The Warlock Rock (20 page)

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"You must ride, then, Rod." The great black horse shouldered through the brush and onto the trail.

"Fess! Praise the saints!" Cordelia called. "I feared they might ha' given thee a seizure!"

"No, Cordelia, though I thank you for thinking of me." Fess nodded to Rod, who mounted. "The gaunt young people ran past me; I had but to follow, since they pursued you."

"Why didn't you join them sooner?" Rod asked.

"I had to wait for them to come around again, Rod."

"Around? So it is a circle, then."

"But a most strange one, Papa," Cordelia burbled. "Anon our pursuers are across from us—but upside down!"

"Aye," Gregory agreed, "but after some time, they are before us again—yet right side up!" Gwen frowned. "Husband, what manner of spell is this?"

"Probably a projective illusion," Rod said thoughtfully.

"Oh, I ken the manner of its casting!" his wife said impatiently. "Yet what hath been cast?"

"From the sound of it, I'd guess a Mobius loop."

"A Mobius loop?" Gregory questioned. "What is that, Papa?"

"A loop with a half-twist in it—it only has one side. Stay on it, and you eventually come back to where you started— but on the other side of its single surface."

" 'Tis nonsense," Geoffrey said flatly.

"Nay, 'tis wondrous!" Gregory's eyes were huge. "Wherefore have I not heard of it aforetime?" He gave Fess an accusing look.

"Because you are not yet ready for topology, Gregory," the horse answered. "I must insist on your learning calculus first."

"Teach it quickly, then!"

"Not now." Magnus looked back over his shoulder with apprehension. "We have either lagged, or gone too fast— they approach from behind again."

"Faster," Geoffrey urged, and they all picked up the pace.

"How shall we break out of this circle, husband?" Gwen asked.

"We must run faster!" Geoffrey declared. "Soon or late, we will catch the break in the brush through which we came!"

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"Not so, brother," Magnus reminded him, "for the faster we go, the faster it doth go."

"Synchronizing its rotation rate to yours, huh?" Rod pursed his lips. "So you have to run faster and faster to get out of the trap—but there's a catch."

"Yes," Fess corroborated. "The faster you run, the faster the loop's rotation—and the faster its rotation, the greater its attraction."

"The more speed, the more you're stuck in the rut." Rod nodded. "That makes a weird sort of sense."

"Weird it is," Gwen agreed. "A trap."

Magnus stared. "Dost thou say that as we run harder, we hold ourselves better to it?"

"Of course!" Geoffrey cried, "even as a sling-stone sticks to the pouch of the sling!"

"Then loose, and throw," Magnus urged.

"Good idea." Rod skidded to a halt just short of the break in the underbrush, caught Gregory, and threw him through the gap. He squalled, then remembered to fly as he sailed up and over. He sank out of sight, then bobbed up again, calling, "I am free!"

"I thought so." Rod nodded. "Just a matter of making the effort to break the vicious cycle. Hold still, everybody— then jump!"

They all came to a halt—and the gap slowed with them, then halted, seeming ready to take off again.

"Now!" Gwen called, and the whole family arced up and over. They landed in a crackling of underbrush and bounded to their feet. "You too, Fess!" Rod called.

The great horse followed, landing in their midst.

Howling approached, and torches flared near. The young folk sailed by in a storm of thundering feet.

"They do not even know we're gone," Cordelia said, staring after them.

"I think they do not care," Magnus said, with a cynical smile. "They take joy in the running; they care not if they never come to their destination."

"What destination?" Geoffrey wondered.

"Well asked," Magnus agreed.

"Leave them be," Rod said firmly, and turned his boys' heads away from the Mobius trail. "Some people you just can't help."

"But we must try, Papa!" Cordelia protested.

"It is to no purpose, daughter," Gwen said gently. "You cannot succor those who do not wish a rescue. Come, leave them to their trap, and let us seek our beds."

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Everything considered, Fess forbore to wake them and, by the time Rod rose, the sun was high in the sky. The family had a late breakfast of journey rations, with the parents asking the youngsters what they'd seen. They were only too glad to oblige, and by the time they got around to asking what their parents had seen, it was noon. Gwen filled them in, with a few details from Rod. The youngsters shivered with delight at their descriptions and, when they'd finished, Gregory asked:

"Have we now enough facts to make some guess as to who hath wrought this coil? Or is't but happenstance?"

"Surely not happenstance!" Geoffrey said. "'Tis too much of a pattern."

"Ah," said Gwen. "What pattern dost thou see?"

"Chaos!" Cordelia answered, and Rod nodded. "I'd say that's pretty good. It's almost as though the younger people become addicted to the music, and disregard any social rules they've been taught."

"I would not say that," Geoffrey demurred. "There is some faint ranking that I've seen, some one who doth assert himself as leader, each and every time."

"Thou couldst say that, too, of birds and beasts," Gregory objected.

"An excellent point," Fess said. "What little social order is left, is of the most primitive." Rod sat there and glowed as he watched his offspring putting their heads together to work out a problem.

Magnus lifted his head. "No order but the most primitive? That hath the ring of anarchy!"

"Not quite," Rod disagreed. "The ideal anarchy has everybody cooperating with everybody else, and nobody giving orders."

Gregory stared. "Is't possible?"

"Oh, surely," Cordelia scoffed, "and 'tis possible that a fairy came to take thy tooth away and leave thee a penny for it!"

Gregory stared at her, in shocked disbelief. "Dost thou mean the fairy comes not?" Cordelia bit her lip, irked with herself. "Nay, certes not. We but spoke of what is possible, brother, not of what doth truly exist."

Neat try at covering, but the cat was out of the bag now, and Gregory had that much less left of childhood's wonder. Rod had to remind himself that intelligence can only make a child seem to be more mature.

But Magnus was nodding. "Such an ideal anarchy may be as possible as the Wee Folk, but is far less likely; it doth require that all folk agree without saying so, and that none seek to violate that common trust for his own gain. Can people truly believe that such a thing may hap?"

"People can believe anything, if they want to badly enough," Rod murmured, "and the anarchists who are
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trying to subvert Gramarye want very badly to believe that no one is better than they are. Not the other way around, of course—but they're not really worried about proving that they can't be superior."

"So," Magnus said, "it would seem that these music-rocks are made and spread by thine ancient enemies, the anarchists."

"Not ancient —but, let's say, well established, anyway. And, yes, I'd stake my job on the future anarchists' being behind this phenomenon."

"How have they wrought it, then?" Magnus asked. "Have they won a convert among Gramarye espers?"

"That's their standard operating procedure, and I don't see any reason to think they're not doing that now. Might be more than one—it would take a dozen espers to spread these music-rocks all over Gramarye."

Gwen shook her head. "I cannot believe there could be more than one. 'Tis a wondrous accomplishment, husband, to make rocks such as these that will make their music, and make more of themselves, when they are far from their crafter—and 'twould take an amazing mind to think of it, too. He or she would be a very genius of a witch."

"But intelligence and shrewdness don't always go together, dear. We're talking about someone who's not only an amazingly gifted crafter, but who also has a very thorough grasp of organization and leadership." Magnus frowned. "That hath the sound of two separate people." Husband and wife looked up, amazed. Then Gwen said slowly, "Why, so it hath. Gramercy, my son." Magnus shook off the compliment with irritation—he was getting a little old to be showing pleasure at praise. "I thank thee, Mama, yet 'tis of greater import to discern who is which, and where they are."

"As to where," said Cordelia, "I've seen naught to make us think 'tis not come from the West."

"All the evidence does seem to point in that direction," Fess agreed.

"Why, then, there's an end to it." Magnus rose, dusting off his hands. "Westward ho!"

"Aye." Gwen looked up at him, her eyes bright. "Yet where shall we go to in the West, my son?" Magnus shrugged. "There is not enough to tell us that yet. We must be alert for clues and signs that may direct us as we go. Must we not, sprout?" He slapped Gregory's shoulder affectionately. Little Brother looked up, his eyes alight. "Aye, Magnus! Assuredly, we know not yet all the answer—but I've no doubt we shall learn it. Let us go!"

"Bury the fire." Gwen rose, and began packing up the journey bread and pemmican. The boys kicked dirt over the flames, made sure they were dead out, then turned to follow her toward the sun's destination.

Rod followed, subvocalizing, "The kid amazes me, Fess. He's showing a talent for leadership that I hadn't expected."

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"Yes, Rod. His seeking of confirmation of his conclusions was deftly done." Rod nodded. "After all, Big Brother couldn't admit that Little Brother might be better at thinking things through—at least, not if he wanted to keep leading."

"It is not Gregory who would question his leadership."

"No, but Cordelia and Geoffrey both would, if they thought Magnus had to refer his decisions to the youngest— and he has to keep them on his side if he wants to get anything done." Rod nodded. "Oh, yes. If anybody can keep them working together, Magnus can."

"Or Gwen, Rod. Or yourself."

"Well, yes," Rod agreed, "but we won't always be here, will we?"

"Prudent, Rod, but rather morbid. Shall we think of more pleasant things?"

"Such as finding out who's behind these music-rocks? An excellent idea, Fess. Let's go."

A day's journey was uneventful, and a night's sleep the same. The next morning they were dousing the fire as the sun cleared the horizon. The day was fresh and clear, and might have been filled with birdsong, but the strains of rock music drowned them out.

"Us odd how we did sleep through the night, without the music's slackening," Geoffrey opined.

"Not for thee," Cordelia taunted. "Thou wouldst sleep through the Trump of Doom!" Geoffrey considered the notion, and nodded. "True. Gabriel will not summon us to battle."

"Hist!" Magnus put out a hand to silence him. "Look up!" They all did—and saw it float by, glinting in the dawn light, gray against the early blue of the sky.

"'Tis a giant egg!"

"Nay—'tis far too elongated," Gregory disagreed. "What manner of object is't, Papa?"

"A blimp." Rod was taut as a guitar string, eyes narrowed. "Like a balloon, only made of metal."

"So much iron as that?" Gwen sounded doubtful.

"Not iron, dear—aluminum. It's a lot lighter."

"But it doth not glister," Gregory objected.

"A point." Rod thought a moment. "Maybe some other metal."
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"Yet it is not of Gramarye," Gwen inferred.

The children looked up in alarm.

"No," Rod said. "It takes a much higher technology than we have here."

"So it is of our enemies," Geoffrey said flatly.

"Why, yes, son." Rod felt a small glow that his offspring so readily assumed Rod's enemies were his. "It definitely is."

"Might it have aught to do with the dancing dead, and the stones that bring music?" Cordelia guessed. Rod shrugged. "It does seem likely."

"Not really, Rod," Fess protested. "The phenomena merely coincide chronologically; there is no indication of causality."

"Not by thine own teaching," Geoffrey said stoutly. "Thou hast taught me that once may be chance, and twice may be coincidence, but thrice is the work of intelligence."

"I do remember saying something of the sort," the horse sighed.

"Then we follow it!" Geoffrey set off after the blimp, not waiting for anyone else.

"Why call him back?" Rod asked rhetorically. " En avant, troops!" They set off, following a bubble.

Fortunately, the sun was behind them, so they were able to see the broad reach of the sky as they came out of the woodlands; and equally fortunately, they were following the blimp, so they were looking up. Magnus frowned. "Why are there so many hawks ahead?"

"Belike due to a plenitude of game, brother," Geoffrey guessed.

"Mayhap," Gregory conceded, "but wherefore doth the blimp course toward them?"

"Why, it doth steer toward the west," Gwen answered, "and here, at least, I think we may say 'tis coincidence."

Gregory shrugged. "As thou wilt."

But as they hiked westward, one of the hawks broke loose from its mates and sailed toward them.

"What?" said Magnus. "Doth it seek us out?"

The small blot grew bigger in the sky.

"Either it's mighty close," Rod said, "or…"

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"'Tis a giant!" Geoffrey snapped.