Piers Anthony - Unicorn Point

Now Stile looked grim. “He’s changed,” he said.

“Aye.” Neysa had never been much for human speech, but this much had to be said.

“But in four years, that is to be expected. He has grown, and learned much, and recently been separated from those he has come to know and love as well as he loves us.”

“Aye.”

“I checked him for enchantments. There are none on him. The Adepts appear to be abiding by the rules.”

Neysa nodded. She was perversely glad that he had noted it too; it meant she hadn’t imagined the problem. Indeed, perhaps it was as he supposed, merely the effect of separation and aging.

The Lady returned. “There be a geis on him,” she said.

“Nay,” Stile said. “No magic.”

“There be a geis,” she repeated.

It made sense to Neysa. A geis was a kind of obligation, imposed either magically or by honor. It restricted a person in some way, so that he could not perform with his normal freedom.

“He be prisoner now,” Stile said. “We all be glad to have him, and will treat him well, but this be not o’ his choice or ours. Also, the Adepts have access to the Book o’ Magic while he be here, so be gaining power after the years o’ impasse. That could depress him.”

“Mayhap,” the Lady agreed noncommittally. They retired, and Neysa went out to graze; that was always her preference for the night. But her thoughts continued to turn on the boy. The Lady was right: something was wrong. Perhaps it was only his abrupt change of situation. Perhaps it was more.

In the morning Stile talked with Flach privately. Later he turned the boy over to Neysa for a ride around the premises.

This was of course worthwhile, but Neysa knew that Stile wished to talk privately with the Lady. Something was certainly wrong.

Later, the Lady told Neysa the problem: “Stile meant to have Flach commune with his other self in Proton, to establish a dialogue and initiate an exchange o’ information. In this manner may we keep pace with the Adepts and Citizens, that we maintain our position. But Flach says he can not. It seems the girl be not available.”

Neysa considered that. She had understood that Flach and Nepe could communicate with each other across the frames regardless of their geographic positions. They had demonstrated this, when trying to escape the Adept cordon around the Pack. How could they be unable to do this now? She mulled it over the following night, consciously or unconsciously, but came to no reasonable conclusion. She was sure that Nepe in the other frame would be treated well, as Flach was in this one, because the agreement was the same there: while she visited her grandparents, the Citizens had access to the Oracle. The Adepts and Citizens had waited for four years to restore this arrangement; they would not do anything to interrupt it again.

Unless Nepe had somehow managed to hide again—even from Flach? How could she do that?

As dawn brightened, she had an answer: by going to another scientific planet! Flach could reach her anywhere on Proton, but surely not away from there. She could have some how sneaked away on one of their ships of space! That would mean that the enemy was not making progress after all, be cause Citizen Blue would not let them near the Oracle unless they produced Nepe. And Flach, if he knew where she was, would not tell, for that would give her away. If he could contact her where she hid, he would not, because the Adepts would be watching for that magic, and find her as they had before, through him.

She was so excited that she galloped into the castle, and changed to woman form, panting. “Stile! Stile!”

But it was the boy who was already up. “They be late from their chamber,” he said. “Do folk their age still mate?”

“Human folk, aye, an they wish,” she agreed. “They oft regard it as entertainment.” How well she remembered! She did not want to speak of her revelation directly to the boy; he might have to deny it, and that would be very awkward. She would have to wait until Stile was alone. She offered Flach another ride outside, instead. He countered with the suggestion that they run together. They did so, trotting across the meadows. Then they changed to their winged forms, she a firefly, he a bat, and flew. Then he be came a harpy, astonishing her; she had heard he could do it, but was amazed at the reality. It was a female form.

“Aye,” he screeched in harpy fashion. “There be not those barriers we thought ‘tween us. I can be female an I choose, and Nepe can exchange and be male. But we do it not ‘cept at need; it be not comfortable.”

He had mentioned Nepe. Could she follow up on this, and verify her conjecture? She assumed woman form. “Then had thou left her in Phaze; she could have been the female harpy, and been comfortable.”

“Nay. She knows not how to change form.”

“Mayhap thou could exchange again, and we could teach her.”

“Mayhap!” he agreed brightly. Then abruptly he sobered, and said no more on the subject.

Now she was sure: it was because he could not exchange without giving away Nepe’s hiding place. She did not pursue the subject. She resumed her natural form, and he became a wolf, and they romped on back to the castle. Later in the day, when the Lady was showing Flach how she made cookies, in timeless grandmotherly fashion, and he was showing her how he could lick the bowl clean, in equally timeless grandchild fashion, Neysa had a chance to talk with Stile.

“So he dare not,” she concluded.

Stile nodded. “I think thou hast figured it, mare! That be a relief to me, for it means the impasse remains.” The rest of the visiting period passed amicably enough. Every day the boy did new things with his grandparents, learning spells and new games, and romped in the meadows with Neysa in one form or another. Flach brightened somewhat, discovering that they were not pushing him to contact Nepe, and it was almost as it had been in the old days. Stile and Flach spent many hours playing chess. It seemed the boy had good aptitude, which was perhaps not surprising, considering that Stile remained the Phaze champion, and Fleta was now a ranking player; it was in Flach’s ancestry. They even played through some of the games Stile had had with Icebeard. Stile had played the snow demon to twenty-three consecutive draws, then won one, ending their private tournament. But the following year they had played again, and after fifteen draws the demon had won one. It had become a regular thing; they were delightfully evenly matched. Flach was evidently able to appreciate the pretty nuances of the moves in a way that Neysa could not.

Then, toward the end of the stay. Bane visited. Neysa was grazing nearby as Stile came out to meet him. Because Bane served the other side, by common consent they met beyond the castle, in nominally neutral territory. “How be the boy?” he inquired.

“Somewhat subdued,” Stile replied.

“To be expected, so soon after being taken from the Pack. His oath-friends there be similarly subdued, I understand.”

“How goes thy life in Proton?”

“Well enough, between bouts with the Book and Oracle.” Neysa kept her ears unperked, so as not to give away her interest. How could they be working with the Book and Oracle?

“And how be little Nepe?” Stile inquired smoothly. “Subdued. Thou knowest that they wished to serve thee, not the others.”

“Aye. But an she be well, as be Flach, thou needst have no concern.”

“She be well, far as we can tell. She be with Blue now, o’ course. But one thing be odd: we understand that she contacts not Flach. Methought thou wouldst be using them as Mach and I be used, to keep the pace.”

“All in good time,” Stile said. “They be young, and have four years to forget.”