Thrice Bound

by Roberta Gellis

  *There was a nice pool, but I'm not sure we should go back there. I smelled something . . . *

  "Magic?"

  *No . . . well, maybe . . . no, no, not what I think of as magic. But like magic gone bad? Only magic can't go bad like meat kept too long, can it?*

  Hekate, who had knelt down to rearrange the cords on the dog's pack so she could carry it to their campsite, stood up abruptly, clutching her staff. Magic gone bad! That was what the foulness had been. Magic gone bad.

  "The guhrt," Hekate breathed.

  The dog snarled, then said, *It was not near, but still we are too far from the caves to try to go back. Can you outrun it? It doesn't want me, so you can leave me behind.*

  She shook her head. "No chance. It covered in a few candlemarks what had taken me two days running—and part of that time was taken up by its going to the valley of the Nymphae. Perhaps they delayed it also. But otherplanar things don't like running water. If we could get to the waterfall before it arrives, there would be one place from which it couldn't attack me."

  *Go ahead,* the dog said. *Leave the pack. I can drag it. You can't miss the place. Just follow the base of the cliff. I'll come as quick as I can.*

  "The pack won't slow me," she said, thrusting the staff through the straps and snatching it up in her arms. "Don't come too close, Kabeiros. If my father hasn't fed it since he laid his commands on it, it will be very hungry."

  *Go,* Kabeiros urged.

  Actually, although she set off running, Hekate had no expectation of reaching the waterfall before the guhrt caught up with her. All she wanted to do was to put as much space between her and Kabeiros as she could, hoping the creature's attention would be fixed on her and it would leave Kabeiros alone. However, the guhrt was much slower than she remembered. She not only reached the waterfall but was able to open her pouch and pick out a handful of herbs to crush between her hands and sprinkle on the ground around her. What good they would do, she didn't know, but at least their scent battled against the increasing foulness that was beginning to drown her senses.

  She had time, too, to tighten her wards, to seek in the cliff behind the waterfall for a vein of the life of the earth. She noticed that on the other side of the stream the cliff beetled outward and wondered whether that could be used in some way, but she found a vein of earthblood just then and concentrated on tapping into it. Unfortunately, she wasn't able to drink full of what she found, but her wards were high and strong when the mind-stench of magic gone bad nearly choked her. She had just time to sense not only the foulness of evil, of twisted wrongness, but of true decay when the guhrt was there, almost on top of the circle of herbs.

  Hekate had been standing with her back to the stream that ran out of the small pool formed by the waterfall. Now she turned, leapt across the stream, and turned back to face the guhrt. The move put the pool and waterfall to her right and the bulging cliff face almost behind her but increased the distance between her and the guhrt and kept the half-moon of herbs and the stream itself between them. Her terror eased just a trifle when she saw that the guhrt did not step past or scatter the herbs.

  It stood for a moment and stared at her. Fear and horror rose from it like a miasma of fog, but behind the strong shields she had erected, the emanation was nothing like what Hekate had felt when it was pursuing her the day she fled to the caves of the dead. The creature's hesitation gave her time really to see it and she was surprised. Dionysos had said it was the size of a large cat but naked and gray. Now it was closer to the size of the rat that it resembled—and it was more translucent than gray. Its skin hung in folds, mute evidence of how it had shrunk, and the enormous penis and testicles flapped emptily between its thighs almost down to the ground.

  A blow struck Hekate's wards and a seeking tendril tried to force a way into her mind. The wards held; the tendril found no opening, and she sent a thread of fire back along it. The guhrt whined—a thin, high sound that pierced her ears—and another blow struck her wards. She reached to the vein of earth-blood, but something glutinous and putrid seized on the questing ribbon of power she had extended and began to run back along it to her. Without a moment's hesitation, she cut the ribbon loose, feeling the drain on her power that cost her but unwilling to take within herself anything tainted by the guhrt's foulness.

  Had the creature swelled a trifle? Was it more solid? Hekate couldn't be sure, but she knew she dared not try again to tap the earth's blood. Quickly now another blow and still another battered her wards. She couldn't relax those shields even to open herself to seek the Mother's strength. That left her with no reserves, with nothing but whatever power she had within herself, and how long could that last?

  "Come here! Come here to me at once!"

  Hekate started. That was her father's voice. She almost reached out to sense if he was there, but saw the trap in time and tightened her wards all the more as thin slivers of force pried at her protection. Again she touched magical fire to the intrusions and they were withdrawn, the guhrt again whining.

  "Obey me at once! You will regret it bitterly if you resist."

  That time in the face of her fear Hekate laughed. It was most unlikely that she could regret anything more than not resisting, but she was beginning to suspect that the voice was simply another spell the guhrt carried. If her father could see or sense the confrontation, surely he would have said something more pertinent.

  Suddenly the guhrt screamed, an amazing volume of sound for the size of the creature. Likely the scream was meant to distract a victim, to break that victim's concentration so the guhrt could shatter or invade its shields. But Hekate had learned the trick of distraction by bitter experience as a child. When startled, she instinctively tightened her innermost wards. Her instinct served her well. The guhrt struck at her mentally once more—and then it was gone!

  She stared around, terrified that it could make itself invisible, but the crack and slither of falling stone made her look up. She was just in time to see the creature reach the top of the cliff. Her breath caught. It would not cross the water, but it could climb the cliff and come down those overhanging rocks on the other side where what little protection the herbs had provided was lacking.

  She leapt the stream again, just in time because the guhrt had launched itself from the cliff and landed just where she had been standing. She turned to face it again, but only its voice remained, screeching in rage as it climbed the cliff once more. Hekate glanced up nervously, but on this side of the waterfall raw rock showed there had been a landslip not long ago and the earth sloped backward. The guhrt would have to jump far out as well as down, and it was unlikely that it could manage to land on her or be sure of not landing in the water.

  Perhaps she should be in the water. Why had she not thought of that? But she had no time to find a place to enter the pool; the guhrt was crouching just on the other side of the ring of herbs. It snuffled and snorted, clearly repelled by the scent but desperate enough now to ignore the discomfort. The creature looked utterly ridiculous, but Hekate did not laugh. Indeed, she nearly choked on terror when she realized she could neither move nor attack.

  She knew too well that to fear was to invite defeat and she grappled with her panic, gathering her diminishing strength to defend herself against the near-paralysis that afflicted her. The struggle brought a flashing memory of how Dionysos had been afraid she would laugh when he described the creature that engendered so much horror in him. She had not laughed then, more out of consideration for the boy than because she understood. Now she understood. The fragile, rat-sized nothing looked as if she could crush it to jelly, had it not been carrying her father's coercion spell and had she dared to touch it at all. But it exuded a sickness that bred so strong an abhorrence it froze her soul despite her shields.

  Likely it could read her because it laughed, and one of its arms began to lengthen. The hand hesitated at the ring of herbs and the guhrt whined, but as if compelled, in less than a heartbeat the arm began to grow again, even faster. He
kate watched, her mind caught in a kind of abject fascination, as the hand at the end of the arm started to glow with a sickly greenish-yellow light. Simultaneously the body of the guhrt shrank even more.

  Somehow the process bound her; instead of gathering her forces and reviewing the key words for a spell of dismissal, Hekate found herself wondering what would happen if the guhrt disappeared completely before the arm could reach her. Would the hand crawl by itself along the ground dragging the lengthening arm behind it . . .

  Before the thought was complete, a black missile flew from behind the nearest tree. A red maw gaped wide. Long white teeth clamped on the guhrt's arm and dragged it back, away from Hekate. The guhrt screamed so loud the waterfall seemed to sway; the hand twisted as if the arm were boneless and gripped the neck of the black dog. The greenish-yellow glow ran out of the tips of the clawing fingers and enveloped the hound.

  Hekate's scream echoed that of the guhrt, but she screamed words that tore at her throat with their intensity. "Guhrt, exelthein plateia eautou. Anagkazo stigme pheuge! Metakino! Metatheto! Pheuge! Pheuge! Pheuge!"

  She emptied herself into the spell and then, throwing caution to the winds, reached out for the power of the earth-blood and poured that into her willing that the guhrt be gone into its own plane. The yellow-green glow brightened until her eyes teared, brightened even more, until the light was unbearable—and winked out. Very far away she felt a shriek of pain that was echoed in some dark place in her soul. Her hand flew to her breast to ease a peculiar, distant agony, but at the same time the darkness within her lightened. She thrust that problem away to attend to more urgent needs.

  Nothing remained where the guhrt had stood except the black dog lying on the ground. Heedless of leaving her refuge and of the danger that the compulsion spell might drive him to attack her or have been transferred to him and still be able to infect her, Hekate rushed to take his head onto her lap.

  "Kabeiros! Kabeiros! Can you hear me?"

  The hound's head twitched away. *Hear you? You are like to deafen me. Stop shouting in my ear.* The dog struggled to peer around her and rise. *Where is the guhrt?*

  Hekate clung to him. "Answer me! Are you hurt? What did that spell do to you?"

  *It knocked me down.* The big body in her arms shuddered. *I felt as if someone had poured the contents of a huge chamber pot—one that hadn't been emptied in years—over me and hit me with the pot too.*

  The mental voice had been growing fainter; suddenly the dog wrenched itself free and crawled a little way from her, choking and retching. Hekate followed on her knees to stroke his head and his heaving body. Then she reached behind her and scooped up some of the herbs from the ground which she used to smooth over the dog's head and shoulders. He stopped retching and sat up, sniffing eagerly at her hands. Then the black forehead furrowed and he began to sniff the air.

  *Gone,* he said with strong satisfaction. *The stink is all gone. How can such an all-pervading stench disappear so completely? Does that mean the guhrt is gone?*

  Wrapped tight in her shields, Hekate had no very strong awareness of what was beyond them unless it was overpowering, as had been the guhrt's near presence. "Are you sure the foulness is all gone?" she asked.

  The hound shook himself, shivering his skin to shed the bits of herbs, and limped farther from their protective scent. He continued to sniff lustily.

  *Gone,* he repeated. *Nothing in the air now but wet earth, a rabbit or two—* he paused to lick his swollen paw with an expression of regret *—you, and the herbs, of course. No bad magic stink. The place is clean.*

  Hekate sighed and sank down to sit on the ground. "Then I think the guhrt is gone. I hope I bespelled it back to its own plane, and since it was no longer carrying my father's spell, it's possible I was successful." She shuddered as the dog had done. "I've never dealt with otherplanar creatures if I could avoid it, so I had to make the spell myself." She shrugged. "I can't be sure it was effective."

  Speaking of spells reminded her of her father's foul coercion cascading over the black dog and she wondered if she could trust him. Cascading over. She didn't think the spell had been absorbed. But why? Then she remembered that her sleep spell, instantly effective on the man Kabeiros, had not touched the dog. Could it be that the dog, a magical construct itself, was immune to magic?

  Then what had happened to the coercion spell? It had run out of the guhrt—she had seen it flow from the fingers. Then it had grown brighter, as if some power was feeding it . . . or fighting it. And then it had disappeared, and there had been that distant sense of violent pain . . . as if the spell had backlashed . . . echoed by the pain within her.

  Hekate shuddered. Was that because her father had set some link into her—a link to protect him from her if she ever grew strong enough to oppose him? Anything that caused him pain would hurt her . . . Would she die if he died? But she didn't plan his death. So if he were drained of all power as she planned, would she lose her power also?

  That was a horrible thought. If she did not oppose and defeat Perses, the binding would somehow destroy her; if she did, the hook he had on her soul might accomplish the same thing. She stared unseeingly into the wood that bordered the pond. But the effect of the unwelcome bond was not certain, and now, at least, she knew it was there. She would seek it out and try to undo it before she began to worry about what it could do to her.

  Now there was the more immediate problem of making sure the coercion spell had backlashed and not disappeared into Kabeiros. The trouble was she could not sense it if she maintained her wards. Cautiously Hekate relaxed the shields until she could feel the ambience of the place. No magic. Not even a distant sense of anything beyond the threads of earth-blood. It was very pleasant. She directed her senses at the hound, her wards ready to snap shut at the first flicker of any spell. Nothing. She rose and walked closer to him.

  "Kabeiros, do you feel any different? Are you fighting any urge to . . . to hurt me?"

  He swung his head toward her. *Hurt you? Of course not. Why should you ask me that?*

  "Do you have any special urge to touch me?"

  There was a blankness, as if Kabeiros the man had withdrawn somehow; then he thought slowly, *I am a dog. You are a woman. You should have asked that question while we were still in the caves of the dead.*

  Hekate smiled ruefully. She was recalling Kabeiros' face and body. She sighed. "If I had, you would have been disgusted. Don't you remember that I wore the body of the crone all the while we were together in the caves? I didn't dare change before I knew you were a shape-shifter too."

  *Then it's too late to ask whether I wish to touch you. Why should I? Except as a dog seeks warmth and comfort from his master . . . *

  "You feel no urge to transfer the spell that my father gave to the guhrt with which to enslave me. I wondered whether it could have gone from the guhrt to you . . ."

  *But you've already touched me, you silly woman. If the spell was meant to be transferred, wouldn't I have done it then?*

  Hekate breathed a long sigh of relief and nodded. Amidst all the stresses, she had forgotten her unguarded rush to help Kabeiros when she first saw him lying on the ground. Aside from that, she wondered what made her suspect him of resisting an urge to touch her, and her eyes widened a bit as she bent to spread her crushed herbs more evenly over a larger piece of ground. She suspected him because she felt that desire to touch . . . but not the hound.

  The image of Kabeiros the man was always there for her, strongest when the dog did something compatible with a man's shape, like sitting on his haunches. Then she saw the dog almost like a shadow, darkening but not obscuring the face and body of the man. But she also saw the man totally separate from the dog, almost palpably there, striding along beside and melded with the hound shape even when the dog was walking on all fours.

  She wondered if that could also be true for Kabeiros. Did he see the bent old woman with her bony hips and flat dugs obscuring the lithe and full-breasted body she now wore? Fretful
ly, she shook the image from her mind, recalling that Kabeiros had never said "If only you were younger," to the crone when they were in the caves. Then she recalled something even more discomforting; he didn't seem to take any special interest in the women who brought offerings to the caves of the dead. True, he was pledged not to show himself to those who came to make sacrifice, but there were places from which he could have watched.

  A stupid thing to waste time on, Hekate told herself, and went off into the woods beyond the pool to find firewood. As she gathered, she wondered whether lighting a fire would be safe, then shrugged. If it drew the attention of local people, so much the better. She and Kabeiros surely needed directions to the nearest road and a day or two in a town would be most welcome. Her clothing had been nothing much to begin with; now it was approaching rags. She had metal; in a town she could buy clothing.

  On the other hand, there might be outlaws in the foothills of the mountains. She shrugged again and piled several small dead branches into the crook of her arm. No one had gathered wood here in a long time—if ever. As to outlaws, she and the black dog could defend themselves. She smiled. She was not afraid to use magic now, and even so soon after the battle with the guhrt, she felt strong and ready.

  Blocking her direct passage forward was a large branch of deadfall. If she dragged that back to the camp, they would have wood enough for the whole night. She wrinkled her nose as she broke off a few of the smaller branches. They had no way to deal with the whole branch. A small ax was another purchase she would make as soon as they found a town.

  A slight scrabbling in a nearby hedge made her freeze, except for one hand that stealthily sought a rock. She waited, bent and uncomfortable but unwilling to display herself as a large and possibly dangerous creature, and her patience was rewarded. A long-eared, long-legged hare slipped through the hedge to sample the softer, sweeter grass where the deadfall had cleared a small open space. As it bent to nibble the grass, Hekate rose and flung her stone in one movement. She crowed with pleasure, leaping after the rock to seize the hare, which lay half stunned, kicking feebly, and wrung its neck.