The place was called a Pocket. In many ways it resembled a Fluxland, in that it was a very substantial and substantial-looking reality designed, built, and maintained by the mind of a wizard. It differed only in size. While a Fluxland could be larger than an Anchor, a Pocket was generally small enough that one could see the Void all around from its center.
This one had a lot of trees, a stream running through it near the house, a bright whitish-gray sky, and, in the middle, on a small knoll, a rather standard-looking six-room, two-story house. It was not terribly well hidden from those who could discover it, but no strings that any but Coydt could see led to or from it, and it was well away from any stringer routes, although less than a day’s ride from Anchor Logh. It seemed to stand out, but in the context of World it was smaller than the smallest needle in the largest haystack.
She had not been imprisoned here, and had full run of the place except for Coydt’s own two-room complex in back of the first floor and just off the small kitchen. She had her own room, had access to a very modern shower and toilet, and except for the fact that she still had only the clothes she’d had on when kidnapped, she was quite comfortable. She had not only not been mistreated or molested; she was almost completely ignored.
Now, though, Coydt, who’d been away for a while, had returned and a knock on her door by Yorek summoned her. “The boss wants to see you,” he said simply, and that was enough.
He sat in a comfortable, padded desk chair, rocking slightly and smoking a cigar. He looked over a bunch of figures on a piece of paper one last time as she entered and took a seat on a small couch two meters from him. For a moment he did not acknowledge her, but then he looked up, dismissed Yorek, sighed, and turned to her, putting the paper down.
“It’s time for us to bargain,” he said simply.
She was startled. “Bargain? What do I have to bargain with?”
“Just hold on a moment and listen to me. The boys told you what a Soul Rider was?”
She nodded. “I’m not sure I understand it, but I’ve always known it was there. Sometimes I almost think I can hear its thoughts.”
“Probably because it entered at birth. It’s so closely integrated with you that you and it are almost one being. That makes you dangerous.”
“If it’s so powerful, why am I still here?”
He chuckled. “Well, it’s not human, so it doesn’t think the way humans do. It knows there’s a big plot going on. It knows, too, that if it takes me on, it will certainly cost your life, although possibly not its own. It’s curious. That’s the way they are. It won’t act until it knows all the facts and is able to do the most damage. Short of your life, it won’t move to protect you. For example, did you notice that while we’ve been talking, you have removed every single stitch of clothing you had on and are now waiting there totally naked with your legs spread apart?”
She jumped. Until that moment, she hadn’t been the slightest bit aware of it. She looked down for the clothes, but for some reason just could not bring herself to reach down, pick them up, and put them back on.
“That’s how simple and effortless spells are,” he told her casually. “In point of fact, you don’t feel the least bit embarrassed or uncomfortable, do you? You feel natural and normal that way, even though you know you shouldn’t.”
It was true. The idea of clothing seemed somehow unnatural, even repugnant to her, yet she knew how she should feel and even knew that she felt this way because of the man’s will.
If he was trying to frighten her, he was succeeding admirably.
“I’m demonstrating power, no more,” he told her. “This is absurdly simple. Child’s play. If I so desired, I could make you fall madly, passionately in love with me, willing to do anything I wanted. I could make you my slave, my plaything, and you would love every moment of it.” Suddenly he stood up. “On your knees before me, slave!”
She was off the couch and on her knees in front of him, head bowed, before she realized what happened. “Yes, my master,” she responded. For a few minutes he put her through her paces, ordered her to do odd gymnastics and crave odd sex from him. He stopped her just short of actually performing, though, and somewhat released her. Her rationality returned, but not her control. She was a jumble of emotions, disgusted with herself, repulsed by Coydt, and terrified of his power, and yet she knew that if he ordered it, she would do it again, and more.
“That was a demonstration of the mental and emotional spells. Now, stand up. Hold out your right arm.”
She did as instructed, and was horrified to see not an arm but a slithering, pulsating sucker-covered tentacle, one of a dozen. She oozed slime and filth; reeked of garbage. She wanted to scream, but nothing came out.
And, just as suddenly, she was herself again and her arm was her arm, but she was badly shaken.
“That was no mental trick. You really were that creature. I could do that in a moment and make you love it. I can make you old, young, male, female, human, animal, or monster. I can do anything I want with you. Do you believe that?”
She nodded, trying to stop shaking.
“I can do more than that. Little is permanent here in Flux, and your Soul Rider knows it more than any. Everything in Anchor, though, is permanent, including anything you might be when entering Anchor from Flux. Your mother and the Soul Rider aren’t concerned about any spell I may cast, since they can remove it. It might take time and be a lot of trouble, but they can do it. However, I can cast a delayed spell that will make the Flux to you seem as hard and impenetrable as stone. I can cast you as I will, send you into Anchor, and you cannot get back to Flux. Without it, the spell can not be seen or analyzed, much less broken, for to take you back into Flux by force would be instant death to you. Now, how shall I send you back to your mother?”
The question was rhetorical, if terrifying, and required no response.
He sat back down in his chair and lit another cigar. “Now comes the bargain. Refuse it, and I will let my imagination run wild and then send you back—only you’ll know. You won’t be able to do anything about it, but you’ll know. Do you want that?”
She shook her head. “No—please!”
He grinned, enjoying himself. “All right, then. The alternative is to be a part of a little experiment of mine. Human beings are animals. Some animals other than humans think, I believe. Certainly, if the Soul Rider is an animal of some sort, it thinks. I have been wondering for some time what would happen if that were all somebody had to work with. No tools, no artifacts. Back to the beginning, to the first people. I have devised a rather complex spell to see. The spell is of a kind rarely used, because it’s unbreakable. The reason it is so is a Gordion knot of mathematics, but the basics are that it is a spell one takes voluntarily on oneself with a proviso that only the wielder can break it. And in the spell is a prohibition against doing just that. It is, in fact, the sort of spell your mother used to make sure she stayed a saint.”
She had a knot in the pit of her stomach. “What . . . will it do?”
“Neither memory nor physical appearance would be changed. The mental alterations basically consist of a translation of memory and thought from one language into another. To you, there would be no change at all, but as the language is a nonvocal one, you could neither speak, understand, read, or write, although you would, of course, hear normally. Artifacts—man-made things—would be a mystery to you, even though intellectually you would recognize and know them. The basic needs would be paramount, the social inhibitions minimal. The physical part of the spell would prevent others from circumventing the rest and would adapt your body so that you could survive the elements. Do you follow me so far?”
“You’d make me some kind of animal.”
“No. You’d have free will and your full memory and intellect. Flux power could be used in defense or in self-preservation, but only for that. You are a big, strong, powerful girl and you’ll stay that way, forever young, athletic, and beautiful. You could defend yourself in Anchor, I suspect. And—here’s the sugar. There is a way, and one way only, to break the spell. I won’t tell you how, but it cannot be done by you. If your mother, or one of the Nine, can figure that out and is willing to pay the price, you can be freed.”
“So that’s it. You expect my mother to pay this price or whatever.”
“Well, it’ll be a clear ransom, at least. Price for freedom. And no matter what, you’ll have your youth, beauty, and intellect and you will be free in Flux and Anchor to go anywhere you want. An adjunct to the spell will give you the basics—seeing strings, finding or making basic food and water— and they’ll come to you as you need them. That’s the bargain, and it’s take it or leave it. You must see, of course, that I’m taking a chance with it. I’m betting your ransom will not be paid, and therefore your Soul Rider is going to be stuck in a nearly immortal body limited to the Flux powers you can use—which are purely defensive. But if the ransom is paid, now or in the future, that’s fine, too, for the result will make the Soul Rider’s job more difficult and mine easier. Will you accept the spell, or shall I do my worst? It’s up to you.”
She sat back a moment and closed her eyes, trying to think clearly. O.K., Soul Rider or whoever you are, what do you say? But there was no answer, only a feeling of inevitability. To be stuck forever in Anchor as a creature, mental and physical, of Coydt’s warped imagination, or to take living like an animal, but free, with the possibility, however remote, of having the spell lifted. The agent of Hell had made a terrible offer, but there was no choice.
“I’ll take your ‘experiment’ or whatever you want to call it,” she told him. “I don’t see I really have a choice.”
“I kind of hoped you’d see it that way. Oh, by the way—one other little part of the spell is that you will not recognize me or my helpers if you ever see them again, unless we want you to. Forget revenge and just see what kind of life you can live. I’m real curious myself, not to mention curious to see if the Soul Rider can break a spell like this if it has to.”
“When?” she asked softly.
“Now,” he replied. “Just relax and put your head back. No coercion can be used, but I can ease it along and help you. Now, even with your eyes shut, you should see it in your mind. You don’t have to understand it, just see it. Do you?”
And she did see, an incomprehensible spider’s web of crisscrossing lines, long and short, curled and straight, in a series of knotty patterns so complex they almost, but not quite, merged into one mass.
“Now that is what you do in your own mind. It’s simple. See it? Grasp it, then make your own pattern just like it. Just think it through.”
It was a similar mass, but there were only a few strings in a very straightforward pattern. She concentrated on it, imagined a duplicate of it in her mind. The first faded out, leaving only hers.
“Now, if you wish this spell, just merge that little pattern of yours to the one you see and then just think, ‘I freely accept this spell upon myself.’ Go ahead. That’s all there is to it.”
It was as if two long, gnarled balls of string, one tiny and one huge, were merged together and their loose ends tied. I freely accept this spell upon myself, she thought, not really understanding what was happening nor fully able to grasp the reality of the situation. The two spells knotted, merged, glowed, and then seemed to flow into her. She felt suddenly terribly dizzy, as if she were falling, and she found herself confused. It was impossible to think, and she was falling. . . .
6
MUTE WITNESS
She had awakened slowly and dizzily on damp grass. It took a while before her head allowed her to sit up and for her eyes to focus properly, but the more she moved, the more it all subsided. She did not know the place, but when she finally managed to get to her feet and walk a little ways, she reached a road and saw at the end of it the huge wall and the old, thick gate. It was certainly the west gate of Anchor Logh, and she was inside.
The scene confused her for a moment, but the memories crept in. She remembered the church, the shooting, the abduction and long ride, the time in the Pocket and the terrible demonstration of Coydt’s power. She also remembered the bargain, but couldn’t quite sort it out. Certainly she felt quite normal—in fact, quite good. Although she would have liked a reflection, what she could see of her body looked totally unchanged. Whatever the evil man had done, it didn’t seem so bad. But, then, would it? She wondered about that, remembering how easily he had manipulated her mind.
There were some people working near the gate and she walked over to them calmly and boldly. Her folks must know that she was back and all right. She was halfway to them when one looked up and noticed her, then started yelling and pointing, and others also turned and looked and there was more incomprehensible jabber. They ran to her, and a man said to a woman some ridiculous string of barking noises, and she answered in kind. She tried to speak to them, to find out what all the excitement was about, since she still feared a Coydt trick, but her mouth just couldn’t form the words. All talking got her was a quick sore throat.
The woman barked something, and then the man nodded and threw a jacket over her for some incomprehensible reason. She screamed and tore it off. It burned like fire, and the onlookers gaped, amazed, at real burn-like marks where the coat had been. The pain had been intense, although it faded quickly. The whole thing scared and confused her and the people, but finally one of them took charge and led her down and into the government station that was part of the entry gate itself. She looked around, confused at the inner office, and so just stood there as bedlam continued to erupt around her. In the midst of all these people she felt very confused and very much alone. The walls seemed to close in on her, and she felt rising panic and a shortness of breath.
“She won’t stay inside, and when we tried to put clothes on her, it burned her like a hot stove, although the marks faded fast,” said the customs officer. “She either won’t or can’t talk or understand us, although we’ve gotten a few very basic things over in sign language. She was pretty hungry, but totally ignored the knife and fork and seemed unable to pour her own water out of a pitcher into a glass. She kept trying to stick her hand in. In all my years this close to Flux I never saw anything like it.”
Kasdi and Mervyn both nodded gravely at this, but were most anxious to see Spirit. She had been recognized immediately, of course, but it was clear from the first that she was under a ton of binding spells. They had dispatched word immediately, and both wizards had ridden hard all afternoon to reach the gate. Kasdi’s father and Cloise had wanted to come, but these were matters best dealt with by magic, and in Flux.
“And when she had to pee—pardon, Sister—she totally ignored our bathrooms and just squatted outside and went. Messy. And we have modern toilets, too!”
They mostly ignored the little bureaucrat and made straight for the girl, who was now sitting under a tree near the gate, just out of sight of the main road.
When Spirit saw Sister Kasdi coming towards her, she felt mixed emotions. On the one hand, here at last was her true mother, looking very grave and very concerned, and even after all this it felt nice. But here, too, was a living legend and by no choice of hers the cause of her problems. The old guy she didn’t recognize at all.
She stood and faced her real mother, surprised and shocked that she nearly towered over the older woman. Legends aren’t supposed to be small and frail-looking. They stood there a moment, looking at each other, both unsure of what to do next. Finally, Kasdi approached, put her arms around Spirit, and hugged, and Spirit found herself crying and hugging back.
Mervyn let them have their reunion as he watched. “Interesting,” he said to himself, although the little customs man was still there and thought himself addressed.
“What’s interesting?”
“Huh? Oh, the clothes.”
“But she isn’t wearing any!”
“Well, yes, but Sister Kasdi is. You said there was a burning when the jacket was put on the girl; yet there’s no effect when her mother’s clothing touches her. The spell is quite specific, it seems. This is going to be a tough one, I think. Coydt’s mind is, ah, shall we say, one of a kind.”
Sign language was the only true medium of communication possible, but Spirit managed, after a dozen tries, to ask why none of the other family was there. Patiently, Kasdi tried by pointing and gestures to tell her that they were deep in Anchor and that she had to go back into Flux with them. Spirit was disappointed, but she knew that they would get word to her parents and her grandfather quickly. She realized that all the things Coydt had done to her could only be examined and possibly fixed in Flux, though, and it would be better to do it this time among people trying to help her.
Kasdi’s sincere emotion at seeing her had triggered an odd response after all the resentment. The relief and love there seemed genuine, all the more so because it was spontaneous and in Anchor. She still did not feel close or kin to this strange woman, but a great deal of the anger and resentment was very suddenly gone.
It would be for the local authorities to determine how and when she had been brought here. The first business was to get into Flux and see just what in fact had been done. This would be Mervyn’s job—he was the analyzer, the diagnostician, and he knew all the funny little tricks of the trade.
They brought horses, but Spirit refused to mount hers. She knew she had ridden them quite often and in fact had loved to ride, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it now. They tried putting her on using a couple of big, burly guards, but she kept losing her balance and falling off, and they eventually gave up. The failure disturbed her and began to bring home just what changes Coydt had forced upon her.
So they walked, the other two leading the horses, out across the apron and into Flux, drawing many stares as they went. Spirit realized that they would take forever this way and motioned for them to mount and ride. She was was always in good condition—perhaps she could at least give them some lead.
She could hardly outdistance a horse, but she found a steady jogging run to be no trouble at all, and they were amazed at not only the speed she could maintain but also the fact that, fairly far out, she was barely breathing hard. Spirit, too, was surprised at the effortlessness of it all and realized that this must be part of the spell as well. It felt good to run.
Mervyn more than once had to stop Kasdi from halting through concern for Spirit. “Let’s see just what her limits are.”
“She’s inhuman now,” Kasdi noted.
“I know.”
Finally, when they reached the first stringer water pocket and had to turn in, they found the girl barely perspiring and not the least bit winded, although she stopped when they did and went over and drank deeply of the clear water.
“That spell is a nightmare. I try and follow it and suddenly I get lost,” Kasdi said. “How about you?”
“I’m beginning to see a pattern in it, but I’ll need more time with her, and not on the run, to do more.”
They made Hope in under three days, with short sleeps, and it was hardly a challenge for Spirit. Since she seemed unwilling to come inside buildings, no matter how open, they set her up in the park near the temple and made it off limits to unauthorized personnel. From that point on, and for the next week, Mervyn and several associates made their intensive studies, studies reinforced by being able to observe her behavior close at hand. She cooperated as fully as possible with them, knowing what they were doing and wishing devoutly that she could know and understand their conclusions. Mervyn worked tirelessly, scanning all sorts of books from the Codex project and later writings to solve the puzzle. Finally, he thought he had it all.
“You know, we often use the word ‘diabolical’ to talk of the works and mind of Hell, but you seldom really see the meaning of that word. This is diabolical.”
Kasdi frowned. “O.K., give it to me. Spare nothing.”
“I intend to. In one way, it’s Coydt’s sense of humor showing. He has taken the daughter of the First Lady of the Church and remade that daughter into the First Woman. He has, in a sense, removed her knowledge of good and evil. Not that she’ll kill someone or anything like that, but all the social inhibitions are suppressed, some entirely, and the new behavior is reinforced by conditioning spells. She is naked, but she walked up to the movement workers without any attempt at concealment because she simply doesn’t consider nudity odd or unusual. You might say she has no sense of shame. This is reinforced by a concrete spell that prevents others from clothing or concealing her.
“Similarly, she has full bowel control and will hardly eliminate in polite company. Nonetheless, she feels no shame at eliminating, and if it is necessary and convenient, she will do so without ever thinking of who might be watching. I believe, too, that if she were with a young man in public, and he made romantic overtures to her and she were so inclined, she would think nothing of performing sex right then and there and in public.”
“But she has control? I mean, if she didn’t want to, that would be that. I think the man’s inhibitions will probably take care of that problem, then. Go on.”
“Her body, which was always in fine shape, has been tuned to its absolute ultimate. She is, quite literally, physically perfect, at the upper limit of what her body is physically capable of. This might deteriorate slightly in Anchor, but would be restored and maintained in Flux in any case. She can run, jump, lift, and climb better than any woman alive. I watched her jump almost effortlessly to a tree limb almost four meters up, swing herself effortlessly onto it, and walk in that tree as if she were on flat ground. Perfect balance and coordination, absolutely flawless in every detail. She can sprint faster than any normal human, and you saw her capacity for long-distance running. She draws the energy she needs from Flux, and she could maintain it, I suspect, for weeks in Anchor. She bruises only with difficulty, and they are gone overnight. There is definite regeneration in the spells, and it’s a tight spell. She will be impossible to disfigure, mar, or maim, and damned hard to kill, in Anchor or Flux. The regeneration, in fact, is so absolute that her body is nearly immortal. She will be seventeen forever.”