Spellsinger

by neetha Napew

  development of his relationship with Talea. Though he had to admit honestly to

  himself that if things ever got really tough he was not sure he could depend on

  the otter, and certainly not on Talea.

  However, there was no point in detailing any of those feelings to Pog. "Yeah. We

  had a rough time of it in Lynchbany. And we have other reasons for coming back

  to see His Wizardness."

  "Well, all right. Come on in. Damn fools... I suppose your presence will make

  more work for me again." He flapped on ahead, grumbling steadily in his usual

  broken-engine tone.

  Jon-Tom stayed a step back of Mudge and the bat. "Be careful about what you say,

  Talea. This Clothahump's the one who brought me here, remember. He's a very

  powerful wizard and although I found him to be concerned and even kindly, he's

  obsessed with this crisis he dreams about, and I've seen him come near to frying

  that bat."

  "Don't worry," she replied with a tight smile. "I know who he is, and what he

  is. He's a borderline senile who ought to have enough sense to retract into his

  shell and stay there. Do you think I'm an ignorant country sodder? I follow

  current rumors and talemongerings. I know who's in power and who's doing what,

  and to whom. That's how I know he's responsible for the mess he's made of your

  life, Jon-Tom." She frowned at him.

  "You're the weirdest sorcerer I've ever encountered or heard tell of, except

  maybe for this Clothahump. In that respect it's a good match, and I can see how

  in his searching he seized on you." The comparison startled Jon-Tom. He hadn't

  considered that he and the turtle might have personal affinities, or that they

  might be responsible for his presence here.

  "That's okay," he replied readily. "You're the most interesting mugger I've ever

  run into."

  "Better not do it on a dark street or you're liable to find out just how

  interesting I am," she said warningly.

  "Really? I've never done it on a dark street, and I would like to find out how

  interesting you are."

  She started to snap out a reply, looked uncertain, and then accelerated. "Oh,

  come on." There was exasperation in her voice and just possibly something else.

  "You're a funny one, Jon-Tom. I'm never quite sure about you."

  And you, he thought as he watched her hurry on ahead of him, are maybe not as

  hopeless as I once thought.

  It was quite astonishing, he thought as he followed her, how the sight of a

  beautiful figure teasingly wrapped in snug clothes could shove aside all worries

  about such picayune matters as survival. Base animal nature, he mused.

  But if he was going to survive in this world, he would have to revert to basics.

  Wasn't that just what Clothahump and, in different ways, Mudge had both told

  him? Maybe by keeping his thoughts focused on those basics he could keep a

  firmer grip on his sanity.

  All assuming that Talea didn't change her mind as fast as she seemed able to and

  didn't decide to shove a sword through his belly. That thought cooled his ardor,

  if not his long-term interest.

  Slowing, he found himself standing close to her in the central chamber of the

  tree. Her perfume was in his nose, her presence a constant comfort in alien

  surroundings. Yes, they would have to remain friends, if naught else. She was

  too familiar, too human for him to abandon that.

  Pog directed them out of the central room and into a work area he and Mudge

  hadn't visited before. The bat hovered nearby while all four watched in silence

  as the wizard Clothahump fumbled awkwardly among bottles and vials.

  Thoroughly engrossed in his work, the wizard failed to notice his visitors.

  After a proper pause, Pog fluttered forward and said deferentially, "Pardon da

  intrusion, Master, but dey have returned."

  "Um... what? Who's returned?" He looked around and his gaze fell on Jon-Tom. "Oh

  yes, you. I remember you, boy."

  "Not too well, it seems." It was something less than the exuberant welcome he'd

  hoped for.

  "I have a lot on my mind, boy." He slid off the low bench and sought out the

  gray figure of Mudge, who was partly hidden behind Jon-Tom. "Back early, I see.

  Well, you lazy, foul-mouthed, slanderous mammal, what have you to say for

  yourself? Or is this merely a courteous visit and I should assume you've

  encountered no troubles?" The last sentence was spoken with false sweetness.

  " 'Tis not like you're thinkin' at all, Your Worshipfulness," the otter

  insisted. "I was showin' the lad the ways o' Lynchbany and we ran into some

  unforeseen problems, we did. They weren't no more my fault than they was 'is,"

  and he jerked a short thumb in Jon-Tom's direction.

  Clothahump looked up at the tall young man. "Is what he says true, boy? That's

  he's done his best and taken good care of you? Or is he the outright liar he

  looks?"

  "Wot a thing to say," muttered Mudge, but not too loudly.

  "It's hard to lay responsibility for what we've been through lately at anyone's

  feet, sir." He was aware of black otter eyes hard on his back. "On the one hand,

  it certainly seems as though I... as though we've been the victims of a really

  unlikely sequence of unfortunate happenings. On the other...."

  "No, mate," interrupted Mudge hurriedly, "there be no need t' go into such

  silliness now." He looked back to the wizard. "I did me best for the lad, Your

  Highestness. Why, I venture t' say nary a stranger's 'ad quite such fullness o'

  experience o' local customs as 'e 'as in these past several days."

  Jon-Tom kept his expression carefully neutral. "I certainly can't argue with

  that, sir."

  Clothahump considered while he inspected Jon-Tom. "At least the laggard has

  clothed you properly." He took note of the war staff and the duar. Then his

  attention shifted to the third member of the little group.

  "And who might you be, young lady?"

  She stepped proudly forward. "I am Talea of Wuver County, of the Brightberries

  that mature at Night, third on my mother's side, first of red hair and green

  eyes, and I am afraid of neither man, woman, beast... nor wizard."

  "Hmph." Clothahump turned away from her, then suddenly seemed to slump in on

  himself. Sitting back down on the workbench he leaned his shell against the

  table. Fingers rubbed tiredly at his forehead as he smiled almost apologetically

  at his visitors.

  "Pardon my tone, my friends. You especially, Jon-Tom. I forget common courtesy

  myself these days, as I forget many other things too easily. Responsible as I am

  for your inconveniencing, I owe you more than a curt interrogation concerning

  your recent activities. If I seemed brusque it was only out of worry for your

  welfare. But you see, things are growing worse and not better."

  "The coming crisis you told us about?" Jon-Tom wondered sympathetically.

  The turtle nodded. "It turns my sleep into a cauldron of black distress. I dream

  of nothing save darkness and death. Of an ocean of putrification about to drown

  the worlds."

  "Ahhh, I don't see why ya worry yourself so much," said Pog from a nearby

  rafter. "You knockin' yourself out fer noddin', boss. Everybody else scoffs at

  ya, taunts ya be
hind your shell. Ya know some of da names dey call ya? 'Senile'

  is da best o' them."

  "I am aware of the local opinion." Clothahump grinned slightly. "In order for

  one to be affected by insults, one must have some respect for their source. I've

  told you that before, Pog. The comments of the rabble are of no import, even if

  they are the rabble one is trying to save. You'll never make a decent peregrine

  unless you change your attitude in such matters. Hawks and falcons are a haughty

  folk. You need to cultivate more mental and social independence."

  "Yeah, tell me about it," the bat muttered.

  Jon-Tom was fascinated by the still unspecified threat, despite his own personal

  problems. "So you haven't learned anything new about this evil since we left? Or

  about its source, or when it will come?"

  The wizard shook his head dolefully. "It remains as nebulous in nature, as

  tenuous of touch as before, boy. Nor am I any nearer concocting a methodology to

  combat it with."

  Jon-Tom tried to cheer the despondent turtle. "I've a surprise for you,

  Clothahump. It was a surprise to me, also."

  "What are you riddling me with, boy?"

  "I think I may be able to help after all." Clothahump looked up at him

  curiously.

  "Aye, 'tis true, Your Geniusness," said Mudge excitedly. "Why, 'twas meself who

  first suggested that..." He broke off, thinking better of the incipient lie.

  "No. No, dammit, I cannot take any o' the credit. The lad did it all on 'is

  own."

  "Did what on his own?" asked the exasperated wizard.

  "We'd been tryin' 'ard t' discover some useful skill for 'im, Your Mastership.

  'Is range o' experience matches 'is youthfulness, so wasn't much in the way o'

  things 'e was practiced at. 'E 'as 'is natural size and reach, and some agility.

  At first I thought 'e might make a good mercenary. But 'e kept insistin' 'e

  wanted t' be either a lawyer or a musician." Jon-Tom nodded in confirmation.

  "Well, Your Lordship can imagine wot I thought o' the first suggestion.

  Concernin' 'tother, while the lad's voice is o' considerable volume, it leaves

  somethin' t' be desired as far as carryin' the tune, if you follow me meaning.

  But 'is musicianship was another matter, sor. 'E 'as real enthusiasm for

  music... and as it turned out, somethin' more.

  "We stumbled, literally stumbled we did, across that fine duar you see 'angin'

  about 'is neck. And when he got to strummin' on it, well, the most unbelievable

  things started a-happenin'! You would not believe it 'ad not you been there

  yourself. All purple and 'azy it started to shine, and its shape a shakin', and

  the sounds, sor." The otter put his hands melodramatically to his ears.

  "The sounds this lad can coax out o' that little musicbox. 'E calls it music

  like 'e's used to playin', but 'tis of a size I never 'eard in me short but full

  little life."

  "I don't know what happened or why, sir." Jon-Tom ran his fingers over the duar.

  "It vibrates a little when I play it. I think it's trying to become the kind of

  instrument I'm used to, and can't. As to the magic"--he shrugged--"I'm afraid

  I'm not very good at it. I only seem to have the vaguest kind of control over

  what I call up."

  "He's too modest, sir," said Talea. "He's a true spellsinger.

  "We were tired and worn from our long march through the woods when he started a

  strange song about some kind of transportation." She looked sideways at Jon-Tom.

  "I cannot imagine what it was he was singing about, but what he produced was a

  L'borean riding snake. I do not think it was specified by his song."

  "Not hardly," agreed Jon-Tom.

  "Nevertheless, that is what he materialized, and a fine ride it provided us,

  too."

  "Nor be that all, sor," said Mudge. "Soon afterward, as we glide through the

  forest night, 'e's a-strummin' those strings and then... why sor, the like's o'

  so many gneechees was never seen in this country! I swear by me piece they were

  about us like fleas on a fox followin' a four-day drunk. You never saw the

  almost-likes o' it."

  Clothahump was silent for long moments. Then, "So it seems you've some

  spellsinging abilities." He scratched at a loose drawer in his plastron.

  "It looks that way, sir. I've heard about hidden talent, but I never expected to

  find any in myself."

  "All most interesting." The wizard rose from the bench, put both hands as far

  behind his back as they'd reach, and scratched at his shell. "It would help to

  explain so many things. It would explain why in casting I settled upon you and

  passed over others." There was a touch of resurgent pride in his voice. "So it

  may be I am not as senile as some say. I thought there was more to this than

  mere confusion on my part. The talent I sought has been present all along."

  "Not exactly, sir. As Talea explained, I can call for something, but I get

  something quite different. I don't have control over my, uh, magic. Couldn't

  that be awfully dangerous?"

  "My boy, all wizardry is dangerous. So you think you might be able to help now?

  Well, if we can settle on something for you to help me against, your services

  will be most welcome."

  Jon-Tom shuffled his feet nervously. "Actually, sir, I didn't mean I'd be able

  to help in that way. Wouldn't you still prefer a real magician, a real

  'engineer' from my world to assist you?"

  "I expect I would." Clothahump adjusted his spectacles.

  "Then send me back and exchange me for another."

  "I told you before, boy, that the energies required, the preparations involved

  need time to..." He stopped, squinted upward. "Ah, I believe I follow your

  meaning now, Jon-Tom spellsinger."

  "That's it, sir." He could no longer restrain his excitement. "If we both

  concentrate, both devote our energies to it, maybe the combination will be

  powerful enough to work the switch. It's not like you're shoving me back home

  all by yourself, or pulling a replacement here alone. We'd be complementing each

  other's talents, and making an exchange all at once. Only a single conjuration

  would be involved instead of two."

  Clothahump looked seriously at his workbench. "It might be possible. There are

  certain shortcuts...." He glanced back at Jon-Tom. "It involves definite risks,

  boy. You might find yourself stuck halfway between this world and your own.

  There's no future in limbo. Only eternity, and I can't think of a duller way to

  spend existence."

  "I'll take that chance. I'll take any chances neeessary."

  "Good for you, but what about whoever you're going to be trading places with?"

  "How do you mean?" He looked uncertain.

  "This eng'neer that we locate with our thoughts, Jon-Tom, will be as thrown from

  his familiar time and place as you were. He will likely also be trapped here for

  considerably longer than yourself, since I will not have the power to try and

  return him to his normal life for some time. He might not adapt here as well as

  you have, might not ever be sent home.

  "Are you willing to accept the responsibility for doing that to someone else?"

  "You have to take the same responsibility."

  "My entire world is at stake, possibly your own as well. I kn
ow where I stand."

  The wizard was staring unwinkingly at him.

  Jon-Tom forced himself to think back, to remember what his first sight and

  feelings were like when he'd materialized in this world. Glass butterflies and

  utter disorientation. A five-foot-tall otter and bellwoods.

  How might that affect an older man of forty or fifty, who might find it far

  harder to cope with the physical hardships of this place, not to mention the

  mental ones? A man with a family perhaps. Or a woman who might leave children

  behind?

  He looked back down at Clothahump. "I'm willing to try the exchange and... if

  you're as serious about this crisis as you say, then you don't have any choice.

  Not if you want a real engineer."

  "That is so," replied the wizard, "but I have far more important reasons for

  wanting to make this switch."

  "My reasons are important enough to me." He turned away from the others. "I'm

  sorry if I don't measure up to your heroic standards."

  "I expect no heroic stances from you, Jon-Tom," said Clothahump gently. "You are

  only a man. All I ask now is that you make the decision, and you have. That is

  enough for me. I will commence preparations." He turned back to his bench,

  leaving Jon-Tom feeling expectant, pleased, and slightly anxious.

  Self-preservation, he told himself angrily. He would wish whoever was to take

  his place the best of luck, and could do no more than that. He'd never know who

  was chosen.

  Besides, his erratic and possibly dangerous magic could do little to help Talea

  and Mudge and Clothahump's world. Probably whoever took his place would be able

  to, if Clothahump's perception of the danger threatening them was accurate.

  Rationalization or not, that was a comforting thought to cling to.

  I didn't ask to be here, he told himself firmly, and if I have a chance to get

  home, damned if I'm not going to take it...

  XI

  The rest of the preparations took all afternoon. They were not ready until

  evening.

  In the middle of the Tree's central chamber a circle had been painted on the

  wood-chip floor. It was filled with cryptographic symbols that might have been

  calculus and might have been nonsense. Talea, Pog, and Mudge had been directed

  to stay out of the way, an admonition they needed no urging to obey.