Unicorn Point

7 - Neysa

Neysa came again to take the boy, four years after the last time. She trotted up to the Red Demesnes just as if nothing had changed, and Flach was waiting for her, Mach standing behind him. But the boy had changed; he was eight years old instead of four, healthy with his years of outdoor living among the wolves. He looked wonderful.

Flach stepped forward to meet her—and his face clouded over with mixed emotions. “0, Granddam, how glad I be to see thee again!” he cried, and hugged her neck; but her falling mane concealed the tears on his face. She knew why. He was glad to see her—but also sad to be captive. For there was no doubt of his status now; he was in the power of the Adverse Adepts, and they would not let him get away again. Neysa’s own complicity in his prior break was of course known, but she could not be touched because she was of Stile’s camp and expected to do his bidding. But this time she would deliver the boy to Stile; the ploy of his hiding was over.

Flach mounted, and she set off, not deigning to acknowledge the rovot. She followed the same route she had the last time, knowing what the boy would want.

She felt his mood lighten as they approached the Werewolf Demesnes. He would get to see his friends in passing. He could not remain, but at least they could exchange greetings. The main portion of the Pack was not-so-mysteriously absent, but three young wolves were present.

“0, Granddam, may I?” Flach begged.

Neysa halted by the three, and Flach dismounted. He assumed wolf form, and sniffed noses and tail with each of the three in turn. Then all assumed human form, and Flach embraced each.

“0 Forel!” he exclaimed to the brown-haired boy. “0 Terel!” to the tawny-haired girl. And, last, to the pretty black-haired girl, “0 Sirelba! Thou didst do so well for me!”

“It be Sirelmoba now, my Promised,” she informed him gently, hugging him closely. “They granted me my Kill.”

“Would I had been there, to cheer for thee and gain mine own name!”

“They gave it thee,” she said. “Barelmosi.”

“They gave it me?” he asked, amazed. “But they knew then I be not o’ the Pack!”

“They knew then thou wast grandpup o’ Neysa—and Stile.”

“But there was none to growl for me!”

“There were three to growl for thee.”

Flach hugged her more tightly, his tears flowing again. “Must needs I go now, but I will see thee when I can, and when—”

“Aye,” she agreed.

Then the three resumed wolf form, and Flach remounted Neysa. He could have run along beside her in wolf form, but it was important that his status be clear, for the watching Adepts.

Neysa resumed her motion. Flach waved to the standing wolves, then sought her mane again for his tears. Neysa trotted on, still following the route they had taken, sharing the boy’s nostalgia. It had been a fine ploy they had made, and it had won the Adept Stile four more years of parity, and Citizen Blue the same in Proton. It had also given Flach excellent experience in another culture. She would have preferred that he obtain it among the unicorns, but of course that would have been too obvious. Certainly Kurrelgyre’s Pack was a worthy alternative. She remembered when she had met the werewolf for the first time, at the then-palace of the Oracle; they had almost come to combat, being hereditary enemies. But Stile had made peace between them, and later made them oath-friends, and that was part of the good he had brought to Phaze.

She loved Stile, of course. She always had, since he had mastered her and freed her. No other human man could have done the first, no other would have done the second. She had done what she could for him, becoming his transport, his guardian and his lover until he went to the Lady Blue. Human beings had always taken animal lovers, but never animal spouses; it was the way of it. Until Fleta—

She put a firm hoof on that thought. She had not, could not approve; yet the seemingly impossible had happened, and here was Flach, representing the union of the lines of man with unicorn, and of the lines of Neysa and Stile. It seemed likely that in time the boy would mate with a werewolf, and thereby include that line also in the unity. Thus in Phaze would occur what was occurring in Proton: the integration of the major elements of the frame.

She could not support this, but now, knowing Flach and knowing of his other self Nepe, who had demonstrated singular verve and competence, she could not condemn it either. Perhaps the old, isolated ways would have to go. Perhaps that was better. Certainly she supported Stile, and if he believed this was the way to go, he must be right. But he had not supported it before; he, like she, had opposed the marriage between species. And he, like she, had come to accept the result, because his objection had been rooted not in any antipathy to mingling (as she knew!) but in his need for an heir to the Blue Demesnes. The younger generation had proven him wrong, and now he supported the union, but could not undo the damage done by his former opposition. Neysa, similarly, was left with little or no tail to swish against this particular fly. She had turned her horn against her filly Fleta when Fleta insisted on making an open, permanent liaison with the golem who occupied Bane’s body. Now that golem had become the Rovot Adept, with more magical power than any other, and had sired Flach. It was not the way of the unicorn to admit error and reverse position. She had done it only when coerced by directive of the Herd Stallion. There were none to coerce her similarly now. She was locked into a position of increasing social founder. They reached the place where the boy had urinated, setting up his ruse. She stopped, and he dismounted and went through the motions; in this manner he showed his unicorn heritage, his need to reexperience prior actions, to assume his new orientation. They paused where she had helped the pups escape the dragon. Those pups were now secure in their new Pack.

Beyond this region, she had carried the golem instead of the boy. So effective had this exchange been that she had not realized at what point it had occurred—and that had been part of the ploy. If she hadn’t known, how could anyone else know? So Flach had escaped, and it had taken the Adepts four years to recover him.

They stopped before reaching the Herd Demesnes. Neysa was no longer young, and prolonged running was not as easy for her as it had been. She needed time to rest and graze. So Flach dismounted in a broad meadow, giving her the remain ing two hours of the day.

Then he surprised her. He assumed his unicorn form, and grazed with her. He was not yet grown, but was a fine figure of a colt, with a black coat like hers, and blue socks. He played a note on his horn, inviting her to join him. His horn’s sound most resembled what the human folk called a recorder, or perhaps a wooden flute, in the alto range. Four years ago it had been soprano; as he grew and matured, it would descend to the tenor range. His tone was neither full nor distinctive, and his key was uncertain—but of course he had not assumed this form in four years, and had become inexperienced in it.

She sounded her own horn, with its harmonica flavor, setting him straight on the key. Then, as they grazed, they played, and his sound became attuned, until in due course it was fair rather than poor. She showed him some of the nuances of melody, and taught him simple harmony. The resulting duet would never be competitive in the Unilympics, but it was a nice enough start. She was quite pleased, for the sound and for the effort he was making.. She remembered decades back, when she had taught Fleta similarly, and Fleta had developed her unique double-note technique on her pan pipe horn, and—

Down came the hoof again. Those memories should be expunged! Fleta had done the unpardonable. Yet, glancing sidelong at Flach grazing beside her, she wished again that it was otherwise.

They grazed on into the night, and it was very satisfying. The creatures of the night came out, the mice and owls and goblins, and spied the unicorns and remained moderately clear. Goblins could be bad when roused and organized, but these were merely foraging individually, avoiding trouble. Just the same, she kept an ear on them; one could never be quite sure about goblins.

They slept on their feet, still grazing. In the morning they were rested and fed; it had been a good night. Flach assumed human form. “Let me take a turn. Grand dam! Let me carry thee!”

She assumed her woman form. “Thou be not yet grown, Flach,” she said. “Thou must not carry a load; it would warp thy limbs.”

“Not if thou wast in thy firefly form,” he countered. She hoped she would not regret this, but she did want him to get experience. She could resume her natural form if any threat manifested. Actually, the Adepts were watching; they would act if they thought it necessary. She wanted to keep them out of this, but it was a kind of reassurance. She assumed firefly form, hovering in the air. He became a unicorn again. She flew to his head and perched between his ears, near his horn, clinging to his forelock. He started off, going west, toward the Herd. At first his gait was irregular, but gradually he got it into shape and his stride became steadier. Practice would improve this, too. But soon a dragon appeared, flying up from the south. It spied what it took to be a young, inexperienced unicorn, and came in for some fun and perhaps a meal. It was not large, and would have been no threat to Neysa herself, but she wasn’t sure about Flach. She moved, getting ready to take off, so she could get clear of him and assume her natural form.

“Nay, Granddam!” he protested in passable horn talk. “Let me handle it.”

He had big ambitions! If he was no better using his horn for combat than he had been using it for music at first, that dragon would make short work of him. Still, she could act at the last moment if she had to. She remained in place.

The dragon circled once, making sure that this young uni corn was as isolated as he looked. Then it lined up for a strafing run, its fire building.

Flach played a strange melody on his horn, fouling it up with attempted horn talk. Then she realized that he was trying to make magic. As a human being, he could do magic, and he had been learning spells four years before. Surely he had continued to think about them during his long hiatus as a werewolf. Now he had a chance to use what he had devised. But to attempt it in ‘corn form—that was odd indeed! Could it possibly work?

A cloud formed above them. It expanded rapidly, pulsing with sickly colors. From this angle it was hard to tell exactly what its whole shape was, but it seemed rather like—yes, a floating human head! It had a wild tangle of yellow hair that fuzzed into invisible vapor, and two great red eyes, a bulbous nose, and a huge purple mouth-orifice with enormous buck teeth.

The dragon saw this apparition, and veered aside. Had something come to help the unicorn? But it circled back, realizing that there was no solidity to the thing. What was not solid could not hurt, and could be ignored. The dragon came in again, and this time there was no doubt it meant business. The fire was starting to come; in a moment things would be very hot here! Neysa spread her wings.

“Nay, Granddam!” Flach protested. “I be ready!” Quite nervous now, she nevertheless remained clinging to his forelock. What did this foolish child have in mind? Flach blew another horn-talk melody. The apparition’s grotesque mouth pursed. From it spurted a gush of green liquid. The stuff hurtled toward the dragon. Before the creature could react, the jet splashed into its snoot. The dragon let out a growl of surprise and dismay. It wavered crazily in the air, abruptly clawing at its head. The green stuff was not splattering free; it was clinging gelatinously, cutting off the dragon’s breath. Its fire, stifled, whooshed out without direction.

And the liquid clung even to the fire, forming huge bubbles. The dragon inhaled—and the green goo was sucked in too, causing it to choke.

Neysa could wait no longer. She spread her wings, took off, flew to the side, and resumed unicorn form. “What be that green?” she demanded in horn talk.

“Lime gelatin,” Flach replied. “Nepe told me o’ it. It be used in Proton to wrestle in, or to mate in, or as a Conse quence when someone loses a wager.”

“Gelatin?” It was not possible to be as specific in horn talk as in human talk; she did not know of this substance.

“Well, it be not exactly that, but an imitation that be yet gunkier,” he honked with childish relish. “It clings awfully, and makes bubbles, and just gets worse as it dries. She says it be water-soluble, so washes off readily, but methinks the dragon will think not to wash.”

Indeed, the dragon was not thinking of water at all. It veered almost into a tree, barely dodged it, and flew up, still scratching at its nose. Bubbles of gelatin were all around it, making it look even more grotesque than the fog-face. Neysa was not much for practical jokes, but she had to admit that this was a rare prank to play on a dragon. The boy was a child; he had done a childish thing. But it had been effective, and that was what counted.

All the same, she decided to resume the regular mode of travel. Flach returned to human form, and she carried him on to the Herd.

Flach grew pensive again as they approached the Blue Demesnes. He had been joyful only when squelching the dragon, Neysa realized in retrospect; at other times he had seemed subdued or preoccupied. She had assumed this was because of his loss of freedom. He had, she judged, really liked being among the werewolves, and was more than somewhat smitten with the dark-furred bitch whom he had Promised. Naturally it was depressing to leave those friends who had supported him so loyally. But he liked Neysa and his human grandparents too; that was obvious. Why, then, did he seem reluctant to join Stile and the Lady Blue?

Well, perhaps he felt guilty for hiding, these four years. It had been a joint conspiracy, but he had kept his location secret from Stile as well as the Adverse Adepts. Yet he had had to do that; they all knew that. Any contact with Stile would have been intercepted by the Adepts, and led them to him. So that could not be it.

They arrived, and Flach greeted his grandparents with genuine enthusiasm. Neysa, assuming human form to enter the castle, thought she had been mistaken; Flach was after all glad to be here, despite his changed status. The first evening all seemed well. The boy told of his experience among the wolves, and of the adventure with the dragon. Stile laughed aloud, remembering the way of the frame of Proton, and the Lady smiled; Then they had a good meal, and Flach confessed to being tired, and he went early to bed, attended by the Lady.

Now Stile looked grim. “He’s changed,” he said.

“Aye.” Neysa had never been much for human speech, but this much had to be said.

“But in four years, that is to be expected. He has grown, and learned much, and recently been separated from those he has come to know and love as well as he loves us.”

“Aye.”

“I checked him for enchantments. There are none on him. The Adepts appear to be abiding by the rules.”

Neysa nodded. She was perversely glad that he had noted it too; it meant she hadn’t imagined the problem. Indeed, perhaps it was as he supposed, merely the effect of separation and aging.

The Lady returned. “There be a geis on him,” she said.

“Nay,” Stile said. “No magic.”

“There be a geis,” she repeated.

It made sense to Neysa. A geis was a kind of obligation, imposed either magically or by honor. It restricted a person in some way, so that he could not perform with his normal freedom.

“He be prisoner now,” Stile said. “We all be glad to have him, and will treat him well, but this be not o’ his choice or ours. Also, the Adepts have access to the Book o’ Magic while he be here, so be gaining power after the years o’ impasse. That could depress him.”

“Mayhap,” the Lady agreed noncommittally. They retired, and Neysa went out to graze; that was always her preference for the night. But her thoughts continued to turn on the boy. The Lady was right: something was wrong. Perhaps it was only his abrupt change of situation. Perhaps it was more.

In the morning Stile talked with Flach privately. Later he turned the boy over to Neysa for a ride around the premises.

This was of course worthwhile, but Neysa knew that Stile wished to talk privately with the Lady. Something was certainly wrong.

Later, the Lady told Neysa the problem: “Stile meant to have Flach commune with his other self in Proton, to establish a dialogue and initiate an exchange o’ information. In this manner may we keep pace with the Adepts and Citizens, that we maintain our position. But Flach says he can not. It seems the girl be not available.”

Neysa considered that. She had understood that Flach and Nepe could communicate with each other across the frames regardless of their geographic positions. They had demonstrated this, when trying to escape the Adept cordon around the Pack. How could they be unable to do this now? She mulled it over the following night, consciously or unconsciously, but came to no reasonable conclusion. She was sure that Nepe in the other frame would be treated well, as Flach was in this one, because the agreement was the same there: while she visited her grandparents, the Citizens had access to the Oracle. The Adepts and Citizens had waited for four years to restore this arrangement; they would not do anything to interrupt it again.

Unless Nepe had somehow managed to hide again—even from Flach? How could she do that?

As dawn brightened, she had an answer: by going to another scientific planet! Flach could reach her anywhere on Proton, but surely not away from there. She could have some how sneaked away on one of their ships of space! That would mean that the enemy was not making progress after all, be cause Citizen Blue would not let them near the Oracle unless they produced Nepe. And Flach, if he knew where she was, would not tell, for that would give her away. If he could contact her where she hid, he would not, because the Adepts would be watching for that magic, and find her as they had before, through him.

She was so excited that she galloped into the castle, and changed to woman form, panting. “Stile! Stile!”

But it was the boy who was already up. “They be late from their chamber,” he said. “Do folk their age still mate?”

“Human folk, aye, an they wish,” she agreed. “They oft regard it as entertainment.” How well she remembered! She did not want to speak of her revelation directly to the boy; he might have to deny it, and that would be very awkward. She would have to wait until Stile was alone. She offered Flach another ride outside, instead. He countered with the suggestion that they run together. They did so, trotting across the meadows. Then they changed to their winged forms, she a firefly, he a bat, and flew. Then he be came a harpy, astonishing her; she had heard he could do it, but was amazed at the reality. It was a female form.

“Aye,” he screeched in harpy fashion. “There be not those barriers we thought ‘tween us. I can be female an I choose, and Nepe can exchange and be male. But we do it not ‘cept at need; it be not comfortable.”

He had mentioned Nepe. Could she follow up on this, and verify her conjecture? She assumed woman form. “Then had thou left her in Phaze; she could have been the female harpy, and been comfortable.”

“Nay. She knows not how to change form.”

“Mayhap thou could exchange again, and we could teach her.”

“Mayhap!” he agreed brightly. Then abruptly he sobered, and said no more on the subject.

Now she was sure: it was because he could not exchange without giving away Nepe’s hiding place. She did not pursue the subject. She resumed her natural form, and he became a wolf, and they romped on back to the castle. Later in the day, when the Lady was showing Flach how she made cookies, in timeless grandmotherly fashion, and he was showing her how he could lick the bowl clean, in equally timeless grandchild fashion, Neysa had a chance to talk with Stile.

“So he dare not,” she concluded.

Stile nodded. “I think thou hast figured it, mare! That be a relief to me, for it means the impasse remains.” The rest of the visiting period passed amicably enough. Every day the boy did new things with his grandparents, learning spells and new games, and romped in the meadows with Neysa in one form or another. Flach brightened somewhat, discovering that they were not pushing him to contact Nepe, and it was almost as it had been in the old days. Stile and Flach spent many hours playing chess. It seemed the boy had good aptitude, which was perhaps not surprising, considering that Stile remained the Phaze champion, and Fleta was now a ranking player; it was in Flach’s ancestry. They even played through some of the games Stile had had with Icebeard. Stile had played the snow demon to twenty-three consecutive draws, then won one, ending their private tournament. But the following year they had played again, and after fifteen draws the demon had won one. It had become a regular thing; they were delightfully evenly matched. Flach was evidently able to appreciate the pretty nuances of the moves in a way that Neysa could not.

Then, toward the end of the stay. Bane visited. Neysa was grazing nearby as Stile came out to meet him. Because Bane served the other side, by common consent they met beyond the castle, in nominally neutral territory. “How be the boy?” he inquired.

“Somewhat subdued,” Stile replied.

“To be expected, so soon after being taken from the Pack. His oath-friends there be similarly subdued, I understand.”

“How goes thy life in Proton?”

“Well enough, between bouts with the Book and Oracle.” Neysa kept her ears unperked, so as not to give away her interest. How could they be working with the Book and Oracle?

“And how be little Nepe?” Stile inquired smoothly. “Subdued. Thou knowest that they wished to serve thee, not the others.”

“Aye. But an she be well, as be Flach, thou needst have no concern.”

“She be well, far as we can tell. She be with Blue now, o’ course. But one thing be odd: we understand that she contacts not Flach. Methought thou wouldst be using them as Mach and I be used, to keep the pace.”

“All in good time,” Stile said. “They be young, and have four years to forget.”

Bane nodded. “Surely so.” Yet he seemed surprised. “I came to ask thee to send Flach directly to Translucent’s isle, since I lack Mach’s facility in transport.”

“Readily done, an Neysa be granted entry.”

“She be.” Bane gave him a token, glanced across at Neysa, and waved. She nodded, and continued grazing as if not really interested.

Bane departed. Immediately Neysa approached Stile.

“Oath-friend, let us travel a bit,” Stile said, mounting her.

She was glad to accede.

“Methinks our conjecture was mistaken,” Stile said when they were far enough away from the castle to avoid any risk of being overheard. It was Stile’s belief that it was the castle the Adepts snooped on, rather than himself, now that things were quiet. “I wish not to alarm the Lady, but must know. Canst discover it for me?”

Neysa made an affirmative honk. She would certainly try! She started early, so as to have time to talk to Flach if the occasion seemed propitious. This time she bore due west, toward the West Pole and the Translucent Demesnes. Flach was quiet, seeming not enthusiastic about returning to his dam.

They had thought that Nepe had escaped, so that Flach could not communicate with her without giving away her hiding place. Now they knew this was not the case. Why, then, was he reticent? It almost seemed as if he did not want to help his grandfather, and she knew that wasn’t it. Yet she couldn’t just ask; he would have told Stile if he intended to, and had to have reason for his silence. Also, the Adepts would be watching them now, making sure the boy was delivered; they would overhear anything said.

They came to the Lattice: the great pattern of cracks in the ground. She resented the founder spell the lattice demons had hit her with the last time she was here, but she could not do much about it unless the demons came to the surface. And there was a demon head poking up! With a half-glad snort of challenge she lowered her horn and charged. The demon disappeared, hiding in the crevice, and she passed over without contact. She had expected this; still, it was satisfying.

“Slay them!” Flach cried, taking an interest. More heads appeared. She still had the worst of the Lattice to traverse; were they going to try for her? She knew that her enemies the Adverse Adepts would never allow them to cap ture her, because she was on their business; still, she pre ferred to handle this nuisance herself. She picked up speed. “Let me, Granddam!” Flach begged.

He had done well enough against the dragon, and perhaps this would make him say something. There was nothing like shared adventure to make folk talk. She made a honk of affirmation, coming to a halt on one of the Lattice plateaus. He singsonged something. Another cloud appeared, with a grotesque face; he seemed to be partial to those, or perhaps it was the shape his magic was assuming. The demons gazed up at the cloud, distrusting it, but it seemed harmless, and after a moment they resumed their closure about Neysa. Flach sang again. The cloud developed a nether aperture, from which a blob dropped.

“Get out, Granddam!” he cried.

Neysa bolted. The demons in front of her ducked down, but those at the sides closed in, trying to grab at her as she passed.

There was a sickly-sounding whoosh! Then the sound of coughing and choking from the bowels of the Lattice. Then the demons clambered out, not to attack Neysa, but to flee. What was this?

She slowed, curious about this inexplicable turnabout.

“Don’t stop, Granddam!” Flach exclaimed.

“Why?” she asked in horn talk.

“Because I dropped a stink bomb on them!” Then the spreading vapor caught up with them. Neysa choked; it was the most putrid stench she had ever whiffed—and this was just the edge of it.

She leaped forward, escaping the miasma. No wonder the demons were fleeing; it must be intense down in the crevices! Trust the child to come up with another childish—but effective!—ploy.

Well, she really could not blame him. She had given him leave, and certainly the demons deserved it. In fact, it seemed a fitting retribution for that founder spell! They readily won clear of the Lattice; the demons paid no further attention to them. She came to the regular field and forest, and resumed her normal trot.

“Thou hast become quite a little Adept,” she remarked in horn talk.

“I had time to think of good spells,” he said. “It was great, being with the Pack, but time there was.” His mood had evidently lightened.

“Be it similar with Nepe?”

“Aye. She be one clever girl.”

She hoped he would amplify, but he did not. Once again, she had been unable to discover his secret. They stopped for the night at the foot of rolling hills. Flach assumed unicorn form again, and grazed with her as before. So it went, on the long trip to the coast. Everything seemed normal with the boy, except his connection with Nepe. The secret remained undivulged. It was enough to make her horn go sour.

They reached the west coast. Flach held the token Bane had brought them, and Neysa strode into the sea. She had never been here before, and would not be very much disappointed if the charm did not work, so that they could not proceed farther. After all, this was not the neutral territory of the Red Demesnes; this was the enemy Translucent Demesnes. Also, this was where Fleta was, and Neysa wasn’t speaking to her filly. The encounter was bound to be awkward.

But the charm worked perfectly. The water closed over their heads, and seemed almost like air; they could breathe nor mally. Neysa picked her way through the seaweed and shells, and found a path. She followed this on down, and it broad ened, becoming a satisfactory trail from which obstacles had been cleared. This gave her the chance to look around as she progressed.

It was impressive. Fish swam nearby, seeming from this vantage to be flying without wings. Seaweed sprouted pro fusely, reaching for the surface, forming brushlike patches. They passed a coral reef, where the growths were intricate and flowerlike, the blooms opening and closing in the slight current.

A big fish approached, swimming with beautiful ease.

Neysa recognized its type by the fin on the back: a shark! She honked warning and readied her horn, uncertain how well she could do in this strange environment. But the fish shied away from the path; evidently it was not allowed to molest legitimate travelers.

The terrain changed, becoming somehow archaic. The veg etation and swimming forms in this region were strange. Neysa made a mild honk of surprise.

“Oh, sure,” Flach said nonchalantly. “It’s the Ordovician period, three or four hundred million years ago, I forget which, with some neat creatures. See, there be a trilobite—and there be a giant nautiloid! The one with the shell like a ‘corn’s horn!”

Neysa saw the trilobite. Its shell was indeed like a unicorn’s horn, and she liked it better for that. The shell made its tentacled forepart seem less alien.

They came to a rise in the strange realm. “This be the isle!” Flach exclaimed joyfully. He slid off her back and charged ahead, plunging through a kind of curtain in the wa-ter. Neysa followed, and found herself indeed on an isle—a dry region within a giant bubble under the sea. Flach flung herself into the arms of a young woman. That would be Fleta, his dam, Neysa’s filly; Neysa had not seen her in eight years, and really did not care to look now. Instead she gazed around the rest of the isle.

Another young woman stood there. She was in a tan cloak, and her hair and eyes were tan. Tania, sister of the new Tan Adept. What was she doing here?

Tania did not wait to be introduced. “I like thee no better than thou likest me, old mare,” she snapped. “Look not down thy nose at me, lest thou see what pleases thee not.” Neysa felt the old heat rising. She was not about to take any sneer from this arrogant woman! She brought down her horn.

“Nay, Granddam!” Flach called, spotting this developing quarrel. “Condemn her not; she let me escape!”

What? Neysa assumed woman form. “She tried to capture thee!” she said.

“But they think I tried not hard enough,” Tania said. “So I be on duty here, to see that Fleta escapes not.”

“But I be not prisoner!” Fleta protested. “And Neysa, my dam—hast come at last to make amend?”

Neysa turned away from her.

“Thou hypocrite!” Tania screamed at her, her sinister eyes seeming to glow. “Comest all the way here to slight thy foal again?”

That did it. Neysa turned slowly to face Tania.

“Nay!” Flach cried. “This be an isle o’ peace! No fighting!”

“It be beyond such caution,” Neysa said grimly.

“Then make it words only!” he said. “No Eye, no horn!” Neysa was not pleased with this notion, and Tania seemed better satisfied. But the child was insistent. “An there be bloodshed here. Translucent will come, and we know not what will happen then! Let me make a spell o’ containment, that thy words spread not beyond thyselves, and ye two settle thus.”

There was something about his urgency, which bordered on desperation, that made Neysa pause. The boy was bright, and talented, and had some secret she had to fathorn. That caused her to go along with his foolish wish. “No horn,” she agreed.

“No Eye,” Tania agreed, as grudgingly.

Flach singsonged something. Another cloud formed, but this one had no face. It expanded to take in Tania and herself, a bubble within the larger bubble of the isle. Neysa wasted no time in pressing the attack. Words were not her preferred medium, but she could use them when she had to. “Thou, who didst think to capture Flach, and now be here to keep his dam here, dost accuse me o’ hypocrisy? Thou, who didst spend four years pursuing him—and Bane?”

Tania gestured wildly, as if reacting in fury. But her words were oddly quiet. “Aye, mare. Listen to me now, for we have but little time, and there be danger. I sought the child that my side might gain the balance o’ power. I sought Bane that I might bind him more firmly to our side, an he think to drift. But I lost the ploy; he loves me not, yet I love him.”

“Thou—?” Neysa began, amazed.

“When I knew we had cornered the lad at last, and it came upon me to intercept him, I tried to let him go. I looked him in the eye, and knew him though he was cleverly masked as female. I stunned the figure made up to be male, thinking it were reasonable to fall for this ruse, that none could blame me. I let Flach go. But the Adepts saw through the ruse, both his and mine, and now I be confined here, nominally a guard. Canst believe that, mare?”

This was so completely different from her expectation that Neysa could hardly speak. “Why shouldst thou—?”

“Let him go?” Tania smiled ruefully. “Because it were the only way I could continue to be with Bane, an the search went on. I am descended to that level, I would be with him on any pretext, though I know he will ne’er love me.”

Neysa gazed at her unbelievingly. Why should this woman make such a demeaning confession?

Tania held out her hand. “Touch me with thy horn, and verify.”

Neysa bowed her forehead, touching the horn-button to the hand. The touch was true; the woman was speaking truth. “Now believe this too,” Tania continued, drawing back and waggling her finger as if making a savage point. “There be a geis o’ silence on Flach, imposed by Purple. Translucent liked it not, but came so close to losing the lad that Purple gained leverage and imposed this. Flach dare not commune with Nepe in the other frame, lest his dam and her alien mother be killed. In this way our side gains power and thy side does not.”

“The geis!” Neysa exclaimed.

“Now have I told thee. Now have I truly betrayed my side. An thou wishest to see me die, thou has but to tell o’ this, mare.”

“But why? Why dost thou do this thing?”

“When I came to love Bane, I came also to assume some o’ his values, strange though they be. Now I be friend to Fleta. I would not see her die, or Agape in Proton. Or kept prisoner till my side wins, and then needed not more, and die anyway.”

“But an that happened, thou wouldst have clear access to Bane!”

“Aye. But now I would take him not that way. This be the measure o’ my fall.”

“But—“

“Enough, mare; the spell dissipates. Now it be in thy hands. Fleta knows not.”

Indeed, the little bubble was fading out; their privacy of vituperation was gone. Tania turned away as if smoldering;

Neysa stood amazed.

Fleta and Flach were looking at her, as if trying to judge the outcome of the encounter. What was she to do? She had to get away from here! Now she knew what was wrong with the boy—and knew why he had pushed her into the encounter with Tania. He had known Tania would tell what he could not, for he was watched as she was not. The watching Adepts would not have been concerned about the quarrel between Neysa and Tania; that was peripheral. She must not give away its true nature. She had to hide what had happened. But how? She knew her life would not last long, if the Adepts realized what she had learned. She would have an accident on the way back, or she would die, seemingly of age. The Adepts were not bound by scruples—not the Purple Adept.

Then she realized what she had to do. But she had to hide it from whoever observed, by making a diversion. She had to provide some other seeming effect of her encounter with Tania.

She walked toward Fleta. “An the wicked Adept woman be friend to thee, can I be less?” She opened her arms.

“0 my dam!” Fleta cried, and flung herself forward. They met in a solid embrace, Fleta’s tears flowing. “0 my Dam! Thou hast forgiven me at last!”

“There be naught to forgive,” Neysa said, and realized it was true as her own tears flowed. By this unexpected device she had been brought to do what she should have done eight years before, and accepted her foal’s decision. The barriers between species were breaking down, with Fleta’s union with Mach, and Bane’s with the alien female, and Suchevane’s with Trool the Troll. Neysa knew she should have been the first, not the last, to accept this new reality. Then, not daring to dally here, she bid farewell to Flach, resumed her natural form, and set off for the realm of the land. Tania still faced defiantly away. Neysa ignored her, as was proper in the circumstance.

Would she make it safely back? At this stage she didn’t know. The Adepts would not dispatch her without reason, because it would be a pointless act of provocation at a time when they wanted things quiet. But if they suspected . . .

Then, just as she was about to pass through the bubble wall, she realized that she shouldn’t risk it. She had to act now, to ensure that the situation changed. Going back and telling Stile would take too long and was too risky. There was a much faster and more certain way—one that Flach should have thought of himself, had he not been cowed by the pressure of the situation.

She changed back to woman form. “I forgot the charm!” she exclaimed. Indeed she had; she would need it to pass through the water without drowning.

“I have it!” Flach cried, running up to her. She accepted the charm, and embraced him. “I be old and forgetful,” she murmured. Then, directly in his ear, she whispered: “Tell Bane as he exchanges. Then wait.” She kissed his ear and drew back, changing back to mare form. Flach stood, apparently stunned by the simplicity of this solution. He could not commune with Nepe directly, because the Adepts were alert to that, but they would hardly expect him to commune with the man he had so recently seen in person. Bane would tell Mach, and then the two most concerned would know the threat against those they loved. They would know what to do.

Neysa walked on. Even if the Adepts suspected, now, it would do them no good to act against her. The moment Bane and Mach learned of the threats against their wives, hell would begin fermenting in the Adverse ranks!