The Realm of the Deathless, page 22
“Lightning bugs,” she said.
“No,” Fire Thief said. “That isn’t what they are at all.”
“Those are a very bad sign,” First said.
“What do they do?” Errol asked.
“They bring the Walkalongs.”
“That doesn’t sound all that threatening,” Errol said.
The “eyes” drifted along, pacing them. They still looked and acted like lightning bugs, but she was starting to feel something else, a greater presence, as if the little lights were holes in a wall that something much larger was peeking through.
It began raining; a few fat drops at first, bursting like frog eggs on the forest floor, but quickly escalating to a steady downpour. Normally Veronica would have been glad of that; she was more powerful when she was in water, or near it. But this was a cold, sterile rain, with no life in it, and instead of strengthening her it numbed her senses.
Eventually, the movement of the lights became less random, and soon it became clear that they were traveling in pairs, just a few inches apart. Shadowy faces began to appear around them, and then ephemeral bodies. With each step the phantoms gained color, depth, substance. She was reminded of a self-developing camera her grandfather had, the way the image gradually became real.
For the most part, they looked like people, but as they grew sharper and more visible, she realized that none of them was entirely human. One had the head of an owl, another a dog’s head. A normal human head and body but a snakelike tail, a woman covered in feathers and a beak instead of a nose ... they were everywhere now, dozens of them, their eyes still shining and flickering like the fireflies she’d first believed them to be. They came closer, darting forward and reaching out as if to touch them, but then retreating back from range. Errol took a swipe at one of them with his spear—a monkey-headed woman—and she bounced from range, venting an odd little hoot.
“What’s going on?” Errol demanded.
“Don’t stop,” Fire Thief said. “And don’t talk to them. Don’t answer them.”
“Talk to them?” Errol said. “They aren’t saying anything.”
But that wasn’t true, Veronica realized. The ones nearest her were whispering. She couldn’t understand them at first, but the syllables became clearer as they continued.
You will have to choose, they were saying. Very soon, you will have to choose. We can tell you what to do, if you will only ask.
Yeah, right, Veronica thought. But it was weird; she sensed the danger, but what she did not feel was any connection to the Itch or the Raggedy Man. This seemed older to her, maybe—like Fire Thief—relics of a more ancient order.
“Jesus,” Errol said. “I hear them now.”
“Me too,” Dusk said. “It’s maddening.”
“Can’t we do something about them?” Errol asked. “Aster, can’t you blast them or something?”
“Do nothing,” Fire Thief said. “We are on their ground, in their territory. We dare not attack them here. We will pass through this place soon enough. Be resolute.”
“Not as easy as it sounds,” Errol said.
His death is coming, the creatures told Veronica. Coming soon, unless you choose. Ask us how to stop it, how to save his life, and we will tell you.”
Veronica pressed her lips tightly together, but the voices only became louder and more insistent.
Errol, the voices said. Errol will die unless you act.
So they were telling her the same thing Yurena had.
She wondered what the others were hearing. Was Errol being warned of his own death or of hers? Dusk’s? Or something else entirely?
What made it all the more horrible was that she knew what the voices were saying was true. Her mind couldn’t help responding, telling them to shut up, or asking them for help, admitting that she knew they were right. And she knew that eventually, those thoughts would slip into words, maybe without her even knowing.
And if she didn’t, one of the others would break.
She had to do something. It was like when her mother made her play the quiet game. It never worked for long.
But there was another game, one they had played during long car rides.
She took a deep breath.
And she sang.
“Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer ...”
Everyone looked at her like she had lost her mind. But then Errol’s mouth formed an “O,” and he smiled and joined in. “Take one down, pass it around, ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall!”
Then Delia joined in. The others continued looking puzzled, but neither the words nor the tune was difficult. Fire Thief started bellowing his own version of the song, which sounded more like “blobbles of deer,” but he had the idea. By ninety-six bottles of beer the Twins were singing, grinning ear-to-ear, and Dusk had joined by ninety. Even the normally taciturn Billy eventually took up the song.
They pulled down all ninety-nine bottles of beer and started over, and each time they sang it, it became easier to ignore their spectral antagonists, until eventually the cajoling voices receded into whimpers, and the Walkalongs themselves gradually faded, becoming once more like lightning bugs bobbing in the trees, and then vanished from sight. When she was quite sure they were safe, Veronica stopped singing, and all of the others trailed off, too, except Fire Thief, who kept going for several minutes. When he finally stopped, they all took a moment to enjoy the relative silence, the return of birdsong, the murmuring of wind through the branches.
“That was smart,” First said, after a time. “Second and I would have been okay, but other kinds of people have difficulty.”
“Thanks,” Veronica.
“But it raises a serious question,” First said. “One that needs answering before we go on.”
“What’s that?”
“What is beer?”
“Yes,” Second said. “And what is a bottle?”
***
The forest grew deeper and the fronds of the tree ferns overhead knitted together, and they soon found themselves no longer in a shallow valley but enveloped by a deep, steep-sided ravine. Moss, lichens, and ferns covered the rocky ground and clung to the sheer cliffs. Things the size of large dogs skittered away at their approach; now and then they would climb the walls, and Veronica could see that they had more than four limbs, sometimes many more.
They camped twice more, and the next day reached the opening to a cave, plugged by a huge boulder. The Twins and Fire Thief set to pushing it aside, which seemed ludicrous, but when everyone joined in helping them it rolled away, leaving the way into the cliff open.
“This is as far as I can go,” Fire Thief said. “But I can scout ahead to the Hole of the Sun and make certain nothing awaits you there. Keep to the trails you know. Don’t be led off.”
With that he became a raven and soared away.
“Thanks, Uncle,” First called after him. Then he turned his gaze back to the cave.
“So she’s in there,” Aster said.
“She’s in there,” First confirmed. “We also can accompany you no further. This place is taboo for us. But we’ll wait for you here.”
ELEVEN
THE TOMB
Only a few steps into the cave took them beyond what little illumination the moonlight provided, so Aster worked a Whimsy of Heatless Flame, but as with everything here, the results were outsized and strange. It should have made her hand glow like a lantern, but instead, wherever she placed her feet, the stone flashed white, and illumination spread out from her in a ring, fading quickly toward the red end of the spectrum; she figured they could see about sixty feet before the light vanishing into wavelengths too long for the human eye to perceive.
The passage descended at a relatively constant angle, and the black stone it burrowed through was almost featureless; no stalactites hanging from the ceiling, no stalagmites jutting from the floor, no columns or curtains or mineral formations of any kind. They walked on, speaking seldom.
Eventually the tunnel opened into a much larger space. The radiance from her Whimsy showed no ceiling, but before them it revealed the flat black mirror of an underwater lake. The light from her feet traveled further on the waters than on stone, so she could see a dark silhouette of an island rising up above the surface.
“Why do I have the feeling that what we’re looking for is on the island?” Errol asked.
“It is,” Aster said. She felt it, an almost magnetic tug.
“Where are we?” Errol said. “The Twins keep talking about the Under. I’ve been figuring that was a stone age version of Hell, or Hades or whatever. An underworld. And what I remember about all of that was that there was water you had to cross, right? Like the River Styx?”
“In Greek mythology there were several rivers,” Aster said.
“Right,” Errol said. “But they did stuff to you, right? Like took away your memories and such?”
“I have heard of such waters,” Dusk said.
“I’ll take your word for it,” Veronica said. “I never learned all of that. And I don’t remember our preacher ever saying anything about water in Hell. Sort of the opposite—lakes of fire and seas of lava is what I remember. But anyway, I’ve been to the Under. This isn’t it. It’s out there, all around us, but it can’t get in here. Something is keeping it out.”
Aster nodded. “I think she’s right.”
“So this water isn’t going to suck out our souls or whatever when we try and cross it?”
“I don’t think so,” Aster said. “But crossing it might be a problem, anyway. It’s still water, and that’s a good distance.”
“Not to worry,” Veronica said. “There aren’t any crocodiles here, but I think I can make do. Somebody take care of this stuff for me.”
So saying, she began stripping off her clothes. Errol turned away, quickly, tossing a nervous glance at Dusk, who Aster noticed was watching Errol, not Veronica. Errol couldn’t have Dusk getting jealous, could he? Dusk had betrayed them once, spectacularly, and Aster was sure that jealousy had been at least a minor part of her motivations. The incident had ended with Errol missing a leg and Veronica beheaded. And that was all before Dusk and Errol had become involved. Now that they were together, and Veronica was back, there was no telling what was going to happen if Dusk started feeling slighted.
Errol had always been an idiot when it came to females. It didn’t look like he was getting any better.
When she was down to skin, Veronica waded into the lake, each step taking her deeper. After six steps her head vanished beneath the surface.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then something came up from beneath, something huge, and moving toward the shore. Eyes appeared, an inhuman face, and then a long sleek body emerged from the pool.
“It’s ... an otter,” Errol said.
And so it was. The very largest otter Aster had ever seen. It crawled up out of the water and waited, watching them with intelligent brown eyes.
“We’re supposed to get on your back, I take it?” Errol asked.
The otter nodded. Errol waved Aster forward.
“After you,” he said.
Aster shrugged and climbed up just behind the otter’s head. Otter-Veronica’s fur felt slick and oily, and difficult to hold on to. She squeezed with her legs, as if riding a horse, hoping that would save her from a dunking.
Dusk climbed on next, with others just behind.
Veronica had her fun with them on the way, dipping below the surface of the lake now and then, drenching them completely. She circled, threatening to barrel roll, but eventually they made it the other shore intact.
The otter vanished, and a few moments later Veronica came out of the lake and put her clothes back on.
“Sorry about all that what-for,” she said. “I thought being an otter would be fun. And it was—too much fun. Turns out they just can’t help being playful.”
“Can’t they?” Errol said.
“We’re here,” Veronica said. “At least we had a little fun on the way.”
“I wouldn’t use the plural pronoun,” Delia said. She looked a little unsteady.
Aster was only barely paying attention. The circle of illumination spreading from her feet was brighter now, causing the entire island to glow. The light was now strong enough to see the vaulting stone ceiling as well. And up ahead, toward the center of the island, the glow was even stronger. And in that center lay a corpse.
Aster was powerfully reminded of another island, the Island of the Othersun. There, in a castle of pink and white shell, the undecayed remains of her mother had lain in a crystal coffin. Here was another island, another body. Or at least the remnants of one.
Dawn lay on her side, knees tucked up to her neck, wrapped in a beautiful mantle of white feathers very much like the one Aster was wearing. Rings and necklaces of coral and amber adorned her fingers, and strings of glimmering yellow, red, orange, and white beads encircled her wrists, ankles, and throat. Her hair remained, a red-gold pile on her skull. Some sort of red powder had been sprinkled all over the body, which was reduced almost entirely to bones, with only a few bits of sinew and dried flesh visible.
“So this is their sister?” Errol said.
“Yes,” Aster said. “The daughter of the Sun and of the Moon. Dawn.” She reached up, unpinned the mantle the Twins had given her, and reached down for the one the dead girl wore. It felt strange to the touch, thin, and she realized the feathers had not been sewn to it, but that it was in fact the preserved skin of a large bird.
“No!” Errol shouted. “Watch out!”
None of the others had noticed, so silently had it come from the water.
It was mostly snake, but plated like an alligator, and feathered around its neck and along the ridge of its back with oily black water-fowl feathers. It was reared up now, staring down at them.
“It’s not the enemy,” Veronica said. “It’s something else. But ...”
Errol whipped out his boomerang and hurled it. At this range, against a monster this big, there wasn’t much chance of missing, and he didn’t. The wooden weapon bounced off of the dragon’s snout.
Quick as a cobra, it darted its head toward Errol, who yelped, leaping to the side, not quite fast enough. The jaws didn’t catch him, but the head hit him in his already sore ribs, sending him flying.
A flash like lightning filled the cave, and Aster heard an unholy shriek of a war cry. “Dusk, no!” Veronica shouted.
But by that time the monstrous head was darting down. Aster saw that Dusk was glowing, crackling really, as if she had lightning inside of her. And she looked ... bigger.
She jammed her shield in the monster’s face and stabbed her spear into it, underhand. The cavern filled with an enormous shock of thunder. Billy ran up to help her.
“Aster,” Veronica said. “Finish, fast. We have to get the hell out of here.”
Aster finished taking off her cloak. She took the dead Dawn’s mantle and placed it on her own shoulders, then covered Dawn’s remains with the one she’d been wearing. She felt it settle into place, and at once the wildness surging inside of her subsided. She felt contained, in control, no longer at the mercy of the elumiris that filled her to bursting.
Visions began racing through her mind: a hundred dawns, crossing the sky in chariots pulled by red bulls, by horses, by swans, as swans and more colorful birds, as a herd of buffalo. She watched bare earth beneath her spring to life, trees, bushes, grass growing at the touch of her light. She felt beautiful, delirious, playful, filled with lust for sex and food and drink, and the reach of her arms was the universe.
***
Errol climbed shakily to his feet, getting his breath back, watching his girlfriend, now apparently some sort of thunder-god, whale at a monster a hundred times her size. And she was winning. Her hair was like flame, and her eyes dripped white fire. She had buried her spear in the monster on her third thrust and was now beating at it using the boomerang as a club. She was shouting, ranting in a language he didn’t know. She seemed completely berserk. He honestly did not know which he was most frightened of; the dragon-thing or Dusk.
But he had to do something. He ran up and jabbed his spear into the scutts of the reptilian belly, but the stone point didn’t penetrate. He tried again, aiming for the seam between two scales; this time he managed to lodge the spear in long enough for the writhing of the beast to yank the weapon from his hands.
Billy, now almost seven feet tall, was doing a little better, at least until one of Dusk’s wind-ups accidentally caught him in the side of the head and sent him sprawling.
Errol was stumbled back, fumbling the boomerang from his belt—recalling belatedly he’d already thrown it—when there was a terrific flash of light; as his vision cleared, he saw Dusk had split the snake’s head open. It was stretched out on the rock, still twitching.
Dusk hit it again, and again. The look on her face was terrifying.
“Here we go,” Veronica said.
The cool air in the cavern suddenly dropped by several degrees, and an awful stench drifted on it, like rotten fish boiling in piss. Errol’s ears popped.
For a moment, everything seemed still. Then Dusk leapt forward, flaring like a lightning bolt. In the snapshot of light, Errol saw them, oozing from the walls of the cavern, thousands of squirming creatures, things like spiders but with too many legs, hyaenas with eyes like saucers that stood as tall as horses.
And him, the guy in the wooden body. Dusk reached him and struck at him with her spear. It went through him, but he didn’t seem to care. He smacked her in the forehead with his palm, and she flew backwards, landing on her back and skidding a few feet.
“Damn it,” Veronica said. She flew past Errol toward the fallen Dusk.
Veronica stopped next to Dusk and drew herself up straight. And the lake came out of its bed.
***
Veronica became part of the stream, stretching herself out, gathering Dusk and Errol and the rest within her waters. As long as they were in her care, they would not drown, but if something happened to her, they were now all doomed. A vast wave beat back the Raggedy Man and his creatures, but she knew better than to think he or any of his monsters would perish. The best she could do was get her friends out.
