Warlock and Son

12

The sun had set, and the sky was filled with a pearly light that darkened to gloaming all about him as Magnus rode out of the little valley. Actually, Fess carried him; he was so sunk in despondency that he let the horse bear him where it would, totally passive, with scarcely enough will left to hold on and bear up his shield. Five hundred years of experience with humans had taught Fess when there was some point in trying to get them talking, and when it was less than useless, so he let the young man drift, only speaking to ask his choice whenever they came to a crossroads or a fork in the way. Every time, Magnus roused himself, frowned about, and said only, "I care naught. Go as thou dost think best," which was exactly what Fess had expected, of course-but it did provide an excuse to bring the young man out of his stupor for a few minutes every now and then. Fess was concerned that Magnus not be left undisturbed long enough to retreat so far within that he might never come out.

After a while, he came to a small dirt road, wide enough to justify trotting. The jouncing roused Magnus to grab at the pommel, then clasp with his knees and straighten a bit.

"Fess! Canst thou not go more smoothly? I had near to fallen!"

"I shall canter, Magnus." He speeded up, and the ride smoothed out. Magnus grumbled, but held on; though he drifted back into apathy, his stupor was not so deep.

Fess could have gone as smoothly as a rocking chair, at any gait, of course; but the diversion had worked.

Then they came to a greater diversion, which demanded real thought of the young man; for as they rode up to the crest of a ridge, they saw a gaunt old tree, stunted and twisted, devoid of leaves-and in its branches slept a huge black bird, its head tucked under its wing. But as they rode under the limb on which it perched, that head came out, fixing Magnus with a baleful yellow eye that seemed to glow in the deepening gloom, and the bird cried, "Carrion!"

That jolted Magnus out of his trance. "What manner of bird art thou!"

"One that doth live by corrupted meats-and there is the scent of putrefaction about thee! What part of thee doth moulder?"

"None." Magnus frowned, thinking to tell the bird it would be carrion itself-but it was too much effort.

"Thou speakest false, for thine heart's begun to turn. 'Ware, warlock's son!"

Magnus frowned up at the bird. His mind worked sluggishly, but thoughts did form. He fought to enunciate them. "Thou art of a witch's making, and no true bird."

"Art thou a true man?" the raven returned, "For I see thou art of the making of a warlock and a witch."

"Even so-yet how dost thou know?"

"For that my mistress hath told me. Krawwwwk!" The raven lapsed into cawing for a few seconds, while it dipped its head and raised a claw to scratch. Then it looked up at Magnus again and said, "Wherefore dost thou ride by night?"

"For that I ride in haste, and must needs find the Maid of the West."

"Then art thou doomed to despair, for there's no such maid. Krawk! A wanton is she, and never pledged a troth to any man!"

"Why, how is this?" Magnus frowned. "I have been told that she doth ward herself closely, and is shy of mortal converse."

"The more fool she, young knight, and the more fool thou to seek her! Awrrawwk! Yet an thou must needs pursue thy folly, take thee ever the high road, and never the low! Yet far wiser wert thou to take instead the road thou hast come by! Begone!"

For a moment, Magnus was tempted to do just that-turn away, and go back to the tare his love had commanded him to watch. But before he could decide to do so, Fess lurched ahead, and Magnus had to catch at the saddlebow. After that, it was far too much effort to tell him to change directionbut Magnus did turn back to glare at the impertinent bird. Its head was under its wing again, though, totally oblivious to his displeasure.

Night closed down fully as Fess turned northward, following the ridge line. The change of direction brought Magnus briefly to his senses. "Though hast turned from the roadway."

"The road tended downward, Magnus, into the valley. That witch-moss construct of a raven told us to ever seek higher ground-and there are mountains ahead."

Magnus peered into the darkness. "I cannot see them."

"Nor can 1, Magnus-with visual senses. But radar shows a large mass looming ahead."

"Well." Magnus thought it over. "But how shall we come to her other sentries, then, if there is no road?"

"I suspect that the route to the curving lake is selected from a diminishing number of choices, and is known to all her constructs."

"And that the sentries are stationed at the places of those choices?" Magnus nodded. "Well, so." And he lapsed back into brooding-Fess obviously didn't need his notions.

They came out on a moor, the miles eaten away by Fess's tireless canter. Magnus rode through it, swaying in the saddle, so quiet that he might have been asleep-or dead. Fess rode on across the wasteland, sonar constantly probing the ground ahead, alert for bogs.

At last he came to one he could not avoid-it stretched out to either side for at least a hundred yards. In fact, the path seemed to run right into it-but as they came up to the end of the track, Fess saw that it joined another path that ran to left and right. He slowed and stopped, considering alternatives.

Roused by the cessation of motion, Magnus looked upand it was he, not Fess, who first saw the two flecks of brightness beside the clump of heather. "I am Magnus Gallowglass, and I go in need of the aid of the Green Witch of the West!" he called.

"To whom do you speak, Magnus?" Fess asked-but the young man had somehow come alive, more or less, and was dismounting. Alarmed, Fess followed closely.

Magnus knelt by the bushes and parted them. A fox lay panting on the ground. As Magnus pulled the leaves aside, it scrambled to its feet and tried to run-but its rear leg stretched out taut with a chink of metal, and the fox yipped in pain.

" 'Tis caught in a trap." Magnus frowned, thinking it over-the elimination of local vermin was hardly his concern, and if he let the fox go, some nearby farmer might lose a few chickens.

But the sight of a fellow creature in pain, entrapped as he was himself, stirred pity in Magnus, and he laid aside the shield to reach out, murmuring in soothing tones as he coaxed the fox back toward the trap just a little, then pressed the jaws open. The beast surged forward, running a few steps away, limping-but the limp grew less and less pronounced with every step till, after a run of perhaps twenty feet, it was moving normally. There it turned, receding, until it was only two bright sparks of eyes in a pool of shadow.

Magnus frowned; it was odd behavior for a fox. "Surely, little friend, I will not hurt thee. Nay, go thy way, as I go mine." He turned to take up his shield and swing astride Fess again.

But the bright sparks came closer, and the form became clear behind it, muted fire and flowing fur, and the fox came up to sit beside the warlock's horse, gazing up at him with unblinking eyes. "Wherefore wouldst thou seek the Green Witch, mortal? Thou dost show no wound!"

Magnus stared, taken aback. Then he realized that he was seeing another of the Green Witch's sentries. "I am not wounded, but ensorcelled, Sly One."

"And thou dost think the witch can unbind the spell that doth hold thee?"

"I pray she may," Magnus returned, "for an she doth not, I am doomed to pine away."

"We would not wish to see so fine a man as thou languishing," the fox returned. "Nay, go thou northward yet, for the right-hand track doth lead up higher."

"And what shall I discover thither?"

"Mayhap a wood, whose trees never shed their cover." The fox grinned, tongue licking its chops. "Mayhap fat hens. An thou dost find such, save some for me."

Magnus knew a hint when he heard one. With the ghost of a smile, he reached down into his saddlebags, found some of the dried meat his father always carried, and tossed it to the furry one. The fox leaped and caught it in midair.

" 'Ware," Magnus advised him. " 'Tis salt."

"Meat is meat," the fox muttered around the morsel. "I shall dine. Fare well, young mortal." And it turned, to tail back into the forest.

Smiling, Magnus rode on, then lapsed into a trance again. Around the bog Fess cantered, up the rising ground that left the moor behind, and into the foothills. Magnus jolted alert, every fiber thrumming danger. "What! Where!"

"There is nothing, Magnus. Have you dreamed, perhaps?"

"Nay, Fess! 'Twas a rider who came upon us, all black as midnight, and his horse the deepest of shadows! His cloak spread out like wings, and his eyes were coals!"

"None have passed us, Magnus. None have come near. The only life that stirs is that of the small creatures of the night, such as badgers and hedgehogs."

"Yet I could swear 'twas he!" Magnus looked up at the moon and gasped. "He is there! Upon the face of the moon, 'tis his form!"

Fess looked up, registered that the markings of craters that had always been on the larger of Gramarye's two moons were as they had always been-but could see how a young man in a semi-trance might interpret those markings as the shape of a horse and rider. "Let us assume, then, that he was another of the witch's sentries. From which direction did he come?"

"From the left, ahead of us."

"Then let us investigate that direction." Fess bore to the left, off the track.

"Might he not be warning us of danger?"

"Perhaps." Fess slowed to a trot, scanning everything ahead. "But I sense none."

"Is there sign of a pathway?"

The robot was silent for a few minutes, then said, "There are cairns of stones every few hundred yards, all piled in the same manner. Yes, I think there is some indication of direction."

Then, suddenly, the ground rose up before them, and they broke out into a broad, dusty roadway, bone-white under the moon. Beyond the track, a valley lay in shadow, and in that shadow was an evergreen forest. Around its fringe grew a few young oaks, leafless now in the chill of autumn, but glinting here and there with vines of white berries.

As they paused, regarding the forest and the mountain behind it, a shadow swooped across them from behind. For a moment, the form of a winged bird was clear against the white dust; then a small falcon swooped upward and away. Hard behind it came an eagle, which flapped its great wings and rode an updraft, rising higher and faster than the falcon, but following unerringly.

Magnus could see the game; the eagle would maneuver until it was just above the falcon, then pounce upon it. It was none of his affair, of course, but he couldn't help seeing himself in the smaller bird, and turned to glare at the eagle.

The predator faltered, then began to glide in a huge curve. Magnus spared a glance at the falcon, thinking a summoning thought at it too, and both birds, quite unwillingly, found themselves winging back toward the young man, impelled by the imperatives of his thoughts. They stretched their claws to light on branches of nearby but separate trees, one to each side of Magnus. He looked at them both sternly, and began a silent dialogue, mind to mind to mind, which, if it had been voiced, might have sounded somewhat like this:

"Eagle, wherefore dost thou pursue this falcon? Knowest thou not that he is not thine ordained prey?"

"He hath stole from me! An he doth take my food, he shall become it!"

"Why, how is this?" Magnus turned to frown at the falcon. "What hast thou Wen?" Looking more closely, he saw a mouse in the falcon's claws.

"Only the small warm one."

"So small a morsel?" Magnus turned back to the eagle. "It should be beneath thy notice!"

"Should or not, 'tis mine! I stooped upon it, and this upstart did swoop betwixt me and it!"

"Game doth belong to him who doth seize it first!"

"Then thou art my prey!" The eagle stretched its wings. "Give over thy claim!" Magnus thought sternly, and brought more of the dried meat out of his saddlebag. "Give over thy claim against the falcon, and thou shalt have this!" The eagle eyed the meat with interest. "What beast is that?"

"'Tis the flesh of a deer, which are too great to be game for thee."

"Give me!"

Magnus tossed a scrap of pemmican toward the eagle. The wicked beak snatched the morsel out of the air; it disappeared. The eagle nodded. "'Tis good. More of that, and I'll give over pursuit."

Magnus brought out a larger piece of meat as he nodded at the falcon. "Begone!"

"I shall!" The smaller bird winged away. "I shall repay thee at need!"

Magnus tossed the large scrap to the eagle, who caught it and rose into the air on thundering wings, then soared away. Magnus shook his head. "Let us go, Fess."

But the eagle banked and circled about, winging back toward them, but stalling, swooping lazily in the breeze, turning to stay near. "Name thyself, rider! For thine actions are well done, and not of the common sort. Wherefore comest thou here?"

"I am Magnus Gallowglass," the young man answered, trying to follow the bird's sliding movements, "and I seek the Green Witch of the West."

"Then gather such of the mistletoe as ye may find," the eagle called, its voice eerie in the moonlight. "Bear the berries with ye, that they may give ye guidance!" It wheeled away from him, crying, "Then up, even to the clouds! And find the channel of the stream that died!"

"Why, how shall I know such a channel?" Magnus called, but the eagle only gave a long and tearing cry as it turned back to him. Remembering his manners, Magnus came alive long enough to snatch another bit of dried meat from his saddlebags, and tossed it up. The eagle dipped in flight to catch it, then circled away, crying, "Fare thee well, mortal man! Persevere! And if thou shouldst have need of me, why, call!" The night swallowed it up.

"At the least, it seems, she hath deemed me worthy of her care," Magnus muttered, "or her guardians have. Come, Fess-I must ride by an oak, to gather berries."

Fess went ahead, secretly delighted that Magnus was showing so much sign of life.

He even summoned the energy to clamber up standing on Fess's saddle, holding onto the tree's limbs for balance-he, who should have been as surefooted as a mountain goat!and cut down several bunches of berries. He cradled them in his arm as he carefully lowered himself back to the saddle, muttering, "What shall I do with these?"

"I doubt not their use shall become apparent, Magnus. The road leads upward. Are you settled?"

"As well as I may be," Magnus grumbled. He gripped the horse's side with his knees and caught the reins with his free hand. "Away, Fess."

Up they rode, higher and higher. There was water somewhere, certainly; they passed small rills, purling across the path at intervals. They even passed a small marsh, where several of the streamlets pooled, and went by the dried stalks of rushes that rattled in the breeze. Then mist closed about them, chill and clammy. Magnus clung to the horse. "Canst thou tell thy way by radar, Fess?"

"Yes, Magnus, but I must go slowly. There is a limit to both range and definition; I cannot be certain of the condition of the path."

Then rock walls closed about them; even through the mist, Magnus could tell he was surrounded by stone, from the echoing of Fess's hoofbeats. "We are come into the pass, are we not?"

"We are, Magnus. And the signs of erosion are there-this was indeed a river's channel once."

The mist lightened, and thinned; Magnus could see the layers of rock to either side, glinting with flecks of micaand the mouth of the pass before them. "Where there was a river, there may be a lake, may there not?"

"Yes, Magnus. Of more importance is that a former channel may indicate the river's course has changed-which would produce the oxbow lake your father spoke of."

"Even so." Magnus nodded. "Let us see what lies beyond the pass."

They came out into the false dawn, the whole land half-lit by the eerie, sourceless light-and the land fell away before them, sloping down to a flat yet restless surface: the curving lake, ruffled by the wind.

Magnus felt tension bring him to full alertness. "What shall I do now?"

"Use the mistletoe," Fess suggested.

"In what manner?"

The robot was silent, searching its memory, correlating. "The ancients who used mistletoe in their worship threw gifts to their gods in their forms as objects of nature. Think of this Green Witch as a river spirit; your gift is the mistletoe."

Magnus nodded and slipped out of the saddle. "Bide thee here, then, for I must pace down to the water's edge."

"I shall-but I shall come quickly if you call, Magnus."

"Do, I prithee." The young warlock hefted his rowan shield, cupping the berries in the crook of his arm, and broke off a bunch. He marched slowly down to the bank, then threw the mistletoe into the water, crying, "Maid of the Lake, I cry thy mercy!"

The water lay still.

Magnus was just beginning to think he had failed, and to see the whole night's ride as a senseless charade, when ... Water burst upward into a fountain, and a woman rose from the lake. Magnus stared, for this was not the crabbed old crone he had expected, nor even a woman in the fullness of maturity, but a girl younger than he, at least to the eye, clad only in the long, dark hair that fell about her shoulders, past her breasts and down her hips. He felt a pain within him, a sudden wrenching; her beauty took his breath.

Then she was out of the water, speeding across the waves to the shore, plunging away from him into the night. Magnus, jolted from his trance, cried, "Fess!"

"Here, Magnus." The great black horse was beside him in an instant.

Magnus dropped the mistletoe and leaped astride. "Chase her, Fess! I have come too far, have waited too long, am too sorely in need to be denied!"

Fess bolted off after the fleeing form, rejoicing that Magnus seemed once again fully alive.

For a wonder, she ran more quickly than the horse. Or perhaps no wonder, after all-she was a magic worker. Magnus rode entranced by the sight of the long, perfect legs flashing in the moonlight, of the glorious mane that swirled about her as she ran, cloaking her far better than a gown. Magnus focused his thoughts in a summons. "Fox and eagle! Falcon! I cry thine aid, in return for mine! Turn this woman from her path!"

And they were there, so quickly that they must have been following, the eagle and falcon flying straight at the lass's face, the fox leaping up to yap at her ankles. She faltered, halted, trying to fend them off-and Fess caught up to her. She turned, alarmed, as the horse swerved around in front of her, and her hair billowed about her, cloaking her in night. Magnus felt his heart seize up and his breath choke off at the perfection of her form, the curve of paleness that showed beneath her hair. He was not even aware that the eagle, falcon, and fox had melted away as suddenly as they had come.

The maid retreated a step. "Sir, wherefore comest thou so unseemly upon me?"

Breath came again, and Magnus protested, "Maiden, I would not impose upon thee for the world-but my heart's blood doth drain within me, and only thou canst aid me." Somehow, though, the pain of his heart already seemed lessened.

She stared, wide-eyed, then made a sudden gesture as though she were spreading a veil over herself, and she stood before him in a gown of rich crimson, a golden chain lying about her hips to form a Y, its long end hanging down before her. "Nay, good sir, there is no need for that sword that hangs at thine hip, nor for the shield of rowan that hides thee!"

"The shield, milady, wards my heart."

"If thou dost hope for cure from me, thou must needs let that sundered organ ope to me." She advanced a step, holding out a hand. "Come, lay down thy shield."

Somehow, Magnus found himself standing on the ground; dimly, he remembered dismounting. Her hand seemed to wield the strength of a giant; he let the shield swing down by his side and drop from nerveless fingers.

"Come, then." She stretched out her hand, and he caught it. Slowly, step by step, they went back down to the water, where she took up the bunches of mistletoe he had brought. "Thine offering, kind sir-and thy cure." She took him by the hand and led him into the lake. "Trust in me," she said softly, "or I can avail thee naught."

Eyes fixed on her, he followed with mechanical steps; he did not think he could have resisted if he had tried. The waters closed over his head.

Fess watched, waiting, poised to dash in and pull a drowning man from the lake-but before the three-minute limit had passed, he saw, by the pre-dawn light, the maiden and the youth climbing up from the water onto an island that stood well out from shore, with a small hill on it. The woman turned to the hill, and a door opened in its side. She led the wounded warlock in, and closed the door behind.

Fess dropped his systems into standby mode, satisfied that his master's son was temporarily safe, at least physically. He could only await developments now.

The developments, to Magnus, were delightful and wondrous. The Maid of the Lake took his doublet from him, then made a poultice of the mistletoe and bound it round his chest, over the left nipple. Then she conducted him to a downy feather bed, an acre wide it seemed, that lay in another chamber, lit by the fire in a grate. "Lay thee down, sir knight," she murmured, and helped him, supporting him enough so that his fall was controlled, and his body unhurt as his mind drifted into oblivion. He was dimly aware of gentle hands pulling off the rest of his clothing, then of nothing else.

He dreamed--of nothing concrete, of no pictures or signs, with only fleeting images that blew through his mind, commanding attention for a few moments, then gone: the milkmaid who had tried to bind him under her spell, the wenches of the Floating World, the witch in the tower, the beautiful woman who had left him to mourn by the lakeside. With each there was pain, at first poignant, then eased; and with each memory, the pain became sharper. At thought of the merciless beauty, the pain seemed almost unbearable, then subsided, then was, miraculously, gone. Her face receded into a shifting, swirling series of colors and amorphous forms; delightful aromas that filled his head, constantly changing; the most delightful of sensations against his skin, so pleasant they seemed almost sinful-but that could not be, for there could be no sin in dreams. They came, after all, without his will, even in spite of his will. So there was no sin in treasuring the delicate sensations, the exquisite pleasures, the waves of delight that built and built to a shuddering ecstasy ...

And the long, silken slide into velvet oblivion.

Sunlight touched his eyelids; scarlet enveloped him. He opened his eyes and found that he lay in the huge feather bed, with sunlight streaming in through a high window, almost directly overhead. He lay still, musing and remembering....

He turned, startled.

She lay beside him, the most beautiful face he had ever beheld, full lips curving sweetly, huge eyes watching him with merriment-and beneath it, concern. "Art thou well, wizard?"

At her words, the wariness left him; he went limp with relief-and realized that he felt whole and filled, far more healthy than he had been in an age. "Aye, milady. More well than ever I have been in my life."

"I am pleased to hear it," she murmured, and levered herself up, moving closer, lips covering his in a long, lingering, and loving kiss. She took her head away, looking at him with a secretive smile, then laughed and rolled away, gathering a robe about her as she rose, and stepped away through an archway. "Come, sir! The day is full, and thou art sound."

With amazement, Magnus realized it was true. The faerie child was only a memory now, with the reflection of pain; his humiliation by the hag in the tower seemed inconsequential. Joy welled up within him, and a feeling of wonderful, immense freedom. "I shall not die after all! I can never thank thee enough, maid!"

But she had gone out where she could not hear him, leaving him to dress, and to ponder how she could have healed him so thoroughly and with such ecstasy, and still be the Maid of the Lake.

Fess was glad to see him, but tactful enough not to say anything while the maid was present. "Mount," she instructed, and Magnus swung up into the saddle. She saw the question in his eyes, and lifted a finger to press against his tips, forestalling the words. "Thou mayest not stay by me, nor ever come hither again, unless thou art so badly wounded as thou wast but now-and that thou'lt not be, for I've taught thy heart, and the deepest part of thy mind, how to heal themselves, if they will."

"Can I find no way to thank thee?" Magnus protested. "Thou art a warlock, and a puissant one, I wot. Thou knowest now the manner of healing I've given thee. If thou wouldst show me thanks, do thou to other wounded souls as I have done to thee, healing and mending the hurts that none can see."

"Why, so I shall," he whispered.

"Go, now," she commanded, "and go without fear or doubt-for as I've taught thee to mend thine heart, I've taught thee to mend thy body also. If thou art wounded, thou wilt tell the smallest parts of thy body to cleave to one another; thou canst bid thy blood to cease to bleed, thy wounds to close. Nay, thou mayest yet be killed in a single blow, thou canst feel grievous pain-but thou shalt live, no matter what wounds are given thee, so long as thou dost wish to."

"Why, I shall wish so, now." Magnus reached out to touch her. "I shall wish to live, if for naught but the chance that I might someday see thee again."

But she caught his hand, though she kissed the fingers. "Why, then, court danger, in defense of others-and when thou hast given so much of thyself that thou hast naught left to give, find me again, and I'll replenish thee."

"I shall." She had just given him reason to kill himself trying to help other people.

She looked into his eyes, a merry roguish glance, then commanded, "Go!"

Fess turned and moved off. Magnus kept his eyes on her as long as he could, till his body's turning forced him to look away. Even then, he looked back once, to see her, a slender form in crimson velvet, hand upraised in farewell. Then a cloud crossed the sun, a shadow glided past, and she was gone.