The Warlock Rock (32 page)

"And that tower of wind behind her," said Gwen, "is the repository of their powers."

"Gathered and compressed, aye, and churning the air into a maelstrom."

"But what can hold it bound?" Gregory asked.

"She doth hold the churning winds within the envelope of her own mind's force—for she, at least, is an esper of genuine power."

"A psi-made tornado," Rod breathed, "held in a cell of pure force—a cysted twister." But Gwen shook her head. "It cannot be her mind unaided. If she were so powerful a witch, I'd ha'

heard of her ere now."

"There could be aids," Rod said slowly, thinking of high-tech devices.

"But what hath led her to so foul an end?" Cordelia exclaimed. Father Thelonius shook his head. "I can but conjecture."

"So can I," Magnus said darkly. "This much we know— that she is the ugliest witch in the land." Cordelia glared at him, incensed, but before she could argue, Rod asked, "Now that she has managed to gather some power, what does she intend to do with it?"

"To gather more, of course. That is ever the way of power," Brother Dorian said, and Father Thelonius nodded.

Rod caught at Fess's saddle for support, staggered by a sudden vision of witch-moss rocks imbued with hate, greed, and lust, flying out from this plain of delusion, sped onward with all the power of the chained minds of the mob, gaining more and more converts to the worst of human nature—and the worst of the new fanatics finding their way back here, to contribute their own hatred and self-contempt to the swelling power of the emotional sink. "It could be the end of all that's good in Gramarye," he whispered. He was aware of a strong hand on his arm and opened his eyes to see his wife's face, taut with concern. He forced a weak smile, managed to stand away from Fess, and turned to the monks. Father Thelonius met him with a steady, grave gaze, nodding slowly. "Therefore can we not allow this obscenity to continue."

"But how can we stop it?"

"We have powers of our own." Father Thelonius touched the amulet. "Yet even without this jewel, there is great virtue in the yearning for right. We shall focus that—the aching for goodness and order, for love and compassion, gentleness and understanding, that is locked away in the hearts of us all. We shall focus and condense it, and pit it against that hideous chaos."

"Well said." Rod frowned. "Now, how about the engineering?" Brother Dorian smiled and drew a long leather case out of his robe.
Page 186

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

The children stepped forward, curiosity swelling.

Brother Dorian untied the case, and drew out…

An artifact of advanced technology.

Rod's eyes widened. "You made that?"

Brother Dorian shook his head, and Father Thelonius said softly, "We do remember the arts that the rest of humankind do own, mind—yet in this case, 'twas sent us from Terra." It was a keyboard, with a full set of built-in visual synthesizers and subsonic modulators.

"You really know how to use that?" Rod asked skeptically, but Brother Dorian answered with a very serene smile. He extended the legs of the keyboard and set it up for playing.

"What is it?" Magnus asked.

"Listen," Brother Dorian said, "and watch."

His fingers moved over the keys, and a lilting melody arose. It wasn't nearly as loud as the rock music around them, but somehow it compelled attention, making the snarling and whining seem to recede into the background.

The children were transfixed.

A mist of glowing mauve formed in the air above Brother Dorian. Then, moving in synchronization with the music, it thickened, swirling, and churned itself into the form of a drooping flower bud. As the music built, the flower quickened, blooming and opening, lifting its face to the sun. It faded as the music swept down to a hush—and now, where the melody had been, a series of squeaks and chirps began. The children knelt hushed, recognizing the sounds of small woodland animals and birds—but what were they doing here on a plain?

Then they appeared, off to the side of the keyboard— foxes, badgers, mice, pheasants, hedgehogs—gathered in a semicircle, staring spellbound.

"What do they see?" Gwen whispered.

It was almost as though the music shaped itself to answer, swirling and settling into physical form—the figure of a small man with blue skin, clad only in a fur loincloth, a wreath of flowers in his hair and a flute at his lips. They could hear his piping, clear and flowing, and as he played, a small dancing shape appeared between him and the small furry creatures, a tiny elfin being, whose pirouettes whirled it so fast that it became a spot of light.

Then it dimmed as the music faded—and the small man and his creatures faded with it, disappearing, gone. The music took on a bittersweet, nostalgic quality, that both regretted and promised renewal—and ended.

The children were silent for a few breaths, and it seemed that even the music-rocks held their peace.
Page 187

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

Then Rod realized the twanging and bonging was still going on around them, and the children released their breaths in a concerted sigh. "Wondrous!" Cordelia said, and Geoffrey added, "Thou art a magician!"

"Aye, certes," said Magnus, his eyes on the monk, "for thou art of the cloister of St. Vidicon, not of a parish. Thou art a wizard, art thou not?"

"Only in this," Brother Dorian demurred, "only in my music."

"Yet that is his magic," said Father Thelonius, "not the instrument alone."

"Yes, there is psi power in that, isn't there?" Rod mused. "You're a genius, Brother Dorian."

"Not I," the monk protested, though he flushed with pleasure. "Not I, but he who composed this piece."

"I could almost believe that such magic as this could counter the power of that fell maelstrom," Gwen said.

"It can! I assure thee, it can!" Brother Dorian said, his eyes bright. "Yet not alone."

"No, not alone," Father Thelonius agreed, "but with other instruments to aid it, and the power of a sacred ceremony to counter the vicious impulses drawn by the sorceress's profane ritual, we may hope to build a strength of psi power that will stand against it."

"Not just us eight," Rod protested.

"Aye, not we alone," Father Thelonius agreed, "for there are twelve-score monks in the monastery who shall sing and play, and shall link their upwelling of hope and serenity to ours."

"Why, how shall this be?" asked Gregory.

"It is the talent of our choirmaster, little one—the blending of musics, and the sharing of their power with those who have need of it, no matter how far removed—for he is a man for distances."

"A tele-man?" Rod asked. "And you'll be linked to him?"

"Aye, and he to all of us. We must have a meeting of minds, seest thou, a concert indeed."

"But how shall we aid?" Cordelia wondered.

Brother Dorian smiled and came around the keyboard, taking small instruments from hiding places within his robe. "Why, thou shalt play with me, as the spirt moves thee. Youngest one, a pipe for thee." He gave Gregory a wooden flute. "And a harp for the lass."

Cordelia took the wooden frame, gazing at it, caressing it. "But I have not the time to learn to play!"

"Thou hast but to sweep the strings, for they are tuned in harmony. A tambour for the warrior-lad." Brother Dorian handed Geoffrey a sort of shallow drum, a tambourine without the bangles, and a stick with a head on each end. "Strike the skin in time to the lowest notes I shall sound. And thou, O eldest son, shalt have an heir's portion." He held out a flat slab as long as his forearm and as wide, with four inset plates for the right hand and and six pressure-pads for the left. Magnus took it, frowning, and pressed one plate. A chord sounded, seeming to come from the air before his face. He almost dropped
Page 188

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

the instrument. "But how shall I know when to press which?"

"Thou shalt feel the impulse from me, for I have just such plates and pads upon my board."

"Yet wherefore should we play," Cordelia asked, "if we know not how?"

"Because," said Brother Dorian, "there is great power for good in the innocence of youth." Father Thelonius nodded. "That is why such innocence is so great a threat to those who wreak evil—and why they are so eager to corrupt it."

Rod gave the monk a measuring gaze. "You seem to have this awfully well planned out, Father."

"Aye." Father Thelonius looked up with a smile from where he was gathering brushwood. " 'Tis for this we were sent, Lord Warlock—to keep the domain of vengeful music from increasing, and to push it back if we may."

Rod watched him silently for a minute. Then he said, "No wonder you found us."

"Aye." Brother Dorian smiled. "No wonder at all." Rod was tempted to ask why Father Thelonius was gathering sticks, but decided he didn't want to know.

Brother Dorian turned back to the junior Gallowglasses. "Thou must attune thy selves to me, young ones, so that we may make sound together—and that blending of musics will increase the linking of our minds."

"Then we must be linked with thee, too," Gwen stated.

"Thou must indeed." Father Thelonius locked gazes with them—and, suddenly, the atmosphere was grim. "Thou must needs be at one with all of us—thy children, ourselves, and the monks in the monastery."

Rod was almost afraid to ask: "And how shall we make music?"

"Thou shalt not."

They stared at him in silence for a long moment. Then Gwen asked, "What shall we do?"

"Thou shalt fly sped by melody," said Father Thelonius, "for someone must bear the Warlock's Rock into that unholy place, to turn the witch's power back upon herself." They were very quiet, the children stock-still, chilled with dread. Rod wasn't exactly feeling warmed himself, but he swallowed and nodded. "Okay, Father. Give it to me. Someone has to stop her."

"Nay," Gwen snapped. "Whither thou goest, I will go. 'Twas into my keeping thou didst give the jewel, husband." And she stepped forward, bowing her head.

Page 189

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

Father Thelonius nodded, slipping the chain over his head and holding it out.

"No!" Rod protested. "One of us at risk is enough!"

"Yet life would never be enough for me without thee," Gwen returned. "I beg thee, Father." He slipped the chain over her head.

Gwen straightened, then turned to her eldest. She rested a hand lightly on his shoulder. "If we should miscarry, do thou care for thy sister and brothers."

Eyes huge, Magnus nodded.

"And thou." Gwen gave the other three her sternest look. "Do thou heed and obey him." Wide-eyed, they nodded slowly.

"Take care of them, Fess," Rod said softly.

"I will at need, Rod—yet I hope that need shall not come."

"Yes." Rod smiled, and broke the spell. "What's a mere coven, against a cloister-ful of psionic monks and a family of espers? Even if they are reinforced by the more depraved emotions of an eighth of the souls of Gramarye." He turned to Father Thelonius. "What ceremony is this you'll be performing to the music, Father?"

The monk turned back from draping a linen cover over a table improvised out of stones and scrub. "It will be the Mass of Light."

It was the Missa Lubba, actually, blending the traditional meolodies of the Latin Mass with African rhythms, and coupling the highest aspirations of both cultures. The Kyrie rang in Rod's head as he strode beside his wife into the domain of a warped witch. The landscape about him seemed dim and remote; all his attention was on channelling his psi powers now. He was forgetting himself, becoming aware only of his anxiety for his wife, and the power filling him; he didn't really notice that Fess was following them. Nightmare shapes grew, collapsed, and flowed on every side, for they went on foot to escape detection, detouring around newly risen forms of distorted dancing bodies, hideous faces with leering grins, and monstrous forms that comprised parts of three or four animals; but the illusions were only that, and seemed unaware of their passage. Their nature finally became clear to Rod, with the impact of insight—they were the nightmares of the souls before him, warped and twisted by their own depravity, images of foulness called up out of the depths of the subconcious by the perversion of an art form that had begun as a vivacious celebration of youth and life, but had been twisted to the titillation of the jaded and vicious, corrupted into a medium for the evoking of cruelty and degradation. Then they were through, quite suddenly, on the lip of the amphitheater. Only a hundred feet away, the naked witch cavorted in an obscene and insulting dance, beating time for the chanting that focused the sickened hungers of a thousand souls, drawing tenfold psychic energy from the raw emotions of bemused and baffled young.

Page 190

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

They paused on the brink to clasp hands; then they plunged into the mass of people, driving straight toward the witch.

Fess followed, immune to illusion and relentless in purpose.

Rod's ears were filled with the Gloria; only dimly, in the distance, could he hear the roaring and thumping of the metallic music. As if by coincidence, the people before them shifted aside, or turned away with the force of the wind, so that they seemed to move in a spreading path, a furrow through the human mass. But neighbors looked up, rouged and whitened faces stared, arms in patchwork sleeves raised up pointing fingers. Suddenly they were surrounded by tunics that glittered but were quartered with dun, by hands lifting cutlasses and sabres and scythes and spindles. Pitchforks and rusty swords speared at them; rouged and chapped lips stretched over rotted teeth in howling glee. But Rod and Gwen couldn't hear them, for a choir filled their world with harmony, and the blades rebounded inches away from them, whiplashes slashed but did not touch them, and the ragtag horde rolled back from them like a bow wave as they plowed through the sorceress's motley crew on wings of unseen song.