Split Infinity

The wolf shifted back into the man. “Too late, friend. I was lost when I met thee, knowing it not. The Oracle alone knew, when it told me to ‘cultivate Blue.’ I ask no favor of thee, but I will help thee investigate thine own situation. Perchance that which slew thine other self now lurks for thee at the Blue Demesnes, and a lupine nose will sniff it out in time.”

“I thank thee, werewolf. Yet will I do no magic, so can not assist thee in thine own concern. It is a one-sided favor thou dost—“ But Kurrelgyre had already reverted to wolf-form.

“And thee, Neysa,” Stile continued. “I—“

The unicorn made a musical blast of negation. She gestured marginally with her nose, indicating that he should mount. Relieved, Stile did so. He remained tired from the marathon, and it was a great comfort to be on Neysa again. Now he could relax, for a little while, recovering from that grueling run. He needed about two days off his feet, to recuperate, but the time simply wasn’t there. If he delayed his approach to the Blue Demesnes, Yellow might spread the word, and what- ever lurked there would be thoroughly prepared for his arrival. He had to get there first.

Should he ask for another sniff of wolfsbane? No—that magic might not work for him as well a second time, and in any event he preferred to ride out his problems with his own strength, not leaning on magic too often.

Stile did not know where the Blue Demesnes were, but Kurrelgyre did. He led Neysa eastward at a fast clip. They moved back along the route they had come originally, through forest and field and badlands, hardly pausing for rest or food. Stile explained along the way about his need to report back to Proton on the morrow, so the two creatures were determined to get him where he was going before he had to return to Proton. Kurrelgyre did not pause to hunt, and Neysa never grazed despite Stile’s urgings.

At length they passed the place where he had tamed the unicorn: the start of that wild ride. So short and yet so long a time ago! They proceeded without pause to the castle Stile had first seen from his survey from the tall tree. Back virtually to his starting point—had he but known!

Dawn was breaking in its unmitigated splendor as they approached the castle. Stile, asleep on Neysa, had missed the pretty moonrisings and settings of the night.  He squinted at the castle blearily. He had barely four hours left before his match for Rung Five in Proton—and he hadn’t even settled the situation in Phaze yet. If only Blue hadn’t been so far from Yellow—

Stile had slept, but it seemed the tensions of his mission had prevented him from unwinding properly. If the Blue Adept had really been murdered, who had done the deed? If Blue’s magic had not saved him, how could Stile survive without the aid of magic? Yet this was the way it had to be. Even if magic had been permitted him, he would not be prepared with suitable verses.

Yet he still had to check this castle out. To know, finally, exactly what his situation was. Whatever it might be, whatever it might cost him. The Oracle had told him to know himself, and he believed it was good advice.

The environs of the Blue Demesnes were surprisingly pleasant. There was no black fog or yellow fog—not even any blue fog. Just the pure blue sky, and a lovely blue lake, and fields of bluebells and blue gentians and bluegrass. To Stile’s eye this was the most pleasant of places—not at all like the lair of an Adept.

Still, he could not afford to be deceived by superficialities. “I think it would be best to enter in disguise, as before,” Stile said. The animals agreed.

This time Stile donned Neysa’s socks, while Kurrelgyre assumed man-form. Then the seeming man led the two seeming unicorns up to the castle gate.

The drawbridge was down across the small moat, and the gate stood open. An armed human guard strode forward, but his hand was not near his sword. He was, of course, garbed in blue. “What can we do for thee, man?” he inquired of Kurrelgyre.

 “We come to see the Blue Adept,” the werewolf said.

“Thine animals are ill?”

Surprised, Kurrelgyre improvised. “One has bad knees.”

“We see not many unicorns here,” the guard observed. “But surely the Lady Blue can handle it. Come into the courtyard.”

Stile was startled. This was the first he had heard of a Lady Blue. How could she be the Adept, if the original had been a man, and was now dead? Unless she had been his wife. This complicated the picture consider-ably!

“But we wish to see the Adept himself,” the were-wolf protested.

“If thou’rt dying, thou seest the Adept,” the guard said firmly. “If thine animal hath bad knees, thou seest the Lady.”