“How do you know?” she insisted. “You said yourself you don’t understand their powers, or their knowledge. You have no power at all in this world. If they crossed the Void, would they have power?”
He shook his head. “I doubt they could even exist in this world,” he told her. “The material laws here are very different. Which, incidentally, is what makes magic possible—a change in the ways the laws of physics operate … “
As the conversation turned to a discussion of theoretical magic and its relation to the martial arts, Rudy listened, puzzled; if Ingold had his end of the script down pat, Gil sure as hell had hers.
After a time, Ingold took charge of Tir to feed him, and Gil made her way quietly out onto the porch, seeking the silence of the last of the westering sunlight. She sat on the edge of the high platform, her booted feet dangling in space, leaning her arms along the bottom rail of the crazy old banister and watching the hills go from tawny gold to crystal, like champagne in the changing slant of the light, the air luminous with sunlit dust one moment, then suddenly overlaid with the cool of the hills’ shadow. The evening wind slurred softly through the lion-colored grass of the wastelands all around. Each rock and stunted tree was imbued by the light with a unique and private beauty. The light even lent something resembling distinction to the sunken wreck of the blue Impala and the nondescript VW, half-hidden by the screen of whispering weeds.
She heard the door open and shut behind her then and smelled the dark scent of tallow and wool permeated with smoke as Ingold settled down beside her, once more wearing his dark mantle over the pale homespun of his robe. For some minutes they didn’t speak at all, only watched the sunset in warm and companionable silence, and she was content.
Finally he said, “Thank you for coming, Gil. Your help has been invaluable.”
She shook her head. “No trouble.”
“Do you mind very much taking Rudy back?” She could tell by his voice he’d sensed her dislike and was troubled by it.
“I don’t mind.” She turned her head, her cheek resting on her arm on the rail. “He’s okay. If I didn’t know you, I probably wouldn’t believe a word of it myself.” She noticed in the golden haze of the light that, though his hair was white, his eyelashes were still the same fairish gingery red that must have been his whole coloring at one time. She went on. “But I’m going to drop him off at the main highway and come back. I don’t like leaving you here alone.”
“I shall be quite all right,” the wizard said gently.
“I don’t care,” she replied.
He glanced sideways at her. “You couldn’t possibly help, you know, if anything did happen.”
“You have no magic here,” she said softly, “and your back’s to the wall. I’m not going to leave you.”
Ingold folded his arms along the rail, his chin on his crossed wrists, seeming for a tune only to contemplate the rippling tracks of the wind in the long grass below the porch, the rime of sun-fire like a halo on the distant hills. “I appreciate your loyalty,” he said at last, “misguided though it is. But the situation will not arise. You see, I have decided to risk going back tonight, before it grows fully dark.”
Gil was startled, both relieved and uneasy. “Will Tir be okay?”
“I can put a spell of protection over us both that should shield him from the worst of the shock.” The sun had touched the edges of the hills already; the evening breeze wore the thin chill of coming night. “There should be a good two hours of daylight left in my own world when Tir and I return—there seems to be a disjunction of time involved in the Void, your world and mine not quite in synch. We should be able to come to cover before dark.”
“Won’t that be an awful risk?”
“Maybe.” He turned his head a little to meet her eyes, and in the dimming evening light she thought he looked tired, the shadows of the porch railings barring his face but unable to hide the deepened lines around his mouth and eyes. His fingers idled with the splinters of the wood, casually, as if he were not speaking of danger into which he would walk. “But I would rather take that risk than imperil your world, your civilization, should the Dark prove able to follow me through the Void.”
Then he sighed and stood up, as if dismissing the whole subject from his mind. He helped her to her feet, his hand rough and warm and powerful, but as light and deft as a jeweler’s. The last glow of the day surrounded them, silhouetted against the burning windows. “I am entitled to risk my own life, Gil,” he said. “But whenever I can, I draw the line at risking the lives of others, especially those who are loyal to me, as you are. So don’t be concerned. We shall be quite safe.”
CHAPTER THREE
“Where you headed?” Gil carefully guided the VW in a small circle, bumping slowly over stones and uneven ground, and eased it back onto the road again. The road, the hills, the dark trees of the grove had turned gray-blue and colorless in the twilight. In her rear-view mirror, Gil saw Ingold’s sword blade held high in salute. She could see him on the cabin porch, straight and sturdy in his billowing dark mantle, and her heart ached with fear at the sight. Rudy, chewing on a grass blade, one sunburned arm hanging out of the open window, was about as comforting as reruns of The Crawling Eye on a dark and stormy night.
“San Bernardino,” Rudy said, glancing back also at the dark form of the wizard in the shadows of the house.
“I can take you there,” Gil said, negotiating a gravel slide and the deep-cut spoor of last winter’s rains. “I’m heading on into Los Angeles so it’s not out of my way.”
“Thank you” Rudy said. “It’s harder than hell to get rides at night.”
Gil grinned in spite of herself. “In that jacket it would be.”
Rudy laughed. “You from L.A.?”
“Not originally. I go to UCLA; I’m in the Ph.D. program in medieval history there.” Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed his start of surprise, a typical reaction in men, she had found. “Originally I’m from San Marino.”
“Ah,” Rudy said wisely, recognizing the name of that wealthy suburb. “Rich kid.”
“Not really.” Gil objected more to the label than to the facts. “Well—I guess you could say that. My father’s a doctor.”
“Specialist?” Rudy inquired, half-teasing.
“Child psychiatrist,” Gil said, with a faint grin at how well the label fitted her.
“Yow.”
“They’ve disowned me,” she added with a shrug. “So it doesn’t matter.” Her voice was offhand, almost apologetic. She turned on the headlights, and dust plumed whitely in their feeble glare. By their reflection Rudy could see that her face wore the shut, wary look again, a fortress defended against all comers.
“Why the hell would they disown you?” He was indignant in spite of himself for her sake. “Christ, my mother would forgive any one of my sisters for murder if she’d just finish high school.”
Gil chuckled bitterly. “It’s the Ph.D. mine objects to,” she told him. “What up-and-coming young doctor or dentist is going to marry a research scholar in medieval history? She doesn’t say that, but that’s what she means.” And Gil drove on for a time in silence.
The dark shapes of the hills loomed closer around the little car, the stars emerging in the luminous blue of the evening sky, small and bright with distance. Staring out into the milky darkness, Rudy identified the landmarks of his trip into the hills, rock and tree and the round, smooth shapes of the land. The green eyes of some tiny animal flashed briefly in the gloom, then vanished as a furry shape whipped across the dark surface of the road.
“So they kicked you out just because you want to get a Ph.D.?”