The White Rose

Chapter Nineteen: BOMANZ'S TALE

Croaker:

Bomanz walked his dreams with a woman who could not make him understand her words. The green path of promise led past moon-eating dogs, hanged men, and sentries without faces. Through breaks in the foliage he glimpsed a sky-spanning comet.

He did not sleep well. The dream invariably awaited him when he dozed off. He did not know why he could not slide down into deep sleep. As nightmares went, this was mild.

Most of the symbolism was obvious, and most of it he refused to heed.

Night had fallen when Jasmine brought tea and asked, "Are you going to lie here all week?"

"I might."

"How are you going to sleep tonight?"

"I probably won't till late. I'll work in the shbp. What's Stance been up to?"

"He slept a while, went and brought a load from the site, pottered around the shop, ate, and went back out when somebody came to say Men fu was out there again."

"What about Besand?"

"It's all over town. The new Monitor is furious because he didn't leave. Says he won't do anything about it. The Guards are calling him a horse's ass. They won't take his orders. He's getting madder and madder."

"Maybe he'll learn something. Thanks for the tea. Is there anything to eat?"

"Leftover chicken. Get it yourself. I'm going to bed."

Grumbling, Bomanz ate cold, greasy chicken wings, washing them down with tepid beer. He thought about his dream. His ulcer gave him a nip. His head started aching. "Here we go," he muttered, and dragged himself upstairs.

He spent several hours reviewing the rituals he would use to leave his body and slide through the hazards of the Barrowland… Would the dragon be a problem? Indications were, it was meant for physical intruders. Finally: "It'll work. As long as that sixth barrow is Moondog's." He sighed, leaned back, closed his eyes.

The dream began. And midway through he found himself staring into green ophidian eyes. Wise, cruel, mocking eyes. He started awake.

"Pop? You up there?"

"Yeah. Come on up."

Stancil pushed into the room. He looked awful.

"What happened?"

"The Barrowland… The ghosts are walking."

"They do that when the comet gets close. I didn't expect them so soon. Must be going to get frisky this time. That's no call to get shook up."

"Wasn't that. I expected that. That I could handle. No. It's Besand and Men fu."

"What?"

"Men fu tried to get into the Barrowland with Besand's amulet."

"I was right! That little… Go on."

"He was at the dig. He had the amulet. He was scared to death. He saw me coming and headed downhill. When he got near where the moat used to be, Besand came out of nowhere, screaming and waving a sword. Men fu started running. Besand kept after him. It's pretty bright out there, but I lost track when they got up around the Howler's barrow. Besand must have caught him. I heard them yelling and rolling around in the brush. Then they started screaming."

Stancil stopped. Bomanz waited.

"I don't know how to describe it, Pop. I never heard sounds like that. AH the ghosts piled onto the Howler's barrow. It went on a long time. Then the screaming started getting closer."

Stancil, Bomanz concluded, had been shaken deeply. Shaken the way a man is when his basic beliefs are uprooted. Odd. "Go on."

"It was Besand. He had the amulet, but it didn't help. He didn't make it across the moat. He dropped it. The ghosts jumped him. He's dead, Pop. The Guards were all out there… They couldn't do anything but look. The Monitor wouldn't give them amulets so they could get him."

Bomanz folded his hands on the tabletop, stared at them. "So now we have two men dead. Three counting the one last night. How many will we have tomorrow night? Will I have to face a platoon of new ghosts?"

"You're going to do it tomorrow night?"

"That's right. With Besand gone there's no reason to delay it. Is there?"

"Pop… Maybe you shouldn't. Maybe the knowledge out there should stay buried."

"What's this? My son parroting my misgivings?"

"Pop, let's don't fight. Maybe I pushed too hard. Maybe I was wrong. You know more about the Barrowland than me."

Bomanz stared at his son. More boldly than he felt, he said, "I'm going in. It's time to put doubts aside and get on with it. There's the list. See if there's an area of inquiry that I've forgotten."

"Pop…"

"Don't argue with me, boy." It had taken him all evening to shed the ingrained Bomanz persona and surface the wizard so long and artfully hidden. But he was out now.

Bomanz went to a comer where a few seemingly innocuous objects were piled. He stood taller than usual. He moved more precisely, more quickly. He began piling things on the table. "When you go back to Oar, you can tell my old classmates what became of me." He smiled thinly. He could recall a few who would shudder even now, knowing he had studied at the Lady's knee. He'd never forgotten, never forgiven. And they knew him that well.

Stancil's pallor had disappeared. Now he was uncertain. This side of the father had not been seen since before the son's birth. It was outside his experience. "Do you want to go out there, Pop?"

"You brought back the essential details. Besand is dead. Men fu is dead. The Guards aren't going to get excited."

"I thought he was your friend."

"Besand? Besand had no friends. He had a mission… What're you looking at?"

"A man with a mission?"

"Could be. Something kept me here. Take this stuff downstairs. We'll do it in the shop."

"Where do you want it?"

"Doesn't matter. Besand was the only one who could have separated it from the junk."

Stancil went out. Later, Bomanz finished a series of mental exercises and wondered what had become of the boy. Stance hadn't returned. He shrugged, went on.

He smiled. He was ready. It was going to be simple.

The town was in an uproar. A Guard had tried to assassinate the new Monitor. The Monitor was so bewildered and frightened he had locked himself in his quarters. Crazy rumors abounded.

Bomanz walked through it with such calm dignity that he startled people who had known him for years. He went to the edge of the Barrowland, considered his long-time antagonist. Besand lay where he had fallen. The flies were thick. Bomanz threw a handful of dirt. The insects scattered. He nodded thoughtfully. Besand's amulet had disappeared again.

Bomanz located Corporal Husky. "If you can't do anything to get Besand out, then toss dirt in on him. There's a mountain around my pit."

"Yes, sir," Husky said, and only later seemed startled by his easy acquiescence.

Bomanz walked the perimeter of the Barrowland. The sun shone a little oddly through the comet's tail. Colors were a trifle strange. But there were no ghosts aprowl now. He saw no reason not to make his communication attempt. He returned to the village.

Wagons stood before the shop. Teamsters were busy loading them. Jasmine shrilled inside, cursing someone who had taken something he shouldn't. "Damn you, Tokar," Bomanz muttered. "Why today? You could have waited till it was over." He felt a fleeting concern. He could not rely on Stance if the boy were distracted. He shoved into the shop.

"It's grand!" Tokar said of the horse. "Absolutely magnificent. You're a genius, Bo."

"You're a pain in the butt. What's going on here? Who the hell are all these people?"

"My drivers. My brother Clete. My sister Glory. Stance's Glory. And our baby sister Snoopy. We called her that because she was always spying on us."

"Pleased to meet you all. Where's Stance?"

Jasmine said, "I sent him to get something for supper. With this crowd I'll have to start cooking early."

Bomanz sighed. Just what he needed, this night of nights. A house full of guests. "You. Put that back where you got it. You. Snoopy? Keep your hands off of stuff."

Tokar asked, "What's with you, Bo?"

Bomanz raised one eyebrow, met the man's gaze, did not answer. "Where's the driver with the big shoulders?"

"Not with me anymore." Tokar frowned.

"Thought not. I'll be upstairs if something critical comes up." He stamped through the shop, went up, settled in his chair, willed himself to sleep. His dreams were subtle. It seemed he could hear at last, but could not recall what he heard…

Stancil entered the upstairs room. Bomanz asked, "What are we going to do? That crowd is gumming up the works."

"How long do you need, Pop?"

"This could go all night every night for weeks if it works out." He was pleased. Stancil had recovered his courage.

"Can't hardly run them off."

"And can't go anywhere else, either." The Guards were in a hard, bitter mood.

"How noisy will you be, Pop? Could we do it here, on the quiet?"

"Guess we'll have to try. Going to be crowded. Get the stuff from the shop. I'll make room."

Bomanz's shoulders slumped when Stancil left. He was getting nervous. Not about the thing he would challenge, but about his own foresight. He kept thinking he had forgotten something. But he had reviewed four decades of notes without detecting a flaw in his chosen approach. Any reasonably educated apprentice should be able to follow his formulation. He spat into a corner. "Antiquarian's cowardice," he muttered. "Old-fashioned fear of the unknown."

Stancil returned. "Mom's got them into a game of Throws."

"I wondered what Snoopy was yelling about. Got everything?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Go down and kibbitz. I'll be there after I set up. We'll do it after they're in bed."

"Okay."

"Stance? Are you ready?"

"I'm okay, Pop. I just had the jitters last night. It's not every day I see a man killed by ghosts."

"Better get a feel for that kind of thing. It happens."

Stancil looked blank.

"You're sneaking studies on Black Campus, aren't you?" Black Campus was that hidden side of the university on which wizards learned their trade. Officially, it did not exist. Legally, it was prohibited. But it was there. Bomanz was a laureate graduate.

Stancil gave one sharp nod and left.

"I thought so," Bomanz whispered, and wondered: How black are you, son?

He pottered around till he had triple-checked everything, till he realized that caution had become an excuse for not socializing. "You're something," he mumbled to himself.

One last look. Chart laid out. Candles. Bowl of quicksilver. Silver dagger. Herbs. Censers… He still had that feeling. "What the hell could I have missed?"

Throws was essentially four-player checkers. The board was four times the usual size. Players played from each side. An element of chance was added by throwing a die before each move. If a player's throw came up six, he could move any combination of pieces six moves. Checkers rules generally applied, except that a jump could be declined.

Snoopy appealed to Bomanz the moment he appeared. "They're ganging up on me!" She was playing opposite Jasmine. Glory and Tokar were on her flanks. Bomanz watched a few moves. Tokar and the older sister were in cahoots. Conventional elimination tactics.

On impulse Bomanz controlled the fall of the die when it came to Snoopy. She threw a six, squealed, sent men charging all over. Bomanz wondered if he had been that rich in adolescent enthusiasm and optimism. He eyed the girl. How old? Fourteen?

He made Tokar throw a one, let Jasmine and Glory have what fate decreed, then gave Snoopy another six and Tokar another one. After a third time around Tokar grumbled, "This is getting ridiculous." The balance of the game had shifted. Glory was about to abandon him and side with her sister against Jasmine.

Jasmine gave Bomanz the fish-eye when Snoopy threw yet another six. He winked, let Tokar throw free. A two. Tokar grumbled, "I'm on the comeback trail now."

Bomanz wandered into the kitchen, poured himself a mug of beer. He returned to find Snoopy on the edge of disaster again. Her play was so frenetic she had to throw fours or better to survive.

Tokar, on the other hand, played a tediously conservative game, advancing in echelon, trying to occupy his flankers' king rows. A man much like himself, Bomanz reflected. First he plays to make sure he doesn't lose; then he worries about the win.

He watched Tokar roll a six and send a piece on an extravagant tour in which he took three men from his nominal ally, Glory.

Treacherous, too, Bomanz thought. That's worth keeping in mind. He asked Stancil, "Where's Clete?"

Tokar said, "He decided to stay with the teamsters. Thought we were crowding you too much."

"I see."

Jasmine won that game, and Tokar the next, whereupon the antique merchant said, "That's all for me. Take my seat, Bo. See you all in the morning."

Glory said. "I'm done, too. Can we go for a walk, Stance?"

Stancil glanced at his father. Bomanz nodded. "Don't go far. The Guards are in a bad mood."

"We won't," Stance said. His father smiled at his eager departure. It had been that way for him and Jasmine, long ago.

Jasmine observed, "A lovely girl. Stance is lucky."

"Thank you," Tokar said. "We think she's lucky, too."

Snoopy made a sour face. Bomanz allowed himself a wry smile. Somebody had a crush on Stancil. "Three-handed game?" he suggested. "Take turns playing the dummy till somebody is out?"

He let chance have its way with the players' throws but turned five and sixes for the dummy. Snoopy went out and took the dummy. Jasmine seemed amused. Snoopy squealed delightedly when she won. "Glory, I won!" she enthused when her sister and Stancil returned. "I beat them."

Stancil looked at the board, at his father. "Pop…"

"I fought all the way. She got the lucky throws."

Stancil smiled a disbelieving smile.

Glory said, "That's enough, Snoopy. Bedtime. This isn't the city. People go to bed early here."

"Aw…" The girl complained but went. Bomanz sighed. Being sociable was a strain.

His heartbeat quickened as he anticipated the night's work.

Stancil completed a third reading of his written instructions. "Got it?" Bomanz asked.

"I guess."

"Timing isn't important-as long as you're late, not early. If we were going to conjure some damnfool demon, you'd study your lines for a week."

"Lines?" Stancil would do nothing but tend candles and observe. He was there to help if his father got into trouble.

Bomanz had spent the past two hours neutralizing spells along the path he intended to follow. The Moondog name had been a gold strike.

"Is it open?" Stancil asked.

"Wide. It almost pulls you. I'll let you go yourself later in the week."

Bomanz took a deep breath, exhaled. He surveyed the room. He still had that nagging feeling of having forgotten something. He hadn't a hint what it might be. "Okay."

He settled into the chair, closed his eyes. "Dumni," he murmured. "Um muji dumni. Haikon. Dumni. Um muji dumni."

Stancil pinched herbs into a diminutive charcoal brazier. Pungent smoke filled the room. Bomanz relaxed, let the lethargy steal over him. He achieved a quick separation, drifted up, hovered beneath the rafters, watched Stancil. The boy showed promise.

Bo checked his ties with his body. Good. Excellent! He could hear with both his spiritual and physical ears. He tested the duality further as he drifted downstairs. Each sound Stance made came through clearly.

He paused in the shop, stared at Glory and Snoopy. He envied them their youth and innocence.

Outside, the comet's glow filled the night. Bomanz felt its power showering the earth. How much more spectacular would it become by the time the world entered its mane?

Suddenly, she was there, beckoning urgently. He reexam-ined his ties to his flesh. Yes. Still in trance. Not dreaming. He felt vaguely ill at ease.

She led him to the Barrowland, following the path he had opened. He reeled under the awesome power buried there, away from the might radiating from the menhirs and fetishes. Seen from his spiritual viewpoint, they took the form of cruel, hideous monsters leashed on short chains.

Ghosts stalked the Barrowland. They howled beside Bomanz, trying to breach his spells. The power of the comet and the might of the warding spells joined in a thunder which permeated Bomanz's being. How mighty were the ancients, he thought, that all this should remain after so long.

They approached the dead soldiers represented by pawns on Bomanz's chart. He thought he heard footsteps behind him… He looked back, saw nothing, realized he was hearing Stancil back at the house.

A knight's ghost challenged him. Its hatred was as timeless and relentless as the pounding surf along a cold, bleak shore. He sidled around.

Great green eyes stared into his own. Ancient, wise, merciless eyes, arrogant, mocking, and contemptuous. The dragon exposed its teeth in a sneer.

This is it, Bomanz thought. What I overlooked… But no. The dragon could not touch him. He sensed its irritation, its conviction that he would make a tasty morsel in the flesh. He hurried after the woman.

No doubt about it. She was the Lady. She had been trying to reach him, too. Best be wary. She wanted more than a grateful chela.

They entered the crypt. It was massive, spacious, filled with all the clutter that had been the Dominator's in life. Clearly, that life had not been spartan.

He pursued the woman around a furniture pile-and found her vanished. "Where?…"

He saw them. Side by side, on separate stone slabs. Shackled. Enveloped by crackling, humming forces. Neither breathed, yet neither betrayed the grey of death. They seemed suspended, marking time.

Legend exaggerated only slightly. The Lady's impact, even in this state, was immense. "Bo, you have a grown son." Part of him wanted to stand on its hind legs and howl like an adolescent in rut.

He heard steps again. Damn that Stancil. Couldn't he stand still? He was making racket enough for three people.

The woman's eyes opened. Her lips formed a glorious smile. Bomanz forgot Stancil.

Welcome, said a voice within his mind. We have waited a long time, haven't we?

Dumbstruck, he simply nodded.

have watched you. Yes, I see everything in this forsaken wilderness. I tried to help. The barriers were too many and too great. That cursed White Rose. She was no fool.

Bomanz glanced at the Dominator. That huge, handsome warrior-emperor slept on. Bomanz envied him his physical perfection.

He sleeps a deeper sleep.

Did he hear mockery? He could not read her face. The glamor was too much for him. He suspected that had been true for many men, and that it was true that she had been the driving force of the Domination.

was. And next time…

"Next time?"

Mirth surrounded him like the tinkle of wind chimes in a gentle breeze. You came to learn, O wizard. How will you repay vour teacher?

Here was the moment for which he had lived. His triumph lay before him. One part to go…

You were crafty. You were so careful, took so long, even that Monitor discounted you. I applaud you, wizard.

The hard part. Binding this creature to his will.

Wind-chimes laughter. You don't plan to bargain? You mean to compel?

"If I have to."

You won't give me anything?

"I can't give you what you want."

Mirth again. Silver-bells mirth. You can't compel me.

Bomanz shrugged imaginary shoulders. She was wrong. He had a lever. He had stumbled onto it as a youth, had recognized its significance immediately, and had set his feet on the long path leading to this moment.

He had found a cipher. He had broken it and it had given him the Lady's patronym, a name common in pre-Domination histories. Circumstances implicated one of that family's several daughters as the Lady. A little historical detective work had completed the task.

So he had solved a mystery that had baffled thousands for hundreds of years.

Knowing her true name gave him the power to compel the Lady. In wizardry, the true name is identical with the thing…

I could have shrieked. It seemed my correspondent ended on the brink of the very revelation for which I had been searching these many years. Damn his black heart.

This time there was a postscript, a little something more than story. The letter-writer had added what looked like chicken scratches. That they were meant to communicate I had no doubt. But I could make nothing of them.

As always, there was neither signature nor seal.