Thrice Bound

by Roberta Gellis

  She saw again those loathesome ribbons, saw how they crept toward her but stopped at the edge of the blood trough. So she could not find shelter in the outer section of the cave. The only place she would be safe from the guhrt was on the other side of the trough—but could she survive the agony of terror and hopelessness induced by intruding into the domain of the king of the dead?

  The guhrt was moving again. Hekate again cast out a shaft of hatred mixed with her own fear and terror, but she did not even know if it struck the creature for she was now close to exhaustion. She retreated inside the cave, creating a mage light; since her father already knew where she was, the small magic could not betray her and it took very little power.

  She stood teetering on the edge of the trough. She could feel the looming threat of unbearable anguish, but extending her senses did not find an overall aura like that in the secret shrine in the forest. What she felt was more like a thin curtain rising above a knotted cord of magic. But that was a trigger spell she knew—a spell designed and set by a human mage. No trigger spell surrounded the clearing in the forest where the Mother dwelt. And Hekate could not imagine the Mother hoarding Her power and releasing Her aura only when it was needed.

  Would the equally powerful king of the dead need to hoard power? For that matter, could a mortal seize feelings generated by the king of the dead and use them as a weapon, as she had done? The thought of trying to mold and wield the Mother's power turned her cold inside.

  Curiosity woke in Hekate. If it was a spell and not a protection placed by the king of the dead, could she follow the spell to the spell-caster? Could she induce or force that spell-caster to stop using the spell or to give her protection against it?

  For one moment she gave all her attention to that fascinating thought, letting her awareness of the guhrt ebb. The creature reacted at once, coming as close to the cave entrance as it could. Through it, Perses launched a powerful psychic assault. The blow struck at her should have rendered her unconscious, but the wards she had built and put in place as a protection against the guhrt held. Even so, Hekate's mage light flickered out and she staggered forward, stumbling across the blood trough and several steps on into the depth of the cave.

  Again the spell of fear and despair fell on her, but the weight that descended upon her was not enough to crush out a rising tide of rage that beat against the oppression. The cruelty and unfairness of an assault from every side when she had done nothing to deserve such treatment now aroused in Hekate such a fury that it lifted the burden of terror, replacing it with a rage so great she felt she would burst. And it was all Perses' fault! All!

  "Perses, I will destroy you!" she screamed into the hollow void and then turned to face outward. "I swear I will somehow make you more helpless than the many who have died as your victims." Tears poured down her face. "Witness my oath, Mother!" She spun back to look into the blackness of the inner cave. "Witness my oath, king of the dead, in whose realm I now stand."

  "DONE!"

  The wordless, soundless acknowledgement echoed through Hekate's being, shaking her to her core. The staff, to which she had been clinging to keep herself upright, came loose from the ground as she started in surprise. She felt the binding take hold of her, and the realization of what she had done sapped away what little strength remained in her. Misery, dread, and desperation fastened on her. She slipped to the ground, feeling her body shrink into the fragile, bent form of extreme age. A last pang of fear that her father had somehow managed to touch her with his will sent her over the edge into the emptiness of unconsciousness.

  * * *

  "Thief!" The voice creaked rustily as if long unused.

  Hekate blinked up at a young man, who stood over her, his mouth tight with disapproval. Except for his pallid complexion and his severe expression, he would have been a pleasant sight. He was somewhat fairer than the ordinary Ka'ananite, with long, light brown hair, large eyes of a brown so pale as to be nearly golden, a straight nose, and a mouth that was meant to be generous but was pinched back in displeasure.

  She put an arm behind her to lever herself to a sitting position, realizing as she did so that she must have been lying on the ground for some time. She was terribly cold.

  "I am not a thief," Hekate said indignantly. "You must see that my hands are empty. You may take my cloak and examine it, and I will show you that my gown conceals nothing."

  The young man looked contemptuous. "Don't take me for a fool. I realize that the protection over this cave felled you before you could seize any of the treasures left for the king of the dead. That doesn't make you any less a thief for you intended to take what you could."

  "I intended no such thing!" she exclaimed. "I fled here for protection."

  "A liar as well as a thief, then. No one comes to the caves of the dead for protection. That offered by the king of the dead is not the kind a sane person seeks, especially those of your ripe years, who seem to cling all the tighter to life."

  "It depends on what one is fleeing from," Hekate said, fighting to make sense against the terror and hopelessness that filled her. "I have heard that the king of the dead is a merciful god and does not torment the innocent."

  The young man began to look uncertain. "You were threatened with torture?" he asked. "For what?"

  Hekate suddenly realized that she could see him because there were several mage lights, but of a slightly more golden hue than her own, which was a pale silvery blue, hovering around them. Hers must have gone out when she . . . fainted. With that memory came another, of the oath she had sworn to render her father powerless. She uttered a small gasp, and put her hand to her mouth. The young man's mouth twisted with pity.

  "Nothing," she cried, angry all over again. "I had done nothing to deserve such treatment."

  The lips firmed again into displeasure. "Of course. No one ever does anything to deserve punishment."

  All the while the terror and remorse, the despair, permeated Hekate's soul. She turned her head to look out over the blood trough. No ribbons of entrapment stained the floor, but she knew the guhrt was not gone. It had withdrawn again, perhaps even farther into the forest, but it was waiting. This time, likely, it would let her get well away from the caves of the dead, too far for her to seek shelter again, before it revealed itself and seized on her.

  "I was threatened with worse than torment of the body," she snarled. "I was threatened with a binding of the spirit that would reduce me to an automaton, and that automaton would be used for terrible purposes . . . for murder and entrapment. The binding would be forever, for the whole length of my life, and worse yet, even death wouldn't release me. What more awful could happen to me here?"

  "Who could set such a binding on you?" Doubt showed again in the small creases around the golden eyes. "That is no small spell."

  "My father," Hekate replied bitterly, forgetting she wore the guise of the crone.

  Doubt vanished. The young man burst out laughing. "He'd be a mighty sorcerer indeed to still be living and be your father." And then he said more gently, "I think you're a little mad, old woman, and that you did come here to steal. I'll have pity on you, though, and ignore your lies since you haven't stolen anything yet. Go home. You'll find nothing in these caves that could make worthwhile what you'll suffer in seeking for it."

  The laughter nearly stunned Hekate. She could feel sweat cold on her body and she was shuddering continually, whereas he could laugh. She could fight the pain inflicted on her, but to laugh . . . No, he must be protected against the torment she was suffering.

  "I can't go," she cried. "I tell you there's something terrible waiting outside for me. I can't even go across the blood trough. The creature is called a guhrt and it carries the coercion spell. If it touches me, I'm lost. I cannot and will not leave the cave, not even if I die of this agony."

  As she spoke, Hekate righted her staff, set it firmly in the ground, and pulled herself upright with its help. The young man opened his mouth to answer her, but his gaze, which ha
d flicked over the staff, fixed on it.

  "Where did you get that staff?" he asked sharply.

  His urgency drove the lesson she had just learned from Hekate's mind. "My father threw it at me when I couldn't obey him. I had fallen and I couldn't get up."

  But this time the young man did not laugh. His eyes still fixed on the staff, he asked, "How old is your father?"

  "I have no idea," Hekate answered slowly, remembering now that she looked very ancient herself. "But he doesn't look as old as I."

  She was not paying terribly much attention to what they were saying. If the young man questioning her had protection against the spell designed to drive invaders out of the caves of the dead, perhaps she could also build such a spell. The wards would need to be inside, rather than outide.

  "Feel under the handgrip of the staff. Is there a hard knot protruding from the wood? Push it upward."

  Concentrating more on the spell she was trying to form, than on the young man, Hekate simply did what she was told. She was amazed and nearly lost the thread of her spell when the grip parted from the body of the staff. Hurriedly she initiated the spell, before it could fall apart and lash back at her, but it was not really complete. Still it sealed off some of the anguish, enough for her to focus on the grip of the staff, which was loose in her hand. Instinctively, she pulled on it, and a long, thin knife came out of the shaft. She stood looking at it and then at the man who continued to stare at what she held.

  "Then it is my staff," he muttered.

  "You want proof I am no thief?" Hekate thrust both pieces of the staff at him. "Here, take it back."

  He shook his head. "I didn't say you stole the staff. A long, long time ago I dropped it in a back street of Ur-Kabos. I never knew what became of it."

  "It couldn't be so very long ago," Hekate said. "You are a young man—" She stopped abruptly and then continued, "That is, you look to be a young man. Sorcerers are long lived."

  For perhaps a dozen heartbeats he didn't answer and then he said, "It takes one to know one, I suppose."

  Hekate nodded. She saw no point in lying about that. As soon as he began to think about what she had said about the guhrt and the spell of coercion instead of concentrating on driving her out, he would realize she must know magic. And she needed the spell of protection he had. He would be more likely to give it to a fellow sorcerer, she hoped.

  "Is that how you are able to withstand the punishment of the king of the dead for entering his realm?" he continued.

  Hekate slammed the thin knife back into the shaft of the staff and the parts joined invisibly. Then she snorted lightly. "You mean how am I able to withstand the spell you use to frighten people away from the cave?"

  As she said it, Hekate realized that that was the answer. The young man had no protection. It was his spell, so of course it did not affect him. His slight wince told her she had hit her mark and she continued, "What you inflict on invaders of the caves of the dead has nothing to do with the king of the dead. I know what the aura of a god is, and it is not turned on by a trip spell. Oh, no, I know you. We are of the same kind, you and I, and it is more likely that you are a thief and one of long standing than that I am." She shrugged. "As to how I am able to withstand it, I am accustomed to pain. I endure."

  He raised a hand, defensively or apologetically, then sighed and whispered, "Thialuo trouos, panikos, phobos."

  The weight of fear and despair was gone as suddenly as it had fallen upon her when she crossed the blood trough. Hekate sagged against the support of the staff, no longer needing to stiffen herself against screaming and beating her breast or writhing helplessly on the ground.

  "Since you know the truth, and I can't drive you out, I suppose there's no need to make you suffer needlessly," he said. Oddly, there was a kind of eagerness in his voice and stance, but then he seemed to recognize what he had exposed. His body stiffened, and he added, "But don't think I believe you and trust you. I'll watch you to make sure you steal nothing."

  Hekate laughed aloud in the euphoria of relief. "What is there here to steal? I haven't seen—"

  She stopped abruptly as one of the mage lights whisked away toward the wall. Immediately glitterings of silver and gold answered to the light. Hekate saw that there were urns and cups and bowls, goblets and gold-inlaid boxes, and other things standing on shelves.

  She shrugged, still smiling. "So there are treasures. Well, watch all you like. I'll take none of those. However, I fled with nothing, only what I am wearing. If offerings of food and drink are made, I will take those. If you call that stealing, then I will be a thief, but I can't leave and I don't intend to die of thirst and starvation. I'll settle my score with the king of the dead when he demands payment from me."

  Free of agony and able to be aware of subtleties, Hekate noticed a relaxation in the young man. She had seen him make himself rigid, but now understood it was not to resist pain but to hold back from something he desired. Her? An ancient crone? Nonsense. But he was now smiling at her.

  "I can't argue with that. I take the offerings of prepared food and drink myself, but not the dried grain, fruit, or meat or the sealed flasks of date wine or preserved cheeses. Those are stored separately and someone or something gathers them up on the equinoxes and takes them away with the treasure. The food and open pitchers of beer or wine I use."

  Feeling as light and silly as a thistledown now that she had a sanctuary—and possibly even a companion—Hekate said, "Aha, then you are, as I said, a thief of long standing. Do you take the food to feed your hungry wife and children? Would you not be better off doing some work instead of taking the offerings to the king of the dead?"

  "I have no wife and children," the young man said, his voice suddenly flat, his face expressionless. "I can never leave the caves. I am bound here."

  CHAPTER 4

  "Bound?" Hekate echoed. "Who are you? How did such a dreadful fate befall you?"

  He smiled again, but his lips were pulled awry into a grimace. "I remember that I sneered when you said you had done nothing to merit punishment. Now I'm about to say the same thing. I—I was, I think, only in the wrong place at the wrong time and saw something I shouldn't have seen . . ." He shook himself suddenly, oddly like a dog shaking water from his fur. "Come," he added, "there's no need for us to stand here in the cold and dark. My fate isn't quite so dreadful as it appears here."

  Hekate followed readily, although she wondered at the phrasing. How could the fate of being bound to the caves of the dead appear more dreadful in one place than another? However, the answer to that became partly apparent as they crossed the depth of the cave. The ceiling dropped and the cave narrowed as they moved toward the back wall, which permitted the mage lights to wake myriad gleams and glitters in the rock. The oppression caused by the utter blackness beyond the area lit by the mage lights was relieved by the sparks. It was like being surrounded by a starry sky. Hekate was so fascinated that she nearly walked into a wall.

  "Hi! Have a care!" her companion exclaimed, laughing.

  He caught hold of her arm and steered her toward one of what she now saw were several dark passages. Immediately aware that he could be drawing her into a maze of caves in which she could be lost, Hekate fixed a marker spell above head height on the wall of the passage.

  The opening was dark, without any of the crystal glow that had enlivened the walls and ceiling of the larger cave, and Hekate saw with considerable surprise that that was no accident. The walls and ceiling had been coated with some black substance, perhaps tar or pitch. Then the passsage turned sharply to the right, and Hekate realized the crystal that lit the walls had been deliberately covered. Ahead of her the passage was bright with fixed mage lights, which would have been visible as light from the front of the cave.

  The passage turned right again, opening into an irregularly shaped chamber, not as large or high as the first cave, but of a comfortable size and lit as bright as day. Hekate stood in the doorway, gaping. Opposite her, a wall of golden brown wa
ter near the ceiling broke up into myriad cascades and poured down the back wall. Instinctively she looked at the floor, expecting it to be awash, but only a shallow trough carried away the runoff. The young man, who had turned to see why she was not following, laughed.

  Then Hekate saw that the streams were frozen in stone with no more than a sheen of water on the surface. That gave an even greater realism to what appeared to be a lace of foam at the foot of the cascade. She shook her head in amazement.

  "Beautiful, isn't it?" The smile on the young man's lips grew wry. "Thank you. I've been here so long, I don't see it any more. You've given it back to me."

  "All of it is beautiful," Hekate said, glancing up and all around, awe in her voice.

  To the right and the left, on either side of the cascade, the walls of the chamber were patterned with what seemed to be tightly pleated flows of different colored stone. These too showed a sheen of wet on the surface, which gleamed in the light of arcs of mage light. From the ceiling hung delicate flower-like projections; at first Hekate thought they were very strange flowers with thin, sharp-pointed petals growing from small cracks in the roof without stems or leaves. Then she realized the "flowers" were also of stone, translucent and delicate as feathers. Those too glowed brightly from mage lights caught inside.

  Hekate was deeply impressed. She had power, but such an extravagant use was beyond even what Perses could expend. However, the slightly envious awe changed to solid appreciation when her mage-sense told her that the power was not coming from the young man himself. As she had bound the illusion disguising the valley of the Nymphae to the power in the earth, so had he done with the mage lights. The floor and walls of the place were threaded with lines of power and each mage light had its own source. But not many could see or use that earth power.

  "That is a very clever use of the veins of the earth," she said. "Not many sorcerers can even sense the blood running through them."

  He lifted a brow. "But you can, and you have cleverly told me so. The power warms the room too." He gestured for Hekate to enter. "If you've seen all you want to see, come in. But there are caverns far more beautiful than this chamber. This is only convenient because it's so close to the entrance. If you'd like to see the deeper caverns, I'll gladly show them to you."