"Do not let it trouble thee overlong," Geoffrey said, with sarcasm. "Come, wilt thou be good or evil? 'Tis as simple as that."
Nan blinked, thoroughly confused now, and Cordelia glared at her brother.
"An she truly careth naught," Gregory mused, "we have but to pose the question in another fashion… Nan, why not come with us?"
"Aye!" Cordelia added. "Wherefore not?"
Nan's brow creased in concentration. Then, finally, her face smoothed again. "Wherefore not, indeed?" She actually managed a slight smile as she lifted a hand. Magnus let her go, and stepped back—but her hand came on up to touch his. "Where wilt thou go?"
"Why, to the nearest village," he said, with immense relief. "Geoffrey, lead!"
Geoffrey didn't need persuading. He turned away, drawing his sword, and led them back along the path. Magnus followed, propping up Nan, with Cordelia and Gregory behind him and Fess bringing up the rear.
Geoffrey led them around a curve and under a huge old tree. As they neared it, Magnus pulled back. "Hold! There is summat about this oak that…"
A shadow stirred within shadows, detached itself, and stepped toward them, smiling. His clothes were black, and skintight; his face was white as paint, his eyes shadowed into points, and his lips very, very red. "Kiss," he said, reaching for Cordelia. "Kiss. Kiss."
She struck his hand away, stepping back, and Geoffrey leaped between them, stabbing upward at the vampire, then riposting—but the vampire only looked down at his shirt-front, nettled. "Thou hast ripped my cloth."
Geoffrey stared. There was no spreading stain, no blood on his sword.
The vampire grinned at his discomfiture, showing pointed fangs. "Nay, steel shall not harm me—and I hunger. An thou wilt not give me to drink, then return my lass to me." He reached for Nan.
"Avaunt!" Magnus struck his arm down, in spite of the crawling revulsion within him. "She is no thing of thine, but a woman sole in her own right, and no man's chattel."
"Thou knowest not of what thou speakest, boy," the vampire sneered. "Tell, Nan—whose lass art thou?"
"Why, thine." Nan tried to step toward him, but Magnus held her back. "Lay off!" she cried, struggling against his arm.
"By what right dost thou keep her, when she doth desire to go?" the vampire demanded.
"By what right dost thou keep her, when she would desire to go were she recovered of her senses?" Gregory demanded.
"What sprat is this?" the vampire snarled. "Be gone, mere inconvenience!" He pounced, claws reaching for Gregory.
Geoffrey shouted and leaped at him again, but this time the vampire turned, catching him and lifting him toward his mouth. "Tender," he growled, "succulent."
Magnus let go of Nan and hurtled into the vampire, knocking Geoffrey out of his grasp. The pale man went flying—and kept flying, as his cape spread out into wings and all of him shrank into a bat. He wheeled about in the air, streaking back toward Gregory.
"Why, 'tis a birdbrain!" Geoffrey laughed. "Come, hen! What fowl prank wilt thou play next? O bird absurd!"
The bat wheeled, its eyes glowing fire, and pounced— but Geoffrey dodged behind Fess. The bat didn't even try to follow—it sailed straight at Fess's neck, needle-fangs glinting—and striking down through horsehair with a resounding clang as they met Fess's metal neck. It spun toward the ground, stunned, and just barely managed to pull out of its nosedive and start flapping up.
But that was long enough for Magnus to find a long stick. "One bad bat doth deserve another," he grunted, and swung.
The club cracked into the vampire. He lurched and went spiralling down to the dirt, out cold.
The children stood transfixed.
Then Nan gave a wordless cry and reached out toward the fallen creature.
Geoffrey leaped to block her. "Nay! Thou art freed of him now, and shalt remain so!"
"It will be a while before she ceases to crave his presence," Fess advised him. Geoffrey nodded, caught Nan by the wrists, and pulled her away.
"What now?" Cordelia demanded. "We dare not leave him so, or he will revive and begin his depredations anew."
"Why, we have one who doth await the occasion," Gregory answered. "Magnus, summon."
Magnus straightened, gaining a smile and calling out, "Wee Folk! We have done what we can! Now come and aid!"
"Why, that will we, and right gladly!" The elves stepped out of the long grass all around. "We had hoped for such as thee, young witchfolk, who could disable this nemesis long enough for us to… seek its disposition."
"Then we may leave it to thee?" Magnus asked, relieved.
"Assuredly," an elf replied. "He shall ne'er trouble the folk of this shire again, I promise thee."
"In truth," a brownie agreed. "He was not here a year agone; he shall not be here after."
"Gramercy, then." But Cordelia was still troubled. "What shall we do with Nan, though? We cannot bring her with us—and she cannot care for herself now."
"Be of ease in thy mind," an elf-woman assured her. "We shall care for her till her body hath filled itself up with blood again, then take from her mind all memory of Elfland and bring her once again unto her own village."
The circle of elves closed around the form of the vampire, and the spokesman said, "Thou shouldst be gone now, younglings. We shall do as we must, yet thou hast no need to see."
"Why, therefore shall we take our leave," Cordelia said. "Fare well, good elves! Be kind to Nan!"
"We shall," the little woman assured her, and they turned away.
They had only travelled for fifteen minutes or so when another elf stepped out onto the trail ahead of them. They looked up and stopped. "What cheer?" Geoffrey called.
"All," the elf answered. "The lass sleeps, and mends; the vampire will sleep forever—unless some fool comes upon him, not knowing how much is at stake."
"Thou hast buried him at a crossroad, then?"
"Nay, for folk might come upon him there, if they sought to rear up buildings. We have hidden him in a deep, dark cave."
Magnus frowned. "There are ever human folk who cannot resist the lure of such deep places."
"Even so," the elf agreed, "so we have taken him by dark and secret ways too small for mortal folk, or for any but an elf—or bat."
" Tis well." But Magnus still wasn't smiling. "Yet there are folk, good elf, who have much more of enthusiasm than of good sense."
"And ever will be," the elf rejoined. "There is no guarding 'gainst them, young wizard, whatsoe'er we may do."
Magnus lifted his head, then gazed off into space. He had never heard someone call him "young wizard" before, and the thought gave him pause.
"And Nan will be well?" Cordelia asked anxiously.
"She will," the elf assured her, "though she will never again be so filled with the joy of living as she once was."
"Ah." Gregory smiled sadly. "Yet is that not the fate that doth await all folk, soon or late?"
"Not always," the elf said.
"Nay," Cordelia said, "it need not."
That brought Magnus out of his daze. He glanced at her, worried—but all he said was, "Come. Away!" And he turned to lead them on down the trail again.
Chapter Eleven
They had gone some ways, Magnus on Fess's back, when he suddenly stopped and frowned down at Geoffrey. "What didst thou say?"
Geoffrey gave him a look of exasperation and spoke again, but Magnus could still barely make out the words. "Nay, say!" he demanded, more loudly.
"Why, thou loon, canst thou not hear what's clearly spoke to thee?" Goeffrey yelled.
"Aye, now—and mind whom thou dost call loon! An thou dost speak so softly, how am I to hear thee?"
"I did not speak softly!" Geoffrey bellowed. "I did speak as ever I do!"
"Which is to say, in impatience," Cordelia called. "If aught, Magnus, he doth ever speak too loudly. Wherefore canst thou not hear him today?"
"Wherefore dost thou call out?" Magnus returned.
Cordelia halted,
surprised, and stared up at her brothers. "Why, I did call, did I not?"
"Thou didst," Geoffrey assured her loudly. "Wherefore?"
"I know not…"
"Why, for that we'd not have understood her words an she had not," Gregory said reasonably, though at much greater volume than was his custom. "Yet wherefore must she? Doth the air swallow our words?"
They all looked at one another, confounded, trying to puzzle it out.
Then, suddenly, each of them was struck with a subtle sense of wrongness. Geoffrey looked up. "Summat hath changed."
"Aye." Cordelia glanced about her, brows knit. "What is it?"
Magnus eyed the trees around them with suspicion.
Then Geoffrey said, "The music hath stopped."
They turned to him, eyes wide. "Why, so it hath!" Cordelia exclaimed.
With a sudden, jangling chord, all the rocks around them began emitting music again.
Gregory winced and clasped his hands over his ears. "That is why we shouted so! The music had grown so loud, it had drowned out our voices!"
"So it would seem." Cordelia smiled, head tilted to the side as she nodded with the beat. "Yet 'tis pleasant withal."
"As thou wilt have it, sister…"
"As she will or will not!" Magnus called. " 'Tis all about us; we can go to no place where it is not. Yet wherefore hath it grown so much louder?"
"Belike because there are so many more rocks here," Geoffrey suggested.
"Mayhap." But Magnus seemed unconvinced.
"Yet why did I not perceive that it had grown louder, till it ceased?" Cordelia wondered.
"And why did it cease?" Geoffrey demanded.
"For that all the rocks do give off the same sound," Gregory explained, "and the tune paused for a brief time."
"Aye, then would it yield silence." Magnus nodded slowly. "And as we have come west, the number of rocks making music hath increased, thus yielding louder sound."
"Yet so slowly that we did not notice!" Geoffrey agreed. "Thou hast it!"
But Gregory still looked doubtful. "There would be some such increase, aye—yet not so much as this."
"Gregory is right," Fess declared. "The proportion of rocks to decibels is not by itself enough to account for so great an increase in emitted sound."
"Then what else?" Cordelia demanded.
"Why, the music itself hath grown louder, sister," Gregory said, spreading his hands. " 'Tis the only other source of gain."
They looked at one another, astonished.
"Assuredly," Magnus said. "What else, indeed?"
"And now I bethink me, there's some other difference in the music." Geoffrey tapped his foot impatiently. "What is it?"
"Thou dost tap thy toe in time with the music, brother," Gregory pointed out.
Geoffrey stared at his toe, astonished. "Surely not! What dost thou take me for, manikin!"
"My brother," Gregory answered, "who hath ever hearkened to the soldier's drum."
"Aye…" Geoffrey was absorbed in the music, actually listening to it, for once. "Thou hast it aright—there are drums, though of divers kinds."
"More than there were," Cordelia agreed.
"Aye, and a scratching, raucous note to the melody that was not there aforetime," Magnus added.
"If you must call it melody," Fess said, with mechanical dry ness.
"Aye, assuredly 'tis melody!" Cordelia blazed on the instant. "The strain doth rise and fall, doth it not?"
"A strain indeed. It varies by no more than six notes, and uses only four of them. Yet I must admit, it is technically a melody."
"Oh, what matter is it, when the drums, and the deep notes, have so much life in them?" Cordelia's eyes lit, and she began to move her feet in the patterns of a dance. What dance is that?" Geoffrey said, perplexed.
"I'll tell thee when I've finished the crafting of it."
"The rhythmic patterns have grown more complex," Fess agree, "and some are syncopated."
"Sink and pay?" Geoffrey asked. "What meaning hath that?"
"Nay, sink thy pate!" Magnus aimed a slap at his head. "Dost not know the words speak of offbeats?"
Geoffrey stepped nimbly back from the blow, leaped, and tagged Magnus, calling, "None so off the beat as thou! What matters it, when the beat is only for marching?"
"Why, when it is for dancing!" Cordelia moved lightly on her feet, her steps becoming more certain.
Magnus eyed her askance. "Wilt thou dance, when thou wert so lately compelled to?"
"Aye, for now I'm not."
"Art thou not indeed?"
"The term syncopated refers to unexpected accents in the rhythm pattern, Geoffrey," Fess put in. "Such accents usually come on downbeats; in syncopation, they come on upbeats, or in between beats."
"What beat is this thou dost speak of?" Magnus demanded.
"The intervals of time between notes," Fess explained. "When a note sounds during what we expect to be a silence, we say it is syncopated."
"Why, that is the source of its excitement!" Cordelia cried. " 'Tis the surprise of it, that it comes when we do not expect!"
Her dance had grown considerably, in scope if not in complexity.
"Is't a jig or a reel?" Geoffrey wondered, his eyes on her feet.
" 'Tis neither, brother."
"Yet to watch it, doth make me to reel." Magnus turned away, with determination. "Come, my sibs! Let us seek further!"
"Why must the music change so, and so quickly?" Gregory's brow was furrowed in thought. "Was not the first form of it good enough?"
"A pertinent question," Fess argued, "but one which we lack data to resolve. Let us keep it open, Gregory."
Magnus halted, looking down. "Mayhap we have found thy data, Fess."
"Of what do you speak?" The horse halted, and the children gathered round.
A stone sat on the ground, vibrating with the loudness of the sounds it blared out.
"What manner of music is this?" Magnus demanded.
"Why," said the rock, " 'tis but entertainment."
"It doth glisten," Cordelia murmured.
Geoffrey frowned. "Is't wet?" He reached out to touch it.
"Geoffrey, no!" Fess cried, and the boy, from long experience with Fess, halted. "An thou sayest it, I'll stay. I've ne'e'er known thy judgment to be false. Yet what need for caution dost thou see?"
"A rock that glistens when no water is near, is suspect," Fess explained. "I mistrust the nature of its moisture."
"Oh, 'tis naught of evil!" Cordelia scoffed. "Art thou, rock?"
"Nay," the rock answered, and the children started, for the rock now spoke by modulating the strains of its music. " 'Tis but entertainment."
Gregory cocked his head, studying the sound. "This is yet a different sort of sound that it doth give."
"Perhaps a minor variation…" Fess allowed.
"Nay, 'tis truly new!" Cordelia tried to match both beat and bray with her feet, failed, and had to writhe her body to fit both. She gyrated, crying, " 'Tis harsh, but 'tis filled with verve!"
Magnus stared at her, shaken by her sinuous movements.
Geoffrey shook his head, dissatisfied. " 'Tis not a proper sound. Its beat is too uneven."
"'Tis oddly structured, in truth." But Gregory was beginning to look interested. "Nay, I sense some interlocking between two sorts of counts…"
"It is employing two different time signatures in the same piece," Fess said briskly. "Surely that is elementary enough."
"Why, so it is!" Gregory cried. "How ingenious!"
"Largely instinctive, I fear," Fess demurred.
"And the tune! Note how the strains approach one another, till the two notes are almost one, yet not quite! Anon they strengthen one another; anon they war!"
"Yes; the product of their phases is termed a beat frequency, Gregory. Surely you cannot acclaim a lack of skill as ingenuity…"
"Can we not, if they do it a-purpose?" Cordelia countered.
"I mislike it." Geoffrey started to re
ach for the stone again. "Let us hurl it far from us."
"No, Geoffrey! I beg you, before you touch it, to perform a simple test!"
Reluctantly, the boy straightened. "What test is this?"
"An acid test. Reach in my saddlebag, and take out the environmental kit."
Frowning, Geoffrey reached up, rummaged, and came up with a metal box.
"Open it," Fess said, "and take out the tube filled with blue slips."
"The litmus paper?" Gregory was surprised. "What dost thou think it to be, Fess?"
Geoffrey laid the box on the ground, lifted the lid, and took out a clear plastic tube. "Shall I take a strip of it?"
"Do, and touch it to the rock."
Geoffrey pulled out the litmus and reached out to touch; the stone giggled.
The paper turned bright pink.
Then it began to smoke, darkening; a hole appeared and spread. Geoffrey dropped it with an oath, just before the whole strip of paper disappeared, leaving only a fume behind.
"What was it?" Cordelia whispered, shocked.
"The rock is coated with acid," Fess explained. "I suspect that it exudes the fluid. Put the kit away, Geoffrey."
"Aye, Fess." Geoffrey bent to stopper the tube and put it back in the box. "And I thank thee. Would my skin have burned had I touched that rock?"
"I do not doubt it… Yes, back in my saddlebag, that is correct."
"Yet what are we to do with this thing?" Magnus looked at the stone. "We cannot leave it here, to eat through any living creature that doth chance to wander by."
Cordelia shuddered.
Fess looked up, nostrils catching the breeze—and feeding it to molecular analyzers. "I detect a familiar aroma… Geoffrey, look beyond those trees."
Geoffrey stepped over. "I see a small pit, perhaps a yard across, filled with some white powder."
"It is alkali; I know it by the aroma. The problem is solved, at least in this instance. Geoffrey, take a fallen stick and bat the stone into the pit."
Geoffrey turned, coming back, stooped, and came up with a four-foot branch. He took his stance by the stone and swung the stick up. As it swooped down, the stone saw, and in alarm, shrilled, "Do not knock the rock!" But Geoffrey had too much momentum, and wasn't about to stop anyway; the end of the stick connected with the stone, and it flew through the air, emitting a keening drone, to land in a puff of powder.
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