"Weird it is," Gwen agreed. "A trap."
Magnus stared. "Dost thou say that as we run harder, we hold ourselves better to it?"
"Of course!" Geoffrey cried, "even as a sling-stone sticks to the pouch of the sling!"
"Then loose, and throw," Magnus urged.
"Good idea." Rod skidded to a halt just short of the break in the underbrush, caught Gregory, and threw him through the gap. He squalled, then remembered to fly as he sailed up and over. He sank out of sight, then bobbed up again, calling, "I am free!"
"I thought so." Rod nodded. "Just a matter of making the effort to break the vicious cycle. Hold still, everybody— then jump!"
They all came to a halt—and the gap slowed with them, then halted, seeming ready to take off again.
"Now!" Gwen called, and the whole family arced up and over. They landed in a crackling of underbrush and bounded to their feet. "You too, Fess!" Rod called.
The great horse followed, landing in their midst.
Howling approached, and torches flared near. The young folk sailed by in a storm of thundering feet.
"They do not even know we're gone," Cordelia said, staring after them.
"I think they do not care," Magnus said, with a cynical smile. "They take joy in the running; they care not if they never come to their destination."
"What destination?" Geoffrey wondered.
"Well asked," Magnus agreed.
"Leave them be," Rod said firmly, and turned his boys' heads away from the Mobius trail. "Some people you just can't help."
"But we must try, Papa!" Cordelia protested.
"It is to no purpose, daughter," Gwen said gently. "You cannot succor those who do not wish a rescue. Come, leave them to their trap, and let us seek our beds."
Everything considered, Fess forbore to wake them and, by the time Rod rose, the sun was high in the sky. The family had a late breakfast of journey rations, with the parents asking the youngsters what they'd seen. They were only too glad to oblige, and by the time they got around to asking what their parents had seen, it was noon. Gwen filled them in, with a few details from Rod. The youngsters shivered with delight at their descriptions and, when they'd finished, Gregory asked:
"Have we now enough facts to make some guess as to who hath wrought this coil? Or is't but happenstance?"
"Surely not happenstance!" Geoffrey said. "'Tis too much of a pattern."
"Ah," said Gwen. "What pattern dost thou see?"
"Chaos!" Cordelia answered, and Rod nodded. "I'd say that's pretty good. It's almost as though the younger people become addicted to the music, and disregard any social rules they've been taught."
"I would not say that," Geoffrey demurred. "There is some faint ranking that I've seen, some one who doth assert himself as leader, each and every time."
"Thou couldst say that, too, of birds and beasts," Gregory objected.
"An excellent point," Fess said. "What little social order is left, is of the most primitive."
Rod sat there and glowed as he watched his offspring putting their heads together to work out a problem.
Magnus lifted his head. "No order but the most primitive? That hath the ring of anarchy!"
"Not quite," Rod disagreed. "The ideal anarchy has everybody cooperating with everybody else, and nobody giving orders."
Gregory stared. "Is't possible?"
"Oh, surely," Cordelia scoffed, "and 'tis possible that a fairy came to take thy tooth away and leave thee a penny for it!"
Gregory stared at her, in shocked disbelief. "Dost thou mean the fairy comes not?"
Cordelia bit her lip, irked with herself. "Nay, certes not. We but spoke of what is possible, brother, not of what doth truly exist."
Neat try at covering, but the cat was out of the bag now, and Gregory had that much less left of childhood's wonder. Rod had to remind himself that intelligence can only make a child seem to be more mature.
But Magnus was nodding. "Such an ideal anarchy may be as possible as the Wee Folk, but is far less likely; it doth require that all folk agree without saying so, and that none seek to violate that common trust for his own gain. Can people truly believe that such a thing may hap?"
"People can believe anything, if they want to badly enough," Rod murmured, "and the anarchists who are trying to subvert Gramarye want very badly to believe that no one is better than they are. Not the other way around, of course—but they're not really worried about proving that they can't be superior."
"So," Magnus said, "it would seem that these music-rocks are made and spread by thine ancient enemies, the anarchists."
"Not ancient—but, let's say, well established, anyway. And, yes, I'd stake my job on the future anarchists' being behind this phenomenon."
"How have they wrought it, then?" Magnus asked. "Have they won a convert among Gramarye espers?"
"That's their standard operating procedure, and I don't see any reason to think they're not doing that now. Might be more than one—it would take a dozen espers to spread these music-rocks all over Gramarye."
Gwen shook her head. "I cannot believe there could be more than one. 'Tis a wondrous accomplishment, husband, to make rocks such as these that will make their music, and make more of themselves, when they are far from their crafter—and 'twould take an amazing mind to think of it, too. He or she would be a very genius of a witch."
"But intelligence and shrewdness don't always go together, dear. We're talking about someone who's not only an amazingly gifted crafter, but who also has a very thorough grasp of organization and leadership."
Magnus frowned. "That hath the sound of two separate people."
Husband and wife looked up, amazed. Then Gwen said slowly, "Why, so it hath. Gramercy, my son."
Magnus shook off the compliment with irritation—he was getting a little old to be showing pleasure at praise. "I thank thee, Mama, yet 'tis of greater import to discern who is which, and where they are."
"As to where," said Cordelia, "I've seen naught to make us think 'tis not come from the West."
"All the evidence does seem to point in that direction," Fess agreed.
"Why, then, there's an end to it." Magnus rose, dusting off his hands. "Westward ho!"
"Aye." Gwen looked up at him, her eyes bright. "Yet where shall we go to in the West, my son?"
Magnus shrugged. "There is not enough to tell us that yet. We must be alert for clues and signs that may direct us as we go. Must we not, sprout?" He slapped Gregory's shoulder affectionately.
Little Brother looked up, his eyes alight. "Aye, Magnus! Assuredly, we know not yet all the answer—but I've no doubt we shall learn it. Let us go!"
"Bury the fire." Gwen rose, and began packing up the journey bread and pemmican. The boys kicked dirt over the flames, made sure they were dead out, then turned to follow her toward the sun's destination.
Rod followed, subvocalizing, "The kid amazes me, Fess. He's showing a talent for leadership that I hadn't expected."
"Yes, Rod. His seeking of confirmation of his conclusions was deftly done."
Rod nodded. "After all, Big Brother couldn't admit that Little Brother might be better at thinking things through—at least, not if he wanted to keep leading."
"It is not Gregory who would question his leadership."
"No, but Cordelia and Geoffrey both would, if they thought Magnus had to refer his decisions to the youngest— and he has to keep them on his side if he wants to get anything done." Rod nodded. "Oh, yes. If anybody can keep them working together, Magnus can."
"Or Gwen, Rod. Or yourself."
"Well, yes," Rod agreed, "but we won't always be here, will we?"
"Prudent, Rod, but rather morbid. Shall we think of more pleasant things?"