Out of Phaze aa-4

by Piers Anthony

  The harpy spat. The stuff splatted against the side of the hole. The fumes from it wafted back, making Fleta want to retch. She had trouble breathing. How much of this could she take?

  Then Phoebe arrived. Fleta spied her as she crossed that slit of the sky visible through the hole's entrance. Even from a distance, her fright-wig hairstyle identified her. She thumped in as other harpies were clustering close, seeking to add their gross spittle to the game. "Mine! Mine!" Phoebe screeched.

  "But I saw this vampire first!" another harpy screeched.

  "And what kind of coiffure dost thou have?" Phoebe demanded.

  That settled it. The others backed off. Fleta crawled out of the hole, avoiding the spittle as well as she could, and breathed the relatively fresh air outside with enormous relief.

  Phoebe clung to the trunk with her talons. "So thou dost manifest as a vampire now?" she inquired in an uncharacteristically low tone so as not to be overheard by the others.

  "Unicorns be not safe here," Fleta said.

  "That be for sure! Well, I will keep thy secret. Where be thy companion, the handsome apprentice?"

  "Captive of the Purple Adept. But I think he can escape, if I be free, so as to be no burden to him."

  "I can free thee," Phoebe said. "I will carry thee forth as prey, and none will challenge me."

  Could she trust this harpy this far? Phoebe was a friend, but she was a harpy, and might forget herself.

  But it was a good idea. Fleta realized that this was a better gamble than trying to get away alone. "Canst catch me without hurting?"

  "Aye. But fly not too far."

  Fleta spread her wings as if fleeing, and launched herself upward. The harpy spread her own wings almost simultaneously, whomped up, and performed a marvelous snatch. She took Fleta's tiny form in a talon, not closing it tightly, and pumped on up into the sky. "I will consume this morsel at leisure!" she screeched to the others. "Begone, dullheads!"

  Disappointed, the other harpies dispersed somewhat.

  Phoebe bore northeast, toward the plains of the unicorns. Two other harpies hovered in the sky, peering about, but none challenged Phoebe. That coiffure really gave her status!

  As the sun stood near its zenith, Phoebe set her down, well within unicorn territory. Fleta assumed her natural form and played a brief melody of thanks on her horn.

  "Unicorns be no special friends o' mine," Phoebe said. "But they can play pretty, I confess!" She took off for the sky again.

  The favor they had done the harpy had been well repaid. Fleta was free. She did a leap and a distance with the Unicorn Strut, the five-beat gait no other creature could match.

  Then she came to ground, as it were. She was free – but what about Mach? Or Bane? Bane might even now be fighting his way free of the Purple Adept – but maybe not. She had better get to the Blue Demesnes and inform them of the situation.

  She set off for the castle at a gallop. It was not far from the Unicorn Demesnes, and before long she arrived.

  The Lady Stile come out to greet her. The Lady, Bane's mother, was a handsome figure of a woman in her forties, well regarded by all the animals of the region. "Why, Fleta, what brings thee here?" she inquired.

  Fleta changed to girl form. "Bane be captive of the Purple Adept!" she panted.

  "Nay, no longer," the Lady said.

  "Thou dost know?"

  "Come talk with Stile," the Lady said.

  Fleta followed her inside. In an interior study the Adept sat, smaller than Fleta's human form, but awing her with his aura of power. He was of course garbed in blue.

  "Bane be on the way here," Stile said to Fleta. "He has just finished talking with a mermaid."

  "A mermaid?"

  Stile smiled. "He was saved from harm by Translucent, who wishes to persuade him to carry messages to Proton for the other Adepts. Now he must decide. His problem is that he fears a friend in Proton is held captive by enemy Citizens. I think he will wish to return there to free her, or to verify her safety."

  "Thou dost know all this – and didst do nothing?" Fleta asked, confused.

  "I have been attuned to my son since seeing the two of you yesterday. After your capture by Purple, I watched closely. Mach returned to Proton, and Bane returned to his own body. Thee I did not watch, Fleta; it be no easy thing to snoop undetected on the affairs of another Adept, and my son I had to guard against harm."

  "Thou couldst have rescued Bane – and did not?" Fleta asked, appalled.

  "I could have, and would have. But there were two counterindications. First, Bane must learn to handle his own problems, and experience be the finest teacher. Had he been near death, I would have snatched him from it, but I hoped not to have to do that. Second, I had to know exactly what the Adverse Adepts contemplated – and that, thanks to Bane, I have now determined. I am glad thou didst win free, too."

  Fleta was no human being, but she found this to be more cynical than she could accept. To allow his own son to be in danger of death, just to snoop on the plans of other Adepts! She could not express her anger openly, for Stile was an Adept who had greatly benefited her Herd and many other animals, but it prompted her to do something almost as foolish. "Dost thou know I love Mach?" she asked.

  Stile gazed at her with disturbing speculation. "I know that thou didst always care for Bane," he said.

  "Not Bane. Mach. From Proton-frame. I love him – and methinks he loves me."

  "That can never be," Stile said, and turned away.

  Fleta started to speak, but the Lady caught her by the arm and urged her out. When they were clear of the room, the Lady said softly: "Bait not my husband, Fleta. He hath much on his mind."

  Bait? They did not believe her!

  And why should they? A human man, the son of an Adept, loving a unicorn? Or a golem from the other frame, with a unicorn? Why should anyone take that seriously?

  She had struggled to come here, to bear news they didn't need. The love she felt was a thing of no consequence to them.

  "I thank thee, Lady," she said. "I shall go to my Herd."

  But the Lady's hand was on her arm. "Dost thou suppose I know not what it means to love one from the other frame? But Mach can come here only at the expense of our son."

  And how could that be? Of course they would not give up their son!

  Then the Lady was holding her, and Fleta was sobbing into her shoulder. The Lady did understand – but understood also the cost. It was not a cost Fleta could ask of them.

  Fleta disengaged and left the castle. About to change back to her natural form, she spied an approaching figure.

  It was Bane. He had returned, as his father had said he would. Now the bad Adepts had no hostages.

  Bane looked at her. He looked exactly like the man

  she loved. "How dost thou feel about Mach?" he asked.

  Fleta dissolved into tears again.

  "I know not what be right," Bane said.

  "Thy father will tell thee," she said. Then she changed, and galloped away, ashamed of her longing. Of course she could not condemn her friend Bane to exile in Proton-frame, for the sake of her own private joy with his other self.

  She proceeded back to the Herd Demesnes, knowing she had to talk to her dam, Neysa, She had to know – what she did not know.

  She located the Herd by nightfall. She checked in with the Herd Stallion, who was her uncle Clip. She was safely out of heat now, so this visit was all right. Belle, Clip's first mare and still his favorite, grazed nearby, her mane glinting iridescently. But it was Neysa she had come to see.

  Soon Neysa joined her, separating from the Herd. Neysa's equine head was turning gray now, and her white socks hung lower on her rear feet than they had in youth, but she remained a handsome small mare. She had returned to the Herd when her breeding years passed; she had had to remain apart when her brother assumed the leadership, but now there was no problem. She still spent much of her time elsewhere, however, because she had friendships with many of the venerable wolves
of the werewolf pack, and of course with Stile and the Lady too.

  They changed to human form and sat under a shade tree. "And didst thou get bred?" Neysa asked.

  "Nay. I – found other occupation."

  "Thou didst not come into heat?"

  "I did, but…"

  Of course her dam had to have the whole story. Fleta told it. "And now Bane be safe, and Mach be back in Proton," she concluded. "And I love Mach."

  Neysa understood about hopeless love, of course. "When thy season comes again, thou must be at the other Herd," she said. "Naught e'er can come of thy interest in a man."

  "Yet, if he returned, as he said he might, for a visit – "

  "Get bred, get a foal, and be friends with the man," Neysa advised. "That be the way it must be. That be the way thou thyself didst come into existence."

  "But if he stayed – "

  "Fleta, he be a man, son of an Adept!" Neysa reminded her. "Thou canst ne'er forget that!"

  "But why must we be apart? An he love me too – "

  But Neysa changed to mare form and dismissed the notion with a harmonica chord from her horn. She had never been one to entertain dreams of the impossible.

  Fleta realized that there was no more acceptance here for her wild dream than there had been at the Blue Demesnes. Yet she was young and impetuous, and still could not give it up. For without Mach, her life had no meaning.

  She sighed. Then she changed to mare form, played a chord of parting to Neysa, and set off across the plain toward the Werewolf Demesnes.

  That journey took some time. She paused for the evening, grazing while she slept on her feet, and resumed it in the morning.

  She reached the Pack later in the day. The hackles of the wolves rose as they spied her, but then they recognized her as the filly of Neysa, and escorted her in to meet the leader, Kurrelgyre.

  Kurrelgyre shifted to man form, and Fleta to girl form. He was grizzled, a veteran of many combats, and perhaps approaching the time when one of his offspring would kill him and take his place as leader. But he was friend to Neysa, and therefore to Fleta. "What brings thee here, filly?" he inquired.

  "I would talk with Furramenin," Fleta said.

  "And welcome," he said. Furramenin was his whelp by his favorite bitch, a lovely creature of Fleta's generation.

  Soon they were talking, apart from the Pack. "Didst thou get bred?" Furramenin inquired eagerly, now in girl form. Soon enough she would have to leave the Pack for similar reason, traveling to one not led by her sire.

  "Not exactly," Fleta said. As before, she had to explain, covering the story in fair detail.

  "Oooo, with a man!" the innocent bitch exclaimed. "But of course it couldn't take!"

  "It was only to prevent me from going on to a Herd," Fleta reminded her.

  "Swish thy tail when thou sayest that!" the wolf exclaimed. "It was the man thou didst desire!"

  "It was the man," Fleta agreed. "And after my season passed, he wanted it more, and his way, and – " She shrugged.

  "And now thou art in perpetual heat for him."

  "Aye, in a way. Ne'er before did I seek it for itself, for love of the one it was with."

  "And who wouldn't? The whelp of an Adept!"

  "Nay, he be from the other frame."

  "So that be why he knew not it was impossible."

  "Aye." Fleta looked at her pleadingly. "I have no life without him. But I know not whether he will return, and e'en if he does – "

  "It still be impossible," Furramenin concluded. "A dream for a week, then back to reality."

  "Yet if he does return, and wants me – "

  "Adepts have concubines," the bitch reminded her. "Some they like better than their wives, if truth be known."

  "But I want him all to myself!"

  Furramenin shook her head. "Impossible," she concluded.

  "Thou dost believe that?"

  "Aye. This be Phaze; hadst thou not noticed?"

  They talked about other things, and it was pleasant enough, but Fleta had learned what she had come to learn. The werewolves did not understand her desire either.

  Next day she galloped on to the cave of the vampires. Here she talked with Suchevane, the loveliest of the vampires. In girl form, Suchevane had chestnut tresses that swirled luxuriantly to her pert bottom, and a figure that virtually drained the blood of males before she even touched them. She was notorious already for her liaisons with any males capable of assuming man form – vampires, werewolves, unicorns, genuine men (including Bane) – and some that only came close. Naturally she had the broadest of perspectives in such matters.

  "But Fleta, it can't be serious!" Suchevane protested.

  "I am serious," Fleta insisted with unicorn stubbornness.

  "I mean, not from the human man's view. Any human man likes to play, but ne'er to marry other than his own kind. Think not I would remain single, an it were otherwise."

  Grim news! If the lovely vampiress could not snag a human man, how could any ordinary animal expect to do so?

  "Actually, the other species be none too keen on it either," Suchevane continued. "I had a really interesting fling with a werewolf, and he petitioned to his Pack to bring me into it, but they negated it."

  "But they could not stop him from marrying thee, an he truly wanted to!" Fleta said.

  Suchevane shook her head, and her hair swirled in a way Fleta had to envy. "Aye, they could stop him."

  "But he could run away with thee – "

  "Not after they tore him to bits."

  Fleta stared at her. The vampiress was serious.

  Suchevane shrugged. "Do what I do, 'corn. Be a private concubine, and seek no more. Accept thy place and live in peace. Half a pint o' blood be better than none."

  It was good advice, Fleta knew. But it gave her no comfort. She didn't want to love Mach in shame.

  So she repaired south to the castle of the Red Adept. This was on a conical mountain, with a path spiraling up to it. But the Adept did not live in the castle, which he had inherited from his predecessor; he lived below it, inside the mountain. For he was Trool the Troll, elevated to Adept status by the action of Stile – and the Book of Magic. All other trolls were truculent and to be feared, but not this one. Not by the friends of Stile.

  She blew a chord of query, seeking admittance. In a moment a hole opened in the base of the mountain, big enough for a unicorn. She trotted in.

  There was eerie fungus light inside. She moved on down the tunnel and into the central chamber. There was the troll, as ugly as any of his kind, carving a figurine out of stone with his bare hands. For this was the talent of trolls, to manipulate stone as if it were clay, and to carve either tunnels or objects from it. Usually the objects were weapons, but sometimes they were artistic. Lovely statues and amulets filled the chamber, each individual and fascinating in its own right. Though any troll could, only Trool did; that artistry had distinguished him from the others of his kind. That, and his constancy of character.

  "I fear I cannot help thee, Fleta," Trool said before she had even presented her case. "I cannot change the ways of entire species, and would not if I could. And my power extends not to the frame of science."

  Somehow she had known Trool would be aware of her. The Book of Magic gave him extraordinary power, even for an Adept. "I think thou canst," she communicated. She used the horn-language of her kind, speaking in notes and harmonies. Few others understood it, but the Red Adept had no trouble.

  "But I would not," he said.

  "What better be there for me?" she demanded with sharp notes.

  "Let me fashion thee a shape in his likeness, that the Brown Adept can animate as a golem."

  "Nay!" Fortissimo.

  "Stile be such an animation," he reminded her. For Stile's body had returned to Proton, animated by the Blue Adept, who had lost his own body. A golem body had been carved by the troll, and animated by the Brown Adept, and Stile's soul had infused it. In all things it had mimicked his natural body perfect
ly, except two: it lacked the bad knees of the original, and it could not reproduce. Stile's son Bane had been sired before the change of bodies.

  "But it be Stile's real soul," she played. "What thou dost offer me be merely Mach's appearance – and that exists already, in Bane. It be only Mach I want, none other."

  "An the golem of Proton come again to Phaze, neither his kind nor thine would permit what thou dost desire," he said.

  "Aye. So it be hopeless. Therefore must thou give me what I come for."

  "How shall I face thy dam, an I do this?"

  "Thou hast no need to tell her."

  The Adept gazed at her sadly. "Since I can help thee not my way, must needs I help thee thy way. But I like it not. Choose thy form."

  Fleta changed to girl form. "This be the form in which I came to love him," she said, speaking the human tongue for the first time.

  "I fear I will do penance for this," Trool said. He handed her an amulet. "Invoke this, when thou art ready."

  She took the amulet. "I invoke thee," she said immediately.

  Nothing happened, physically. But she felt the magic of the amulet fasten about her, and knew it had done its work. She was now unable to change form.

  "I thank thee, Adept," she said.

  "I curse the need," he said.

  She stepped forward and kissed him on his ugly cheek. "How be it a creature as nice as thou hast no companion?"

  "I be alienated from mine own kind," he said gruffly.

  Because he supported Stile's program of greater equality for the nonhuman creatures of Phaze, and of restraint in magic. The other trolls supported the Ad verse Adepts. Of course he had the magic to capture and tame any female of any species, including troll or human, but he declined to use it that way. Thus his tragedy was like hers, in its fashion.

  "Do thou ensure that none interfere," she said.

  "Aye," he agreed glumly. "None save an Adept could, and none would."

  Fleta turned and walked from the mountain. The ground opened to let her out, then closed again behind her. Now she was on her own.

  She walked all day northwest, toward the center of the great White Mountain range. Her human legs grew tired, for she was not hardened to such travel in this form, but it was the only way, now. However long it took, she could afford.