at least in the part that's alive, so there!"

"Who!" the owl said, mollified, and lapsed into a satisfied sulk.

"It's an old argument." Spinball sighed, turning back to Rod and Gwen. "He insists that I made him, and I insist that he made me. I don't expect we'll ever see eye to eye about it. The only thing we disagree on, too."

"A most excellent choice," Gwen said, smiling, "if friends must disagree at all."

"Oh, they must," Rod said softly. "Every now and then, they must. We can't stand being too close, you know."

That earned him a peculiar look from both wizard and wife, but the great owl spoke up with a long and loud "Who-o-o-o-o-o-o!" that sounded very satisfied with Rod's version of the affair.

Rod glanced up, caught by a sudden change in the music. "You know, I think you've had an effect on the ambience."

"What, the rocks' music?" Spinball dismissed the notion with a wave. "Hoot always does that. Every time he shows up, they change their tune. Not that we mind, you understand. Keeps things friendly all around."

"But we did seek to follow, to discover how the rocks progressed!" Gwen turned to him. "We must find where they have begun, for we seek to understand what this new force is that doth strain the land, ere it doth rend it asunder."

Again, Spinball waved the idea away. "Oh, don't be such a worrywart. After all, it's just entertainment."

"I've heard that before, someplace," Rod said, "and I'm beginning to become a little wary of it. You wouldn't happen to know where this all started, would you?"

Spinball shook his head. "I wouldn't, for I seem to have started with it, and so has Hoot. But we think it's south, yes, perhaps south, and certainly west."

Gwen glanced at Rod with doubt; he nodded and said, "Well, I suppose the best we can do is follow where the rocks came from, then. Funny how this one seems to be going north."

"I thought so, too," Spinball admitted. "They seem to grow as a tree does, branching out from a common trunk—but the roots lie in the west, yes, and the south.

Still, as each branch grows older its music seems to change—and, of course, it spreads out, so that you find two rocks with entirely different kinds of music, right next to one another."

"They ought to put labels on 'em," Rod grunted. "That's how we came to follow this branch, in fact—we found a rock near the other ones we were investigating. Well, thanks for all your help. We're off to the west, then."

"My lord," said Gwen, "we speak to no one."

Rod looked up, startled, and realized that Spinball had disappeared. "Well! Not very polite of him, to run off without saying goodbye."

"Goodbye!" said a voice from empty air, and a long, mournful hoot echoed down from the sky.

Rod and Gwen exchanged a glance, then started quickly toward the dark wood ahead. Over his shoulder, Rod called back, "Bye!"