A Taste of Magic

by Andre Norton

  Had Alysen found a way through that weave?

  I praised the Green Ones that I’d thought to take the hunter’s wood ax. I retrieved it from the half-pocket in my pack and faced the wall of thorns. Close to it, I could see that there was a wide path that ran parallel to it, heading west. Perhaps the woods wanted me to follow this path. I knelt and felt boot prints—Alysen had come this way. I thought I’d been through every bit of these woods before, and I had not remembered such an impenetrable thicket. But I had not been this way for nearly a year.

  Suddenly I heard a sharp cry—and yet I didn’t hear anything.

  The call had been within my head, an eerie, inhuman sound that was repeated.

  Then there was a profound silence.

  I took a step back from the weave to get a better look at it, and I stumbled against Dazon. My eyes grew wide to see the very grass acting like hundreds of miniature serpents, stretching up and writhing around my ankles. The enchanted grass couldn’t hold me fast, I was too strong for it. I turned to look at the other horses. I would lead them out of here, return for Alysen, and … Something stopped me, a shiver that raced down my back.

  I didn’t hear anything, not Dazon breathing, not the rustle of the branches in the breeze, not even the thundering of my heart. The unnatural silence festered within me and I sucked in a great gulp of air. I didn’t hear my gasp. I truly didn’t hear anything.

  Dazon’s nostrils flared, and he swung his neck, snapping with his yellow teeth. He raised one foot, tearing the grass around his shank, then slamming the hoof down as if he were a war horse with pointed battle shoes meant to savage something on the ground in front of him.

  I swung the small ax so that its flat head smacked heavily against the palm of my hand. There was sound, I heard it, though it was far softer than it should have been.

  Dazon showed his teeth again and lifted both hooves, rearing back, tearing more grass, and slamming them down, sending up a spray of water from the marshy ground. The other horses were agitated now, too.

  “No!” I put all the volume I could muster into the word, and though it came out as a whisper, the horses held. Bastien had trained them well, lessoning me along with them. Moving deliberately, with no betrayal of haste, I placed my free hand on Dazon’s head so that my fingers were flat against the blaze between his eyes.

  Then I searched within myself, calling on my wyse-power so I could communicate with him.

  Again I heard the cry, and again it came from inside my head and far from this clearing. Still, my ears took in only the odd silence of this place.

  I studied Dazon, standing as if he’d been carved from wood, allowing the grass to wrap around his shanks again. The other horses copied his pose, keeping their eyes on me, though their nostrils flared with worry.

  “Wait here,” I mouthed, intending the order for all the horses and praying they would not bolt.

  I approached the weave, nearly stumbling again when the vine of some creeping flower twisted up my ankle. I hacked at the vine with the ax and continued, stopping just before the weave. I looked to the parallel path, which I could tell ran straight for only a few yards. The failing light made it impossible to see more than a dozen feet.

  “I will be back soon,” I shouted to the horses. I prayed they heard the whisper that came out. Then I took the path, intending to follow it along the wall of thorns for only a few minutes, just until I could find the girl.

  Why did Alysen rush away from me? And why charge down this path? How could she not have seen the oddness and the danger in these woods?

  I cut around one curve and then another and another, realizing I was almost doubling back on myself and worrying about the horses—and Alysen. Then I called upon the wyse-power, channeling it rapidly. I extended my tongue just beyond my lips, tasting the air. I detected a sharp sourness and the sickening foulness of old death.

  I looked to the wall of thorns and crouched at the base. It was as if they’d been deliberately planted and nurtured by magic. I turned to retrace my steps, discovering that another wall had sprung up behind me. I felt my chest grow tight and I spun back, discovering that the path ahead now led to the edge of a sunken cup filled with short growth still yellow from a harsh winter. At least the light was better in the cup, from a gap in the canopy above it.

  Alysen knelt in the center of the depression, only partially cloaked in the shadows from the wall of thorns that grew higher at the margins.

  A mix of emotions flooded me—anger that she’d run ahead, terror that something would happen to her in these woods before I could get her to the Nanoo, concern for Dazon, and wonder at the enchanted thorny wall.

  I called her name, but no sound came out. I called again, louder, detecting a whisper that couldn’t have carried beyond a hand’s breadth in front of my face.

  I edged closer, drawing a knife with my free hand and looking furtively to my right and left, hoping to spy something in the weave to explain the silence—and at the same time hoping nothing was there. Each step was difficult, as the grass was thicker and taller here, and it fought with unnatural strength to hold me in place.

  Eventually I reached the edge of the cup, looking back to confirm what I’d feared—the wall was growing behind me, shutting off the way to Dazon and the other horses.

  I heard sound now, faint as if it came from afar, far distance. It was a cry, like I’d heard in my head minutes ago, filled with pain and panic. Now, however, I could hear it with my ears, though barely. And I could tell it was coming from a small creature in front of Alysen.

  I stepped into the cup, walking down the side and struggling with each step against the grass and vines that continued to grasp at me. Closer to Alysen, I saw that she wore gloves, and that they were torn from a tangle of vines she pulled at. Like the wall, these vines had thorns but appeared far more supple. As I came closer still, I stared unblinking. She pulled one vine loose and held it as it twisted vigorously and tried to wrap back around the creature.

  A moment more and I was in front of her and the small beast, bending over and sheathing the knife, then gripping the whip length she held. She did not look up at me, but nodded to confirm my presence. She pulled another vine away and shouted. I strained to hear her.

  “Watch for the white thorns. I think they carry some poison. Look to the creature’s leg.”

  The stem broke away from Alysen, writhing back and forth as if the dark green length was part of a sentient thing. I brought the ax down on it and was rewarded with a shower of sticky, stinking sap. The smell was so strong that it settled firmly in my mouth, causing me to gag. The horrid scent was nearly overpowering, and I had to concentrate to keep on my feet.

  I brought the ax down again and again, cutting all the way through the wicked tendril. I picked up the broken vine and hurled it away, feeling a thick, oily sap running down my arm. The sap was the source of the overpowering smell, and I felt myself swoon. I pulled on the arcane strength of my wyse-power and barely managed to force the scent away before it completely overwhelmed me.

  By the Green Ones, how could I best this … thing?

  5

  There was considerable magic—and malice—in the vines, else their odor would not have struck me so. I continued to use the wyse, but this time rather than scenting and tasting for danger, I implored it to keep the oppressive scent from rendering me unconscious. I could not force it away altogether, nor could I get the taste completely out of my mouth. So I worked faster, hacking at the next length of vine Alysen pulled free. A few more vines sheared, and I could better see the strangeness of the creature.

  A bird? Not like any I’d seen before.

  The creature’s fear was palpable. Round eyes looking too large for its diminutive, feather-covered sphere of a head stared up at me. Stared through me—as I did not believe the little beast actually saw anything, so terror-stricken it seemed. From an oddly curved beak came a sound that was close to a whimper, the mewling I’d heard earlier in my head.

&
nbsp; Blood-crusted silvery feathers covered its head, shoulders, and webbed wings. Fur covered the rest of it, a mottled gray-white not unlike the dappling on Alysen’s pony. It had sharp claws at the ends of its wings, and at the ends of its stubby legs. Its body was the size of a rock melon, though tapering near its neck.

  Alysen leaned forward a little, carefully working to detach another confining stem that had wrapped around its chest. I hacked at the offending vine with the ax, cringing when the potent sap threatened my enhanced senses again. I don’t know if Alysen realized I was in distress, but she worked faster now, pulling away the smallest vines, yanking them out of the ground and throwing them over her shoulder.

  When nearly all these threadlike vines were pulled away, she reached into a pouch at her belt and pulled out what looked like a pinch of withered leaves. She held it over the bird-creature, a scarce fingernail distance from the formidable-looking beak. At the same time, she started rocking back and forth and crooning, the sound so soft I was certain that I only imagined it. Some of the thread-vines had wrapped around my legs, but there was none holding Alysen. I cut at the vines that held me, while I watched her and the feathered beast.

  The creature did not blink, just kept staring with those wide, frightened eyes. But it moved. It snapped its beak, making a grab for Alysen’s fingers. My hand shot out to snatch Alysen’s arm away and pull her out of reach of the creature. But she struck back at me with her other hand, then pushed. I tottered, weak from the malign smells of this enchanted place.

  Once more the beak made a move to grab her fingers.

  “Alysen,” I shouted. “Get away!”

  I could visualize her hand being torn into tattered strips of flesh, in spite of the glove she wore.

  Alysen might not have heard me, for she didn’t look in my direction. She shook her head violently as the beak scraped her gloved palm. What she had offered the beast was gone, save for some fragment of a dried leaf.

  The creature stiffened, and Alysen tried to pull away the rest of the thread-vines that held it around what passed for its shoulders. Finally she looked my way.

  “Eri!” Her shout was a hush. “Cut it free!” Despite its softness, her voice had the same commanding tone as Bastien’s had held on occasion.

  I didn’t argue; this wasn’t the time or the place for it. I used my ax to slice through the rest of the plant, the stench from the sap growing stronger with each cut. I coughed once, breathed deep, and started coughing again as if I were in the throes of a lung sickness. I drew back, coughing deeper still and feeling as if my chest had caught fire, growing weak. Still, I fought the vines, crushing some under my boots as they writhed back toward the creature.

  A moment later, struggling for breath, I helped Alysen lift the creature. I dropped the ax and cradled the thing in my arms. Alysen picked up the ax and walked around me and up the side of the cup. She hesitated a moment at the wall of thorns that had grown up to block the path we’d taken to get here. Then she followed the lip of the cup around to the east, pulling with each step as small vines clutched at her feet. Though I was fatigued and nauseous, I now had an easier time pulling free of the brush than I had before.

  She found a gap in the wall and slipped through it. There was so little light—just a world of shifting bands of blacks and grays, the tree trunks the darkest slashes. I’m not sure how we found our way back to Dazon and the other horses. It took us quite awhile, and maybe it was only luck that brought us to the clearing. Alysen used the ax to cut at the thickest vines that twined around the horses’ shanks, then she and the horses followed me away from this horrid place.

  I didn’t stop until I could hear my ragged breath and the grass no longer whipped around my feet. Then I sagged to my knees, still holding the creature close and feeling its warmth through my clothes. The shadows were not so thick here, as we’d found our way to another clearing, this one a little wetter than what we’d already crossed. At its edge ran a stream that had overflowed its banks.

  I sat the creature on the soggy ground in front of me. Alysen was quick to join us, but she stood, bent over and staring at the thing. I could see it far better here, and its appearance sent a shiver down my back. It was a singular creature, like nothing I’d ever glimpsed before.

  The claws at the ends of its wings were actually tiny hands, like some primate’s. And the feet at the ends of its legs were not birdlike, in fact they looked almost human—save for the curling talons, which withdrew and extended while we watched.

  Alysen sprinted to the draft horse, searching through one of her bags. I returned my attention to the creature. What I’d first thought wings were actually membranes like those a tree squirrel possessed. So the creature could glide and grip branches.

  “What manner of beast are you?”

  It looked at me and made a mewling sound, which I could hear plainly. The noise echoed inside my head.

  “And what caused the deadness in those woods, making it so difficult to hear? Why the writhing grass, and the vines with the foul sap? Why did Alysen run from me and to you, little beast? Did she hear you calling out? What magic is in her? Is there magic in you?” The last two questions I’d asked softly so Alysen couldn’t hear.

  A moment more and Alysen ran back, squatting opposite me and trying not to get her dress soaked—a futile attempt, as it was already damp and dirty. She started crooning again, louder and musical, and I found myself enjoying it. She held a small jar, uncorked it, and put some paste on her fingers. Crooning a different tune now, she began rubbing the unguent on the creature’s worst wounds. I had not known that Alysen possessed wyse healing magic. But then, I didn’t know much about her at all.

  As I listened, I looked skyward. The sun had set and twilight was nearing, and I wanted to find someplace safer to stay. This clearing was too close to the thorny walls and twisting grass, and the place of unnerving silence.

  We must have shelter of some sort, I told myself. I did not believe we could reach the Nanoo’s Standing Stones soon enough for my satisfaction now, even though they were only a few miles from here. We’d have to find a way around the thorny walls, and that would take quite some time. I decided to scout for something suitable closer; perhaps one of the massive willow trees that dotted the woods could provide shelter enough.

  “Alysen, stay here with … that creature and with the horses. I will return.”

  She didn’t look up or halt her crooning, and I refused to wait until she gave me her full attention. So I headed west, following the swollen creek. I wanted to stay near fresh water—that would be a necessity for the horses. I listened to the creek’s pleasant babbling, and I breathed deep. The stench from that malicious weave and the grabbing vines was lessening. A dozen steps more and the stench was nearly gone. I took a few more long steps, inhaled, and extended the tip of my tongue.

  I shivered.

  By chance I’d thought to bring the ax with me, and had stuck it in my belt. It could be useful if I came across any more thorny walls. Though against the peril I scented now, the half-size ax would be as useful as trying to bring down one of the ancient, giant trees with it.

  The scent I tasted was a fose-bear.

  Of all the dangers in the depths of this old forest—the dangers known to most of those who lived near its boundaries—the fose-bears were the worst. Mountains of dusty brown fur, they held rule here. There were tales of other strange and monstrous creatures, glimpsed here and there, set to song and stories. But the fose-bears were more than tales; they were horribly real, intelligent, formidable, and always hungry.

  I began to retreat, one cautious backward step at a time, keeping my gaze on the westward flow of the creek and continuing to taste the breeze. Had the air not been so fouled by the weave of plants, and had the sap from the vines not so choked my senses, I would have tasted the bear sooner.

  I shivered again.

  And if I could detect the presence of that monster by using my wyse-sense, no doubt it could smell me in return
. The senses of beasts are far superior, I believed, to my magically enhanced abilities.

  Again I entered the slight clearing. Alysen had stopped her crooning and spread more healing salve down the bird-beast’s shoulders. She noticed me, and I gave her a warning signal, then I went directly to Dazon. I reached into my pack and retrieved a thong attached to a cylinder. I scowled as I carefully unscrewed one end. Bastien early on had impressed on me the need for keeping weapons always ready at hand. But never before had I cause to use this one. There existed a chance that the contents had suffered through age.

  “A fose-bear?” Alysen kept her voice low. It was clear she had pulled the worry from my mind. “There’s a fose-bear out there?”

  The feathered creature in front of her made no attempt to copy her quiet. The crook bill opened, and it was far from a silent cry that issued forth. The sound was harsh, high-pitched, and it cut loudly through the clearing.

  6

  Even though the bird-creature was sleeked down with the healing salve, the feathers stirred and puffed until its face seemed twice as large as it had a heartbeat before. The creature struggled to free itself from Alysen’s hold and managed to sit up.

  I don’t know why I then made the choice I did.

  I raced toward Alysen and knelt in front of her, cylinder in my hand. I looked nowhere but straight into the great round eyes of the feathered beast. I drew upon that same fraction of talent as I had to calm Dazon earlier. This time I visualized something that might enthrall a bird, as the creature was part that. I had to quiet it, lest it bring the fose-bear directly to us because of its high-pitched squawks.

  I quickly coaxed my wyse-sense in the growing darkness, and in my mind it manifested as a bright beacon of light. In the air in front of me, however, it blossomed as a pale blue globe the size of a large apple, with undulating tendrils. Motes of a darker blue light flickered at the margins. I took the cylinder and touched it to the globe, then I raised the cylinder and poured out its contents. The globe flickered and crackled and popped like a diminutive fire.