C. Dale Brittain_Wizard of Yurt 03

by Mage Quest

  "Then she went down into the city like the force of vengeance and called on the dark powers that lurk beneath the waves. And in answer to her call the nameless creatures of night rose up from the deep and swallowed the city. The breakers rolled across it and drowned it, even as you see it now."

  "But the fish?" I asked.

  "The people might have swum to safety even in the drowning of their city, for we are a sea people and used to swimming, but that would not have satisfied her. So she turned them all into different kinds of fish, red for those who follow the Prophet, gold for the Children of Abraham, and blue for those who follow the Nazarene. When they are lifted from the water they can still speak like men, at least a few phrases, but in the sea they are fish, and fish they must remain."

  I wondered if they still knew who they really were. Someone transmogrified by western magic would still keep his original identity, inside. The brightly-colored fish I had seen in the emir's palace—doubtless brought there as a marvel—must think themselves in harsh captivity.

  I realized the prince had been silent for several minutes and turned toward him. His deep eyes looked at me in entreaty. "Whoever you may be, traveler, you are the first to enter my garden in the two years since this happened. Are you perhaps sent in answer to my prayers to save me and avenge me upon my wife?"

  "I might be," I said slowly. I couldn't see the Ifrit from where we were sitting, but he must still be only a short distance away. I knew it was useless to ask him again for my magic back, though I had no idea how I was going to dissolve a transformations spell without it. Even without the knowledge that he was testing me—and might keep my friends buried in the sand forever if I did not pass—I felt sorry for the fish.

  "Does your wife ever come back to gloat over you?" I asked. Maybe I could somehow persuade her to break her own spell.

  "Of course. She comes every evening, feeds me just enough to keep me alive, and then whips me until I sob with pain, to punish me again for what I did to her lover. I would have died from the blows many months ago—and often I wish I could—but she then salves my wounds with wicked magic, so that I may heal by the next day and be beaten again. Then she crawls into the pavilion with the slave—that is why I warned you not to go in, for fear she would realize some­ one had been there. She calls on him tenderly and caresses him and begs him to be healed quickly. So far he has never answered her."

  I put my head in my hands. The slave must be long dead, if he did not respond to magic which could heal the wounds from a whipping in a day. His body must only kept from decay by some variation of the spell that held together the body of the wizard of the eastern kingdoms.

  When I lifted my head again, the prince was almost smiling. "Are you perhaps a mage?"

  "No." It was too complicated to explain. "But I think I have an idea."

  I sat on the bench beside him all afternoon. He told me more about his city before all its people became fish. I was able to deflect his rather desultory questions about where I had come from—for him, the chief interesting thing about me was that I might save him. Late in the afternoon, somewhere in the distance, I began to hear singing.

  "It is my people," said the young prince softly. "When they were still human, they used to sing as the sun set, and even now that they are fish they rise to the surface each day at this time to salute the day's passing."

  The singing died away with the coming of twilight, and not long thereafter the prince whispered to me, "The witch usually comes at about this time, so make your preparations."

  "Do not fear, for you will be a free man tonight." I stood up, hoping this was going to work.

  I slipped quietly down to the little round pavilion and found my way in by feel. Slowly I groped my way across the floor until my hand found another hand, very cold.

  I jerked back, just managing to stay quiet. If this was the slave, he seemed quite dead. I felt forward again and found his body, lying amid a heap of pillows and blankets on a sleeping mat. I lifted him up as well as I could, just as glad I could not see his slashed throat, and carefully carried him out the far side of the pavilion. There had already been too many slashed throats for me on this trip. I slid the slave under a bush and went back into the pavilion just as a bobbing light appeared at the garden gate.

  I lay down on the mat where the dead slave had lain, but the light did not immediately approach. Instead, it was set down on the bench by the young prince. In the light of her lamp I could see the prince's witch wife. If eastern witches could touch someone's mind and tell who they were, she would know in a second that I was here. To the prince, she might have been as lovely as the full moon rising. To me she looked terrifying.

  But she did not seem to have any immediate suspicions. First she fed the prince and gave him water to drink out of a skin, laughing mockingly at his inability to move more than his head and left elbow. Then she pulled out a whip and stepped back, her face dark with fury.

  "For wishing to kill me," she shouted, "for almost killing my beloved, you deserve death and worse than death! As long as he hovers on the edge of life, you will pray to God each day that you might die!"

  The young prince stood it for about five lashes, then started to whimper. When he began to cry out in pain, and then to beg the witch by the love they had once shared, by her love for the slave, and by the love of God not to hit him again, her blows only intensified.

  Lying where the slave had died, I put my hands over my ears. Without magic, there was no way I could oppose a witch with a whip in her hand and probably the supernatural forces of darkness in her spells. I had to wait for her to tire and to rub her salves into the prince's wounds. Even with magic, I certainly could not heal him overnight myself.

  She seemed satisfied at last and put her whip away. The prince had slumped as much as he could being half stone, and he no longer seemed conscious. But when she brought out little pots that glowed with a green light and rubbed the salve onto his back, he slowly revived and straightened again. "Until tomorrow night, husband?" she murmured in triumph.

  But then her whole manner changed. She lifted up the lamp and approached the pavilion, slowly and almost shyly. I took a deep breath, tried to imagine how a slave might address a princess who was also his lover, and called out to her.

  "Mistress, dear mistress, don't bring that light here, by the love we long shared!"

  She was so startled she dropped the lamp, and it smashed on the pavement by her feet.

  Good. The spells of fire were no longer available to her. "It hurts my eyes, dearest daughter of the stars, and it has been so long since I've had my eyes open!"

  She came toward me again with an indrawn breath of delight. "Is it then true, my darling, my pomegranate, my own? Are you alive again at last? You seem somehow—different!"

  "Stay back, my precious one!" I said in a weak voice. If she crawled in here with me, even without the lamp, I wouldn't deceive her for long. And I was quite sure that after she had whipped me near or even to death, she would not put her magic salves on me. "I only seem different because it has been two years since we last lay together. But don't approach me yet. Even your delicate touch might set back my healing."

  "But it's been so long since I heard your dear voice!"

  And you won't hear it again until you meet your lover in hell, I thought. This was even harder than I'd expected. "My healing was slowed, my sweet," I gasped, "by all the noises I must endure."

  "Noises?"

  "The singing of the fish," I said. "The sounds of an ordinary city I could bear quite easily, but the sad wail of men and women made fish makes my heart break anew each evening."

  She was silent for a moment, while I hoped she was thinking over my comment and feared she was beginning to suspect me. Her witch-magic, I thought, did not give her the ability to touch another mind, or she would have long since realized the slave was dead, but if I al­ ready seemed 'different' I would not be able to stall her much more.

  "All right, then, my sweet," s
he said in abrupt decision. "Anything to make you more comfortable. I'll turn the fish back to themselves."

  The moon was brightening, and I could see the witch return to the materials she had brought with her to the garden. I wondered briefly if the dark powers she commanded through fire and potions might be playing with her, allowing her as a subtle and demonical form of torture to think her lover was still alive.

  She poured some liquid into a dish, murmured low words over it until silver sparks cascaded upwards, then cried aloud and clapped her hands. The ground shifted below us, from the bottom of the hill came a massive roaring of water, and abruptly the city rose again from the bay.

  I lay flat until the earth stopped moving. I didn't think anybody in the west had command of forces like this. When I lifted my head again it was to hear voices, human voices, babbling together in surprise and joy. Out the far side of the pavilion, I saw lights flicking on in the city below the garden. The emir would have quite a shock the next time he visited his fish pond. The prince's people were people once again.

  The witch did not give me time to appreciate my success. "Are you satisfied now, dearest one?" she asked from just outside the pavilion.

  "Thank you, my own, that is much better. But there is still another noise which has long hindered my healing."

  "And what is that?"

  I was tempted for a moment to leave the prince turned half to stone. But if Joachim didn't feel he could judge eastern priests, I shouldn't judge someone for murdering his wife's lover—especially since in the last two years he had been punished cruelly. "It is the prince, your husband," I said. "His moans and cries at night keep me from healing sleep, and even in the day I feel so much for his pain that I am almost mad."

  "Then he shall be restored as well," she said comfortingly. Again she poured liquid in a dish and spoke words over it. This time, when the silver sparks rose and she clapped her hands, the stone of the prince's lower half split with a crack, and he slowly rose to his feet.

  "But now I can bear it no longer, dearest slave!" she cried and rushed into the pavilion before I could stop her. She seized me wildly and pulled me toward her.

  We both froze as the white moonlight fell on my face. The witch slowly pushed herself backwards. "You— You are not—" But before she could blast me with magic, she turned and saw the prince behind her.

  I had forgotten he still, after two years, held the sword with which he had killed the slave. But he had not forgotten. He roared almost as loudly as the waters pouring from the streets of his city and rushed at his wife. She shrieked and fled, kicking over her magic bowls and potions as she went. As I crept, trembling, out of the pavilion, I could hear their cries retreating in the distance.

  A shadow was between me and the moon. I looked up and saw the Ifrit descending into the garden. He broke several flower bushes with his gigantic feet as he landed.

  "Not bad, little mage," he said with a chuckle. "You have freed the ensorcelled city. I think I have tested you enough to provide plenty of amusement and can start now on the rest of your friends."

  "What about the prince of this city? Is he going to kill his wife?"

  "As God wills, so it happens," said the Ifrit without interest. "We could follow them, or would you rather have me find those other humans you were with when I first saw you?"

  "My friends, of course." At this point, I no longer cared whether the prince killed his witch wife or she turned him to stone again—or even whether they made peace with each other. "But first, could you help me bury this body?"

  The Ifrit scraped a deep hole under the bushes with a finger, and I lowered the slave into it. "He is dead, isn't he?" I asked in sudden doubt.

  "Of course," said the Ifrit in surprise. "He's been dead since the first day after the prince attacked him. I thought all you humans knew how easily you die. It must be strange," he added thought­ fully, pushing the dirt over the body.

  IV

  We flew back that night to the circular valley. Joachim and the Ifrit's wife seemed to be getting along very well. "The Ifrit's still testing me," I told him. "Today I managed to trick a witch into turning some fish she had ensorcelled back into people," but I said no more. The Ifrit still refused to tell us anything about the others.

  But at dawn he snatched Joachim and me up and out of sleep, setting each of us on a shoulder, and flew straight upwards while we were still halfway between dream and a waking that seemed more desperately unreal than any dream.

  "I think I remember now where I put your friends," he said in a low rumble and reached out his arm. I had just gotten my eyes properly open when the dawn sky around us snapped, flared, and turned over.

  I clung wildly to the Ifrit's hair, my eyes clamped shut. Every angle felt upside down. But in a moment the world straightened out again. As we had flown straight up, we now descended, until we hovered a short distance above the valley floor. Directly below us and immediately on the defensive was the rest of our party from Yurt.

  "Put down your swords," Joachim called. "This Ifrit will not harm us."

  I doubted this myself, but knew that the most Hugo could have accomplished by sticking his sword into the Ifrit's foot would have been all of our immediate deaths.

  They were camped at a small date-palm oasis which I could have sworn was not in the valley a few minutes ago. Even the horses were there, except for Whirlwind.

  "Where have you been?" I gasped to Ascelin, and he to us, as the Ifrit set the chaplain and me down. They all looked weary but unharmed.

  "Here in the valley," we all answered together. I glanced up at the Ifrit, who stood watching and smiling, his arms crossed. I knew perfectly well the others had not been here. But then there was now no sign of the Ifrit's wife, though we could not have flown a quarter mile of horizontal distance since we left her. It was as though the Ifrit's magic allowed more than one reality to exist simultaneously within this valley.

  There was no time to explore the implications of this, to wonder if the Wadi Harhammi was here too somewhere, hidden by the Ifrit's magic. "The Ifrit's taken my magical abilities from me," I said. "I can't even tell what's real anymore."

  "No magic?" said Dominic. "This is going to make it harder." He turned his ruby ring thoughtfully on his finger. It still pulsed slowly with light. "There's been no sign of the boy and my stallion. We hadn't even seen the Ifrit again since he first appeared and we were whirled through the air to this oasis. But we hoped that if we stayed here in the valley you'd be able to locate us again if you were still alive."

  "Do you think your friends are ready for their tests, little wizard?" called the Ifrit to me.

  "I'm ready to ask you if you know what happened to my father!" Hugo shouted back.

  "He's probably dead, whoever he was," said the Ifrit with a shrug. "Most humans are dead, sooner or later."

  Hugo whipped out his sword again. I could have stopped him if I still had my magic, but ordinary human reflexes were too slow. Before I could reach him he lunged forward and drove his sword into the spot where the Ifrit's leg had been a second before.

  "None of that!" cried the Ifrit angrily, putting his foot back down and picking Hugo up by the back of the neck. "I may be immortal, but I bleed the same as any of God's creation!"

  Hugo kicked and struggled and tried to swing around to stab at the hand that held him. The Ifrit frowned. "You seem to want to fight. Maybe that should be your test. But who should I have you fight? Not me, because I'd crush you at once, and that would only be amusing for a few seconds."

  This stopped Hugo's struggles for the moment.

  "I know!" said the Ifrit happily. "You can fight another human. How about— Hmmm. How about this one?" He seized Ascelin with the other hand.

  The prince hung, dignified, from the Ifrit's grip on the back of his shirt. "We could give a demonstration of sword work for your amusement if you like."

  "No," said the Ifrit, peering at him with a frown. "That would not be amusing enough. I know! I'll have you fi
ght to the death."

  He set Hugo and Ascelin down, and they stood uncertainly, their hands on their hilts. "Go ahead!" said the Ifrit impatiently. "This will be your chance to entertain me. I want to see what humans do when they are fighting for their lives."

  They glanced questioningly at King Haimeric and at me. "Go ahead and fence," I said slowly, hoping desperately that a good sword fight would satisfy the Ifrit, that he was not serious about making them fight to the death.

  They took off their goat's-hair robes and slid their shields onto their arms. Hugo removed his earring, and they both tied back their hair before strapping on their helmets. Only their eyes showed as they exchanged the ritual taps of the sword that begin a tournament duel. They took a few moments to get the feel of the sandy surface, circling each other slowly, then Hugo suddenly lashed out and landed a blow on Ascelin's shield.

  I had often seen Hugo practicing his sword work, but could never remember having seen Ascelin in the tournament ring. He was extremely good. He had all the moves, the sudden thrusts, the ability to catch a sword either on his own sword or his shield, the quick turn to avoid a blow. When they had fought for ten minutes he was still not even breathing hard. Hugo didn't have anything like Ascelin's height or experience, but he was twenty years younger and even quicker.

  I'd never been trained in sword work myself, yet I could still appreciate how they managed to rain an impressive number of blows on each other, and with sharp swords at that, without ever hurting the other. Their shields rang again and again, and their armor flashed in the sun. Even tournament sword fighting was intended to make the other fighter drop his blade and yield, but these two could have been engaged in a dance, ready to keep on indefinitely.

  "Stop!" shouted the Ifrit and thrust a fist into the sand between them. They stopped.

  "You aren't really fighting," he said.

  Hugo pulled off his helmet and mopped his brow. "I'll fight harder if you'll help me find my father, and if he's still alive."