Sure enough, as evening loomed, they approached the castle of the Red Adept.
Suchevane inflated, and again Mach had to stifle a gape. “Hallooo, Red Adept!” she called. “A bat brings a visitor!”
A hole opened in the hill at the base of the castle. They paddled in. There was a tunnel there, leading to the central chamber.
Therein was a troll. Alarmed, thinking himself betrayed, Mach started to backpaddle, but Suchevane got out and approached the troll without fear. “Adept, I be Suchevane,” she said. “Of the flock thou dost protect. Long have I desired an excuse to meet thee.”
The troll gazed at her, evidently struck by the same qualities in her that Mach had appreciated. He was ugly as any of his kind, but evidently no threat. “This, then, be Bane’s other self,” he said.
“Aye,” she agreed, smiling. “He be Mach, from the scientific frame of Proton, come to see Fleta the ‘corn.” The troll faced Mach, though it seemed he would rather have faced the vampiress, as any male would. “There be reason why this be not wise,” he said. “I know,” Mach said. “I only want to bid her farewell. Then I must return to Proton.”
“Aye. The Adverse Adepts seek to unite the Oracle, which now resides in Proton, with the Book of Magic, now in my possession. The only way to prevent that be to keep the two of ye in thine own frames, carrying no messages.”
This was new to Mach. “What is so bad about those two things getting together?”
“The Book be the compilation of all the most basic and potent formulae that underlie the laws of both magic and science. The Oracle, now called a computer, be the mechanism to interpret those formulae. The two together represent potentially the ultimate power in both frames. It were best that power not fall into errant hands.”
“But Bane and I would not—”
“Not intentionally,” the Adept agreed. “But there be ways of corruption, and the Adverse Adepts, hungry for that power, will practice those ways. It be best that contact between the frames be naught.”
Mach had seen how the Purple Adept, and his counterpart in Proton, acted. Certainly the man was up to no good! “But I think Fleta understands this. I just—I have to see her once more before I go.”
The troll nodded. “She departed here four days ago.”
“I must find her, to bid her farewell,” Mach said. “I promised her that none would interfere,” he said. Mach felt sudden apprehension. “Interfere with what?”
“That I may not say.”
“O, I can guess!” Suchevane exclaimed. “She goes to die!”
“To die!” Mach cried. “That cannot be!”
“She knew that her dream could ne’er be,” the troll said. “I could dissuade her not, so I gave her the enchantment she asked and let her go.”
“What did she ask?” Mach cried.
“I may not—”
“Please, honored Adept,” Suchevane breathed, leaning toward the Adept.
Mach saw the troll’s face freeze in exactly the fashion his own had. Swayed, Trool yielded. “To be fixed in one form. More I absolutely will not say; I did promise her.”
“But that shouldn’t hurt her!” Mach protested.
Suchevane took him by the arm and turned him toward the canoe. “We thank thee, Adept,” she called back over her shoulder. “Thou hast not betrayed thy promise. Fleta be our friend,”
“I wanted not to do it!” the troll protested, as if accused.
“We know,” Suchevane said. Then they were back in the canoe and stroking the air toward the exit.
Outside, Suchevane paused, turning to Mach. “I know where she goes. She and I have been friends long; I know her mind. I can show thee. But it be a day’s hard run for a ‘corn, and too far for me to fly without blood, and we cannot catch her in this canoe.”
“A day? She left here four days ago! That means that three days ago—”
“Nay, she was locked in girl form, remember? So it would take her perhaps five days.”
“That means she hasn’t gotten there yet? If I can get there in one day—”
She shook her head. “I can show thee a shortcut, an this boat be able to float across chasms and lakes and trees. But even with two strong paddlers, it be at least two days.”
He appreciated her offer to help, but it was obvious that she was not constructed for endurance paddling. How could he double the normal velocity?
“I must try magic,” he said.
“Bane could be there in an instant,” she said.
“But I’m not Bane. If I tried to travel like that, I could destroy myself and you.”
She sighed. “I feared such. I know not what to do.”
“Describe the route to me, and get clear of me, and I will try my magic,” he said.
“Nay, she be my friend. I will chance thy magic.”
This vampiress was easy to appreciate! “Then hang on; I’ll try to give us strength to do it. That seems the safest course.” For he remembered when he had enchanted his own potency, in order to survive Fleta’s period of heat. That seemed to be safe magic.
He worked out a rhyme. Then: “Suchevane, can you sing?”
She made a moue. “That be not my talent.”
“But can you try? I need supportive music to enhance my magic, or it goes wrong.”
“I will try.” She took a breath and began to hum. She was right: this was not her forté. But it was music of a sort.
Mach concentrated as hard as he was able, knowing that this had to work, or Fleta’s life was forfeit. He hummed along with Suchevane. Then he sang: “Give us strength to work at length.”
Fog formed, and swirled about them and the canoe, and dissipated. But Mach did not feel any different.
“I don’t know whether it worked,” he said. “But let’s try paddling.”
They tried paddling, and it seemed ordinary. The canoe moved northwest. So far so good; but if they tired—
They did not tire. It was as if they weren’t working; each stroke was just like the first, without fatigue.
They moved out to a downhill slope. Before, the canoe had followed the contour of the land, but this time it held its elevation. Had he modified its behavior by his magic, or was this simply a matter of the operator’s will? Or was the troll, evidently a creature of good will, sneaking in a little surreptitious help? Mach didn’t question it; he just kept paddling.
But darkness was closing in. “We can’t stop now,” Mach said. “We have only one day to catch her!”
“I know the way; I can guide thee by night,” Suchevane said, never halting her paddling.
They kept moving, and their arms did not tire, and their hands did not blister. His spell was effective, and for that he breathed constant thanks. Yet their progress seemed slow; certainly they were not doing double the velocity a person might walk.
Then he realized that a five-day walk presumed five nights of sleep. If they did not halt, they could double the effective travel time. It was possible to cover two days’ distance in one!
On they went through the night. Nocturnal creatures sounded their calls, and there were sinister rustlings all around, but nothing bothered the canoe. Of course Mach had been sleeping in the forest during this journey and had not been attacked, but he had assumed that was partly luck and partly the secluded niches he chose. And partly the company: one night he had had a unicorn for company, and another a werewolf. Well, now he had a vampire; perhaps that was protection enough.
He became sleepy. “Mach!” Suchevane called sharply.
Mach snapped awake. “Did I stop paddling?”
“Aye.”
“I fell asleep. It seems my magic gave me strength, but not wakefulness.”
“Mayhap another spell?”
“I’m afraid I might ruin the one I have. My magic is so uncertain, it isn’t smart to chance it.”
“Then must the one keep the other awake,” she said. “An thou sleep again, I will bite thee.”
That brought him quite alert. They paddled for an
other hour. Then she flagged.
“Suchevane,” he called. “Are you sleeping?”
She snapped awake. “Aye. Sorry.”
“Do that again, and I’ll—” He cast about for a suitable threat, but the only thing he could think of for a creature like her wasn’t what he cared to say.
“That be no threat to me anyway,” she said. He felt himself blushing. “You read my mind?”
“The mind of any male be much the same.” In her presence, surely so. Then he thought of a suitable threat: “I’ll whack you with my paddle and knock you out of the boat.”
“I would change form and fly away,” she said. But she remained awake, evidently not wishing to get knocked. In such manner they kept themselves going through the night. As daylight resumed their sleepiness faded. But now hunger set in. “Dare we pause to eat?” he asked. “I have supplies.”
“I think the time be very close,” she said. “An we delay an hour, mayhap an hour too late.”
And they couldn’t risk that. So, hungry, they continued working.
And as the day waned, they approached the great White Mountain range. “The ledge of the unicorns be there,” Suchevane said. “But still some distance. I know not whether we be in time.”
“Can-can you change form and fly ahead, and see?” he asked. “I can keep the canoe moving meanwhile.”
“That distance? Aye, now. But it will be slower for thee,” she pointed out.
“I realize. But I’ve got to know.”
“Aye.” She shipped her paddle, changed, and flew up and ahead. Mach continued paddling, trying to put extra strength into it so as to maintain speed, but knew it wasn’t enough.
The bat returned. It landed on the seat, and changed. “She be there,” Suchevane said. “I did not approach, for that would have taken too much time; I returned the moment I spied her. She be trudging up toward the ledge, just a few minutes distant from it.” She resumed paddling, and the canoe picked up speed. “Then we’re in time!” Mach exclaimed. “Nay,” she said sadly. “She will reach it before we do—and then we shall be at the bottom, while she be at the top. No way to stop her, unless perchance we call and she hear.”
They paddled furiously, and the canoe fairly leaped along, but the spell of endurance had not allowed for this extra energy, and they were now tiring. Mach saw sweat staining Suchevane’s black halter, and her hair was becoming a stringy tangle, and he himself was panting. But the high face of the cliff was coming into sight.
Far up, on the ledge, stood a tiny figure. Mach knew it was Fleta, locked in her human form. If only she waited until he could get close—
And what would he have to say to her, then? That he had decided to leave her forever and return to Proton! What glad news would that be for her?
There was a faint ripple in the air. As it passed through him, Mach thought he heard his name cried out with hopeless longing.
“Nay!” Suchevane gasped.
Horrified, Mach saw. Fleta had just leaped from the ledge, and was doing a graceful swan-dive into the pool of darkness below.
He could not reach her in time—and could not catch her if he were there. The height of the fall was far too great. She would be dashed into oblivion on the rock below.
As if it were in slow motion, he watched her plunge, her arms outspread. He knew it was for love of him she had done this, to free him from the need to be with her. But he could not let it happen!
He cast about for some magic to use to save her, but in the pressure of the eternal moment his thoughts were glacial. He could not make a rhyme, let alone sing it! And if he could, how could his puny magic prevail against that of an Adept? All he knew was that he loved her, and could not let her go. Not for any reason. And still she dropped.
“Thee!” he cried into the void that separated them.
The frame itself seemed to still, all the sights and sounds of it pausing in place as if listening.
“Thee!” he cried again.
A haze formed, an inward-drawing expectation, fogging out all the landscape beyond their canoe, the falling girl, and the line between them. Magic was coalescing.
“Thee!” he cried the third time, and all of his soul was in it.
The power of it jumped like a lightning bolt, from him to her, and struck her, and radiated out from her like sunrise, brightening the face of the cliff, the rocky ground, and the welkin above. A soundless explosion, striking iridescence from the environment and rippling on throughout the frame.
The face of the cliff was so clear it was mirrorlike, and the colors of the trees and sky were preternaturally bright, as though washed totally clean. The air was absolutely pure.
And she was gone. Where the falling human figure had been, there was nothing.
“The splash!” Suchevane breathed, and now her sweat was gone and her hair was sparkling; she was lovelier than ever before. “Ve’er before one like that! I love all everything!”
“Buy my love!” Mach cried in dawning horror. “What did I do to Fleta?”
They stared into the radiant emptiness before them, aghast.
Then came the sound of the hummingbird.
Almost afraid to believe it, Mach held up his hand.
The tiny bird darted in and landed on it. The feathers of the folded wings were shining black, and the claws were golden.
“The splash!” Suchevane repeated. “It nulled the spell Trool put on her!”
“And her involuntary reflex took over,” Mach said.
“She saved herself!”
“But none hath power to null Adept magic!” the vampiress continued. “None save another Adept. Methinks thou must be—”
The bird hopped to the canoe, and abruptly Fleta was there in girl form, her sudden weight making the craft rock. She gazed at Mach for half a moment, her eyes brimming, then fell into his embrace.
He knew he could not leave her, no matter what the consequence. All the considerations of the welfare of the frames paled beside the truth of their love.
But that love was forbidden, in Phaze, and he could not take her to Proton. What were they to do?
A watery bubble appeared beside the canoe. The face of the Translucent Adept was in it. “Come to us, and we shall defend thy right to love whom thou dost please, and ne’er will the two of ye be parted,” he said. And from him emanated a lesser ripple, in no way on a par with the one just past, yet it signified the truth of his utterance. The Adept had made a promise he would keep.
Now it occurred to Mach that either Stile or the Red Adept could have prevented Fleta’s suicide, had they wished to. But what better way to discourage him from remaining in Phaze, than to let Fleta die! Suddenly he understood the nature of the critical mistake the Adept Stile had been fated to make: to let Fleta commit suicide.
Mach’s will hardened. “We shall go with you,” he said.
Suchevane turned an appalled countenance to them.
“I know it be the only way,” she said. “I cannot say nay. But O, what mischief be coming o’ this!” And from ehr, too, came the splash of complete conviction.
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Piers Anthony, Out of Phaze
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