The Warlock Rock (26 page)

"'Tis not repentance," Gwen said, her tone hardening. "Hearken to their words, husband." Rod heard, but could scarcely tell whether the sounds came from the young people, or from the rocks they wore tied around their necks:

"Hunger, lust! All that must Be rendered keen By the sheen Of whiplash law! Backs made raw Feel more deep! Naught can keep Music's strain As stings of pain! Ecstasy, Abide with me In agony!"

"Nay!" Cordelia's voice trembled. "Assuredly the voice doth not tell them that pain is pleasure!"

"It doth," Gwen said, mouth a thin, grim line, "and I assure thee, daughter, 'tis the foulest lie that e'er I heard!"

"But how can the music say it, an it is false?" Magnus asked, bewildered.

"Because," Rod said, "these rocks were made by somebody, and that somebody can put lies in them if he wants to."

Quite probable, Fess agreed. At the very least, I question their programming . Somebody jostled them; Rod staggered back, with a cry of anger, then stepped forward, hand going to his sword— but slammed back against the inn again, as the innkeeper bumped past him, calling, "Nay, lad! Timon, no! Come back!"

Page 152

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

But tall Timon, eyes unfocused, had torn off his tunic and caught up a broom. He tailed onto the end of the line, shuffling along and slashing with the broom straws at the back in front of him. A young girl jumped in behind him, instantly adopting the three-step shuffle, untying her sash and striking at Timon's back with it. Another lad stepped in behind her, tearing away the back of her dress and lashing at her with a rope's end.

Cordelia turned away, stumbling back into the inn, eyes squeezed shut.

"Magnus, no!" Gwen screamed, for her eldest, glassy-eyed, was moving forward toward the line of flagellants, stepping into place, fumbling at the buckle of his sword-belt…

Rod reached out and clamped pincer-fingers into his son's shoulder. Magnus winced and twisted from his grasp with a yell of pain. His hands left the buckle and leaped to the sword.

Rod yanked him out of the line. Still angry, the youth drew out his blade…

Rod caught his son's wrist and forced it down. It surged back up—Rod was amazed at how strong his son had grown—but Geoffrey reached up, catching his brother's elbow, thumb probing. Magnus sagged, eyes bulging, with a high, thin whine of agony. His face came down to a level with Geoffrey's, and his younger brother snapped, "Shall I admire thee now? Art thou the toy of women, then, that thou mayest be enslaved by song?"

Magnus's face reddened with anger again. "Be still, sprout!" Rod sagged with relief—it was brother talking to brother, not a teen entranced. Then Magnus looked up, his glance darting around. "What… wherefore…"

"The music had entrapped thee, son," Gwen said gently.

"Aye." Geoffrey's lip curled with contempt. "And wilt thou let it hold these others enslaved?"

'Nay!" Magnus roared, covering his embarrassment. He whirled, sheathing his sword but drawing his dagger, and leaped after the line of youths, running up to the first who had a stone hung round his neck, slipping the dagger in, cutting the thong, and hurling the stone away. The youth snapped upright and turned on him with an angry roar, lashing out with his whip.

But Magnus was already on down the line to the next, slashing and snatching, working his way quickly toward the front, hurling the glinting stones far away.

Geoffrey leaped to join him, but Rod caught his shoulder. "You don't have the height for this one."

"Daughter!" Gwen called, and Cordelia hurried out from the inn. "Hurl," Gwen commanded, and turned to glare at Magnus.

Cordelia looked, startled, saw what Magnus was doing, and narrowed her gaze to the rock flying from his hand. It lurched and flew farther, much farther, out over the village and into the nearby stream.
Page 153

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

In a few minutes, the rocks were all gone, and the young people converged on Magnus with angry shouting.

Gwen gave Rod a stony look. Rod nodded and stepped forward. "Fess, fifteen thousand Hertz."

"Certainly, Rod."

A sharp, piercing tone slid over the village. Gwen and the children clapped their hands over their ears, for the sound seemed to stab right through their heads. It only lasted five seconds, then cut off—but the flagellants were down, rolling on the ground in agony, hands over their ears, howling. Magnus alone still stood, staggering, bringing his hands away. He looked up at his father, dazed. Rod stepped up beside him, and turned to look at the peasant youths all about him. Gradually, the youths began to realize that someone out of their league was looking down on them. They quieted; faces settled into truculent expressions.

"How are your backs?" Rod said quietly.

They stared at him, taken aback by the question. Then they looked at one another, saw the stripes and blood, and the wailing began.

Half an hour later, Magnus was just finishing gulping down a tankard of ale. Timon set another in front of him. "Drink,. I pray. Tis the least thanks I can make, sin that thou hast saved my back and brain." Magnus lowered the tankard with a gasp and reached for the new one, but Gwen laid a hand over his.

"Give it time to work," she said gently. "Too much, and thou wilt be the toy of this music that doth surround thee."

Magnus shuddered and pulled his hand back.

"Stew," Rod said to Timon.

"I could not eat!" Magnus protested.

"Let him smell it," Rod assured Timon. "He'll find his appetite."

"Thou hast saved them, Magnus," Gregory said, his eyes huge.

"Aye," said Magnus, "but only by Dad and Geoffrey saving me!"

"At least," said Rod, "you had your question answered." Gregory looked up. "What question was that?"

"Why," said Rod, "you wanted to know what kind of music it would take to break through the mind's defense of numbness."

Magnus lifted his head. "Aye, even so! Yet what was the manner of it?"

"Sheer ugliness, I guess," Rod said. "Every time people become used to one sort of music, the crafter breaks through to them by coming up with something that's even more distorted. It shocks them into
Page 154

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

paying attention again." He shrugged. "Just a guess, though." But Gregory's eyes had filled with tears. "I did not mean…"

"Peace, brother." Cordelia wrapped an arm around him. "These poor folk were entrapped days before thou didst think to ask."

"Aye," said Gwen. " 'Twas not thy doing."

But Geoffrey's eyes narrowed. "Papa, where a wall is breached, there is a captain who commanded a siege engine."

"Yes," Rod agreed. "A musical change like that does seem rather deliberate, doesn't it?"

"Good Timon!" Magnus rose and turned to the tall youth by the inner door. "Whence could that train of youths have come?"

The lad looked surprised, then nodded. "I will ask." He stepped through the door and was gone.

"Shall we spend the night here, Papa?" Gregory asked.

Rod turned to Gwen; she nodded. He turned back. "Yes, son—but I think we'll camp by that stream out there. I'd like to make sure no one goes fishing tonight."

The next afternoon, they finally found out where the blimp was leading them—they, and the half-mile or so of dancers who were following behind them. They found out, because they came into a zone where heavy metal rocks glistened all about them, drowning out the sounds of the blimp. They looked about with astonishment, and Rod put his mouth near Gwen's ear. "Is this its home country or something?" The dancers thought it was great. They leaped and whirled out into the meadow on both sides of the roadway, .gamboling and dancing to their hearts' delight. Considering how thickly the ground was strewn with music-rocks, it was amazing they didn't break their legs.

"Look!" Geoffrey's voice was just barely audible above the racket. Rod turned, and saw him pointing skyward. He looked up, to see that the blimp had become translucent; the sunlight was shining through it. As he watched, it became even more faint, until it shimmered, and was gone. The family were dumbfounded.

Then Gregory's voice said, in wonder, Was it illusion, then ?

They seized on his idea, using telepathy because the music was too loud. I had thought it was made of witch-moss, at least, Magnus answered. Seems it was just a mental construct, purely illusory. Rod frowned. Bait to lead youth here — but what for?

Page 155

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Whither journey we now? Cordelia wondered.

Aye, Gwen asserted. The music is so widespread that we can no longer use the rocks' direction as a guide .

No vector, Rod added.

But Fess's voice interposed smoothly: If the blimp was a projection, surely it had a projector . Certes! Geoffrey agreed with enthusiasm. Let us find the blimp's maker! He should know whence came these rocks !

But how shall we find him? Magnus demanded.

Gregory pointed. See! The young folk do tend toward the west !

Sure enough, though they weren't single-file anymore, the groups of dancers were more or less all moving toward the west.

Then whoever wanted to bring them here, may still be leading them. Rod nodded. But the blimp was no longer of use, because once its music was drowned out by the rocks, nobody paid any attention to it anymore .

Then let us pay heed to its maker, Gwen suggested. Follow, family !

They trailed off after the dancers.

The witch wasn't hard to find, once they caught up with the head of the mob. She wasn't hard to find, because she was the only person in sight who was clearly middle-aged. She was also one of the very few who was fat.

She must have caught some mental trace of the Gallow-glasses, because she looked up at their approach, and her mouth opened in an unheard scream. She pointed at them, and a searing flower of heat bloomed in their minds. But it withered just as quickly under Gwen's projection of a wintry blast. Instead, a huge barbarian suddenly confronted them, clad in leather and metal armbands, long hair tied in knots, earrings flashing, spear stabbing.

Illusion! Gwen's label was quick, and she and Cordelia fixed their eyes on the image, which thinned and faded even as it strode toward them. But another leaped up in its place, a woman with long, straight black hair, clad in short, tight-fitting leathers, unfurling a bullwhip. The boys stared, fascinated by the combination of pulchritude and punishment, but Rod knew the compound from experience. The flame of his anger lashed out and blasted the image to instant ashes—but rain drizzled onto them, and a manic vampire sprouted up like a plant, blood-red lips gaping wide to show his fangs, mop of hair flapping like a set of banners. His garments fit so tightly they seemed to be painted on. Geoffrey's surge of disgust rippled through everyone. He was revolted by the notion that such a thing should wear a male form. Under the mental stress produced by him and his brothers the illusion shredded, and blew away in tatters.

The witch gave up and grabbed for her broomstick.

Page 156

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Cordelia was faster, swooping around to cut in front of the woman. She hesitated, just long enough for the boys to catch her robe. They yanked down hard, and the woman fell; then they yanked up, and her robe tore, but she landed gently. A boiling cauldron of anger and fear bubbled out of her, directed at them—but it subsided, stilled, and was gone as Gwen's calming, slowing tide of thoughts rocked her into sleep. The others paid avid attention to her thoughts, and Rod inserted the formless question, only a mental current, that asked (but not in words) where the music-rocks came from. All they gained from her, though, as she slipped into unconsciousness, was the phrase, "… the man who is nowhere…" Cordelia looked down in exasperation at the sleeping form. How is this? What can she mean ?

How can there be a man who is nowhere? Geoffrey demanded.

A man, at least. Gwen's thought was cool water on their inflamed emotions. Seek among this throng, for only the moiety of them came when we did .

The Gallowglasses looked out on a vast, churning mob of young folk. How many are there here, Mama? Gregory's thought was dazed.

Some thousands, at least, she answered, and Fess thought-corrected, Five thousand three hundred seventy-one, Gregory .

Somebody must know where this witch-moss-crafting man is! Rod insisted. Eavesdrop on their minds, folks — but stay together.

Bravely, they tried. For half an hour, they probed and listened. Finally, Gregory dropped cross-legged on the grass, and Gwen called off the session with a curt finishing thought. No one knows, Magnus mused, benumbed.

I did at least catch some shady picture of a man bearing stones, Gregory thought wearily. I too, Cordelia answered, but none had the least notion as to where he dwelled . Only that he doth exist, Gwen agreed. How can this be, husband ?

It's really your field, Rod said slowly, but to me, it smacks of post-hypnotic suggestion . Gwen looked up at him, amazed. Why, thou hast it! Such few as these as have known of him, have had the memory stolen from their minds !

Magnus frowned. Aye… 'twould not be so hard to do — only to strengthen the resistance of a handful of synapses…

Simplicity itself. Anger tinged Gwen's thought. They seek to keep this man's existence a secret, then . But why? Cordelia wondered.

Angry peasants. Rod's thoughts weren't exactly halcyon, either. All right, family — how do you find someone whom no one remembers?

Page 157

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

They were silent, puzzling it out. Fess waited, and when no one spoke, he explained, Memory is holistic. The