Did he want to die? Joss thought about it. His vision had narrowed until he saw only Kalanthe's glowing form. He knew what she wanted from him, to be her mate. The wagon-bed jostled under him.
"There!" shouted Ta'xel triumphantly, in an I-told-you-so tone of voice.
Anger sparked in Joss. He hadn't liked the powerful mage-priest; now what he felt was akin to hate. By the Three— No —by the wild magic, he'd win out over that prideful fool. Focusing the last of his strength, Joss looked within himself and immediately found the silvery glow of power. "I want to live," he told it.
He felt hands grappling with his body and clothes. Fear drove him to try and move. Ta'xel would not have him!
"Lie still while we set you free," Kalanthe said urgently.
She and her kindred were climbing all over him, stripping! off his clothes. Kalanthe picked up his carving knife with two hands, holding it like a spear. He saw her tremble under its weight. She brought it down, hard, stabbing his flesh.
He yelled. The wild magic exploded all about him. Joss heard his skin pop. Dazed, he couldn't move.
"Joss, get up."
He looked down. Kalanthe's hand fit perfectly in his own. Surprised, he leaped up. His body was compact and silver gray! They were standing in the brown shell of his old body.
Vaguely he could hear the beginnings of a chant. It was Ta'xel.
Joss smiled. The mage-priest had lost.
Around him, Kalanthe, and the other creatures was an opening in the middle of the wild magic that flamed about them. Through it he could see the Tors.
As if from a great distance Joss thought he heard his grandson call his name. He half turned back.
“No, Joss!" said the 'drake, pulling him back toward her. "We only look forward to the wild magic. Never back. If you turn from the power, you will be lost. The wild magic will reject you, and you'll be trapped, forever, between the gates of life and death, unable to enter either."
Joss met Kalanthe's eyes. At this moment nothing frightened him. A sudden, mischievous joy swept through him. He kissed her lips. Holding the femaledrake's hand, he ran, a mandrake, following the wild magic's children.
TO TRAP A DEMON
Ardath Mayhar
Belkor came down from Galzar Pass bearing a bale of urs that would have wearied a pack horse. He carried the weight high on his shoulders, and his back was straight, his thoughts upon other matters. He had trapped the forests of he lower ranges for half his life, and carrying the fruit of his labors was a trifle, no more.
The demon, it was, that worried him.
Galzar was infamous for its dangers. Some considered hose to be caused by men who pretended to be evil spirits. Some thought them to be spirits of rocks and winds and terrible winters. Whatever they might be, all too many weather-whitened bones could be found at the bottoms of clefts and amid tumbles of stone. Belkor had traveled that way many times, and his mind was still unconvinced by any if the explanations.
He had been harassed, once, in the midst of a storm, by accurately aimed stones, shrieks and catcalls, and trip-ropes arranged artfully in the most precarious places. That spoke more, to his mind, of human ingenuity than ,of demonic abilities.
Because of his huge size, he felt, he had been untroubled in most of his coming and going. He had become used to a sort of unspoken truce between himself and whatever force troubled Galzar Pass. Now, on his way to Ithkar for the fairing, he had not expected to encounter trouble. Had not wanted that, indeed, for he was carrying upon his back the cream of the crop of furs that he had harvested so carefully over a period of three years. This bale should enable him to retire from his trade, to buy the nook of land in the end of a valley, complete with hut and garden spot, which would enable him to marry his Hulla.
They would grow foodstuff for the village nearby, rear a dozen vigorous youngsters, and live to ripe old ages ... if he could rid himself of the thing that had followed him from the pass. The worst of it was that he didn't quite know what it was that was tagging after him, just out of sight.
When he paused to resettle his burden, there were slight sounds, as if someone—or something—stopped just after he did. He felt a gaze fixed upon his back, just between his shoulder blades. The fact that the bale came between seemed not to dilute the effect at all. When he camped at night, quick glitters, as of eyes in the dark, watching his fire, kept him alert and edgy.
Even after he reached the principal road, lying across the steppes for the convenience of those who traveled to Ithkar, he still felt that dogged presence. The jests and songs and ribald talk of the traders and vendors and supplicants who also traveled the way were very welcome. They took his mind from his problem. But when he rolled into his own lush fur for the night, he felt something there, in the darkness, watching.
They went with some speed, laden as all the travelers were. The fairing came earlier every year, and they all wanted to find likely spots to set up their booths and stalls before their competitors could beat them out. The long Valley of the Ith stretched before them in a matter of days after Belkor joined the train.
He had bought, after some haggling, a small pony to carry his furs. It was a matter of status—no matter how fine the furs, the best prices came to those who made a show of prosperity. He hated to part with the coin ... it could have ;one into the store that Hulla kept safe in a stone jar buried beneath her father's hearthstone ... but he knew he must. And the beast, too, felt the presence that had pursued him down from the heights. This told him it was not his fancy hat had made him so uneasy on the journey.
As the train approached the palisade, with its controlled rate, Belkor found himself wishing that he had brought with him one of his traps. The weight would have been troublesome, true, but even a demon, he felt, must succumb to his wily methods. To trap a demon would be a fit climax to his career.
He waited in the long line before the gate as the fair-yards inspected the incoming wares, impounded the weapons, and allowed the attendant wizard to survey each party. The feel of that . . . thing . . . was like an itch that couldn't be scratched. If he had only brought a trap!
But his traps were clumsy things, made of wood and rope and wire. Heavy and awkward, they were the worst of things to transport. He stored his, in off season, in a secret cavern near his trapping ground.
A priest came along the waiting line. Peddling spells, lost likely. Or doing a bit of minor blackmail upon those he knew to be questionable. Many were not allowed into that gate, if they were identified as banned persons. The man approached Belkor.
"A most interesting pack you have beside you," said the insinuating voice. "Furs?"
It was not as penetrating a guess as one would have thought, for Belkor dressed himself in the prize of his catches, and his raiment would have stunned a barbarian emperor into instant envy.
He smiled down his great length at the small priest. Indeed. Of the finest. Would you like to purchase one?"
“We are not allowed money," the small one said with a sigh. "But I might trade something . . . valuable ... for the smallest fur you have. A mere tippet or muff worth o fur. For I know of a trap . . . one whose design has come to us from the Sky Lords themselves . . . which can catch shadow or a breeze."
He might have named a thousand other things and been heard with a smile of contempt. But the word "trap" caugh Belkor's instant attention. "A trap . . ."he mused. "New that is a thing always interesting to one in my trade. It is you guarantee, a good trap? Light and easy to handle? And humane to the creatures it catches?"
The priest's eyes widened at the last question. "I have never before met a trapper who cared about the feelings o the things he traps," he said. "Yet this trap, indeed, doe not injure the thing it catches. It clamps padded jaws upon any limb that trips its plates, and if the trapper arrive before the creature starves or chews off its leg, he has living beast with which to contend. Not always a comfort able matter, which is the reason why other trappers use it little, if at all."
"Per
fect," said Belkor, for he had not the heart to give pain even to a demon. "I will trade you a snow-fox large enough for a muff—or a tippet—that is the gray o storm cloud, tipped with the silver of sun on ice. If that tempts you to trade . . . ?"
The deal was struck at once, and the priest named a plan and hour for the consummation of their business. Then the line moved up, and Belkor waited while the fair-ward poked through his bale and took custody of the quarterstaff that was his only weapon. They could not remove hi tremendous hands, or his oaken arms, or his granite-hare head, which were almost always the only weapons he needed
He moved away slowly, one ear cocked to hear if the wizard had any comment about a demon trying to creep into the fair. But nothing was said, and he moved away toward the area allocated to those who sold furs and leathern goods As he went, he felt those alert eyes fixed upon his back.
It took most of the day to set up his tiny stall. He bought screens of light wood and deployed them to show off his wares to best advantage. The furs, treated with the skill he and learned from generations of trapper-forebears, glistened n the light of torch and lantern as he completed his task and fastened his seal across the entry way. It was time to meet hat priest ... if, indeed, he possessed the secret of the trap le had described.
He did. At the appointed place and time, the small priest tppeared. He was lugging a large bag and cursing under his breath as sharp corners of the box inside it banged against lis ribs.
Belkor drew from beneath his cloak a packet wrapped in thin leather. Stepping beneath a torch that flared atop a post, le drew out a silken fur that glinted in the ruddy light. Gray and silver, it seemed almost alive between his huge hands, the priest looked, and his breath caught at the beauty of the thing.
"I have brought a trap for you. It was not easy to take it from the stores—nobody wants those things, but they are counted and tallied as if they were used every day. I was almost caught, and to be caught would mean . . . punishment. But for that fur, it would have been bearable. Here, rake the trap. Look at it. Oh, do like it!" He thrust the bag into Belkor's arms and took the fur into his own hands, stroking it with trembling fingers.
Belkor untied the mouth of the bag and carefully removed a square wooden contraption from its folds. The box itself infolded, each side unpegging from its neighbor, to reveal a strange-looking thing made of metal. It was light. But how lid it work? He could see no way in which a beast might be caught.
The priest saw his dilemma. "Here. You press here. Hatch the jaws apart so . . . and set this plate into position." The thing unfolded into sprung halves, with a palm-sized plate between. Each lip of the halves was padded thickly with something that was almost as yielding as flesh. He looked about for something with which to trip the thing, found a strip of wood, and touched the plate cautiously. Not enough, he would have sworn, to trip it.
There was a creak and a soft thump. The wood was held firmly between the lips. A chain fastened to the rear of the trap could be hooked to a stake or a tree to secure the prey. Properly concealed . . . it just might catch that demon of his.
“Trade," he said.
His stall was provided with a cubbyhole for sleeping, and he returned there with his prize. At this remove from the; main body of the fair, there was no traffic this late. Shrubs and vines grew among the trees that shaded the horse pens and stables as well as the stalls. One who approached him as he slept would most likely come from the rear of his 1 place, trying for the narrow window that ventilated his tiny; sleeping quarters. To look into that window, one would stand . . . there. Belkor surveyed the strip of soil closely.
Someone had stood there ... the ground was scuffed. As far as he knew, no demon would leave a track, however blurred. He knelt and dug into the ground with his eating-knife, making a hole large enough to hide the trap. He covered the thing carefully, fearful that the lightest thud of a clod might spring the thing, but he was lucky. He got it covered with a light layer of soil without mishap.
Once he was within his sleeping spot, he lay wide-eyed, thinking. Was it wise for such as he to meddle with a demon? Should he have, instead, asked the priest for a blessing—or a spell? Yet he had no faith in anything of the sort that that particular priest might have offered.
Was the thing that followed him a demon at all?
He turned restlessly and rearranged his fur coverings. It was beyond belief that a man might have followed him so closely and so long without his glimpsing him. Belkor was famous among trappers and woodsmen as one who was difficult to foil. So it had to be a demon. Yet why had the wizard -of-the-gate not sensed it when it entered? He turned again.
He had neither expected nor intended to sleep, but he drifted into a doze. The slight commotion outside his window woke him at once, and he peeped from his tiny window. Something was there. In the trap, he had no doubt. He hurried out and around to see what he had caught.
It was small. He had not thought that a demon might be so little. He moved toward it warily, catching dim glimpses of motion in the almost complete darkness behind his stall. Something snarled.
Belkor pounced, catching the small shape into his bearlike embrace. A shrill shriek was stifled in his fur robe, but claws raked his face and neck. He tightened his hold, folded the struggling limbs into a bundle with the rest of his captive. Panting, he carried it into his stall and struck a light.
He almost fainted with the shock of it. No demon sat there on his earthen floor. A child! A child was there, its foot still held by the trap, which he had unhooked from its stake. He couldn't tell, so filthy was it, so wild its hair and tattered its scanty clothing, if it might be male or female, but it indubitably was a human youngling.
He held the lamp close and examined the face. Eyes blazed back defiantly ... but they held a hint of fear. He had, after all, some ten times its weight and more than that its strength. He smiled, tentatively.
The eyes widened. The worst of the terror subsided. The thin lips twitched.
"If I take away the trap, will you sit and talk with me?” he asked softly.
The little creature was watching him as warily as any wild thing in a trap had ever done. But it nodded, very slowly. He knelt by the stool on which he had put it, upon realizing that it was human. Carefully, he pressed on the springs that opened the jaws, and the trap opened. It looked as if those padded sides had not even bruised the grimy skin of the ankle.
The child jerked its foot free and cradled it in both hands, glaring at Belkor all the while. "You . . . hurt!" he said.
Belkor sat back on his heels. "I thought you were a demon. You came all the way from Galzar Pass, where demons are reputed to live. What else could I think? Be fair, now!"
The boy—it was obvious now that it was a boy—frowned. "It's how we live," he said. "Howling and frightening people until they drop their goods or fall into a ravine. But sometimes they fight back. That's how my dam was killed. He forced her over the edge."
"And your father?" asked Belkor.
The boy looked blank. "What's a father?" he asked, which told Belkor much.
"Then there are no demons at all in Galzar Pass," pursued Belkor.
"I'd not say that," said the child. "No. There be something there, indeed. But it be what gave the notion, you see? And it be not there all the time. When it comes, all us run very fast and hide."
It would have made Belkor happier if the child had agreed with his suggestion. However, with luck his trapping days were over, and he would not have to brave that pass again.
He was not overnice in his habits, was Belkor, but the state of the child was beyond belief. He made a decision.
"We shall find a pump," he said, "and wash you off. See what you are made of besides grit and grime. Come with me."
He held out his hand, and the child took it timidly. That reminded the trapper of something.
"Why did you follow me?" he asked, bending over to see the small face as the child answered.
"You be big. Strong. And you be covered wi
th fur, all soft and nice. Nobody care for me there. I think I follow you. Maybe . . . you care for me, like my dam used to."
The unsuspected (by others) soft spot in Belkor's heart twinged. Instead of caring for the poor orphan, he had trapped it. A nice way for a man to behave! He had always hated to kill the creatures in his traps, avoiding their eyes as he slit their throats. He had avoided hurting the smallest thing, when it was possible. And he had hurt a child. It troubled him.
They found a pump, deserted at this hour, and Belkor washed the lad there in the street, pouring streams of water over him, scrubbing him with a rag, rinsing him again and again. When the job was done, a fair-looking boy stood shivering on the flagstones about the fountain.
Belkor removed his robe and wrapped it about the child. "We shall see, in the morning, about finding you a home. The priests and priestesses in the temple will know. But for tonight, you shall sleep with me, and I shall keep you warm and safe. Are you hungry?"
The child nodded.
"I have half a meat pie in my cubby. Bought it at a cookshop this afternoon. You shall have it, with a nip of wine."
It was morning before he thought to ask if the boy had a name. He looked up blankly.
"Name? What be that?"
"What do they call you? Your dam, and the others?"
"Boy."
"Won't do. There are too many boys hereabout. I shall call you Haral. My brother was Haral. He would like to have his name passed along. Does that suit you?"
Haral nodded.
"Then come. We shall seek out a priest ... a real, honest priest . . . and see what he says."
It was more easily said than done, but at last they found a young priestess who seemed willing to listen. She was fascinated by the tale.
“We shall go to Andrell. She will be amused by your tale, and she will probably know what to do. She always does.
The way to the priestess Andrell was complicated. Belkor couldn't have found it again, even with all his skill at finding his way in the forest and mountains. But they stood before a slight, veiled shape at last and told the story again.
Norton, Andre - Anthology Page 12