Out of Phaze (18 page)

“That be what dost bother me. It makes not sense.”

“Unless,” he continued slowly, “they somehow know my nature. That I am no magician.”

“Adept,” she corrected him. “Bane be an apprentice Adept.”

“Whatever. My status makes me vulnerable. But how would they know? And why would they go to all that effort for one morsel?”

“Methinks they tried not to slaughter thee, but to capture thee,” she said. “The talons o’ the harpies be poison, but they scratched thee not. And the demons grabbed but did not bite.”

“And why would three different types of creatures try it? They can’t be working together, can they?”

“Nay. Not unless . . .” She trailed off.

“Unless what? I think we had better explore this.”

“Unless there be Adept involvement,” she said reluctantly.

“Aren’t we going to see an Adept?”

“Stile be but one Adept. There be others, less friendly.”

“What would an Adept want with me? I’m of no value to anyone here, and of not much value to myself.”

“To me, thou dost have value.”

“That, too, I must question. You are a lovely creature, in whatever form, and you know the ways of Phaze. But I am an impostor without much talent here. I don’t see how I can be worth much to you.”

She shrugged. “Fain would I have been closer to Bane, but ne’er could that be. Now hast thou his likeness, and— O, I know I be a foolish creature, but I be smitten with thee.”

Mach did not care to argue with that. “So there is something we don’t yet understand, here. Unless they realize that I don’t have Bane’s proper powers, so they want to eliminate me, and then he could never return. If there are other Adepts who don’t like Stile, this could be a good way to get back at him.”

She nodded. “To strike when the enemy be weak.”

“But if another Adept is behind it, why bring in the monsters? Why not just take me out with a spell?”

“Methinks that would be too open. If Stile knew an Adept had done it—“ She shuddered. “If Stile be not the strongest Adept in Phaze, it be Red—and Red be friend to Stile.”

“But if a harpy or a demon or a goblin did it, Stile might not suspect. If one of those groups took me captive and hid me somewhere, or delivered me secretly to an Adept, perhaps as a hostage—“ Mach nodded. “I think we have it, now. They have been ambushing us along the route to Stile’s demesnes.”

“O, Mach!” she cried. “If there be Adepts behind this, we be in trouble indeed! No creature can withstand the power of an Adept except another Adept.”

Mach nodded. “I think we can’t afford to continue heading for the Blue Demesnes; they’ll catch us for sure. But where else can we go?”

Fleta pondered. “If they be Adepts ‘gainst us, must we gain the protection of an Adept. But surely they will watch, and if we head for the Red Adept—“

“They will trap us on the way,” Mach finished. “Anyone else—whom they might not suspect?”

“There be the Brown Adept, she of the golems. She might understand thee better than some.”

“But if the others spied us heading for her—“

“Another ambush,” she agreed.

“Suppose we took a circuitous route—one no one with any sense would take?”

“Such as through the Dragon Demesnes?”

Mach swallowed. “Yes.”

“That would fool friend and foe alike.”

They looked at each other, and nodded. Then they hugged each other, with joy or grief or something in between.

“I suppose we can’t rest now,” Mach said regretfully. “They’ll be coming down the path to check on us, when we don’t arrive on schedule.”

“I can carry thee.”

“And tire yourself further? No, I’ll walk. Maybe we can hide somewhere unexpected.”

She nodded. Silently she pointed west.

“But that’s right toward the—!” he exclaimed. But then he understood: that was the least likely direction for them to go. Toward the site of their last ambush.

They walked, this time stepping carefully so as to avoid leaving a trail. When darkness finally made progress impossible, they cast about for a suitable camping spot. The best that offered was a tree with thick foliage and a large fork some distance up that seemed to be well shrouded by the leaves. ‘There,” Fleta said, pointing to it.

“Me? But I think there’s only room for one of us!”

“I have another errand,” she whispered.

“Oh—privacy?”

“A false trail.”

Smart notion! So he climbed the tree and lodged himself in the crotch, while she walked on, leaving a trail that could be traced and did not end at the tree.

He hoped she would return soon, though he still did not see how she could join him here. Then he heard the hum of the hummingbird. She was back!

The bird perched on a nearby twig and tucked her head under her wing. She had a good place after all!

Mach sighed. He could not argue with the sense of it, but somehow he had wished he could be with her it her human form, and not too much clothing. He resigned himself to the inevitable, and slept.

In the morning he descended. Fleta flew down and transformed to girl form. “Didst thou have a comfy night?’ she inquired brightly.

“Aren’t you getting hungry? You haven’t had much chance to graze.”

She laughed. “I found nectar in flowers along the way as I flew.”

“But that could only sustain a hummingbird! What of the unicorn?”

“It matters not what form I take; food for that form suffices.”

“You mean you can run all day as a unicorn, and sustain yourself with a hummingbird meal?”

“Aye. That be part of the magic.”

“Magic indeed!” But it did make sense in its fashion.

He ate some more fruit, which was marvelously sustaining. Of course he had the advantage of Fleta’s advice; she pointed out what was best, and what was worst, saving him much mischief. Then they resumed their trek.

There was no sign of pursuit, but they continued to step carefully and to keep their voices low. There was no way to hide securely from Adept perception, Fleta advised him, but goblins and demons were fallible.

They skirted the southern reaches of the Lattice, and no demons appeared. This gamble had been won: once the prey escaped, the demons had returned to their nether reaches, not bothering to keep watch. But there would be a lookout at the jump-sites; the path toward the Blue Demesnes was safe only to cross, not to travel.

At noon they paused for lunch, and this time Fleta did change to unicorn form and grazed for an hour. Mach watched her, admiring her glossy black coat and golden hind-socks and gleaming spiraled horn. “Sometime you must play your horn for me,” he said.

She heard him, and played a brief pan-pipes double melody.

“A tune!” he exclaimed. “You can play a tune!”

She looked at him questioningly. In her unicorn form she did not speak; her mouth was not right for it.

“I mean, I heard you play a chord, back in the swamp, but I thought that was all. To actually play a tune—!”

She came in and changed to girl form. “All my kind play music,” she explained. “My dam, Neysa, plays a harmonica, as thy kind call it; I play pan-pipes, or so Bane said. My sire played the accordion.”

“A different instrument for each animal!” he exclaimed. Then paused. “Oops—I didn’t mean to—“

“We are animals,” she said. “An ye mean it not as affront, say it freely.”

That helped. He had indeed used the term in a less complimentary sense, back in the crater, when she had objected.

“Why didn’t you decide to go the other way, and intercept your Herd?” he asked. ‘The goblins would not have followed there, would they?”

She sighed. “There be a matter I did not explain to thee,” she said. “My sire retired some fifteen years ago, and my uncle Clip assumed mastery o’ the Herd. That concerned not my dam, Neysa, his sibling, because she no longer marched with the Herd. She stayed at the Blue Demesnes.”

“Why should your mother be concerned about her brother getting promoted?”

“It be the Herd Stallion who breeds all the mares.”

“Oh! And she’s too closely related!”

“Aye. And I be too. So it became needful, as I came of age, to seek another herd. I was on that mission when I heard thy cry for help in the swamp.”

“What a coincidence!” Mach exclaimed. “I’m glad I arrived at the right time! I would have been roach-food otherwise!”

“Nay, I was near throughout. I—I knew Bane was going often to the glade, and I hoped to see him again, yet hesitated to intrude, an he be on Adept business.”

“So you just sort of stayed in the vicinity for a while,” Mach said. “Understandable. How long were you there?”

She murmured something.

“What was that? I didn’t hear.”

“A fortnight,” she said, somewhat less faintly.

“Two weeks? Just in the hope he might decide he wanted to see you?”

“Aye,” she said, abashed.

“You really were stuck on him!” Then Mach regretted his choice of words. “I mean—“

“Thy meaning be clear,” she said, blushing.

“And so you rescued me, thinking I was him. And stayed with me, because you liked him.”

She nodded, looking uncomfortable.

“Oh, Fleta—I’m sorry! Without ever knowing it, I brought you so much mischief!”

“Nay, Mach. Thou didst bring me joy.”

“But you know I am not the man Bane is—not here in Phaze! Without your help, I’d have been lost many times over. I’d still be lost without you! Bane would have been no burden to you at all!”

“Aye, he needed me not,” she agreed.

He looked at her, slowly understanding. “You need— to be needed.” Then he took her in his arms again and kissed her.

But after a bit another thought occurred. ‘Two weeks— you must be overdue at the other herd!”

“Aye,” she said.

“And now I am keeping you from it. This really is not fair.”

“I wanted to join the other herd not really that much,” she confessed. “Better to roam free, as my dam did, before my time.”

“Well, you are welcome to my company as long as you like it,” he said. “I’m in no position to refuse it, even if I wanted to.”

There was a spot in the sky to the east. Fleta looked nervously at it. “Mayhap just a bird,” she said. “But if a harpy—“

“On a search-pattern for us,” he agreed. “Where can I hide?” They were in open meadow; there was not even a substantial tree nearby.

“Take my socks,” she said.

“Your socks?”

‘Take them,” she repeated urgently as the flying shape came closer. She became the unicorn.

“But Fleta, that’s just the color of your fur on your hind feet! No way—“

She fluted at him. Mach shrugged and squatted to touch her hind leg. To his surprise he discovered that the golden color did come off; in a moment he held two bright socks, and Fleta’s legs were black.

Fleta resumed human form. “Put them on, quickly.”

Mach put them on over his shoes. And stood astonished.

His body changed. He now seemed to be a golden animal. A horse—or a unicorn. He could see illusory hindquarters behind him, and suspected that his head resembled that of a horse with a horn.

“Graze,” Fleta whispered, and changed back to equine form herself.

Mach leaned forward, trying to get his illusory head into the proper position for grazing. Evidently his performance was satisfactory, for Fleta did not correct him.

The flying form turned out to be a large bird, perhaps a vulture. It flew overhead and did not pause. False alarm, perhaps, but Mach was glad they hadn’t taken the chance. If the Adepts interrogated the bird, all they would get was a report of two unicorns grazing in the field. Meanwhile he had learned another thing about his fascinating companion!

Fleta changed back to girl form. “It was nothing, I think,” she said. “But here we be dawdling when we should be traveling. Methinks I must carry thee, to make the distance.”

“But I don’t want to burden you—“

“An we get spotted, how much greater a burden!” she exclaimed. She changed into unicorn form.

Mach realized that she was correct. Quickly he removed his socks and put them back on her feet; then he mounted her.

She started walking, then trotting, then galloping. Now they were moving like the wind, covering the ground far more rapidly than they had. She headed straight southwest, angling toward the distant Purple Mountain range. All he had to do was hang on.

She began to play on her horn, a lovely tune whose cadence was set by the beat of her falling hooves. Mach, delighted, picked up the melody and hummed along with her. His father was musical, and music was part of the Game, so Mach had trained on a number of instruments and learned to sing well. He had perfect pitch and tone as clear as an instrument could render it, being a machine himself, but it was more than that. Through music he could come closest to the illusion of life and true feeling. Now, of course, he really was alive, and this body had a power of voice almost as good as his own. So he hummed, first matching Fleta’s tune, then developing counterpoint, and it seemed to facilitate her running. Unicorns, he realized, were made to play while moving. He knew that their combined melody was a kind of a work of art, for Fleta was very good and so was he. There was rare pleasure in this, despite the urgency of their traveling.