“New friend?” he asked, gesturing at it.
She nodded. “Grows on the rocks around the falls. It has problems, or maybe I should say he has problems. It’s a he. Well established vegetatively, but hasn’t seen a female in a long time. Believes there must be some downstream, though, because there’s a small bird thing comes around for nectar and will make deliveries if asked.”
“Dugald didn’t teach me about these things,” Black Leg complained.
“Probably thinks they’re beneath his notice,” she said.
“Why are we stranded?” he asked.
She pointed down to the water. “Remember the passage?”
Black Leg nodded.
“I can’t get back to it,” she said.
Black Leg had been squatting down on the rock. He stood and took stock of the situation.
To his left, the falls plunged down from what seemed an incredible height. On all sides, the canyon walls rose ever further up toward a blue sky. The pool he was looking at formed the widest spot in the canyon; ahead, the rock slide ran along one side of the river, forming a jumble of boulders at the foot of the wall.
“Where are we?” he whispered.
She looked morosely out over the blue pool and said, “I don’t know.”
“How can you not know?” he snapped. “You know what’s along the passage. I swam into it with you.”
“Yeah, and you’d have been just fine if you had done what I told you. But no, you had to go exploring on your own. The opening in the passage is above the falls, and unless you can figure out a way to fly, we’re cut off until I can find another gateway back into it.”
“You can’t fly?” he asked rather weakly.
“No. It’s among the few things I can’t do. Mind you, I’m one of the most powerful supernatural beings you will ever meet—but flying is not one of my many accomplishments.”
“We’re in trouble,” Black Leg said.
“The boy is a genius. He finally figured something out.”
“I’m sick of you telling me how dumb I am,” Black Leg flared up at her.
“Then try using your head for something better than to hold your ears up,” she snapped back.
“What are we going to do?” He heard a sort of quiver in his own voice that frightened him.
Then he became a wolf. He found the shape consoling, and at the moment, he needed a little consolation.
He didn’t get it. The wolf informed him that he was hungry and that it was high time Black Leg did something about their mutual problem.
He returned to his human shape.
“We’re hungry,” he told her sullenly.
“Yeah—I forgot. When they’re not horny, they’re hungry. And they always turn to the nearest woman and expect her to do something about it. If not one, then it’s the other.”
“Why do you work at being nasty?” he snapped.
Her eyes closed. She put one finger at the top of her nose between the eyes, and food arrived.
The rock she was standing on was more or less level. A cloth appeared and covered part of it, the tail end hanging down toward the river. A platter of sliced meat, followed quickly by a bowl of gravy. A plate filled with fruit appeared, then a big loaf of bread, along with two wine jugs.
“Come on. Let’s eat,” she said. “I was hoping to serve this at home, but since we’re lost . . .”
“How . . .” Black Leg began.
“No!” It was a rather resounding no. “Shut up and eat. Start with the questions, we get into a fight . . . next thing you know, the food is cold, it’s sundown, and we’re still hungry. Eat! Questions later.”
Black Leg hopped across a bunch of slabs to the flat rock where she stood, and they fell on the food as though they were both starving. When they finished, both leaned back against the sun-warmed stone and tried to get a little glow on from the wine.
By now the sun had moved and the canyon was growing darker. The constant wind that flowed along the river was a little chilly on Black Leg’s bare skin. But he didn’t want to turn wolf; the slight buzz he was feeling would disappear. He knew this from a rather unpleasant experience when he’d gone drinking with Bain, the chief’s son, and some of his friends in the war band.
They hadn’t believed him about his wolf side—or they pretended not to believe him in order to get him to perform. He had been drunk enough to do so. He leaped into the air and made an idiot out of himself by getting tangled in his clothing and rolling all over the shingle beach, trying to free himself.
He hadn’t known his father was nearby until he saw his eyes glow behind Bain and his friends.
Maeniel launched himself at them with a roar so loud that several of the drunker ones nearly drowned in the incoming tide trying to escape him. Then—they were both still wolf—his father got him by the scruff of the neck and shook him until his teeth rattled and Black Leg yowled for mercy.
He ended up stone-cold sober, being dragged home by the ear by a very vile-tempered Maeniel. Wolf or human, Black Leg’s ear was tender and remained in the same place. His father was furious and had a good grip.
Maeniel wasn’t one to lecture, but his comments on the way home about drunken foolishness and the abuse of protective powers sank in and made a strong impression on Black Leg’s mind. And being sobered so quickly was rather like a hard kick in the stomach.
So Black Leg relaxed and concentrated on maintaining his mild level of intoxication.
“Nice, isn’t it?” she said, looking up at the falls and the shadowed river.
From time to time the eternal wind brought mist drifting down from the falls to further refresh them and please the little vine she was wearing. Or maybe almost wearing, because those beautiful smooth, creamy breasts remained bare, even though those brilliant red flowers and leaves surrounded and supported them.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
“I’ll bet,” he said, “I’m thinking about the same thing you are.”
She chuckled. “Men only think about two things, and the other one is food.”
“Seriously,” he said. “How do we get out of here?”
“Seriously,” she answered, “I don’t know. Are you anxious to leave?”
He had one hand on her leg. As with the water lily, the red-flowered vine made music. It didn’t sing, but in the distance, Black Leg could hear a stringed instrument being plucked one note at a time as it rippled through a melody that managed to be alien and yet hauntingly familiar at the same time. His hand moved up and his fingers brushed the dark smooth leaves and the satin-soft flower petals at her groin.
“Gentle friend!” she whispered.
Black Leg felt it withdraw and saw from the corner of his eye that it had taken residence among the fissures of the stone around them. She was warm and the rock they lay on still held the sun’s heat. Then he remembered the Weyvern.
“Not that it matters,” he said, “but what do you really look like?”
She laughed a little and he felt her lips on his. “I don’t really look like anything. I’m mostly water.” She snorted softly. “So are you. Didn’t that Druid who brought you up teach you anything?”
She blew into his ear softly, very softly, and chewed gently on his earlobe with her teeth.
“Yeah!” Black Leg said as the small love bite took full effect.
“God, but you’re easy,” she said. “Want to see if it still fits?”
“Oh, yes!” This was fervent.
“Mummmoo. Ah,” she said. “It does. Fancy that. Oh, yes, you’re a big boy. A very big boy. I could forgive you for anything.”
He thought that was nice to know. But for a short time, they were very busy and he forgot what she’d said.
When they finished, he lay for a time with his head pillowed on her arm, studying her profile silhouetted against the warm orange rock walls on the other side of the canyon.
“Where did you get the food?” he asked. “And what was that meat? It was good.”
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“In the shape we were in, anything would taste good,” she said. “But . . . the meat was probably horse and the food was an offering. So since it was offered, I control it. I brought it here so we could snack. He’s a good cook and his people are old friends of mine.”
“He?” Black Leg asked.
“Cregan,” she supplied the name. “He’s probably the best warrior in the world.”
“You know about things like this?”
She nodded. “I get around and I hear things.”
“Think he would take a . . . pupil?” Black Leg asked.
She sighed deeply. “Damn! You have aspirations in that direction?”
“Yes!”
She cuddled him a little with her arm. He kissed the curve of her breast above the nipple.
“Nice. Nice. Why don’t you just stay with me?”
Black Leg immediately pulled away. She sighed again.
“I forgot,” she said. “You’re young. Got to get it out of your system. Am I right?”
“Probably,” he answered. “Besides . . .” His voice trailed off. He didn’t want to offend her and was also a little afraid of her. She had shown a rather casual use of what were probably immense powers.
“I know. I know. You don’t love me,” she finished the sentence for him. “I’m good for a tumble in the hay—maybe a lot more than just one tumble—but your heart belongs to that bitchy blonde who dumped you for some jackass she saw all of three times in her life. Oh! But—he’s a king!”
Black Leg went wolf and tried to jump up. But with casual ease, she got him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him back down.
“Quit it! And listen.”
Black Leg decided it might be the better part of valor to do so. He lay quietly, head against her arm, human again. The ability she’d just demonstrated to change him back from wolf to man was far beyond his comprehension.
“Are you a . . . are you ‘Her’?”
She began laughing. “No, I’m not a goddess. I’m mortal, just like you. And like the Faun your little blond friend killed.”
“How do you know about that?” he asked.
“How do I know? The whole world rang with the pity and terror of it.”
Suddenly he was afraid for Guinevere. “She . . . didn’t . . .”
“I know, I know.”
His head was still resting on her left shoulder. She waved her right hand in a dismissive gesture.
“She—the Child of Light, because that’s what her name means—she did what she was told. The great goddess had condemned him to death. The little one just carried out the sentence. But we mortals are entitled to our opinions. He, the Faun, was of my kind. There are very few of us left. The Fauns ruled the forests; we the waters; the dragons the seas.
“Since he was one of my kind, I find myself even more devastated by his death than I thought I would be. Though he was guilty of great evil, it was hard to see him slip away. Though he forgave your friend when she set him free.
“Warrior. You want to be a warrior?”
The abrupt change of subject disconcerted Black Leg. He sat up on the edge of the slab and dangled his feet over the river. It was still warm, but the sun was withdrawing more and more. In the canyon, the shadows lengthened. The wind was beginning to grow cold. Black Leg felt uneasy.
“Soon it’s going to be dark,” he said. “If we can’t get back, I don’t think it will matter much about what I want to do with my life. I want to have one to play around with.”
She laughed. “Hell, I’ve been down lots of roads along the tunnel. Got stranded a few times. I always got out all right. So will you. You’re long-lived, like me. The power to change does that—gives you long life.”
“That’s why she turned me down,” he said.
“Yeah. And I can’t say I blame her. We’re best with our own kind. But still, I think she could have given it a little tiny bit more thought than she did. But the only bigger screwballs than human men are women.”
“How so?” Black Leg bridled.
“Simple. She knows you well. Hell, she knows you almost as well as she knows herself. You’re good-looking, good-natured—that’s important—smart, and she gets her arms around you long enough to know you’re probably good in bed. But nooooo . . . she can’t wait to go running after . . .”
Black Leg waited a minute, then prompted, “What?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “He used to come to my well in the mountains with his kin. They made offerings and didn’t pollute the water. They knew the rules and taught him how to behave himself. But in my life, I’ve met maybe four—no, five—mortal men who frightened me. He’s one of them.”
“Fine!” Black Leg commented. “Just fine.”
She nodded uh-huh. “Just fine. And I’ve had a long life. But this kid scares the shit out of me.”
“How long?” Black Leg asked.
“Full of questions,” she said.
“You cause me to want to ask a lot of questions. You are one peculiar being.”
By now she was up and seated beside him.
“I suppose I am . . . to you. But believe me, I’m completely predictable. Part of the logic of the universe.”
“The logic of the universe?” Black Leg repeated.
“Yes,” she said.
“Well, I wish you would logic us out of here. It’s getting cold, and I’m getting scared.”
“Turn wolf,” she said. “Your fur . . .”
“No,” he told her. “I’m about half drunk on the wine. If I turn wolf, I’ll lose my buzz. I won’t be cold, but I’ll be even more scared than I am now.
“You must be getting cold, too,” he said. “Your friend’s not back.”
“The vine,” she said. “I know. And I’m sort of bothered by that. It’s scared and I’m not sure about what.”
“It can’t tell you?”
“No. The water lily’s more verbal, but it’s been alone a long time. There’s no gardener here to look out for it. And its music . . . is . . .”
Black Leg heard the trill of notes again. A distant harp.
“It won’t come out, and acts like it expects me to know why. But I don’t comprehend the language it speaks well and—”
Just then the bird landed on a spearhead of rock near Black Leg’s arm. He was astounded, thinking at first that it was Magetsky.
“What’s she . . . ?” he began.
Then the bird gave a cry like a single, ringing note of a silver bell, and he knew it wasn’t Magetsky, couldn’t be.
Black Leg found he was afraid of it. His hackles rose and he felt the wolf slide over him like a cloud covers the sun and creates not darkness but shadow change. And he knew something more than the wolf was summoned. He drew on reserves he didn’t know he had.
The bird gave another cry and the ravens swept like a black wave down the canyon from caves above the waterfall.
The bird went for Black Leg’s eye with its sharp, onyx beak . . . and got it.
There wasn’t time for Black Leg’s brain to register the shock of absolute pain that losing an eye creates. Instead, it comprehended something infinitely worse, willed by the thing that inhabited the bird.
“I cripple . . . I destroy your life, wolf. When I am done with you, wolf, you will be bereft of sight, hearing, your mortal body punctured with a thousand wounds that will by suppuration cause you untold agony. You will have life of a sort for a time. But you will not desire to continue your existence in such a guise. And so you will pass from hence into a sea of madness, then all unknowing into oblivion. I am from the dead and the change is useless against my power.”
Even as the bird took his eye, Black Leg’s jaws closed on it. The thing powdered the way a chunk of wood turned to charcoal by a roaring blaze retains its shape even though its remaining substance is ash.
Then the powdered ash was turned into a horde of dark, hard insects, all burrowing into his coat toward his skin.
He changed—for only a spli
t second was human. And he realized the bird’s threat was made fact. He retained only one eye and was being eaten alive by the shimmering coating of insects covering his body.
In that split second, he tried to see where she had gone. Where she had been sitting, the Weyvern clung to the rock. It seemed made of stone, mottled green stone flecked and veined with red. A dragon seemingly hammered out of the rock composing the riverbank.
Black Leg screamed. The Weyvern’s mouth opened and he was bathed in flame.
Arthur slept in the tower he received from the Queen of the Dead. He sat between two waterfalls with the ancient vessel at his feet. Even in his dreams he was still a king and he sensed he must have been a king even when he floated in his mother’s womb and kicked at her belly.
He had been a king and known it even as a child when he had been tormented by his mother, Igrane, and her lover, Merlin. He had known they wished to quench the strength in his heart. But they failed, thanks to Uther, and he stood on the threshold of his inheritance. His own man, one who would rule in his own way, and never allow his power to be usurped by another.
A king is a sacred being, the high priest of his people, who may be offered to the gods if the circumstances should arise. That called for the most valuable thing they possessed. Arthur understood this, and it was bred into his very bones.
She had given the cup into his hands and allowed him to quench his thirst just before the final ordeal. Now it floated before him, glowing in the dark silence of sleep, and her voice commanded him, “Drink.”
He caught the cup between his hands and drank. He received a mouthful of blood.
Because he was a king, he could in no wise refuse her, and he swallowed. He found himself in the dim, steel cavern where they first met. But the roof was gone, and he stood among ruins that lifted their structures against a cold, gray sky. Beyond the boiling clouds the sun still burned, but it was only a somewhat brighter spot among the ashen clouds.
He glanced around at the chairs of the rotunda that once held the remains of the nonhuman dead and saw that each was occupied by an icy blue fire. She spoke to him from the high seat. “It is done. We are free. It is time for you, your people, to claim their inheritance.”
The Raven Warrior Page 7