“They are to be pitied,” a woman named Vreia said. “They are more lost than other beings that we have known of. We of the Scholardom have watched them for centuries, waiting until we can aid them.”
“Aid them?” Magpie asked. “What for? They seem happy.”
“They are,” Rin said, stamping a hoof. “They are the most harmless of creatures. We Windmanes pay little attention to them. They never attack us. They hardly seem to know that we are here. In fact, they seldom leave their small hunting grounds. Their territory is no more than three runs by two. A good thing that the area is very fertile, and gives them good forage and hunting.”
“One might even say that it was designed for them,” Lakanta said with a sharp nod. “I’ve seen them before on my travels once in a while peeking through the trees. This is not far off my usual trade route. They seem very much at home here. They are very protective of that cave of theirs, though no one else of sense would ever want to live here.”
“That is precisely the point,” Sharhava said. “These are not natural beings. Our annals show that they did not exist in ancient days. Their image is not among the many inscribed upon the walls of the Universities or the Bestiaries, or the Caves of the Beginning of Time. The wizards you name the Shining Ones made them.”
“Why?” Magpie asked. “Do you have any idea what was their purpose?”
“For the same reason the Creators made so many other beings,” Loisan growled. “Because they were curious. Because they wanted to. It is unconscionable to meddle with the Mother’s designs.”
“Hmph!” Rin said. She stamped a hoof. “I find that the Creators did good work.”
The knights paid no attention to her comment.
“They are not normal,” Vreia said. “Look how they play with sticks, for no purpose.”
A group of smaller, slimmer beasts were indeed sitting around a pile of sticks, but not purposelessly. They used their quick hands to sort through the heap, which was constantly being added to by other workers, for so Magpie might name them, in search of the straightest twigs with a hook or crotchet on the end. When they had selected a stick for shape, they snapped or chewed it to length, approximately the distance from the sole of one of their leathery feet to the hair-covered knee, then peeled off the bark until the smooth, pale wood was exposed. A heap of these sharp, hooked sticks lay to one side. When one was finished, it was added to the pile. When the pile reached a certain height, one of the workers gathered it up and brought it to the leader, who sat by himself underneath a tree. He inspected each stick, discarding a few but keeping the others in neat rows.
“They seem very normal to me,” Tildi said, venturing an opinion. Magpie grinned at her. She had been so frightened since she had tried to get help from that group of field hands. The knights’ rough treatment had put a lid on her practical and outgoing personality. He hated to see her stifled by Sharhava and her ilk.
“To themselves, I am sure that they are,” he said. Tildi gave him a wavery smile.
“You have not seen as many of their errors as we have,” Auric said, not unkindly. He, too, seemed now to have spent enough time with Tildi to see through the horror of “anathema,” though a knight would almost certainly have gone into exile rather than admit it. “We have found suffering beings in out-of-the-way places, clinging to marginal existence, and all because not enough thought went into their makeup. Yet they continue to live and to breed. It is wrong. They must not suffer further.”
“Suffer?” Lakanta asked. “They don’t appear to be suffering.”
“You cannot see it as we have. To be mutilated as these creatures have been must weigh heavily upon their souls. At last, we are able to remedy this wrong.” He bestowed a paternal smile upon Tildi.
Magpie’s heart thumped in his chest.
“What are you going to do?”
“Correct the problem. The Creators no doubt realized what a terrible mistake they had made by inflicting change upon so many beings. Yet, they were as mortal as we. They had not time to restore their natural shape to all the things they had changed before Father Time claimed them.”
“Are you certain?” Magpie asked. “The Shining Ones seem to have gone to a great deal of trouble to make this habitation everything that these lovely beasts need to exist independently forever.”
“I won’t argue with you,” Sharhava said. “If you think they are so harmless, watch now!”
From the mouth of the cave, two of the beasts came running. They fell down before the leader and launched into a litany of grunting and moaning. The chief rose to his feet and let out a loud cry. The remaining adults dropped what they were doing. Most of them followed the chief’s ululations to the big tree. A few of the others, mostly smaller females, gathered up the children and made them take hold of a long vine that had been tied in a circle.
“What are they doing? Is it a ritual?” Lakanta asked.
“They are afraid of the creatures in the cave,” Vreia said. “I studied them for two years during my postulancy. Watch and see.”
The beasts were mustering together now. No sign of the placid, peaceful mien they had shown. They were wild-eyed, showing sharpened teeth. The fur at the back of their necks stood out in a ridge. They grabbed up the hooked sticks and thrust them into the air, hooting like a pipe organ out of tune. The smaller adults clustered around them, trilling encouragement. The chief, stick hoisted on high, pushed his way through them and led them toward the cave.
He had not quite reached it when something boiled out of it like a pot overflowing. Green tendrils, like those of a plant crossed with a sea monster, rolled across the ground, flicking and curling back upon themselves. Magpie wondered what kind of a land monster had boneless, muscular limbs like that. They clustered together like a school of eels, undulating in a hypnotic pattern. It made them look like one huge monster.
“Horrible!” Tildi exclaimed. “What are they?”
“A cave snake of some kind,” Vreia said. “Fairly harmless, or so we believe.”
“It is not a cave snake,” Serafina said, her brow furrowed. “Look at the rune it bears! It is connected to the earth in some way. These are roots feeling upward from the core of Alada.”
“Impossible!” Vreia said. “They are just some kind of animal. The hairy ones are afraid of them.”
“I have never seen their like in all my life,” Teryn said hoarsely. Beside her, Morag nodded agreement. He was slack-jawed with astonishment.
Vreia pointed. “Watch. They are fearsome hunters.”
The beasts did not let the cave snakes progress farther than a few yards. They leaped upon the tendrils and began stabbing at them with the sticks. The tendril-monsters fought fiercely back, throwing loops around the bodies or necks of the beasts, hoping to strangle their opponents. Undeterred, the beasts went to one another’s defense, tearing with their teeth or blunt claws until their fellows dropped free and lay on the ground panting. As soon as they got their breath back they continued to stab, getting covered with green goo. When one of the hairy beasts got a stick hooked firmly into the heart of a thick pseudopod, it yanked upward. A red vein or tendon surfaced through the mass of fibrous tissue. The beast leaned over and chewed on it. Wine-red liquid spouted up around its face. Magpie recoiled at the sight, imagining how horrible it must taste. Inbecca, beside him, was as green as the tendrils. The coiling snake dropped limply to the ground. The beast let out a howl of triumph and leaped upon another pseudopod.
Sticks and teeth were not their only weapons. Three of the older beasts stood behind the fighters. Each time another cluster of tendrils started out of the cave and attempted to spread out to the sides, evading the small army, they raised their hands and pointed their palms at them. The clusters recoiled. Magpie felt his jaw drop. They were using magic! They were able to herd the monsters in the direction they wished them to move. These were not ordinary animals, as the Scholardom kept insisting, not when they could use spells.
“We should aid the
m,” he said, starting to rise.
“They can manage,” Vreia said.
“Stay where you are, Prince,” Loisan said. “I’ll not hesitate to bind you or any of your friends if you interfere. You are an observer only.”
Quelling his impatience, Magpie crouched in his place.
As abruptly as it had begun, the battle ended. The few moving tendrils snapped and swayed to get away from the beasts. Sensing victory, the chief stood up and let out his musical “hoot hoot.”
The others let go of their prey and jumped back. The tendrils withdrew hastily into the cave mouth, dragging the lank limbs behind. The beasts howled and danced, celebrating. The older ones turned their power upon the recoiling pseudopods, hastening them away. Some of the beasts ran after the limbs, threatening them with their sticks, or even throwing their weapons after them. In a moment, the monster had retreated so far into the cave that Magpie could no longer see it at all. The beasts bumped shoulders and elbows, grinning and hooting happily. The smaller females ran to the heaps of fruit and brought it to the combatants. Hungrily, the warriors bit into the yellow rinds, revealing brilliant pink, juicy flesh. They ate and drank and called to one another across the glade. If they had been human, this would have been the time for swapping tales of their prowess and bravery and, no doubt, a few lies. The beast wizards tottered carefully to fallen logs or large stones and settled down upon them with the weariness of elders who had exhausted their strength. The young females brought them fruit with an attitude of respect. The chief received the most plentiful offerings of fruit and red seeds, which he shared with fighters whom Magpie had observed defeating the most of the enemy. He felt glad for them all. They had been valiant.
“What heroes!” he said to Inbecca. “By Time and Nature, I am glad we came to see these people. They are amazing. I shall sing of them from one end of the land to the other.”
Sharhava gathered herself up and addressed her knights.
“Brothers and sisters, the time is now! We strike while they are too tired to fight us.”
“Fight?” Magpie echoed, springing to his feet. “You must not harm these beings. They deserve to be left alone.”
“We intend to do what is best for them, Prince,” Sharhava said placidly. “It will not harm them at all. It will make them normal.” She nodded past him. Magpie felt strong hands take his arms and a knife tip touch the side of his neck. By the sounds of breath on the back of his head, there were two guards holding him. “You will stay out of the way. I do not wish your interference. Lar Inbecca! Your duty.”
“Inbecca, you can’t participate in this,” Magpie said urgently. He held out his hand to her. The knife blade poked a little farther into his flesh. He let it drop. “Inbecca!”
She met his eyes for a moment, then bowed her head and walked away from him hastily.
“I must obey,” she said.
“Inbecca!”
She didn’t look up, but her shoulders slumped beneath her habit. Magpie leaned forward to go after her, but the knife tip changed position, pricking a spot just over his collarbone. He clenched his hands in frustration.
The other knights spread out among the furry beings. The beasts showed no fear of them at all. They were openly curious, patting an arm or a leg as one of the humans walked by them. The server females even offered them fruit. The knights regarded them coolly. Magpie decided they were observing the beasts, but not in a way that a naturalist would.
His blood chilled in his veins. They were looking for weaknesses.
He leaned over to Serafina, who sat nearby, watching both knights and natives with an air of curiosity.
“I believe they mean mischief,” he said. “Don’t let anything happen.”
“What do you fear?” Serafina asked.
“Slaughter,” Magpie said. He felt for the knife in his belt, wishing that the knights had not taken away his sword. The men flanking him said nothing, either to confirm or deny.
Children followed the knights as they walked between them. They tried to get the human’s attention, smiling and performing antics. Magpie smiled at them, but when the children tried to approach, his guards thrust them back roughly.
“Stop that!” he said. “They don’t deserve your ill treatment.”
The children didn’t take offense from the guards’ shoves. Instead, they turned their regard upon Tildi. The sight of the smallfolk girl made them break out in musical trills and coos. Tildi smiled shyly at them. The little ones, encouraged by a friendly face, hurried to meet her, but her guardians moved toward them threateningly. The children scattered, laughing, unafraid of the armored men. They regrouped behind Rin, whom they appeared to regard as a safe ally. Centaurs must have been a familiar sight, as their land was not far away.
Shortly, Sharhava called the knights together. “Have you made your study?”
“Aye,” the group said. Inbecca’s hesitant tone came a beat behind the others.
“Are they more human or animal?”
“Animal.”
“Animal.”
“Human,” said Follet. The others looked at him. He shrugged. “That is my analysis, Abbess.”
“Lar Inbecca?”
Magpie bent his eye upon her, as if he could sway her by pure thought to spare the beasts from whatever the knights had in mind. She didn’t look at him.
“I . . . I don’t really know. They seem intelligent, though they don’t speak.”
Sharhava frowned at her. “The rest of you?”
“Animal,” the others agreed.
“Then we are agreed. I also say animal, therefore we shall work in concert. Together, now. Concentrate. These creatures will be returned to their blessed state in nature. Let us pray, brethren.”
The knights held up their hands and touched them palm to palm with the ones who stood nearest to them, arm over arm with their fellows, until they formed an intricate knot of humans with Sharhava at the center. They closed their eyes and began to intone softly. Beside Magpie, the guards, too, began to chant. He listened but he could not distinguish what they were saying.
“Can they do anything?” Magpie demanded of Serafina, who sat a few paces away. “They haven’t got any magic of their own.”
“I . . . yes, it is possible. They have studied the wherefore for centuries. Now they have the means to execute their will. You don’t believe they mean to use the book’s power . . . ?”
“Yes!” Magpie said. That was it. The beasts were people. They weren’t animals, not in the sense of a deer or a dog. If they lacked a language, they still had culture and intelligence. Whatever Sharhava had in mind, he knew it would be the end of their existence.
The worst came true before he had had a chance to imagine it. Before his eyes, he saw the runes upon the beasts’ bodies begin to change. Lines were being erased as if they were being scraped from parchment with a knife blade. Behind the golden runes, the beasts’ bodies were twisting and altering. Soon, their history would be wrenched away from them, like a book the adults deigned too difficult for them to handle.
Magpie leaped up. His startled guards made a grab for him, but he darted back and forth, eluding them light-footed. Their armor kept them from being able to move as swiftly as he. Magpie ducked between them, leaving them clutching each other instead. All he could think of was stopping the power at the source. He ran for Tildi.
The smallfolk girl was watching the knights with fear in her big brown eyes. Magpie dodged in between her two watchers and picked her up, snatching the tether out of the hands of the larger man. She weighed less than a child. With her in his arms, he fled toward the road. The horses were there. He could cut one loose and be on his way south. To Olen. Yes, he must take her to Olen.
“No!” Tildi cried. “Take me back! Please. They will destroy my home! They want to hurt my people.”
“Call the book to you,” he pleaded. “Don’t let them harm these people. I will help you, I swear it. Stop them.”
“I don’t know what to d
o,” Tildi said.
“You are a wizard,” Magpie said desperately. He felt the heat of her skin sear his, but he did not slacken his run. “Stop what they are doing! Please, Tildi. Counter their spell!”
The smallfolk girl put her hands on his, unaware of the pain she caused him. “I don’t know any counterspells. I haven’t learned that much yet. Please, have pity.”
He didn’t reply. All he could see in his mind’s eye was the confused looks on the faces of the beasts.
He must get the book far enough away that it no longer cast the runes on the beasts, so Sharhava’s plan would be foiled. How far must he go? How far? He put his hand over Tildi’s head to shield her from the branches that swung toward his face. They raked his cheeks. Runes glowing in the trees taunted him. How would he know when he was far enough away?
“Do what you can,” he said. “I will help you protect the smallfolk, in any way I can, I promise, only stop them!”
“I can’t stop them,” Tildi said. The great scroll flew beside them like a hunting hound. “It is already too late. I heard it happen. Take me back. The Quarters are in danger!”
Crashing noises behind him told Magpie that the knights had recovered from their surprise and were in pursuit. The noises drew closer. Something lashed the side of his leg. He hissed at the pain. Suddenly his ankles slapped together. He tried to save himself, but he couldn’t. He fell flat on his chest among rough-skinned roots and creepers. Tildi went flying out of his arms toward an immense tree trunk. Magpie scrambled to his knees, hoping to save her.
It was too late, but not for the reason he feared. Tildi had not crashed into the tree. She hovered several feet in the air, the book in her arms. She had saved herself by magic. The guards clustered around both of them, swords pointed at their heads. Tildi waited obediently until the larger knight took her waist leash and followed his curt nod, walking on nothing between the big men.
A Forthcoming Wizard Page 13
