Out of Phaze (39 page)

Floating?

He stared at the canoe. It was indeed floating—in air.

He had concentrated on a floating car. It seemed that he had gotten part of it right.

He put his hands against the side of the canoe and pressed down. It rocked, threatening to overturn. But it did not descend to the ground.

Well, now. He held it as steady as he could and threw a leg over. The thing depressed slightly as it took his weight, and seemed quite unstable, but it supported him. He got himself in and took a seat. Still it floated.

He picked up a paddle. He pretended there was water, and dipped the paddle where the water should be.

There was resistance. He stroked the paddle back, and the canoe slid smoothly forward.

Mach decided not to question this any further. He was experienced at canoeing; he could move along comfortably. He did so.

Progress was not swift, but this was far more pleasant than walking. The canoe developed some inertia, so that it continued moving forward between strokes, allowing him to economize on his effort.

Even so, it was obvious that he was not going to reach the Blue Demesnes by nightfall. So he guided his craft to a copse of trees he hoped bore fruit, for he was hungry now.

He was in luck. There was fruit, and a small spring. He pulled down some vine to tie his canoe, then drank deeply. He plucked enough fruit to eat, then some more to store in his craft.

He considered, then piled some brush in the canoe and settled down on it to sleep. He didn’t want the craft to drift away during the night, and he felt safer in it anyway.

He woke in the morning, refreshed, and resumed his journey. He made good progress, and came to the place where the paths diverged. He took the east path, not caring to tempt the demons of the Lattice. Even so, he stroked swiftly and nervously by the region where he and Fleta had had to turn aside to avoid the goblins awaiting them. He doubted he could outpaddle goblins.

But there were none. He proceeded north without interference. In due course he spied the blue towers ahead. He had made it!

He drew up at the moat. Should he float right on across, or call out to make himself known?

He was saved from the decision by the emergence of a beautiful older woman. He knew her immediately, though he had never seen her before: The Lady Stile, Bane’s mother.

“Tie thy boat and come in, Mach,” she called to him. “Supper awaits thee.”

So they had been expecting him! That meant that Fleta was here.

But she was not. The Lady explained that the mare had departed two days before, going to her Herd. “But the Adept has been long eager to meet thee,” she assured him.

Stile looked exactly like his father, Citizen Blue. It was eerie. Mach cleaned up and joined them for themeal, and found them pleasant to be with. But it was Fleta he had come for.

Stile shook his head. “She hath a notion to marry thee, and this be impossible,” he said abruptly.

“Why? I know her nature, and I love her. I returned to Phaze to be with her.”

“Ne’er in all the history of Phaze has man married animal. Thou mayst be from a more liberal frame, but thou art not in that frame. Here thou art known as the son of an Adept. It would be shame on these Demesnes.”

Now the difference between Blue and Stile was becoming apparent. Mach’s father had encouraged the integration of the species, so as to break down the barriers that had stratified the Proton society. But it seemed that in these same twenty years Stile had gone the opposite direction, becoming more conservative.

“But when there is love—“ Mach started.

“There be more than love here,” the Lady said gently. “An Adept must have an heir, or great mischief rises in the selection of his successor. Thou couldst generate no heir with a ‘corn.”

Mach had never thought of that, but he realized that they had a point. This was not just his own business; he had the body of their son, and if he misused it, he could destroy what they had worked for. He had no right to do that.

‘There be more than that,” Stile said. “We have groomed Bane from birth to be the Blue Adept after me. Red has worked with him, training his talent. His potential be great; when he matures, he will be a more potent Adept than I. Potent enough, perhaps, to hold the Adverse Adepts at bay.”

“I thought you were doing that well enough,” Mach said.

“Nay. It be but a holding action, and we be slowly losing ground. We need magic of the old order to contain them.”

“You mean back when magic was at full strength? Before the Phazite/Protonite exchange? How can you get that, without the other Adepts having it too?”

“We cannot. But with rare innate talent, and special training, and the Book of Magic, Bane might approach that potency.”

Mach realized the validity of this point too. What a poor substitute he was for Bane in this respect! He had no training, and his enchantments were erratic at best, and embarrassing or even dangerous at worst. In no way was he a substitute for Bane.

He had been so eager to return to the frame, to be with Fleta! He had not considered the larger picture. He had no right to hurt the prospects for Bane’s family, and for the good of the frame itself. His living being had been selfish, but his more disciplined mind understood what was proper. His dream was just that: a dream. His duty was clear enough.

“I think I must return to Proton,” Mach said heavily.

“It be not that we hold any onus toward thee,” the Lady said. “Nor would we deny Bane his romance in Proton. But we are fighting to maintain the good of Phaze, and to prevent its despoliation, and ne’er did we think there would be renewed contact ‘tween the frames.”

Of course they preferred a stable order, he realized. He and Bane, being young, were more than ready for change. It was the generation gap—just as it existed in Proton. He had been dissatisfied there, but the situation was fundamentally similar here. “Let me find Fleta and bid her farewell,” he said. “Then I shall locate Bane and exchange back.” He knew he was doing the right thing, but he had no joy in it.

He spent the night at the Blue Demesnes, and in the morning they loaded his boat with provisions. “I would help thee more,” Stile said. “But when we learned of thy exchange with Bane, I consulted with Red, and he used the Book to evoke a limited augury. It indicated that I am apt to make one disastrous and avoidable error with regard to thee. We no longer have the Oracle in Phaze, so the formulae of the Book are all that remain. They are powerful but general; we know not what error it be. I suspect it be one of commission rather than of omission. So I am leaving thee alone to the extent I can, so as not to make that error. That was why I came not to thine aid when the dragon attacked thee.”

“You were watching?” Mach exclaimed, amazed.

“Aye, and I be not the only one. In this case I trusted to my opponents, the Adverse Adepts, who wish to use thee for their designs; they would not allow thee to be incidentally killed.”

“But they did not act either! I stopped that dragon myself!”

“Methinks they waited, to force me into action, and so perhaps into that error I am apt to make. Perhaps they enhanced thy spell.”

Mach realized that it was possible. He had been amazed at the reversal of his spell, thinking it his own foulup, but if more powerful magic had acted to shape it, so as to save him without apparent interference . . .

He sighed. “It is true: I am a babe in the woods here. I will tell Fleta, and go.”

He stroked with his paddle, and the canoe moved smartly out. He had a long way to go, but knew he would get there. He understood much more than he had before.

There was a southward-blowing wind, which facilitated his progress, and he traveled much faster than he had before, with less fatigue. But he was now three days behind Fleta. He hoped she had remained with the Herd.

The wind stiffened. He shipped his paddle and let it carry him like a current. The scenery moved rapidly by. He had to take action on occasion to avoid trees, but otherwise it was a restful trip. He wished he could remain here in Phaze, but the logic of the situation was inescapable. He did not belong here, and his continued presence would harm the frame. It would be hard to part with Fleta, but it had to be done.

He reached the grazing Herd in the afternoon, and guided his craft toward it. The Herd Stallion came forth to meet him. He had a dark blue coat, with red socks, and bore a family resemblance to Fleta. Obviously this was her uncle Clip.

“I am Mach, visiting this frame,” Mach said, back-paddling to hold his canoe in place. “I would like to talk to Fleta.”

The unicorn became a man. “And I be the Herd Stallion. My niece passed here three days past, but went on to the local Werewolf Pack.”

“Then I must go on to the Pack,” Mach said.

“Not if thou beest not known to them,” Clip said. “We know thee, because thou hast the likeness of our friend Bane, and Fleta told us of thy nature. But the wolves welcome strangers not.”

“I must find her, to tell her farewell,” Mach said.

Clip gazed at him appraisingly. “In that case, I shall send with thee a guide.” He reverted to equine form and blew a brief melody on his horn. It sounded like a saxophone.

There was a stir amidst the Herd. The unicorns were of all colors and patterns, mostly mares with some younger ones. One of the young ones came forth. He was piebald, with large patches of green and orange. He blew an inquiring note, sounding like a trombone.

Clip changed back to man form. “Bone, guide this man to Kurrelgyre’s Pack and introduce him,” he said.

Bone changed to adolescent form. “But this be Bane! He needs no guidance there!”

“This be Mach,” Clip said. “Dost seek to be expelled from the Herd before thy time? Do as I say.”

“Aye, Master,” the youth agreed.

“Get in and help him paddle,” Clip said.

So Bone climbed in, took the front seat, and used the paddle. Suddenly the canoe’s progress was faster, which was just as well, because the wind had died.

They moved east. Soon night closed. Bone guided them to a copse of fruit trees, where they tied the canoe. Mach ate and settled down to sleep; Bone reverted to his natural form and grazed.

Next day they paddled on. Bone, not content merely to paddle and guide, chatted about this and that.

“You like your life on the plain?” Mach inquired.

“Oh, sure,” the youth inquired. “ ‘Course it’ll be harder when I get evicted from the Herd.”

“Evicted? Why?”

“All grown males get evicted. There can be only one Herd Stallion. So we have to range beyond it, on guard against enemies, and hope for the day one of us will achieve a herd of our own.”

“But wouldn’t it be fairer to have one stallion to one mare?”

“What kind of a herd would that be?” Bone inquired indignantly. “Only the fittest can sire offspring.”

Mach saw another reason why Fleta might prefer to love outside the Herd, and outside her species. All the mares serviced by one stallion? There could not be much attention for individuals! “And you are the offspring of Clip?”

“Of Clip? Nay! He deposed my sire fifteen years back.” He made a gesture with the paddle. “And what a fight that was! Clip had been out in the hills with but a small Herd, mainly Belle, but that must’ve toughened him, because he came down and challenged our Herd Stallion, who was getting pretty old, and gored him and drove him off. Of course Clip be not young himself, now, and already the males of the hills be watching him. But he be brother to Neysa, and she hath friends—Oh, does she have friends, from the Blue Adept on down!— and whoe’er takes out her brother would have to fear from those friends.”

Phaze had a sterner mode of existence than he had realized! Mach could understand dragons preying on unicorns and such, but hadn’t realized how tough the internal affairs of the herd could be.

“So you’ll be going out, and maybe one day challenge for the mastery of some herd?”

“Mayhap,” the youth agreed. “More likely get myself killed trying.”

And this was the life Fleta was a part of! Was he going to return to Proton and leave her to it? His recent decision to depart the frame was shaken. Yet what could he accomplish, by taking her from her Herd, except to shame her before her kind?

By nightfall they reached the Pack. Kurrelgyre turned out to be a grizzled wolf and, when he changed, a grizzled man, middle-aged and tough. Bone was obviously wary of him, and glad to revert to unicorn form and gallop away once Mach was safely introduced.

“Aye, she was here, three or four days past,” the leader of the Pack said. “She went on to the Vampire Demesnes.”

Another delay! Not only was he not catching up to Fleta, he was getting farther behind her!

The werewolves served him roasted meat. He didn’t inquire what kind it was. They gave him a cozy nest of hay for the night, though it wasn’t as comfortable for him as it was for them, in their canine forms.

In the morning Kurrelgyre decreed that he should have a guide, and a bitch named Furramenin jumped into the front of his canoe. She put her paws on the front seat and pointed her nose in the direction he was to go, and he paddled the craft in that direction.