Piers Anthony: Out of Phaze

“Describe the route to me, and get clear of me, and I will try my magic,” he said.

“Nay, she be my friend. I will chance thy magic.”

This vampiress was easy to appreciate! “Then hang on; I’ll try to give us strength to do it. That seems the safest course.” For he remembered when he had enchanted his own potency, in order to survive Fleta’s period of heat. That seemed to be safe magic.

He worked out a rhyme. Then: “Suchevane, can you sing?”

She made a moue. “That be not my talent.”

“But can you try? I need supportive music to enhance my magic, or it goes wrong.”

“I will try.” She took a breath and began to hum. She was right: this was not her forte. But it was music of a sort.

Mach concentrated as hard as he was able, knowing that this had to work, or Fleta’s life was forfeit. He hummed along with Suchevane. Then he sang: “Give us strength to work at length.”

Fog formed, and swirled about them and the canoe, and dissipated. But Mach did not feel any different.

“I don’t know whether it worked,” he said. “But let’s try paddling.”

They tried paddling, and it seemed ordinary. The canoe moved northwest. So far so good; but if they tired—

They did not tire. It was as if they weren’t working; each stroke was just like the first, without fatigue.

They moved out to a downhill slope. Before, the canoe had followed the contour of the land, but this time it held its elevation. Had he modified its behavior by his magic, or was this simply a matter of the operator’s will? Or was the troll, evidently a creature of good will, sneaking in a little surreptitious help? Mach didn’t question it; he just kept paddling.

But darkness was closing in. “We can’t stop now,” Mach said. “We have only one day to catch her!”

“I know the way; I can guide thee by night,” Suchevane said, never halting her paddling.

They kept moving, and their arms did not tire, and their hands did not blister. His spell was effective, and for that he breathed constant thanks. Yet their progress seemed slow; certainly they were not doing double the velocity a person might walk.

Then he realized that a five-day walk presumed five nights of sleep. If they did not halt, they could double I the effective travel time. It was possible to cover two I days’ distance in one!

On they went through the night. Nocturnal creatures sounded their calls, and there were sinister rustlings all around, but nothing bothered the canoe. Of course Mach had been sleeping in the forest during this journey and had not been attacked, but he had assumed that was partly luck and partly the secluded niches he chose. And partly the company: one night he had had a unicorn for company, and another a werewolf. Well, now he had a vampire; perhaps that was protection enough.

He became sleepy. “Mach!” Suchevane called sharply.

Mach snapped awake. “Did I stop paddling?”

“Aye.”

“I fell asleep. It seems my magic gave me strength, but not wakefulness.”

“Mayhap another spell?”

“I’m afraid I might ruin the one I have. My magic is so uncertain, it isn’t smart to chance it.”

“Then must the one keep the other awake,” she said. “An thou sleep again, I will bite thee.”

That brought him quite alert. They paddled for another hour. Then she flagged.

“Suchevane,” he called. “Are you sleeping?”

She snapped awake. “Aye. Sorry.”

“Do that again, and I’ll—“ He cast about for a suitable threat, but the only thing he could think of for a creature like her wasn’t what he cared to say.

“That be no threat to me anyway,” she said.

He felt himself blushing. “You read my mind?”

‘The mind of any male be much the same.” In her presence, surely so. Then he thought of a suitable threat: “I’ll whack you with my paddle and knock you out of the boat.”

“I would change form and fly away,” she said. But she remained awake, evidently not wishing to get knocked. In such manner they kept themselves going through the night. As daylight resumed their sleepiness faded. But now hunger set in. “Dare we pause to eat?” he asked. “I have supplies.”

“I think the time be very close,” she said. “An we delay an hour, mayhap an hour too late.”

And they couldn’t risk that. So, hungry, they continued working.

And as the day waned, they approached the great White Mountain range. “The ledge of the unicorns be there,” Suchevane said. “But still some distance. I know not whether we be in time.”

“Can—can you change form and fly ahead, and see?” he asked. “I can keep the canoe moving meanwhile.”

“That distance? Aye, now. But it will be slower for thee,” she pointed out.

“I realize. But I’ve got to know.”

“Aye.” She shipped her paddle, changed, and flew up and ahead. Mach continued paddling, trying to put extra strength into it so as to maintain speed, but knew it wasn’t enough.

The bat returned. It landed on the seat, and changed. “She be there,” Suchevane said. “I did not approach, for that would have taken too much time; I returned the moment I spied her. She be trudging up toward the ledge, just a few minutes distant from it.” She resumed •paddling, and the canoe picked up speed.

“Then we’re in time!” Mach exclaimed.

“Nay,” she said sadly. “She will reach it before we do—and then we shall be at the bottom, while she be at the top. No way to stop her, unless perchance we call and she hear.”

They paddled furiously, and the canoe fairly leaped along, but the spell of endurance had not allowed for this extra energy, and they were now tiring. Mach saw sweat staining Suchevane’s black halter, and her hair was becoming a stringy tangle, and he himself was panting. But the high face of the cliff was coming into sight.

Far up, on the ledge, stood a tiny figure. Mach knew it was Fleta, locked in her human form. If only she waited until he could get close—

And what would he have to say to her, then? That he had decided to leave her forever and return to Proton! What glad news would that be for her?

There was a faint ripple in the air. As it passed through him, Mach thought he heard his name cried out with hopeless longing.

“Nay!” Suchevane gasped.

Horrified, Mach saw. Fleta had just leaped from the ledge, and was doing a graceful swan-dive into the pool of darkness below.

He could not reach her in time—and could not catch her if he were there. The height of the fall was far too great. She would be dashed into oblivion on the rock below.

As if it were in slow motion, he watched her plunge, her arms outspread. He knew it was for love of him she had done this, to free him from the need to be with her. But he could not let it happen!

He cast about for some magic to use to save her, but in the pressure of the eternal moment his thoughts were glacial. He could not make a rhyme, let alone sing it! And if he could, how could his puny magic prevail against that of an Adept? All he knew was that he loved her, and could not let her go. Not for any reason. And still she dropped.

“Thee!” he cried into the void that separated them.