Empires of Flux & Anchor

instant death to you. Now, how shall I send you back to your mother?”

The question was rhetorical, if terrifying, and required no response.

He sat back down in his chair and lit another cigar. “Now comes the bargain. Refuse it, and I will let my imagination run wild and then send you back—only you’ll know. You won’t be able to do anything about it, but you’ll know. Do you want that?”

She shook her head. “No—please!”

He grinned, enjoying himself. “All right, then. The alternative is to be a part of a little experiment of mine. Human beings are animals. Some animals other than humans think, I believe. Certainly, if the Soul Rider is an animal of some sort, it thinks. I have been wondering for some time what would happen if that were all somebody had to work with. No tools, no artifacts. Back to the beginning, to the first people. I have devised a rather complex spell to see. The spell is of a kind rarely used, because it’s unbreakable. The reason it is so is a Gordion knot of mathematics, but the basics are that it is a spell one takes voluntarily on oneself with a proviso that only the wielder can break it. And in the spell is a prohibition against doing just that. It is, in fact, the sort of spell your mother used to make sure she stayed a saint.”

She had a knot in the pit of her stomach. “What… will it do?”

“Neither memory nor physical appearance would be changed. The mental alterations basically consist of a translation of memory and thought from one language into another. To you, there would be no change at all, but as the language is a nonvocal one, you could neither speak, understand, read, or write, although you would, of course, hear normally. Artifacts—man-made things—would be a mystery to you, even though intellectually you would recognize and know them. The basic needs would be paramount, the social inhibitions minimal. The physical part of the spell would prevent others from circumventing the rest and would adapt your body so that you could survive the elements. Do you follow me so far?”

“You’d make me some kind of animal.”

“No. You’d have free will and your full memory and intellect. Flux power could be used in defense or in self- preservation, but only for that. You are a big, strong, powerful girl and you’ll stay that way, forever young, athletic, and beautiful. You could defend yourself in Anchor, I suspect. And—here’s the sugar. There is a way, and one way only, to break the spell. I won’t tell you how, but it cannot be done by you. If your mother, or one of the Nine, can figure that out and is willing to pay the price, you can be freed.”

“So that’s it. You expect my mother to pay this price or whatever.”

“Well, it’ll be a clear ransom, at least. Price for freedom. And no matter what, you’ll have your youth, beauty, and intellect and you will be free in Flux and Anchor to go anywhere you want. An adjunct to the spell will give you the basics—seeing strings, finding or making basic food and water—and they’ll come to you as you need them. That’s the bargain, and it’s take it or leave it. You must see, of course, that I’m taking a chance with it. I’m betting your ransom will not be paid, and therefore your Soul Rider is going to be stuck in a nearly immortal body limited to the Flux powers you can use—which are purely defensive. But if the ransom is paid, now or in the future, that’s fine, too, for the result will make the Soul Rider’s job more difficult and mine easier. Will you accept the spell, or shall I do my worst? It’s up to you.”

She sat back a moment and closed her eyes, trying to think clearly. O.K., Soul Rider or whoever you are, what do you say? But there was no answer, only a feeling of inevitability. To be stuck forever in Anchor as a creature, mental and physical, of Coydt’s warped imagination, or to take living like an animal, but free, with the possibility, however remote, of having the spell lifted. The agent of Hell had made a terrible offer, but there was no choice.

“I’ll take your ‘experiment’ or whatever you want to call it,” she told him. “I don’t see I really have a choice.”

“I kind of hoped you’d see it that way. Oh, by the way—one other little part of the spell is that you will not recognize me or my helpers if you ever see them again, unless we want you to. Forget revenge and just see what kind of life you can live. I’m real curious myself, not to mention curious to see if the Soul Rider can break a spell like this if it has to.”

“When?” she asked softly.

“Now,” he replied. “Just relax and put your head back. No coercion can be used, but I can ease it along and help you. Now, even with your eyes shut, you should see it in your mind. You don’t have to understand it, just see it. Do you?”

And she did see, an incomprehensible spider’s web of crisscrossing lines, long and short, curled and straight, in a series of knotty patterns so complex they almost, but not quite, merged into one mass.

“Now that is what you do in your own mind. It’s simple. See it? Grasp it, then make your own pattern just like it. Just think it through.”

It was a similar mass, but there were only a few strings in a very straightforward pattern. She concentrated on it, imagined a duplicate of it in her mind. The first faded out, leaving only hers.

“Now, if you wish this spell, just merge that little pattern of yours to the one you see and then just think, ‘I freely accept this spell upon myself.’ Go ahead. That’s all there is to it.”

It was as if two long, gnarled balls of string, one tiny and one huge, were merged together and their loose ends tied. I freely accept this spell upon myself, she thought, not really understanding what was happening nor fully able to grasp the reality of the situation. The two spells knotted, merged, glowed, and then seemed to flow into her. She felt suddenly terribly dizzy, as if she were falling, and she found herself confused. It was impossible to think, and she was falling…

6 MUTE WITNESS

She had awakened slowly and dizzily on damp grass. It took a while before her head allowed her to sit up and for her eyes to focus properly, but the more she moved, the more it all subsided. She did not know the place, but when she finally managed to get to her feet and walk a little ways, she reached a road and saw at the end of it the huge wall and the old, thick gate. It was certainly the west gate of Anchor Logh, and she was inside.

The scene confused her for a moment, but the memories crept in. She remembered the church, the shooting, the abduction and long ride, the time in the Pocket and the terrible demonstration of Coydt’s power. She also remembered the bargain, but couldn’t quite sort it out. Certainly she felt quite normal—in fact, quite good. Although she would have liked a reflection, what she could see of her body looked totally unchanged. Whatever the evil man had done, it didn’t seem so bad. But, then, would it? She wondered about that, remembering how easily he had manipulated her mind.

There were some people working near the gate and she walked over to them calmly and boldly. Her folks must know that she was back and all right. She was halfway to them when one looked up and noticed her, then started yelling and pointing, and others also turned and looked and there was more incomprehensible jabber. They ran to her, and a man said to a woman some ridiculous string of barking noises, and she answered in kind. She tried to speak to them, to find out what all the excitement was about, since she still feared a Coydt trick, but her mouth just couldn’t form the words. All talking got her was a quick sore throat.

The woman barked something, and then the man nodded and threw a jacket over her for some incomprehensible reason. She screamed and tore it off. It burned like fire, and the onlookers gaped, amazed, at real burn-like marks where the coat had been. The pain had been intense, although it faded quickly. The whole thing scared and confused her and the people, but finally one of them took charge and led her down and into the government station that was part of the entry gate itself. She looked around, confused at the inner office, and so just stood there as bedlam continued to erupt around her. In the midst of all these people she felt very confused and very much alone. The walls seemed to close in on her, and she felt rising panic and a shortness of breath.

“She won’t stay inside, and when we tried to put clothes on her, it burned her like a hot stove, although the marks faded fast,” said the customs officer. “She either won’t or can’t talk or understand us, although we’ve gotten a few very basic things over in sign language. She was pretty hungry, but totally ignored the knife and fork and