Then, as if weakened from her struggles, the woman collapsed into Alder's arms.
"Let's get her back onto the table so that I can examine her," the doctor said. "Nurse, clean up this mess and help me get the monitors and fluids hooked back up." Gently, Bryce pried Miller's fingers loose from their grip on his cross. Then he stepped back as Alder and the doctor lifted her onto the table. While they had her in a standing position, Bryce realized that the woman was taller than he was, by at least three inches. And from their brief struggle, he knew she was stronger than he. The doctor knocked the flower off the table as he rested Wendy Miller upon it. Bryce bent and picked up the flower, carefully examining its strange coloration. He had never seen anything like it before. It had a strong aroma that reminded the priest of a clear spring day.
As the doctor and nurse worked, Alder came to stand next to the priest. He saw the flower, and his eyes
met Bryce's. "What happened here, Father?" Alder asked.
"I don't know, Rick. I wish I did, but I just don't know."
The doctor walked over to the pair. He looked haggard, confused. "Her pulse is strong and steady, her respiration is regular, and her eyes seem normal and reactive," the doctor explained. "But she was dead, for a few brief seconds, that young woman was gone. And now most of the major damage she had sustained has disappeared, and what remains is healing rapidly. I honestly don't know what to make of it, except ."
And here the doctor paused, seemingly embarrassed by his own thoughts.
"Except what, doctor?" Bryce asked.
"Except that maybe she heard you calling her, Father. Maybe your prayers were answered."
Alder retrieved the young woman's wallet from where it fell when Bryce dropped it. He opened it to examine her license, just as Bryce had done earlier. "You know something? They made a mistake on her driver's license," Alder said. "It lists Wendy Miller as having brown eyes, and this young lady has the most intense green eyes I've ever seen."
Bryce was suddenly very afraid. He needed to know if his prayers had had anything to do with Wendy Miller's miraculous return to life, or with anything at all. He needed to know if he did truly bear Christ, not only in the wafers he handed out but also in himself. He pushed past Alder and the doctor to stand beside the operating table. The young woman was awake, her green eyes moving to meet his own.
"Wendy, Miss Miller, how are you feeling?" he asked. He needed to touch her, to feel the life in her veins, in the warmth of her skin. He placed his hand on her right forearm. As he did, he felt ridged scars beneath the palm of his hand. He didn't remember seeing those scars earlier, but he could have missed them in the confusion.
"Dunad," she said. Her voice had an accent that the priest couldn't place. "The words are a war in my head. For everything I hear and for everything I want to say, two words rush to do battle. Great gaps have been torn in the walls of my memory. I remember very little. Darkness clawing at me, a brilliant light, a beautiful crys flower ."
Bryce handed her the flower.
"Thank you, Dunad," she said, "for returning one of my memories. Will you return the others?"
"Miss Miller," Bryce said, pulling his hand away from her arm. As she spoke, he had been leaning forward, feeling himself drawn into her oddly green eyes, eyes that were like the color of dark green grass after a rainstorm. He needed to pull back, to distance himself from this woman who had died and come back to life in front of his eyes. "My name is not Dunad," he said, but part of him wished it were. She spoke the name in a familiar, loving manner, as if she were speaking to someone who had known her all her life, someone who knew her as she knew him, closely, intimately. "My name is Christopher Bryce."
"Oh," she said. Her eyes glanced at his cross where it lay silver against the blackness of his shirt. "But then you are a follower of Dunad."
"No," he said, "I am a Jesuit priest, of the Society of Jesus." He held up his cross. "This is the symbol of the cross upon which Our Lord Jesus Christ was crucified. I'm sorry, Miss Miller, but I have never heard of Dunad."
"Why, Christopher Bryce of the Society of Jesus, do you call me Miss Miller?"
Startled, Bryce stammered for a moment and said, "But that's your name. Your driver's license was found with you."
"It also says she has brown eyes, Father," Alder added.
"No. I do not have many memories left, but of this I am certain — my name is Tolwyn, Tolwyn of House Tancred."
Bryce stared at her, felt himself pressed hard against the wall of her conviction. He thought of the buzzing of the monitors as she had died, of the flower he had never seen before, of the scars on her arm that had not been there, of her green eyes. And he knew she spoke the truth.
She looked him in the eyes and asked, "Can you, Christopher Bryce who is not Dunad, give me back my memories?"
"No. I'm sorry."
"But you gave me my crys flower."
He remembered the flower falling from her hands as she had sat up.
"You brought that with you," he said.
Her eyes bore steadily into him as she asked, "From where, Christopher Bryce?"
50
Andrew Jackson Decker stood under the rotunda, listening to the heavy rain beat against the dome. He nervously tapped the fingers of his left hand against his leg in time with the rain drops. It was a habit he developed back in his days of high school baseball and perfected through college and pro ball. It calmed him down, helped him focus. It had become a ritual over the last nine days, and he was surprised he hadn't tapped little craters in his leg.
He had been in the White House before, of course, but never under such dire circumstances. How often was the United States invaded, after all. But something had happened in New York and was now spreading. If it wasn't contained, he had no idea what would be the final outcome. And so far, most containment methods had failed.
The door opened and a marine entered. He marched into the room, his polished black boots echoing loudly under the dome. "Congressman Decker, the President will see you now," he said.
Decker nodded and followed the young man. President, the congressman thought. That was the first time since the crisis began that Wells had let the staff use that title. That could mean anything, but Decker assumed it meant the Speaker of the House had received the confirmation he had been waiting for — and praying against. It also confirmed what most of the rest of Capitol Hill had been whispering about these past few days, and Decker dreaded. Rumor was that Jonathan Wells, previously Speaker of the House and now apparently President of the United States, was going to recommend Congressman Andrew Jackson Decker to be his Vice President. Why else call him up to the White House without notice?
The marine halted before a door. Decker paused as well, his fingers unconsciously tapping faster. Whatever the situation, he would find out in the next couple of minutes.
"You may go right in, sir," explained the marine.
Decker took a deep breath. He glanced sideways and caught the marine watching him. The congressman flashed his best smile, the one the press called boyishly innocent, noting the name tag sewn on the marine's uniform. "Thank you, Private Rider," he said in as friendly a tone as he could manage. "It's not everyday you get called to talk to the President."
"No, sir," the marine agreed, smiling himself. Then his expression went neutral again, and he resumed his watchful stance.
Decker reached out and opened the door.
"Listen, John, we need to do something. My proposal cannot just be ignored, and unless you can convince me of something better, than I must insist you give me your support."
Decker knew the voice before he saw the speaker. It was Senator Ellen Conners, affectionately referred to as Old Lady Medusa. It was said that her look could turn a reporter to stone, but Decker knew from experience that her words were even worse.
The senator stopped when Decker entered, turning to glare at him with her patented look. Decker swallowed, he hoped not too noticeably, and tried to shake off the feeling
that his flesh was hardening.
Conners was standing beside a large, cluttered desk. Behind the desk, leaning back in a heavily-cushioned chair, sat John Wells. He looked older than the last time Decker spoke with him, older even than his sixty years warranted. How could he have aged so much in just a few days, Decker wondered. Finally, seated to Wells' left, was Dennis Quartermain, Secretary of Defense. Decker didn't like that man, but he respected his ability in a crisis. And this was a crisis.
"Ellen, Dennis, you both know Congressman Decker," said Wells as he leaned forward. His smile wiped away some of the added years from his face, but it could not bring back all of the youthful vigor. Decker was afraid that was gone forever. "How're you doing, Ace?"
Ace. That wasn't a name that many people called Decker anymore. It was a remnant of his baseball days, not dignified enough for a member of the United States Congress. But John Wells was never one for formalities.
"Mr. President, please ..." began Conners, but Wells shook her off.
"I've heard your proposal and I'll consider it," he said in a stern tone that surprised Decker. "For now, I've got something to discuss with Ace. Leave us now, Ellen, Dennis. And close the door on your way out."
The two left and Wells motioned for Decker to sit down. "I suppose you're wondering why I called you here, Ace," Wells began. He stood up and reached for the Mr. Coffee on the cabinet behind him. "Would you like a cup," he asked as he filled his own mug with dark brown liquid. "The Boss? Me? If You Say So" was printed on the mug, and Decker smiled at the message as he declined the offer.
"I've finally gotten confirmation, New York is lost," Wells said, his tone heavy and forlorn. "President Kent and Vice President Farrel were in the city to attend the United Nations conference on terrorism, along with other world leaders. They were to ratify and sign a history-making treaty, Ace. It was going to usher in a new age of peace and cooperation. Now I don't know what's going to happen. Some countries are offering us aid, others are claiming the entire invasion is some sort of trick and they are demanding the return of their countrymen. I wish to God it was a trick of some sort."
Wells paused to gulp some coffee before continuing. "The invaders have completely taken over New York and the surrounding area. Reports are that they have killed a large number of citizens. I ... I have no reason to believe that the President is still alive. Reluctantly, I am assuming the office of President for the remainder of Kent's term. I've asked Quartermain to serve as my Vice President. He has the skills and experience I need to salvage this situation, Ace, even if I can't stand the bastard."
Decker tried to grasp what Wells was telling him. Kent, Farrel, an entire city, all written off? He couldn't accept that. "John, what are you saying?" he demanded, rising to tower over the man sitting behind the desk. "How can you simply decide that all those people, the President, are beyond our help? How?"
Wells stood as well, falling short of Decker's six-foot-two frame. "Simply? Nothing has been simple these past nine days, Ace. You should know that better than anyone! There are dinosaurs walking in Manhattan, Ace, pouring down a bridge that fell from the sky. This is a nightmare, man, but there's nothing simple about it! There are no television signals, no phone calls, no news wires — there's nothing coming out of New York! Nothing but refugees! And do you know what's behind the
refugees? The dinosaurs, that's what! Pushing the survivors before them as they take more and more of our country. They've already taken land as far west as Ohio and as far north as parts of Canada, plus you've seen the footage from California. There doesn't seem to be any way to stop them. As their front advances, our weapons tend to malfunction and break down. We haven't determined why that is yet, but until we do we will continue to lose ground and lives to these invaders. My God, we're at war and we haven't figured it out yet."
The President collapsed back into his chair, the weariness of the situation pressing him down and making him look smaller.
The President.
That's who he was now, and he needed Decker's help and support. Decker realized that, and was sorry that he had exploded. But he felt so helpless. He, too, sat back down, trying to focus, to make sense of the situation.
"You asked Quartermain to be your VP," Decker said, "so what do you want from me?"
"Disappointed, Ace? Don't be. I have something else in mind for you. But first, let me finish the rest of my news, bad as it may be. Prior to the invasion of New York, the world lost contact with Indonesia. As no communications have come out of or have gotten through to the island nations, we must assume that what befell New York has also befallen Indonesia. The northeast, the west coast, the south Pacific—all contact with the areas immediately around the invasion sites has been lost."
"What do you want from me, Mr. President."
"Don't get formal on me now, Ace. And please, bear with me."
The President drained his cup and placed it on the desk. He paused for a second to gather his thoughts.
"Have you ever had a dream that kept repeating itself night after night?" he asked, his voice gaining a strange, far away tone. "I've had one ever since this all started. It comes to me every time my eyes close. Did you know that I'm part Indian. American Indian, that is. Crow, to be specific. Well, this dream has to do with Indians — at least with one of the legends. Have you ever heard of Coyote? He was a trickster, but he was also a hero that helped mankind. The stories reveal that he transformed aspects of the world for man's benefit. But in my dream Coyote encountered Death. Death was a terrible being, dressed in a short cape and old-fashioned hat, sort of like a Puritan. And he stood in a whirlwind, drawing power from the swirling column of air. Death was searching for a large stone in my dream, a stone that was important. Using his normal pranks, Coyote found the stone first. He stole it before Death could reach it and placed it out west somewhere."
President Wells leaned forward, staring directly into Decker's eyes. "Then, before I wake up, Coyote turns to me and says the damnedest thing. He says, 'What is given is given.'"
"And what does that all mean, John?"
"Ace, I have absolutely no idea. But I know that I need you to find out for me, because I certainly can't
go."
"Go? Go where?"
"West, young man. You have to go west."
Decker felt beads of sweat form on his forehead and his throat got dry. "The stone, John, tell me about the stone."
"An amazing sight, actually. It's a blue stone, like a piece of the sky made solid, and ..."
But before he could finish, Decker said it for him. "... and it's run through with veins of red."
51
Dar Ess was a gotak of great authority and great sadness. The title, which meant "being who feels no passion," was a new addition to the religion of the edeinos. It was created by Baruk Kaah prior to the edeinos' first raid into the cosmverse, and it went against everything the edeinos believed. But the Saar gave the position meaning and merit, and few dared to oppose his authority over the tribes.
Unlike the optants, the priests of life, gotaks were the keepers of all things dead. It was not a title that drew respect. Instead, other Edeinos looked upon gotaks with pity, for they were relegated to handling those things that were not of Lanala, the Edeinos goddess. Still, Dar Ess did not require respect to lead her acolytes into the world of the dead. She required only her power, which the younger ones feared.
She traveled with Beca and Tred, who carried the stelae; with the Stalenger Two Taps, who found the digging spots; and with the Benthe Geebo, the small amoeba-like being with the ability to manipulate emotion-controlling pheromones. Dar Ess was the leader, and it was her duty to perform the ceremony at the digging spot that would activate the stelae.
They had left the boundary of their own reality, the Living Land, and were now walking in the Dead Land that was the reality of Earth. None of the acolytes were comfortable here, but they had all done this before. That was their duty as gotaks to be. That was their shame.
> Two Taps spun through the air ahead of them, his star shape a beautiful beacon for them to follow. Dar Ess noticed that Two Taps had changed color, switching from a neutral tan to a reflective rainbow pattern that indicated joy or excitement. The gotak indicated rapid movement by clacking her claws together three times fast, then ran ahead to converse with the stalenger.
Not bothering to see if the other acolytes were following her, for they knew that to disobey her command meant their deaths, Dar Ess stopped beneath the spinner. Two Taps uncoiled long tendrils from beneath his body and snaked them out to touch the gotak. Once in contact, the two could converse freely — one through speech, the other through a series of taps and vibrations.
"What have you found, Two Tapsss?" Dar Ess demanded, as was her practice when dealing with alcolytes-who-were-not-yet-gotaks.
"I have found the digging spot, the place where the boundaries must meet," Two Taps answered, using his most humble vibrations.
"Mark it," the gotak ordered, turning away and breaking contact with the stalenger's tendrils before he could reply. She expected Beca to be behind her, waiting, and she was not disappointed.
The young edeinos, who was the newest member of Dar Ess' team, stood shaking in place, obviously nervous yet anxiously waiting to experience the pleasures of the dig.
"Beca, find the ssspot that Two Tapsss marksss. There you will honor our Sssaar by digging the hole of placement. Geebo, sssupervise the young one. Go."
Beca bowed respectfully to the benthe, then waited for the older being to make the sign that signaled he could be picked up. Geebo extended a pseudopod straight up from his hemispherical body. The sign given, Beca gently lifted the benthe and placed Geebo on his shoulder. Then he ran to find Two Taps.
"Bring your ssstelae, Tred, and come with me," Dar Ess commanded the remaining acolyte. The gotak hefted her hrockt shoot, its roots dangling from one end, and led the way.
When Dar Ess and Tred arrived at the digging spot, Beca was already hard at work. He used his claws to scope out large handfuls of dirt, nodding frequently which indicated acknowledgement of Geebo's instructions. Two Taps rested on the ground nearby, offering his own advice through the almost-invisible tendrils that gently rested on Beca's ridged head. While Beca continued to dig, Tred examined one of the stelae he carried, making sure it was still intact. Dar Ess examined it herself as well, for if a damaged stelae was placed Baruk Kaah would punish them all.
torg 01 - Storm Knights Page 12
