A Wizard in a Feud

16

Alea led the way out of the Clancy clan’s great house and gazed up at the stars, drawing her cloak about her and shivering. “Midnight, Gar.”

Gar nodded. “A good time for bad things to happen.”

“Bad things indeed,” Moira said darkly.

“You can feel them, can’t you?” Alea asked Gar. “The Learies, moving up through the pitch-dark woods to surround this house?”

“How do you know that?” Kerlew asked, eyes wide.

“How do you make your satires actually hurt?” Gar countered.

“You’d better start composing them,” Alea said, “one for the Learies and one for the Clancies.”

“This can’t be!” Kerlew protested. “They believed us!”

“Grandma Clancy didn’t,” Alea told him.

Moira’s lips thinned. “She will when the Old Ones have done with them.”

“The Learies are still half a mile away,” Gar said, “and Grandma Clancy is back inside that house whipping her people into a fighting rage at the thought that the Learies might be creeping up on them like treacherous snakes—”

“She should know,” Moira said sourly. “Make that one satire against any who fight in defiance of Danu’s wishes, Kerlew. Both bands mean mayhem.”

“They do indeed,” Alea agreed, “and we don’t want to get caught between them when the bullets start flying. Come on, friends! Away from this place!”

They struck out uphill. Half an hour later and well above the treetops, they looked down on the Clancy homestead, tranquil in the still night—but Alea could read the homicidal thoughts both inside it and out, and shuddered.

She wasn’t the only one. On the hillside across from hers, a furry globe-shaped alien with tiny cat-ears grinned, showing very sharp teeth. “Strike at the first shot,” she told the gauzy-winged creature that hovered before her face. “Don’t worry, I’ll lend your minds more than enough power to lay them low. Has each one of your people chosen a Clancy?”

“Yes, and each elf is pacing a Leary, ready to fire a bolt,” the fairy answered. “Speak, Bighead; and we shall loose our wrath upon them!”

A burst of flame blossomed in the woods below. “Loose!” Evanescent snapped.

The sound of the shot reached them as several more fireflowers bloomed at the narrow windows of the great house. “Now do as my New People have promised,” the alien purred, and sat back to watch the shortest war humans ever waged.

Aran Leary cried out and dropped his rifle, clutching his head as he sank to his knees.

“What ails you, Aran?” Caitlin cried.

Aran screamed and rolled on the ground.

“Rhys, see where he’s shot!” Caitlin snapped. “Aran, cease that weakling’s wailing! You want every single Clancy to know where we are?” As Rhys dove to see to Aran, Caitlin turned back to business, raising her rifle and sighting.

Fire flared in her belly. She dropped her weapon, folding over the pain, trying to stifle a scream and failing.

On the other side of the house, Patrick hissed, “Fire!” and a dozen Learies leveled their weapons, not seeing the darts that flew at them out of the darkness.

“Ow!” One swatted at his neck.

“Blast!” another clapped a hand over her arm. “What the blazes…”

“Damn big mosquitoes here!” A third clamped his lips against the urge to cry out. Then they all went rigid.

“What ails you slackers?” Patrick hissed. “Fire!” Then pain bit the back of his neck; he slapped at it, then froze. He tottered and fell just as his squad did, then screamed in agony as fire seemed to course through his veins.

Inside the house, Zachariah Clancy wondered, “Why the hell don’t they shoot again?”

“We saw their rifle flashes,” Amanda told him. “We can fire there again.”

“A Leary just might be stupid enough to hang around waiting for a second shot,” Zachariah allowed. “Let ‘em have it!” Then he looked up, staring in disbelief out the window.

“Zachariah!” Malcolm cried. “Look there—a fairy!” Then he clutched his head and roared with pain.

Zachariah didn’t pay much attention. He was too busy rolling on the floor and bellowing with pain of his own.

Atop the northern hill, Kerlew stood with his arms upraised, chanting,

He stood a moment, frowning down at the valley uncertainly, then turned to Gar and Alea. “How was that?”

“Not exactly great literature,” Gar judged, “but it seems to have been effective.”

“Too effective.” Alea’s face was strained; drops of sweat appeared on her brow. “At least, with help from the Old Ones, it is. Give them relief, Kerlew: Let’s see if they’ve learned their lesson yet.”

“As you say.” Kerlew spread his hands and began to intone a verse that would relieve the pain.

On the southern hill, Evanescent looked up, reading his thoughts, then told the waiting fairy, “Give the New People a chance to reform. Take away their pain and see if they behave.”

“Even so.” The fairy turned and sang to another, who darted away into the night.

Minutes later, the Clancies all relaxed with a massive gasp, then pulled themselves up, blinking and white-eyed. Looking out through the windows, they remembered where they’d last seen their enemies. One or two reached for their rifles, then hesitated.

On the ground and in the trees, elves loosed more darts, and the Learies relaxed with shudders that shook their whole bodies, then slowly pushed themselves up to their knees. They looked down at their rifles, looked up at the darkened windows of the Clancy house, looked again at the rifles—but only looked. Inside the house, Zachariah hobbled up to Grandma. “I don’t know how that bard did it, Grandma, but everyone who aimed a rifle seized up with pain like we’ve never felt.”

“I know,” the old woman replied, white-knuckled and gasping. She looked up at Zachariah, her eyes rolling. “I felt it, too.”

“They haven’t started shooting again,” Moira said.

“No, they haven’t,” Alea agreed, “but that doesn’t mean they won’t, as soon as they think we’ve gone.”

“Then we’d better stay,” Gar said. “Kerlew, you’d better compose some new verses, just in case.”

Both sides stayed in place, watching through the night, hands never far from their rifles but never quite touching, either. As the stars began to dim, Aran said to Amanda, “I’ve been thinking.”

“What?” she asked, exhaustion making her voice ragged. “It was the bard who laid the satire on us that’s caused this pain, right?”

“I figured that out for myself,” she said with withering sarcasm.

“Okay, how about this? We kill the bard and we kill the pain!”

Amanda was silent for several minutes, staring out the window at the dark masses of bushes that hid Learies. Finally she announced her verdict: “Won’t work. It’s the Old Ones who are bringing the pain, just as the satire told them. They’ll still heed its words whether the bard’s there or not.”

Aran growled resentment. “Why should the Old Ones obey a bard all of a sudden?”

“Because this one’s satires really work,” Amanda answered. “Who knows what verses he laid on the Wee Folk?”

Aran was silent awhile, seething with frustration and anger. Finally he said, very softly, “How about if we kill the Old Ones?” Pain ripped through his head. He clutched his hair, rolling on the floor, choking down screams into a gargling mutter. Then the pain ceased and he went limp, panting.

Amanda looked down on him with sympathetic eyes but said, “No. I don’t think we’d better try that.”

Outside, Patrick slipped through the gloaming to his fellow captain. “Caitlin,” he said, “when did the Old Ones become this mighty?”

“Guess they always have been, Pat,” she answered. “They just never thought to use the full weight of their power before.” Patrick frowned. “What made ‘em do it now?”

“The bard,” Caitlin answered.

“Yeah, the bard,” Patrick growled in disgust, “and it’s the priests and the seer who’ve made him realize he can do it.” Caitlin turned a cold glance on him. “What damnfool notion are you cooking up?”

“You know,” he said..

“Then its damnfool indeed!” she answered. “Those fairies and elves know what they can do now! Killing the bard and the priests won’t change that.”

Patrick turned to gaze out at the dark bulk of the house, scowling. After a while, he said, “The seal’s been broke and the jar’s opened. No way to lock it tight again, is there?”

“Not unless you got one hell of a kettle to boil it in,” Caitlin answered, “no.”

Atop the northern hill, Kerlew asked anxiously, “Will they try to fight again?”

Gazing off into the darkness but seeing another world, Moira told him, “No. They’re too smart for that.”

Alea nodded. “They’ve thought it out and found it’s too late to stop the Old Ones.”

“You mean they’re afraid of elves and fairies?”

“Not afraid,” Gar said. “In fact, they could probably withstand the pain long enough to loose a few shots now and then—but only a few. They’ve begun to realize that the feuds are going to be too difficult to manage any more.”

“You mean the price is too high?” Kerlew asked.

“The price has always been too high,” Moira answered, tightlipped.

Alea nodded. “But so far, they’ve had a chance of winning. Now they know that they’ll all lose, and nobody can win any battle.”

“As they should have all along,” Gar said.

“So they’ll stop feuding because the cost is too high?” Kerlew asked. “Not because it’s wrong?”

Alea gazed off into space, sampling the thoughts below her. Then she reported, “One or two of them are beginning to think that. Just one or two, mind you.”

“But it’s not even morning yet,” Moira reminded her.

Inside the great house, Aran said slowly, “You don’t suppose the gods are real, do you?”

A week later, neither Clancy nor Leary had moved to attack the other again, though each still kept its sentries stationed round the clock. Monitoring their thoughts, Alea found that each clan had told its neighbors about the episode. Two of those neighbors had marched out for a final battle before the Druids managed to reach them with their message of peace or doom, but as soon as any of them put finger to trigger, they collapsed in agony. There were many, many Old Ones, and they were watching all the New Folk like hawks.

So, when the sky lightened a fortnight after the abortive battle, Alea and Gar led Moira and Kerlew up to the bald top of a high hill, then turned to reassure them.

“They’ll only need reminding from now on,” Alea told the two young folk. “The rumor mill is in full swing, and half the land has already heard that the gods have finally forbidden the feuding.”

“But what if they ambush us to keep us from preaching to them?” Kerlew asked, eyes wide with fright.

“How can we manage without you now?” Moira cried. “Quite well, I think,” Gar told them. “Wherever you go now, the Old Ones will be watching—and anyone who makes any move to hurt you will feel as though he’s been plunged into fire.”

“Or will wake up the day after you’ve passed and wonder what put him to sleep,” Alea added. “If a whole clan chases you, you’ve only to run to the nearest fairy Mound, and the Keepers will give you sanctuary. No one will dare follow you onto the slopes of the Mound itself.”

They could see the edge of hysteria fade from the eyes of the young folk, see them stand a little straighter, a little more firmly, even though Moira said, “What if they simply lurk in the woods around the Mound and wait for us to come out?”

“Then you have simply to wait until the Old Ones drive them away,” Alea told her. “If they won’t scare from simple accidents, a few heart attacks and even one or two dead will certainly make them go.”

“Besides,” Gar said, “even if some assassin does manage to get past your elfin bodyguards, do you really think this cause isn’t worth your life?”

“Of course it is,” Kerlew said instantly, his jaw squaring with obstinacy.

“My life, yes.” Moira glanced at the young man out of the corner of her eyes. “His life, no.”

“But your life is more important than mine!” He turned to take her hands. “I can’t go on preaching and wandering without you! Besides, who’d listen to the bard without the seer?”

Moira stared into his eyes for a long moment, then said, “I guess we’ll have to travel together, won’t we?”

The morning seemed suddenly filled with amazing tension. Kerlew’s voice was low, “Be careful what you say. This is no summer’s jaunt we’re setting out on. There’s no way out once we start it. If we’re into this at all, we’re into it for life.”

“We’re already into it.” Moira clasped his hands with both of hers. “For all our lives.”

“Together,” he whispered.

They stood in silence, staring into one another’s eyes.

“At least you gave me more of an option than that,” Alea said to Gar with an impish smile.

Shutters seemed to come down behind his eyes; he nodded gravely. “Of course. Any planet you choose to stay on, you shall. I’d never try to haul you off against your will.”

Alea stared up at him, appalled, and thought came in a rush of feeling, but she was careful to shield the words from his mind. Blast! Now I’ve gone and hurt him again! A curse on she who shattered his fragile heart!

Moira turned to them with a smile. “And if she chooses to stay with you?”

Gar stared at her, taken aback, then slowly smiled. “I’ll rejoice in her company, of course.”

Alea flashed the younger woman a grateful smile. But Kerlew frowned. “What’s a planet?”

“A wandering star,” Gar answered, “a world, like this one.” Moira stared, then darted a glance at the paling vault above them, the scattering of stars still visible. “Each one of them a world?”

“Most of them are suns,” Gar corrected, “but there are many, many planets, as well.”

Kerlew stared upward, too. “You don’t mean you travel from planet to planed”

“We do,” Alea said with a gentle smile. “But how?”

“In a ship that sails between the stars.” Gar pointed at the sky. “That one.”

Moira and Kerlew stared up in disbelief as the great golden disk spun lower and lower.

In a grove at the edge of the hilltop, an elf protested, “But we won’t have strength enough to stop the feuds without you!”

“You won’t,” Evanescent acknowledged, “but the New People won’t know that. Just pick out the odd rifle-bearer now and then, gang up on him, and send him into half a minute of agony. The tale will run and the New People will obey the laws of bard and seer, for fear of you.”

“And of their gods,” sang a fairy by the alien’s brow. Evanescent nodded. “After a while, they’ll even begin to believe in their gods again, yes.”

“Still, you can’t leave us,” the elf pointed out. “How will you climb aboard that ship without their knowing?”

“Why, like this.” Evanescent watched Gar and Alea stop at the top of the boarding ramp to wave at Kerlew and Moira, then turn to go into the ship. The younger couple turned to talk to one another in stunned amazement as the ramp started to lift. Then, suddenly, they froze, and so did the ramp.

“You can control their minds that well!” the fairy marvelled. “And their ship’s,” Evanescent said, “though it hasn’t a mind, really, only a machine that imitates one.”

“But it will remember.”

“No, I’ll erase all memory of me from the ship’s data banks,” Evanescent explained. “From the minds of the bard and seer, too. That’s a trick you might want to learn; it can come in handy from time to time.”

The fairy exchanged a surprised glance with the elf. “Yes, I can see that it would.”

“Good luck to you, then.” Evanescent shouldered out of the shrubbery. “Now I must go. I really shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

“May you fare well,” the fairy told her, and the elf agreed, “May your journey be light.”

Or light-years, Evanescent thought smugly. Then she waddled over to the ramp, leaped up onto it, and scuttled aboard. Seconds later, the ramp slid back into the ship and Moira looked up. Kerlew followed her gaze, and the two of them stood watching as the golden disk rose slowly, then suddenly streaked back into the sky, alight with the sunrise.

Aboard the ship, Alea came into the lounge in her robe, a towel wound turbanlike around her hair, to find a tall iced drink waiting next to her lounger. She slid into it, took a long sip, then looked up at Gar, secure and amazingly relaxed in a velvet robe, one hand on his iced glass, head leaning back against the padding, eyes closed.

“Where to next, O Mighty Hunter?” Alea asked.

“Why, where you will,” Gar replied, not opening his eyes. Alea stared. “You expect me to choose the next planet? All on my own?”

“If you want to.” Gar’s eyelids cracked open to gaze at her, a peaceful smile on his lips. “If you don’t, give me a week or two to rest and look through the database.”

“Well … I could use a rest, too.” Alea eyed him with concern. “Somehow I thought you already had the look of a man on the brink of his next journey, though.”

“Perhaps I am.” Gar closed his eyes, and the image of the rag-and-bone man rose unbidden behind his eyelids. “There is an unknown land I need to explore. I’ve been putting it off a while.”

Alea tried to keep the concern out of her voice. “You’ll need a companion, then.”

“Perhaps I will.” Gar opened his eyes again just enough to give her a lazy, trusting smile. “But I can wait. There will be time.”

“There will be time,” Alea echoed him in a whisper and, since his eyes were closed, let herself simply sit and gaze at his rough-hewn features in a very rare moment of tranquility.

In the ship’s hold, in an area where Herkimer’s sensors had strangely ceased to send signals to the computer’s CPU (and, more strangely, Herkimer wasn’t aware of the fact), Evanescent the alien settled down to hibernate, gleefully remembering that Alea hadn’t realized the extent of the alien’s meddling. None of them had so much as guessed that it was she who sent the disorientation that had broken up the battle between the Belinkuns and the Farlands, she who had sent Kerlew a vision of a sick woman miles away, she who had helped Gar confuse the members of the large outlaw band who chased him and Kerlew, she who had made Kerlew’s satire of the clan leader produce pain, she who had helped the fairies and Wee Folk stop this last battle. Her absence wouldn’t matter, though—she had already told the Old Ones how to cope without her, and Kerlew’s latent psi talent had burgeoned with her help. His satires would be quite effective with no power but his own now.

Of course, Alea couldn’t have guessed at the alien’s efforts, since Evanescent never let her remember their encounters. She toyed with letting the young woman recover those memories for a little while aboard ship, then rejected the plan. Time enough to let Alea remember when Evanescent needed another conference with her.

All in all, the alien reflected, it had been a most enjoyable interlude, a delightful relief from boredom, but tiring, too. She was looking forward to a nice long nap. Lazily, she directed one last thought at Gar and Alea, making them want rest as much as she did, then let herself sink down through layers of dwindling consciousness to the land of very exotic dreams that no human being could possibly have understood.