The Hob's Bargain

The shaper turned to me with a bright smile, "Hob forgets a lot. Forgets my master is here, too. Forgets some ghosts are not so weak. Forgets old places have their dangers."

"The shaper's right," said the hob, his voice lifeless with failure. "Being around humans makes me arrogant. I came here because I knew there were recent dead wandering—bound to be, after a battle. Should have thought there might be older spirits here."

Defeat was something I almost couldn't associate with the hob. Not even being left alone with only a mountain for company had given him such melancholy. Nor could I see any reason for it. I looked around suspiciously.

"There's a graveyard just over the wall," I offered, because what he'd said made me wonder if he knew. "Caefawn?"

The hob bowed his head and didn't answer.

"Show yourself," I commanded the air at large.

"Here I am," chortled the shaper.

"Be quiet or leave," I said sourly. "I have enough to work out. If you interfere. I swear it'll be the worse for you."

He subsided, except for a couple of smirks. I didn't know what he thought I could do to him, but I was glad he was threatened enough to desist.

"Show yourself, ghost." I said again. "Caefawn, don't you bring me out here, then leave me alone to deal with this thing."

It was there. Larger than the garden we were in, its substance covered the ground with a deep shadow.

"Caefawn," I said again. "Time enough for despair when there's nothing left to do."

"Hobs are emotional," observed the shaper. "Ghosts affect them more than they do you mortals."

The shadows continued to deepen in the garden, frightening the moon's light away. I reflected, not for the first time in the hob's company, that cat's sight would be extremely useful. Darkness crept over Caefawn, who was bent around his staff as if it comforted him.

The shadows stopped at my feet.

"Who are you?" it asked in a voice like fiddle music in the dawn. I thought that was supposed to be my question. "Why did you summon me?"

"I am Aren of Fallbrook," I answered it, as I had the earth spirit the day before. "I am here to be taught."

Something touched me inside my head. It was the strangest feeling I'd ever had, as if something soft and ethereal drifted through my skin and bone. After an instant the touch turned to ice.

"Warm it," advised the shaper as he gripped both my hands and stared into my eyes. For once his face was serious. "Think of hot, rich food; the fire on a cold night; my master's eyes. Think of touch and life and light." Then, without loosing my eyes from his hold, he said in a different voice, "Hob, now would be a good time to help."

Would you like to join me?

I shuddered with the icy jolt that shot from my head to my spine. I thought of fires and soup, hot green-brown eyes that flared to red in an elemental's face.

I am so alone here.

Me, too, I thought before I caught myself. I'm so alone.

The shaper slapped my face. "Warmth and living, Aren."

Warmth. The touch of Daryn's hands on my flesh. Warmth slipped from his remembered touch to my cold skin. I concentrated on the one night we'd had, the passion and fire. When I ran out of memory, I built new ones. Dreaming about the dead didn't seem like the right thing to do under the circumstances, so for the new ones I substituted coal-gray skin for sun-browned, the nip of fangs gently wielded, a tail wrapped around my ankle. Thoughts curiosity had brought to me after the bargain was struck. I asked the question, What would it be like to be wed to the hob? The answers came whether I willed them or not.

The cold withdrew slowly, more slowly when desires replaced solid memory. So I tried another tack. I built the image of the gradual magic of rye and wheat pushing up through the earth, exchanging safe darkness for sunlight and warmth. Flowers opening for the first time to the dance of butterfly wings.

It was gone, and I was breathing as heavily as a drowning victim just rescued. I expect the analogy occurred to me because my clothes were wet with sweat. It started to rain. Lucky me.

"Good girl," said the shaper. "Did well enough for a mortal—better than the hob."

Behind the shaper crouched the ghost. I felt no fear of it now, for it was mine. It could do no more harm unless I set it free.

"But Caefawn's no speaker," I said with sudden knowledge of what that might mean. "The despair… that's a ghost's weapon, isn't it? It doesn't affect me."

Caefawn, his face drawn and remote, looked up from his staff. "That and fear. As a speaker you are immune to those and many other weapons of the spirit. The mountain could defend me from terror or gloom, not both. Not so far from her slopes."

Rather than tiring me out, holding the ghost under my control seemed to be giving me energy, as if I'd been drinking fizzies all night and was jittery with it.

All beings had spirits, not just ghosts. I thought that if I wanted to, I might be able to take the shaper as well, though not the hob. Not yet. It was as if I could see the will that each possessed, and measure my power against them.

See, said the ghost speaking secretly to me. See what we could do?

"Should be more cautious," advised the shaper. "Could have killed her seeing if she could protect herself from ghosts. My master would have been unhappy. He sent me to watch you."

The ghost looked up at me with its eyeless face, as if we shared a secret. The double vision I'd had with the skeleton came back, and I could see the ghost as it had been in mortal form—a woman with hair of bright brass and laughter sweet as the south wind. A woman who had been afraid to be alone, to die.

Yes, her voice whispered in my mind, I could give you power. Magic you could use to make the villagers like you again. Make them do as they ought, appease the earth guardian. You could save them from themselves.

I knelt until I was level with its face.

"Go rest," I said slowly because it was difficult to speak. "Sleep now." It wasn't a suggestion, as I'd made to the raider, for this ghost I controlled absolutely. "Be at peace."

The ghost faded, as the other had. As it did, I felt that odd surge of power and awareness drift away.

I looked up into Caefawn's eyes.

"I didn't bring her here to see if she was strong enough to protect herself from the ghosts," he said.

"What, then?" demanded the shaper petulantly.

"He wanted to know if I'd give in to temptation," I said suddenly, not realizing it until the words were out of my mouth. " 'Death magic, blood magic slips easy down the throat'." I quoted an old lay softly. " 'Power calls with temptation's demand. »

"I could have stopped you," Caefawn said. "Now, while you're just learning." Could have killed me, I thought.

"You didn't have to," I replied, getting to my feet like an old woman.

Stiff and sore, as though I'd been fighting rather than sitting in a garden, I tottered forward and kissed the hob's cheek. The surface was smoother than the skin my imagination had endowed him with. It was a relief to know I wouldn't have survived to do the things the ghost had offered to me.

The shaper hooted and blew raspberries, but the hob smiled as sweetly as if he read my thoughts.

When I took my patrol the next night, the hob came with me. Though «with» might be the wrong word. He'd run ahead and jump out from behind trees, laughing when I jumped and swore at him.

"No need to swear so quietly," he advised merrily. "The raiders are mostly in camp today. There's a small party by Wedding Pass, but they'll not cross our path."

I stopped short. "If there's no danger, why are we patrolling?"

He looked at me seriously for a moment. "Wouldn't do to get dependent on me. The bargain's for the survival of the village, remember. They need to be ready. Even when the raiders are taken care of, there are hillgrims, trolls, and a dozen other such nasties. I understand that in the past you've been protected here." He gestured widely to indicate the valley. "Not having to worry about much but the occasional bandit or wolf. It will never be that way again." He strolled through the field, passing an arm over my shoulder and letting his tail settle around my hips. "There was a reason the mages felt they had to bind the magic. Most of the wizards of the time felt the same way you do about bloodmages, blood magic. But they agreed to it all the same."