Warlock - The Warlock Unlocked Part 20

"No lady I," she murmured, "but a wanton, eager to do the bidding of a mortal man." She twined her arms about his neck and pressed up against him.

It ran counter to every demand his body screamed, but Father Al pulled her arms loose, gently but firmly, and pressed her hands together in front of his chest, forcing her body away from his. She stared at him in surprise. "How now! Do not deny that thou dost want me!"

"I do," Father Al admitted, "but 'twould be wrongful." He glanced down at her fingers, and noticed the tiny, vestigial webs between them. , "Wrongful, because thou art a mortal, and I a nymph?" She laughed, revealing small, perfect, very white teeth. "Come, now! It hath been often done, and always to the man's delight!"

Delight, yes-but Father Al remembered some old tales, of how a water-maid's seduction had led to death-or, failing that, to a steadily-worsening despair that had surely torn apart the mortal lover's soul. He clung to the memory to give him strength, and explained, "It must not be-and the fact that I am human and you are not has little enough to do with it; for see you, la.s.s, if thou dost give out favors of thy body where thou art l.u.s.ted for, but are not loved, thou dost break thine own integrity."

"Integrity?" She smiled, amused. " Tis a word for mortals, not for faery folk."

"Not so," Father Al said sternly, "for the word means 'wholeness,' the wholeness of thy soul."

She laughed, a dazzling cascade of sound. "Surely thou dost jest! The faery folk have no immortal souls!"

"Personalities, then." Father Al was miffed at himself for having forgotten. "Ident.i.ty. The sum and total of thyself, that which makes thee different, unique, special-not quite like any other water-nymph that ever was."

She lost her smile. "I think thou dost not jest."

"Indeed, I do not. Thy ident.i.ty, la.s.s, thy true self, hidden away and known only to thyself, is what thou really art. 'Tis founded on those few principles that thou dost truly and most deeply believe in-those beliefs which, when manners and graces and fashions of behaving are all stripped away, do still remain, at the bottom and foundation of thy self."

"Why, then," she smiled, "I am a wanton; for in my deepest self, my chiefest principle is pleasure s.e.xual." And she tried to twine her arms about his neck again.

Well, Father Al had heard that one before, and not just from aquatic women, either. He held her hands firmly, and held her gaze, looking deeply into her eyes. " 'Tis an excuse, I trow, and will not serve. Some male hath wronged thee deeply, when thou wast young and tender. Thou didst open thy heart to him, letting him taste thy secret self, and didst therefore open, too, thy body, for it seemed fully natural that the one should follow the other."

She stared at him, shocked, then suddenly twisted, trying to yank herself free. "I'll not hear thee more!"

"a.s.suredly, thou wilt," he said sternly, holding her wrists fast, "for this young swain, when he had had his fill of thee, tore himself away, and tore a part of thy secret self with him. Then went he on his merry way, whistling, and sneering at thee-and thou wast lost in sorrow and in pain, for he had ripped away a part of thine inner self that never could be brought and mended back."

"Mortal," she fairly shrieked, "art thou crazed? I am a nymph!"

Father Al had heard that one before, too. "It matters not. There was never a thinking creature made to tear her secret self to bits, and toss the pieces out to pa.s.sers-by; thus thou wouldst slowly shred thy secret self away, till nought was left, and thou didst not truly exist-only a walking sh.e.l.l would then be left. And this doth happen whenever thou dost open thy body to one who loves thee not, and whom thou dost not love. That breaks the wholeness of thy secret self, for we are made in such a wise that our inner selves and bodies are joined as one, and when the one doth open, the other should.

So if thou dost open thy body while keeping thy secret self enclosed, thou dost break the wholeness of thy self."

"A thousand times have I so done," she sneered, "yet I am whole within!"

"Nay, thou'it not. Each time, a tiny piece of thee hast gone, though thou didst strive to know it not."

"Nay, not so-for 'tis my nature to give my body and retain my self untouched! I am a nymph!"

"This is a thin excuse that thou didst first concoct, when first thy secret self was torn. Thou then didst say, 'It matters not; I am untouched. This is my nature, to give of my body and not of my soul; mine only true desire is pleasure.' And to prove it to thyself, thou didst seek to couple with every male that happened by- yet each time, thou wast more torn, and didst need to prove it more-so thou didst seek out more to pleasure thee, quite frantically-though in thy depths, thou knew it pleasured thee not at all. For in truth, 'twas only an excuse."

"And what of thee?" she demanded angrily. "Why dost thou rant thus at me? Why dost thou make me stay to listen, when I would turn away? Is not this thine own excuse, for the hot l.u.s.t that doth throb within thee at the sight of me?"

Touche, Father Al thought. "It is indeed. Yet hath mine excuse done harm to thee? Or me?"

She frowned prettily, searching his eyes. "Nay...none to me. Yet I think that it doth harm to thee-for what is natural to thyself would be to grapple me, and couple here in wildness and in frenzy."

"Thou dost read me shrewdly," Father Al admitted. "Yet though 'tis 'natural,' la.s.s, it is not right-for thereby would a part of me be ripped away, even as a part of thee would." He sighed. "It is a male conceit that a woman's self may be rended by a one-night's coupling, while the man's is not- but 'tis only a conceit. We, too, are made all of one piece, body and soul so shrewdly welded together that we cannot give of the one without giving of the other. And we, too, can be rended by a first coupling with a one who loves us not, and may seek to deny that hurt by seeking to lie with every maid we may. Thus is the legend born of prowess male, and many a young man's soul is rended by the promiscuity that comes of thus attempting to prove himself a legend"-which is to say, a ghost. But if young men would speak the truth, they would own that there is little enough pleasure in it-for loveless coupling, at the moment when pleasure should transform itself to ecstasy, truly turns itself to ashes, and the taste of gall."

"I think," she said slowly, "that thou dost speak from hurt that thou hast known."

He smiled ruefully. "All young men commit the same mistakes; all step upon the brush that covers o'er the pitfall, no matter how loudly their seniors blare the warnings in their ears. I was once young; and I was not always of the Cloth."

Her eyes widened in horror. She leaped back, looking him up and down in one quick glance, and pressed her hands to her mouth. "Thou art a monk!"

He smiled. "Hadst thou only seen that I was male?"

She nodded, eyes huge.

"If thou hadst looked, thou wouldst have known that I did not walk the stream-banks in search of pleasure."

"Nay, that follows not," she said with a frown, "for I have known-Nay, never mind. Yet if thou didst not hither come for sport, why hast thou come?"

"Why, I do seek an husband, wife, and children three," Father Al said slowly. "They would have come out from this wood some time ago, mayhap whilst sunlight shone. Wouldst thou have seen them?"

"Indeed I did," the nymph said slowly, "they woke me from my daytime sleep- the wee ones made some noise, thou knowest."

"I do indeed." Father Al had delivered sermons at family churches. "Canst thou say which way they went?"

She shook her head. "I did not look so long. One quick glance sufficed to show a woman with them-and she was quite beautiful." The nymph seemed irritated by the memory. "I saw no prospect of a satisfaction there, though the man and boys were comely-so I sought my watery bed again."

"Out upon it!" Father Al glared up at the leaves, clenching a fist. "How can I tell which way to go?"

"If 'tis a matter of so great an import to thee," the nymph said slowly, "mayhap that I can aid. Do thou sit here, and wait, and I will quickly course the stream, and seek for sign of them."

"Wouldst thou, then!" Father Al cried. "Now, there's a wench for thee! Why, thank thee, la.s.s! The blessings of..."

"I prithee, hold!" The nymph held up a hand. "Name not thy Deity, I beg thee! Do thou abide; I'll search." She ducked under the water, and was gone.

Father Al stared after her a moment; then he sighed, and lowered himself carefully to the river bank. Not so young as he had been-but still too young for comfort in some ways, eh? He wondered if his hectoring had done any good, if the nymph would even remember it. Probably not; the young never seemed to leam where s.e.x was concerned, and she was eternally young. Nice of her to offer to help, though-or had it just been a convenient excuse for getting away from a garrulous old man?

With that thought in his head, he sat there on tenterhooks, tense in waiting, wondering if the nymph would even return.

Then, suddenly, the water clashed in front of him, and the nymph rose up, pushing her hair back from her face. "They come, good monk. Back up the stream-bank they do wander." She pointed downstream. "Though why, I cannot say."

"A thousand blessings on thee!" Father Al cried, surging to his feet. The nymph gasped in horror, and disappeared in a splash.

Father Al stared at the widening ripple-rings, biting his tongue in consternation at his faux pas. Well, no doubt she'd realize he'd just been carried away, and would credit him with good intentions.

Then he turned away, the nymph receding to the back of his mind, and plunged into the underbrush that lined the bank, heading back into the trees and downstream, excitement rising high within him at the thought of finally meeting the Gallowgla.s.ses.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

They dodged through the silver woods, trusting to Gwen's sense of direction, until they came out on the lake-sh.o.r.e. Rod sighed with relief. "Okay, into the water. If they're tracking us with hounds, we want to break the trail." He was about to jump in when he noticed his family all hanging back. "Hey, what's the matter? Jump in!"

"My lord," Gwen said delicately, "it doth occur to us to remember the Each Uisge..."

"What of it? It's dead!"

"Aye; but it may not have been alone. We know so little of this land..."

Rod felt a sudden dislike of water, himself. "Uh... how about it, Elid... uh, Your Majesty? Are there other unfriendly beasties in the water?"

"Oh, aye!" Elidor said promptly. "There do be Fuathan of all sorts and shapes! Sh.e.l.ly coats, peallaidhs, fideal, urisks, melusines..."

"Uh, I think that's enough," Rod interrupted. "We'll take our chances with the hounds."

They moved along the lake-sh.o.r.e. It was quicker going; the trees didn't come down right to the water's edge; they generally had a path at least two feet wide.

"We do seem to have come into a country with a rather strange population," Rod admitted to Gwen.

"We do indeed," she agreed. "The Faery, and some of the spirits Elidor doth mention, I have heard of-yet some are total strangers. Can we be in Gramarye, Rod?"

Rod shrugged. "Sure. Given a population of latent tele-paths, who can persuade witch-moss to adopt any shape they're collectively thinking of, and a thousand years to work in, who can say what would show up?"

"Yet 1 cannot think the elves would disappear," Gwen pointed out,"and some magics that the faery duke did speak of, no witch or warlock in all Gramarye possesseth."

"True," Rod admitted, "both points. The spriggans' ropes are something new- and so is making them crumble to dust before they touched Lord Kern-if the faery duke wasn't just making that up. Still, I could see a way telekinesis might do that. But, turning faeries to stone? No. That's really new-if he meant it literally."

"Yet if we be on Gramarye," Gwen said softly, "where do we be?"

"Nice question." Rod looked up at the starry sky above the lake. "Could be anywhere, dear. McAran's time machine was a matter-transmitter as well as a time-shifter. I suppose we could be on any world, around any star in the universe." He frowned, squinting up at the sky. "Though, come to think of it, there's something familiar about those constellations..." He shook his head. "Can't place it. But I know I've seen that stellar layout before!"

"Yet 'tis not the sky of Gramarye," Gwen said softly.

Rod was silent for a moment. Then, slowly, he shook his head. "No, dear. It's not."

They walked silently for a few minutes, looking away from the sky and down toward the ground, hand in hand. The children picked up Gwen's thoughts, and crowded close for comfort. Elidor watched, not understanding, alone and to the side.

Gwen reached out and gathered him in. "Well, 'tis not so great a blow as all that; I've had suspicions. There're far too few folk here with any Power, for it to ha' been our Isle of Gramarye."

"Yes," Rod said somberly. "We haven't run into so much as a telepath. Not that I'm used to having people read my thoughts..." He looked up at Gwen, frowning. "Strange, isn't it? When I first came to Gramarye, the Queen's witches could read my mind-but by the time I met you, no one could."

"Oh, really?" said a mellow baritone behind him. "That's interesting!"

Rod whirled about.

A friar in a brown robe with a black rope belt picked his way through the trees toward them. Moonlight gleamed off his tonsure. "Can you think of anything that could cause that effect?"

"Not offhand," Rod said slowly. "And you'll pardon my noticing that you don't quite speak like the rest of the local population."

"Not surprising; I'm from out of this world." The friar thrust out a hand. "Father Aloysius Uwell, at your service."

"I hope so." Rod searched the man's face. He was definitely on the fat side, with brown hair and a library pallor, wide, frank eyes, and a firm mouth; and something immensely likeable about him. Rod warmed to him, albeit reluctantly. He took Father Uwell's hand. "Good to meet you." Then he noticed the tiny yellow screwdriver in the priest's breast pocket. "You're a Cathodean!"

"Is that so surprising?" Father Uwell smiled. "I told you I wasn't of this world."

"Or the next?" But Rod couldn't help smiling. "What world are you from?"

"McCorley, originally-but I've been on Terra, at the Vatican, for the last twenty years. Except for jaunts to trouble-spots, of course-such as Gramarye."

"Gramarye?" Rod's eyebrows shot up. "So you came in the same way we did?"

"Yes, and it wasn't very easy, I don't mind telling you! Here I' ve been outbound from Terra for most of a month, just to meet you-and when I get to Gramarye, I find you've just left! Not very hospitable of you, sir."

"Uh, yeah, well, I'm sorry, but your reservation got mislaid. Pardon my curiosity, but I wouldn't think the Vatican would even have heard about me, let alone have been interested in me!"

"We hadn't, until the Pope opened a letter that's been waiting in the vaults for a thousand years or so.""A thousand years?" Rod did some quick subtraction."Who knew about me in 2000 AD?" Then it hit him. "Oh. No. Not McAran.""Ah, I see you've met! Yes, it was from a Dr. Angus McAran. He informed the Pope that Rod Gallowgla.s.s, of Gramarye-and he gave the coordinates-was potentially the most powerful wizard ever born."

Gwen gasped.

The kids stared.

Rod squeezed his eyes shut and gave his head a quick shake. "Oh, no, not again!

That skinny old b..." He remembered the children and took a deep breath. "

'Fraid it's a wild goose chase, Father. I've never shown the faintest trace of any magical ability."

"He did say 'potential,' " Father Uwellreminded, "and I find this sudden telepathic blockage of yours quite interesting-oh, yes, I do believe telepathy works, especially since I've visited Gramarye."

Rod smiled. "Met some of our witches, huh?"

Father Al winced. "Just one-and an elf. I'd really rather call your 'witches'

espers, if you don't mind. 'Witch' is a supernatural term, and there's nothing

metaphysical about psionic powers. Oh, and by the way, I saw your youngest."

"Gregory!" Gwen's gaze rivetted on the priest. "How doth he, good Father?"

"Quite well, I a.s.sure you madame," Father Al said kindly. "Two old elf-wives are watching over him, and the witch-girl who brought me to your house is helping them now. And Puck himself is guarding the door."