Web of the Witch World ww-2

by Andre Norton

  She was no longer aware of the captain, of the crew, even visual and tactile contact with the ship was gone. Although no mist born of magical herbs and gums wreathed her in as it must for the difficult raisings, Jaelithe was as blind as if she was so enfolded. And all the will which seethed within her body, had been bottled in her since she laid aside the witch gem, was thrust at the fire, as if she held a spear within her two hands and aimed it at the centermost point of the flames.

  Those were reaching higher and higher into the sky; then their red tips bent—not towards the ship, but away—back at the center mass of the weed on the borders of which they fed: away and down. Jaelithe’s chant was a murmur of storm afar. They might have loosed a whole shipload of oil rather than three skins. Stymir and his crew stood agape at the holocaust spouting behind them. A forest in full blaze could hardly have produced more cloud-reaching tongues of flame.

  There was a clap of noise and a second before they were hardly more than conscious of the first.

  Jaelithe stiffened, for a moment her voice wavered. Kolder—Kolder devices within the weed! She aimed her will—the fire against Kolder blankness. Were there underwater ships slinking out to do battle? But the fire continued to bend to her will.

  Those sharp explosions were coming faster. Half the horizon was aflame and the heat of it struck at the ship, the stench of the burning made a gas to set them choking. Still Jaelithe sang and willed, fought for the death of the weed. And the weed died, shriveled, cooked, became ash awash on the waves. Jaelithe knew a swell of triumph, a wild joy which, in its way, could be as defeating as the fire. She fought against that sense of triumph, beat it down with all her might.

  No more red trails across the water, the flames had eaten those into nothingness. Now the fire fed on the larger mass behind them. The Wave Cleaver’s crew watched as the day went and night drew in, but still there was a distant glow along the horizon. And then Jaelithe slumped against the rail, her voice naught but a husky croak. Stymir steadied her while one of the men went running for a cup of ship’s wine, thin and sour, but wet to ease somewhat the dried agony of her mouth. She drank and drank again, and then smiled at the captain.

  “The fire will eat it to the end, I think,” she said in the whisper which was the only voice left her.

  “This was great magic, lady.” And the respect in his voice was that a Sulcarman kept for some great feat of seamanship or notable stroke in battle.

  “How great you do not know, Captain. The oil and the fire darts gave it birth, but the shaping by will set it deep. And—” She raised her empty hands and stared at them now with wonder, “And I had no gem! I had no gem!” She strove to stand away from Stymir and staggered, as weak as one risen from a sick bed of long enduring.

  The captain half led, half carried her below, helped her to stretch out on the bunk, where she now lay, trembling with a terrible fatigue. She had felt nothing such as this since her earliest days of training. But before she lapsed into the unconsciousness which lapped about her as the sea lapped the ship, Jaelithe caught at Stymir’s hand.

  “Do you now sail on?”

  He studied her. “This may be only the first of their defenses and the least. But after what I have seen—aye—for now we sail on.”

  “If there is trouble—call—”

  Now there was a smile about his lips. “Be very sure of that, lady. A man does not hesitate to use a good weapon when it lies to hand. And we still have several skins of oil below.”

  He left and she pillowed her head with a sigh of half content, too tired now to examine this new knowledge, to taste it, feel it warm about her like a cloak against the chill of a winter storm. She thought that her tie with Simon had been her new skill, but it would seem there was another—and there could be more to discover. Jaelithe stretched her aching body and fell asleep, smiling.

  15 MAGIC AND—MAGIC

  SIMON STOOD at the seaward window of his prison cell. Along the horizon now there was no night such as hung over the rock perch of the Kolder fortress, but a curtain of living fire reaching from the sea to heaven, as if the very substance of the ocean unnaturally fed that flame. Every nerve and muscle in him wanted action. Behind that wall of fire somewhere—Jaelithe! But there was no tie between them. He had only her last message, which was in part a cry for help. This was some Kolder trick. No wooden-walled Sulcar ship could dare push through that barrier.

  Yet, there was a stir along the cliffs below, a buzz of activity at the seashore where those who served Kolder stood to watch the distant flames. And once Simon was sure that he had seen a true Kolder there, gray smock, capped head, as if what was happening out at sea had so much import that one of the masters must see for himself and not depend upon reports from inferiors.

  There had been activity on the land side, too. More of the caterpillar vehicles crawled out into the wilderness of the tortured rock, now with broad beams of light fanning out before them to mark the safest path across the rough terrain. And Simon was sure that he could make out a haze of more light beyond, rising from behind the mesa some miles away.

  The Kolder were in haste. But there could be no armada of Estcarp yet at sea. At least no fleet near enough to threaten this keep. And the fire would hold any off a while. So, why all this set up? No one had approached him since he had been sent here. He could only watch and guess. But only one answer fitted for Simon. The Kolder were under pressure—and time supplied that pressure. Whatever they did which was so important lay in the interior. And that could be their gate! Did they contemplate a return to their own world? No—the Kolder wanted power in this one, and they proposed to gain that by the aid of superior arms, though their numbers must be very few. So, did they wish to recruit from beyond that gate—or bring out new weapons?

  But they had been driven out of their own world. Would they dare venture back? More likely they strove to bring out more of their own kind.

  He bent his head to rest his forehead against the cool wall and tried again, vainly, to reach Jaelithe. The need for knowing how she fared was as great as his desire for action. But—Kolder blankness there . . .

  Loyse! Where in this pile was Loyse? As he had not had any touch with the girl since he had been here he did not know. Now Simon fixed his mind on Loyse, called her.

  “Here—“

  Very faint, wavering, but still an answer. Simon concentrated until that effort became pain. Their contact had never been clear, it was like trying to clasp in his hands an elusive fog which weaved and ebbed, slipped between his fingers.

  “What chances with you?”

  “. . . room . . . rocks . . .” Contact faded, renewed, faded again.

  “Jaelithe?” He asked without much hope.

  “She comes!” Much stronger, carrying conviction.

  Simon was startled. How did Loyse know that? Tentatively he tried again to reach Jaelithe; the barrier held. But Loyse had seemed so sure.

  “How do you know?” He made a sharp demand of that.

  “Aldis knows—”

  Aldis! What part did the Kolder agent play in this? And how? A trap being set? Simon asked that.

  “Yes!” Clear again, and forceful.

  “The bait?”

  “You, me . . .” Again an ebb and when Simon tried to pursue that farther, no answer at all.

  Simon turned away from the window to look about the room. He had investigated its possibilities when he had been sent here. There was no change. But still he must do something—or go mad! Somewhere there had to be a way out of this room, a way to stop the Kolder trap.

  The cupboards which had remained obstinately shut to his earlier search—Simon set himself to the task of remembering all he had learned concerning the Kolder headquarters in the heart of Sippar. He had found living quarters there also, hidden out in them after he had escaped the horrors of that laboratory where the possessed were fashioned from living but unconscious men. And there also had been cupboards and drawers which defied his opening.

&nbs
p; But there had been one mechanical device within the fortress which the Estcarpian invaders had learned to use, first in awe, and then as matter-of-course: the elevator which ran on the power of thought direction. One designated the floor mentally and arrived there promptly. An engine may have supplied the power, mind supplied the directive. In fact, had not mental control existed throughout Sippar? That Kolder leader with the metal cap wired to the installations, whose death had meant the death of the hold in turn—he had been thinking life into the otherworld machines. So mind ran the Kolder installations.

  And in Estcarp the witches’ power was really mental; they could control the forces of nature by thought—without the intermediary of the machines the Kolder depended upon. Which meant that witch power might be the stronger of the two!

  Simon’s hands balled into fists. He could not face the Kolder with hands, he had no weapons, which left him only his mind. But he had never tried to fight in that fashion. Jaelithe said—even the Guardians had conceded—that he had strength in that way which no male of this world had ever displayed. But it was a pallid thing compared to the energy which the witches were able to foster, trim, turn, use—And he had had no training in its use, save that which conditions had forced upon him these past few months.

  Simon looked from his useless hands to the cabinets in the wall. He might be battering his mind and will uselessly against an unbreakable barrier, but he had to do something!

  So—he willed. He willed a door to open. If there was some mechanism within which would answer to thought, then he willed it to yield to him. He visualized a lock such as might exist in his own world, then he went through the steps of unlatching. Perhaps the alien mechanism was so unlike what he thought of that his efforts would have no effect. But Simon fought on, until he swayed dizzily on his feet, stumbled to the bunk and sat there. But never did he take his eyes from that door, from the movements of the lock which must answer his will!

  He was trembling with effort when the panel moved and he looked into the interior of the cupboard. For a moment he sat where he was, hardly able to believe in his success. Then he went forward on his knees, ran his hands about the door frame. This was no self-deceiving hallucination—he had done it!

  What lay inside could not provide him with either the means of escape or a weapon. A pile of small boxes, which when opened held narrow metal strips coiled into tight rolls, series of indentations along their surfaces making Simon believe them records of sorts. But it was the method of lock he wanted most to see. Lying on his back, putting his head into that cubby, using fingers to help his eyes, Simon gained some idea of the mechanism.

  Now Simon sat up to face the second cupboard. No exhausting struggle this time. When the second door opened he looked in at what might be his passport for exploration outside this room. Kolder clothing was stored in transparent bags.

  Unfortunately the owner was smaller than Simon. When he pulled on the gray smock he found that it did not reach far past his knees and was bindingly tight about the shoulders. But still it might serve after a fashion. Now—the room door.

  If it just worked on the same principle as the cupboards—With the Kolder smock about him Simon turned to face that last barrier. Outside the night was solidly black, but there was a dim glow coming from the walls. Simon thought of the lock . . .

  Open! Slide open!

  An answering click. The portal had not rolled away as did the cupboards, but it gave when he pushed.

  With the ill-fitting clothes on him, Simon looked into the corridor. He remembered how in Sippar a voice had come from the air, as if his movements had been monitored. The same could exist here, but he could not know. He walked out into the hall, listening.

  Using the elevator which had brought him here he could return to sea level, but that would also take him into the center of activity. What he wanted was to be out of the hold entirely. Loyse. Frowningly Simon considered the problem of Loyse. Aldis and Loyse—the latter to be used as bait for Jaelithe. But where in this pile could he find the girl? He dared not trust mind contact again.

  Four more doors along this hallway—it could be that they put their prisoners close together. What had Loyse said? “. . . room . . . rocks.” Which might well mean that her windows gave her sight of the rocky interior. His room had been the sea and interior, but the two rooms now to his left would have outlet only for the rocks.

  Simon tried the panel of the first door. It moved under his touch for an inch or so and he stepped quickly to the next. This did not give. He drew one finger tip along its resistance and thought. A locked door did not necessarily mean that Loyse was behind it—a big mistake could be made either way.

  He concentrated on the lock. It was far easier now that he had the pattern fixed. And his confidence grew. Within the Kolder keep he was no longer a prisoner. With that freeze they could take over his body; could he defeat that now as he could their simpler safeguards? Simon did not know—nor did he long to put that to the test.

  The door moved when he tried it the second time. Slowly he pushed it into the wall at his right. Loyse stood with her back to him, her hands on the sill of the window, staring out into the night. And she looked very small and drawn together, as if hunching her thin shoulders and stooping made her less vulnerable to what she feared.

  In Simon’s path of vision she was alone, but of that he could not be sure. Now he attempted another use of his new found strength, willing her to turn and face him. There was a soft cry as she came about, as if she could not stay her movements. Then, sighting him, her hands came up to cover her face and she cowered back, as if she longed to sink into the surface of the wall.

  Simon, startled by her reaction, stepped on in and then thought of his smock. She must believe him one of the Kolder.

  “Loyse—” He kept that to a whisper, pulling off the tight fitting skullcap of the Kolder disguise.

  Simon could see the shudder which shook her, but she dropped her hands, did look at him. Then fear became astonishment. She did not speak, instead she launched herself from the wall, running to him as she might have run for sanctuary. Her fingers gripped the smock where it strained over his chest, her eyes were wide, her lips thinned against her teeth as if to choke back a cry.

  “Come!” Simon’s arm tightened about her shoulders as he pulled her into the corridor. A moment to close and relock the door, then to choose their way.

  But all he knew of the hold were two hallways—this one and that below leading to the room where the Kolder leader had interviewed him. The lower stories of this rat-held warren must be alert and alive with those dispatching supplies and men to the interior. His Kolder disguise would not pass more than the most casual glance. But, those workers on the dockside—the possessed. They had paid no attention to him and his guards when he had landed from the ship, would they be as unnoticing now if he and Loyse ventured among them? And did that port have any outer door?

  “Aldis!” Loyse held to his arm, both of her hands braceleting his wrist in a fierce grip.

  “What of her?” They were at the elevator, but he could only send it and them into danger.

  “She will know that I am gone!”

  “How?”

  Loyse shook her head. “The Kolder talisman—it is somehow aware of me. That is how she followed the thought path, learned of Jaelithe. She was with me when we made contact. She has a watch on my thoughts!”

  After his own experiences Simon dared not scoff at that idea. But he could not summon the elevator without better idea of where to go. There was one place—again a gamble, perhaps the biggest of all. But if Loyse was right and the hunt might be up almost at once, he knew of no better battlefield.

  Simon pushed the girl ahead of him. He pictured the corridor which led to the Kolder officer and the door closed behind him. Then he spoke to Loyse.

  “Do you feel her? Can you tell when she is in contact and where she is now?”

  She shook her head. “No, she is part of their new plan. They want Ja
elithe—a witch. And when they found she followed us they were excited. They knew there was a surface ship out there but of that they were not afraid. But something went wrong with their defense and then they made this plan. Aldis was pleased.” Loyse was grim. “She said everything was working for them. But why are they so excited—Jaelithe is no longer a witch.”

  “Not in the manner as before,” Simon told her, “but could she have kept contact with us had she no power at all? There is magic and magic, Loyse.” But could his magic and Jaelithe’s stand against the full force of Kolder?

  A faint whisper and the door opened. Here was the corridor he sought. He and Loyse had taken only a few steps along it when that invisible lock caught him. But they continued to march along, helplessly, towards the waiting Kolder.

  Helpless? Simon’s mind asked. Had he not solved the problem of the doors in the room above he might not have had the temerity to challenge this. He was under a compulsion controlled by the Kolder. But why could he not master that, too? Would he have the time?

  The door panel was open. With Loyse, Simon came face to face with those who waited there. Kolders—two of them—one the officer he had fronted earlier. The other wore a metal cap, his eyes were closed, his head tilted back against his chair, his whole attitude one of deep concentration on something afar from his present company. There were two of the possessed bearing guard weapons, and to one side, Aldis, her attention all for the prisoners, an alert excitement in her slightly parted lips, her shining eyes.

  The Kolder officer spoke first. “It seems that you are more then we expected, Warder of the Marches, and that you have certain qualities we did not take into consideration. Perhaps it would have been better for you if you had not. But before all else you are going to help us now. For it also seems true that your witch wife has not left you for good after all, but is coming to your side in trouble, as a proper wife should. And Jaelithe of Estcarp is of importance to us—of such importance that we intend nothing shall go amiss in the plans we have for her. So, let us be about the accomplishing of those plans.”