Serpent Mage

12

So now we’ve got this human, this Haplo. I want very much to trust him, and yet I don’t. Is it just the prejudice of a dwarf against any of another race?

That might have been so, back in the old days. But I would trust Alake with my life, the same with Devon. Unfortunately, my life appears to be not in their care, but in Haplo’s.

It will be a relief to write down how I really feel about him. I can’t say a word against him to Alake, who has fallen for this man deeper than a dwarf in his ale mug. As for Devon ... he was suspicious of him at the beginning, but after what happened with the dragon-snakes . . . well, you might have thought an elven warrior of ancient days had come to call him to arms. Alake says that I am only chewing sour grapes because Haplo made me see that we acted like fools, running off to give ourselves to be sacrificed. But we dwarves are naturally skeptical and suspicious of strangers. We tend not to trust anyone until we get to know them several hundred cycles. This Haplo has yet to say anything about where he comes from and who he is, and, beyond that, he’s made one or two extremely curious statements and has behaved most peculiarly in regard to the dragon-snakes.

I admit I was wrong about one thing—Haplo is obviously not a spy sent by the dragons. It is difficult to see inside the man. A shadow covers him and his words. He walks in a darkness of his own creation, using it, I would guess, for protection and defense. Yet, sometimes, despite himself, the clouds are rent by a flash of lightning, both frightening and illuminating. Such a flash came from Haplo when we told him about the dragon-snakes.

In fact, thinking back on his reaction, I begin to see that he went out of his way to convince us we should try to seize control of the ship and flee to safety. Which makes what happened later all the more strange. And I must give credit where it is due. Haplo is the bravest man I’ve ever met. I know of no dwarf, not even Hartmut, who could have walked down the dread corridor and into the steerage.

We kept behind, waiting for him, as he ordered.

“We should go with him,” Devon said.

“Yes,” agreed Alake faintly, but I noticed that neither of them moved a muscle. “I wish we had some no-fear weed. Then we wouldn’t be afraid.”

“Well, we don’t. Whatever it is,” I whispered. “As for wishes, I wish I was back home!”

Devon was that faint color of blue-green elves turn when they’re sick or afraid. Sweat glistened on Alake’s black skin, and she shivered like a leaf. I’m not ashamed to say that my shoes were as good as nailed to the deck. Otherwise I would have done the sensible thing and run for dear life. We watched Haplo enter the steerage. Blackness covered him, swallowed him up whole. Alake gave a little cry and hid her face in her hands. Then we heard voices . . . Haplo’s voice talking and another answering.

“At least nothing’s killed him yet,” I muttered.

Alake perked up, lifted her head. We all strained to hear what was being said. The words were gibberish. We looked at each other questioningly. None of us understood.

“It’s that same language he talked when he was out of his head,” I whispered.

“And whatever’s in there understands it!”

Which was something I didn’t like one bit, as I was just about to say, when Haplo suddenly gave a great cry that stopped my breathing. And then Alake gave a cry as if someone had torn out her heart. She darted down the passage, heading straight for the steerage!

Devon ran after Alake, leaving me to reflect on the brainless natures of elves and humans (and dwarves). I had no choice, of course, but to run after them. I arrived in the steerage to find Alake bent over Haplo, who was lying unconscious on the deck. Devon, with more presence of mind than I would have given an elf, had picked up the battle ax and was standing over the two protectively.

I looked quickly about the steerage. It was darker than the inside of our mountain and smelled awful. The stench made me gag. It was horribly cold, but the strange, paralyzing feeling of terror that had kept us out of here before was gone.

“Is he dead?” I asked.

“No!” Alake was stroking back his hair. “He’s fainted. He drove it away! Don’t you see, Grundle?”

I saw the love and admiration in her eyes and my heart sank.

“He fought it and drove it away! He’s saved us.”

“He did. He truly did!” Devon said, gazing down at Haplo in awe.

“Give me that!” I said grumpily, and snatched the ax away from the elf, “before you cut off something valuable and really turn yourself into a girl! And what do you mean, he drove it away? That scream of his didn’t sound like any battle cry to me.”

But, of course, neither Alake nor Devon was paying the slightest attention to me. Their concern was for their hero. And, I had to admit, whatever had been in the steerage seemed to be gone now. But had Haplo driven it away? Or had the two of them reached a friendly agreement?

“We can’t stay here,” I pointed out, propping the ax up in a corner, as far from the elf (and Haplo) as possible.

“No, you’re right,” Alake agreed, looking around with a shudder.

“We could make a litter out of blankets,” Devon suggested. Haplo opened his eyes, found Alake hanging over him, her hand on his head. I never saw anyone move so swiftly. His actions were a blur. He struck out at Alake, flung her away from him, and was on his feet, crouched, ready to spring.

Alake lay on the deck, staring at him in shock. None of us moved or said a word. I was almost as frightened as I’d been before.

Haplo glanced around, saw only us, and seemed to come to his senses. But he was furious.

“Don’t touch me!” he snarled in a voice colder and darker than the darkness in the steerage. “Don’t ever touch me!”

Alake’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I didn’t mean any harm. I feared you were hurt . . .”

Haplo bit off whatever else he’d been going to say, stared at poor Alake grimly. Then, with a sigh, he straightened, shook his head. His anger died. For an instant, the darkness over him seemed to lift.

“Here, don’t cry anymore. I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said tiredly. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. I was . . . somewhere else. In a dream. A terrible place.”

He frowned, and the darkness returned to cover him. “I react like that out of instinct. I can’t help myself, and I might accidentally hurt one of you. So just . . . don’t ever come near me when I’m asleep. All right?” Alake gulped and nodded and even managed to smile. She would have forgiven him if he’d jumped up and down on her. I saw that plain enough and I think Haplo was beginning to see how it was with her. He looked kind of startled and confused and, for an instant, almost helpless. It was enough to make me laugh, except I felt like crying.

I thought he was going to say something and he thought so, too, but then he must have seen that it would only make things worse. He kept quiet, turned to examine the steerage.

Devon helped Alake to her feet. She smoothed her gown.

“You all right?” Haplo said gruffly, not looking at her.

“Yes,” she answered shakily.

He nodded.

“So,” I said, “did you drive the dragon-snake or whatever it was off? Can you take control of the ship?”

He looked at me. His eyes are like no one’s eyes I’ve seen before. They run through you like needles.

“No. I didn’t drive the dragon-snake off. And, no, we can’t take over the ship.”

“But the beast’s not here!” I pointed out. “I can feel the difference. We all can. I’m going to try. I know something about steering a boat. . . .” I didn’t, but I wanted to see what would happen. I put my hands on the wheel. Sure enough, he was there beside me. His hand closed over my arm and his grip was like iron.

“Don’t try it, Grundle.” He wasn’t threatening. He was very quiet, very calm. I felt my stomach twist into a knot. “I don’t think it would be wise. The dragon-snake isn’t gone. It was never really here. But that doesn’t mean they’re not watching, listening to us right now. Their magic is powerful. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

He was implying that he wouldn’t want the dragon-snakes to hurt me. But, looking into those eyes, I wasn’t so sure that was what he truly meant. His grip on my arm tightened. Slowly, I let go of the wheel, and he let go of me.

“And now, I think we should all return to our cabins,” Haplo said. We didn’t move. Alake and Devon looked stricken, their last hope gone. I could still feel his hand on my arm, see the marks of his fingers.

“You talked to them!” I blurted out. “I heard you! In your language! Or is it their language? I think you’re in league with them!”

“Grundle!” Alake cried. “How could you!”

“It’s all right.” Haplo shrugged, smiled out of one corner of his mouth.

“Grundle doesn’t trust me, do you?”

“No,” I said bluntly.

Alake frowned, clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. Devon shook his head at me.

Haplo continued to regard me with that strange half-smile. “If it’s any comfort to you, Grundle, I don’t trust you, either. Elves, dwarves, humans. You’re all friends, you tell me. Your races live together in peace. You expect me to believe that, after what I’ve seen? Or is this all some elaborate hoax, laid by my enemies?”

We were all silent. Alake looked unhappy, Devon uncomfortable. They had wanted so much to believe . . .

I pointed at Haplo’s skin, at the blue markings I’d seen glow with an eerie, radiant light.

“You’re a warlock,” I said, using the human term. “Your magic is powerful. I felt it. We all felt it. Could you turn this ship around, take us back home?” He was quiet a moment, eyeing me with a cold and narrow gaze. Then he said, “No.”

“Can’t or won’t?” I demanded.

He didn’t answer.

I cast Alake and Devon a glance of bitter triumph. “Come on. We better decide what we can do to help ourselves. Maybe we could swim for it—”

“Grundle, you can’t swim,” Alake said, sighing. She was on the verge of tears. Her shoulders sagged.

“There’s no land near anyway,” argued Devon. “We’d end up exhausted, half-starved. Or worse.”

“Wouldn’t that be better than the dragon-snakes?” They finally realized what I was saying. They looked at each other, wavering, hesitating.

“Come on,” I repeated.

I was near the door. Alake, drooping, started to come after. Devon had his arm around her. With what sounded like a curse, Haplo shoved roughly past us. Reaching the door, he blocked it with an outstretched arm.

“No one’s going anywhere, except back to his or her room.” Alake stood tall, faced him with dignity. “Let us pass.” She was trying hard to keep her voice from trembling.

“Stand aside, sir,” said Devon in low tones.

I took a step forward.

“Damn it!” Haplo glared at us. “These dragon-snakes won’t let you go. Try some fool stunt like jumping ship and you’ll only end up getting hurt. Listen to me. Grundle was right. I can talk to these dragon-snakes. We . . . understand each other. And I promise you this. As far as it’s in my power to prevent it, I won’t let harm come to you.” He looked at Alake and Devon and at me. “I swear it.”

“By what?” I asked.

“What would you have me swear by?”

“The One, of course,” Alake said.

Haplo appeared perplexed. “What One? Is it a human god?”

“The One is the One,” Devon answered, at a loss to explain. Everyone knew about the One.

“The highest power,” Alake replied. “Creator, Mover, Shaper, Finisher.”

“Highest power, huh?” Haplo repeated, and I could see he didn’t much like that idea. “You all believe in this One? Elves, humans, dwarves?”

“It’s not a matter of believing,” Devon said. “The One is.” Haplo eyed us narrowly. “Will you go to your rooms and stay there? No more talk of throwing yourselves into the sea?”

“If you swear by the One,” I said. “That’s an oath you can’t break.” He smiled quietly, as if he knew better. Then, shrugging, he said. “I swear by the One. If it lies in my power to prevent it, no harm will come to you.” I looked at Alake and Devon. They both nodded their heads, satisfied.

“Very well,” I growled, though I had seen his mouth twist when he spoke the words.

“I’ll cook something,” offered Alake, faintly, and she hurried away. Devon—before I could stop him—picked up the ax. I could see battle-lust, the gleam of swords and armor, shining in the elf’s eyes.

“Do you think, sir, you could teach me how to use this?”

“Not in a dress!” I told him, then stomped off to my room. I wanted to be alone to think, to try to figure out what was going on. Especially, to try to figure out Haplo.

There was a knock on my door.

“I’m not hungry!” I called out irritably, thinking it was Alake.

“It’s me, Haplo.”

Startled, I opened the door a crack, peered out. “What do you want?”

“Seawater.”

“Seawater?” Gone mad again, I thought.

“I need seawater. For an experiment. Alake told me you knew how to open the hatch.”

“What do you want seawater for?”

“Forget it.” Haplo turned away. “I’ll ask Devon—”

“The elf!” I snorted in disgust. “He’d flood the ship. Come with me.” Which wasn’t exactly the truth. Devon could probably have managed about the seawater, but I wanted to find out what this Haplo was up to now. We went back through the submersible, heading toward the rear. I fetched a bucket from the galley.

“This be enough?” I asked.

Haplo nodded. Alake said something about dinner being ready in a short while.

“We won’t be long,” he said.

We continued on, passed Devon doing what he must have thought were some sort of exercises with the battle-ax.

“He’ll slice off his foot!” I grumbled, cringing at the wild way he was swinging the ax around.

“Don’t underestimate him,” said Haplo. “I’ve traveled in lands where elves are quite adept at warfare. I suppose they could learn again. If they had someone to lead them.”

“And someone to fight,” I pointed out.

“But your people were ready to band together and fight these dragon-snakes. What if I could prove to you that the dragons aren’t the real enemy? What if I could show you that the real enemy is far more subtle, his intentions far more terrible? What if I brought you a leader of great wisdom and power to fight against this foe? Would your people and the humans and the elves fight together?”

I sniffed. “You’re saying that these dragon-snakes have wrecked our sun-chaser, murdered and tortured our people, just to prove to us that we have a more dangerous enemy?”

“Stranger things have happened,” Haplo replied coolly. “Maybe it’s all been a misunderstanding. Maybe they think you’re aligned with the enemy.” His eyes were suddenly sharp needles again, piercing right through me. That was the second time he’d said something like that. I could see no sense in arguing, especially since I had no idea what he was talking about. I said nothing, therefore, and he dropped the subject.

We had reached the waterlock by this time anyway. I opened the panel just long enough to let water inside—about ankle deep—before shutting it again. I lifted the access hatch, grabbed my bucket, tied it to a rope, dropped it down into the water, filled it, and hauled it back up.

I held out the full bucket to Haplo. To my astonishment, he drew back, refused to touch it.

“Take it in there,” he said, pointing to the hold. I did as he said, growing more and more curious. The bucket was heavy and awkward to carry, water sloshed out, spilled on my shoes and the deck. Haplo was extremely careful to avoid stepping in even the smallest puddle.

“Set it down,” he ordered, indicating a far corner. I put the bucket down, rubbed my palms where the handle had bit into them.

“Thank you,” he said, standing, waiting.

“You’re welcome.” Pulling up a stool, I seated myself comfortably.

“You can leave anytime now.”

“I’ve got nothing better to do,” I said.

He was angry, and I thought for a moment he was going to pick me up and throw me out. (Or try to, at any rate. Dwarves aren’t easy to budge, once they’ve decided to stay put.) He glared at me. I glared right back, crossed my arms over my chest, and settled myself more firmly on the stool. Then, a thought seemed to occur to him. “You might be useful, after all,” he muttered, and let me be.

As for what happened next, I’m not certain I believe it myself, though I saw it with my own eyes.

Haplo knelt down on the deck and began to write on one of the wooden planks, using nothing but his fingertip!

I started to laugh, ended up almost choking to death.

When his finger touched the wood, a thin wisp of smoke curled up into the air. He drew a straight line, left a trail of flame behind. The fire died in an instant, leaving a brown, scorched mark, as if he’d been writing on the planks with a red-hot poker. But he wasn’t. He was only using his own flesh, and it was setting the wood ablaze.

He worked rapidly, making strange marks on the deck, marks that looked similar—I thought—to those blue lines and swirls on his arms and the backs of his hands. He drew maybe ten of these in a circle, taking care to make certain that they were all connected. The smell of burning wood was strong. I sneezed. Finally, he was finished. The circle was complete. He sat back, studied it a moment, and then nodded to himself in satisfaction. I stared hard at his fingers, could see no sign of any scorch marks.

Haplo rose to his feet and stepped onto the circle he’d drawn. Blue light began to radiate up from the markings he’d burned on the deck and suddenly Haplo wasn’t standing on the deck. He floated up in the air, seemingly supported by nothing except the blue light.

I gasped and jumped up so fast I upset my stool.

“Grundle! Don’t leave,” he said hastily. He moved, and the next thing I knew he was standing on the deck again. The blue light, however, continued to glow.

“I want you to do something for me.”

“What?” I asked, keeping as far from the weird light as I could.

“Bring the bucket over and pour water on the circle.” I stared at him suspiciously. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“What will happen?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe nothing.”

“Why don’t you do it, then?”

He smiled, trying to be pleasant. But his eyes were cold and hard. “I don’t think the water agrees with me.”

I thought it over. Dumping a pailful of water on some scorched planks wasn’t liable to hurt me. And, I have to admit, I was extremely curious to see what would happen next.

He wasn’t kidding about being worried about the water. The minute I picked up the bucket, Haplo backed into a corner, crouched behind a barrel, to keep from getting splashed.

I tossed the water onto the circle of strange marks that glowed with a blue light.

The light vanished instantly. And, as I watched, amazed, I saw the burn marks on the plank start to fade away.

“But, that’s impossible!” I cried, dropping the bucket and backing off. Haplo came out from behind the barrel. He walked across the deck, came to stand in front of the rapidly disappearing circle.

“You’re getting your boots wet,” I pointed out.

By the grim expression on his face, he didn’t seem to care anymore. He lifted one foot, held it over the place where the circle had supported him. Nothing happened. His boot slammed down on the deck.

“In all my life, I’ve never seen or heard of anything—” He broke off, started some new thought. “Why? What can it mean?” His face darkened, he clenched his fist. “The Sartan.”

Turning, without a word or a glance at me, he stormed out of the cabin. I heard his footfalls in the passageway, the slamming of his door. I crept over, stared down at the wet deck. The burn marks were almost completely gone. The wooden planks were wet, but unscarred.

The three of us, Alake, Devon, and I, ate dinner alone. Alake tapped on Haplo’s door and called, but there was no answer. She returned, disappointed and downcast.

I didn’t say anything to her or to Devon. To be honest, I wasn’t certain they’d believe me and I didn’t want to start an argument. After all, I have no proof of anything I saw except a couple of wet boards.

But at least I know the truth.

Whatever that truth may be.

More later. I’m so sleepy I can’t hold the pen any longer.