Blue Adept

One problem had been exchanged for another, however.  It was not any mare’s prerogative to gainsay the Herd Stallion. Stile would have to do that himself, as the Blue Adept. In the informal but rigorous hierarchy of this world, herd-leaders, pack-leaders, tribe-leaders and Adepts were roughly equivalent, though the ultimate power lay with the Adepts. Stile would deal with the Herd Stallion as an equal.

First he had to settle things at the Blue Demesnes. Stile talked with his human bodyguard from the other frame, Hulk. Hulk was as big as Stile was small: a towering mass of muscle, expert in all manner of physical combat but not, despite the assumption of strangers, stupid.  “It is necessary that I leave this castle for a day or so,” Stile told him. “I must negotiate with the unicorn Herd Stallion, and I cannot summon him here.”

“That’s for sure,” Hulk agreed. “He never did have much of a liking for you. Uh, for thee. I’d better go with thee. That unicorn is one tough character.”

“Nay, friend. I am in no danger from the unicorns. It is the Lady Blue I worry about. I wish thee to guard her in mine absence, lest my nameless enemy strike at me through her. Thou hast not magic—at least, thou hast not practiced it; but if no others know I am gone there should be no hostile spells. Against else, thy skills suffice as well as mine.”

Hulk made a gesture of acquiescence. “She is surely worth guarding.”

“Yes. She maintained the Blue Demesnes after her lord, mine alternate self, was murdered. Without her help I could not fill this office of Adept. I have the power of magic, but lack experience. I am reminded daily of this.” Stile smiled wryly, remembering how the Lady Blue had just set him straight about Neysa. “And—“

“And she is an extraordinarily attractive woman,” Hulk finished. “A magnet for mischief.”

“Mine alternate self had excellent taste.”

“That’s one thing I don’t quite understand yet. If only a person whose double in the other frame is dead can cross the curtain that separates one frame from the other, what about me? Do I have an alternate self here who died?” Stile considered. “Thy tenure in the other frame of Pro-ton was for twenty years. Was thy family there before thee?”

“No. I came at age fifteen for my enlistment. My time would have been up in a few more months. My family never set foot on Planet Proton. They live fifteen light years away.”

“So thy existence on this planet stems only from thy tenure as a serf,” Stile concluded. “Thou hast no natural existence in this other frame of Phaze. There is no alternate self to fill thy place in the alternate scheme. So thou art free to cross the curtain.”

“So I was not murdered,” Hulk concluded. “That’s a relief.”

Stile smiled. “Who could murder thee? Thou couldst pulp any normal man with the grip of one hand.”

“Except thee, when we played the Game.”

“The fortunes of chance,” Stile said. “How could I match thee, in fair combat?”

Hulk laughed good-naturedly. ‘Tease me not, little giant. Thy stature is as mine, in martial arts.”

“In mine own weight-class,” Stile qualified. It was good to talk with someone who understood Stile’s home-world and the Game.

They started off within the hour. Stile played his harmonica, accumulating his magic, then sang one of the spells he had worked out: “By the power of magic vested in me, make me blank so none can see.” He was unable to heal himself or cure himself of illness, but he could change his aspect before other people. He held up his hand, then waved it before his face: nothing. He was invisible.  Neysa, of course, knew him by smell and sound. She was not spooked. “This way,” he explained, “it will not be obvious that I am departing.”

“A watcher could see that the mare carries a burden,” the Lady pointed out.

“That’s right,” Stile agreed, surprised. He considered a moment, then sang: “By the power of magic vested in me, make me as light as I can be.” He felt the weight of his body dissipate. “Excellent.”

Both Hulk and the Lady looked perplexed. Stile laughed.  “I shall answer thy questions in turn. Lady, thou knowest by my voice that I remain standing on the floor; how is it that I do not float to the ceiling? Because my spell is very similar to the last, and since no spell may be used twice in succession, much of its force was abated. I am not as light as I can be; my weight is perhaps a fifth normal. About twenty pounds, or a trifle more. Hulk, how is it that I do not glow like the sun, since that is also a meaning of the term I used, ‘light’? Because my words only vocalize what is in my mind, and my mind provided the definition of my terms. Had I wished to light brightly, despite already being invisible, I could have used the same spell, shifting only my mental intent, and it would have worked that way.”

“Methinks Stile likes magic,” Hulk muttered. “Personally, I do not believe in it.”