Writer's Cramp

[WHAT is going ON here?! First they got shrunk for no apparent reason, and now this? Where is the first piece?]

Flick site where the Vasyn was, an irregular hole in the ground surrounded by trash, gnawed bones, dung, flick jumble of footprints, impossible to tell how many, not recent, grass not compacted, footprints lead flick flick flick nowhere?

"I can't believe we were rescued! I thought we'd die in that rotten basement!"

"Thanks be to the good Lord and Lady by whose grace we have been liberated."

"Look at that sky! I can't believe how much I missed clouds."

"Mommy, it's bright!"

"Smell the air! Look-an ocean! Trees! Birds! Insects! Rocks!"

Flick pink statue surrounded by people in rustic dress, frantic John, frantic George, frozen Paul, frozen self-wrong piece.

"Wow, look at that guy with the wings run."

"Not as fast as that shapeshifter, though."

"I didn't know there was still this kind of high-magic world in Humanspace."

"What was supposed to be over there?"

"I think another piece of this hideous statue."

"Why are they collecting it?"

"How should I know? Who cares? We're free!"

FlickI that's the right one, outdoors, very strong sunlight, very blue sky, ground sandy and rocky, small green cactus growing right at the base, a few paces away flick is a ring of the old familiar Raleka, dirty and awed as ever, behind them flick are five new Ketafans, two women and three men, clean, well-fed, self-confident, obviously in charge.

"Hey, muscles, where's the Humanspace embassy around here?"

"I hope they blast those filthy Dandonders into atoms."

"Do you think they'll give us a parade?"

"How long were we stuck in that wretched science experiment, anyway?"

"It seems like years."

"Mommy, I need potty!"

One of the clean Ketafans, a portly man, looks up, startled. He gestures, and-

Ringo opened his eyes, and a second later took off his black glasses and mopped his forehead. The light here wasn't that strong, but it still dazzled his unused eyes. He squinted at the mob of rescued Thirders milling around. Then he focused as best he could on Paul. "I saw-saw it for a few seconds," he mumbled, barely audible above the happy din of the refugees; Paul had to watch his lips carefully. "Then they threw up a Protection or somethin'…. Jesus, it was kind of like the opposite of a sunburst in me head, this big burst of black… it sucked at me… it felt like it would suck me brain right out." His eyes watered heavily, and he rubbed them with the back of his hand. "Ow. I need a healing potion." He swayed and began to sag but was caught by a helpful woman nearby, who guided him through the crowd to sit on the lawn.

"Oh… oh, damn," said Paul. His arm quivered, as if he wanted to reach out and comfort Ringo, but that was the extent of his motion. He didn't dare move with all these people about. "I can't go inside, not now. I'm sorry, Ring. Can you tell me what you saw? If you can't, that's cool."

Ringo sat silently, head in hands. The Thirders nearby, sensing something was wrong, quieted down, and the woman who had helped Ringo bent over him, brushed aside his hair to feel his forehead. Then, without lifting his head, Ringo started speaking, too faint for Paul to hear, but the helpful woman translated: "He says it's hard to think, but he saw it outside, in a desert place, with sand and rocks. The Ral- Ral- I'm sorry, I don't understand that word. Raleka? All right. He says the Raleka you know are around it, but there are other-Ketafans? Ketafans, there are other Ketafans there, clean ones, that you don't know."

+Gods above and below! Whoever has it just put the supernova of all Protection spells on it. I can't break through!+

+Well, obviously. Shag, I think what happened is that somehow the thieves triggered a miniature version of the Ketafan curse over themselves. The Vasyn is the catalyst for it, after all. Let me just check something here.... Yup, I was right. We can't see Ketafa any more, and I bet Ringo won't be able to either.+

[I fail to understand why the curse is affecting us, as we are not the C'hovite gods and have never previously been affected by the curse. And even if it is, why is it affecting Ringo? He's been bypassing it quite nicely to look at Lyndess.]

+How should I know? Maybe the whole act of retrieving the Vasyn has made us, and him, equivalent to the gods somehow so we're now susceptible to the curse. Maybe the curse works on anyone who's watching when it goes up. Magic works in funny ways sometimes.+

[Oh, yes, magic is very funny. Ha ha. There is too much WEIRDNESS going on! We need Jeft, NOW!]

"A desert area," mused Paul, daring to move his arm up so he could rub his chin. Energy surged inside him, close to the critical point; it was all he could do to stay still. "Where's that, I wonder?"

The conversation died down completely, and everyone turned to look at a tall, slender Baravadan woman at the far edge of the crowd. (Paul didn't turn his body, just his head.) She was a tirin, with her black hair in a long ponytail that she wore over her left shoulder. Her hands gripped something flat and light brown.

Paul opened his mouth to reply, but stopped when from halfway across the lawn John yelled, "What's happening? I heard you talking about Raleka!" He came running full-tilt back to the crowd and screeched to a halt in front of Ringo. Face flushed with rage, he took in Ringo's sorry condition, Paul standing like a statue, the silent crowd, the Baravadan woman, and snapped at no one in particular, "Did he see it? What's the matter? Is he okay? Who's that?" A small gray cloud hovered over his head.

Getting confused with all these things happening at once, Paul reiterated what little Ringo had learned, more to reinforce his own knowledge of the situation than to fill in John. As soon as he found out how bad off Ringo was, John plunged into the house, to return in a few seconds with a couple of vials of healing potion and two apples. While he chewed apple and fed the blue syrupy stuff to Ringo, who perked up immediately, Paul turned his head back to the Baravadan woman. "I think it's us you want."

The Thirders parted smoothly to let the woman stride toward Paul. The flat brown thing in her hand turned out to be a folded piece of paper. "I'm a courier," she announced as she planted herself right in front of Paul and held out the paper. "I have a message for you from Grunnel the Drinker."

"Uh... I'm sorry, I can't take it." Paul flicked his eyes in the direction of John, who was helping Ringo to his feet. "Give it to one of them."

The courier gave him a funny look but promptly marched over to the other two and presented them with the paper. "Thanks," grunted John. He threw away his last apple core, licked his fingers, took the sheet, opened it, and read. His face grew a little less angry, a lot more puzzled; the little cloud over his head started turning white.

"Thanks. 'Olyrr-sars, come to Zaggy now. The Festival of Magic has started and Brox wants to meet you. Go to the Temple of Ardav to be teleported to the School of Magic in Zaggy. I will meet you there.'" He looked up from the letter. "Jesus, talk about bad timing!"

John's little cloud turned black and roiled furiously. "They stole it!" he cried, waving the letter around. "They stole it to make sure we'd go there!"

"I didn't talk to Grunnel," the courier said in amusement. "The letter was teleported to the Temple of Ardav and given to me to bring here. I'm paid to take you to the Temple now."

Flapflapflap A hawk landed next to John and *ping* George said "What's happening? Who's this, then?"

"I think we've found our baddies," said Paul, and outlined Ringo's findings as John thrust the letter at George.

George read it and looked up. "What, you think Grunnel did it? I don't think so-I didn't smell him or Ass over there. The Raleka, yeah." He made a face. "Trouble was, I didn't really smell them before, so I couldn't tell if anyone new was there."

"It had to be them." John gestured at the courier. "It's too much of a fuckin' coincidence, her showin' up just when we've found it missing, Ring seein' the desert, Grunnel askin' us to go to the desert. The desert!" He fairly spat the word, as if it were the purest profanity, and turned and gazed defiantly out at the ocean. "I don't want anything to do with a desert!" His cloud stayed black but settled down a bit as the sight of the ocean calmed him somewhat.

"How about a dessert, then?" said Ringo, who was feeling so much better that even the prospect of chasing down the first Vasyn-piece didn't bother him. He took the unused healing potion from John and tucked it in his little beltpouch, murmuring "Shouldn't go out without at least one of these handy." To the others: "If it was Grunnel, he has a lot of Raleka friends. I didn't see any Baravadans around the Vasyn at all."

Paul glanced longingly at the tiny bit of beach visible from where they stood. His whole body quivered. "Or maybe the Raleka just followed the Vasyn. Look," he said impatiently, voice getting faster and faster, "I can't hold it much longer, I've got to go, you lads go check things out at Zaggy I'll stay here and guardthis piecein caseit's someoneelseif youneedme dropmealineandI'llhavethemteleportme." Flexing just a bit of muscle, he hopped lightly over their heads (which elicited cries of wonder and delight from the Thirders). Once clear of everyone, Paul made one of his thunderous leaps that shook the ground and scattered sod in all directions. He landed far away on the visible bit of beach; another leap took him out of sight.

The courier was less impressed, no doubt having seen stuff like that every day of her life. "Will you come with me, or can I leave?" she asked Ringo and George.

John whirled around. "You're fuckin' right we're comin' with you! They want us there, oh, they'll get us, right enough! Even if it is in a desert," he added sourly to his chest.

"Gentlemen." The woman Amelia stepped from the crowd of Thirders. Her broad smile only slightly softened the hard face under it. "As you may know, I'm the leader of these people." Her people murmured agreement. "I realize you're in the middle of a crisis, and may bugs eat me before I'm ungrateful to our rescuers! However," and her tone suggested that her gratitude only went so far, "I have a duty to my folk to see that they're properly taken care of. Some of us are hungry; some are thirsty; some must use what passes for the toilet in this... quaint place. There are other things on our agenda, but in light of your problems and our gratitude we're willing to postpone those until you're completely free. However, I'm afraid I must ask you to spare some time for our immediate needs before you embark on your journey." She folded her arms across her chest, daring the three to defy her.

The three glanced at one another. Not that they weren't sympathetic, but they really didn't want to be distracted by such mundanities right now. However, the sudden cry of a child, and the sound of its father hushing it, broke down their reluctance. George said to Amelia, "Right, come on inside with me and I'll show you where everything is. You have to be careful about the door...."

As the Thirders trickled away, Ringo put his black glasses back on. "Whoa, that's better," he said, smiling slightly. "Seeing with me eyes is like lookin' through smoke.... I can't see Grunnel or Ass at all, they're probably Protected. Why d'you have that cloud over your head?"

"How could they let this happen?" John muttered, paying no attention to Ringo or the courier, who sat down on the grass with a frustrated, bored sigh. He began to pace back and forth. His little cloud had started to rain on his head, and water matted his hair and poured down his back and dripped off his wings, but he didn't seem to notice. "Don't they watch? Stupid gits.... Hey!" John cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed up at the sky, "Hey! You up there! Fans or whatever you are! What the fuck is going on? How could you let this happen, you dumb fucks?"

John abruptly found himself in the white area. Only two figures were evident this time, and one of them seemed remote, as if it wasn't really there. "WE'RE AWFULLY SORRY ABOUT THIS," said the female voice. "IT WAS TAKEN WHILE WE WERE WATCHING YOU ON DANDOND. WE NEVER DREAMED ANYONE WOULD STEAL IT."

Mollified a little by the figure's genuine contriteness, John bit back a nasty retort and merely asked, "Yeah, well, Grunnel took it, right?"

"WE HONESTLY DON'T KNOW. THE PROTECTION THAT HIT RINGO HIT US TOO, SO WE CAN'T TELL WHO HAS IT. WE CAN'T EVEN TELL IF IT'S IN THE SAME DESERT AREA AS ZAGESEVREGAR. THE ONLY THING WE KNOW FOR SURE IS THAT IT HASN'T LEFT THE PLANET. AND EVEN WHEN YOU FIND IT, THAT WRETCHED PROTECTION IS STILL GOING TO COMPLICATE THINGS." The female sighed. "WE'RE NOT GOING TO BE ABLE TO SEE IT TO TRANSPORT YOU BACK TO THE HOUSE WHEN PAUL PICKS IT UP. WHEN YOU FIND THE PIECE, MOVE AWAY FROM IT AND KEEP TRYING TO CALL FOR US UNTIL WE PERCEIVE YOU. UNLESS THE PROTECTION EXTENDS OUTWARD FROM THE VASYN FOR A HUGE DISTANCE, WE'LL SCOOP OUT THE GROUND AND TAKE IT THAT WAY. IT WOULD BE EASIEST IF YOU GOT IT ONTO SOME KIND OF LARGE SLAB, BUT WE'LL WORRY ABOUT THAT WHEN THE TIME COMES."

"KEEP LOOKING," the deep voice abruptly chimed in. "WE HAVE TO GO NOW, SHAG-YOU-KNOW-WHO IS COMING. HEY JOHN, ASK RINGO TO SEE IF HE CAN SEE ANYTHING IN KETAFA."

The whiteness began to fade away around John, but then it snapped back, and the deep voice said, "BY THE WAY, CALL US 'DUMB FUCKS' AGAIN AND I'LL DUMP YOU BACK IN YOUR OLD BODY. WON'T YOU HAVE A GOOD TIME LOOKING FOR THE VASYN-PIECE WITHOUT ANY MAGIC!"

And then John was back in the real world, if possible madder than ever. He turned a furious gaze on Ringo, who was facing vaguely down the beach, apparently unaware of John's momentary "absence"-and then John jumped as something snapped and stung him on the head, followed by a peal of thunder. He waved his hand over his head and encountered the little cloud there. "What the fuck's this?" he snarled, grabbing the cloud as if it were a ball and holding it in front of his eyes. It throbbed in his hand like a living creature each time it flashed with lighting. Then he finally noticed how wet he was-drenched to the skin, actually, and while such a state didn't bother him in the least, in fact was quite pleasant, he wasn't in the mood for pleasant. With an irritated gesture he pulled all the water-strings off his body, momentarily blanketing himself in white cloud before it dissipated, leaving him exactly as he'd been before he'd been wet-not rumpled in the slightest. Then he tossed the cloud away and stalked over to Ringo, who was chuckling at something, presumably at John, for he said as John approached,

~This better be important. I had to leave Jim Hunter in the middle of a fight.~

[Do you think the disappearance of the first piece of the Vasyn is important?]

+I think the Vasyn curse has been triggered on us. We can't see Ketafa any more, either.+

~No kidding? Let's see.... Wow, look at that. I guess the magic has figured out that we're agents of the gods.~

~Shag, the C'hovite gods have been trying to get around it for over five hundred years; I kind of don't think we're going to succeed where they failed.~

+Another thing, Jeft-when our heroes went to Dandond, they landed shrunk for no apparent reason. As far as we could tell, there wasn't any kind of "shrinking aura" around the planet. Do you have any idea what could have happened?+

~Geez, I leave you guys for a few hours and everything falls apart. Lemme get Dandond up on the screen.... Hmm.... Don't see anything.... I know! Betcha the Pyar gods interfered, both with the shrinking and with the kidnapping of the first Vasyn-piece. Betcha they're the ones who got the curse going too. Heck, it was their curse in the first place.~

+Sure, Shag, that makes sense! They've got plenty of good reasons why they don't want the Vasyn restored, so they're making it as hard as possible for our heroes to succeed.+

[I had forgotten about the Pyars.... That does make sense, except.... if it really is them trying to stop the boys, why aren't they more direct about it? Not that I want this to happen, but wouldn't it be easier for the Pyars to just kill them?]

~Don't you know anything about curses? Each side has rules they gotta play by. When you lay one, you gotta specify conditions that'll break it. If someone starts fulfilling those conditions, you can't oppose 'em directly or the curse'll be lifted instantly. So you throw indirect obstacles at 'em and hope they're enough to stop 'em.~

~So anyway there's nothing I can do about anything, so I'm going back to Jim Hunter.~

"Off, off," bellowed the male sansar of Ardav as George, Ringo, and John popped into the 20th teleport stop. "Last one," he added.

"And not before time," said George as he and the others hopped off the incoming teleport platform and hurried over to the outgoing one, which was about fifty feet away. John beat the others by many seconds, of course, and danced around impatiently on the platform, wailing "Zero percent humidity! The air is dead!" while they chugged on up.

Being teleported to Zagesevregar wasn't a simple matter of poof! you're there, like Lyndess's Focan-to-Baravada teleport had been. She had expended a tremendous amount of stored power to send the four that far. To teleport to the desert city required a series of short "casual" 'ports between outdoor teleport stops run by the Temple of Ardav. The three hadn't paused to look around or even rest between stops, so that George and Ringo were pretty fagged out and rather annoyed at John for setting them an impossible pace.

"School of Magic," said John. The sansar gave the standard grunt that meant "Okay, three seconds to liftoff." They braced themselves-

The briefly glimpsed sunlight, wooden floor, and wind-whoosh of the 20th teleport stop faded away to be replaced by interior light, close-in off-white walls, and a shiny black marble slab underfoot. The room they were in was about fifteen feet long and ten feet wide, with the slab taking up about a third of it. The rest of the floor was tiled in all kinds of faded but still-colorful patterns. At the other end of the room was an open door, beyond which was a hallway.

In front of the black slab, in the empty part of the room, a skahs woman, wearing nothing but a pair of pants and a clay amulet on a silver chain around her neck, gracefully dodged the blows of a ghostly opponent with a mace. She looked over as the three popped in-the opponent froze in mid-swing-and said, "Off, off! Are you the olyrr-sars Grunnel is expecting?"

"Yeah," John said as he and George hopped off the two-inch-high slab. (Ringo, oddly, stayed where he was.) "Where is he?"

"Sar is with the Conference Planning Committee." The woman spoke the words with the same formal gravity that Grunnel had used. "I'll summon sar." She pulled a small diamond from her pocket and rubbed it. Then she said sternly to Ringo, "Sar! Off the platform or I'll kill you! You may be blocking travelers!"

"Huh? Right, sorry." There was an odd note in Ringo's voice, more than simple tiredness or distraction. He walked forward tentatively, as if he was picking his way across ice, and as he stepped off the slab he stumbled.

Ringo gave a soft little laugh with despair in it. "Shit. Ah, shit." For the second time that day he reached up and took off his glasses. This time, however, he folded them up and tucked them in his beltpouch. Blinking and squinting, he said, "Everything here's Protected. Bloody everything. I can't even see the floor. It's like we're by ourselves in the middle of the desert, floatin' a few inches above the earth." He rubbed his eyes and laughed that humorless laugh again. "Oh, God, when it rains, it pours."

"You mean, when it shines, it burns," John growled. He touched his backwards vest, pressing it against his chest so that the outline of the Kansael appeared. "This place is sucking at me."

*POP!* With a blast of air that ruffled John's feathers and everyone's hair, Grunnel appeared on the teleport slab and quickly stepped off. "Nama, olyrr-sars," he said cheerily, though he looked tired and strained. He'd swapped his customary hooded cloak for a baggy, vaguely Arabic-looking shirt and trousers, and he wore the same clay amulet as the woman. Several more amulets dangled from his left fist. He sized up the three with a glance and asked, "Where's Paul?"

"Where's the Vasyn?" John countered. He straightened up to his full height, spread his wings about halfway (nearly whapping George in the face), threw an impressive chest, and glowered down at the old wizard, who was about three inches shorter than him.

"You know! The statue-the big pink one we dropped in front of the house! You kidnapped it so we'd have to come here!"

"I don't understand you," the old wizard muttered, scratching his head. "I haven't been back to the house, I know of no statue, and why do you say that I put baby goats to sleep? How would putting baby goats to sleep force you to come here?"

George, convinced by Grunnel's demeanor that he was entirely innocent, hastily said, "We thought you'd stolen our statue to get us to come here, since Ringo saw it in a desert, but obviously you didn't."

"Stolen your-!" With a derisive snort, the old wizard rapped John in the chest, just under the Kansael. "Why would we do something so rusty? If we felt your presence was the blade of the Festival, we would have enchanted you to come! Why would we fatigue ourselves, or steal time from our Conference planning, to steal your statue?"

In the face of this disconcerting logic, John faltered. He stepped back from Grunnel and looked at the others, trying to gather support from them. When none was forthcoming, he demanded plaintively, "Well, who's got it, then?"

Ringo said, "Well, before that dreadful Protection went up, I saw our Raleka with it, and those new people-"

The statement was such a surprise that for a moment none of the three could respond.

"That must be those clean people I saw!" Ringo said in excitement. "Are there five of them?"

The old wizard confirmed that there were. "They teach and perform research here. If you saw them, why did you accuse me?"

George darted a look at John before replying. "We got your message about coming here at the same time Ringo saw the Vasyn in the desert, and it seemed too much of a coincidence for some of us. We thought you might be working with them."

The old wizard shrugged, and the amulets in his fist clicked together like clay wind chimes in a slight breeze. "I haven't seen them since As and I came here. Brox may know."

"D'you know?" John said to the bare-chested skahs woman, who had moved her illusory opponent to the far corner and was practicing her moves again. She just gave him a disinterested look.

Grunnel yawned. "Er-h'o, olyrr-sars, time is dying. Where is Paul? Brox wants to examine sar." George explained, and the old wizard clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Unfortunate, but no blood spilled. Brox can examine Paul after the Festival. Er-h'o, you mentioned Protections." He handed each of the three one of the amulet necklaces he carried (though he hesitated before giving one to John, as if weighing whether John deserved it) and pocketed the fourth. "These will hide your magic from all who would detect it. Remove them only if you want to be attacked constantly or if you want to sell your magic."

When they had donned the things, Grunnel said "I'm too tired to teleport; we'll have to walk to Brox," and abruptly walked out of the room. They hurried after him and into the hallway.

The building they were in was larger and older by far than any other Baravadan structure they'd been in. The hallway was wide and airy, with a high ceiling and doors at regular intervals; and wonder of wonders, in a show of organization hitherto unknown in Baravada, each door was numbered and labeled with either the occupant's name or "Classroom." A few of the classroom doors were open, and the three glimpsed what appeared to be science labs, with labeled glass jars of ingredients, candles, and fuzzy animals in cages. The place was all but deserted; except for one woman pottering around in a lab, they saw no one as they walked. The air had a faint, unpleasant tang of animals, meat, blood, and dung.

John was too angry-embarrassed to talk to Grunnel, and Ringo too busy trying to get used to normal vision, but George made up for their quiet with plenty of questions about the School. The old wizard, his good humor coming back, explained that they were in the Flesh Magic building, in which were taught spells that affected animal and human/elf flesh, such as healing spells and shapeshifting. The building, and the others that made up the School, had been built for some unknown purpose in the distant past, well before the appearance of the Tahil. About 150 years ago, Zagesevregar had been the first city liberated from Tahil control, and the skahs wizards, with help and advice from the gods, had set up the School of Magic in order to more efficiently train new wizards.

Intrigued by the vague reference to the pre-skahs/tirin society, George wanted to pump Grunnel for more details about it. However, they were approaching a right turn in the hallway, and the old wizard abruptly halted them, presumably to wait for the small herd of people that they could hear coming toward them from the hallway. It was impossible to tell how many people made up the herd, as there were many footfalls but only one speaker:

"… and be sure that Skara'al is informed that sar's presentation has been moved up to third," said the high-pitched, childish voice that was nevertheless loaded with authority. "I don't want sar arriving at sundeath when sar should have been in the arena at sunspear!"

Someone else made a soft noise of assent, and John heard scratching noises, as of notes being written on paper.

A woman said, "The vendors from A Emo A Tapam threaten an interworld feud if we don't either catch the thief who stole their merchandise or pay them for it."

The childish voice laughed unpleasantly. "There's something to keep the skahs occupied! If I thought they'd truly start a feud, I'd kill all but one and let the survivor raise an army to invade Baravada. But those-"

Just then the people rounded the corner, and they stopped at the sight of Grunnel and his guests. Most of them were skahs adults of mixed sexes and races-nothing unusual about them, except that they wore identical outfits: loose, off-white pants and shirt tied off with rope-belts of varying colors. Instead, the three Earthmen found their gazes drawn to the person at the head of the pack: an elvish skahs boy of about seven or eight, who clearly had been the one talking. He looked like a miniature As'taris, except that his hair was brown and his face was somewhat softer than the blond elf's sharp one, though that might have been the vestiges of baby fat. He wore the same outfit as the adults, though he was the only one with a black rope-belt. But he was more intriguing than mere appearance. He carried himself with great dignity and assurance, as if he were decades older than he appeared.

Confronted with Grunnel and the Earthmen, the boy grinned and hooked his thumbs in his belt in a peculiarly mature pose. His gaze flicked over each in turn, lingering longest on George-who had a nasty pang, remembering the same kind of look from Fi'ar-and came to rest on Grunnel. "Three?" the boy inquired with just the faintest trace of displeasure beneath his sunny smile.

The boy flicked his fingers in a gesture of mild disappointment and returned his thumb to his belt. "When the Conference has died, then." Unlike Grunnel, the boy used Conference easily. Without turning around, the boy said loudly, "Sars, my guests have arrived."

Obviously expecting this moment, the adults immediately turned and walked off, chatting about the Conference amongst themselves.

The boy turned back to the Earthmen and said the thing that they now expected but didn't quite believe: "I'm Brox Funny."

Brox acknowledged the-honorific?-with a roll of his eyes and a wry half-smile. "It seems I've become Brox Funny Organizer."

The three still didn't believe it. "I get it, Grunnel was playin' a joke on us," Ringo said.

"Grunnel? A joke?" Brox looked quizzically at the wizard, who shook his head and said, "Jokes are Brox's concern-I tell no jokes."

"You mean brother?" George said in confusion, knowing that Brox hadn't said brother.

"Mother," the boy insisted. "I died two years ago, and my body was destroyed so I couldn't be resurrected. I rebirthed into a child conceived by As'taris and our companion Tarsele, and when I came from the womb I was aged five years immediately. I couldn't be aged more without damaging my health."

"So you're As's mother and son, and he's your son and father," Ringo said incredulously.

"Yes." Brox drummed his-her?-sar's fingers on the wall. "Er-h'o, olyrr-sars, I don't have time to stand here discussing my life. Grunnel told you about the Conference. I organized it and am what the gods call the 'chair.' Do you remember the questions we will be discussing? 'What can skahs fight instead of Tahil and monsters?' 'What are skahs to do if there never are any more nonsars to fight?' I request that you sars think about these questions according to similar situations that you have encountered on your worlds. I request that you attend the Conference to tell us how you answered the questions. Some sars will give presentations in attempts to answer the questions. If you think you can give a presentation, I will schedule you in. If not, I request that you attend all the session so that other sars can ask you questions."

"We can't," John stated flatly. "We've got our own problems, thanks. Where are the Raleka wizards?"

Brox raised a fine brown eyebrow. "Your problems concern the Raleka wizards?" When apprised of the situation, the boy-woman chuckled and waved a hand at the ceiling. "They use rooms 68 through 72 on the third floor, but I doubt they're there now. They left two days ago to prepare their presentation."

"Fuck!" John had been poised to dart down the hall, but he relaxed. "D'you know where they are now, then?"

"No, but they're scheduled to give the fourth presentation on the third day of the Conference. I suspect your statue will make an appearance as well."

Brox shrugged. "Their activities are of no concern to me." The boy-woman's demeanor had softened somewhat, but now it hardened again as sar looked up at the Earthmen with a keen, entirely adult eye. "Olyrr-sars, I want you to attend the Conference because the gods have told me that the solutions to our problems will most likely come from olyrr-sars. There are three sessions that live from sunspear to sundeath. You-" and sar seemed to be addressing only Ringo and John "-can look for the Raleka wizards when the sessions aren't living, and if you can't find them before the third session, you'll be able to confront them then."

"That sounds reasonable," George murmured to the others. "At least we know they'll eventually show up, and it won't kill us to help out a bit."

Ringo was of the same mind as George, so John grumpily acquiesced. "But if we find them before the third day-" he began in a warning tone.

"-then tell me if their presentation has been canceled," Brox finished for him with a grin.

Good humor restored, the boy-woman explained where the three were to stay-they'd been assigned empty dorm rooms in the School-and offered them some money for the Festival, which they took readily, having rushed to Zagesevregar without taking any extra cash.

The three thanked Brox and Grunnel and were about to leave on their hunt when the boy-woman caught George's left hand. "George, I have something to show you."

George was startled that Brox had said his name when he'd never formally introduced himself, and he glanced at Grunnel, who must have described the four to the boy-woman pretty thoroughly-or at least their magic, as he suddenly realized that Brox's hand was covering his ring. Why was this peculiar person interested in him? Did it have something to do with the ring? Or did sar have a boy's body but a woman's appetites? A bizarre vision of the boy-woman disrobing for him sprang into his head. He pulled his hand away and said warily, "What is it?"

Instantly, and unconsciously, George stuck his hand in his pocket, not liking that a stranger was focusing on his ring. But… relevant to it? He had to admit that his curiosity was piqued. And Brox didn't appear to have any evil intentions, like stealing the ring. Indeed, the boy-woman seemed on the verge of dropping the whole matter. "Sure, I'd like to see it," George said.

John touched his shoulder and said in his mind, Don't we have more important things to do?

You go on ahead, George thought back. I'll look at the book and then go looking for the Raleka wizards when I'm done. It shouldn't take too long.

Right. John touched Ringo so the other could communicate to George the pictures of the people he'd seen briefly. They then split up, George going with Brox, John and Ringo heading off to check the Raleka wizards' rooms, and Grunnel, after telling them where the staircase was, trotting off on business of his own.

Brox chattered on about the Conference as sar and George walked down the wide, quiet halls, but when they came to the stairs and started climbing, sar suddenly said, "Grun told me that you and Paul eat only vegetables. Why? Do your gods require it of you?"

George tried to remember those conversations with the old wizard, which seemed like a lifetime ago. "Mine does, but both Paul and I believe that all living things should be treated with respect and love. Animals have feelings, just like people; they feel fear and pain. Killing and eating them is like killing and eating people, so we won't do it."

Brox appeared to mull over this most un-Baravadan statement for the rest of the climb, but when they reached the fourth floor, sar asked, "If you found two activities for the skahs, one that involved killing and one that didn't, you would prefer that the skahs chose the one that didn't?"

"Sure," replied George, wondering why this wasn't evident to Brox from his previous statement. Then, realizing that his answer might be offensive to the boy-woman, he quickly amended, "I mean, we wouldn't force anything on you, but we'd really like to help you get interested in nonviolent things."

Luckily, Brox didn't take offense. In fact, sar grinned. "Many olyrr-sars share your views," the boy-woman said cheerfully as they stopping at room 103. "Perhaps an olyrr-sar at the conference will interest the skahs in nonviolent activities. We're bored enough that we might embrace any entertaining solution."

With that, sar pushed the door open to reveal a large laboratory-like room with a wide wooden table and several chairs in the center. Counters against the walls and long shelves bore numerous sealed glass jars half-full of clear gel, as well as various metal and wooden implements. A smell not unlike gasoline filled the air, only slightly mitigated by an open window.

Sitting and paging through a large book lying flat on the table was As'taris. Except that he'd let his hair grow a fraction and was entirely naked, he looked the same as ever, though whatever he was reading in the book had his complete attention; he didn't even look up when Brox and George entered. Only when Brox rapped on the table did sar's son look up, startled for a second, then forcing it down when he saw who was with his mother-son.

Brox jerked a thumb, and As'taris sullenly but obediently closed the book, stood up, and moved away from the table. The boy-woman then gestured to George to take the blond elf's place. Now thoroughly intrigued, and wondering why a book about his ring would interest As'taris, George slid into the seat.

The book was of coffee-table dimensions, except that it was very thick. Bound in fragrant black leather with gold and silver studs, it gave George the conflicting impressions that it was a brand-new but well-used tome. He suspected some sort of preservation magic at work. As there was no title on spine or cover, he opened to the first page. The paper was thick, new, and crisp but smelled of hands. In informal print that seemed out of place in such a classy-looking book, the title page said:

With Strings Attached

by D. Aviva Rothschild

©1998

25
THE LITTLE MOTHER: PART 1

With Strings Attached

by D. Aviva Rothschild

©1998

*25* THE LITTLE MOTHER: PART 1

25
THE LITTLE MOTHER: PART 1