I could check not directly, but Phoebe says Mach came and knew on the instant her nature, yet oddly showed no ire. They let her go unharmed. I be glad, for she—
A thrill of alarm ran through her. No ire? Flach, I fear—
Then he caught on. A trap for thee! O, Nepe, if this be so—
Cease contact! she thought.
He cut off immediately. Now Nepe had to make a decision: should she sit tight, hoping the Adepts and Citizens had not used her contact with Flach to trace her, or should she make a break for it? She had several alternative hideouts; she could disappear as Troubot and assume a new and quite different form. But if they were closing in on her, she would not have time, and anyway, she did not want the real Troubot to take the brunt of their wrath. They might even be waiting for just such a break, to confirm her identity.
She and Flach had gone into hiding because they wanted to help Citizen Blue and the Adept Stile, rather than the Contrary Citizens and the Adverse Adepts. They had learned how to communicate with each other, but could not explain to their grandfathers how they did it. Their communication was more versatile than that of their fathers, because they did not have to overlap geographically in their frames. That ability would be invaluable to either side, but more so to Blue and Stile, because those two did not communicate at all.
Blue believed that if the Oracle could analyze how Nepe did it, it could give the key to others—but if Grandpa Blue had taken Nepe to the Oracle, the Citizens would have snooped and learned everything. So they hadn’t risked it. But now that her ability was known, she had nothing to lose by going to the Oracle—except that the Citizens would never allow it, because it would help mainly Citizen Blue. What a complicated mess!
If only she had been able to remain hidden longer, until the grandfathers found some way to get her together with the Oracle secretly! Maybe, if she got through this without being discovered, that would happen.
She decided to sit tight. But her mind was whirling. Suppose Tania had recognized her, and deliberately let her go? Then told Mach, who could have used his magic to trace Flach’s route—and let him seem to escape so that he would give away any other accomplices he had, and in the end contact her in Proton while Mach was listening? While he was only pretending to be communicating with Bane, actually attuned to Flach’s communication with her, Nepe? Of course he would not be angry about Sirelba; all was going according to his plan! Had they caught Nepe at the edge of the fog, she would have refused to contact or exchange with Flach, and he would have remained safely hidden.
The longer she thought about it, the more certain she became that all was lost. Thus she was hardly even surprised when she received a call from Bane: “Nepe, we have you spotted. Please resume your natural form and return to our custody; we shall not harm you.”
It was over. They had located her. She would not be able to help Grandpa Blue after all.
She melted. The metal-hard façade of her four-year form dissolved. This was necessary for her to resume her human form—but it was also her way of collapsing in grief.
Chapter 7
Neysa
Neysa came again to take the boy, four years after the last time. She trotted up to the Red Demesnes just as if nothing had changed, and Flach was waiting for her, Mach standing behind him. But the boy had changed; he was eight years old instead of four, healthy with his years of outdoor living among the wolves. He looked wonderful.
Flach stepped forward to meet her—and his face clouded over with mixed emotions. “O, Granddam, how glad I be to see thee again!” he cried, and hugged her neck; but her falling mane concealed the tears on his face.
She knew why. He was glad to see her—but also sad to be captive. For there was no doubt of his status now; he was in the power of the Adverse Adepts, and they would not let him get away again. Neysa’s own complicity in his prior break was of course known, but she could not be touched because she was of Stile’s camp and expected to do his bidding. But this time she would deliver the boy to Stile; the ploy of his hiding was over.
Flach mounted, and she set off, not deigning to acknowledge the rovot. She followed the same route she had the last time, knowing what the boy would want.
She felt his mood lighten as they approached the Werewolf Demesnes. He would get to see his friends in passing. He could not remain, but at least they could exchange greetings.
The main portion of the Pack was not-so-mysteriously absent, but three young wolves were present. “O, Granddam, may I?” Flach begged.
Neysa halted by the three, and Flach dismounted. He assumed wolf form, and sniffed noses and tail with each of the three in turn. Then all assumed human form, and Flach embraced each. “O Forel!” he exclaimed to the brown-haired boy. “O Terel!” to the tawny-haired girl. And, last, to the pretty black-haired girl, “O Sirelba! Thou didst do so well for me!”
“It be Sirelmoba now, my Promised,” she informed him gently, hugging him closely. “They granted me my Kill.”
“Would I had been there, to cheer for thee and gain mine own name!”
“They gave it thee,” she said. “Barelmosi.”
“They gave it me?” he asked, amazed. “But they knew then I be not o’ the Pack!”
“They knew then thou wast grandpup o’ Neysa—and Stile.”
“But there was none to growl for me!”
“There were three to growl for thee.”
Flach hugged her more tightly, his tears flowing again. “Must needs I go now, but I will see thee when I can, and when—”
“Aye,” she agreed.
Then the three resumed wolf form, and Flach remounted Neysa. He could have run along beside her in wolf form, but it was important that his status be clear, for the watching Adepts.
Neysa resumed her motion. Flach waved to the standing wolves, then sought her mane again for his tears.
Neysa trotted on, still following the route they had taken, sharing the boy’s nostalgia. It had been a fine ploy they had made, and it had won the Adept Stile four more years of parity, and Citizen Blue the same in Proton. It had also given Flach excellent experience in another culture. She would have preferred that he obtain it among the unicorns, but of course that would have been too obvious. Certainly Kurrelgyre’s Pack was a worthy alternative. She remembered when she had met the werewolf for the first time, at the then-palace of the Oracle; they had almost come to combat, being hereditary enemies. But Stile had made peace between them, and later made them oath-friends, and that was part of the good he had brought to Phaze.
She loved Stile, of course. She always had, since he had mastered her and freed her. No other human man could have done the first, no other would have done the second. She had done what she could for him, becoming his transport, his guardian and his lover until he went to the Lady Blue. Human beings had always taken animal lovers, but never animal spouses; it was the way of it. Until Fleta—
She put a firm hoof on that thought. She had not, could not approve; yet the seemingly impossible had happened, and here was Flach, representing the union of the lines of man with unicorn, and of the lines of Neysa and Stile. It seemed likely that in time the boy would mate with a werewolf, and thereby include that line also in the unity. Thus in Phaze would occur what was occurring in Proton: the integration of the major elements of the frame.
She could not support this, but now, knowing Flach and knowing of his other self Nepe, who had demonstrated singular verve and competence, she could not condemn it either. Perhaps the old, isolated ways would have to go. Perhaps that was better. Certainly she supported Stile, and if he believed this was the way to go, he must be right. But he had not supported it before; he, like she, had opposed the marriage between species. And he, like she, had come to accept the result, because his objection had been rooted not in any antipathy to mingling (as she knew!) but in his need for an heir to the Blue Demesnes. The younger generation had proven him wrong, and now he supported the union, but could not undo the damage done by his former opposition.
Neysa, similarly, was left with little or no tail to swish against this particular fly. She had turned her horn against her filly Fleta when Fleta insisted on making an open, permanent liaison with the golem who occupied Bane’s body. Now that golem had become the Rovot Adept, with more magical power than any other, and had sired Flach. It was not the way of the unicorn to admit error and reverse position. She had done it only when coerced by directive of the Herd Stallion. There were none to coerce her similarly now. She was locked into a position of increasing social founder.
They reached the place where the boy had urinated, setting up his ruse. She stopped, and he dismounted and went through the motions; in this manner he showed his unicorn heritage, his need to re-experience prior actions, to assume his new orientation. They paused where she had helped the pups escape the dragon. Those pups were now secure in their new Pack.
Beyond this region, she had carried the golem instead of the boy. So effective had this exchange been that she had not realized at what point it had occurred—and that had been part of the ploy. If she hadn’t known, how could anyone else know? So Flach had escaped, and it had taken the Adepts four years to recover him.
They stopped before reaching the Herd Demesnes. Neysa was no longer young, and prolonged running was not as easy for her as it had been. She needed time to rest and graze. So Flach dismounted in a broad meadow, giving her the remaining two hours of the day.
Then he surprised her. He assumed his unicorn form, and grazed with her. He was not yet grown, but was a fine figure of a colt, with a black coat like hers, and blue socks. He played a note on his horn, inviting her to join him. His horn’s sound most resembled what the human folk called a recorder, or perhaps a wooden flute, in the alto range. Four years ago it had been soprano; as he grew and matured, it would descend to the tenor range. His tone was neither full nor distinctive, and his key was uncertain—but of course he had not assumed this form in four years, and had become inexperienced in it.
She sounded her own horn, with its harmonica flavor, setting him straight on the key. Then, as they grazed, they played, and his sound became attuned, until in due course it was fair rather than poor. She showed him some of the nuances of melody, and taught him simple harmony. The resulting duet would never be competitive in the Unilympics, but it was a nice enough start. She was quite pleased, for the sound and for the effort he was making. She remembered decades back, when she had taught Fleta similarly, and Fleta had developed her unique double-note technique on her panpipe horn, and—
Down came the hoof again. Those memories should be expunged! Fleta had done the unpardonable.
Yet, glancing sidelong at Flach grazing beside her, she wished again that it was otherwise.
They grazed on into the night, and it was very satisfying. The creatures of the night came out, the mice and owls and goblins, and spied the unicorns and remained moderately clear. Goblins could be bad when roused and organized, but these were merely foraging individually, avoiding trouble. Just the same, she kept an ear on them; one could never be quite sure about goblins.
They slept on their feet, still grazing. In the morning they were rested and fed; it had been a good night.
Flach assumed human form. “Let me take a turn, Granddam! Let me carry thee!”
She assumed her woman form. “Thou be not yet grown, Flach,” she said. “Thou must not carry a load; it would warp thy limbs.”
“Not if thou wast in thy firefly form,” he countered.
She hoped she would not regret this, but she did want him to get experience. She could resume her natural form if any threat manifested. Actually, the Adepts were watching; they would act if they thought it necessary. She wanted to keep them out of this, but it was a kind of reassurance.
She assumed firefly form, hovering in the air. He became a unicorn again. She flew to his head and perched between his ears, near his horn, clinging to his forelock.
He started off, going west, toward the Herd. At first his gait was irregular, but gradually he got it into shape and his stride became steadier. Practice would improve this, too.
But soon a dragon appeared, flying up from the south. It spied what it took to be a young, inexperienced unicorn, and came in for some fun and perhaps a meal. It was not large, and would have been no threat to Neysa herself, but she wasn’t sure about Flach. She moved, getting ready to take off, so she could get clear of him and assume her natural form.
“Nay, Granddam!” he protested in passable horn talk. “Let me handle it.”
He had big ambitions! If he was no better using his horn for combat than he had been using it for music at first, that dragon would make short work of him. Still, she could act at the last moment if she had to. She remained in place.
The dragon circled once, making sure that this young unicorn was as isolated as he looked. Then it lined up for a strafing run, its fire building.
Flach played a strange melody on his horn, fouling it up with attempted horn talk. Then she realized that he was trying to make magic. As a human being, he could do magic, and he had been learning spells four years before. Surely he had continued to think about them during his long hiatus as a werewolf. Now he had a chance to use what he had devised. But to attempt it in ‘corn form—that was odd indeed! Could it possibly work?
A cloud formed above them. It expanded rapidly, pulsing with sickly colors. From this angle it was hard to tell exactly what its whole shape was, but it seemed rather like—yes, a floating human head! It had a wild tangle of yellow hair that fuzzed into invisible vapor, and two great red eyes, a bulbous nose, and a huge purple mouth-orifice with enormous buck teeth.
The dragon saw this apparition, and veered aside. Had something come to help the unicorn? But it circled back, realizing that there was no solidity to the thing. What was not solid could not hurt, and could be ignored.
The dragon came in again, and this time there was no doubt it meant business. The fire was starting to come; in a moment things would be very hot here! Neysa spread her wings.
“Nay, Granddam!” Flach protested. “I be ready!”
Quite nervous now, she nevertheless remained clinging to his forelock. What did this foolish child have in mind?
Flach blew another horn-talk melody. The apparition’s grotesque mouth pursed. From it spurted a gush of green liquid. The stuff hurtled toward the dragon. Before the creature could react, the jet splashed into its snoot.
The dragon let out a growl of surprise and dismay. It wavered crazily in the air, abruptly clawing at its head. The green stuff was not splattering free; it was clinging gelatinously, cutting off the dragon’s breath. Its fire, stifled, whooshed out without direction.
And the liquid clung even to the fire, forming huge bubbles. The dragon inhaled—and the green goo was sucked in too, causing it to choke.
Neysa could wait no longer. She spread her wings, took off, flew to the side, and resumed unicorn form. “What be that green?” she demanded in horn talk.
“Lime gelatin,” Flach replied. “Nepe told me o’ it. It be used in Proton to wrestle in, or to mate in, or as a Consequence when someone loses a wager.”
“Gelatin?” It was not possible to be as specific in horn talk as in human talk; she did not know of this substance.
“Well, it be not exactly that, but an imitation that be yet gunkier,” he honked with childish relish. “It clings awfully, and makes bubbles, and just gets worse as it dries. She says it be water-soluble, so washes off readily, but methinks the dragon will think not to wash.”
Indeed, the dragon was not thinking of water at all. It veered almost into a tree, barely dodged it, and flew up, still scratching at its nose. Bubbles of gelatin were all around it, making it look even more grotesque than the fog-face.
Neysa was not much for practical jokes, but she had to admit that this was a rare prank to play on a dragon. The boy was a child; he had done a childish thing. But it had been effective, and that was what counted.
All the same, she decid
ed to resume the regular mode of travel. Flach returned to human form, and she carried him on to the Herd.
Flach grew pensive again as they approached the Blue Demesnes. He had been joyful only when squelching the dragon, Neysa realized in retrospect; at other times he had seemed subdued or preoccupied. She had assumed this was because of his loss of freedom. He had, she judged, really liked being among the werewolves, and was more than somewhat smitten with the dark-furred bitch whom he had Promised. Naturally it was depressing to leave those friends who had supported him so loyally. But he liked Neysa and his human grandparents too; that was obvious. Why, then, did he seem reluctant to join Stile and the Lady Blue?
Well, perhaps he felt guilty for hiding, these four years. It had been a joint conspiracy, but he had kept his location secret from Stile as well as the Adverse Adepts. Yet he had had to do that; they all knew that. Any contact with Stile would have been intercepted by the Adepts, and led them to him. So that could not be it.
They arrived, and Flach greeted his grandparents with genuine enthusiasm. Neysa, assuming human form to enter the castle, thought she had been mistaken; Flach was after all glad to be here, despite his changed status.
The first evening all seemed well. The boy told of his experience among the wolves, and of the adventure with the dragon. Stile laughed aloud, remembering the way of the frame of Proton, and the Lady smiled; Then they had a good meal, and Flach confessed to being tired, and he went early to bed, attended by the Lady.
Now Stile looked grim. “He’s changed,” he said.
“Aye.” Neysa had never been much for human speech, but this much had to be said.
“But in four years, that is to be expected. He has grown, and learned much, and recently been separated from those he has come to know and love as well as he loves us.”
“Aye.”
“I checked him for enchantments. There are none on him. The Adepts appear to be abiding by the rules.”
Neysa nodded. She was perversely glad that he had noted it too; it meant she hadn’t imagined the problem. Indeed, perhaps it was as he supposed, merely the effect of separation and aging.