The Hag of Calix

by Rod Fisher

  * * * *

  Dawn peeped through a small grated window into Felic's sleeping chamber. A square of pale criss-crossed light patterned the wall above his bed. He was awake and feeling lazily refreshed. He had enjoyed a dreamless sleep on his bed of furs, lulled by a strange vibrating pulse that seemed to come from within the rock shelf that was his resting place. He watched the grid of light brighten as the dawn intensified, and his thoughts lingered on the events that brought him to such strange surroundings: His fine swift galley, sent to the bottom by the weakness that was her strength--the long, sleek hull that could move so swiftly to outmaneuver and ram the enemy. She was betrayed by her length and lightness. As the crew fought the storm, a mountain of water, a wave of monster proportions, was their undoing.

  The galley had been swept up and hurled forward from the summit, rolling itself into a flotsam of splintered planks and tangled rigging. Then the wind that had created the freak wave bore down in full fury, ripping the crests into stinging sheets of water, scattering the debris and survivors.

  He was especially sorrowed to lose the friendship and matchless valor of his second-in-command, Antelo, whose skill with weapons could turn the tide of battle, and whose counsel could lighten the pressure of decision.

  But it was a new dawn. With no resources and no plans he must consider the proposition of Queen Gwenay. A chance to recoup his losses was in the offing.

  Felic's attention was drawn from the pattern of light above him by a movement of the entrance curtain. His thoughts were jerked into the present by the spectacle of the Calixian queen entering the chamber. She wore a creamy, diaphanous gown, gathered at the hips a by a jeweled girdle of damascened silver. The morning sun behind her revealed her lithe figure and left little to the imagination. She glided gracefully to sit next to him on the couch. Again, the scent from her hair, as she leaned over him, scattered his wits.

  "You are awake, are you not, Felic?"

  "I am."

  Her eyes mocked his discomfiture.

  "And did you rest well?"

  "I did." He rose up on his elbow. "A strange thing...I felt a vibration in this rock. Even now I can sense it."

  "Yes, it is there. You feel the presence of the Qalandor, the eternal Qalandor." Her almond eyes glittered. "It is the reason you are here. Will you come with me?" She led him through a labyrinth of passages; the humming vibration grew stronger. Felic began to feel the immense power represented by the phenomenon, and also, as it grew more intense, he began to perceive a rhythmical gap in its cycle.

  They entered a circular cavern. It was suffused with pale green light emanating from a pulsing sculpture in the center. Most of the light came from the depths of a many-faceted crystal, an arm's length in diameter and roughly spherical. It nestled in golden leaves that narrowed to long graceful stems. The stems arched up and hooked over like cobras, seven in all, each with a godlike end of wrought gold containing a tear-shaped precious gem, somewhat like opal, and the size of a fist.

  Felic watched what seemed to be an interaction between the crystal and its several pods. Each gem flashed inner fire in its turn, and the flash was caught and suffused within the roiling mists of the crystal. As he watched, he realized one opal was missing, which accounted for the rhythmic gap in the cycle.

  Gwenay gripped his arm and turned him to face her. "Look at me closely, Felic. How many seasons have I seen?"

  "I am not sure I understand...I know not, Queen, but it is said you have lived a century or more. On the outside they call you the Hag of Calix".

  "How well I know what I am called!" She was impatient.

  "Come now. How old am I?"

  Felic hesitated, not sure what his response should be.

  "When I was exiled from Dagra, I was four score and three. Yes, I was the hag they remember."

  "Then how..."

  "How?" She gestured at the pulsing flower. "This--the Qalandor--once the treasured heritage of the Arnak family; it has restored my youth and my beauty. With this I have had power over time."

  Felic was baffled. "Power over time, how is that . . ."

  "Unfortunately the cursed thing is incomplete," she interrupted. "Its powers are crippled and weakening. Felic, if the seventh pod is not filled . . ." Her eyes burned with the obsession. "You will help me find the missing gem and return it to its place here in the Qalandor. That is your mission!"

  Felic shrugged. "I have no knowledge of this gem or where it is to be found."

  "Ah, but I know its hiding place."

  "Then what do you want of me?"

  "You will take me to it."

  "And in return?"

  "Anything you wish."

  "I had a friend. I think he's dead." His voice caught. "Could the Qalandor return him to me?"

  A shadow of pain darkened Gwenay's lovely features.

  "If that were possible, Felic m'Lans, I would have my beloved Jult with me now." She dropped her head and turned quickly, leading the way back through the labyrinth. Felix followed, watching the sensuous swing of her hips and mentally trying to equate that with a woman of her age.

  Tword was waiting in the main chamber. He held out a ring to Gwenay. She examined it for a moment, and then paled at the sudden recognition of what she held. She faltered to a sitting position on the dais, looking incredulously at the ring. Tword watched, stolid and emotionless. "Where did you come by this?" she gasped.

  "Man of scarred mouth, braided beard...big soldier."

  "Where is the man?"

  "Way out over."

  "Did he speak his name?"

  Tword screwed the leathery creases of his wizened face into a picture of concentration. Failing to remember, he shrugged uncertainly.

  "Could he have been named 'Bargonast'?" she prompted. The dwarf's bright blue eyes flashed. "Barg-o-nast," he nodded, "He was Barg-o-nast."