Bradley, Marion Zimmer - SSC 03 (16 page)

 
          
The
crimson eye of Keth hovered near the horizon, with the smaller sun of Reth less
than an hour behind. At this hour the fishing fleet should have been sailing
into the harbor. But there was no sign of any fleet; only a single boat, far
out, struggling against the tide.

 
          
Lythande
had walked far that day along the shore, enjoying the solitude and singing old,
soft sea-songs to the sounds of the surf. Tonight, surely, the Pilgrim-Adept
thought, supper must be earned by singing to the lute, for in a simple place
like this there would be none to need the services of a mercenary magician, no
need for spells or magics, only simple folk, living simply to the rhythms of
sea and tides.

 
          
Perhaps
it was a holiday; all the boats lay drawn up along the shore. But there was no
holiday feel in the single street: angry knots of men sat clumped together
scowling and talking in low voices, while a little group of women were staring
out to sea, watching the single boat struggling against the tide.

 
          
"Women!
By the blinded eyes of Keth-Ketha, how are
women to handle a boat?" one of the men snarled. "How are they to
handle fishing nets? Curse that
—
"

 
          
"Keep
your voice down," admonished a second, "That
—
that thing might hear, and wake!"

 
          
Lythande
looked out into the bay and saw what had not been apparent before; the
approaching boat was crewed, not by men, but by four hearty half-grown girls in
their teens. Their muscular arms were bare to the shoulder, skirts tucked up to
the knee, their feet clumsy in sea-boots. They seemed to be handling the nets
competently enough; and were evidently enormously strong, the kind of women
who, if they had been milking a cow, could sling the beast over their shoulder
and fetch it home out of a bog. But the men were watching with a jealous fury
poorly concealed.

 
          
"Tomorrow
I take my own boat
out,
and the lasses stay home and
bake bread where they belong!"

 
          
"That's
what Leukas did, and you know what happened to him
—
his whole crew wrecked on the rocks, and
—
and something, some
thing
out there ate boat and all!
All they ever found was his hat, and his fishing net chewed half-through! An'
seven sons for the village to feed till they're big enough to go out to the
fishing
—
that's supposing we ever
have any more fishing around here, and that whatever-it-is out there ever goes
away again!"

 
          
Lythande
raised a questioning eyebrow. Some menace, to the mercenary magician. Though
Lythande bore two swords, girdled at the narrow waist of the mage-robe, the
right-hand sword for the everyday menace of threatening humankind or natural
beast, the left-hand sword to slay ghost or ghast or ghoul or any manner of
supernatural menace, the Adept had no intention of here joining battle against
some sea-monster. For that the village must await some hero or fighting man.
Lythande was magician and minstrel, and though the sword was for hire where
there was need, the Adept had no love for ordinary warfare, and less for
fighting some menacing thing needing only brute strength and not craft.

 
          
There
was but one inn in the village; Lythande made for it, ordered a pot of ale, and
sat in the corner, not touching it
—
one
of the vows fencing the power of an Adept of the Blue Star was that they might
never be seen to eat or drink before men
—
but
the price of a drink gave the mage a seat at the center of the action, where
all the news of the village could be heard. They were still grousing about the
fear that kept them out of the water. One man complained that already the ribs
of his boat were cracking and drying and would need mending before he could put
it back into the water.

 
          
"If
there's ever to be any fishing here again ..."

 
          
"Ye
could send the wife and daughters out in the boat like Lubert
—
"

 
          
"Better
we all starve or eat porridge for all our lives!"

 
          
"If
we ha' no fish to trade for bread or porridge, what then?"

 
          
"Forgive
my curiosity," Lythande said in the mellow, neutral voice that marked a
trained minstrel, "but if a sea-monster is threatening the shore, why
should women be safe in a boat when men are not?"

 
          
It
was the wife of the innkeeper who answered her. "If it was a sea monster,
we could go out there, all of us, even with fish-spears, and kill it, like the
plainsmen do with the tusk-beasts. It's a mermaid, an' she sits and sings and
lures our menfolk to the rocks
—
look yonder at my
goodman," she said in a lowered voice, pointing to a man who sat apart
before the fire, back turned to the company, clothing all unkempt, shirt
half-buttoned, staring into the fire. His fingers fiddled nervously with the
lacings of his clothing, snarling them into loops.

 
          
"He
heard her," she said in a tone of such horror that hearing, the little
hairs rose and tingled on Lythande's arms and the Blue Star between the
magician's brows began to crackle and send forth lightnings. "He
heard
her,
and his men dragged him away from the rocks. And there he sits from that day to
this
—
him that was the jolliest
man in all this town, staring and weeping and I have to feed him like a little
child, and never take my eyes off him for half a minute or he'll walk out into the
sea and drown, and there are times"
—
her
voice sank in despair
—
"I'm minded to let him
go, for he'll never have his wits again
—
I
even have to guide him out to the privy, for he's forgotten even that!"
And indeed, Lythande could see a moist spreading stain on the man's trousers,
while the woman hastened, embarrassed, to lead her husband outside.

 
          
Lythande
had seen the man's eyes; empty, lost, not seeing his wife, staring at something
beyond the room.

 
          
Far
from the sea, Lythande had heard tales of mermaids, of their enchantments and
their songs. The minstrel in Lythande had half-desired to hear those songs, to
walk on the rocks and listen to the singing that could, it was said, make the
hearer forget all the troubles and joys of the world. But after seeing the
man's empty eyes, Lythande decided to forgo the experience.

 
          
"And
that is why some of the women have gone in the boats?"

 
          
"Not
women," said the innkeeper's potboy, stopping with a tray of tankards to
speak to the stranger, "girls too young for men. For they say that to
women, it calls in the voice of their lover
—
Natzer's
wife went out last full moon, swearing she'd bring in fish for her children at
least, and no one ever saw her again; but a hank of her hair, all torn and
bloody, came in on the tide."

 
          
"I
never heard that a mermaid was a flesh-eater," Lythande observed.

 
          
"Nor I.
But I think she sings, and lures im on the
rocks, where the fishes eat them. ..."

 
          
"There
is the old stratagem," Lythande suggested. "Put cotton or wax plugs
in your ears
—
"

 
          
"Say,
stranger," said a man belligerently, "you think we're all fools out
here? We tried that; but she sits on the rocks and she's so beautiful . . . the
men went mad, just seeing her, threw me overboard
—
you
can't blindfold yourself, not on the sea with the rocks and all
—
there's never been a blind fisherman and never will. I swam
ashore, and they drove the boat on the rocks, and only the blinded eyes of
Keth-Ketha know where they've gone, but no doubt somewhere in the Sea-God's
lockup." Lythande turned to face the man, he saw the Blue Star shining out
from under the mage-robe and demanded, "Are you a spell-speaker?"

 
          
"I
am a Pilgrim-Adept of the Blue Star," Lythande said gravely, "and
while mankind awaits the Final Battle of Law and Chaos, I wander the world
seeking what may come."

 
          
"I
heard of the
Temple
of the Blue Star,"
said one woman fearfully. "Could you free us of this mermaid
wi
' your magic?"

 
          
"I
do not know. I have never seen a mermaid," said Lythande, "and I have
no great desire for the experience."

 
          
Yet why not?
Under the world of the Twin Suns, in a life
lasting more than most people's imaginations could believe, the Pilgrim-Adept
had seen most things, and the mermaid was new. Lythande pondered how one would
attack a creature whose only harm seemed to be that it gave forth with
beautiful music
—
so beautiful that the hearer
forgot home and family, loved ones, wife or child; and if the hearer escaped
—
Lythande shuddered. It was not a fate to be desired
—
sitting day after day staring into the fire, longing only
to hear again that song.

 
          
Yet
whatever magic could make, could be unmade again by magic. And Lythande held
all the magic of the
Temple
of the Blue Star, having
paid a price more terrifying than any other Adept in the history of the
Pilgrim-Adepts. Should that magic now be tried against the unfamiliar magic of
a mermaid?

 
          
"We
are dying and hungering," said the woman. "Isn't that enough? I
believed wizards were sworn to free the world from evil
—
"

 
          
"How
many wizards have you known?" asked Lythande.

 
          
"None,
though my mother said her granny told her, once a wizard came and done away
wi
' a sea-monster on them same rocks."

 
          
"Time
is a great artificer," said Lythande, "for even wizards must live, my
good woman; the pride of magic, while a suitable diversion while we all await
the burning out of the Twin Suns and the Final Battle between Law and Chaos,
puts no beans on the table. I have no great desire to test my powers against
your mermaid, and I'll wager you anything you like that yonder old wizard
charged your town a pretty penny for ridding the world of that
sea-monster."

 
          
"We
have nothing to give," said the innkeeper's wife, "but if you can
restore my man, I'll give you my gold ring that he gave me when we were wedded.
And since he's been enchanted, what kind of man are you if you can't take away
one magic with another?" She tugged at her fat finger, and held out the
ring, thin and worn, in the palm of her hand. Her fingers clung to it, and
there were tears in her eyes, but she held it out valiantly.

 
          
"What
kind of man am I?" Lythande asked with an ironic smile. "Like none
you will ever see. I have no need of gold, but give me tonight's lodging, and I
will do what I can."

 
          
The
woman slid the ring back on her hand with shaking fingers.
"My
best chamber.
But, oh, restore him! Or would ye have some supper
first?"

 
          
"Work
first,
then
pay," said Lythande. The man was
sitting again in the corner by the fire, staring into the flames, and from his
lips came a small, tuneless humming. Lythande unslung the lute in its bag, and
took it out, bending over the strings. Long, thin fingers strayed over the
keys, head bent close as Lythande listened for the sound, tuning and twisting
the pegs that held the strings.

 
          
At
last, touching the strings, Lythande began to play. As the sound of the lute
stole through the big common room, it was as if the chinks letting in the late
sun had widened, and the light spread in the room; Lythande played sunlight and
the happy breeze on the shore. Softly, on tiptoe, not wanting to let any random
sound interrupt the music, the people in the inn stole nearer to listen to the
soft notes. Sunlight, the shore winds, the sounds of the soft, splashing waves.
Then Lythande began to sing.