Out of Phaze

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 forte. 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.