A Sudden Wild Magic

When he thought about it, Tod was slightly ashamed of running and hiding behind his daddy’s coattails. He always was when he did it, but it never stopped him doing it. And to justify him on this occasion, there was the peculiar business of Zillah and his realization that she came from this place. If that ritual really had given the High Head a line through to Tod’s mind, then the sooner he got where this information was not available to Arth, the better. But let’s see.

Tod let his birthright gather and then reached out and examined this thread. Reaching into the Wheel was curiously difficult to do. Either he was out of practice or otherworld was not a place where magework came easy. But the thread existed, all right.

Tod recoiled as the High Head himself took up the thread and came through to Tod’s mind. Damn. So delicately set up, I jogged the swine’s mind. Your report please, agent. Tod had the sense of another day at least having passed in Arth — time did indeed run strangely between universes — and the High Head well rested but slightly irritable from a rich breakfast, and exceedingly worried behind that in a way he was careful to keep hidden from Tod. Whatever this worry was, it served to distance Tod’s affairs. The High Head was now able to regard him as just another agent in the field.

My report? There was no reason in any world to tell the sod the truth. Tod instantly set about misleading him. Contact has been made, sir, satisfactorily to both parties, and I’ve also become very friendly with the husband. By the way, sir, the man has powers rather in excess of yours. Tod had no idea if this was the case, but he saw no harm in usettling Arth a bit.

I suspected as much, the High Head’s thought came, heavy and irritable. So what’s he up to?

Something very crucial, Tod thought back glibly. There’s a being called Gladys I haven’t met yet, who’s even more powerful, and we’re all just off to do important magework with her. Ill let you know what when I’ve seen it, sir.

Good work, agent. The old female is of great interest to us. Was there any mention of another called Amanda?

I don’t think so, Tod lied, while his mind made rapid connections. Mark had been talking about her — Zillah’s sister.

When you do come across her, I’d like a report on her too. My usual source on her is temporarily out of action.

Of course, Magus, Tod thought unctuously, while vowing that no one who was an analogue of his favorite aunt was ever going to be given over to Arth.

To his relief, the High Head dropped the thread then. Tod felt him turn to pick up another, belonging to some other poor Brother in the field. He felt unclean. Hateful to have that fellow in your head. But quick. Now, while the swine was complacently turning elsewhere. Tod reached into the Wheel again and carefully, delicately, nipped that thread apart. The effort left him quite unusually drained, but it was worth it. Let the High Head try looking for him now. The next thing was to consider the best way to get home before the High Head started looking.

Tod raised his birthright in a new direction and was more than a little daunted to find how well defended the Pentarchy was — it was as if a great thorny wood filled with booby traps grew between here and there. But the luck of the Fiveirs was with him. His mind’s eye caught what looked like a possible way through, accessible from here. The real problem was the strange difficulty there seemed to be in mageworking. Tod felt exhausted just looking. He began to see that otherworld was in fact much less benevolent to magecraft than his own world. Perhaps that was the main difference between them. In order to get through that wood, he was going to need to be in, or near, a place of power. He ignored the weariness and searched for such a place.

There was none near. The nearest he could feel was miles away, north and west of here. That was all right. He had transport, courtesy of Arth. He jingled the car keys in his pocket and looked down the driveway with disfavor. There stood Brother Tony’s motley little monster, nose-down beside Mark’s sleek gray job. Mark’s was a real car. It might not have been in the same league as the beloved Delmo-Mendacci, but it was a good, classy vehicle all the same. The contrast was pitiful.