by John Benson
Linda picked her way across the stones. There was volcanism here. Hot springs. A subtropical microclimate which denied even the winter's ice. But the smell of it was sulpherous. Unclean. And now in summer there was scarce need for extra heat. Yet the Oldest chose to live here. The mouth of her cave was visible, just where the vision had shown her it would be. Linda picked her way across the stones.
She climbed. A bird cried out a warning. Or was it the call of some spirit? Some one of the Old One's minions. No matter. She had seen herself come here, and so she must come. Her only success at prophecy, and it had told her to consult a prophet. She climbed.
A friendly breeze blew away a little of the stink. Linda sensed the soul-sparks of all the little living things and the great hot soul-fire of the one who waited for her above. A creature so old she was kept alive by will alone. A dangerous demigod, often unpredictable and cruel. Linda had seen herself come here, so she must come. She had not seen herself succeed here. Nor did she see herself leave. A fickle breeze brought a whiff of rotting eggs.
"Well, there you are, dear. Come. Sit yourself down on this flat rock and tell me your story. I've been expecting you."
The figure was tiny. She sat on a rock. Thin wisps of gray hair blew in the errant breeze. So small, so old. But the soul-furnace burned oh so bright.
"I didn't suppose one sneaks up on a Prophet. My name is Linda. A minor Talent. But you surely know that."
"I hate false modesty," the Old One said sourly. "Your flame is far from dim. Now sit. And talk."
Linda sat. The view was beautiful. But the air. Blech. "I suppose you get used to the stink," she said.
"Aye. And the heat is a blessing on these old bones. Now talk. You're capable of your own visions. Why come for mine?"
"Because my visions fail, Old One. I try to sleep on the questions of my own future, and all I get is garbled junk. The only true dream that ever came showed me coming here."
"And your questions, child?"
Linda tried to read the Old One's face. It was craggy as a mountainside and just as dispassionate. "Will I attain greatness?" she said. "Will I find happiness? And should I go into theory or practice?"
"Ah," the Old One said.
The bird screamed. Linda sent out her senses. No, it was just a bird. The Old One sat there motionless, like a lizard in the sun. "Well?" Linda said.
"The future must be shy with you, child. If you know too much, you will lose the privilege of free will. Blindly following what seems to be your destiny means abrogating choice. Which means you could succeed as easily at evil as at good. The visions will be more generous to you once you are old enough to heed them as hints and warnings, rather than instructions."
"Oh." Darn. She hated being told she had to do things the hard way. "Can you find my answers for me, though?"
The Old One smiled, but there was nothing particularly friendly about it. "You will never attain greatness in your own eyes," she said. "Which is a good thing. Most people who find themselves great are jerks. You may attain greatness in the eyes of others, if you decide well."
"Oh." A definite 'maybe'. Better than nothing. "And happiness?"
"If you ever attain happiness, it will be through weakness rather than strength," the Prophet said. "The man who can enslave your body can set free your soul."
"But there are so few of us," Linda whined. "And I am the strongest of my generation. Am I doomed to be lonely?"
"What was that third thing? I forget," the Old One said. She yawned. Was all this boring her?
Years of loneliness stretched out in Linda's mind. She wanted to cry. She wanted to yell. But there was her work. At least she had her work. "Theory versus practice," she said. "They tell me my greatest proclivities are for teaching and research. But I want to go out and use it. Make a difference."
"But you want the excuse of a vision to ratify your choice? Or a Prophet? Shame on you, girl. That's gutless. Listen to me. This isn't prophecy now, it's advice. If you want to make a difference, you'll have to become comfortable with uncertainty. Things that matter won't wait for perfect clarity. Got that?"
Ah. That really was the difference, wasn't it? A scholar could court perfection at his leisure. If the real world brought a charging swordsman, the choice was fight or run. Not ponder. That way led to an early death.
"I want to make a difference," Linda said. "But it means I have to work in ways I don't enjoy."
"Then do it," the Old One said. "You don't need my permission. Now if you will excuse me?"
The Prophet got up and tottered off back towards her cave. Linda longed for more answers. But she was wise enough to count herself lucky for the ones she'd got.
There were three men lounging in the guild hall. Three sets of eyes that turned and stared at Linda with impolite directness. The fact that she had a skirt slit up the back so she could ride gave them a bit more to stare at. She didn't know whether to be flattered or annoyed. "I'm looking for Lawrence," she said.
One of them stood. Looked the part, he did. Dressed in leather. Weapons belt. A predator's eyes. Blue, blue eyes. "My friends call me Larry," he drawled.
"And what do your employers call you?" she said. One of the other men snickered.
"Let's talk in the courtyard, My Lady. Away from the riff-raff."
"Let me know how she is," the heckler said. "I might want to be next." The third man thought it was funny.
"By all means," Linda said. She followed Larry into the open center of the building. One usually finds little gardens in these inner spaces, but this one was bare earth. A practice ground for the use of weapons.
"Can you afford me?" he said. The man was self-assured, almost haughty. Maybe an armsman - he had to be. At least he wasn't as rude as the others.
She was standing in the sun. Good. She let the golden Sovereign glint in it. "Seems I can," she said. "The job's simple. I intend to travel and it would attract unwelcome attention if I didn't appear to be traveling with protection. So. Come with me and pretend to be my bodyguard."
"Be it, you mean," the man said. "I'm the best. And I don't pretend."
Smug. She wished he weren't quite so smug. "The guild says you're discreet," she said. "So I'll honor you with the truth. I'm an Adept. More dangerous than any swordsman. But if it's known, I'll get mobbed with petitioners and never get anything important done."
"More dangerous than any swordsman. Can you kill?"
"Of course I can kill," she snapped. "Killing is obscenely easy. Do you know how much easier it is to kill than it is to heal?"
"But can you? Do you have it in you? Have you ever done it?"
"I, um," Linda said. She sighed. "No. But I think I could. If, er, the ethics of the situation were such ..."
He made a rude noise. "You need me," he said. "For my judgment if not for my prowess. While you were balancing some ethical dilemma things could get ugly indeed. And anyway, anything I can clear up by mundane means is one less reason you'll be exposed as what you are."
He might be cocky, but he could think. That was a definite plus. She threw the coin and he snatched it out of the air so quickly that it could almost have been magic. "I'm convinced," she said. "You're hired. We leave in the morning."
"Fine," he said. "Now prove it."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Prove you're an Adept. If you're a fake, fine, I can live with it. But I don't want to include you in my plans if things get sticky and then find out. So prove it. Do something. Do something magic."
"Oh crap," she said. "Now I have to balance the dangers of showing off with the dangers of you not believing me. Crap crap crap."
He grinned a very satisfied grin. "On the road," he said. "Close quarters. Just me and a girl pretending to be an Adept. It's all right. I took your money, so I won't give you away in public. But in private, hey. A little sweetness. A small price to pay."
She grew hot, and cold. She wanted to hurt him. But it was a reason. She had wanted a reason. Linda burst into flames. The armsman stepped back from the heat. "I'd rather show off to you than have to hurt you," she said. "Will this do?"
"Yes," he said. "Thank you."
She banked her fires. He had provoked her and it had worked. "You're used to getting your way, aren't you?" she said. The last of the flames guttered out. It was embarrassing, how easy she had been to manipulate.
"Yes," he said. "I do." It was said quite calmly. Without brag.
"All right. But if you want me to call you Larry, then call me Linda. When you say 'My Lady,' it makes me look around for somebody else."
"Nice name," he said. "You made your point. I won't be taking advantage on the trail. But we could still share sweetness, you know. If you want."
She was nearly tempted. The maleness of him was strong, and she reacted to it. But it would be futile. Meaningless. "Sorry," she said. "The man for me is the one who can overpower me, and you obviously can't."
"Don't be too sure," he said.
He was wrong, but part of her wished he was not. Part of her wondered whether her power were truly a blessing or a curse. "In the morning," she said. "I'll see you then." She left him. She could still sense his soul-flame as she walked away. Deep. Honest. And very, very male.
He even looked in the horses' mouths and checked their teeth, for shit's sake. "I told you they were good ones," Linda said. Being checked up on annoyed her.
"And they are," Larry said. "Had them long?"
"Yesterday," Linda said. She stroked a shiny neck. The mare flicked her ears. "Got them from Emil the Horsetrader, not too far from here."
"That crook?"
"Can't cheat me, Larry. I can feel the soul-spark. I got strong young horses who like to be with people. Neat, huh?"
"Nice trick," he said. "How much you pay?"
"What he asked."
"What? You paid too much. Not good. Not good at all. You should have taken me along. Let me haggle."
She grinned. "He'll just think he put something over on a novice. I was in a hurry, and money's no big deal."
"And you drew attention to yourself," he said. "Paying too much was either suspicious or marked you as a potential victim for thieves. Not good."
"All right," she said. "All right, you made your point. Next time we buy a horse, you can do the talking. Shall we go?"
"When you tell me where," he said. "Then I'll check the supplies you've brought and see if we need additions."
The horses shifted restlessly, and used their tails as ineffective fly swatters. "I thought I'd go toward Seaside," Linda said. "Until something comes up."
"Wait a minute," Larry said. He looked annoyed. "You mean you don't even have a plan? I'm a bodyguard on an aimless outing? I knew you were young. I didn't think you were crazy."
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