The whole family was very quiet for a minute or so.
Then Magnus said, "Fess—dost thou say these graves were…"
The ground in front of one of the tombstones began to tremble.
Gregory cried out, and Gwen caught him up in her arms. "Peace, my little one, peace… Husband, away!"
"Good idea." Rod crouched down to hide behind the wall. "You folks get going."
Gwen hopped onto her broomstick, then turned back, startled. "Assuredly thou dost not mean to stay!"
"What danger could there be?" Rod asked. "Don't worry, I'm only going to watch."
"Wherefore take the chance!"
"Because," Rod whispered, "I think we just may have found out where our zombies came from."
Gwen made a little noise of exasperation, then commanded. "Cordelia! Geoffrey! Aloft!"
The younger children circled up reluctantly—until Geoffrey noticed that his mother had that withdrawn look that she had whenever she was readying magic. He had a notion he might just see a flying tombstone.
For the moment, though, he saw his father and his big brother crouched behind a wall and, in a patch of moonlight, ground bulging in front of a headstone. It bulged, it heaved—and clods of earth spewed up as a hole appeared and widened. Then the dirt stopped flying, and two hands of bone rose out of the hole. They groped about, found purchase on the ground at the sides, and heaved. A skull catapulted out of the hole with the rest of the skeleton behind it. It knelt on the edge of the grave, scrabbled for purchase, then rose up tall in the moonlight, gleaming white, wrapped in the rotting remnants of a shroud.
Gregory moaned and hid his head in Gwen's shoulder. She made soothing noises as she glared at the tombstone; the skeleton didn't see it tremble.
No, it was the skeleton who was trembling—or rather, nodding. It made a happy noise, then moved away from its grave, stepping in time to the music, its whole body bobbing and weaving as its skull rotated, seeking. Suddenly it stiffened, facing west, then leaped in the air, landing with the sound of a xylophone run. It gave a joyous yelp and set off in a stiff and awkward dance, moving away down the main street of the village. Shutters slammed in its wake, but it didn't notice.
Rod and Magnus rose from behind the wall. "If I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't have believed it!" Rod breathed.
"It doth not seem ill-intentioned," Magnus pointed out in a shaky voice.
Fess stepped up behind him out of the night. "It does seem harmless."
"Ya-a-a-h!" Magnus leaped five feet straight up. "Must thou move so silently!"
"My apologies, Magnus. Rod, may I recommend seeking a campsite?"
"Uh, not just yet." Rod set off down the road.
"Where dost thou go?" Gwen cried down in anguish.
"Why, after that skeleton, of course. You can't think it would mean any harm! Why, it's fairly whistling!"
"To whistle," Fess pointed out, "one must have lips."
"And it needs vocal folds to sing, but it's doing a pretty good job of that. Gwen, you didn't tell me witch-moss could grow in graves."
"I had not thought it," she admitted, swooping low. "Now that thou dost speak of it, I wonder an it doth occur by nature's way."
"Nay! Someone did seed each grave with witch-moss!" Geoffrey cried, alighting next to Rod.
Rod looked at him askance. "And where do you think you're going?"
"Why, with my father! If 'tis as safe as thou sayest, then I am at no hazard!"
Rod opened his mouth to answer, then closed it with a sigh. "One of these days, I'll start saying no."
"Tomorrow," Cordelia suggested, "or mayhap next year."
"A possibility. Okay, family, let's go see where the skull is headed. Just be ready to hit the treetops on a moment's notice, okay?"
The skeleton led them out of town, past three fields, and into a pasture that was bordered with a circle of piled stones—musical ones. The night was filled with hard, jangling sound, and the cows had fled to the nearby wood-lot. Rod had a notion there wouldn't be much milk in the morning.
Not that the field was empty, of course. In fact, it was rather full—of bones. Not heaped, but articulated. It was a night of the walking dead, in various stages of mummification.
There were only twenty of them, though—Rod counted. The rest of the crowd…
"Papa," Cordelia gasped, "they are living folk!"
"Yes, dear—their descendants, no doubt. A little on the young side, too."
In fact, they were still trickling in—young folk in their teens and early twenties, heads nodding, feet weaving in intricate patterns, bodies moving in time to the music.
"Are they blind to the presence of the dead?" Magnus demanded.
Rod was about to say "yes" when he saw a zombie rise up in the center of a circle of young folk, who shouted and clapped their hands as their ancestor cavorted. After a few minutes, they left off clapping and began to dance with one another in the stiff, awkward movements of the skeleton, while he beat time over their heads, signalling them in their progress through the dance.
"Nay," Gwen said, coming down to earth. "They see, but do not see."
Rod frowned. "How can that be?"
"Like the drifters we met," Magnus explained. "They used lotus to rid their minds of thought—but for these young folk, the music alone doth suffice to achieve that end."
Rod turned to him, appalled. "You don't mean they're trying not to think!"
"Aye," Cordelia said. "They told us they had wearied of the sad and endless task of seeking to make sense of the world."
Rod remembered his own adolescence, and held his peace. He turned back to watch the dancers for a while, then whispered, "Of course. They seek to be like the zombies."
"Rod."
He shook off the mood. "Yes, Fess?"
"You must establish the mechanism and, if possible, determine who has created this situation."
"A good point." Rod frowned. "Any advice on methodology?"
"Gather data."
"How are we to do that?" Magnus asked. "Will watching tell us aught more?"
"Maybe," Rod said, "but I'd like to try a more direct approach." And, before anybody could stop him, he dove into the center of the circle of dancers. Gwen gave a scream, then clamped her lips shut, pale with anger.
"He will be well, Mama," Cordelia said faintly.
"An he is not, we shall drag him out! Children! Be ready!"
Rod surfaced inside the circle, coming up right next to the dancing bones. Now he could see why the skeleton stood head and shoulders above the youths—it danced on a broad stump.
Rod waved. "Hi, there!"
The skeleton turned about, bobbing and beating time, not seeing him.
Rod steeled himself and reached up to tap a scapula. "Hey! Got a minute?"
"Eternity." Now the skull swivelled toward him, the sightless eyes seeking his own. "What wouldst thou of me?"
Rod swallowed. "Just some information. Mind telling me the reason for the party?"
"What is a 'party'?"
No, the culture wasn't ready for democracy yet. "This festival, then. Any particular reason you climbed up out of your grave? Or did you just feel like taking a walk?"
The skeleton made a dry, rattling sound that Rod hoped was a laugh. "I only know that I swam up from darkness to feel a steady rhythm round me, like to a heartbeat. I wished to hear more of it; I swam up through the earth, and the closer I came, the more clearly I heard—till I broke through to air, and climbed again upon the surface."
Rod stared. "You mean the music was loud enough to wake the dead?"
"Aye. I was the first; anon I gathered all the pretty rocks that made such wondrous sound, and brought them here, to set in a circle by which I might dance. Ere the night had ended, others had waked from their long sleep to join me."
Rod swallowed. "Well—at least it doesn't seem to be doing you any harm."
"Oh, nay!" the skeleton carolled, and pirouetted for joy, stamping a foot down to stop so t
hat it faced Rod again, and all its bones rattled like castanets. "Nay, this music doth make me stir as though with life again; it doth fill my bones with the need to dance! Oh, happy are we all for this second chance at life, and ten times thankful to be waked!"
Just what Gramarye needed—a band of grateful dead. "You're setting a bad example, you know."
"What—by dancing?" The skeleton stared with sightless eyes, incredulous. "How can that be so bad?"
"Because your descendants are imitating you. They were raised to respect their elders, after all."
" 'Twas we who were raised, not they." But the skeleton looked about at the young people. "How is our example harmful to them?"
"Because they're trying to become just like you— mindless zombies. You don't want them to grow up to be deadheads, do you?"
"Wherefore not?" The skeleton turned a toothy grin on him.
Rod was still trying to phrase an answer, when the skeleton looked past his dancing circle and saw the family. "Oh, I see! Thou hast children of thine own, and dost fear to lose them!"
"Well, there is that, yes."
"Let me see!" The skeleton hopped down off its stump and pushed through the dancers, over to the ring of stones. The children saw it coming, and drew back—but the skeleton halted a dozen paces away. "These are not of my village."
Rod brightened. "Does that mean they're immune to your music?"
"Aye—but they have ancestors of their own."
Rod relaxed, reflecting that most of the children's local ancestors were not only still alive, but likely to remain so. Their more frail progenitors were thirty light-years away. "You know, I can't help wondering…"
"Poor fellow. Only listen to the music awhile, and it will cure thee of that malady."
"Yes, I don't doubt it. But, um, I was going to say—you are beginning to look a little weary."
The skeleton was silent for a minute, then admitted, "Aye. I feel the first faint edge of tiring. I am not so young as once I was, a hundred years agone."
"I kind of thought so. You're going to want to rest before too long."
"I doubt it not." The sigh was a gust of breeze. "Yet I have rested so long that I am loath to lie down again."
"Don't push it too hard." Rod glanced at the dancers with apprehension. "You may need a vacation from your holiday. "
"And if thou dost not, thy young folk will." Gwen gazed past the skeleton to the dancers, with concern. "Wilt thou never release them from this spell?"
"Only if they wish it—and I think that they will not. Be not troubled in thy heart, kind lady—there have ever been deadheads, and ever will be. In truth…" Its empty gaze lingered speculatively on Magnus and Cordelia.
"Don't even think it," Rod snapped. "Fear not. I can see that these have too much joy in thought; they would be loath to be deadheads."
Gregory tugged at Rod's sleeve. "Papa—dost thou recall? That pretentious prince did say that only the dead did know."
Rod looked up at the zombie, startled. "That's right, he did, didn't he? And here are the dead!"
"Of what dost thou speak?" asked the zombie.
"The music-rocks." Rod demanded. "Can you tell us where they came from?"
"Nay, only that I am right glad they did. Yet mayhap Destina would know." He turned his hollow eyes back toward the crowd, crying, "Destina, come!"
Cordelia frowned. "What is Destina?"
Another zombie came dancing out of the crowd toward them. From the tatters of a skirt and bodice adorning its bones, they could tell it must have been a woman once.
"Destina," said the leader. "Tell: Whence come the music-rocks?"
"Ah," said she, "the first did fall from the Sky Egg. But find and follow it"—she turned toward the Gallowglasses— "and belike thou shalt find… Why, so!"
"What?" They all gave her a blank look.
"A right comely lad!" Her bony hand reached out to chuck Magnus under the chin. "Art thou wed, sweet chuck?"
Magnus recoiled. "Nay!"
"He is too young," Gwen said, with steel in her voice.
"Wherefore? My first was a father by the time he had come to this height! Nay, I've need of another husband, handsome youth. Wilt thou come with me to wed?"
"Oh, no!" Magnus took another step backward. "Thou canst not mean it!"
"I doubt not she doth," the leader said. "Nay, come along with ifs, and taste life eternal!"
"I'm afraid she's not quite what I had in mind for a daughter-in-law…"Rod began.
"Thou shalt be of another mind when thou hast kissed me." The skull-face thrust closer to Magnus.
"Thou dost lie!" Magnus stumbled back. "Pray Heaven thou dost lie!"
"Come, essay it!" The leader reached out for Magnus, and Destina giggled and stepped forward. "We shall insist thou stay with us a while!"
"He most assuredly shall not!" Gwen stepped between her son and the zombie, arm raised—then hesitated.
"Do not, Mama." Magnus's voice trembled, but he persisted. "They are but poor and empty things!"
Gwen's mouth twitched. "I am loath to give hurt to ones who have, at long last, gained so pitiful a measure of pleasure."
"Measure of pleasure!" The leader lifted his skull, eyes lighting. "A measure of pleasure! Aye, a measure indeed!" And he began to beat a rhythm on his pelvis and a tune on his rib cage, chanting,
"He shall have a measure, A quantity of pleasure! Let him with us tarry, Dally and be merry!"
Magnus swallowed. "Said he, 'be merry,' or 'be-marry'?"
"Now, come!" The leader sprang at Magnus.
The lad leaped back as his father leaned in; the skeleton slammed into Rod's chest and fell in a jumble of bones.
"What hast thou done!" Destina keened.
"More to the point, what should we be doing?" Rod corrected.
The leader began to pull himself together.
"I am loath to fight them." Coming from Geoffrey, that was saying a great deal.
"What else can we do?" Cordelia asked.
The leader rose up, singing,
"We do not measure please,
But give pleasure in full measure!
So if thou wouldst thy pleasure measure …"
"We can run!" Rod shooed them away from him.
They ran.
The zombies yelped with joy and bounded into a bone-shaking chase.
"Where can we go?" Gregory panted.
"Where but straight ahead!" Magnus outdistanced them all.
"Fly!" Gwen commanded. "Lest thou dost break thy leg in a fall!"
They all rose up a foot off the ground, skimming along as fast as they dared in unknown country. Behind them, the young people added their enthusiastic shouting to the chase. The music-rocks picked up the excitement, and began to boom and howl all about them.
Then, suddenly, they crested a rise—and found themselves in a cul-de-sac, a box canyon, surrounded by stone on all sides.
"Back!" Magnus whirled about. "Out from this place, ere our pursuers…"
The mouth of the canyon filled with walking bones and bonny youths.
"Too late." Rod spread his arms, trying to shield his whole family. Before them, the crowd advanced with glee and stones, holding out rocks that were racketing with an unholy din.
Then the noise began to beat at them from the back.
"It doth echo off the cliff walls!" Cordelia called.
"Nay," Magnus shouted, "they do take it up!"
It was true. The canyon walls had begun to vibrate in sympathy, resonating and re-emitting the music of the stones.
"What can we do now!" Gregory wailed. "We are caught between their rocks and a hard place!"
"We can fly!" Gwen snapped.
On the word, Cordelia's broomstick took off like a rocket. All three boys shot up after her, with Rod and Gwen right behind them.
Below, a disappointed moan filled all the canyon.
The music dwindled behind and below them.
"Praise Heaven!" Magnus shuddered. "I fear
ed I would have to dismember them!"
"Where shall we go now?" Geoffrey asked.
Rod looked up with a sudden smile. "Hey! We're in the right place to look for it…"
"For what?" Gwen asked.
"That female zombie said something about following a Sky Egg!"
"But how can there be an egg in the sky?" Gregory said reasonably.
"Mayhap she meant the moon," Cordelia suggested.
"An that be so," Gwen pointed out, "we must wait—for the moon hath set."
"All right, I suppose we should"—Rod sighed— "especially since I'm afraid she didn't mean the moon but just that blimp we've been following."
"Why—'tis so!" Cordelia said, surprised.
"Even so," Geoffrey agreed. "Dost recall that when first I saw it I said 'twas a giant egg?"
"It seems to run all through this terrain," Rod growled.
"Have we come in a circle, then?" Gwen asked.
"Traid so, dear—and we'll have to break out of it, tomorrow. But for tonight, let's get some sleep. Pick a good camping place. Sorry about that bed you wanted."
She sailed up alongside him to squeeze his hand. " 'Twas more a door I had a-mind—but let it rest."
"Not much choice, now," Rod said, resigned. "Come on, my love. Let's see if we can get a little sleep, at least."
"And food," Geoffrey reminded them.
Chapter Twenty
They had journeyed an hour or two the next day when Cordelia tilted her head back and sniffed the wind. "I smell brine."
"We do come near to the sea, then," her mother said. "Magnus, go aloft and tell if thou dost see water."
Magnus bobbed up as though he'd hit a thermal, skyrocketing to a thousand feet. His mental voice said, Aye, Mama! Ah, 'tis ever a noble sight! Such a vast expanse of water, so wide and flat, clear to the edge of the world!
"Stop being so poetic," Rod said, grinning. "It's just the horizon."
Ah, but who doth know what may lie beyond this horizon?
"More water, and you know it darn well." Rod felt a stab of anxiety, though; Magnus was almost of an age to begin wandering. How soon would his son leave him?
"How far is it?" Gwen asked.
Twenty miles or more, Mother. Two days' journey afoot, at least.
"Anything worth looking at in between?" Rod asked.
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