Marion Zimmer Bradley - Sword and Sorceress 11

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SWORD AND SORCERESS XI AN ANTHOLOGY OF HEROIC FANTASY Edited by Marion

Zimmer Bradley DAW BOOKS, INC. DONALD A. WOLLHEIM, FOUNDER 375 Hudson Street,

New York, NY 10014 ELIZABETH R. WOLLHEIM SHEILA E. GILBERT PUBLISHERS

CONTENTS INTRODUCTION by Marion Zimmer Bradley CALL THE WILD HORSES by Bunnie

Bessell KEEPSAKE by Lynn Michals SPIRIT SINGER by Diana L. Paxson FINAL EXAM by Jessica

R. herbs THE STRATMOOR BEAR by Charley Pearson GRUMBLE SNOOT by Vaughn Heppner

TALES by Javonna L. Anderson MAGGOTS FEAST by Jo Clayton MOONRIDERS by Lynne

Armstrong-Jones THIEF, THIEF! by Mary Catelli HEALING by Hannah Blair VIRGIN SPRING by

Cynthia McQuillin THE HAVEN by Judith Kobylecky SAVIOR by Tom Gallier BAD LUCK AND

CURSES by Jessie Eaker

THE MISTRESS' RIDDLE by Karen Luk RUSTED BLADE by Dave Smeds IMAGES OF LOVE by

Larry Tritten A FATE WORSE THAN DEATH by Diann Partridge POWER PLAY by Sandra

Morrese FENWTTCH by Sarah Evans GREEN-EYED MONSTER by Vicki Kirchhoff SNOWFIRE

by D. Lopes Heald ANCIENT WARRIOR by Stephanie Shaver BARBARIAN LEGACY by

Lawrence Schimel MIST by Laura J. Underwood SONGHEALER by Tammi Labrecque THE SOW'S

EAR by Kathy Ann Trueman POISONED DREAMS by Deborah Wheeler NIGHT-BEAST by

Cynthia Ward THE GIFT by Rochelle Marie THE CRYSTAL CASKET by Kristine Sprunger

RINGED IN by Mildred Perkins

INTRODUCTION

On the 11th volume of this anthology, I found it very hard to get a final lineup, not because of a lack of

good stories, but because, on the contrary, of an embarrassment of riches. Even after dismissing the

stories by ten-year-olds who didn't own typewriters and sent in handwritten stories—which I couldn't use

even if their stories were Nebula quality, which they usually, to put it as charitably as possible,

aren't—and throwing out unread the single spaced efforts by people who ought to know better, and

ploughing through all the stories about people who are called sorceresses but, for all the magic we ever

see, might as well be plumbers or carpenters—well, I'm ranting again. But if I can't sound off in my own

editorials, where can I? A little rant relieves the mind, but even amateurs ought to know a little about the

business they're trying to get into. If I had never taken voice lessons and was tone deaf, would I be

singing at the Metropolitan Opera or conducting the Philharmonic? So why would a would-be writer fail

to learn grammar? But they do. Some New Age types, with more compassion than brains, insist that

everyone has talent and simply needs a chance to release her creativity! Maybe so—in play therapy. But

not in my anthologies, thank you. I can't help thinking how happy I'd have been even with some of the

stories I must now reject when this anthology was getting started. I found out with shock and disillusion

that many—or even most—editors do not share my delight in slush piles. Where I see all that new

unformed talent—

those young, original, undiscovered voices—some editors see only the yahoo who couldn't write his way

out of a paper bag. The only thing that makes me angry is people who send stories to me without having

read my current guidelines. So, if you want to submit to me, first send a SASE (Self-Addressed Stamped

Envelope) to me at PO Box 72, Berkeley, CA 94701, and get the guidelines. A lot of slush is just that.

But sometimes you do find a pearl in all these oysters. I still find plenty—and that's what makes it all

worthwhile. While some editors think only of all the frogs they have to kiss, I keep my mind on the rare

pearls. Or princes, depending on which metaphor you're using. And that's what people mean by talking

about their sense of wonder. The best editors never lose it—and so I go back for just one more wet

smelly oyster. Maybe this one will contain the pearl. And if not this one, maybe the next. Who knows? It

might be yours.

CALL THE WILD HORSES by Bunnie Bessell Bunnie Bessell is one of those young writers of whom I

think with pride as "one of ours," since her first sale was to me, to Marion Zimmer Bradley's Fantasy

Magazine. One of my chief delights is to discover the new writers who will turn out to have careers as

writers—so I'll have something to read when the others are called—as so many of my own long-ago

generation—to that great SF Convention in the afterlife. I'm looking out to see so many of my own

contemporaries there. Bunnie Bessell says of herself that she has always been a storyteller. As a child she

believed that small creatures lived inside her who came out at night and told their adventures to her two

sisters as they huddled under the covers. That's really how every fiction writer I know started. Despite all

the New Age stuff about releasing one's own creativity, we all started with some variation of loving

"Pretend" more than any other game. Another thing she says rings such a bell that it might have been my

own teens. She was "the kind of adolescent who was still playing make-believe while others were

discovering boys." I, for instance, was the one who hid in the library while other girls my age were being

herded into the gym at noon for mandatory social adjustment—meaning dancing with boys—which may

be why schools are in trouble: too much emphasis on social skills instead of reading. At the risk of being

thought reactionary, I suggest schools return their emphasis to making the kids literate instead of

emphasizing "social adjustment" to such a degree that girls drop

out to be married while still illiterate. Bunnie adds that (like me) she wrote her first book in seventh grade

and that it was a science fiction thriller. "It now resides in the darkest recess under my bed. Don't we all

have one under our beds?" Well, no; sometimes we drag them out when we're in our forties and rewrite

them, and they get nominated for Hugos! Mine did! Maybe yours will. If it's as interesting as this tale of a

horse-clan sorceress, it just might. Bunnie also adds that she collects wind-up toys and, having no

children, has decided "to become the world's greatest aunt." She now has the honor of adoring,

befriending, and frolicking with eleven marvelous nieces and nephews. One great thing about aunthood,

Bunnie: nieces and nephews never—or very seldom—wake you up for a diaper change or a bottle at 3

a.m. You get a lot more sleep—and time to dream up plots—that way. She's female, 40 something, lives

in Arlington, Texas, and is a "dedicated hugger." Long may she hug—and keep on writing.

It took all of Marlee's courage to walk into the circle of the campfire. She didn't look to either side, not

wanting to meet the stares of the Clan women, but kept her gaze fixed straight ahead. The chatter of

conversation fell silent as she entered. On the other side of the fire, Hesta stood up and Marlee came to a

halt in front of her. Her heart ached at the sight of the older woman. Hesta had been second mother to

Marlee since her own mother died many years back. Once, she would have stepped forward to hug

Hesta, but she had lost that right twelve months ago. Sabrine came from behind Marlee, shoved her

aside, and stood next to Hesta. "Tell her to leave," she demanded, pointing at Marlee. "She's done

enough harm." Fearing Hesta would send her away, Marlee quickly tossed off her outer cloak and sank

to her knees in front of the fire. Underneath she wore only a plain, short tunic of untanned hide. "I,

Marlee, daughter of Quebacc, granddaughter of Iris, great-granddaughter of Leemay, ask to serve the

Horse

Clan." She heard grumbled surprise at her words but carefully kept reciting the ritual plea of a novice to

join the Callers. "On this the Night of Calling, I will touch the minds of fillies and colts, of mares and of

stallions. I will share their thoughts and bring them forth in p-peace," she stumbled over the word. "I will

bid them to live among the People, to serve the Clan and to be one with the Clan. I do this so that the

People and the Herd might grow and prosper. I will Call the Wild Horses from the Great Herd and make

them gentle." Then she bowed her head. "I will Call for the Horse Clan if This Leader wills it." She

waited, knowing she should not look up until Hesta pronounced her decision. She had knelt like this five

years ago, truly a novice then. Juliane had been by her side. They had been young and full of excitement.

Neither doubted that they would be allowed to join the Callers. Both girls came from families strong with

the Caller magic. Their acceptance had been quick and their first Calling celebrated happily. Tonight,

though, Marlee knew she gambled desperately. By reverting to a novice, she changed the way Hesta

must consider her petition. Hesta couldn't take into account Marlee's experience, not even last year's, but

could only weigh her possible benefit to the Clan. Her ploy forced Hesta to put her personal feelings

aside and consider the needs of the People as a whole. And the Clan's needs were great. The last few

years had not gone well for her people. And last year, because of the stampede—the stampede Marlee

had caused—no horses had been Called from the Herd. Without horses, they had nothing to trade for

supplies or shelter through the winter. They had spent the long, bitter months in tents on the open plains.

Many of the youngest and oldest died of starvation or illness. No one was foolish enough to think they

could survive another winter like that. Horses had to be Called from the Herd, and lots of them. And,

therefore, every Caller was needed. "You can't consider her," Sabrine complained. "Not after what she

did." "Leader," Jamine spoke up. "The stampede was an accident. Will we punish Marlee's whole life for

an accident?"

Jamine had been one of the few who tried to comfort Marlee after the stampede. Yet Marlee had

spurned the woman's attention, as she had turned away from everyone. She lived among th e Clan but let

no one touch her heart. She could not forgive herself for what had happened; she certainly would not

accept anyone else's forgiveness. "She panicked," Sabrine reminded Hesta. "She lost control and

scattered the herd. Fourteen people died." Marlee flinched at the words. Fourteen lives lost. All because

of her. Fourteen gone forever. And a dozen others injured, some crippled for life. For a moment, the guilt

overwhelmed her. She had no right to be here. Then she caught herself and straightened her shoulders.

Yes, she had made a mistake. She had lost control and she accepted responsibility for that. But she had

not been the only one. Someone else had played a part in the stampede, though only Marlee knew about

her. Marlee had to go with the Clan tonight She had to locate the other woman and stop her before this

happened again. Against all custom, Marlee raised her head and met Hesta's gaze across the fire. She

could read no emotions in the Leader's eyes. "Marlee is ah experienced Caller," Jamine continued to

argue. "She brought many horses from the Great Herd." To Marlee's surprise there were murmurs of

agreement from the women surrounding her. She saw Hesta's gaze flicker around the camp as if gauging

each woman. Her gaze stopped on Sabrine. Sabrine was among the oldest and most experienced

Callers. She consistently Called horses from the Herd, a fact she seldom let anyone forget. Although she

could be abrasive, Marlee knew her opinions held weight. "Look what she did to my daughter," Sabrine

said harshly. "And yours. She killed Juliane. Will you let her kill again?" Marlee saw Hesta flinch at the

words and knew she had lost. Hesta would not give her another chance. A part of Marlee knew she did

not deserve one. Thoughts of Juliane clouded her mind, and Marlee fought against the pain that welled

within her. They had been best friends since childhood. Juliane, who had been so funny and vivacious,

was a complete contrast to the slower and more thoughtful Marlee. Marlee could

not have imagined a life without Juliane. And now the strongest memory she had of her friend was

Juliane's crumpled body after the stampede. Nothing she could do would ever make that image go away.

"And who would be her guide?" Sabrine continued, her voice tight with anger. "No one would be Sight

for the likes of her." Marlee saw a flicker of concern cross Hesta's face. A Caller and her Sight worked

very closely. The safety of both women depended on how quickly a Caller and Sight could respond.

Juliane had been Marlee's Sight. Marlee knew Hesta was reluctant to ask someone else to step into the

position. "I don't need a Sight," Marlee said. "I will Call one animal and lay him down at the edge of the

Herd." More timid Callers would occasionally slip into the mind of a horse and lay the animal down to

sleep until the Herd had moved on. Normally, Marlee would never have agreed to laying a horse down.

She would have been insulted if anyone suggested she did not have the talent to gentle and Call a horse

quietly to her side. But for what she planned to do, she did not need or want anyone to serve as her

guide. "I will be her Sight." A girl a few summers older than Marlee stepped out from among the women.

Marlee caught her breath when she saw who it was. An uncomfortable silence settled over the Clan as

the girl came toward Marlee. She walked slowly, dragging her right foot in an awkward gait, a foot

crippled in last year's stampede. When she stopped in front of Marlee she held her hands out palms up.

"I, Dana, daughter of Sabrine, granddaughter of Lilla, great-granddaughter of Camarre, will be Sight for

Marlee. If she will accept me." Marlee hesitated. She found it difficult even to look at Dana. She was not

sure she could walk side by side with her across the plains, much less share what a Caller and Sight must

share. Dana's gaze did not waver from Marlee's. "My hands are not crippled," she said softly for only

Marlee to hear. When Marlee winced, she added more gently. "Nor my mind." Marlee saw something in

the other girl's eyes. An anguish she recognized. Marlee might have suffered the

Clan's contempt this last year, but Dana had suffered its Pity-She looked toward Dana's mother.

Sabrine's face was tight. It took a second for Marlee to realize that the older woman was glaring at Dana,

not Marlee. Sabrine obviously saw Dana as a cripple, useless. How could a mother be so callous toward

her own child? Glancing back at Dana, Marlee knew immediately that the girl was aware of her mother's

feelings. Dana was not a strong Caller, and Marlee had heard Sabrine berate her daughter more than

once when she came back, empty-handed from a Calling. Status in the Clan was determined by how

many horses one Called from the Herd. A woman who brought a single horse from the Herd each year

was considered worthy of the Clan. Those who brought two or more earned high esteem. Those who

brought in none had no honor. Eventually, they were sent to live among the tents of the men. Now,

lamed, Dana's chances of ever bringing back a horse were minimal. And Marlee saw that Sabrine's pride

could not accept this failure from her daughter. As she watched the older girl, another realization dawned

on-Marlee. Dana would never go to the Herd again unless she went with Marlee. No one else would

take a cripple. "I accept Dana as my Sight," she agreed. "This is ridiculous," Sabrine growled. "Dana will

only get hurt again. What good is she?" Hesta frowned at Sabrine's words. She remained silent for

several moments, and Marlee was convinced the decision would go against her. "Marlee, daughter of

Quebacc," Hesta finally said, "Dana, daughter of Sabrine, This Leader accepts your services as Caller

and Sight for the Horse Clan." Marlee stumbled to her feet, hardly believing that Hesta had given her

approval. She look hopefully into the older woman's eyes, praying for forgiveness, too. But Hesta only

seemed stern. "You are a novice," she warned. "You will Call one horse from the outer edge of the Herd,

where it will be less likely to affect the entire Herd. If the horse you Call gives you difficulty, you will

release it."

Marlee nodded numbly, knowing even as she agreed that these were not rules she could obey. The entire

Clan began talking, but Marlee could not tell if most approved or disapproved of Hesta's decision.

Waving them all to silence, Hesta announced, "We must go." Immediately, the Clan was in motion. A

group of young women hurried forward with baskets full of dried horse dung. The Callers and their Sights

handed their warm cloaks to the girls and then dusted their bodies and tunics with the powdered manure.

As Marlee waited her turn, she counted the Callers. Only twenty-five. Last year there had been almost

forty. Misgivings overwhelmed her. Should she really approach the Herd? What if it happened again?

What if she caused another stampede? She had already done so much damage. Did she truly deserve

another chance? Dana touched her shoulder and held out a basket. She took a handful of the manure and

rubbed it across Marlee's shoulder and arm. "You are a good Caller," she said reassuringly. Marlee

shook her head, unsure if that was true anymore. "The Clan needs you," Dana added more firmly. She

peered into Marlee's eyes. "We will be a good team, you and I. You'll see." As Marlee looked at the

other girl, she realized that Dana was probably just as frightened as she was. She wondered for a

moment at Dana's strength and wondered, too, why she and Dana had never been friends. But she

instantly knew the answer. Until last year, Juliane had been her friend. She had needed no other. She

picked up a handful of the manure and, wrinkling her nose at its musty smell, helped dust Dana. When

they were done, the two fell in place behind Hesta, Jamine and the other Callers. In silence, the women

left the campfire and headed out across the grasslands. A full moon cast the plains in crisp white light.

Marlee felt her senses heighten as she moved through the tall grass. This was the first new moon of the

Growing Season, and the one night of the year when the Great Herd would gather. The only night of the

year when horses could be Called.

Memories of Juliane crowded in on her with every step. A year ago, they had walked here, hand in hand,

whispering to each other, stifling giggles of excitement. Could it have only been a year? They'd had a

plan. They intended to Call in three horses that year. It would be quite a feat for a pair so young. If they

could do it. And they almost did. The first two horses had been located and bound easily. The third

horse, a yearling colt, had been frisky and full of mischief. Marlee was close to exhaustion when she

finally had him gentle enough to begin the bonding. Juliane squeezed her hand in encouragement and with

a deep breath Marlee began the spell. Just as she started, another Caller's mind touched hers. The

contact did not concern Marlee. Callers drifting through the Herd occasionally crossed one another.

Withdraw, she warned gently so as not to frighten the colt. This horse is claimed. To her surprise, the

other Caller did not pull back. Instead, the other mind began to cast a binding spell on the colt. This one

is mine, she said more firmly, pushing her own mind against the other. The other mind was fresher than

hers, obviously not tired by the grueling time it took to gentle a horse. Whoever this was, she was either a

weak Caller or just lazy. She was trying to steal Marlee's horse after all the hard work had been done.

Marlee knew she could not give in. Once a horse was bound, the feel of his mind changed completely.

Even though Marlee had spent enormous energy gentling this animal, she would never be able to

recognize him if the other woman bound him. She tried to identify the woman. But she could not

recognize anything in the other Caller's essence. Go away, she s napped. Still the other Caller persisted.

This was hard to believe. Of course, Marlee had heard stories of Callers snatching a horse from another

Caller. But that had been when different Clans fought over the same herd. A Caller did not steal from her

own Clan. The other Caller was still weaving her spell, and Marlee

felt the colt being drawn away from her. Desperately, she cast her own magic, fighting to pull the colt

back. He snorted at the strife within his mind. Marlee could feel his fear building. Still, she refused to give

in. This horse was hers. She pushed harder, trying to force the other woman out of the horse's head.

Suddenly, the young horse jerked away from both of them. He reared, pawing the air. Then, Marlee did

the very worst thing a Caller could do. She opened her eyes. Instantly, not just the colt, but the other two

horses bound to Marlee saw through her human eyes as well as their own. The result was complete

terror. They whinnied with fright and bolted, and with them the entire herd, hundreds of horses,

stampeded into flight. Marlee threw herself to the ground, rolling into a low spot and covered her head

with her arms. Horses ran right over her. They pelted her with sod and turf. It took forever before the

thunder of the hoofs faded. When it was safe, Marlee scrambled up. Juliane lay a few feet away, her

body twisted and broken. Crying out, Marlee dropped to the ground and cradled her friend. "No,

Juliane, no. Please no." Rocking the body, she wept uncontrollably. All around her others were crying out

in pain and loss. Finally she looked up to find Hesta kneeling beside her. "I opened my eyes," she

confessed. "It is my fault. I killed Juliane." She saw Hesta's look shift from disbelief to anger and then to

hatred. The older woman gathered Juliane up and carried her away, never looking back. Marlee

stumbled as the memory of that night overcame her. Dana touched her arm to steady her and Marlee

jerked away. She glanced toward the other girl and Dana caught her hand, forcing her to stop. "Last

year," Dana said softly, "before the stampede, someone tried to steal your horse, didn't she?" "You?"

"No. Not me." Dana shook her head quickly. "But the year before last, someone stole my horse. And the

year before that, too." "What?"

"Another Caller came and took the horses I had gentled before I could bind them." "Twice?" Marlee

asked. Dana nodded. "Why didn't you tell someone? Hesta ..." "No one would have believed me," Dana

replied. Marlee started to disagree with her. Of course, someone would have believed. Then she paused,

considering. Would Marlee have believed? After all, Dana had never been a strong Caller. If she had

suddenly said someone was stealing her horses, would she have been believed? No. It would not have

been accepted. "Why didn't you tell someone?" Dana asked Marlee. She looked away from the other

girl. Why hadn't she? At first, it had been her grief. For several weeks she'd hardly spoken to anyone.

She'd been so numb with guilt and the loss of Juliane that she could think of nothing else. Then, too, she

hoped the other Caller would come forward and admit her part in the tragedy. By the time Marlee

realized the other woman was not going to confess, it was too late. Too much time had passed. "They

wouldn't have believed me either." "I would have," Dana said. She looked away her face flushed with

embarrassment. "I—I didn't have the strength to stop her from stealing my horses. I didn't know how to

fight." "I fought," Marlee replied a knot forming in her throat. "And Juliane died." They stood side by side,

neither knowing how to ease the other's pain. Then Dana nodded toward the Callers who were leaving

them behind, and they started walking again. "What are you going to do?" Dana asked. "Find the other

Caller." "How?" "I'm not sure," Marlee said. "Do you know who it was? Did you recognize her?" Dana

shook her head. "I think if I can touch her mind again, I can learn who she is," Marlee told her. "And stop

her?" Dana asked. "Yes." At least, she hoped she could.

Dana said nothing for several minutes. Then she whispered, "So you won't Call any horses this year?"

"No," Marlee replied, and she saw the regret in the other girl's eyes. She turned away from her.

Eventually, the Callers came to a stop on a ridge. Below them, the Great Herd grazed in a shallow valley.

Marlee looked down on them and caught her breath at the sight. Hundreds of horses: bays and duns,

grays and paints, mares with their foals by their side and young colts flirting with quick-hoofed fillies. So

many horses that the Herd stretched as far as the eye could see. They grazed peacefully, chopping at the

green grass, their coats gleaming in the moonlight, totally unconcerned by the silent, still women standing

on the ridge. Instantly, she yearned to be among the horses. To stroke their soft muzzles and comb her

fingers through thick manes. She wanted to slide her hands around a strong neck, pull herself onto a

broad back and run. Run with the sound of hoofs pounding in her ears and her heart pounding to the

same cadence. She felt Dana move closer to her, and when she glanced sideways, she saw the same

yearning in the other girl's face. They smiled at each other and then looked toward Hesta. The Leader

lifted her hand and signaled the Calling to begin. Slipping her hand within Marlee's, Dana tapped onto her

palm in the code the Callers used, "How will you look for her?" Marlee shrugged. "I'll just drift into as

many horses as I can, hoping to find her," she tapped back. They stared at each other a moment, both

aware that it wasn't much of a plan. "You can do it," Dana signed encouragement. With a nod, Marlee

closed her eyes and deepened her breathing. She dropped herself gradually into the trance. As darkness

settled around her, she lost touch with who she was, where she was. Her feet no longer touched the

ground, her hand no longer curled around Dana's. When nothing existed, she beckoned the magic. She

drew essence from the moist, loamy earth, from the green stems of grass, the cool breeze and delicate

touch of moonlight on her face. She pulled it all together and became a part

of it. For a moment, she was everything and nothing. She drifted. The power gathered within her, and the

vibrant life-force of the Herd drew her. She moved forward, melding with the first horse she met. A

young stallion. She felt the muscles in his shoulders ripple beneath her skin. He paced with power and

grace. Neck arched and tail flung high, he circled the edge of the herd, desiring the mares, but not quite

courageous enough to challenge the herd leader. Marlee shared his frustration. He kicked up his heels

and loped across the valley, running in an absolute need just to be in motion. When Dana stroked

Marlee's palm, calling her back to herself, she found it hard to let go of the stallion. Reluctantly, she

began her search. She drifted into the mind of an older mare. Another Caller was already there, binding

the horse to herself. Withdraw, the Caller said instantly, and Marlee withdrew. This was not the mind she

had met before. She drifted on, slipping through the minds of one horse after another, making no attempt

to gentle them or Call them, only to touch and move on. Unexpectedly, she slipped into the mind of a

horse she knew. She and Juliane had Called this mare four years ago. She had been young then, barely

past weaning. The two of them had trained her, and kept her for two years. When it finally came time,

they could not find it in their hearts to trade her. Instead, they turned the young horse back to the Herd as

a breeder. Marlee could hardly believe she'd found the mare again. Windsong? The mare reacted

instantly; her head came up and she looked around, as if expecting to see Marlee. No, I'm not here. At

least, not physically. She could sense Wind-song's delight at meeting her again. She blended with the

horse's mind. Something nudged her side and Marlee extended her consciousness to touch a filly. You

have a baby. The little horse snorted at Marlee's touch, her small ears perked forward. Marlee soothed

her. She's a jewel. That's what we'll call her, Jewel. She stopped herself. What was she doing? Naming

this filly. She couldn't Call Windsong or her filly. She'd proba-

bly never see them again. She needed to get back to doing what she had come to do. Take care of

yourself, pretty ones. As she withdrew, she could still sense Windsong looking around for her. Marlee's

legs and back ached. She felt as if she'd been standing in the same position for hours, yet had no way of

knowing how long it had really been. Drifting, she slipped in and out of one mind after another, finding no

Callers as she went. She paused once, when she touched the mind of an older mare. The horse's

personality was so very pleasant that Marlee could not pass her by. When she finally moved on, she

regretted her indulgence. Her head throbbed, and her knees were beginning to shake. She was close to

the end of her energy. Dana's arm slipped around her waist, offering her support. Marlee immediately

jerked straight, not wanting to burden the crippled girl. "Lean on me," Dana signaled. But Marlee couldn't

bring herself to rely on the other girl. Standing as straight as possible, she sent her consciousness out

again, touching a dozen minds with no results. Time seemed to be stretching, and Marlee began to fear

that her search would be futile. The mind of another horse attracted her, a young colt, so full of

playfulness that he made Marlee smile. She melded with the horse momentarily, tasting his essence. The

horse snorted as Marlee joined her. This one would be a handful to train, Marlee told herself, but in the

end he'd be worth the trouble. For an instant, Marlee was tempted to bind the colt to her. Then she felt

Dana's quick tapping on her hand. "What are you doing?" "What do you mea n?" "I thought you weren't

Calling," Dana signaled. "Two mares have walked up. They are sniffing you and—" "What?" Marlee

demanded. "Two mares have—" Dana began to sign again. "Does one of them have a filly?" Marlee

asked. "Yes." Marlee didn't understand. She had not Called. At least, not intentionally. Yet somehow she

had done so. This had to be Windsong and the older mare she had stopped to

stroke. She felt a flush of excitement. She had Called and bound, without even planning to. Marlee had to

force herself not to laugh out loud, and somehow she sensed Dana stifling happy laughter, too. Another

mind pressed on Marlee's and she froze. The colt she had just touched was frightened. Almost frantic.

Marlee had tasted this panic before. Two Callers were struggling over the mind of the young horse. Her

heart thumped with fear. Windsong, her filly, and the older mare were bound to her. If she tried to stop

the struggle, these horses would become frightened, too. Even worse, she was near exhaustion. She

barely had the energy to stand. What could she do? She needed to break the bonds with the horses

she'd Called. Or weaken it. An idea came to her and she acted without pausing to think. She drew in the

minds of the horses she'd Called. She collected them, stroked and petted them, binding them even more

tightly. Then in her mind's eye, she pictured Dana. She showed the horses a thin girl, with short-cropped

hair and a crippled foot. She showed them Dana as a place of safety, a giver of food and shelter.

Someone who would scratch their itchy spots and offer treats of carrots and alfalfa. She presented Dana

as everything that was good and comforting and secure, and as surely as she had bound them to herself

she bound them to Dana. "What?" Dana tapped on her hand. "They're nuzzling me now?" "I can't

explain," Marlee told her. "I've bound them to you. Take care of them." "Marlee?" "Just do it." Marlee

sensed Dana responding automatically. She knew the older girl could not use a full trance to hold the

horses. She would have to employ the light trance that was used later in training. Marlee hoped that she

had smoothed the way for Dana by introducing the horses to her. She hoped it was enough, but she

couldn't wait to be sure. As she felt Dana reaching out, enfolding the horses, she pulled away. Once she

put distance between herself and the horses she had Called, she reached toward the frantic colt. She

slipped into the horse's mind and chaos surrounded

her. For a moment she shared the terror. She wanted to run. Run fast and far. She shook herself. The

animal was almost blind with fright. Two minds battled angrily to possess him. Marlee could barely sort

the Callers from within the fear of the horse. Withdraw! she ordered forcefully. No! they both replied.

Marlee was at a moment's loss. The Herd will stampede, she warned, hoping the threat would get them

to retreat. For an instant, she didn't think it had worked. Then suddenly, one mind was gone. She was left

with the other Caller. This was the mind she had met last year. Who are you? Marlee demanded. The

other made no reply. Instead, almost casually, the Caller began to bind the still agitated horse. How dare

you! Marlee shouted. The Caller ignored her. Unless Marlee got the woman to speak, she realized she

had no chance of identifying her. She wasn't going to be able to stop this woman. Coming tonight had

been useless. As hard as she tried, she was going to fail. Frustration and anger flared within Marlee.

Instantly, her feelings washed over into the mind of the horse. Suddenly the colt was struggling again,

close to frantic, Marlee froze. Not again! Another panic. Another stampede. The Tribe would be caught

unaware. Marlee's fears flooded her. She was unable to think. Unable to move. She clung desperately to

Dana's hand. You must be calm. Dana's unruffled tone as she gentled their horses drifted through to

Marlee. The other girl's tranquil strength gave Marlee the encouragement she needed. Yes, calm, she

agreed. She took a deep breath. She had told Hesta she would lay a horse down and now she would.

She focused her energy. Calm, she told the colt now. Be quiet, young one. No one will hurt you. The

horse's fear ebbed slightly. She brought all her power to play. She paid no attention to the other Caller,

concentrating entirely on the horse. Be still You are safe. Marlee envisioned a wide pasture with

gently rolling hills. She called up warm sunshine and a soft, pleasant breeze. The colt began to breathe

easier. It was working. Marlee added sweet green grass to the picture and told the colt his stomach was

full. His head began to droop. On the edge of her mind, Marlee realized with surprise that the other

Caller was tiring, too, becoming as sleepy as the horse. It had never occurred to Marlee that she could

reach past a horse into the mind of a person. Now she doubled her effort, expanding her range,

deliberately including the Caller. You're sleepy. It's been a long day. Lie down. Lie down in the grass and

rest. The horse sagged to his knees and then rolled with a grunt to his side. The Caller's mind went with

him, trapped within the horse's, sound asleep. For a brief second, Marlee stood dazed by what she had

achieved. "We have to leave the Herd," Dana signaled. "Right now! A Caller is on the ground." "Who?"

Marlee demanded. "Sabrine." Dana hurried on. "Yvonne will stay with her. Hesta will send help later."

Suddenly, Marlee felt Dana stiffen. "Sabrine is the one, isn't she?" Without waiting for Mar-lee's reply,

Dana began trying to tug her hand free. "She's been the one all of these years." Marlee refused to let go.

She couldn't think of what to say to Dana, how to comfort her, but she wasn't going to let her run away.

"I should have known," Dana tapped harshly against Marlee's palm. "Sabrine always needed to be better

than everyone else. But she was getting old. She was losing her ability to Call. So she stole someone

else's strength!" Marlee sensed a confusion of emotions sweeping through Dana—disbelief, anger, grief.

"Sabrine didn't care who she hurt." Dana clenched Marlee hand. "She didn't care who." Not even her

own daughter. Dana did not say it, but Marlee knew she was thinking the words. "She didn't know it was

you," she tapped gently. For a moment, Dana remained tense, her hand tight within Marlee's. Then she

eased a little. "I won't cry. Not

for Sabrine." She took a deep breath. "What will happen to her?" Hesitantly, Marlee replied, "I will tell

Hesta now. And if she believes me ..." "She will." "Then Sabrine will go before the Clan Council for

judgment. She will probably be banished from the Clan. She will never Call again." Dana was silent for a

while and then she tapped, "That's just." She took another deep breath and gave Marlee a gentle'

squeeze. "Take back control of our horses, Marlee. We need to lead them away from the Herd." At first

Marlee wasn't sure she could. Her feet felt leaden and her mind foggy. It took enormous effort just to

locate the minds of the horses. Somehow she collected them, then soothed each and bid them follow her.

To her surprise, she found Dana's mind still linked lightly with hers. "We're going," Dana told her and then

began to guide Marlee forward. Dana led her forward slowly, measuring her pace to Mar-lee's faltering

gait. Still exhaustion betrayed her. Marlee tripped and then stumbled almost to her knees on the uneven

ground. Instantly, Dana caught her, sliding under her arm to keep Marlee on her feet. Marlee tried to pull

away, tried to regain her balance. "Trust me," Dana whispered fiercely. "I am your Sight." For a second,

Marlee resisted, then she gave in; perhaps, finally, she could let someone help her. Dana was stronger

than Marlee expected. She had no trouble supporting Marlee's weight. And, to her surprise, Marlee

found it easy to match the other girl's limping gait. As they moved away from the Herd, Marlee felt the

horses following without hesitation. After all, she reminded herself, they were bound not only to her but to

Dana. And this bonding would never be broken.

KEEPSAKE by Lynn Michals Lynn Michals says that she is female and lives in Baltimore with two bright

blue parakeets and a significant other who is about to move to Washington, DC, while she is moving to

North Carolina to teach at Wake Forest University— which, as modern commuting relationships go, is

"practically next door." She has spent her last six years doing grad work in Baltimore and because of the

current recession has spent a lot of time job-hunting and even went so far as to consider moving to

Australia. She says the best thing about imaginary worlds is the ease with which they can be carried

around with one; whatever she had to leave behind, she could still pack all her imaginary universes and

not pay any extra weight charges. I don't know if she or her two parakeets, to say nothing of the

significant other, would like Australia—don't parakeets come from there?— but it's pretty far to pay mail

charges on manuscripts, and she seems to have plenty of them, too. What I wrote on this, after choosing

it, for a mnemonic for the introduction, was "very emotional." She says she's spending this summer in a

windowless cubicle finishing her dissertation. I sometimes feel as if I'm the only person around without an

advanced degree—even my secretary has a Master's degree in computers, which comes in very handy

when my computer goes down or I do something stupid and lose half a day's work.

"It'll never work," said Fel, with the cold certainty of a licensed seer. "First, you're not properly trained,

and second, you'd never go through with it. What's Ori to you, that you'd risk your lives and your sanity

to save her?" "Listen, witch, if you don't know the Warden better than that after three months in her

household—" Armsmaster Per began, then swallowed her fury an d started again. "Child, you belong to

the holding of Ash now, whether any of us like it or not. You're family. So Warden Ismail won't let your

friend die—and if the Warden's going to hell and back, I'm going with her." "I will try your plan,

Armsmaster Per," Fel said, a shadow of hope stirring behind her cold eyes. That hope nearly died when

Fel met the half-grown boy who was to guard her body while she was out of it. Per and Sa Ismail

seemed to trust Nil, but then Per and Sa Ismail had spent the past year howling battle cries, lopping

raiders to pieces to defend the people of Ash whenever peace negotiations with the borderers broke

down. Fresh from the coolly arcane discipline of Para House, Fel had considerably less practice than

they at letting her life hang by a shoestring. Thirteen-year-old Nil frowned with concentration, making

contact with the three bodies that would be left behind with him in the dusty records room while their

inhabitants fled to the shadow lands. Sa Ismail took the Weaver's position; Fel was surprised and

reassured by her skill. Sa had eyes like night, skin like gold, and an effortless strength that defied all

simile. She spun out a thread of trust between herself and Per, then reached for Fel's bright, disciplined

mind, weaving it into her web. And the thing was done. The three stood hand in hand in the shadow

lands, the shape of their souls free of their bodies' disguises. Armsmaster Per was a gaunt young refugee

with eyes like a prowling cat's—the desperate, dangerous child she still became in her nightmares. Sa

Ismail was herself, as she would look in ten or twenty years, scarred by battle and by the labor of

carrying her people through famine and fire. And Fel was a white-robed novice, shining and eager.

Without a word, the three set off through the gray spaces, walking toward the first of the walls that

circled the

heart of the shadow lands where a young woman lay dying. The shadows were always hungry; to steal a

soul away from that world's greedy heart they would have to risk being devoured themselves, risk being

held there forever by what they most feared. They walked through fire and flood, across rivers of

shattered glass and over mountains of burning rock, until they reached a perfectly ordinary wooden door,

set in a gray stone wall that stretched away to infinity. "Whatever happens to me, keep going. Remember

that you have to save Ori, so she can save us all," Sa ordered, stepping up to that door like a fighter

determined to get an unequal battle over and done with. "Idiot," Per said, shoving Sa aside and knocking

on the door herself. "Did you really think I could watch the dead go at you? Have the decency to let them

take me first." The door opened, revealing a well-dressed gentleman with a black hole where his face

should have been. Per had forgotten the face, but she remembered those smooth hands, hands that had

held her down and forced her child's body to bear a world of pain. "How dare you call yourself an

Armsmaster?" a cool voice asked. "The Warden took your oath as a joke, gutterbrat." Sa's protest rang

out like a battle cry, but Per had already stabbed the gentleman through the heart—they were locked

together, pale as shades and still as death. Fel tackled Sa and held her back from her friend, knowing

that any one who touched Per would be caught in the shadow of her grief. Sa ran on with Fel to the

second wall, weeping, charging the leviathans and sphinxes that blocked their way, the griffins and

basilisks that crawled toward them, hissing of despair and death. In the distance, over the wall, they

could see shadowy towers and battlements—the top of a gray ghost of Para. Sa Ismail drew her sword

and slashed her way through the monstrosities that crowded round the door in that second wall, then

pounded on it with the hilt of her knife. "Damn you—take me this time, and me alone!" she yelled. And a

middle-aged woman stood before them, unarmed, blood soaking through a gash in her plain linen shirt.

"Daughter, have you betrayed my trust—are you trying to make peace with the border filth that murdered

me?" she asked. Sa gave a wordless cry of pain and dropped her weapons; she threw herself into her

dead mother's arms, freezing into a shadow in that shadow's embrace. Fel ran on, into the ghost of the

massive house she had known so well. She flew through stone hallways that were both familiar and

unfamiliar, empty of the novices and mages and seers who brought them to life in the other world. On the

topmost floor she found Ori—not Ori as Fel had last known her, a wide-eyed seventeen-year-old, but

Ori as she would be in future years, if she lived to become what she had been born to be: Archmage. She

was like a sword blade, or the fire at the heart of a star, tall, proud, and perfectly still. "This is what you

could not face—what you would not let me become," Ori said. "But I couldn't stop you," Fel protested.

"When our Weaver said I was holding you back, I left Para. I went all the way to the other end of Imlay,

I contracted out to the god-forsaken Eastern Provinces! I started a whole new life for myself." "You left

in anger—and you left your heart behind," Ori accused. "I carried the weight of your keepsake, too

young to free myself. And when it grew too heavy to bear, I lay down and died at the crossroads of my

life." "No, I'll take it back, I'll let you go on!" Fel shouted. "There must still be time. Listen, Or, I didn't

want you to forget me, but I never meant to hurt you. I've been an idiot, and I'm sorry." Ori smiled. She

stretched out hands that Fel could not touch, holding a gift she could not see. "Take back your heart,

love. I set you free to love your new life—as you've freed me to be what I must," she said. "But who are

those others, in pain outside?" "My family," Fel said, finding the right word without thinking. "They

brought me here to find you; now we need your help to get back." Ori smiled again, and the staff she held

glowed like a streak of blue fire, the one solid, real thing in that shadowy world. Thirteen-year-old Nil

burst into tears as the three bodies

that had sat perfectly still as the sun set and the moon rose finally stirred, life coming back into their eyes.

"I did my best—I kept everyone breathing. But then you were freezing to death, Aunt Sa, and the

Armsmaster was fading, too, and I couldn't find you at all," Nil cried, exhausted and unstrung. "I couldn't

get you back till the lady helped me, the lady all on fire. She was right here—where'd she go?" "Back

home to Para House, where she belongs," said Fel. She turned to face Sa and Per, her eyes alive with

recovered warmth. "Ori's found her way home," Fel repeated. "And if you two will still have me, I've

come home as well."

SPIRIT SINGER by Diana L. Paxson Diana Paxson lives about a mile away from me in

Berkeley—which makes it easy for her to drop off manuscripts for these anthologies. She says modestly

of her own writing that she "married into the job." She married my brother Don, and after finding out that

my two brothers Don and Paul, not to mention me, had all sold commercial fiction, she probably decided

that if we could do it, anyone could. But it's not quite that simple. About ninety per cent of the

manuscripts I get from strangers are one-timers; which means after one rejection they disappear into the

woodwork and are never heard from again. (I wonder: If they can't stand the heat, what are they doing in

the kitchen?) The first experience of every writer is rejection, and if they don't want to stick it out, they'd

do better to take up knitting if they want a hobby. After displaying the necessary blend of sensitivity and

rhinoceros hide, which is probably the one indispensable characteristic for surviving those early rejections

everybody gets, Diana became one of the very few writers whose work I personally find very readable.

Her "Shanna" stories have appeared in almost every one of the ten previous volumes of this anthology;

and I'm far from alone in liking them. One of her novels, The White Raven, has achieved hardcover

publication—it is about the Arthurian mythos— and was one of the few books for which I was willing to

write a cover quote. (Have you any idea how many books on that subject I receive in the mail every year

asking for cover quotes?) More recently, she has been working on

two trilogies: Wodan's Children (The Wolf and the Raven, Dragons of The Rhine), and the chronicles of

Fionn MacCumhal (with Adrienne Martine-Barnes). If you haven't read Diana's other books, look them

up in Books in Print: they're good. So good, in fact, that when I decided to write the story mentioned at

the end of Mists of Avalon—about Roman Britain and the Druid priestess Eilan—it was Diana I chose to

collaborate with me on it. Because of marketing decisions, Viking decided my name alone would sell

better— I'm not sure why—but here among friends, so to speak, I'm happy to acknowledge Diana's

very knowledgeable help and input. It should be out in April 1994; look for The Forest House. Diana has

done teaching of English as a second language and is the mother of two grown sons—who were, like

mine, very young when she started writing. The older, Ian, is now in college, and the younger, Robin,

somewhat disabled, lives away from home in a residential facility. Time, as I become more aware every

year, flies. It still seems so many of these little people should be just toddling, and they're in college. I

guess that's how one knows one's growing old—or at least that time continues to pass.

The cows had gotten up onto the north slope of the hill above the farmstead, where a little snow still clung

and the juiciest grasses grew. From the meadow above the barley field, Bera could hear the lead cow's

bell. She tore her gaze from the longship that was slowly beating across the chill waters of the fjord and

stared at the granite slopes it reflected. B ut her thoughts were still with the ship. It must be the one they

were expecting, the one that was bringing the seeress to Bjornhall to tell them if its master still lived. But

whatever else was happening, Bera had to get the cows home. She let her spirit flow outward on the sigh

as she gazed at the pine-studded heights. Time slowed around her, and in the stillness it became easy to

see the tip of a horn and dark, coarse-haired shapes moving against the trees. For a moment she was

aware of herself and the cattle and the earth and sky as one unity, then with a jerk she

came back to ordinary awareness. It would be a hard climb to come to the herd, and she had trudged

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SWORDANDSORCERESSXIANANTHOLOGYOFHEROICFANTASYEditedbyMarionZimmerBradleyDAWBOOKS,INC.DONALDA.WOLLHEIM,FOUNDER375HudsonStreet,NewYork,NY10014ELIZABETHR.WOLLHEIMSHEILAE.GILBERTPUBLISHERSCONTENTSINTRODUCTIONbyMarionZimmerBradleyCALLTHEWILDHORSESbyBunnieBessellKEEPSAKEbyLynnMichalsSPIRITSINGERbyDianaL.P...

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