The Spell-Bound Scholar

Chapter 23

From the depths of sleep, she heard the lark heralding the dawn. The song drew her upward, away from the refuge of unconsciousness. She resisted bitterly, fighting the compulsion—until she remembered that she was the lark now, Al-louette, and it was her namesake calling.

Up from the womb of sleep she rose. Even then, fully conscious, she lay with her eyes closed, willing sleep to return, but it held aloof. Finally and with massive regret, she opened her eyes.

Slight though the light was, it hurt, and she squinted against it, looking upward, seeking the lark—but she found the boy instead, the callow youth whom she had been set, and set herself, to enslave or slay.

Massive remorse overwhelmed her, and the sight of his face blurred. She blinked away the tears angrily—how foolish they were, when she needed to see the world clearly! She knew with a certainty that reached to the roots of her soul that she would never again kill any human creature unless it were trying to kill her. Even then . . .

She became aware that she was sitting up, that an arm supported her, encircling her shoulders. She flinched, moving a little forward, away from the touch, and looked up into the face beside hers, the deep and aching concern in his eyes. Poor fool, he is still under my spell she thought, and withdrew any vestige of projection to free him.

The look of concern stayed, the arm still hovering an inch from her back.

Alarm seized her. Was he so thoroughly bewitched that she could not free him? Then her old cynicism came to her rescue—perhaps he was only concerned for another fellow creature. After all, only in that last embrace had she felt his desire, and had followed it back to . ..

She winced, sheering away from the memory of that attempt to slay—but it drew all the memories of her earlier murders, and the tears came so hot and fast that she could not stanch them.

Gregory gathered her in against his chest, murmuring, "They are only tears, sweet lady, and the natural overflow of a heart filled with emotion. Let them fall."

His voice was so tender, so reassuring, that for a moment she gave in and relaxed into his embrace. Then she remembered that he, too, had been one of her intended victims and stiffened, pushing away from him, angrily dashing her tears to the ground, trying to stop their flow. She sought for a thought to distract, anything to take her mind from this crushing burden of guilt—and his even more crushing sympathy. "The kind lady," she gasped, "the woman who led me through my dream quest. Where is she?"

"I know not, for I have not seen your dream," Gregory told her, "but I believe it was my mother, the Lady Gwen-dylon, for it is she who sat beside you and labored to heal the rifts in your mind and heart."

"Lady Gwendylon!" Allouette cried, aghast. "My enemy, and wife of my greatest enemy? The mother of those I sought to butcher? Your mother?"

"Even so," Gregory told her. "She saw great worth in you and labored to save you therefore."

The tears sprang afresh, but Allouette twisted angrily away when Gregory reached out to comfort. How could she accept his solace when she had sought to slay him? How could she accept this healing when she had sought to slay or spay her healer's children?

Long experience in argument brought the excuse to her lips: "She sought to save me for you! It was your desire, not hers, that healed me!"

"There is truth to that," Gregory admitted, "but she would not want to see me victim of a femine fatale. Nay, she would not even have attempted such a work if she had not seen great goodness buried within you!"

"It cannot be! I am corrupted, I am wicked!"

"But you know the truth of that now," Gregory said quietly, "and there is none."

"There is a great deal! I have slain thirteen, mangled one, and sought to slay or warp—yourself! Your brother! Your sister!"

"It was my sister herself who bade me spare you," Gregory told her.

Allouette whirled, staring at him in amazement—then saw something more in his eyes. "You would have slain me! You would have executed me for my crimes! You must have decided that, for it was the only just and reasonable course!"

"Then favor Cordelia for showing me that mercy is as important as justice," Gregory said, "and emotion as vital as reason."

"She took my part only because killing me would have rent your heart for all time!"

"It would indeed." Gregory looked directly and deeply into her eyes. "Your death by any hand would have caused me agony—but I should never have recovered if that hand had been my own."

Witting or not, the wave of emotion swept out from him to engulf her, a wave so powerful that it made her shiver. Then it swept back and was gone—he had realized he was projecting and stopped—but the force of his love left her trembling. In defense, she accused, "Your emotion comes only from the desire I cast and raised in you!"

"It does not," Gregory told her, "for I held on to reason against the most intense of your projections and knew them for what they were, only tricks of your own mind."

"Indeed! Then how did I win your heart?"

"By your intelligence and tenacity," Gregory said, "by the fire of your spirit and your craving for life. It was that which made me fall in love—though when I saw your true face and form, I was bound past withdrawing."

"My true face and form?" Allouette stared at him, astounded. "I am plain, I am lacking!"

"You are beautiful," Gregory said, voice reverberating with emotion. "Your face is enchanting, your body voluptuous." Then the emotion dwindled as though he had dammed a stream, and he sat back on his heels a little. "Mind you, I could have withstood the desire your loveliness aroused in me if I had not already become besotted with your mind and your character."

"I have no character!"

"But you do not deny your mind." Gregory smiled with amused affection.

She blushed. Allouette actually felt her face grow hot for the first time in eight years. She turned away, pushing herself to her feet. "Enough of such nonsense! We have a journey to complete."

Gregory rose with her, a slight smile still on his lips, a glow still in his eyes.

She glanced at him, then glanced away. Seeking to change the subject, she said, "Where is this mother of yours who has been my guide?"

"Gone to rest," Gregory said, "for even with all our energies to draw upon, she is most thoroughly wearied."

"All!" Allouette turned to stare at him. "Who is 'all'?"

"Myself," Gregory said, "and Cordelia and Geoffrey."

Allouette barely stifled a wail of despair. To be saved by her enemies! Grasping at straws, she said acidly, "But your eldest brother had no part in this."

"He could not, since he is most distant, journeying among the stars," Gregory said, "but even he spoke for mercy toward you. I doubt not he would have lent his strength if he had been here."

Allouette bit her lip to keep from crying out. It was too poignant, too humiliating, to have all of them forgiving her! She bowed her head, squeezing her eyes shut, but the tears came anyway. "I have wronged you, I have wronged you all! However may I make amends, however can I repay this kindness to cease its tearing at me?"

"By aiding others," Gregory said simply. "Let kindness pass from person to person in a stream that never ends and it will grow most amazingly on the way."

Allouette stared at him in astonishment. Then she said softly, "I am having a most amazing number of revelations today."

She turned away to hide her face from him. "How you must despise me, all of you!"

"We do not," Gregory said, "for we all realize that your spirit was twisted quite deliberately, that you were trained and molded to be an assassin and traitor, warped by lies and by coercion of which you were unaware. We despise those who have done this to you, but not you yourself."

"How can you not," Allouette said, "when you know what I have done?"

"Because I have seen the great goodness in you that was buried by your rearing, and my mother confirmed it when she had read your memories." Gregory frowned. "She did say, though, that your greatest difficulty will be forgiving yourself."

"Indeed." Allouette turned to glare at him, angered by the feeling of truth the statement raised in her. "What else did she say?"

"That since you accompanied me in finding my Site of Power, it is only right that I accompany you on your quest to discover your true nature."

"True nature? I know my true nature! I am a slut and murderess!"

"That is what people have made you, not the essence of yourself. Already you begin to seek ways to make reparations for your past conduct so that you may forgive yourself."

"Reparations?" Allouette gave him a thin and bitter smile. "So you are to help me find a punishment drastic enough to satisfy even myself, is that it?"

"Perhaps," Gregory allowed. "I do not think we shall know your nature until we have found it."

"Yet you claim to know it already!"

"Of course." Gregory beamed upon her. "You are sweetness and tenderness, intelligence and quickness of wit, tenacity and diligence."

Allouette felt her face growing hot again and turned away quickly. "You are mistaken, sir."

"Let us see." Gregory glanced at the horses; their reins untied themselves from the tree limbs to which they'd been bound. The two beasts looked up, then came plodding over to them. "Mount," Gregory invited, "and seek. Find your true nature and prove me wrong."

"A dare?" Allouette's eyes kindled; she was much more at home with competition. She stepped up to her palfrey, but Gregory caught her around the waist and lifted her up. She lost her smile and settled in the saddle rather indignantly, though she was surprised all over again by his strength. "I shall mount by myself in future, sir, if you do not mind!"

"If it pleases you, I shall refrain," Gregory said in mock penitence. He mounted and turned his horse's head toward the forest trail. "Where shall we travel?"

"Must you not still take me to Runnymede?"

"Aye, but there are many roads that lead there, and some are longer than others. Which would you choose?"

Allouette eyed him narrowly and said, "That depends on our goal. What do you think we seek?"

Gregory shrugged. "Perhaps you will discover that you wish to spend the rest of your life trying to aid the poor and the relatives of your victims." She bridled, and he added hastily, "Other than my family. Perhaps you will find some greater work that will benefit everyone indirectly, such as a cure for poverty or war."

"You develop fantasies, sir!"

"Of such dreams are better worlds made." Gregory shrugged. "Or perhaps your penance will take some form that I cannot imagine, but that you can and will."

"Then we go we know not where, to seek we know not what," Allouette interpreted.

"Why, just so." Gregory flashed her a grin. "This much I know, however—that once you have set yourself upon this quest, you shall not stop until you have found what you seek."

"If it exists."

"Even if it does not."

"You have more faith in me than I have, sir," she said darkly.

"I have indeed," Gregory agreed. "Shall we ride?" Not waiting for an answer, he thumped his heels against his horse's sides and guided it down the forest trail.

Allouette watched him go, resenting his confidence, resenting his belief in her. But when all was said and done, where else had she to go? Searching her heart, she found she had purged it completely of any desire to follow the path set for her by her foster parents and their organization. With a sigh, she shook the reins and told her horse to follow Gregory's.

As they rode away from the pale wall he had been building, Gregory glanced at Allouette with concern; she was very subdued, and he wondered at her brooding, hoping that she would be able to absorb and cope with all the new information she had gained. For a moment, he wished that the old seductive Finister would reappear. He realized, though, that the image was only that, an image, deliberately fashioned and the result of methodical exploitation, so he retreated into his old reserve, becoming again the soul of politeness.

They pitched camp at sunset. Gregory brewed a stew of salt beef and roots; Allouette asked how he knew which to choose, and he showed her. He was tempted to caution her about the ones that were poisonous but had second thoughts. Then he had third thoughts—if she still could not be trusted, he preferred to know it at once. Besides, he honestly believed she had really put all that behind her. He told her which plants were unhealthy or inedible as he seasoned the stew with wild herbs and parsley.

"This is women's knowledge," Allouette said as they ate, "or monks' knowledge. How came you to learn it?"

"I have a hunger to learn everything I can." Gregory smiled. "You are scarcely the first to tell me that I think like a monk."

"Why do you seek it?" Allouette demanded. "Riches? Power?"

"Simply for the joy of learning," Gregory answered. "If there is a use for the knowledge, I will discover that someday, too. All I really care about, though, is the learning."

Allouette studied him for a few minutes, chewing, then swallowed and delivered her verdict. "If that is so, you are a fool."

"It is not the first time I have been told that, either," Gregory said wryly.

Allouette made no apologies but was silent for the rest of the meal, and very thoughtful.

When she was done, she joined him in scouring their bowls and spoons, then said, "I am most amazingly wearied."

"Scarcely amazing," Gregory said. "You may have slept a night and a day, but that sleep was filled with a year's effort."

Allouette blinked in surprise. "That long?" Then, quickly, "Also, my head throbs with an ache. I shall lay me down to sleep, an it please you."

"Do so, of course," Gregory said. "I shall keep watch."

As usual, Allouette thought, but did not say it. He was perfectly understanding, which irritated her, but she knew that resentment was irrational and lay down on her bed of bracken. She had been lying about the headache, but she had been quite truthful about exhaustion and felt her eyes closing almost of their own accord. At the last second, though, she saw Gregory settling into his trance, sitting cross-legged, hands on his knees, gazing off into the forest, seeing more of his inner landscape than the outer. Resentment sparked again and she determined to learn how he did it.

But not now. Now all she cared was that the warm darkness beckoned, and for a few hours at least, she did not have to worry about the cares and struggles of life.

He still sat unmoving when the birds woke her. Somehow that bothered her. She stretched, stretched her whole body as sensuously as possible, but he reacted no more than any wood. She considered trying to wake him from his trance by tickles and husky words, then realized why the thought had come—she was still convinced that only sexuality could gain a man's attention. She scolded herself—she did not really need attention, and certainly not the kind that her well-practiced allure would bring. Still, she found Gregory's meditation insulting, for he seemed to ignore her.

A dilemma, and a pretty one. She wished his attention, but not as the result of her erotic projection. How could she achieve it?

Fight fire with fire, of course. If he would ignore her, she would ignore him—but for just as good a reason. She decided that she should study his form of meditation. Besides, sharing his trance might win his attention when nothing else did.

Ridiculous! she told herself. How can he pay attention to you when that trance ignores the whole world?

Still, it was an idea worth developing. She set about fanning the coals and setting the kettle over the fire to boil.

These signs of morning and waking cued Gregory to rouse from his trance when her self-display had not; he began to stir, a turn of the wrist here, a deeper breath there, then rose slowly, stretching and inhaling the aroma of the morning. Then he looked down at Allouette with a smile. "Good morrow."

"Good day," she returned. "You must teach me how to do that."

"What?" Gregory asked, staring. "To stretch? But you know that already."

So he had noticed. With a little self-satisfied smile, she said, "Yes, but I do not know your trick of waking sleep. How do you do it?"

Gregory sat down and began to tell her. She frowned with skepticism but attempted the first stage of meditation, sitting cross-legged with back straight and hands in her lap. She was amazed to find a feeling of tranquillity stealing over her as her breathing slowed and her pulse began to beat in her ears. The forest before her eyes began to seem removed, as though it were something seen through a thick pane of glass.

"Rise, now," Gregory said softly. "A step a day is enough. It is best learned slowly."

Her heart began to beat more quickly, her breathing grew deeper and faster, and the world became closer, more immediate. She felt the transition back to her ordinary state very clearly and turned to stare at Gregory. "Amazing!"

Gregory nodded, smiling, eyes glowing. "It is no mere trick."

"No, I can see that." Allouette turned away, a little shaken because she realized the implication: The trance could increase the effectiveness of her psi powers amazingly. Even more remarkably, she realized that she could still be totally aware and prepared to defend herself. "Will I remain cognizant of the real world if I learn the deeper trance?''

"You will," Gregory assured her, "but it must be learned slowly, for it requires skill as well as knowledge. Also, there are dangers on that road; you must learn it from someone who has travelled it already."

She gave him an arch glance. "Whom did you have in mind?"

Gregory only smiled in answer and explained, "You shall have to practice."

She did. As the days passed and her trances deepened, she was amazed to discover how much she noticed that she had never registered before, even beginning to understand ecological interactions—then began to see parallels between them and the ways in which people related to one another. Little by little she began to suspect the existence of something greater than individual human beings, perhaps even greater than political organizations.

But that came slowly, over weeks. For the rest of that day she helped break camp and rode on into the forest with Gregory.

They spoke with one another now and then as they rode, until Allouette grew bored, gave in to habit and temptation, and began to work double entendres into the conversation in hopes of seeing Gregory blush. Instead, he turned the topic to the ribald deeds of the old Greek gods and soon had her laughing at the variety of their liaisons with mortals.

Thus in high good humor, they rode out of the forest to see a large house before them, and behind it, a castle on a hill. As they came closer, though, they saw two mounted men come riding around the side of the house, driving a woman and children before them.