A Wizard in a Feud

2

Why come you hither, mortals?” the foremost demanded. “Your mind what madness fills?”

They looked as humans might have if they had evolved from flying cats, very small cats with very large wings. Pointed ears poked out of flowing manes atop their heads, the only hair on their bodies. Their eyes were large with vertical pupils, noses small and triangular, mouths lipless. Below the leaves and flowers that served them as clothing, their legs hung flexed by powerful thighs and calves.

“Know you not that the deep forests are ours?” the leader demanded. “Are not the rolling meadows and the woodlands enough for you?”

“Actually, we’re strangers who don’t know our way,” Alea said. “We have traveled far, and didn’t know your customs.”

“Traveled far! Whence upon this world can you have come and not known of us?”

“Your ancestors crowded into this land unasked,” another fairy said, eyes bright with anger. “Ours were loathe to wreak ill upon others, so they retreated from the coming of the strangers, then retreated again—but when the human folk began to bring their golden sickles deep within our forests in search of the oaks and mistletoe whose seed they had themselves brought, we cried ‘Enough!’ and taught them our anger.”

“Have you no teachers,” the first fairy asked, “that you have not learned what harm the wrath of the fair folk can bring?”

“I have heard a few stories, yes,” Gar said slowly.

“And do you intend as much harm to us as others of your kind have wreaked upon one another?”

“We most surely do not!” Alea said indignantly. “What of your mate?” another fairy demanded. Alea colored. “He is not my mate!”

“It is as she says,” Gar said with a sigh. “Nonetheless, I intend no harm to your kind either.”

“But to your own?”

“I never intend harm, no,” Gar said carefully.

The leader frowned. “Surely you do not say that you do harm without intending it!”

“When I am attacked, I defend myself—and when I see others oppressed, I defend them,” Gar explained.

“So say all your kind,” spat another fairy. “Nonetheless, they lie in wait for their enemies and strike them dead with their stinking smoke-tubes! What manner of defense is this—to ward yourself before they can think to strike you? Can you truly call that—”

“Softly, Cailleach,” the leader said in an undertone.

Gar held his face steady to hide his recognition of the word. “Cailleach” meant “hag,” and the third fairy was indeed more pale than the others, its skin wrinkled, but it bore no other signs of age—nor of gender, come to that.

“Her point is well taken, though,” the leader said. “What assurance can you give that you will not ‘defend’ yourselves against us before we strike?”

“Their assurances would be meaningless, Ichorba,” Cailleach snapped. “What they say when they are only two to our twenty, and what they will do if they come upon one of us alone, may not be…” Her head snapped up; she looked off to her right with a puzzled frown.

So did the rest of the troupe—except Ichorba. “So you have a guardian spirit.” He was silent a moment, pupils dilating, then shrinking again. “You are avouched.”

Then they were gone in a flurry of huge gauzy wings, shooting up among the limbs of the trees, darting into coverts, a few gliding away between trunks, their glow lighting a long avenue between trees.

Gar and Alea stood silent a moment, staring after them, dumbfounded. Then Alea breathed a sigh and said, “Well! All praise to our guardian spirit! Who is it, Gar?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Gar said. “Unless it’s Herkimer—but I’ve never known him to be telepathic.”

“I didn’t hear any thoughts.”

“Neither did I, but the fair folk certainly did.” Gar started forward again but held his staff in both hands, keenly alert. “It would seem we’ve been adopted by a local intelligent life-form.”

“That would explain it,” Alea said dubiously, “and would explain why the fair folk accepted its vouching for us. After all, I would guess they’re native to this planet, too.”

“They certainly don’t look like Terran imports.” Gar nodded. “Five centuries of evolution can’t make all that great a change.”

“Extra limbs would take considerably longer to grow,” Alea agreed. “Their remote ancestor must have had six limbs for them to have been able to free two for wings.”

“We’ll have to keep an eye on the local wildlife,” Gar said, “that is, assuming it hasn’t all been exterminated by the birds and beasts the colonists brought with them.”

“That’s been known to happen.” Alea had been cramming history, Terran and colonial. “Placental mammals wiped out most of the marsupials in Australia.”

“I don’t think these are mammals,” Gar said. “At least, I didn’t see any evidence of mammary glands.”

Alea shrugged. “Nature is under no obligation to produce the same life-forms on every planet. For all we know, they lay eggs.”

“Or reproduce by fission.” Gar nodded. “No matter how they do, though, they’re clearly native. We’re the aliens here.”

“Yes, and they’re not too happy about it,” Alea said grimly. “Do you think their ancestors really did retreat to make room for the colonists?”

“I suspect there was some fighting that their legends have conveniently forgotten,” Gar said, echoing her grimness, “or maybe even outright extermination. Still, they could be remembering accurately that they didn’t start fighting until people started invading their final sanctuary. By the way, what did you think about the Earthlings coming into the deep woods to search for oaks and mistletoe?”

“With golden sickles? They sound like Druids,” Alea answered.

“They could well be,” Gar said. “Maybe the original colonists were neo-Druids, looking for a place to set up a Celtic world.”

“Not much chance of that back on Earth anymore,” Alea agreed.

“Of course, we don’t carry golden sickles,” Gar said, “but I can see that the fair folk might have become nervous about any Earthlings coming into their domain.”

“Serves us right for landing in the deep woods! And we thought it would keep people from noticing us.”

“It did,” Gar said. “Human people, anyway.”

“Those fairy folk were as human as any of us,” Alea said flatly. “From now on, we should talk about our own kind as Earthlings.”

“That’s fair enough.”

“No, they are.”

“Well, no, they didn’t actually say they were fairies,” Gar pointed out. “Still, if we hear Earthlings use the word, we’ll know we’re up against something more than superstition. I wonder what kind of trouble they thought they could make?”

“We’ll have to ask to hear the local version of fairy tales,” Alea said, “when we find some people—Earthlings, I mean.”

“At any rate, we won’t have to worry about the fairies making trouble for us,” Gar said.

“Yes, since they seem to trust our guardian, whatever that is.”

“That is something we can worry about,” Gar said. “When and where did we acquire a guardian spirit?”

“And how?” Alea shrugged. “Maybe we have an aura of good intentions about us.”

“Intentions, yes,” Gar said with a wry smile. “I’m not always so sure about my accomplishments.”

Alea glanced up at him with a frown. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard him make disparaging comments about himself. How could so valiant and gentle a man not think well of himself? More to the point, how did it affect the way he dealt with her? She decided she’d have to work on it.

The fairies must have been overly sensitive, or the forests not as extensive as they had once been, for they came out of the trees to find the sun newly risen. A broad meadow stretched before them. They followed a deer track to a river; they knew it was a deer track because they saw a doe with two fawns.

“More immigrants.” Gar nodded toward the animals. “Druids would have brought deer, I suppose,” Alea agreed. They followed the river for an hour before they came to a dirt road, tilting downward to the shallows. “Roads mean people,” Alea said. “Which way?”

Gar shrugged. “One is as good as another, and I don’t feel like getting my feet wet.”

They followed the road up the riverbank, under trees vivid with falling leaves of red and gold, between fields guarded by split rail fences, raw with the stubble of harvest and dotted with the upside down cones of corn shocks.

“Fall here, I’d guess,” Alea said. “They do seem to be good farmers.”

“And herders.” Alea pointed her staff at some cows wandering out of a grove to graze in a field off to their right.

“All we need now are their owners,” Gar said. “You’ve found them,” said a deep gravelly voice.

Out of the woods stepped three people in broad-brimmed hats and loose trousers, their coats in grids of green and yellow. Three more like them rose from a ditch on the other side of the road. This close, Gar and Alea could see that some wore close-cropped beards without mustaches, while others were smooth-faced. Some of the beardless ones were clearly young men, others were clearly women.

All carried long flintlock rifles, every one of which seemed to be aimed at himself and Alea.

“That’s a tartan I don’t know,” said the eldest, a graybeard. “Where are you from, strangers, and what’s your clan?”

They both knew that the truth was best. “I’m a Pike from Maxima, and my companion is a Larsdatter,” Gar told him. “Never heard of ‘em.” The man eyed him with suspicion. “Where’s this Maxima?”

“Far away,” Gar told him. “Very far away.”

“Sure must be,” a young man said. “We’ve never heard of it!”

“You leave the talking to those who’re grown enough to have some wisdom; Jethro,” the graybeard said, never taking his eyes from Gar and Alea.

“Oh, all right, Uncle Isaac,” Jethro said, but he still glowered at Gar.

“He’s got a point, though,” said Uncle Isaac. “You must’ve come hundreds of miles.”

“You understand me well,” Gar said, nodding. “I can’t go home until I’ve found what I’m looking for.”

“Oh.” Jethro lowered his rifle. “We understand about wander years.”

“Don’t usually send our young folks off without full guard, though,” Uncle Isaac said suspiciously.

“It was my choice,” Gar said evenly, “and mine not to come home, if misfortune befell me.”

Gun barrels lowered amid exclamations of distress and sympathy.

“What was it, then, lad?” one young woman asked, eyes wide. “What hurt—”

“His business and none other’s!” said an older woman. “Ours not to pry, youngling.”

The young woman clamped her jaw shut, but her eyes burned with resentment.

“What of her, then?” A young man gave Alea a weighing glance that turned to a gleam.

“Indeed,” said Uncle Isaac. “What of you, young woman?”

“I am the last of my clan,” Alea said stiffly.

The clansfolk stared, and several voices murmured with sympathy.

“Ah well, no wonder you’re far from your birthplace, then!” said a woman whose hair was streaked with gray.

“You come home with us and get some food in your bellies,” said another woman with lustrous brown hair and only a few lines in her face. “Poor lass, you must be near starved.”

“She’s skinny enough,” said the young man with the hot eyes.

Gar turned to him with a smile that became a grin.

“Keep your eyes to yourself and your own, Eli,” the grayhaired woman snapped.

“As you say, Aunt Martha,” the young man said reluctantly. “I do say! No call for you to go looking elsewhere, with your Aura Lee to come home to.” Aunt Martha stepped forward, reaching out to Alea. “You come on along now, child. We’ll make you a pallet, and if it’s on the floor, at least it will be indoors and by a fire! How long’s it been since you slept with a roof over your head?”

“Her neighbors surely weren’t about to take her in,” one young woman said to another in a low voice.

“Aye, staying near when your clan is killed is inviting death,” her friend agreed.

“Sure is,” Jethro said. “It’s the same as being outlawed.” Expressions turned startled, then wary. Rifle barrels rose again.

“Jethro, I told you to leave the talking to those as have some sense!” Uncle Isaac blustered.

“Sole survivor’s only an outlaw if she’s close to home,” the brown-haired woman told Jethro scornfully.

“Well, she’s a woman, though,” Jethro grumbled. “Why hasn’t she married into another clan? If she’s journeyed so far, she’s had plenty of chances.”

“Maybe none of ‘em any more comely than you, though!” a young woman said, wrinkling her nose.

“Right enough, Sukey,” the brown-haired woman said, and to Jethro, “Could be she didn’t fall in love, you know.”

“Oh, didn’t she?” Jethro jerked his head at Gar. “Why’s she traveling with him, then?”

“Because she can trust me,” Gar told him, “and it’s safer to travel with a partner. But romance? Look at me, lad. Is this the kind of face to win a woman’s love?”

Jethro locked glares with him—so Gar didn’t see the longing look Alea gave him, quickly masked, nor the kindling glances of the younger clanswomen.

“No,” Jethro said with a contemptuous sneer. “Only a mother could love that face.”

“Handsome is as handsome does, fool!” Sukey jibed. “Then you must’ve done ugly work,” Jethro told Gar. “Ugly indeed,” Gar agreed, “as any fool could tell you.” Jethro’s sneer vanished. “Why a fool?”

“Because it would take a fool to call him out,” Uncle Isaac said, “a man that size.”

“Without a rifle?”

“Guns are for cowards.” Gar lifted his staff. “Any man with real courage would come at me with nothing more than this.”

“There’s truth in that, lad,” Aunt Martha said slowly, “but there’s folly, too. If you’re crossing a meadow and a Belinkun shoots at you, you’d best not go chasing him with nothing but a stick or he’ll shoot you dead.”

“If he has time to reload,” Gar said, his gaze locked with Jethro’s.

“Them Belinkuns never goes out alone,” Jethro said with scorn. “That’s almost as much folly as not carrying a rifle.”

“Why, so it is,” Gar said softly, “and now you’ll understand why the young lady travels with me even though we’re not in love.”

Jethro’s face went slack with surprise at the argument’s going full circle. The young women laughed.

“He’s got you there, Jethro!”

“He beat you by good sense!” Jethro reddened with embarrassment and anger.

“There’s no losing when people manage to make one another understand,” Gar said, “only winning—on both sides.” Jethro looked even more surprised at being offered away to save face. Then he gave a bitter laugh. “Tell that to the Belinkun clan!”

“Why, so I shall,” Gar said, speaking softly again, “if you’ll point me the way and give me a safe-conduct through your lands.”

The clan stared at him in surprise. Then Uncle Isaac laughed, stepping forward to clap him on the shoulder. “I believe you’d do it, too! But it would be the death of you, stranger; those Belinkuns are treacherous as snakes and twice as deadly!”

“I’ve dealt with snakes before,” Gar said evenly.

“Yes, but those snakes weren’t carrying rifles.”

Alea didn’t realize she’d grown tense until she relaxed. She turned to the young women, lifting an eyebrow in exasperation. “Now that the bulls have stopped pawing the ground, maybe we can talk clearly to one another.”

“I always did like to watch a good bullfight,” Aunt Martha said with a grin. She put an arm around Alea’s shoulders. “You come home with us now, lass, and maybe we can get the men to be civil long enough to eat dinner.”

The travelers thought they were still among fields when a minor mob burst caroling from a grove.

“Daddy! Did you shoot me a deer?”

“Mama, Mama! What’s for dinner?”

“Uncle Silas, did you fight another bear?”

“Mommy, did you shoot me that new hat?”

“No, dear.” The brown-haired woman ruffled a little boy’s hair with a fond smile. “The raccoons don’t come out till night.”

“They might have stepped out in the daylight just to oblige you,” Jethro said, “but this big galoot scared ‘em away, he’s so ugly.”

The children saw the strangers and fell silent, their eyes growing round.

“Why, thank you, Jethro,” Gar said with a smile. “It’s nice to be given my due.”

“He’s a giant!” a little girl said.

“So’s she!” A ten-year-old pointed to Alea.

“Molly,” Aunt Martha said severely, “it’s not polite to point.” Molly stuck her hands behind her back but kept staring. Alea smiled. “Don’t worry, little one. You’re not the first to say it.” She tried to ignore the bitterness of the memories. “That’s enough, now,” Aunt Martha said. “You leave the guests alone till they’ve had a chance to wash up and rest a little.” She turned one of the boys around and gave him a little push. “Go tell Great Grandma, now, and the others.”

“Sure, Gammy!” the boy cried, and took off. The juvenile score ran howling behind him to spread the word to their contemporaries.

“They wander far,” Alea said.

“Not so far as all that.” Gammy beckoned and walked onward. They went down the road another rod and turned into a lane. Alea stared; the roadside thicket had hidden a four-foot-high wall of fieldstone. A gate of oak sheathed with brass closed the lane, but it was open and a clansman stood by it grinning, his rifle pointing at the ground. “Good hunting, folks?”

“Only these, Hiram.” Uncle Isaac held up a brace of partridge. Another held up a pair of rabbits and a third several more partridges. “And these.” He nodded toward Gar and Alea.

“Big game indeed!” the gatekeeper said, grinning wider. “The tads told me you were bringing a giant, but I didn’t believe them.”

“I prefer to think of myself as a bonus,” Gar said.

“A bonus to any clan that has you, I’d say. Can you shoot?” Gar shrugged. “Well enough, I suppose, but I’d rather fight hand to hand.”

“Well, then, I hope you don’t meet any bears!” Hiram grinned and waved as they went on through.

Alea halted with a gasp of surprise. “It’s a manor house! I’d never have known it was here.”

“Of course not,” Gammy said. “We wouldn’t want the Belinkuns to be able to see at a glance how many were home, would we?”

The clan’s house was a great rambling three-story structure with wings added on at each side, then at right angles, and finally forming a square, as generations had toiled to make more living space. Even so, they had finally outgrown the ancestral mansion, because smaller houses formed a semicircle in front of the big one. The ground between was a luxuriant lawn landscaped with concentric beds of flowers separated by graveled walks. Wherever the clan fought its battles, it had managed to keep them away from home.

Their hosts led Gar and Alea up the widest gravel walk to the massive front door of the mansion.

A blood-curdling shriek pierced the air.