Piers Anthony: Unicorn Point

Flach wedged his way into the bush, reached for his trousers, looked back, and sang a spot spell:

Privacy

While I pee

The air clouded around him, so that his body was hidden. In the privacy of that cloud he did open his trousers and urinate. But he also used his free hand to work something out of the lining of his trousers, and set it in his jacket pocket where he could readily put his hand on it. It was a figure like a doll that looked just like him, complete to the outfit he normally wore for traveling: blue jacket, blue trousers, and blue socks and shoes.

His tasks completed, he stepped out of the bushes, and the fog surrounding him dissipated. He returned to Neysa. She walked to a nearby log, so that he could climb up on it and mount her from that height. Then they resumed their journey. There was nothing to indicate that a significant action had been started.

Grandpa Stile had coached him carefully on this. Anything he wished known he could do openly, and anything he wished to keep secret he had to cover in some way. So he had brought out the amulet doll under cover of the privacy spell, and he communed with Nepe only when Mach and Bane were communing across the frames, and he did secret magic only when some similar magic was being done in the region. That way, Stile had explained, the traces were covered. His best protection was secrecy, so that no one suspected what he could do. It had been a game, and fun; now it was serious. He was about to go into hiding. Stile had told him how, and Neysa would help him, but he had to go where neither of them knew, and remain hidden until he was big and strong and talented enough to survive alone. He knew that would be a long time, so he concentrated on doing the best job of hiding he possibly could.

“Granddam,” he said after a suitable interval had elapsed, so that there would seem to be no connection with her note of information or his pause for nature. “I’m bored with this same old route. Can we go by the wolves and ‘corns?” Neysa blew a note of caution.

“Oh, I don’t mean to stay long, just to pass by and say hi.” He smiled, because his rhyme caused a little atmospheric effect; it thought he was doing magic. “It won’t take long, honest, and besides, you can see your friends too. I’ve never met the Pack you know so well.”

Neysa made a derisive trill on her harmonica horn, knowing he was wheedling, but she turned south. The truth was he could wheedle much from her, for he was-of her flesh. She had never forgiven his dam Fleta for mating with the golem Mach, but she loved Flach, and the affection she could not show her filly she showed him instead. However, that was merely the pretext; right now she would do his bidding no matter what it was, because she was helping him hide. He could have assumed unicorn form and run with her, but unicorns matured no faster than human folk did, and he would never have been able to keep her pace. So he remained in human form and let her carry him and protect him, and it was good. Under Stile’s guidance he had mastered two more forms, but concealed them; this would be the first time he used either out in the open. That made him nervous, but he quelled it as well as he could, because he knew that if he messed up, there would be more trouble than he could imag ine, for him and Grandpa Stile and all the Adepts who sided with him.

Abruptly he felt the contact of Mach and Bane across the frames. They were orienting on each other, so as to overlap in space, so that they could exchange. They usually conversed for a time first, setting things straight between them. Flach knew what to do.

Nepe! he called in thought. After a moment she responded. I hear you, Flach. I was specting you, ‘cause they ‘re transfring.

It be time to hide! he thought. Be thou ready?

Better be! she responded. Then: Oh, Flach, I’m afraid!

Me too! But Neysa told me, and needs must we do it. We ‘ve got to do it, she agreed. Now he felt the fear in her, washing across the contact between the frames. Needs must be we brave, he thought.

Do you have some bravry for me?

He had to smile, though he was taut with the reality of what they were about to do. Here be some o’ mine, Nepe! And he sent her a wash of emotion, as positive as he could manage.

Oh, thank you, brother self! she thought back. It really seemed to have helped.

He could tell by the feel that their fathers were about to break off communication and make their exchange of identities. Till -we mind again, sister self! he thought.

Till we mind again!

Then they broke, for it was not safe to push the limits, and they had covered the essence. Nepe’s presence faded from his mind, and he felt a swell of loneliness, as he always did. She was his other self, closer than any other person in either frame, and he felt whole when he was in touch with her, and empty when they separated. That was the way it always was. But now he had to concentrate on his own situation. There were things he had to do, and do right. He could not afford to be concerned about his lost other self. Not right now. As he rode, he risked one minor bit of magic: he made a spell to modify his smell. He had figured this aspect out for himself and was rather proud of it; this spell should go unnoticed because it was so inconsequential and seemingly pointless. But he had his reason. It would wear off within the hour, but that should be enough.

Neysa was traveling rapidly, as only a unicorn could, and soon enough reached the Were Demesnes. Two wolves charged out to intercept her, growling; then they recognized her and became an escort instead. Neysa was the friend of every member of this Pack, because of a spell Stile had wrought long ago. The younger wolves were not bound directly by it, because they had been whelped after it, but their sires and bitches had impressed the situation on them. In deed, the entire lasting truce between Pack and Herd had dated from that Oath of Friendship Stile had made. They had doubted his status as Adept before then; none had doubted it since.

Flach wished he could have seen those great old events happening, for he was sure there would never be any to match them in his lifetime. For one thing, the raw power of magic was only half what it once had been, though that made no difference in Phaze because all Adepts had been depleted equally, and other creatures never had used magic of full potency. Probably if Grandpa Stile made a similar oath today, it would affect only half the Pack and Herd, or maybe only half as strongly, but who would know the difference? The escort wolves guided them to the current haunt of the Pack, and old Kurrelgyre came out to greet Neysa. The wolf was white around the muzzle, but still strong; his time to be torn apart by the Pack was not yet. Not quite yet. His time would have passed before now, but Stile had seen to his con tinuing strength.

Neysa played a greeting on her horn, indicating that this was only a passing visit. Several of the older bitches came up to sniff noses with her, remembering old times. Flach waved to several of the cubs; they were after all about his age. But they did not know him, and did not respond. Then Neysa resumed her travel, and Flach was satisfied.

He now knew the location and layout of the Pack’s Demesnes. Neysa made a note of alertness. Flach looked up. In a moment he spied what her sharper senses had noted: a for mation of three bats crossing their path. He knew that these were young ones, traveling from one Flock to another. This was the season of exchanging, when young bats, unicorns, wolves, ogres, harpies and others joined new tribes, so that they could grow up and mate without inbreeding. Even some human villages did it; it was a convenient way to keep things mixed without disruption.

Stile, he realized, had chosen this time for action because of this; it would be almost impossible to trace all the ex changes that occurred at this time. At other times, a new addition to any group was a matter of community interest; often it was because of some stress resulting in a banishment elsewhere.