The Warlock Rock (31 page)

"You mean they want to make a living from music, but don't want to go to the trouble of learning how to play?"

"I see you're familiar with the syndrome. Yes, the idea seems to be that if you have the talent, you don't need to learn anything—it will all come naturally, without any effort. It doesn't, of course—and in their disappointment, the young hopefuls become cynics, seeking to exploit those who have taken the time and trouble to learn how to play."

"And you think we're facing such a person?"

"It is possible. Certainly the young woman—excuse me, she might not be young, might she?—the woman, this Ubu Mare I've heard of, seeks to use music to gain power and status, not for the sheer exhilaration of it."

"She's getting something out of it, that's for certain—and doesn't mind who gets hurt in the process."

"Ever the way of them." Father Thelonius sighed, shaking his head. "We have known them for a long time, Lord Warlock—the vampires who batten on people's souls, who drain the joys and hopes of youth as Dracula drained the heart's blood, leaving only dessicated carcasses behind. We have fought them, they who seek to grow rich from works that should be freegiven, since Philip the Deacon turned the people of Samaria away from the sorcerer. We have protected the weak and gullible from these wolves for three millenia and more, and we will protect them now."

"Then we'd better hurry," Rod told him, "because the wolves are coming in packs these days."

"Haven't they always?" Father Thelonius flashed him a smile. "Be of good cheer, Lord Warlock—vampires thrive by night, but we bring the sun."

Brother Dorian said, "It cannot be much farther now, for I do sense such a morass of psi power about me that I feel as though I wade."

"Morass of psi?" Rod looked up in surprise. "I thought it was the music!"

"Mayhap 'tis psi power reflected through the music-rocks," Gregory suggested. Rod stared at him. "A field of psi power that's active even though it's separated from the crafter who
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began it? I never heard of such a thing!"

"That will not prevent it from being invented, Papa," Cordelia pointed out.

"No, apparently not," Rod said, feeling numb.

"What are these music-rocks, if not just such an invention, husband?" Gwen said gently.

"Yes," Rod acknowledged. "It does make sense, doesn't it? Sorry to be the slow one in the family."

"Thou art not." Gwen squeezed his arm. "None of us could have seen it, plain though it was, had it not been for these good friars."

"And for thy bauble, Papa," Gregory piped up.

"Why, yes," Rod said, feeling stunned, "that was kind of the main clue, wasn't it?" Then he snapped out of his mental fog. "No, it wasn't! That's technology, not magic!" Gwen only raised her eyebrows.

"I know, I know," Rod conceded. "Don't say it."

"Father," Cordelia said to Thelonius, "if the Judas priest sought to mislead us—where was't he sought to mislead us to?"

"Aye," added Magnus, "and wherefore?"

Father Thelonius shook his head. "I can but conjecture, children."

"Then do," Gregory urged.

The monk sighed. "I fear he meant to lead thee into bondage, to enslave thee to the sorcerer who hath gained dominion over this fall of rock."

"For what purpose?" Cordelia asked.

"I cannot tell," Father Thelonius said, with a dark frown. "Mayhap to be a sacrifice to his fell purpose."

"What is a sacrifice?" Gregory asked.

"Never mind, little brother," Magnus put in quickly. "In any event, 'tis but conjecture."

"It is," Father Thelonius agreed. "I cannot tell to what purpose he would have warped thee—nor do I wish to."

"Nor," said Magnus, "do we."

"Rod," Fess said, "whatever that amorphous shape before us may be, it bodes ill. Perhaps you should leave the younger children behind under my care."

"Good idea," Rod said, but Geoffrey whirled. "Nay! Assuredly thou shalt not bid me bide when the
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fighting hath at last begun!"

Father Thelonius looked up in mild surprise. "Truly, good folk, there is no great danger yet."

"Let us at least discern what perils lurk, ere we dispose our forces," Brother Dorian urged. Geoffrey looked up, amazed. "Thou speakest well, for a monk!"

"And thou," Brother Dorian returned, "dost speak well, for an aspiring warrior. Shall we not go see, then?"

"No." Gwen spoke with decision, unlimbering her broom. "Prithee, friars, let us go no farther till I have seen what I may, from above."

The monks exchanged a quick glance, but Rod said, "Let's try it her way, if you don't mind, Father. She's almost never wrong."

Gwen halted in the act of leaping on her broomstick, staring at him. "Almost?"

"Well," Rod said, "there was that time you tried putting saffron in the…"

"It matters naught," she said quickly. "Be ready, husband!" Her broomstick shot up into the air. The two friars started, then watched after her, wide-eyed.

"I take it you've never seen a witch ride a broomstick before?" Rod inquired gently.

"Nay," Brother Dorian answered. "We dwell in a monastery, seest thou, and 'tis a female's talent…"

"What did she bid thee be ready for?" Father Thelonius asked.

"Just in case she runs into trouble—which we both doubt. But just in case."

"She had no need to say it," Magnus protested.

"No, but it made us both feel better."

"Papa," said Cordelia, "in what did she put the saffron?" Rod took a deep breath, thinking fast, but he was saved, because suddenly Gwen's broomstick shot upward, then back and to the side, as though some huge hand had slapped her away—and, for a moment, she was falling.

Rod didn't even remember taking off; all he knew was that he was halfway to her, and she was halfway to the ground, when the broomstick pulled out of its tumble and came swooping back toward him. I am well, Gwen assured him, even before she came into earshot. Yet there is danger there that will take greater preparation than we have made .

Rod went limp with relief, which is not entirely safe in midair. He hovered till she was alongside, then flew next to her. "What did you see?" But Gwen was nosing her broomstick up for a landing, and he had
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to jump down beside her.

"Most amazing!" Brother Dorian was shaking his head in admiration. "Few of our monks can fly so well, and none so quickly!"

"Oh, Mama!" Cordelia flung her arms around her mother and squeezed. "We feared for thee!" And her boys were around her, too, with shaky grins and sweaty brows. She embraced Cordelia, allowing herself a little smile. "Peace, sweet chuck. 'Twill take more than a wall unseen to best me."

"An invisible wall?" Brother Dorian looked up sharply.

Gwen nodded. "I had just come close enough to begin to see what stood at the base of the tower, when I jolted into a barrier that gave, then hurled me back. But in that time, I had seen a mass of people, and a dais with flaring torches."

"That hath an ominous sound." Father Thelonius scowled. "Canst say more clearly?"

"Nay," Gwen said, "for I had but glimpsed it ere I fell."

"We must see more," the priest said, rubbing his chin, "but how?" I have a surveillance device, Rod, Fess advised silently.

"Come to think of it, you do." Rod turned to the robot, eyes lighting.

"Be not concerned—he is well," Gwen assured the two monks. " 'Tis only that his horse can talk to him when none others can hear."

Now it was her they were looking at as though she were crazy. Then they smiled apologetically and turned away, taking it on faith.

The metal egg popped out of Fess's saddle again. Rod saw the monks' faces, and smiled. "The horse is a robot, Reverends."

Their heads lifted; they smiled. They did, at least, know the basics of technology. So they weren't too surprised when the sphere drifted up into the air, then winged away toward the giant cocoon. "It will seek out what sight lieth there?" Father Thelonius asked.

"Yes," Rod said, "and show it to us on a built-in screen."

"So many of us shall see little on so small a screen," Geoffrey said plaintively.

"Well, let me see." Rod frowned.

I can monitor the video in progress, Rod, Fess contributed.

"Yeah." Rod's face lit up. "And we can all monitor Fess. He's telepathic with the family, Reverends. If
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you can read our minds, you can see it, too."

Brother Dorian smiled and closed his eyes, concentrating.

"My talent is weak," Father Thelonius lamented, "yet we are so close that mayhap I shall see summat." He closed his eyes, too.

Rod kept his open, just in case, so that the image relayed through Fess was superimposed dimly over his surroundings, like a vacation remembered during a conversation.

The viewpoint was high, looking down on the plain as the spy-eye skimmed toward the cocoon. Then Rod saw the mob at the tower's base, and the slab flanked by flares of fire. The image grew larger; the spy-eye was swooping lower. Whatever barrier had stopped Gwen had no power over Cold Iron, or even an aluminum alloy. The image became larger, clearer…

And Rod saw an altar flanked by huge, oily torches, all set down in a pit, a sort of amphitheater, jammed full of people who seemed to have absolutely nothing in common except dirt and disorder. They wore all manner of clothing, in a range of colors that was guaranteed only to clash—but they achieved consensus in voice and motion. They chanted and swayed in time to a dimly heard beat, overlaid with snarling tones. Before the altar, facing them, stood a woman in a robe that was all flashes of metallic light against dark cloth, moving in some arcane ritual involving a huge knife and a staff—but her movements were abrupt, random, almost palsied.

The giant cocoon that overshadowed them all drew Rod's attention, as it must have drawn the attention of anyone looking upon the scene—for it was, very clearly, a vast stationary whirlwind. What could have held it in place, what could have enclosed it to prevent it doing damage, Rod could scarcely imagine—perhaps some new and immensely powerful form of psi. Even its noise was muted and distant, as though shut away—a constant roar that was only a background for the grating music of the ceremony before it.

The picture abruptly filled with flames. The children cried out, pressing their hands over their eyes and turning away. Gwen's head snapped up as she and Rod broke their connection with Fess instantly. They were all silent for a moment, staring at one another.

Then Father Thelonius said, " 'Tis well we did watch through thy robot, whiles we could."

"Yes," Rod said, feeling numb. "Not much question about it, is there? The sorceress saw we were watching, and blew that spy-eye to bits." Almost involuntarily, he reached out and caught Gwen's hand. She returned the pressure, knowing his panic at the notion that it could have been she who was so destroyed, reassuring him that she was still there, still alive and vibrant. We can make another surveillance device, Rod.

"Glad to hear it. Uh, I don't suppose there's any chance you recorded that episode, is there?" Of course I did, Rod— that is standard operating procedure. Do you wish to review it?

"Yes, it's recorded," Rod informed the monks. "Anyone want to see it again?"

"Aye." There was a sudden grim intensity about Father Thelonius. "An we can, I must study that sight, Lord Warlock."

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"And its sounds," Brother Dorian added, scowling.

They closed their eyes, concentrating on the link with Rod's mind. He saw it again, the flight over the plain, the crowd in the amphitheater, the torches…

"There is a cross inverted betwixt the flames," Father Thelonius said. The children looked up, shocked.

In the image, the sorceress before the altar suddenly threw off her robe and danced naked. She didn't have the body for it.

Then the flames came, and instantly, the scene disappeared.

"The sound is wrong." Brother Dorian's eyebrows drew down. "Canst review it backwards?"

"Backwards?" Rod asked in surprise. "Well, I guess…" Surely, Fess said, and the picture disappeared. Then, a moment later, came the sound of the chanting—and Rod broke out of the playback, looking up, startled. "Latin!"

"Aye." Brother Dorian had turned grim. "Latin, chanted backwards."

"Inversion, reversion, perversion…" Father Thelonius' face twisted with disgust. "They seek to enact the Black Sabbath."

"Trying to worship the devil ?"

Gwen was horrified, and the younger children, shaken by the thought, crowded closer to her almost without realizing it. Magnus stepped a little nearer to Rod.

"That is what they attempt," Father Thelonius said. "All they achieve is the sacrificing of what little power of psi they have to the hag."

"But what can have led them to this?" Cordelia protested. Father Thelonius' eyes met Rod's and Gwen's.

Magnus saw the look, and knew its meaning. "Thou canst not mean 'twas the music!" Father Thelonius nodded heavily. "I do so mean. This woman before the altar—'tis she who hath beguiled the crafter into twisting the music of his rocks, who hath gathered and dispersed them, to win herself followers and gain some measure of worldly power."

"And she gains it," Rod asked, "by combining the minimal talents of ordinary people?"

"Aye, and-strengthens them by the basest of their emotions—which, though less powerful than love or compassion, are more easily evoked."

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