"Nay, do not be," Father Thelonius said.
And Brother Dorian murmured, "Would the young folk so test those to whose words they hearken. We should always question authority before we accept it."
"But we should listen to the answer," Father Thelonius amended, "and sieve its worth."
Gregory was puzzled. "Please tell, Father, how thou didst govern the action of Papa's jewel."
"Aye," Magnus chimed in, "for he could not."
Rod gave him a gimlet glance, but Gregory pressed, "Didst thou have but to say, 'Begone'?"
"In a manner, yes—but the saying of that word did focus my will, giving an imperative to the forces molded by the jewel. I am a projective myself, though not greatly endowed; if I were, I'd need but the impulse-thought, and would not have to speak the word aloud. Still, I've strength enough to direct the operation of this crystal."
"Why could not the Judas priest have taken its direction from thee?"
"Because he held it not. We have found that whosoever doth touch the jewel doth direct its action."
"Anyone?" Gregory exclaimed, saucer-eyed.
"Anyone who doth know the manner of using it, aye."
"Then where is thy squadron of knights, to protect thee?" Geoffrey cried. "Where is thine army of guardians? For surely, if that Rock did fall into the hands of one who wished to exploit others for his own use, he could wreak great havoc!"
"Aye, we know," Father Thelonius said, his face grim. "Yet there was no time to send for guardsmen, for our Abbot did heed the words of his thought-sentinels, who did say that there was a hideous force building on this West Coast, seeking to capture and twist the power of the music-rocks to enslave the folk."
Rod found it interesting that the new Abbot had monks mentally scanning the island for trouble. That could be a blessing—or a curse. "So there was no time to send to the King for aid?"
"Aye; he could only send out teams of us to counsel and advise, and myself—with Brother Dorian to watch o'er me—to find the evil soul that doth seek to misdirect the power of music, then to wield the Warlock Rock against him."
"Yet if thou wert taken…" Geoffrey protested.
"None other could wield the Rock, for they know not the manner of it," Father Thelonius assured him.
"Yet if they chanced to discover it… !"
"They won't." Rod clasped his son's shoulder. "Because as of now, they've got the best guardians they could ask for, haven't they?"
Geoffrey turned to him, startled, then drew himself up, eyes alight. "Aye, sir!" He turned back to the two monks. "Thou shalt not take a step that we shall not shadow!"
Father Thelonius inclined his head gravely, to hide his smile. "We shall walk in thy debt."
"Nay, for thou hast banished that false priest that might have swayed us." Geoffrey's glance lit on Magnus and Cordelia.
"What mistrust is this?" Magnus demanded, and Cordelia said hotly, "We were tempted, aye—yet now our eyes are cleared, and we will no longer be misled!"
"Yes." Rod smiled. "As long as you keep your ear mufflers on."
"Then let us go forward in company." Father Thelonius held out a hand, and Geoffrey fell into step beside him.
So they strode onward into the world of illusion, a family led by a boy and a middle-aged monk. The melting forms rose and fell about them—but, strangely, seemed to part and make way for the two monks.
As they went, Rod stepped up beside Father Thelonius and murmured, "A word with you apart, Reverend, if you would."
The holy man looked up with a smile—and without surprise. "Surely." He turned to Brother Dorian and murmured a few words, then turned back to Rod. "At your disposal, Lord Warlock."
"I hope not—I wasn't planning to be disposed of, yet." Rod lengthened his stride, to put a little space between himself and the rest of the family.
"But I had heard you were a man of excellent disposition," Father Thelonius protested.
Rod winced. "Whoever told you that, don't believe him—but I am predisposed in favor of your Order."
"I rejoice to hear it," the monk said softly. "But what did you wish to discuss, Lord Warlock?"
"Just wanted to know how things are on Terra."
The monk took it without batting an eyelash. "They are well at the moment, Lord Warlock. Are there so few Blacks on Gramarye that you could tell me for a foreigner at one glance?"
"Right on the first guess, Father. There's the occasional folk tale, from which I gather that the chromosomes link up now and then—but I've never met anyone who wasn't Caucasian, here."
That startled the monk. "Really! Well, that explains your children's reaction on seeing me. I would have thought the original colonists would have included a few people of my race."
"They probably did—but after five hundred years of intermarriage, I would expect their genes to be so thoroughly dispersed among the population that they wouldn't show much. May I ask why Father Al didn't come himself?"
"Because there was no cause for concern."
"No cause … !"
"None that we knew of at the time." The monk raised a hand, palm out. "It was simply good luck that I happened to arrive at a time when I could be of use. Father Aloysius Uwell sends his regards, of course, but didn't know there was any particular reason for him to come himself."
"Well, I'm glad to hear he's well, at least," Rod sighed. "So he didn't have a hunch about things going wrong here on Gramarye?"
"Not in this case. I am not here in response to any emergency, Commander Gallowglass…"
It had been long years since anyone had called Rod by his military title. It felt odd, somehow—strangely ill-fitting.
"… nor to any concern of the Vatican's. I am only here out of scholarly interest."
Rod couldn't dispute anyone else's right to visit the planet—after all, it wasn't his personal property. Nonetheless, he said, "I would have appreciated your checking in with me, Father—just as a matter of courtesy, if nothing else. I do have some concern about who's visiting and who isn't."
"I understand, Lord Warlock—and my apologies for not having contacted you immediately. I had intended to, but had scarcely acclimatized myself before the Abbot asked me to attend to this little problem that has come up."
"Scarcely 'little'—it's one of the larger threats I've seen. I hope that means you'll be able to take care of it easily?"
"Sadly, no—I am an excellent scholar, but not terribly able as an engineer."
Rod had heard the same thing before, from men who had moved mountains with little help—or asteroids, at least, which could be classified as flying mountains. "How are you on R&D?"
"Research and development? Oh, I'm quite able—as long as I have a laboratory assistant." He nodded toward Brother Dorian. "This young fellow seems very competent. He's Gramarye-born, by the way."
"That's reassuring. Should I interpret this to mean that the Abbot gave you a local guide, but expects you to solve the problem?"
"Oh, no! Brother Dorian is much more than a guide. He is quite talented, and very skilled for so young a man."
Rod noticed who was left solving the problem, though. "Skilled in what area?"
"As a musician. And a projective."
"Oh." Rod left his lips in the form of the letter. He glanced at the younger monk, chatting amiably with Gregory and Cordelia. "Isn't music a little—odd, for an engineer?"
"Not entirely, when you consider that he is continually trying to learn more about the interrelationships between psionic powers and music."
Insight exploded in Rod's mind. "Perfect combination, in light of the current crisis. But everybody thought what he was doing was pure research, without any practical application?"
"Oh, it was—until now."
"Yes, of course." Rod nodded. "As soon as you find some use for it, you stop calling it pure research. Might I infer, Father, that his interest is in some way allied to your own?"
"Quite accurately." The black man smiled. "I trained as an electrica
l engineer and managed to make a living designing musical intruments. But the more heavily involved I became, the more I realized that the computer programs involved might bear some resemblance to the musician's mental processes—and the more deeply I delved into that, the more I became convinced that musical talent had some kinship to psionic talent. Then, of course, I began speculating on the nature of talent—which led me to my vocation, and the Order."
"Of course." Actually, Rod didn't really see any link between talent and religion, but he wasn't about to open that topic just then. "So your research led you to Gramarye."
"To the only pool of operant espers in known space, yes—and I seem to have arrived at the ideal time for my researches."
"Ideal for us, too. When this is all over, I'll have to introduce you to Ari the Crafter—but only if you promise not to try to lock him up in a laboratory."
"The man who made these musical rocks? Excellent! But in the meantime, I think we have to deal with people whose talents may be exceptional, but are devoted to using mtfsic rather than making it."
"You mean they want to make a living from music, but don't want to go to the trouble of learning how to play?"
"I see you're familiar with the syndrome. Yes, the idea seems to be that if you have the talent, you don't need to learn anything—it will all come naturally, without any effort. It doesn't, of course—and in their disappointment, the young hopefuls become cynics, seeking to exploit those who have taken the time and trouble to learn how to play."
"And you think we're facing such a person?"
"It is possible. Certainly the young woman—excuse me, she might not be young, might she?—the woman, this Ubu Mare I've heard of, seeks to use music to gain power and status, not for the sheer exhilaration of it."
"She's getting something out of it, that's for certain—and doesn't mind who gets hurt in the process."
"Ever the way of them." Father Thelonius sighed, shaking his head. "We have known them for a long time, Lord Warlock—the vampires who batten on people's souls, who drain the joys and hopes of youth as Dracula drained the heart's blood, leaving only dessicated carcasses behind. We have fought them, they who seek to grow rich from works that should be freegiven, since Philip the Deacon turned the people of Samaria away from the sorcerer. We have protected the weak and gullible from these wolves for three millenia and more, and we will protect them now."
"Then we'd better hurry," Rod told him, "because the wolves are coming in packs these days."
"Haven't they always?" Father Thelonius flashed him a smile. "Be of good cheer, Lord Warlock—vampires thrive by night, but we bring the sun."
Chapter Twenty-Five
Brother Dorian said, "It cannot be much farther now, for I do sense such a morass of psi power about me that I feel as though I wade."
"Morass of psi?" Rod looked up in surprise. "I thought it was the music!"
"Mayhap 'tis psi power reflected through the music-rocks," Gregory suggested.
Rod stared at him. "A field of psi power that's active even though it's separated from the crafter who began it? I never heard of such a thing!"
"That will not prevent it from being invented, Papa," Cordelia pointed out.
"No, apparently not," Rod said, feeling numb.
"What are these music-rocks, if not just such an invention, husband?" Gwen said gently.
"Yes," Rod acknowledged. "It does make sense, doesn't it? Sorry to be the slow one in the family."
"Thou art not." Gwen squeezed his arm. "None of us could have seen it, plain though it was, had it not been for these good friars."
"And for thy bauble, Papa," Gregory piped up.
"Why, yes," Rod said, feeling stunned, "that was kind of the main clue, wasn't it?" Then he snapped out of his mental fog. "No, it wasn't! That's technology, not magic!"
Gwen only raised her eyebrows.
"I know, I know," Rod conceded. "Don't say it."
"Father," Cordelia said to Thelonius, "if the Judas priest sought to mislead us—where was't he sought to mislead us to?"
"Aye," added Magnus, "and wherefore?"
Father Thelonius shook his head. "I can but conjecture, children."
"Then do," Gregory urged.
The monk sighed. "I fear he meant to lead thee into bondage, to enslave thee to the sorcerer who hath gained dominion over this fall of rock."
"For what purpose?" Cordelia asked.
"I cannot tell," Father Thelonius said, with a dark frown. "Mayhap to be a sacrifice to his fell purpose."
"What is a sacrifice?" Gregory asked.
"Never mind, little brother," Magnus put in quickly. "In any event, 'tis but conjecture."
"It is," Father Thelonius agreed. "I cannot tell to what purpose he would have warped thee—nor do I wish to."
"Nor," said Magnus, "do we."
"Rod," Fess said, "whatever that amorphous shape before us may be, it bodes ill. Perhaps you should leave the younger children behind under my care."
"Good idea," Rod said, but Geoffrey whirled. "Nay! Assuredly thou shalt not bid me bide when the fighting hath at last begun!"
Father Thelonius looked up in mild surprise. "Truly, good folk, there is no great danger yet."
"Let us at least discern what perils lurk, ere we dispose our forces," Brother Dorian urged.
Geoffrey looked up, amazed. "Thou speakest well, for a monk!"
"And thou," Brother Dorian returned, "dost speak well, for an aspiring warrior. Shall we not go see, then?"
"No." Gwen spoke with decision, unlimbering her broom. "Prithee, friars, let us go no farther till I have seen what I may, from above."
The monks exchanged a quick glance, but Rod said, "Let's try it her way, if you don't mind, Father. She's almost never wrong."
Gwen halted in the act of leaping on her broomstick, staring at him. "Almost?"
"Well," Rod said, "there was that time you tried putting saffron in the…"
"It matters naught," she said quickly. "Be ready, husband!" Her broomstick shot up into the air.
The two friars started, then watched after her, wide-eyed.
"I take it you've never seen a witch ride a broomstick before?" Rod inquired gently.
"Nay," Brother Dorian answered. "We dwell in a monastery, seest thou, and 'tis a female's talent…"
"What did she bid thee be ready for?" Father Thelonius asked.
"Just in case she runs into trouble—which we both doubt. But just in case."
"She had no need to say it," Magnus protested.
"No, but it made us both feel better."
"Papa," said Cordelia, "in what did she put the saffron?"
Rod took a deep breath, thinking fast, but he was saved, because suddenly Gwen's broomstick shot upward, then back and to the side, as though some huge hand had slapped her away—and, for a moment, she was falling.
Rod didn't even remember taking off; all he knew was that he was halfway to her, and she was halfway to the ground, when the broomstick pulled out of its tumble and came swooping back toward him.
I am well, Gwen assured him, even before she came into earshot. Yet there is danger there that will take greater preparation than we have made.
Rod went limp with relief, which is not entirely safe in midair. He hovered till she was alongside, then flew next to her. "What did you see?" But Gwen was nosing her broomstick up for a landing, and he had to jump down beside her.
"Most amazing!" Brother Dorian was shaking his head in admiration. "Few of our monks can fly so well, and none so quickly!"
"Oh, Mama!" Cordelia flung her arms around her mother and squeezed. "We feared for thee!"
And her boys were around her, too, with shaky grins and sweaty brows.
She embraced Cordelia, allowing herself a little smile. "Peace, sweet chuck. 'Twill take more than a wall unseen to best me."
"An invisible wall?" Brother Dorian looked up sharply.
Gwen nodded. "I had just come close enough to begin to see what stood at the
base of the tower, when I jolted into a barrier that gave, then hurled me back. But in that time, I had seen a mass of people, and a dais with flaring torches."
"That hath an ominous sound." Father Thelonius scowled. "Canst say more clearly?"
"Nay," Gwen said, "for I had but glimpsed it ere I fell."
"We must see more," the priest said, rubbing his chin, "but how?"
I have a surveillance device, Rod, Fess advised silently.
"Come to think of it, you do." Rod turned to the robot, eyes lighting.
"Be not concerned—he is well," Gwen assured the two monks. " 'Tis only that his horse can talk to him when none others can hear."
Now it was her they were looking at as though she were crazy. Then they smiled apologetically and turned away, taking it on faith.
The metal egg popped out of Fess's saddle again. Rod saw the monks' faces, and smiled. "The horse is a robot, Reverends."
Their heads lifted; they smiled. They did, at least, know the basics of technology.
So they weren't too surprised when the sphere drifted up into the air, then winged away toward the giant cocoon. "It will seek out what sight lieth there?" Father Thelonius asked.
"Yes," Rod said, "and show it to us on a built-in screen."
"So many of us shall see little on so small a screen," Geoffrey said plaintively.
"Well, let me see." Rod frowned.
I can monitor the video in progress, Rod, Fess contributed.
"Yeah." Rod's face lit up. "And we can all monitor Fess. He's telepathic with the family, Reverends. If you can read our minds, you can see it, too."
Brother Dorian smiled and closed his eyes, concentrating.
"My talent is weak," Father Thelonius lamented, "yet we are so close that mayhap I shall see summat." He closed his eyes, too.
Rod kept his open, just in case, so that the image relayed through Fess was superimposed dimly over his surroundings, like a vacation remembered during a conversation.
The viewpoint was high, looking down on the plain as the spy-eye skimmed toward the cocoon. Then Rod saw the mob at the tower's base, and the slab flanked by flares of fire. The image grew larger; the spy-eye was swooping lower. Whatever barrier had stopped Gwen had no power over Cold Iron, or even an aluminum alloy. The image became larger, clearer…
The Warlock Rock Page 23