The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 785
There had been many signs, he now realized, that he had been too trusting and stupid to see. The lack of physical strength and slim build that had been so at variance with the surprising breadth of knowledge accompanied by the confidence of manner shown by a boy so young should have made him suspect it, because the minds of females matured earlier than those of boys, as should the sure and gentle touch of the hands when the wound to his face was being treated. There had been the knowing smile of Padraig of Cashel after he had fitted both of them with new apparel and, from the first night after the incident with the robbers, Ma'el had made it clear that they should sleep apart in spite of the fact that their shared body warmth would have been a comfort in the frigid nights of late winter. On the land journey as well as in the individual shelters rigged on the ship, the old man had seen to it that they were separated. He made his voice low but clear so that it would carry though the louder arguments raging around them, and tried to keep the anger he felt from showing in it.
"So you are a girl, or perhaps a young woman," he said. "You should have told me this. What is your name, or are you still hiding that? How old are you?"
She shook her head and replied in the same, low-pitched, clear tone, "I am Sinead and, and old enough for what you are thinking."
"You know not what I am thinking!" Declan replied in a furious undertone. "I promised to guard both of you from all harm. What kind of man do you think I am?"
"The kind of man I thought you were," she replied, the trace of an apology creeping into her voice, "was a ragged, starving, sword and axe-bearing robber. Since then I have changed my opinion for the better, but I felt a certain embarrassment about revealing my secret to you, and Ma'el would not tell me if or when I should do so."
Before Declan could reply, Brian broke off his argument with Ma'el to say angrily, "Please order your servants to stop muttering among themselves, it is an irritating distraction. Better still, let us use Latin so that they will have nothing to mutter about. Or am I wrong in thinking that a magician of your apparent standing is schooled in Latin?"
"I will understand you," said Ma'el, touching a small ornament suspended from his right ear, "in whichever language you care to speak."
"One of the qualities you do not lack," said Brian dryly, "is modesty. Then let us proceed ..."
Few indeed were the people who could converse in other than their own native tongues, but Latin was spoken throughout the Roman Empire as the language of commerce and diplomacy and used only by the well-educated and highborn families, the far-traveled scholars, seafarers, and traders who needed to converse with philosophers and merchants in distant lands. Declan looked at Sinead and for an instant he allowed one of his eyelids to drop, and she responded with a small nod. That meant they both understood Latin and could follow the conversation as respectfully silent but understanding servants.
"... And I prefer to trust the lengthy, sea-going experience of Captain Nolan and Black Seamus here," Brian was saying with great vehemence, "than the mouthing of a smooth-tongued fortuneteller. You seem to be ordering, in your soft voice and self-effacing manner, the captain of this ship to change course and head for shelter east of Cape Finisterre. You, who are not a seafarer and cannot even see the sky from this cabin, say that the wind is turning westerly and strengthening and is pushing the Atlantic swell higher as we speak ..."
"It is," said the captain quietly, "because the motion of the vessel and the wind in the rigging tells us of this change in the weather ..." Beside him Seamus gave a nod of agreement,"... but I do not believe that anyone, regardless of their profession or sea-going experience or lack of it, can predict with such accuracy the wind direction and strength of a coming storm. At best weather forecasting is guesswork based on past experience. You could be right in what you say or, more likely, completely wrong. With respect, I will not lose my self-respect as a captain, and the faith of my crew, by making an arbitrary and senseless alteration in course at the behest of a magician."
Brian's mouth shaped a smile that had no amusement or friendship in it and said, "What game do you play with us, Ma'el? Does making others do your will against their better judgment give you satisfaction? Is it a matter of self-aggrandizement pure and simple? I ask again, what is the reason behind this stupid game of words you play?"
The old man's gaze moved slowly around the table, coming to rest on Captain Nolan. "I wish to save the lives of my friends," he said, "as well as the officers and crew of this ship."
"You make no mention of saving your own life." said Brian. "That is most unselfish of you."
"My life." said Ma'el, "is not at risk."
"So now you tell us that the ship and its complement are in dire peril," said Brian in an incredulous voice, "but you are not? Ridiculous! Ma'el, you wriggle like a many-times-severed worm. In desperation your words move in different directions seeking escape. Unless you consider us all to be gullible and superstitious fools, which we most decidedly are not, nothing you have yet said warrants making a change of course." He shook his head in angry impatience. "You tell us that you have true and accurate knowledge of an impending great storm, but you cannot tell us how you can know of it."
Ma'el's face remained impassive and it did not seem that he would ever reply. The long silence was broken by Sinead.
"We also know of it," she said, anger making her come to her master's defense. With a side glance at Declan she went on, "I cannot be certain whether or not he consulted it earlier this evening, but he has an enchanted map which I know shows things as they are now and, perhaps, as they will be in the future."
Brian looked surprised. With his eyes still on Ma'el he said, "Well, well, it seems that even your lowly but plainly well-tutored servants comprehend the language of Rome." He looked at Sinead. "My thanks to you, young woman, for speaking out in defense of your master. Please continue."
She hesitated and waited for a slow nod from Ma'el before going on, "The chart appeared not to be the work of a mapmaker's pen but that of an artist, a painter who used dull, smudged colors to depict a scene viewed from a tremendous height. It showed the entire land of Hibernia, its mountains, loughs, inlets, towns, and the surrounding islands as well as part of the Celtic Sea, Scotia, Cymri, southwest Britain, and a small stretch of the coast of Gaul. Small areas of the picture were obscured by soft-edged masses of gray. I did not mention it at the time because other matters concerned us but, knowing our position on the map at the time, when I looked in the direction where one of these gray areas should have been, I saw only wisps and bubblings of high clouds."
Her face took on the expression of one who does not fully believe her own words as she ended, "I formed the opinion that the map was a picture seen from a great height, from a very great height indeed, above those clouds."
"My thanks again," said Brian. "You speak clearly of what you saw, or perhaps thought you saw but, with respect, you may have been willingly misguided by one you trust ..." He turned his attention to Ma'el. "Old man, we would know more about this enchanted chart of yours, but not described in words. We would see it for ourselves."
"I would have preferred that none but my close friends be privy to this secret," said Ma'el, drawing the flat, gray square that Declan had seen him use at the beginning of their journey. "But it seems that Brian and the officers of this ship have much in common with Thomas, the doubting apostle of the Christus, and will not believe my words without physical proof."
While he was speaking, Sinead leaned across the table to move aside the platters, eating utensils, and goblets so that the middle was clear when Ma'el placed the small gray square at its precise center and gave it three sharp taps with one finger. There was a muttered exclamation from Brian, then nothing but ship sounds as the map slowly unfolded itself.
"But, but Hibernia is smaller," Declan burst out, leaning across the table, "and the upper half is covered by that white stuff. It shows Scotia, Cymri, and all of Britain as well as parts of the nearby coast of Gaul, and much more of the Atlantic. This is a different map."
"Be silent," said the captain in a voice that needed no volume to gain instant obedience. "Ma'el, this is a strange map indeed, the like of which I have never seen before. From my own seafaring experience, which you may believe is considerable, the outlines and contours of the land masses appear to be both indistinct yet accurate. But this, and this ..." his finger pointed at two areas of ocean, "... What is it that I see here? Please do not try to confuse me with words. Let your description be detailed and precise."
Ma'el held the captain's eyes for a long moment before he replied, "Very well, Captain, if that is how you wish it. You are seeing a picture of events that are taking place as we speak, viewed from a space satellite in geo-stationary orbit high above this world's atmosphere. The image has been enhanced because of the reduced level of light from the moon and it is blurred because of distance, atmospheric haze, and clouds associated with a rapidly developing low-pressure cyclonic weather system that you see just here ..."
He pointed to the area of ocean west of Gaul where it seemed that the ghostly figures of two fat, bulbous worms were frozen into stillness in the act of curling around each other and chasing each other's tails. His hand moved down the picture and opened in a more inclusive gesture.
"... The large, cloudless area you see," he went on, "is the anticyclonic or high-pressure system which has given us clear skies over the past few days and which, regrettably, is filling and decaying toward the northeast. But it is the deepening cyclone that most concerns us ..."
"Wait, wait!" said Brian loudly. "These are nonsense words, the language of Babel. This is more trickery. Captain, ignore the babblings of this old fool."
"You asked for a full and precise explanation, Captain," Ma'el said, "and that is what I am giving you. Even though I am speaking them clearly, many of my words are without meaning to you, but that is because it will be many, many of your years before you and your people will learn how to use them, and the events and objects to which they will one day apply ..."
"Captain," Brian broke in again. "I see you weakening. Consider your reputation and ignore this charlatan. These are the ravings of a mind rotted with poppy juice or worse. I strongly advise that you land him and his party in Gaul and be rid of him before he can ..."
Ma'el raised his other hand and made a slow, complicated gesture in the air before him. Brian continued speaking, but it was as if he had been surrounded by a wall of silence, because none of his words were being heard, although it was obvious from his expression that he could still hear the others around him. The captain and Seamus stared at the old man, surprise, uncertainty, and a growing respect in their eyes. But whether they were respecting him as a magician for silencing his interrupter or as a foreteller of storms, Declan could not say. Sean, or Sinead, he corrected himself, had the wide-eyed and trusting look of a child.
"I cannot foretell the exact path of the storm," Ma'el resumed, "only that it will travel quickly through southern Britain and Gaul causing much havoc in its path. The effect on us will be an increasing northwesterly wind that will veer north, gaining further strength and pushing up mountainous waves as it moves until it blows us straight onto the coast of northern Iberia where your ship will certainly founder. That is why you must make all possible speed to seek the sheltering coastline south of Finisterre."
Captain Nolan stared down at the map for a long moment, his brows drawn down and lower lip trapped under his teeth in indecision. Seamus was staring at his superior, also awaiting that decision. Brian, no longer trying to talk, was growing redder of face as if he was forcing himself to a great effort of strength, but it seemed that the wall of silence around him was also restricting his physical movements. Finally the captain spoke.
"I have experience of how sudden and with what violence these winter storms can strike," he said doubtfully, "but never before have I seen their workings explained and shown thus. That is, if it is a true explanation ... But wait. Those twisting clouds, the object you called a low-pressure system, has altered. I could swear that the image has changed in subtle details from the one you first showed us. It, it seems to be moving!"
"It is indeed moving," said Ma'el, "because it is a picture of events that are happening as we speak. Please observe. We will look at the area more closely."
He tapped the corner of the map several times in a measured but irregular fashion with one finger. Everyone at the table drew in their breaths sharply, although, where Brian was concerned the sound he made remained inaudible, as the spiral of clouds expanded to fill the entire map. Plainly they could see the great northwestern peninsula of Gaul far astern and a fat finger of cloud curling down to obscure it. The captain swore, but too softly for any of them to hear the name of the god he invoked.
"I don't know what you're doing or how you are doing it," he said, raising his eyes from the map to Ma'el's face, "and I do not comprehend your strange words. In the future stories may be told about my gullibility, and of how I was led into stupidity by a smooth-tongued trickster, but no matter. Against all sense and reason I shall act on your advice Seamus!"
"Captain?"
"Change course to west by southwest," said the captain, his eyes still on the map. "From what I see here it is clear that we must round Cape Finisterre by mid-day tomorrow. Set all sails commensurate with the strengthening wind and have the oars manned in relays throughout the night. At once, Seamus, if you please. The rest of you may go."
"Wait, Captain," said Brian, making himself heard for the first time since the old man's spell had silenced him, "and be careful. This man is a powerful wizard, I freely admit that now, with my apologies for earlier disbelieving him. He held me motionless while my loudest words fell silently from my lips. But this moving map is an impossibility! He is ensorceling our minds, making us imagine and see moving pictures which are not there. We saw him take the map from an inner pocket of his cloak and, by some trick of the hand, make it unfold itself, so it must be made from the thinnest of vellum. Look here ..."
He grasped the edge of the map, lifted it from the table and tried to refold it before letting it fall again.
"... It, it won't bend," he went on in a disbelieving voice as he stared at his fingers, one of which was showing traces of blood. "It's as stiff and hard as a plank of wood and, and the edges are sharp."
He broke off to give the old man a confused look. Ma'el tapped the map, put it back inside his cloak when it had refolded itself, then nodded to the captain before he turned to follow Seamus out of the cabin. Sinead leaned across the table to take Brian's unresisting hand in her own.
"The cut is clean-edged and shallow," she said in the impersonal healer's voice that Declan knew so well, "and nothing for you to concern yourself about. Wrap it in a firm, washed binding and by tomorrow it will have knitted together and healed."
She released the hand and followed Ma'el from the cabin.
Before he did the same, Declan heard Captain Nolan laugh quietly and say to Brian, "By tomorrow, old friend, I fear you will have more to worry about than a cut finger."
Chapter Eleven
BY FIRST light next day the Atlantic rollers were marching across their beam like a procession of round-topped mountain ranges, their dark gray valleys filled with increasing frequency by spray blown by a wind that made the rigging sing and struck soft, muffled blows against the upperworks and deck cargo. The ship's rolling and pitching was continuous, but over the past three days Declan had become enough of a seafarer for the motion to make him feel worried but not sick. When one of the squalls blew past, briefly hiding the rising sun, the thunderous rattling of rain or hail on the decks made it difficult to talk or, at times, even to think.
Sinead and Declan were crouched in the lee of Ma'el's wagon, rather than spending the time in their dark and leaking deck shelters, while the worst of the weather blew over and past them. She was wearing, as was he, the long, thick cloak, high boots, helmet, and oiled skins supplied by the venerable Padraig of Cashel a scant two weeks earlier and, apart from her rain-streaked face she, too, seemed to be warm and dry in them. But in spite of the fact that Ma'el was inside his wagon, Brian was sheltering in the ship's only passenger accommodation, and its officers and men were too busy working the ship to spend time on the idle chatter of nonseafarers, she did not seem disposed to help pass the stormy monotony of the day ahead by talking to him.
It was not that Declan wanted to talk to her. He was still angry over the way she had concealed the fact that she was a female from him, and particularly for the deep, personal insult implied in the reason she had given for concealing it. He looked at the thin, serious, rain-beaded face and wondered if there were dark thoughts going through her mind, thoughts, perhaps, that she would prefer not to be thinking so that she might welcome a change of subject. He waited until the latest rain cloud had cleared the sun and the turbulent ocean shone dark green rather than gray, and tried again.
"It is close," Declan shouted as he raised a hand to point out past the port bow where the dark, frowning outlines of Finisterre rose from the sea, "but it looks to be coming no closer."
When she did not reply at once, he began to wonder if he had sounded too angry. The truth was that he was angry, and it was difficult to hide the feeling when one was shouting at the object of one's anger. But when she did shout her reply, Sinead's words were banal and voiced only in tones of loud disinterest.
"A watched pot," she said, "never boils."
Another squall covered and then cleared the sun, sweeping the ship with rain that was more than half snow and leaving the windward edges of the masts and rigging outlined in white. Declan maintained an angry silence and neither looked at nor spoke to her, but when Seamus was passing them on his way aft to the captain, he grasped the lieutenant's arm.
"What is it?" the other said, his voice loud and harsh with impatience. "I have no time to stop for idle talk."
"And I have nothing to do," Declan shouted back. He pointed again at the dark mass of the land ahead with the waves breaking at its base like churning milk. "Suddenly it is coming very close. Can you use another oar?"
