Out of Phaze

‘There be more than that,” Stile said. “We have groomed Bane from birth to be the Blue Adept after me. Red has worked with him, training his talent. His potential be great; when he matures, he will be a more potent Adept than I. Potent enough, perhaps, to hold the Adverse Adepts at bay.”

“I thought you were doing that well enough,” Mach said.

“Nay. It be but a holding action, and we be slowly losing ground. We need magic of the old order to contain them.”

“You mean back when magic was at full strength? Before the Phazite/Protonite exchange? How can you get that, without the other Adepts having it too?”

“We cannot. But with rare innate talent, and special training, and the Book of Magic, Bane might approach that potency.”

Mach realized the validity of this point too. What a poor substitute he was for Bane in this respect! He had no training, and his enchantments were erratic at best, and embarrassing or even dangerous at worst. In no way was he a substitute for Bane.

He had been so eager to return to the frame, to be with Fleta! He had not considered the larger picture. He had no right to hurt the prospects for Bane’s family, and for the good of the frame itself. His living being had been selfish, but his more disciplined mind understood what was proper. His dream was just that: a dream. His duty was clear enough.

“I think I must return to Proton,” Mach said heavily.

“It be not that we hold any onus toward thee,” the Lady said. “Nor would we deny Bane his romance in Proton. But we are fighting to maintain the good of Phaze, and to prevent its despoliation, and ne’er did we think there would be renewed contact ‘tween the frames.”

Of course they preferred a stable order, he realized. He and Bane, being young, were more than ready for change. It was the generation gap—just as it existed in Proton. He had been dissatisfied there, but the situation was fundamentally similar here. “Let me find Fleta and bid her farewell,” he said. “Then I shall locate Bane and exchange back.” He knew he was doing the right thing, but he had no joy in it.

He spent the night at the Blue Demesnes, and in the morning they loaded his boat with provisions. “I would help thee more,” Stile said. “But when we learned of thy exchange with Bane, I consulted with Red, and he used the Book to evoke a limited augury. It indicated that I am apt to make one disastrous and avoidable error with regard to thee. We no longer have the Oracle in Phaze, so the formulae of the Book are all that remain. They are powerful but general; we know not what error it be. I suspect it be one of commission rather than of omission. So I am leaving thee alone to the extent I can, so as not to make that error. That was why I came not to thine aid when the dragon attacked thee.”

“You were watching?” Mach exclaimed, amazed.

“Aye, and I be not the only one. In this case I trusted to my opponents, the Adverse Adepts, who wish to use thee for their designs; they would not allow thee to be incidentally killed.”

“But they did not act either! I stopped that dragon myself!”

“Methinks they waited, to force me into action, and so perhaps into that error I am apt to make. Perhaps they enhanced thy spell.”

Mach realized that it was possible. He had been amazed at the reversal of his spell, thinking it his own foulup, but if more powerful magic had acted to shape it, so as to save him without apparent interference . . .

He sighed. “It is true: I am a babe in the woods here. I will tell Fleta, and go.”

He stroked with his paddle, and the canoe moved smartly out. He had a long way to go, but knew he would get there. He understood much more than he had before.

There was a southward-blowing wind, which facilitated his progress, and he traveled much faster than he had before, with less fatigue. But he was now three days behind Fleta. He hoped she had remained with the Herd.

The wind stiffened. He shipped his paddle and let it carry him like a current. The scenery moved rapidly by. He had to take action on occasion to avoid trees, but otherwise it was a restful trip. He wished he could remain here in Phaze, but the logic of the situation was inescapable. He did not belong here, and his continued presence would harm the frame. It would be hard to part with Fleta, but it had to be done.

He reached the grazing Herd in the afternoon, and guided his craft toward it. The Herd Stallion came forth to meet him. He had a dark blue coat, with red socks, and bore a family resemblance to Fleta. Obviously this was her uncle Clip.

“I am Mach, visiting this frame,” Mach said, back-paddling to hold his canoe in place. “I would like to talk to Fleta.”

The unicorn became a man. “And I be the Herd Stallion. My niece passed here three days past, but went on to the local Werewolf Pack.”

“Then I must go on to the Pack,” Mach said.

“Not if thou beest not known to them,” Clip said. “We know thee, because thou hast the likeness of our friend Bane, and Fleta told us of thy nature. But the wolves welcome strangers not.”