Warlock and Son wisoh-12

by Christopher Stasheff

  "It doth tug at me," Magnus admitted, "yet it doth repel me, too. I would be loathe to set foot upon it."

  "I should be glad to hear thee say so." But the lady didn't say she was; she only waved a hand, and the picture drew in on itself until it was obscured by the knot of smoke again. Another gesture, and it opened once more, but was filled with haze this time. Magnus peered through the mist, but could only vaguely discern the form of a lake. "What pond is that?"

  "Say rather, what form it hath." Her other hand dropped suddenly so that both were now touching his brow, and Magnus found his mind strangely turning. He could not remember how he had come to be here, nor on whose lap his head lay-but he was very glad to have it so. "Look keenly," the lady said. "Look keenly at the lake, and let thy mind show us its form."

  "Why so?" But even as Magnus looked, the haze dispersed, revealing a body of clear blue water, so lucid that he could see even the pebbles at its center, for sunlight filled all the world about it, even the waters themselves, and made the depths luminous. The verge about it was soft green grass, dappled with flowers in many hues.

  "Ah," the lady breathed. "Thus did it seem to thine heart, so short a time agone." Her hand moved on his forehead, and suddenly, Magnus remembered following his father into the forest, arguing with him, and going alone to meet the hag in the tower, the lady at the church door, the girl in the cult village, and this Queen of Elfland, as she styled herself. As he remembered, the sky in the picture grew cloudy, the flowers curled up and hid their faces, and the waters took on a dark green hue, no longer clear, hiding something in their depths-and there was a feeling of danger, of something threatening that hid below the surface. "What change is this?" Magnus gasped.

  "The change is in thee," the lady said, "for when first this pond thou didst see, I had cleared the memory of this past week from thy mind; yet now I have restored it-and thine image of the unknown pond hath changed."

  Magnus frowned. "Why, how should this be? And what should it signify?"

  But the lady only waved her hand, and the picture drew in on itself, whirling as a knot of smoke, then blossomed out again, into a bright, fair road strewn with golden sand, bordered by wands adorned with gaily colored pennons, about which twined flowers of every hue and tint. The road wound back and forth over a rolling landscape into a distance that glittered and promised ... what?

  There was a beauty to it that was alien somehow, yet immensely beguiling. "What track is that?" Magnus breathed. "That," the lady said, "is the road to fair Elfland, whither thou and I shall ride."

  Magnus shivered with a sudden thrill and rose to his feet in a single smooth motion. "Why, then, let us ride, milady! How quickly can we come thereto?"

  She smiled up at him, amused. "Art thou so keen, then? Nay, if so, thou art bound most truly, and 'tis thyself hast forged the bonds."

  "Right willingly," he assured her. "Nay, gladly would I pass all my days in that fair land."

  "Come, then," the lady said, "mount up behind me-for my horse is rested, and ready to flee again. She hath need of only a few minutes' respite in a world's air, and will bear us now to Elfland."

  Magnus came back and mounted behind her. "Is this world like to a stepping stone in the Void, then?"

  The horse sprang into the picture, and Magnus cried out in alarm, then stared in wonder-for as they passed through the ring of smoke, the enchanted landscape spread out on both sides of him, and the bright pennons pointed the way. Looking behind, he saw the Void through the frame of smoke, closing in about the circle of grass and trees as the worldlet shrank behind. Then the smoke swirled in to hide the view, dissipated, and was gone, leaving only the clear blue sky of Tir Chlis above them. " 'Twas not a stepping stone," he breathed.

  "Nay," she said. "Say rather, an island in the stream, a way station for a weary traveller-yet one that doth hold the gates to three worlds, for she who doth possess the key."

  Magnus shuddered. "I'd liefer not meet the `she' who doth hold the keys to the gate to Hell."

  "Yet thou hast," the faerie queen said softly. "Thou hast met her, in several guises-but hast not yet determined to walk through the portal."

  "Not thyself!" Magnus cried, appalled.

  "Even as thou sayest," she confirmed. "'Tis not myself. Yet neither am I she who might speed thee on the road to Heaven."

  Magnus thought that over for a few minutes, then said, "I'd as lief not meet her, as the other."

  "Granted," the faerie queen purred. "Thou hast not." They rode into the east, and the day dimmed about them with alarming suddenness-alarming, until Magnus realized that the faerie horse galloped so quickly that its velocity, added to the rotation of the planet, was bringing night on far more quickly than he had expected. He was seized by a sudden sense of deja vu-the feeling that he had been through this event before. He realized its source, of course-for he had come to Tir Chlis once before indeed, though he had been only eight at the time, scurrying along beside his mother and father, guarding his sister and little brother. It was all as he had remembered, as he had seen it then and in his dreams a hundred times since-the velvet sky, the flickering stars, the jeweled grass. It lacked only the silver-learned wood, for they were coming into rolling land, without a tree in sight. The sunset faded, and stars pricked the indigo dome above.

  Their image was reflected on the plain below, as dozens of lights appeared.

  "What lamps are these?" Magnus asked, awed.

  "These are the torches of the elven people," the lady explained, "that do light them in their midnight revels. Wilt thou now join our promenade?"

  "Aye, gladly!" Magnus sprang off the horse.

  "And gladly shall we dance. But, my wizard, thou must needs hold thy tongue, no matter how strange or wondrous or-aye, dire-the sights that you may see. Thou must needs be mute, responding not to any question, nor to any challenge or gibe, no matter how small, or thou wilt no longer be within my protection, and may be parted from me-and shouldst thou chance to speak any word, thou wilt never come again to thine ain country."

  "Small loss," Magnus breathed, his eyes upon her, "when so wondrous fair a being as thou art, is ever near to me." The lady may have blushed; at the least, she turned away, and went on. "Now, when thou dost come to our court, young man, see that thou dost comport thyself as a gracious, well-bred, and learned young man ought."

  "I have never claimed to be learned," Magnus murmured. "Naetheless, by the common mortal standard, thou art so. And bow for answer, and smile fairly, for they will question thee, one and all. Yet speak no word, for thou must needs answer none but me."

  "Shall I not be judged a rude and churlish fellow, then? And shall they not think the less of thee for having me in thy service?"

  "Nay, for they know this game, and there be not a few of them do hope to gain a servitor thereby. Yet an thou dost hold thy tongue, they will by and by come to question me. Then will I give them answer, having proved thy fidelity, and tell them that I got thee at the Eildon tree."

  Magnus remembered the large, branching tree with the huge leaves under which he had sat to brood, then to commiserate with Albertus. "I had thought it a common willow, though a great one. What doth that tree signify?"

  "There are in every world a few like to it, that do respond to each of their fellows in all other worlds, and thereby serve as gateways and anchors for roads through the Void."

  Analogues, Magnus realized-a few trees that had bred from the same ancestors, in the same locations in each universe. But surely there had to be more than a few in each world?

  Perhaps not, considering the multiplicity of universes, and the factors of chance in environment and chromosomes, compounding one upon another geometrically with each generation. For a moment, he had a brief notion of the magnitude of the variables, and his brain reeled. It was almost impossible that any one individual would be duplicated in more than a few world-lines, let alone one so distant that its natural principles resembled magic.

  But he was just such an ind
ividual himself-he, and Albertus.

  For a moment, he shrank from the thought that there might be more of them-of him-in other universes, some of which he might not even have been able to imagine. The notion was startling, but intriguing-it tickled at his thoughts as a possible explanation for something he couldn't identify....

  But the Faerie Folk were coming out to meet them, dancing to the music of harps-tall, slender men of whipcord and sinew with long swords at their hips, turquoise eyes, wildly blowing hair; women dancing in gowns that glittered in every extravagant shape and form, women like the Queen, impossibly slender, impossibly voluptuous, with billows of fair, almost silver, hair, and huge eyes that glowed as cats' eyes do.

  "Why, how is this?" cried one of the men. "What hath our proud lady caught this day?"

  "Aye!" said another, hand on his sword hilt. "What art thou, mortal?"

  "He is but a thing of no consequence," a third said with a languid wave.

  Indignation surged, and Magnus opened his lips to answer. . . .

  The whole crowd leaned forward, lips parted, eyes avid. Magnus remembered the Queen's injunction, and bit off the words before they formed.

  The Faerie Folk leaned back, mouths tightening with disappointment.

  Magnus glanced up at the lady and found her looking down at him with a small smile of amused approval.

  "Nay, handsome fellow!" A beautiful woman who looked almost new to life compared to the ageless youthfulness of the others, swayed toward Magnus, eyes half closed. "I do not wonder at thy taking, for thou art truly comely. Wilt thou withhold thy favors from all but one alone? Or wilt thou not bestow thy blessings on others who would welcome thee?" She leaned close, very close, and she was so tall that her lips were only a few inches below his. Almost without willing it, he found his eyes gazing deeply into hers, his head lowering, lips parting....

  "Come, thou must give answer," she breathed. "Thou must needs say if thou wouldst have me or no." And she drew back just a little.

  Again, the words were on the tip of Magnus's tongue-a gallant reply that, fair though she was, he must needs be loyal to his mistress. But the thought of the Queen made him hesitate, remembering her injunctions; whatever she had bade him do or not do, he would devoutly heed. So he tried to show his apology and regret in his look, giving the lovely lass a sad smile and a shake of the head. She drew back with a hiss, though more of excitment than of anger. She looked up to the Queen. "Nay, Majesty, when thou dost tire of this one, thou must needs let me have him to toy with."

  The term "toy" bothered Magnus in some vague way that he couldn't identify.

  " 'Tis for him to give of himself, not me," the Queen retorted, and the whole throng burst into laughter. Magnus frowned about at them all, wondering at the nature of the jest.

  Laughing, they dispersed, turning away to their pastimes, pausing for a drink while the faery harpers took up their instruments again. Then they began to play, and the dancing resumed.

  "Take, my wizard."

  Magnus turned away from the dancing and saw the Queen holding down garments for him.

  "Take off thy gross and palpable garments," she said, "and don the robes of Faerie."

  Magnus took the garments, glancing quickly from side to side, but could see nothing resembling an enclosed space, not even a grove.

  "Thou hast no need of a tiring house," she admonished. "Come, take off thy mortal dross; no folk of Faerie fear to be seen in the glory of their naked skin."

  His was scarcely glorious, Magnus thought-but he overcame his reluctance with remarkable ease, and stripped off his clothes, though he did feel immensely exposed. The faerie queen's eyes sparkled as she watched him, but she made no comment.

  Magnus put on the hose rather quickly, but was somewhat disconcerted to discover they were little more than leggings. He pulled the tunic on, and found it to be more of a coat, of good, dark broadcloth-something less than his own brocade doublet, but cooler, too. He slipped his feet into the shoes-soft and supple soles, a very limber leather, with uppers that were green velvet.

  "Thou art right handsome, when comely clad." The Queen reached down a hand to Magnus. "Come, aid me to alight, that I may tread the measure."

  Magnus reached up, and she took his hand to steady herself as she dropped, feather-light, to the ground. Then, still holding his hand, she led him away to the ring. Turning about, she led him through the measure. He was about to protest that he did not know her dances, when he found that his shoes were guiding him through the steps, even taking the lead, with a stately deliberation that showed he knew them intimately.

  But that stately deliberation became less and less, as the music began to beat faster and faster. Magnus was amazed to find that his feet kept pace with the increase of the tempo, swirling about and about, faster and faster, until only the Queen was clear in his vision, rotating in the center as he capered madly about her, all others only a blur of colors and faces behind her in the moonlight, churning through their own madcap dance, weaving about as he revolved around their queen. And the two of them swung about the musicians in the circle of the ring, faster and faster, Magnus giddy and delighted, feeling the sensations rising through his legs, up past his knees into his thighs, even as his delight in the dance seemed to coalesce, drawing together into an actual physical thrilling in the center of his abdomen, then pushing lower, as the Queen became not only the center of his vision but also the totality of it, her face seeming to be all that he could see, her lips growing more deeply red as they parted with excitement, her eyes seeming to swell, to absorb him....

  A shout and a clash, a jarring of discords, and the music fell apart. The Faerie Folk keened in high anger, and the men whirled toward something that had come into their center. Magnus turned with them, shouting in fury, instantly enraged at whatever had stopped the progress of ecstasy, to confront ...

  Himself.

  Or it might just as well have been himself-tall and gaunt, lantern jawed and muscular, cold steel glittering in his hand in the shape of a long and naked blade, and the faerie men shied away with oaths of anger.

  Magnus, though, had no need to fear a steel sword any more than any other weapon, and strode forward to meet the interloper, hand slapping toward his own hilt ...

  And finding it gone.

  Of course; it was with the clothes he had discarded in favor of the elven garments. For an instant, he felt terribly vulnerable; then anger surged, and he remembered the training in combat his father had drilled him in so long, and so often. He strode toward the sword with only a little fear, glaring at the interloper; yet his spirit quailed oddly at the feeling that he should know this man, this mirror image of himself, whose eyes sparked with his own anger, and whose lips parted to say:

  "Thou hast stolen my place."

  Magnus stopped, rooted to the spot, galvanized.

  "Get thee hence!" the doppelganger snapped. "Is't not enough for thee that thou must needs wear my face and body? Must thou also needs steal my doom?"

  Magnus found his voice. "I have stolen naught."

  "That hast ta'en my fate! For she who should have ta'en me, took thee instead!"

  "But dost thou not see!" cried a voice at his side. Magnus looked down, and was shocked to see Gregory standing by the doppelganger, calling up to him, imploring. "Didst thou not see what a fool she had made of him? Didst thou not see how he capered at her whim, how she dressed him in these foolish rags, how she stripped him of his sword?"

  "What matter these?" the doppelganger grated. "She gave him pleasure, she gave him delight! Nay, even more, and greatly more-she gave him forgetfulness, that he might think no more of what he might have been but had not become, that he might go unmindful of the ruin of his life!"

  "Thy life is no ruin, and thou hast in no way failed!"

  "Failed to win glory, in mine own name? Failed to hew out a place of mine own? Failed to find love? Most surely I have failed in all of these!"

  "Thou art Albertus," Magnus whispered. "A
nd this lad is not my brother Gregory, but thy sib Vidor!"

  "Even so," the doppelganger grated. "Get thee back to thine own world, find thine own place, and leave me to mine!"

  Vidor looked up at Albertus, pleading. "I would not have him harmed-yet I would not see thee in bondage, neither. Canst thou not see what he doth not? Canst thou not see thou shalt be demeaned, a lord's heir debased to the role of a footman? Hast thou no pride?"

  Magnus discovered, to his dismay, that he had not. Small wonder that Albertus had none, either.

  "Thou shalt not take him from me." The Queen was there, slipping between himself and Albertus, hiding Vidor from his gaze, and her eyes were all that he could see again, her eyes with her face about them. "I have told thee aforetime, 'tis thine own yearning that doth hold thee in my service. Dost thou not still wish it?" She swayed closer, eyes halfclosing. "Nay, if thou hast doubts, thou must needs kiss my mouth-yet if thou wilt partake of the embrace of my lips, thou must not miss my fair body, hips, breasts, and thighsaye, all of me, all shall be given thee, that thou mayest say thou hast lain with a lady of Faerie." Close, so close, and her lips still parted from her words, parting more, closing with his....

  A cry of agony, almost despair-then something slammed into him, knocked him rolling. Magnus swung up to his feet with a roar of anger, and saw himself fastened deeply to the faerie queen mouth to mouth, arms coming up about one another, hip pressing to hip, bodies moving to a music that only they could hear ...

  ...a music that began to sound where others could hear it, as the faerie musicians began their melody, taking their rhythm from the embracing couple before them, and all about, faerie men and women paired up to imitate their actions.

  "She careth not," Magnus whispered, his anger turned to bitter despair. "She careth not whose lips she doth press, whose body she doth caress, whether it be his or mine!"