Divine 05 - Nevermore

by Melanie Jackson

  “I think it’s safe,” he said, reaching out a hand for me. “Just drink slowly. You don’t want your stomach to cramp.”

  The first touch of the water eased the abraded feeling that plagued my exposed skin. I dipped my hands fully in the water and brought it to my mouth. Instantly, the tightness in my throat eased. I splashed a little on my face and the burned feeling went away. The water felt magnificent, as no water ever had before. Magnus and Emerson knelt down and drank in deep, reverent draughts, Magnus going so far as to submerge his entire head. I could see the fatigue and pain fall away from them as well.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” a male voice said behind us. “How did you get the cave open? I thought we had it sealed.”

  Startled, Emerson leapt to his feet, hauling me up beside him. Magnus was not laggardly either.

  “Hello.” The dark-haired man spoke again, shifting to one side of the tunnel that had just opened in the right wall. Two more men stepped out after him, each a little darker, a little taller, and a little stranger than the one before. “Don’t be alarmed. I’m Thomas Marrowbone. Welcome to Tomhnafurach. Or at least an outpost.”

  None of us answered this greeting, because looming behind him came something so unexpected that our minds went blank. A giant raptor I could have accepted, but not this. I felt again the pressure of an alien brain, though this time the power did not slam into me.

  “Is that…?” I asked in a breathy whisper.

  “Why yes, it is,” answered a deep voice that resonated musically in the glass chamber. “Sorry about that sneeze. Allergies, you know… and who might you all be? Not some of those nasty, inedible dead things we’ve been finding lately, I hope. Not to be inhospitable but I’ve become a bit necro-phobic.” I thought about assuring him that we were alive but worried that might imply that we were edible. Somehow my gun felt completely inadequate. “And why are you here on this unnaturally stormy day? Is it….” The voice trailed off and the eyes widened.

  “Excellent questions but it can wait,” said the darkest man as he looked back from the cave opening. I use the word man because he was male, but though he might eat, breathe and possibly propagate, this creature wasn’t human and had never been human. “I am Abrial Nightdemon and this is the pooka, Roman.”

  Nightdemon. And a pooka. The pookas I had heard of—mischievous animal spirits that sometimes killed people. I decided not to ask any questions just in case they told me something I didn’t want to hear.

  “Hello. I’m Anna Peyton. Sorry for dropping without an invitation.” This came out pat though I could feel fear belatedly scuttling in my stomach. It couldn’t gain any traction on the ice already there, but it was doing its best to claw its way upward and reach my heart. I tried not to let my eyes jitterbug with panic but it was hard to keep an eye on both the dragon and the three men.

  “That’s a dragon,” Emerson murmured, apparently not hearing the introductions. “A real dragon.”

  “What?” I looked back and all four male members of our band were staring at the dragon, apparently mesmerized. I hadn’t heard the other two come into the cave but they were there, mouths gaping. Jon was actually drooling.

  A quick look the other way told me that the dragon was also staring back with unblinking eyes. Smoke trickled placidly from its giant nostrils. Men and beast all looked vaguely stoned.

  “Who sandbagged the snot monster?” Roman asked, cocking his head. “Is it you?”

  “Oh.” I sighed, realizing what was happening. “No, it isn’t me.”

  “What is wrong?” The one called Thomas asked me with a frown. “The dragon will not hurt you. There is no need to fear.”

  “They’re Clan Raven,” I explained. When that proved insufficient explanation I added a bit more. “They mind-meld with flying creatures. Usually birds. The dragon was probably too tempting a target. Right now they are probably out having a mental test-flight.”

  “Oh.” He looked interested. “Are you lesser psychopomps or shape-shifters?”

  I blinked. Psychopomps were angels or something, and shape-shifter was another name for werewolves.

  “We’ve had two of your kind here who were shifters,” he went on. “And two were vampires, though not the kind in the movies. Of course. All of your kind are psychic too. I assume you are as well?”

  So there were at least four more of the Dark Man’s creatures. This was very interesting and potentially useful information, but no one else said or asked anything about this revelation. Like had the others survived their visit to the faerie mound? I mean, the fact that they knew what we were didn’t mean the others had been allowed to live. Apparently I was going to have to be the spokesperson for our group though I was at a bit of a conversational loss. Our hosts appeared amiable but were clearly not human, and I couldn’t guess how they might help us in our present mess— supposing it was wise to reveal anything to them. After all, they might be friends of Saint Germain’s. Or just not real fond of humans that brought trouble their way. Right now it was all velvet gloves and help yourself to the water, but how quickly might the glove shred if they knew what trouble followed us? Should I step away from the truth? Should I leap and bound and even lie?

  “Really?” I finally asked. “I haven’t met many of us. I was… um… changed only a few days ago. Emerson isn’t a shifter though. I’m not sure about the three Viking stooges, but I don’t think they are either,” I said, using my less than complimentary title without thinking and getting a small snort of amusement from the one called Roman.

  “Emerson, snap out it!” I said with exasperation. “You can play with the dragon later. Right now you need to pay attention to where you are standing or you’ll fall down on your face when we start walking.” When my words had no effect, I made an effort to reach into his head and give him a mental shake. After a moment his eyes focused and he looked at me in wonder.

  “That was most unusual,” he said with enthusiasm and then glanced at his three friends. Frowning, he delivered some kind of mental slap and after a moment, they also roused themselves though they didn’t speak and Jon didn’t blot the drool. Emerson turned to Abrial. “My apologies. Our gift is the borrowed experience. A chance to be something other than ourselves through visitation in another mind. Of course there is a price,” he added, looking at Jon.

  “Potential madness?” Abrial suggested politely, also staring at Jon. One was so well-nourished and the other clearly was not.

  “Yes.” Emerson blinked at the blunt assessment. He did not seem alarmed by anything though so I told myself that I could remain calm too. After all, he knew more about this darkside stuff than I did.

  “Madness or no, you will ride with me again anyway. This time I shall choose the route,” the dragon said finally and then set off down the broad tunnel. The smell of petroleum lingered. Did dragons burn fossil fuels? Had Emerson actually been controlling him? I was beginning to have a lot of pointed questions. Don’t get me wrong. I was impressed with the dragon as anyone, but I was beginning to see it as a potential ally or even a weapon, albeit one that could eat us if we careless. Emerson and the boys were still thinking of him as a thrill-ride.

  “We should move along. Many of these old faerie roads are being used by… other creatures these days. And the ground is most unstable here in Iceland. It would be best to reach some place safer before you explain your visit to us.” Thomas’s voice was gentle. He said something in a language I didn’t know and the cave entrance closed itself back up. “We will take the low road. It’s faster. Just don’t wander off the path. The old faerie lights are deceptive and dangerous.”

  We started forward. Some with more enthusiasm than others. The low road was the one taken by the dead. I began to worry about Emerson and ghosts. It might not be possible, but I decided that I would try and run interference if he started seeing spirits. Surely I could do that. He had been in my brain often enough for me to know it was at least theoretically possible to enter his.

  “You are un
seelie?” Emerson asked of Abrial Nightdemon as we stepped into the broad tunnel, which I thought was a bit obvious since the unseelie were the wicked faeries and what else could he be with a name like Nightdemon?

  “Yes.”

  “And you are not?” Emerson said, turning to Roman, the one who said he was a pooka, though he did not in any way appear to me as a horse, which I thought most pookas were.

  “Nope. Who’d have thought I’d end up working with demonspawn? But there you are. Needs must when the devil drives,” Roman answered cheerfully.

  I blinked at what sounded like an uncomplimentary phrase but Thomas, who walked beside me, just shook his head and said to me: “Though originally from different courts, we are united now and don’t usually insult each other with derogatory names, the pooka being an exception. He is constitutionally unable to remain polite or serious.”

  “Abrial has always been more inclined to offer his insults with deadly weapons,” Roman said, looking back at me. “It is one of his potpourri of weird hobbies. Ask him to show you his etchings some time. They’ll give you nightmares—he’s that bad an artist.”

  I found myself liking the pooka. He was more approachable than the other two or the rest of Raven Clan, who walked behind me wearing identical scowls if suspicion. Not to insult Magnus, but this new bunch of oddballs made me feel less like I was alone with Custer at Little Bighorn.

  Though the feeling was not alarming, I had the sense that we were being watched as we traveled. The observer was benevolent, but that did not mean it was powerless. I attempted to consult my inner voice about the watcher’s identity but it had gone mute. Since I wasn’t sure I was supposed to know about the observer, I didn’t say anything to the others about the silent witness.

  “We were uncertain about whether to approach you,” Emerson said. “The rumors of ice giants in the area had me distinctly worried. I attempted to contact some others of my kind before coming to Iceland, but they were disinclined to involve themselves in our problem. Or dead.”

  This was news to me. People were refusing to help? Why? Because it was a suicidal mission?

  “I see, you called and it was suddenly, I could not love thee, dear, so much loved I not my own skin more. And the best of luck to you?” Roman suggested.

  “Yes,” Emerson agreed. “Not that I blame them. This creature we seek is utterly mad and terribly dangerous.”

  He never said this to me. Well, not so bluntly.

  “If you speak of Saint Germain,” Abrial Nightdemon said, “I could not agree more. He must be done away with before he looses any more horror on the world. And some of your kind are already joined with him in battle. You have strong allies, though you may not know it.”

  This was good news. We were among friends, or at least like-minded people.

  The tunnel changed. It was no longer glassy but covered in a soft phosphorescent green moss. It was also getting tighter. We were forced to walk single file for a time. I resisted taking Emerson’s hand though I wanted very much to be soothed by his touch. I was also noticing that he had a lovely back that I could suddenly picture bare and with my nails dug into it. I hoped that no one else was picking up on these stray thoughts.

  We passed the occasional alcove and some old bones. Giant bones. They were wearing feathered headdresses and had long red hair.

  “Though the timing is inauspicious given our own battles, your coming to us might be a blessing in disguise,” Thomas suggested. “Well, not much of a disguise. Clearly some of you are warriors.”

  “What tipped you off to their true nature? The grim faces and scars?” Roman asked, glancing back at Emerson’s clan. “I mean, if the blessing of able-bodied men was so well disguised to you….”

  Thomas ignored him and Abrial took up the explanation.

  “The places where this madman does his evil work are in lattitudes that are most dangerous for our kind. We do not do at all well in sunny climes. With ozone so depleted, the sun is complete poison to us and even the moonlight can cause us harm. But you may yet venture out into the world without ill effect.” Abrial was clearly older even than Emerson and Magnus. I had the feeling that English was a language he had learned long ago. “We will speak more of this later. There is a lot for you to know about your enemy. You have become involved in a three-sided chess game and Saint Germain may no longer be our greatest problem.”

  “Hobgoblins,” Roman explained. This didn’t mean anything to me except that hobgoblins were legendary bad guys.

  “Great,” I muttered but no one else said anything, so I stopped with the one comment.

  “Use care as you move about in this next section of tunnel. Many of the artifacts are sentient and many booby-trapped.”

  “Does he mean it?” I asked Roman.

  “Well, I tend to be figurative, but as a rule Abrial is pretty literal. I’d take his advice. He knows more about goblin hives than I do.”

  Thinking of Emerson and wondering if his silence meant that he had again hitched a ride with the dragon, I reached out for him mentally. It took a moment to connect with him since I had to push aside the ambient intelligence that was all around us, but I was reassured by what I found. Emerson was being thoughtful. I could feel it. I pushed just a bit more and discovered that he was plotting a new book set in a faerie underworld. E.A. James was great with story. I hoped he had a notepad somewhere and that he could get it on paper before his brain exploded.

  “You smile?” Magnus asked, coming up beside me. He had to stoop a bit to avoid the lower ceiling. His gaze was suspicious, but not of me or even our companions. He didn’t trust our surroundings. He was creature of open spaces and this tunnel made him claustrophobic. I sympathized.

  “It’s Emerson,” I explained. “He is thinking up deep dark plots for a new book.”

  “And this amuses you?” The words held consternation.

  “It reassures me. That is what Emerson does. Good thing I brought the portable. I wonder if we can get internet here.”

  Emerson glanced back and smiled. It was a relief to have him return to normal, or at least what felt normal to me.

  Far ahead there was a flash of fire and something started screaming. It wasn’t human.

  “Lunch,” Roman explained.

  “Goblins,” Thomas amplified.

  “Like I said, lunch. Don’t worry, the dragon will be done long before we get there.” No one looked horrified by what was happening.

  “When you say goblins, do you mean actual…”

  “Six limbs, bad smell, big nose, no chin—goblins.”

  “Ah, I see. “ I didn’t see. “Would it be rude to ask where we are going? Or even where we are?” I had the feeling that though we hadn’t walked far we might have traveled a great distance.

  “Right now we are… not in a place found on maps. But we will be in Nevada soon.” Thomas smiled, still being reassuring. Perhaps he thought we would panic. Magnus looked near it.

  “Nevada? Like Las Vegas and Reno?” I hope I didn’t sound like a parrot, though I felt rather birdbrained at the moment.

  “More like high desert, but yes, that’s the one.”

  “Well, good. No offense, Magnus, but Iceland in winter was a bit much. I prefer being closer to home.”

  Magnus said nothing. I glanced back and he was staring into an alcove that had both giant bones and bricks of gold. He no longer looked frightened. He was feeling acquisitive.

  “We haven’t figured out how to get the gold out,” Roman said, and I had to wonder if they were able to listen to our thoughts. “It’s cursed. We carry it out but it disappears. A few hours later it is back where it was. Tantalizing.”

  Magnus grunted. I decided to change the subject.

  “So, if I recall correctly, the low road is the one traveled by the dead. These seem pretty empty. Death on vacation this week or something?” I was feeling relaxed and even beginning to enjoy looking at our guides. There was a lot of yardage between them. Though very different in person
ality and degrees of menace, they shared a common trait of being long and lean and beautiful. Emerson actually looked rather at home among them.

  “There can be ghosts, but mostly these are corridors to other places not of interest to humans— dead or alive.” Thomas especially reminded me of a priest, or maybe a young, sexy Gandalf.

  “And unfortunately there’s no travel guide,” Roman added. “But trust me, most are one star and best avoided. Unless you have the dragon with you. The snot monster has his uses and your friends seemed able to control him.”

  I sincerely hoped Emerson wasn’t planning anything like that. I’m as appreciate as the next person vis a vis our obligation to study endangered species, but the dragon frightened me almost as much as the dark passages I looked down from time to time as we hurried on our way. It did not seem to me that anyone could control him. In fact, there was more danger that the dragon could end up controlling Emerson.

  Again I looked back, checking on the rest of raven clan. All of them were wearing identical faces of inanimation, the muscles unpleasantly slack. Were they not still walking on their own I would be rushing back to check their vital signs.

  “Are they okay?” Roman asked me quietly.

  “I guess. But I can’t make that call on the strength of a twenty-four hour acquaintance.” I could feel ozone beginning to build though as it had outside and began to worry. Lightning in a confined space would be bad. “Emerson? Sorry to disturb your plotting, but it’s getting kind of cloudy in here. Can you wake them up?”

  “Sorry,” he said and fell back to walk beside me and I felt a small rush of pleasure as he neared. “There is something about this place beguiles the mind. It is as though something is whispering tales in my ear. I wish I could sit down with a pen and paper and write some of these thoughts down before they slip away.”

  I nodded. Something was also whispering to me.

  “But we are going to have a thunderstorm if we don’t wake the boys up,” I said.