The Black Swan (14 page)

“Bit of excitement this morning, Prince Siegfried,” Arno remarked as he helped Siegfried into his boots. “Found a dead woman in the village millrace. Drowned, so they say.”

He furrowed his brow, slightly confused for a moment by the non sequitur, before his mind snapped into alert comprehension.
Ah, of course—this is something I need to know, I may have to give orders about it if Mother hasn't.
“Murder?” he asked cautiously. “Robbery?” If there had been a murder, it was his duty to investigate it.

But Arno was shaking his head. “Captain of the guard says not. Looks like a suicide, he says, and a pity, too. Handsome girl, it was, young—”

“Young?” A superstitious shiver shook him, and an echo of the horror and chill of last night crept over him. A dead young woman—like the gypsy girl? Surely not . . . surely it could not be. . . .

“Aye. A young gypsy girl, looks like.” Arno went on blithely, head bent over his work. “No one hereabouts is missing, and she had the looks of a gypsy and the rags.” He made a tsking sound. “A real pity. She wasn't in the water long, at any rate.”

“No?” His throat was tight;
all
the fear of last night came flooding back, and he could all but see the staring eyes in the blue-gray, dead face, yet he dared not let Arno and the rest see it, know he was terrified, know his weakness. . . .

“No. No more than half a day,” Arno continued, oblivious to the pounding of Siegfried's heart. “In fact, they say she must have drowned last night, just about midnight. Curious.”

“Yes,” Siegfried managed, his jaw clenched. “Curious. A suicide, you said?”

“The priest ordered her buried at the crossroads, to keep her from walking,” Arno reported. Now he looked quizzically up at Siegfried. “Unless you order otherwise. I'm to ask—”

Now he was almost faint with relief for a second time. Buried at the crossroads, she could not haunt him again. “No!” he almost shouted, then quickly regained control. “No,” he repeated, forcing an illusion of calm over himself. “Jesu forbid she's free to haunt m—the village! Bury her at the crossroads with bell, book, and candle to drive out her evil!” His tone grew harsh, and Arno's eyes widened with surprise, though he kept his thoughts to himself. “And yes, by Christ!
Stake
her there as well! Drive a spike through her heart! I'll have the witch nailed in her grave!”

“The priest may object,” Arno pointed out mildly.

“Hang the priest. Let him tend to the souls of those who deserve tending.” Anger burned away fear, and Siegfried let his anger have its way with him, grateful only that it banished the terror. “He cannot save the soul of a witch; let her writhe in her grave until Judgment Day and burn in hell thereafter!”

A mask of bland obedience dropped over the surprise and curiosity in Arno's features, and he simply bowed as if Siegfried had ordered a new saddle for his palfrey—though the other two servants backed away, their eyes on Siegfried's face as though something they saw there terrified them. “I will order it done, sire,” Arno said—and nothing more.

V
ON Rothbart led the flock in his guise as a great eagle-owl, followed by Odette, the rest of the swans trailing out in a graceful vee, with Odile bringing up the rear to make sure no stragglers dropped behind. She loved flying; she didn't get to wear her swan form nearly as often as she would have liked, for her studies and duties left her little free time to spend in the air above the baron's estate.

They flew by day, for the eyes of an eagle-owl were perfectly suited to daylight and the “natural” owls hunted equally well by day or night. They flew high enough that it wasn't likely anyone would notice anything but the white skein of swans against the sky, overlooking the darker owl leading them.

Odile had no idea where her father was taking them, for they did not head in the same direction two days in a row. They seemed to be meandering across the countryside, their course determined by chance. She knew very well that her father did nothing by chance, though, so this course may have been determined by the presence of secure places to spend the night.

They made no great speed, either, despite the fact that they were flying. For one thing, being confined to the single lake as they were most of the time, the girls in their swan forms were not accustomed to the kind of exercise that a wild swan got. They flew but rarely, and then for no great distance. For another thing, they needed to feed as
swans
rather than humans, since von Rothbart was not inclined to waste his powers in conjuring food for more than a score of girls. All of these considerations meant that they didn't make a start each day until noon at best. Unless the moon was due to rise late, they had to stop well before sunset—Odile guessed that von Rothbart wasn't going to expend magic in keeping them as swans past the ordinary time of the spell, and having his captives plummet out of the sky to their deaths would not have furthered his plans for them.

The baron had obviously calculated this journey with all those considerations in mind, however, for each day, just as the girls started to tire, or just as the sun sank below the horizon—whichever came first—he would lead them down to a secluded patch of water in the midst of some untenanted wilderness where they would land. There was no one to see the swans glide in to shore, no one to see them suddenly transform to girls as the moon rose, no one to wonder or interfere.

Because of her own nocturnal roamings, much more energetic than the bit of dancing the others practiced, Odile was not nearly so exhausted as the others when they all stopped for the day. This was just as well, since the baron left her in complete charge of the flock at night, flying off she knew not where, and only appearing by sunrise the next day.
She
was in charge of finding them a resting place in their human forms, and sitting guard over them until her father returned.

Perhaps that was why he continued to treat them as he always had, for he was not there to observe the transformations in Odette—or, for that matter, in Odile.

For the first few days, Odile had kept strictly to orders: flying strongly in the rear of the flock and rounding up the stragglers, then watching over the girls at night as they slept, exhausted, wherever they could find a soft spot of ground beside the ponds and lakes where they came to land. But on the fourth day, there came a change in her actions.

It first happened when Lisbet, one of the little swans, started to drop back, with laboring wingstrokes that showed she was quickly running out of strength. Until then, Odile had simply flown to the straggler and nipped at her until she caught up with the others, but this time it was clear to her, if not to her father, that the little one simply didn't have the energy to keep up today. She hadn't slept well the night before, nor eaten well that morning because of her sleepless night; Odile had expected her to have some trouble, but she had hoped that Lisbet would have the strength to keep up. Obviously, though, she didn't, and it was up to Odile to do something.

She side-slipped in the air and approached the young one, who turned her head on her long neck and looked at her with fearful and pleading eyes, expecting cruelty—a buffeting wing, a painful nip from Odile's beak. It was more difficult to practice magic in her form of a swan than in her human shape, but Odile
could
work some minor changings—and she did, conjuring aid for Lisbet in the form of a partial levitation, to take some of her weight away.

With the load on her weary wings suddenly lightened, the swan shot forward, astonishment in her eyes, and caught up with the rest of the flock. Von Rothbart never noticed.

When they landed on a kidney-shaped pond in the midst of a marsh, Odile took the weight-reducing spell off the youngster just as her webbed feet touched the water, which made for an interesting landing; as usual, her father flew away without even a word.

There was plenty of food here, and tasty by swan standards, so they could all replenish their strength. But a marsh would hardly supply restful sleeping places for humans, a fact that apparently escaped von Rothbart.

While the others gathered together, foraged as much as their exhaustion would permit, and waited for sunset, Odile found a hummock that would bear her weight and made her own transformation to human. With a height advantage, she hoped to find some better refuge for herself and the flock.

Immediately, the dank heat struck her a blow, and the thick, unmistakable odor of the swamp itself, a wet miasma of rotting vegetation, stagnant water, and gases oozing up from the muck, assaulted her nose. A swarm of midges headed straight for her, which didn't improve the situation any. She frowned, a flicker of anger making her clench her jaw.
What was he thinking, leaving us here? Was he even thinking at all?

Then she shook her head at her own stupidity. Hadn't she wanted her father to treat her as a capable magician in her own right? Hadn't she wanted to become his helper and partner? And wasn't he acting precisely as if that was what she was? So why should she be angry? He had left her a problem, he expected her to solve it without fuss, and that was what she would do.

Fine, we need a secure place to sleep—
She swatted at more biting insects in annoyance, then took a deep breath, and circled a bit of magic about herself, creating a barrier the insects couldn't cross.
—no, we need a secure and comfortable place to sleep without being eaten alive by bugs. If the girls don't get some shelter from nighttime chill and insects, they won't be able to sleep, and they'll be too tired to fly tomorrow.
Von Rothbart would probably force them to fly—or if he allowed good sense to dictate his actions, he would be angry that they couldn't.

There are times when Father has not allowed common sense to dictate his actions,
she thought with disfavor.
He is more likely to contrive some way to get them farther along.

If that happened, it would be inevitable that they would be forced to stop sooner than he had planned, and that would throw his entire schedule off. One thing was paramount; the swans must never stop overnight in a place where their transformation could be observed by strangers; having the schedule changed would put that in jeopardy.

The trick would be to create something using the minimum possible of power, and do so before the moon rose.
I don't have Father's resources; whatever I do, it will have to be clever.
She could, of course, create a shelter out of the thin air, but why? They didn't need something that might vanish early when
she
ran out of power, leaving them all sputtering in the water. What they needed was firm ground to sleep on, warmth, shelter from insects and from damp. All these things could be created without creating them directly with magic.

Dry land, first. I wish I had some of Father's invisible helpers—
Then it came to her; she needed helpers, not necessarily invisible nor magical. These waters should be teeming with swamp creatures and more arcane creations; the simplest and least-draining of magic spells to control them would make use of this unique workforce. She took a handful of mud and reeds from under her feet, then carefully spun her spell around it, feeling power actually drain from her as she worked. She invested her power in it, using the water dripping from her hand as the carrier. She wove in the controls, ordering every creature that lived in this water to come to her aid—wove in the purpose, that they should build her an island from the mud and reeds of the swamp bottom—and spun it three times around her like a circling breeze to gather in her power and knit itself tight. She held it like a restive horse, making sure she had complete control over it, and let it loose.

Within moments, the first signs that her spell was working appeared in the form of hundreds of turtles, three otters, and some other assorted animals, each bearing a mouthful of mud and reeds, which they deposited on her hummock. They didn't even look up at her; controlled as they were, she might not even have been there so far as they were concerned. Each animal deposited its burden and returned to the water to bring another load.

That works. But I want dry land, not an enormous mud pie.
Odile set her second spell, once again using her handful of mud and reeds as the catalyst, a spell to squeeze the water out of what they brought. She felt more power drain from her, and took a moment to assess what she had left.

As the water beaded up on the magically firming mud and ran back into the lake, stranger beasts appeared, also carrying mud and reeds up from the bottom. Undines with weed-braided hair and pale green skin brought mud up in basketfuls; muskrats patted it into place. Shortly the hummock swarmed with activity and grew in size by leaps and bounds. Beneath the waters, those with gills built the foundation; above it, the air breathers patted and heaped more material from the bottom of the pond onto the mound. Turtles and otters worked steadily beside will'o'wisps, undines, and weird creatures Odile didn't even recognize. Odile's spell made the finished mound as dry and firm as any sure riverbank. When she had sufficient land to work with, she spun a third spell of accelerated growth (one requiring significantly less power than the previous spells), and covered the new land with a thick cover of soft grasses and moss as her crew continued to enlarge it.

So much for a dry place to sleep.
She waited for a moment, gathering her strength, while she pondered the answer to the questions of shelter and warmth.