Hounds of God Page 11

  He looked at her, a flat grey stare, revealing nothing.

  From behind him came a second Pauline monk. Quite an ordinary monk beside that other, a heavy florid man, unmistakably human. Yet, Anna saw with bitter clarity, he was no fool. For all their heavy-lidded languor, his eyes were sharp, gleaming with amusement. “Spirit,” he said in the langue d’oeil, “is always to be admired, even in your kind. But spirit can be broken.”

  Or killed outright. Thea’s quiet was deadly. You have us, I grant you that, and it’s no mean feat. But for how long?

  “For as long as we please.” The monk folded his arms and smiled. “Do you care to test us?”

  Although Thea’s eyes burned, her silent voice was cool. I’m not an utter idiot. Can I say the same of you? It’s clear enough what you holy Hounds are up to, casting nets to trap witches in, with your own tame witch to lay the bait. You caught us in a moment of weakness. You’ll catch no more.

  “We caught three.” The pale monk even sounded like Alf, damn him: clear, light, melodious. “We killed another. The world sings to be free of him.”

  Anna tasted blood. She had bitten her tongue. She felt no pain, yet.

  Alun. Thea mourned, but in wrath. You murdered him.

  “Executed a witch,” said the worldly cleric.

  Murder, Thea repeated fiercely, her eyes fixed on the other, the fair one. He was your own kin!

  “He was an abomination,” said that travesty of Alf’s voice, if not his accent at least; this was strange yet familiar, a softening of the vowels, a quickening of the words’ flow. “A spawn of the Pit, a child of—”

  Then so are you.

  His eyes focused and began to burn. “He was foul. He stank to Heaven. I stretched out my hand; I called on my God; He came and smote him down.”

  You killed him. You killed with power.

  His hand came up as if to strike. Thea crouched over her children, snarling on a low and deadly note.

  “God smote him,” he repeated. “God shall smite you also, who take refuge from righteousness in the body of a beast.”

  “Better that, perhaps, than a glittering travesty of humankind.” The worldly man did not sound as if he believed it; rather as if it were an idea he toyed with, testing its weight. He regarded the witch-hound with a touch of regret and more than a touch of satisfaction. “You are an attractive creature as hound bitches go, although your eyes are more than a little disconcerting. But that, Brother Simon tells me, should change with time. The mind within that elegant head is clear enough now, and quite witch enough, if held most strongly in check. How long before the change begins? Already I see it in your whelps, who have forgotten that they ever wore any shape but this. Soon you will follow them. Your mind shall begin to darken, the edges to blur, the higher thoughts to slow; the will turn toward the belly; the yellow demon-eyes grow soft and brown and bestial, matching at last the inner to the outer being. Witch no longer, woman-fetch no more, but hound in truth, with neither memory nor sorcery to free you. Or,” he said after a calculated moment, “your offspring. Unless, as may well be, it is already too late for them.”

  The hound’s head shook with an odd gracelessness, human gesture fitted ill to inhuman body. But Thea’s eyes were still her own, and they were eloquent. Never, they flared. Never!

  The monk smiled. “You may defy us as much as you like. It changes nothing. Rage; threaten; taunt. Watch your children fall ever deeper into the darkness of the beast. But”—He leaned forward almost within reach of her spring—”but. That need not be so. They can be free in their proper forms, and you with them. Free and at peace.”

  Dead, Thea said.

  “Not dead. Alive and sane.”

  At what price? Murder and mayhem? Mere treason?

  “No price. Only acceptance of God’s will. Thus far we have been gentle; we have simply confined you to the shape you yourself chose, giving you ample time for reflection. Now you must decide. You may rise a woman, or you may remain as now you are.”

  And if I yield? What am I yielding to? What happens to my children?

  “Ah,” said the monk, drawing it out. “Your children. You defend them very bravely and, I gather, with somewhat more strength than Brother Simon would have expected. In vain, in the end. He has no desire to harm them, but so he will do if you compel him.”

  She stood over them, Cynan restrained but uncowed, Liahan watching with eyes too wide and too clear for either the infant she was or the pup she seemed.

  Touch them, her mother said, even cast a thought at them, and you will see exactly how strong I am.

  “We will have them,” Brother Simon said, light and cool and dispassionate. “Satan’s grip on them is feeble yet. We will bring them to salvation.”

  The other nodded with approval more fulsome than flattering. “Salvation, yes. The light of the true God. They will live and grow and be as strong as ever you could wish. Nor need they be torn from you. While they have need, they may remain with you, provided only that we have your promise to teach them no black sorceries. You will be nurse and mother as God has made you. Others will have their teaching.”

  You, said Thea. Simon. Simon Magus, Simon-pure, Simon the simple. Don’t you think I can guess what you want with us? You have one tame warlock. Here are two more, firm in your hand, young enough to mold as you would have them, powerful enough to make you lord of the world. After, of course, you’ve disposed of this minor inconvenience. She grinned a wide fanged grin. Not so minor after all, am I? He can’t get at my babies while I’m determined to ward him off, and I’m not such an idiot as to give way to your persuasion. It’s an impasse.

  “No,” said Brother Simon. “I will break you if you compel me.” He moved swifter than sight, swifter even than Thea’s jaws, snatching up the still and staring Liahan. He held her with gentle competence, stroking her leaf-thin ears, evading her sudden snap as easily as he had her mother’s. “You can wall her mind in all your defiance. But can you defend her body? A chain confines you—”

  Thea leaped, twisted, dropped to a bristling crouch. The chain hung limp. Her eyes flared green; the collar dropped with an iron clang. Her muscles knotted, tensing to spring.

  His calm voice went on with scarcely a pause. “Attack and I strike. This neck is delicate; how easy to break it. And I am swifter than you.”

  Thea sank down, ears flat, eyes slitted. Give me back my daughter.

  “Give me your choice. Your children now and under your care, or later and in despite of you.”

  Anna could endure it no longer. “No!” she cried. “There’s no later. There’s only now.”

  They stared at her, both the brothers of Saint Paul, as if she had burst upon them from the empty air. Maybe to them she had. She was only human, and they had three witches to burn.

  She was past caring. She plunged on recklessly, relegating the fat one to nonexistence, fixing the whole force of her rage on the other. “Simon Magus, Simon traitor, even I can see the truth, lowly mortal female that I am. You need these children, and you need them now; and you can’t get at them any more than you can get at Rhiyana. And time’s pressing. Any moment the Pope could call off the Crusade, or the Fair Folk could find a way to overcome you and set us free.”

  “God is with His Holiness. Your fair demons, the dark king, the white one who may be more than a king—” Simon’s face stiffened; his eyes narrowed. But he laughed, a light terrible sound out of that face of ice and flint. “That one had his own splendor of folly. I think I chastened him a little. All his fire and wrath merely pricked me. Have your mighty Kindred no more to send?”

  When Anna was afraid, she was also most angry. “He scared you, didn’t he? He wasn’t expecting to clash with real power; he didn’t have all his strength ready. You routed him, but it cost you. Closed out of Rhiyana, with Thea holding you at bay here—what’s left but a round of pleas disguised as threats?”

  “I am not held at bay.” That was not anger, certainly. It was more like amusement. S
imon set Liahan at her mother’s feet, where she remained, watching him. “Your kin, little one, have fled within their walls. Wise creatures. So too would I, if it were myself I faced.”

  “You’d be gibbering under your bed behind a barricade of blankets.”

  “You are a fierce little shrew,” observed the florid monk. Anna smiled sweetly; he returned the smile with one fully as lethal. “You are of no account. Flotsam merely, drawn up in the net. And things of no account are swiftly cast away.”

  Thea moved with suppleness more of the cat than of the hound, setting herself between the monks and the woman. Touch her, she said very gently, and though I have neither power nor speed to match with yonder magus, I assure you I am perfectly capable of tearing out your fat throat.

  “Only,” said the nameless monk, “if yonder magus permits.”

  She flowed toward him. Her eyes held his, burning bright.

  She blurred. He cried out sharply.

  She sat at her ease, licking her lips. From one small prick, a droplet of blood swelled and burst and broke, runneling down the thick neck to vanish beneath the cowl.

  You taste vile, she said to him.

  But Anna, and perhaps Thea herself, had misjudged him. The color drained from his face, leaving it utterly calm.

  Deep in Anna’s mind, a small separate self observed that he must have been a strikingly handsome boy. The bones were fine under the thickened flesh, the forehead broad and clear, the profile cleanly carved still though it blurred into the heavy jowled throat.

  He looked down at Thea with no expression at all; and that was less a mask than his joviality had been. “You did not do as you threatened. I doubt very much that you can.”

  Thea could not be disconcerted. She settled once more on guard, but easy in it, almost lounging, with her children close against her. To return to the point, monk, I’m fair enough prey when all’s considered, and we have the matter of the young ones still to settle. My sister is no part of this. You would do very well to let her go.

  The monk smiled. “I think not, milady witch.”

  “Why?” demanded Anna. “Because you think I’m the closest thing you’ll find to a weakness in her?”

  Of course, Thea said, and he can’t threaten you or his own neck is in jeopardy. On the other hand, the possibility’s always there. One never discards even a potential weapon unless one has to. She tilted her head, considering him. Weapons, you know, can be used by either side in a battle. Take care you don’t find yourself on the wrong end of this one.

  “I do not intend to.” He examined her again, deliberately, as if he could make her writhe. She only arched her back and stretched like a cat. His jaw clenched. “One way or another, we will have it all: you, your cublings, Rhiyana itself. You may choose the way of it, whether salvation for your children and a swift and merciful end for your kind, or a long slow deadly war fought with the mind as well as with the body. Brother Simon is a mightier power than any you can muster, and God is with him; he cannot but conquer. With your aid he will do so quickly and cleanly. Without it, I can promise only anguish. For you, for your kind, and for your children.”

  So that’s my choice. Swift death or slow death. What’s the difference, in the end?

  “Pain,” said Brother Simon, sudden as a stone speaking.

  All the more reason to give my people time to arm against you.

  “They cannot. They cannot even find me. But I find them with perfect ease. Shall I test my power on them?”

  Thea was on her feet, but the nameless monk stood in her way. “Not yet, witch-lady. You still have a choice to make. Swiftly now, before we make it for you.”

  She stood erect, at gaze, trembling just visibly. It is made, said the voice in all their minds, made thrice over. No, and no, and no. Better death in this shape than slavery to the likes of you.

  “We shall see,” he said, “how long this pretty show of defiance can last.” He drew up his cowl with a ceremonious gesture. “Examine well your heart, milady witch. If heart indeed you have.”

  14.

  At first Thea seemed only glad to be free of her chain. She whirled around the cell, mocking the bolted door with every line of her body.

  Yet at length she quieted, dropping panting to the floor beside the bed. She grinned at Anna, who stared levelly back and said, “It’s no good, is it? You can’t get us out.”

  Not yet, Thea said, inspecting each child with care, washing Liahan all over until the memory of Simon’s touch was scoured away. But he’s cocky. He’s leaving me free enough inside this place, though every wall is also a wall of power. He’ll learn to regret that.

  “He could be listening to you now.”

  I know he is. Thea leaped up again, as if her long captivity in alien shape had left her sated with stillness. She prowled the cell, coming to a halt under the lamp cluster.

  Her eyes sparked. The lamps burst into a blaze of sudden light. She stood beneath them, watching them, while Cynan stalked her manifold shadow.

  The light died. Thea’s eyes closed; she seemed to dwindle, to shrink into herself. He’s strong, she said. She sank down slowly.

  There was a little water left. Anna wheedled it into her. It seemed to strengthen her; she raised her head, drawing a long breath. I’m not in the best of condition for this.

  “Is anyone?”

  I plan to be. I won’t give in to those cursed Hounds, and I don’t intend to die for it.

  “Maybe someone will come,” Anna said.

  Thea rounded on her. Pray for it if it suits you, but don’t lie back and wait for it. We’re hidden completely. We’re not even in Rhiyana.

  Anna had guessed that much. But to hear it spoken made it real, a knot of pain where her stomach should be. “Then where—”

  Rome, Thea answered. Old Rome itself, that’s more than big enough to hide us even if anyone can track us here. He knows it, that captor of ours. He’s very pleased with his own cleverness.

  “He’s a horror. To call himself Simon after the notorious wizard, the first heretic—”

  Or after the Prince of Apostles, for the matter of that. No; he’s not our captor, he’s merely our jailer. I meant the other. The mastermind in the guise of a fat fool. Brother Paul as his mind was trumpeting to me, loudly enough to make it certain that that’s not the name he was christened with. He’s the one to look to. He’s the evil genius in this.

  “But he’s only human.”

  Thea laughed with a bitter edge. Poor Anna! We’ve ruined you. All our visible power, our disgustingly pretty faces, our stubborn refusal to let time touch us; we’ve let you think we’re perfection, or as close to it as earth allows. We’ve failed completely to teach you something much truer. No one’s only human, Anna. He might be as ugly as Satan himself; he’ll certainly be dead in a hundred years; he hasn’t a glimmer of our magic. But he has something more powerful than all the rest. He has a brain. A thinking brain. Whether by chance or his own black brilliance, he’s caught one of us, trained him to jesses and a lure, and hunted him with all too much success. You can be sure he’s not resting on it.

  Anna shook her head obstinately. “The fat one might be giving the orders, but the other is only letting him. If he really has that much power—”

  He has more. Do you remember how Alf held down the dance the night—Thea’s mind-voice caught for the merest shadow of an instant—the night the babies were born? Do you remember how he was? Ruler in the circle, master of enchanters—as Brother Simon himself has said, greater than a king. Now remember your worst and falsest image of yourself. That’s how much weaker Alf is than this second Simon Magus.

  “Then how can anyone control him, let alone that fat lecher of a monk?”

  I don’t know, Thea said, but this Paul can. And does.

  Now came Anna’s time to pace with Cynan for escort, and Thea’s to watch in silence. Except that Thea gave it up after a turn or two and turned her attention on Liahan.

  The little witch had not
moved since Simon set her down, not even to protest her rough and thorough cleansing. Her eyes were wide still, bright and fixed. And yet when Thea nosed her, they blinked; her tail wagged very slightly in recognition.

  Anna stopped, alarmed. “What has he done to her? Has he hurt her?”

  Thea’s response was slow in coming. No, I don’t think…he wouldn’t dare… Her lip wrinkled. He wouldn’t dare!

  Anna knelt beside them. Liahan did not flinch or snap when Anna lifted her. She felt as she always did, warm and silken-furred, wriggling a little against Anna’s shoulder. “Her mind,” Anna said. “Her wits. Has he—”

  He can’t, Thea snapped. Cynan, jealous, scrabbled at Anna’s knee; his mother caught him by the scruff of the neck, roughly enough to startle him, and all but drove him to nurse. Her head whipped back toward Anna. I’m nothing to that tower of strength, but I bore these children in my body. While I have any power at all, he can’t touch them.

  “The other one—Paul—he said—”

  I’m a long way yet from losing my mind. Liahan— Thea tossed her head, a very human gesture, yet also very canine. I can’t touch her mind. It’s walled and guarded. There’s no stench of Simon Magus about it; and yet she’s too young. She can’t know how to shield. Not like that. Not from me.

  Anna caressed the hound-child, stroking her favorite places, behind the ears, along the spine. She squirmed with pleasure, climbing higher, burying her cool wet nose in Anna’s neck. “Liahan,” Anna said, for what good it could do, “he’s gone. You can open your mind now.”

  Thea made a small disgusted sound. Talk. As if she could understand.

  Anna ignored her. “Witch-baby, shields are splendidly useful things, and you are a wonder for having made one so young, but it’s making your mother angry. Open a chink at least and let her in.”

  Liahan stiffened a fraction. Anna cradled her, holding her face to face. Her eyes were all gold. Winter-gold like Alf’s, shining as his shone when he wielded his power. “Oh, you are your father’s child. Your mother’s, too, stubborn as you are and laughing in it. Won’t you lower your shield? Just for the practice?”