Spellsinger

by neetha Napew

  straight for town, hoping to run down a fat prize. Their disappointment in

  finding us instead of some rich merchant wouldn't bode well for our futures."

  "Bloody well right," agreed Mudge readily. "There's a disconcertin' and

  disgustin' tendency toward settlin' discontents without resortin' to words."

  "Beg your pardon?" said Jon-Tom with a frown.

  "Kill first and ask questions afterward."

  He nodded grimly. "We have some of those where I come from, too."

  He turned moodily back to the duar. It was barely visible in the intensifying

  night. He fiddled with the bottom controls, and the strings fluttered with blue

  fire as he played. Carefully he kept his lips closed, forced himself not to

  voice the words of the song he was playing. It was hard to remember the melody

  without voicing the words. A silver-dollar moon was rising in the east.

  Once he caught himself softly singing words and something green was forming

  alongside the snake. Damn, this wasn't going to work. He needed to play

  something without words in order to be completely safe.

  He changed the motion of his fingers on the strings. Better, he thought. Then he

  noticed Mudge staring at him.

  "Something wrong?"

  "Wot the 'ell is goin' on with you, Jon-Tom?"

  "It's a Bach fugue," he replied, not understanding. "Quite a well-known piece

  where I come from."

  " 'Ell with that, mate. I wasn't referrin' t' your music. I was referrin' t'

  your company."

  His voice was oddly muted, neither alarmed nor relaxed. Jon-Tom looked to his

  right... and had to grab the saddle handle to keep from falling out of his

  seat....

  X

  He found himself staring directly at a huge swarm of nothing. That is, it seemed

  that there was definitely something present. Hundreds of somethings, in fact.

  But when he looked at them, they weren't there.

  They had moved to his left. He turned to face them, and as he did so, they moved

  somewhere else.

  "Above you, mate... I think." Jon-Tom's head snapped back, just in time to espy

  the absence of whatever it had been. They'd moved down and to his right, behind

  a large gingko tree where he couldn't see them because they'd shifted their

  position to his left, where they no longer were and...

  He was getting dizzy.

  It was as if he were hunting a visual echo. He was left teasing his retinas;

  every time he turned there were the shadows of ghosts.

  "I don't see a thing. I almost do, but never quite."

  "Surely you do." Mudge was grinning now. "Just like meself, we're seeing them

  after they aren't there any more."

  "But you were looking at them a moment ago," said Jon-Tom, feeling very foolish

  now because he knew there was definitely something near them in the forest. "You

  told me where to look, where they'd moved to."

  "You're 'alf right, mate. I told you where t' look, but not where they were. You

  can only see where they've been, not where they are." He scratched one ear as he

  stared back over a furry shoulder. "It never works. You never can see 'em, but

  those folks who are lucky enough not t' almost see 'em never stop from tryin'.

  There!"

  He gestured sharply to his right. Jon-Tom's head spun around so fast a nerve

  spasmed in his neck and he winced in pain. Visual footprints formed in

  afterimage in his brain.

  "They're all around us," Mudge told him. "Around you, mostly."

  "What are?" His brain was getting as twisted as his optic nerves. It was bad

  enough not to be able to see something you knew was present without having to

  try and imagine what they were. Or weren't. It was like magnets. You could get

  the repelling poles close to each other, but at the last possible instant,

  they'd always slide apart.

  "Gneechees."

  Jon-Tom turned sharply to his left. Again his gaze caught nothing. He was

  positive if he shifted his eyes just another quarter inch around he'd have

  whatever was there in clear focus. "What the hell are gneechees?"

  "Blimey, you mean you don't 'ave 'em where you come from?"

  "Where I come from we don't have a lot of the things you're used to, Mudge."

  "I always thought..." The otter shrugged. "The gneechees be everywhere around

  us. Some times they're more visible than at others, or less invisible 'ud be a

  better way o' puttin' it. Millions and millions of 'em."

  "Millions? Then why can't I see just one?"

  Mudge threw up his paws. "Now that's a fine question, ain't it? I don't know.

  Nobody knows. Not even Clothahump, I'd wager. As to wot they be, that's another

  nice little mystery. 'Bout the best description I ever 'eard of 'em was that

  they're the things you seen when you turn your 'ead and there's nothin' there,

  but you're sure there was somethin'. Gneechees are wot you almost see out o' the

  corner o' your eye, and when you turn to look at it, it's gone. They're the

  almost-wases, the nearly theres, the maybe-couldbes. They're always with us and

  never there."

  Jon-Tom leaned thoughtfully back in his saddle, fighting the urge to glance

  constantly to right or left. "Maybe we do have them. But they seem to be just

  slightly more visible, just a touch more substantial here than back home." He

  wondered if there were millions of gneechees swarming around the university.

  They might be the explanation for a lot of things.

  "How can you be so sure they're real, if you can never see one?"

  "Oh, they're real enough, mate. You know they're real just as I do, because your

  noggin tells you there's somethin' there. It's foolin' your mind and not quite

  completely foolin' your eyes. Not that I care much 'bout 'em. My concerns are

  more prosaic, they are.

  " 'Tis mighty frustratin' t' them who worry about such things, though. See,

  they're immune t' magic. There's not the wizard been who could slow down a

  gneechee long enough t' figure exactly what one was. Not Clothahump, not

  Quelnor, not the legendary sorceress Kasadelma could do it.

  "They be 'armless, though. I've never 'eard o' anyone bein' affected by 'em one

  way or t'other."

  "How could you tell?" Jon-Tom wondered. "You can't see them."

  "Cor, but you could sure enough see the victim, if they took a notion to go to

  troublin' someone."

  "They give me the crawlies." He tried not to look around, and found himself

  hunting all the harder. It was one thing to think you were seeing things that

  weren't, quite another to learn for a fact that millions and millions of minute

  creatures of unknown aspect and intent were occupying the air around you.

  "Why are they hanging around me?"

  "Who knows, mate. 'Cept that I've 'eard gneechees are attracted t' worried folk.

  People who be frettin', or upset. Same goes for magick-ers. Now, you fit both

  categories. 'Aven't you ever noticed somethin' around you when you've been like

  that?"

  "Naturally. You always tend to imagine more when you're upset or stressed."

  " 'Cept you're not imaginin' them," Mudge explained. "They're 'angin' about all

  right. Tis not their fault. I expect that's just wot they're sensitive to, not

  t' mention the fact that your emotions and feelin's are otherworldly in nature."


  "Well, I wish they'd go away." He turned and shouted, "Go on, go away! All of

  you!" He waved his hands as though it were a flock of flies he could shoo from

  his psyche. "Harmless or otherwise, I don't want you around. You're making me

  nervous!"

  "Now that won't do, Jon-Tom." Talea had twisted around in her lead saddle and

  was staring back at him. "The more angry you become the more the gneechees will

  cling to your presence."

  He continued swatting sideways. "How come I can't hit one? I don't have to see

  one to hit one. If there's something there, surely I ought to get in a lucky

  swipe sooner or later."

  Mudge let out a sigh. "Crikey, lad, sometimes I think whoever set you out on the

  tightrope o' life forgot t' give you your balancin' pole. If the gneechees be

  too fast for us t' see, 'ow do you expect t' fool one with somethin' as slow as

  the back o' your 'and? I expect we must seem t' be swimmin' through a vat o'

  blackstrap molasses from their point o' view. Maybe we don't seem t' be movin'

  at all they just consider us parts o' the landscape. 'Cept we're the parts that

  generate the emotions or forces or wotever it is that occasionally attracts 'em

  in big numbers. Just thank wotever sign you were born under that they are

  'armless."

  "I don't believe in astrology." Maybe it was time to change the subject.

  Continued talk of gneechees was frustrating as well as fruitless.

  "Now who said anything about astrology?" The otter eyed him in puzzlement. "Now

  meself was born beneath a cobbler's sign in the riverbank community o'

  Rush-the-Rock. 'Ow about you?"

  "I don't know... oh heck, I guess I was born under the sign of L.A. County

  General."

  "Military family, wot?"

  "Never mind." His tone was resigned, and he was a little worn out from his

  experiments with his newfound abilities, not to mention the discovery that

  millions of not quite physical creatures found him attractive. In order to get

  rid of them it seemed he was going to have to cease worrying so much, relax, and

  stop being strange.

  He would work on the first two, but he didn't know if he could do anything about

  the third.

  He spent an uneasy night. Mudge and Talea slept quietly, save for a single

  incident involving a muffled curse followed by the sound of a fist striking

  furry flesh.

  No matter how hard he tried he could not go to sleep. Trying not to think of the

  gneechees' presence was akin to not thinking of a certain word. What happened

  was that one couldn't think of anything except the forbidden word or, in this

  case, the gneechees.

  His gaze hunted the dark, always aware of minuscule not-quite-luminescent sparks

  that darted tantalizingly just out of view. But there are parts of the mind that

  make their own demands. Without being aware of it, his eyes slowly grew as tired

  as the rest of his body and he fell into a soft, deep sleep serenaded by the

  dull cooing of giant walking ferns, night-flying reptiles, and a pool full of

  harmonizing water bugs who managed a marvelous imitation of what sounded like

  the journey movement from Prokofiev's Lieutenant Kije Suite.

  When he woke the next morning, the bright sunlight helped push thoughts of

  gneechees from his mind. The reciprocal nature of their existence was instantly

  apparent. The more you searched for them the more of them you attracted. In

  contrast, the less you cared and the more you accepted their existence as

  normal, the less they swarmed. With practice it seemed that the honey could will

  away the bees.

  Before afternoon the tireless riding snake was slithering uphill. They had

  entered a region of familiar hills and low valleys. Off to the east was

  something Jon-Tom had not seen on his previous march through this section of the

  Bellwoods. He and Mudge had not climbed quite this high.

  A distant rampart of mountains ragged and rough as the Grand Tetons lay swathed

  in high clouds and haze. It stretched unbroken from north to south.

  Mudge had taken a turn at guiding their mount, and Talea had moved in behind

  him. She turned as she replied to Jon-Tom's question.

  "Those? Zaryt's Teeth." She was gesturing across the treetops as they began to

  descend again into concealing forest. "That great massif there just to the north

  is Brokenbone Peak, which holds up this part of the world and whose slopes are

  littered with the dead bones of would-be climbers."

  "What's on the other side?"

  There was a tremor in her reply and, startlingly for the redoubtable Talea, a

  hint of fear. "The Greendowns, where reside the Plated Folk."

  "I've heard of them." Childishly, he pounced on the rare hint of weakness. "You

  sound scared of them."

  She made a face, brows narrowing, and idly shook aside red hair, ran a hand

  through the glowing curls. "Jon-Tom," she said seriously, "you seem to me to be

  a brave if occasionally foolish man, but you know nothing of the Plated Folk. Do

  not dismiss so lightly that which you are unfamiliar with.

  "Your words do not insult me because I am not afraid to confess my fear. Also, I

  know that you speak from ignorance, or you would not say such things. So I am

  not upset."

  "I might say such things even if I knew." He was properly abashed. But now he

  stared at her openly.

  "Why are you doing that?" Green eyes stared curiously at him.

  "Because I want to upset you."

  "I don't understand, Jon-Tom."

  "Look, you've been taunting me, chiding me, and generally making fun of me ever

  since we met. I wanted to strike back at you. Not that I've given you much

  reason to think better of me. I've probably given you more ammunition than you

  need. The trouble I caused back at Thieves' Hall is a good example. I'm sorry

  about things like that, but I can only learn by experience, and if some of those

  experiences don't work out very well there's not a whole hell of a lot I can do

  about it.

  "I mean you no harm, Talea. I'd like to be more than just allies. I want to be

  friends. If that's going to come about then I need a little more understanding

  and a lot less sarcasm from you. How about it?"

  He relaxed in his saddle, more than a little surprised at his lengthy speech.

  Talea just stared at him while the snake slid down into a meadow alive with

  green and pink glass butterflies and sunflowers blinking their cyclopean amber

  eyes.

  "I thought we were already friends, Jon-Tom. If I seem to have been brusque with

  you it was from frustration and impatience, not from dislike."

  "Then you do like me?" He couldn't repress a hopeful grin.

  She almost smiled back. "If you prove as quick with your new-found magic as you

  are with your words, then we will be safe indeed." She turned away, and as she

  did so he caught a glimpse of an expression midway between amusement and genuine

  interest. He couldn't be certain it reflected either, for Talea's true feelings

  could be as not-there as the gneechees.

  So he said nothing further, let the brief exchange pass. It was enough that he

  now felt better about their relationship, even if it was no more than an

  assurance she was not openly hostile to
him. At the same time he discovered a

  surefire way for pushing thoughts of the gneechees completely from his mind. All

  he had to do was concentrate on the gentle, subtle rolling action of Talea's

  derriere on the smoothly undulating snake-saddle....

  Another day done. Another day of roots, nuts, berries, and the reptilian meat

  which proved considerably tenderer and sweeter than he had any right to expect.

  Skillful hunter and braggart that Mudge was, they now had lizard venison or

  snake fillet at every meal.

  Another day done and a familiar glade came into view. The massive, ancient oak

  in its center seemed not to have shed a singie leaf since last he saw it.

  They dismounted tiredly. Talea secured the riding snake so that it could move

  around in a modest circle. It would not do, she explained, simply to turn it out

  to hunt, since without constant attention a L'borean riding snake could revert

  rapidly to the wild.

  "Shit, you back again?" griped the black-winged shape that opened the Tree door.

  "You're either not very bright, man, or else just downright dumb." He looked

  appreciatively past Mudge and Jon-Tom. "Now who's dat? Nice lookin' dame."

  "My name is Talea. And that's enough for you, slave."

  "Slave? Who's a slave? I'll show ya who's a slave!"

  "Easy now, Pog old chap." Mudge had moved forward to block the bat's egress by

  waving short arms. "She's a friend, even if her tongue be a bit tart at times.

  Just tell Clothahump that we're back." He cast a cautioning glance at Jon-Tom.

  "We've 'ad some bad luck, we 'ave, that's necessitated us returnin' a mite

  early."

  "Bet you did," said the bat expectantly, "or ya wouldn't be here now. I bet ya

  fouled up real good. It gonna be interesting ta see the old bugger turn ya into

  a human." His gaze dropped. "You'll make a funnier lookin' one than normal, wid

  dose legs."

  "Now is that any way t' greet a friend, Pog? Don't say such 'orrible things or

  you'll 'ave me befoulin' me pants and embarrassin' meself in front o' the lady.

  We did nothin' we couldn't avoid. Isn't that the truth, lad?" He looked

  concernedly back at Jon-Tom.

  It took a moment of internal wrestling to go along with the statement. Maybe

  Mudge was something less than the most altruistic of teachers, but he'd tried.

  The otter was the closest time he had in this world to a real friend, barring