“A thousand blessings on thee!” Father Al cried, surging to his feet. The nymph gasped in horror, and disappeared in a splash.
Father Al stared at the widening ripple-rings, biting his tongue in consternation at his faux pas. Well, no doubt she’d realize he’d just been carried away, and would credit him with good intentions.
Then he turned away, the nymph receding to the back of his mind, and plunged into the underbrush that lined the bank, heading back into the trees and downstream, excitement rising high within him at the thought of finally meeting the Gallowglasses.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
They dodged through the silver woods, trusting to Gwen’s sense of direction, until they came out on the lake-shore. Rod sighed with relief. “Okay, into the water. If they’re tracking us with hounds, we want to break the trail.” He was about to jump in when he noticed his family all hanging back. “Hey, what’s the matter? Jump in!”
“My lord,” Gwen said delicately, “it doth occur to us to remember the Each Uisge…”
“What of it? It’s dead!”
“Aye; but it may not have been alone. We know so little of this land…”
Rod felt a sudden dislike of water, himself. “Uh… how about it, Elid… uh, Your Majesty? Are there other unfriendly beasties in the water?”
“Oh, aye!” Elidor said promptly. “There do be Fuathan of all sorts and shapes! Shelly coats, peallaidhs, fideal, urisks, melusines…”
“Uh, I think that’s enough,” Rod interrupted. “We’ll take our chances with the hounds.”
They moved along the lake-shore. It was quicker going; the trees didn’t come down right to the water’s edge; they generally had a path at least two feet wide.
“We do seem to have come into a country with a rather strange population,” Rod admitted to Gwen.
“We do indeed,” she agreed. “The Faery, and some of the spirits Elidor doth mention, I have heard of—yet some are total strangers. Can we be in Gramarye, Rod?”
Rod shrugged. “Sure. Given a population of latent telepaths, who can persuade witch-moss to adopt any shape they’re collectively thinking of, and a thousand years to work in, who can say what would show up?”
“Yet I cannot think the elves would disappear,” Gwen pointed out, “and some magics that the faery duke did speak of, no witch or warlock in all Gramarye possesseth.”
“True,” Rod admitted, “both points. The spriggans’ ropes are something new—and so is making them crumble to dust before they touched Lord Kern—if the faery duke wasn’t just making that up. Still, I could see a way telekinesis might do that. But, turning faeries to stone? No. That’s really new—if he meant it literally.”
“Yet if we be on Gramarye,” Gwen said softly, “where do we be?”
“Nice question.” Rod looked up at the starry sky above the lake. “Could be anywhere, dear. McAran’s time machine was a matter-transmitter as well as a time-shifter. I suppose we could be on any world, around any star in the universe.” He frowned, squinting up at the sky. “Though, come to think of it, there’s something familiar about those constellations…” He shook his head. “Can’t place it. But I know I’ve seen that stellar layout before!”
“Yet ‘tis not the sky of Gramarye,” Gwen said softly.
Rod was silent for a moment. Then, slowly, he shook his head. “No, dear. It’s not.”
They walked silently for a few minutes, looking away from the sky and down toward the ground, hand in hand. The children picked up Gwen’s thoughts, and crowded close for comfort. Elidor watched, not understanding, alone and to the side.
Gwen reached out and gathered him in. “Well, ‘tis not so great a blow as all that; I’ve had suspicions. There’re far too few folk here with any Power, for it to ha’ been our Isle of Gramarye.”
“Yes,” Rod said somberly. “We haven’t run into so much as a telepath. Not that I’m used to having people read my thoughts…” He looked up at Gwen, frowning. “Strange, isn’t it? When I first came to Gramarye, the Queen’s witches could read my mind—but by the time I met you, no one could.”
“Oh, really?” said a mellow baritone behind him. “That’s interesting!”
Rod whirled about.
A friar in a brown robe with a black rope belt picked his way through the trees toward them. Moonlight gleamed off his tonsure. “Can you think of anything that could cause that effect?”
“Not offhand,” Rod said slowly. “And you’ll pardon my noticing that you don’t quite speak like the rest of the local population.”
“Not surprising; I’m from out of this world.” The friar thrust out a hand. “Father Aloysius Uwell, at your service.”
“I hope so.” Rod searched the man’s face. He was definitely on the fat side, with brown hair and a library pallor, wide, frank eyes, and a firm mouth; and something immensely likeable about him. Rod warmed to him, albeit reluctantly. He took Father Uwell’s hand. “Good to meet you.” Then he noticed the tiny yellow screwdriver in the priest’s breast pocket. “You’re a Cathodean!”
“Is that so surprising?” Father Uwell smiled. “I told you I wasn’t of this world.”
“Or the next?” But Rod couldn’t help smiling. “What world are you from?”
“McCorley, originally—but I’ve been on Terra, at the Vatican, for the last twenty years. Except for jaunts to trouble-spots, of course—such as Gramarye.”
“Gramarye?” Rod’s eyebrows shot up. “So you came in the same way we did?”
“Yes, and it wasn’t very easy, I don’t mind telling you! Here I’ve been outbound from Terra for most of a month, just to meet you—and when I get to Gramarye, I find you’ve just left! Not very hospitable of you, sir.”
“Uh, yeah, well, I’m sorry, but your reservation got mislaid. Pardon my curiosity, but I wouldn’t think the Vatican would even have heard about me, let alone have been interested in me!”
“We hadn’t, until the Pope opened a letter that’s been waiting in the vaults for a thousand years or so.”
“A thousand years?” Rod did some quick subtraction.
“Who knew about me in 2000 AD?” Then it hit him. “Oh. No. Not McAran.”
“Ah, I see you’ve met! Yes, it was from a Dr. Angus McAran. He informed the Pope that Rod Gallowglass, of Gramarye—and he gave the coordinates—was potentially the most powerful wizard ever born.”
Gwen gasped.
The kids stared.
Rod squeezed his eyes shut and gave his head a quick shake. “Oh, no, not again! That skinny old b…” He remembered the children and took a deep breath. “ ‘Fraid it’s a wild goose chase, Father. I’ve never shown the faintest trace of any magical ability.”
“He did say ‘potential,’ ” Father Uwell reminded, “and I find this sudden telepathic blockage of yours quite interesting—oh, yes, I do believe telepathy works, especially since I’ve visited Gramarye.”
Rod smiled. “Met some of our witches, huh?”
Father Al winced. “Just one—and an elf. I’d really rather call your ‘witches’ espers, if you don’t mind. ‘Witch’ is a supernatural term, and there’s nothing metaphysical about psionic powers. Oh, and by the way, I saw your youngest.”
“Gregory!” Gwen’s gaze riveted on the priest. “How doth he, good Father?”
“Quite well, I assure you madame,” Father Al said kindly. “Two old elf-wives are watching over him, and the witch-girl who brought me to your house is helping them now. And Puck himself is guarding the door.”
Rod smiled, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. “Well, with him there, no enemy could even get close to the door.”
“Doth he fret?” Gwen said anxiously.
“Not visibly.” Father Al frowned. “In fact, he’s very quiet. But the witch-girl read his thoughts, and told me that his mind searches for you ceaselessly—even when he’s asleep. Well did you name him—‘Gregory,’ the watcher, the sentinel.”
But Gwen wasn’t listening any more; her eyes had los
t focus as her mind probed. Suddenly she gasped. “I do feel his touch!”
“Across time?” Rod cried. Then he frowned. “Wait a minute—McAran had a technique like that, where the mind travelled through time to a host-body. But how could a baby learn it?”
“He’s too young to know about time,” Father Al suggested. “Perhaps, to him, all moments are the same.”
“There are words!” Gwen cried, eyes huge.
“Words?!!? But the kid doesn’t know how to talk!”
“Nay… ‘tis Fess.” Gwen’s brows knit. “Do not ask me the manner of it.”
Rod slammed a fist into his palm. “Transmitting on my thought-frequency—and Gregory’s my baby, so his frequency resonates with mine! He’s picking up Fess’s thoughts, and Gregory’s telepathic waves are acting as a carrier wave for Fess! What’s he saying, Gwen?”
She frowned. “ ‘Tis too faint to make much of… There is something said of a machine, and of Brom O’Berin and Dr. McAran… And something of the Abbot and the King, also. I think… ‘tis that the Abbot unaccountably turned back, returning to Their Majesties full wroth. He thought he had been duped… their bargain was broken… the Abbot doth storm away, back to his monastery… Tuan hath sent out the summons to his barons, to send him levies of knights and men, and doth gird himself for war…” Her voice broke. “Husband—they may come to battle, and our babe lies there defenseless!”
“Not defenseless, not with Puck guarding his door,” Rod reassured her quickly. “And you can be sure, if Puck’s there, Brom O’Berin’s getting hourly reports. If there’s any threat to the kid, he’ll whisk him away to Elfland so quickly that Gregory won’t even know he’s been moved!”
“Dost thou truly think he will?” Tears filled Gwen’s eyes.
“Of course! After all, he’s the kid’s gr… godfather! Believe me, you can trust him. But cut the talking, dear—reassure the poor baby, while the contact lasts.”
“Aye…” Gwen’s gaze seemed to turn inward; she sat alone, hands in her lap, mind reaching out to enfold her baby’s.
Father Al coughed politely. “Ah, may I inquire—who is ‘Brom O’Berin?’ ”
“The King of the Elves,” Rod said absently, then quickly, “Uh, that’s semi-classified information! Do you still honor the Seal of the Confessional, Father?”
“We do, though we don’t use that term any more.” Father Al smiled, amused. “And what you’ve just let slip is protected by it. Would it reassure you if I called you, ‘my son?’ ”
“No, that’s not necessary.” Rod smiled, warming even more to the priest. “Brom’s also the Royal Privy Counselor, you see—so there is a need for secrecy.”
“Hm.” Father Al frowned. “Then should your children hear it?”
“The kids?” Rod glanced at the grassy bank; the children lay tumbled on it, asleep. “It has been a long day, hasn’t it? No, I don’t think they heard, Father.”
“So I see.” Father Al smiled fondly.
Rod cocked his head to one side, watching him. “Little sentimental, aren’t you? I mean, considering they’re supposed to be little warlocks and a little witch.”
Father Al stared at him, startled. “Come now, sir! These children’s souls are perfectly normal, from all that I can see! There’s nothing supernatural about psionic powers!”
“Sure about that?” Rod eyed him sideways. “Well, it’s your field, not mine. Uh—you are a specialist, aren’t you?”
Father Al nodded. “A cultural anthropologist, really, but I specialize in the study of magic.”
“Why?”
Father Al blinked. “How’s that again?”
“Why would the Church of Rome be interested in magic?”
The priest grinned broadly. “Why, to prove it doesn’t exist, for one thing—and that takes some meticulous work on occasion, believe me; there’ve been some extremely clever hoaxes. And, of course, the rare actual esper can very easily be mistaken for a sorcerer. Beyond that—well, the whole concept of magic has a strange domination over men’s souls, in many cultures; and the soul is our concern.”
“Meaning that if any real magic ever does show up, you want to know how to fight it.”
“If it’s demonic, yes. For example, exorcism has a long history. But the Church didn’t really begin to become interested in magic until the 25th Century, when provable espers began to become visible. They weren’t Satanists, nor possessed by evil spirits; that didn’t take long to establish. On the other hand, they weren’t saints either—that was even more obvious. Good people, most of them, but no better than the average, such as myself.”
“So,” Rod said, “you had to decide there was a ‘magic’ force that had nothing to do with the supernatural.”
Father Uwell nodded. “Then we were off the hook, for the time being. But some of the Cathodeans began to wonder how the Church should react if it ever ran into some sort of real magic that was neither witchcraft nor miracle.”
Rod frowned. “Just what’d you have in mind? I mean, if esper powers don’t fit that description, what does?”
“Oh, you know—fairy-tale magic. Waving your hands in the air, and chanting an incantation, and making something happen by a ritual process, not by the power of your mind.”
“Saying ‘Abracadabra’ and waving a magic wand, huh? All right, I’ll bite—how should the Church react?”
Father Uwell shrugged. “How should I know? We’ve only been discussing it for five hundred years.”
Rod eyed him sideways. “I should think that’d be time enough to arrive at a few tentative conclusions.”
“Oh yes, hundreds of them! That’s the problem, you see—we have a notion about how we should respond if we ever do encounter a case of real magic—but so far, we haven’t.”
“O-o-oh.” Rod nodded. “No one to test your theories on, huh?”
“Exactly so. Of course, we’ve looked for a real magician; we’ve investigated hundreds of cases. But most of them proved to be espers who didn’t know what they were; and there were a few cases of demonic possession, of course. The rest were hoaxes. So if we ever do find a real ‘wizard,’ we think we’ll know how to react, but…”
“How?”
Father Uwell shrugged. “The way we should’ve reacted to the introduction of science, and eventually did—that it’s something neither good nor evil, but does raise a deal of questions we have to try to answer.”
Rod tilted his head back, lips forming the syllable quite a while before he said it. “Oh. So if a real wizard should happen to come waltzing along, you want to be there from the very beginning, so you can figure out what questions he’s raising.”
“And bat them to the theologians, to find answers for.” Father Uwell nodded. “And there is the danger that a neophyte wizard might start meddling with the supernatural, without realizing what he’s doing. If that did happen, someone should be there to steer him back into safe territory.”
“And if he doesn’t steer?”
“Persuade him, of course.”
“And if he doesn’t stop?”
Father Uwell shrugged. “Batten down the hatches and get braced for the worst—and try to figure out how he does what he does, so that if he lets loose some really evil power, we can counter it.”
Rod stood very still.
Then he nodded, slowly. “So. It does behoove the Church to study magic.”
“And we have. We’ve worked out a great deal, theoretically—but who’s to say if any of it’s really valid?”
Rod shook his head. “Not me, Father. Sorry, but if you’re looking for a wizard, you haven’t found him… I’ve never worked a trick in my life, that didn’t have a gadget behind it. I did bump into McAran once, coming through a time machine—but I wasn’t a wizard then, either. And he knew it!”
The priest thrust his head forward. “A time machine. He could’ve used it to take a look at your personal future.”
Rod stood stock-still for a moment.
Then he s
hook his head vigorously. “No. Oh, no. No. There’s no way I could turn into a wizard—is there?”
“Well, there is the question of your suddenly becoming telepathically invisible—but that’s more a matter of psi phenomena than of magic. Still, it indicates you may have some powers you don’t know about. Has something improbable ever happened, when you wanted it to happen, for no visible reason?”
Rod frowned, shaking his head. “Never, Father. Can’t think of a single.”
“Mine husband,” Gwen reminded, “the bells…”
Rod looked up, startled. Then he turned back to the priest, slowly. “That’s right. Just a little while ago, I wanted church bells to ring, very badly—wished it with all my might, actually—I was trying to break through to Gwen, hoping she’d read my mind and start ringing them telekinetically.”
“And they rang,” Gwen said softly, eyes wide, “though I did not do it.”
“Nor the kids either,” Rod said grimly. “You don’t suppose…?”
“Oh, I do—but it’s only a supposition. One incident isn’t quite enough to construct a theory. Excuse me—you did say your wife is telekinetic?”
“Among other things.” Rod nodded. “And our little girl, too. The boys teleport. That’s the usual sex-linked breakdown on Gramarye, for espers. But Magnus is telekinetic, too, which breaks the rules—and he’s got some powers we’re not sure about at all.”
“It runs in the family, then.”
“Runs? It never even slows down to a trot!”
“Yes, I see.” Father Uwell frowned. “I’d heard about this all, of course, but… Doesn’t it strike you as strange that your children should breed true, in esper powers, when only one of their parents is an esper?”
Rod stared. Gwen’s eyes lit.
“I’d assumed it was a dominant trait,” Rod said slowly.
“Which it well might be, of course. But how do you explain your son’s additional powers?”
“I don’t.” Rod threw up his hands. “I’ve been trying for eight years and I still can’t. How’s ‘mutation’ sound to you?”
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