A Wizard In a Feud

by Christopher Stasheff

  "A stranger he will slander rude,

  But to his kin, why, he's a prude,

  Careful to say only good.

  Cherish him as ever you would!"

  Everyone froze in a strange, still moment again. Then they relaxed, and a man called out, "You tell 'em, Rhys!"

  "Aye!" cried a woman who'd protested about him moments before. "There's our lad!"

  "Glad to have him beside me in battle, every time!" averred the man who hadn't been willing to trust Rhys behind his back. "A fine upstanding Leary, and a credit to his clan," Grandma said, nodding.

  Rhys stared, jaw dropping. Kerlew wasn't much better.

  Then the young clansman turned on the bard. "You did that! All of it!"

  Kerlew managed the wicked grin again. "Now imagine what would happen if I told them to cast you out-or told them all they were breaking out with boils"

  "You wouldn't dare!" Grandma gasped, but her face paled. "I'll do what the gods tell me," Kerlew said bravely, then turned and called out to the assembly,

  "Remember now each word you've said,

  About your kinsman Rhys-and dread

  The words that I may utter for

  The gods whose warnings you ignore!"

  The people gave their heads a quick shake, then looked at one another, appalled.

  "Did I really say a thing like that?"

  "Rhys, I'm sorry!"

  "I can't believe I'd be telling such lies"

  "Rhys, I can't imagine what got into my head""

  "I can!" Rhys pointed a trembling finger at Kerlew. "His words!"

  Everyone stared, then muttered with superstitious dread and moved a little farther away from the strangers.

  Grandma appealed to Gar. "Bid him stop, stranger!"

  "Stop?" Gar protested. "I haven't even told him to start! It's the gods who command him, Grandmother, not me!"

  "All right; plead with your patron for us," Grandma growled. "Which god do you serve, anyway?"

  "I speak the words of Taranis the Thunderer," Gar answered, "God of the Wheel and of Change!" His voice rose, carrying to the whole clan. "Do not kill anyone of your own kind, says Taranis-and your own kind is any Celt, any of the New People of this world!" His voice sank to an ominous rumble. "And of course, I do not need to tell you what would happen if you were to slay or even hurt one of the Old Ones!"

  "Why should we heed what you say?" a clansman demanded angrily. "The gods are only stories for small children-they aren't real! All that's real is food and houses and rifles and gunpowder and bullets!"

  The crowd muttered in answer, trying to work up enough anger to counter their sudden superstitious fear.

  "Are your clothes real?" Gar demanded. "Are they as real as the cloth from which they were cut? Of course, for both were made by people! But was the cloth as real as the person who made it?"

  "Why ... of course." But the clansman sounded uncertain; he looked to his kinfolk for support.

  "I see what you're saying." An old woman frowned at Gar. "We may be real, but not as real as the gods who made us. Trouble is, stranger, they may not be real at all-only one more thing that people made up, like a song or a dance!"

  "If you invented the gods, then they stand for you," Gar countered. "Who is the patron of your clan?"

  "Why ... Toutatis," Grandma said, frowning. "But he's just a figurehead, a . . ." She left the sentence hanging, not wanting to finish the last word.

  "Symbol?" Gar finished for her. "Then if you don't honor him, you don't honor your own clan-and if you fail to honor your clan, you fail to honor yourself."

  "You don't mean we each have to have a god of our very own?" Rhys said, lip curling.

  "Don't you?" Gar challenged. "When you were small and hearing the tales of the gods, wasn't there something within you that seized upon one god, one single one out of many, and said, `Yes, this is my favorite!' "

  Everyone looked astonished, then glanced quickly at his or her neighbors to see if they had noticed.

  "Well ... sure," Rhys said. "Doesn't everybody?"

  "Everybody does," Gar agreed, "or if you can't find one, you develop your own picture of the Godhead, the ultimate God, your own understanding-and it helps you discover what kind of person you are, which is a very large step towards discovering who you are. Which god did you choose, young man?"

  "Mider," Rhys admitted reluctantly, "the God of Good Judgment, the God of Common Sense."

  "No wonder you insist on hearing proofs of what we claim!" Gar smiled. "And haven't you lived your life ever since as that god would have?"

  "I see what you're saying!" the old woman cried. "If we don't respect our gods, we don't respect ourselves."

  "Yourselves, each and every one of you." Gar nodded. "Yourselves as a clan-and yourselves as Celts, as New People, as human beings! Whether you believe in your gods or not, you must respect them or begin to fall apart!"

  "Fall apart . . ." a few voices repeated, and people looked at one another in astonishment.

  "And you'd have us respect the gods by doing as you tell us?" Grandma studied Gar from under lowering brows. "What else would they have us do besides stop killing?"

  "Don't steal, not just from one another, but from other clans!"

  A roar of protest answered him. Gar waited it out, then raised his arms. "Stealing, started more feuds than one! Especially don't steal anybody's wife or husband either, not even for a few hoursl That's the kind of thing can make clansman kill clansman."

  "You're telling us the things that can make a clan fall apart," Grandma growled. "That's only common sense."

  "Then you agree with it?"

  "Within the Leary clan, yes. Clancies are another matter."

  "Are they?" Gar demanded, looking Grandma straight in the eye. "How much of what you think to be their wickedness is really simple slander?" Grandma started to protest, but Gar's voice rode over hers as he turned to the people again. "The gods hate lies like that( Don't slander one another-no insults, no lies, no foul words aimed at other peoplel It might not only start a feud between clans-it might start a feud within a clan(" The people stared at the thought, then shuddered.

  "Speak truth or don't speak at allt" Gar orated. "Say `yes' when you mean `yes' and 'no' when you mean 'no'-and if you can't make up your mind, say sot"

  "Next you'll be telling us not even to think of doing any of those," Grandma said with contempt.

  "Think about them? You can't help some of that( You can't keep from wanting someone else's rifle, if it seems to be better than yours-or other people's spouses, especially if they're really good-looking. But you can keep from really trying to get them, planning for it, scheming for it. Will you or won't you, that's the question. Wanting it you can't help-willing it, you can, and shouldn't!"

  "Anything else?" Grandma grated. "How many other laws will the gods load upon us?"

  "Only those, and they're a lot fewer than the backbreaking load of laws your ancestors had before things fell apart. Anything else people are doing wrong, you can figure out from those."

  "And that's all Taranis asks of us?" a clansman asked, looking worried.

  "I'll make it simpler," Gar called out. "Respect your kinfolk and respect other clans as though they were kin, because somewhere far enough back, they are!"

  Uproar filled the room. Gar waited it out, waited for the question he knew was coming, and finally Rhys voiced it. "What if we don't, stranger?" His eyes were hot, his voice acidic. "What if we don't choose to stop. the feuding? What are you going to do-lay a satire on all of us?"

  Kerlew nodded slowly, eyes glittering with all the bitterness and hatred of the outcast.

  "Worse than that," Gar said quickly. "How would we know you were doing it, after all?"

  "That's sot" A smiled curved Rhy's lips. "You can't punish what you don't see!"

  "But the Old Ones will see you!" Gar called out. "The Wee Folk honor the gods, even the gods of the New People-and there are many, many of them: an elf in every pasture, a fai
ry in every tree!"

  The people turned to one another in furious muttered debate and fear shone in many eyes. The gods' existence they might question, but nobody doubted the presence of the Wee Folk-their presence, or their power.

  "Disobey the gods at your peril!" Gar cried out. "March to war against the Clancies and the Wee Folk will strike you down!" The crowd's debate died down to a fearful mutter; lamplight reflected the whites of their eyes.

  "All well and good," Grandma said sourly, "but what if the Clancies march against us? We're not going to stand there and let them butcher us!"

  Half the clansfolk called out their agreement.

  "We'll take the word of the gods to the Clancies next," Gar assured her. "If they march against you, the Little People will mow them down("

  "I'll believe that when I see it," Grandma snorted, "but if you're going to talk to them, stranger, you'd better hurry. Night's fallen, and they could be sending out ambush parties this very minute!"

  "Oh, we'll tell them, and quickly," Gar assured her. "Come, friends(" He whirled away toward the door.

  Alea pivoted to follow him. Kerlew and Moira stared, caught flat-footed, then hurried to catch up.

  Gar turned about in the doorway, raising an arm in warning. "You've heard the word of the gods, and if you disobey it, there will be nothing I can do to save youl Farewell-and whether you believe in them or not, honor your gods!" With that, he spun about, cloak swirling, and strode off into the night, his companions around him.

  The door closed behind them, and the clansfolk stood staring, frozen by the enormity of having seen and heard the unthinkable.

  Then Grandma thawed and turned to Rhys. "Hurryl Send the captains out to the north pasture! Patrick's squad to the east boundary, hiding in the scrub brush! Caitlin's squad to the west windbreak, in among the pines! The rest of you move from cover to coverl If the Clancies are coming, we'll outflank them, and if they aren't, we'll take them by surprise while they're still numb from listening to those preachers!"

  "But-but Grandma," said one of the middle-aged men, "the Old Ones..."

  "You really believe what those addlepates said?" Grandma scoffed. "Mooncalves, every one of 'em-crazy as loons and walleyed as pikes! Old Ones obeying the New People's gods indeedl When have you ever known the Wee Folk to strike at more than one person at a time? What are you all, a bunch of overgrown children, ready to believe whatever song you're sung?"

  That stung; the people frowned, anger stirring, muttering darkly.

  "Out upon 'em, then!" Grandma called. "The Clancies just might believe those preachers, like the half-wits they are, and if they do, we'll never have a better chance of catching them with their guards down! Get out there into those woods and move silent as moonlight! Surround their house, then bust in and clean them outl when you're done, burn the place down for good measure! Go on, now, GO!"

  16

  Alea led the way out of the Clancy clan's great house and gazed up at the stars, drawing her cloak about her and shivering. "Midnight, Gar."

  Gar nodded. "A good time for bad things to happen."

  "Bad things indeed," Moira said darkly.

  "You can feel them, can't you?" Alea asked Gar. "The Learies, moving up through the pitch-dark woods to surround this house?"

  "How do you know that?" Kerlew asked, eyes wide.

  "How do you make your satires actually hurt?" Gar countered.

  "You'd better start composing them," Alea said, "one for the Learies and one for the Clancies."

  "This can't be!" Kerlew protested. "They believed us!"

  "Grandma Clancy didn't," Alea told him.

  Moira's lips thinned. "She will when the Old Ones have done with them."

  "The Learies are still half a mile away," Gar said, "and Grandma Clancy is back inside that house whipping her people into a fighting rage at the thought that the Learies might be creeping up on them like treacherous snakes-"

  "She should know," Moira said sourly. "Make that one satire against any who fight in defiance of Danu's wishes, Kerlew. Both bands mean mayhem."

  "They do indeed," Alea agreed, "and we don't want to get caught between them when the bullets start flying. Come on, friends! Away from this place!"

  They struck out uphill. Half an hour later and well above the treetops, they looked down on the Clancy homestead, tranquil in the still night-but Alea could read the homicidal thoughts both inside it and out, and shuddered.

  She wasn't the only one. On the hillside across from hers, a furry globe-shaped alien with tiny cat-ears grinned, showing very sharp teeth. "Strike at the first shot," she told the gauzy-winged creature that hovered before her face. "Don't worry, I'll lend your minds more than enough power to lay them low. Has each one of your people chosen a Clancy?"

  "Yes, and each elf is pacing a Leary, ready to fire a bolt," the fairy answered. "Speak, Bighead; and we shall loose our wrath upon them!"

  A burst of flame blossomed in the woods below. ' "Loose!" Evanescent snapped.

  The sound of the shot reached them as several more fireflowers bloomed at the narrow windows of the great house. "Now do as my New People have promised," the alien purred, and sat back to watch the shortest war humans ever waged.

  Aran Leary cried out and dropped his rifle, clutching his head as he sank to his knees.

  "What ails you, Aran?" Caitlin cried.

  Aran screamed and rolled on the ground.

  "Rhys, see where he's shot!" Caitlin snapped. "Aran, cease that weakling's wailing! You want every single Clancy to know where we are?" As Rhys dove to see to Aran, Caitlin turned back to business, raising her rifle and sighting.

  Fire flared in her belly. She dropped her weapon, folding . over the pain, trying to stifle a scream and failing.

  On the other side of the house, Patrick hissed, "Fire!" and a dozen Learies leveled their weapons, not seeing the darts that flew at them out of the darkness.

  "Ow!" One swatted at his neck.

  "Blast!" another clapped a hand over her arm. "What the blazes. . ."

  "Damn big mosquitoes here!" A third clamped his lips against the urge to cry out. Then they all went rigid.

  "What ails you slackers?" Patrick hissed. "Fire!" Then pain bit the back of his neck; he slapped at it, then froze. He tottered and fell just as his squad did, then screamed in agony as fire seemed to course through his veins.

  Inside the house, Zachariah Clancy wondered, "Why the hell don't they shoot again?"

  "We saw their rifle flashes," Amanda told him. "We can fire there again."

  "A Leary just might be stupid enough to hang around waiting for a second shot," Zachariah allowed. "Let 'em have it!" Then he looked up, staring in disbelief out the window.

  "Zachariah!" Malcolm cried. "Look there-a fairy!" Then he clutched his head and roared with pain.

  Zachariah didn't pay much attention. He was too busy rolling on the floor and bellowing with pain of his own.

  Atop the northern hill, Kerlew stood with his arms upraised, chanting,

  "The clansfolk now are terrified,

  For gods' commands are verified.

  Their gear of peace and amity

  Has levied quite a strain.

  How can their disobedience be

  A source of mortal agony?

  In mind and soul their pain returns,

  To plague them once again!"

  He stood a moment, frowning down at the valley uncertainly, then turned to Gar and Alea. "How was that?"

  "Not exactly great literature," Gar judged, "but it seems to have been effective."

  "Too effective." Alea's face was strained; drops of sweat appeared on her brow. "At least, with help from the Old Ones, it is. Give them relief, Kerlew: Let's see if they've learned their lesson yet."

  "As you say." Kerlew spread his hands and began to intone a verse that would relieve the pain.

  On the southern hill, Evanescent looked up, reading his thoughts, then told the waiting fairy, "Give the New People a chance to reform.
Take away their pain and see if they behave."

  "Even so." The fairy turned and sang to another, who darted away into the night.

  Minutes later, the Clancies all relaxed with a massive gasp, then pulled themselves up, blinking and white-eyed. Looking out through the windows, they remembered where they'd last seen their enemies. One or two reached for their rifles, then hesitated.

  On the ground and in the trees, elves loosed more darts, and the Learies relaxed with shudders that shook their whole bodies, then slowly pushed themselves up to their knees. They looked down at their rifles, looked up at the darkened windows of the Clancy house, looked again at the rifles-but only looked. Inside the house, Zachariah hobbled up to Grandma. "I don't know how that bard did it, Grandma, but everyone who aimed a rifle seized up with pain like we've never felt."

  "I know," the old woman replied, white-knuckled and gasping. She looked up at Zachariah, her eyes rolling. "I felt it, too."

  "They haven't started shooting again," Moira said.

  "No, they haven't," Alea agreed, "but that doesn't mean they won't, as soon as they think we've gone."

  "Then we'd better stay," Gar said. "Kerlew, you'd better compose some new verses, just in case."

  Both sides stayed in place, watching through the night, hands never far from their rifles but never quite touching, either. As the stars began to dim, Aran said to Amanda, "I've been thinking."

  "What?" she asked, exhaustion making her voice ragged. "It was the bard who laid the satire on us that's caused this pain, right?"

  "I figured that out for myself," she said with withering sarcasm.

  "Okay, how about this? We kill the bard and we kill the pain!"

  Amanda was silent for several minutes, staring out the window at the dark masses of bushes that hid Learies. Finally she announced her verdict: "Won't work. It's the Old Ones who are bringing the pain, just as the satire told them. They'll still heed its words whether the bard's there or not."

  Aran growled resentment. "Why should the Old Ones obey a bard all of a sudden?"

  "Because this one's satires really work," Amanda answered. "Who knows what verses he laid on the Wee Folk?"