Unless none of it was real.
The revelation was almost too complex for his shattered mind to process. What if the threats that the humans were fighting didn’t really exist? What if the spirits of this place had placed lies in the humans’ minds, in order to destroy them? That would explain why Jacob couldn’t see any of it.
Lies! He screamed it as loudly as he could, trying to warn Isaac. The realm of the dead resonated with his desperation. Fake! Don’t believe!
But Isaac couldn’t hear him.
Desperately he looked around, seeking . . . what? What could possibly help him? It was nearly impossible for the broken fragments of his soul to think at all, much less deal with complicated speculation. All he could do was search his surroundings in the hope that something would come to him.
The humans had stopped moving. Isaac and the girl had both fallen to their knees. Jacob could sense the spirits of the Badlands drawing close to them like invisible vultures, hungry for death.
Suddenly he saw a faint light in the distance. He focused all his attention on it, struggling to figure out what it was. The effort was acutely painful; thoughts slipped from his mind as soon as he formed them. But just as his strength was nearly exhausted, he realized what he was looking at.
Sunlight.
Somewhere ahead of him the red winds were thinning out, enough that the sun could shine through. The travelers couldn’t see it yet, blinded as they were by the illusions of this place, but in the realm of the dead it was visible as a lighthouse beacon. If only they went in the right direction, they might reach it before they collapsed.
HERE! Jacob screamed. He moved so that he was standing between Isaac and the sun; maybe if Isaac looked that way he would see the light. HERE! But Isaac still couldn’t hear him. Over and over again Jacob repeated the cry, trying to drive that one word like a jackhammer into Isaac’s brain. Here here here here HERE HERE HERE!
Suddenly Isaac looked up. He rose to his feet. He was listening.
HERE! Jacob screamed. COME! BE SAFE! He poured all his strength into each word, drawing upon his few surviving memories for fuel. Images from his lost life flared in his mind. The Shadowlords’ torture chamber. Stealing food from a street vendor. The agonizing sweetness of Mae’s smile. COME! he yelled. HERE! He was growing weaker by the moment and couldn’t keep this up much longer. ESCAPE!
Then Isaac looked at him. Directly at him. He understood!
Struggling to hold himself together, Jacob slowly backed away, moving toward the light. After a moment’s hesitation, Isaac pointed others in that direction and began to follow him. Relief swept over the exhausted ghost. The others were coming, following Isaac’s lead. Jacob was going to save them after all.
But who was going to save him?
By the time the sun’s light was visible to the humans, Jacob had become so weak that it was difficult for him to think at all. He could see how excited they were when they finally realized where he’d been leading them, but their joy was a distant thing, as if viewed through hazy glass. The few memories that remained to him were fading rapidly, brief sparks of hope, pain, fear, and despair swept away by the red wind. Without them he was nothing.
Isaac was running toward the light now. They were all running toward the light. All but Jacob.
He had saved them.
Then the winds swept that final thought away, and all that was left was crimson.
19
BADLANDS
TERRA PRIME
JESSE
FOR AN ENDLESS MOMENT no one moved. The three of us crouched on the ground, waiting to see if they were going to shoot us, while the men with the skull masks remained on their horses, not shooting us. I told myself that delay was a good thing, and that every moment that passed without them killing us increased the odds that we were going to make it out of this situation alive. Whether that was true or not I didn’t know, but it sounded good.
Suddenly Isaac broke the silence. “Jacob’s not here.” He looked back the way we had come. “He didn’t make it through!”
As he began to scramble to his feet, one of the horsemen took aim at him. I grabbed Isaac by the arm to try to stop him, but he shook me off. “I’m not leaving Jacob in there!” Without looking at the mounted men, he limped toward El Malo. From the way he clutched one hand to his side it was clear his fall had hurt him pretty badly, but there was an air of defiance about him that seemed to say, Shoot me if you have to, but nothing short of that will stop me.
I held my breath, braced for the worst, but no one fired at him.
He staggered a few yards toward El Malo, and for a moment I was afraid he would try to go back into that death zone. If he did, I doubted either Sebastian or I was strong enough to rescue him, and I was pretty sure the horsemen weren’t going to help. But then he stopped and spread his arms as if embracing the sandstorm, and he yelled into the howling winds, “Jacob! Can you hear me? Jacob!” He waited a moment and then yelled it again, this time with an edge of despair in his voice. I saw his body stiffen, and I guessed that he was trying to invoke the Gift that allowed him to speak to the dead. His fingers sketched patterns in the air. “Follow my voice!” he yelled. “Come to me!” The sand wave in front of him seemed to loom even higher and darker than before, and I wondered if there might not be spirits in there that were unhappy about necromantic rituals being performed on their doorstep.
After holding his rigid pose for several endless minutes, Isaac suddenly staggered back a few steps, as if he’d been struck. Then he found his balance again, and cried out in a voice hoarse from desperation, “Come to me!” Then he collapsed backward. Without a thought for the masked men I ran to him, Sebastian right behind me. Isaac lay face up on the ground, his pupils dilated, whispering words I couldn’t hear. “Jesus,” I said, “are you okay?” I put a hand on his chest; beneath my palm his heart was pounding wildly. I didn’t know what else to do. Sebastian was on the other side of him, but he didn’t seem to know what to do either. “Talk to me,” I begged Isaac. “Please.”
Slowly he turned his head to me. The pupils had returned to normal size but the whites of his eyes were an angry red. “Jacob’s safe,” he gasped. “Safe.” He winced in pain and shut his eyes. “I gave him my strength.”
“I didn’t know you could do that,” Sebastian said.
Isaac tried to laugh. The sound turned into coughing, and he rolled onto his side so he wouldn’t choke. When the fit finally passed he gasped, “Neither did I.” He looked a little better now, though he was still very weak. Sebastian and I helped him get to his feet. He couldn’t walk unassisted, so we supported him, one on each side, as we slowly made our way back to the semi-circle of skull warriors, who had been waiting in silence through all this.
Judgment time.
If not for the stirring of their long black hair in the breeze, they might have been statues. Even the horses were still. Though it was hard to tell where they were looking with the skull masks casting shadows across their eyes, I got the impression they were studying Isaac. Finally one of them barked orders in a language I didn’t understand, and his men lowered their crossbows. The wave of relief that came over me was dizzying.
He pointed to me and said something, but I didn’t understand. After he jabbed his finger at me a few times, clearly frustrated by my stupidity, I realized that he was pointing to my canteen. I nodded and removed it from my belt, opened it, and held it to Isaac’s lips. He was so dazed that it took him a few seconds to realize what was happening, but once he did, he grabbed the canteen and began to drink greedily, desperately, as if not only his flesh was parched, but his very soul. I had to stop him a few times to give his body a chance to absorb what it was taking in, and to keep him from choking. When he was finally done I took a deep drink myself and then passed the canteen to Sebastian. There was no point in rationing water now. If these skull warriors chose to spare our lives, I was
sure they had enough supplies to go around.
Kicking his horse into motion, the leader rode toward us. I tried to pull Isaac out of the way in time but couldn’t. He came up to Isaac and grabbed him by the back of his shirt, yanking him up and over the saddle, backpack and all. I heard Isaac cry out as he hit the horse stomach first, and I winced, but there was nothing I could say or do to improve the situation, so I bit my lip and kept my silence. A little rough treatment was still worlds better than being impaled on crossbow bolts.
To my surprise one of the other men now rode toward me, a riderless horse trailing obediently behind. Had I failed to notice the extra animal while staring at masks and crossbows, or had one of them fetched it while our attention was elsewhere? I was offered the reins, with clear invitation to ride the animal. Surprised, I looked back at Sebastian, who shrugged and then stepped forward to help me mount. Once I did that I wriggled out of my backpack and hung it from the horn at the front of the saddle so Sebastian would have room to squeeze on behind me. It wasn’t comfortable, but it sure as hell beat walking.
And then we were headed away from El Malo and into the desert. I hoped Jacob could keep up with us, but even if he couldn’t, at least he was safe now. We wouldn’t be leaving him trapped in Hell.
We rode for perhaps half an hour. I was so exhausted that at times I nearly nodded off; only Sebastian’s arms kept me anchored in place. At one point I saw Isaac begin to stir, and the leader stopped so that he could be transferred to another horse, in front of one of the other riders. Isaac had no strength to mount on his own, but had to be lifted up, and the man he was now riding with had to hold him upright as we started riding again. I wondered if he even knew where he was any more. But at least he was alive. That was the singular goal of today: staying alive.
Soon the bare red earth gave way to dry beige soil and scraggly brush. The horses carried us down into a granite-walled canyon, at the bottom of which was a narrow stream of water. God, what I wouldn’t have given to dismount and lie down in it! Just for a few minutes. But we kept on riding. The sun was starting to set now, and the steep western wall of the canyon cast us into shadow, a premature night. We’d been on the move since morning, and at that point I wasn’t sure how much longer I could make it without collapsing.
Then we came around a curve, and I saw a campsite spread out before us, with a large rectangular vehicle at one end. With canvas sheets for walls and beams at the front end that were obviously meant for harnessing horses, it looked like a cross between a covered wagon and a Winnebago. In front of it a single figure sat before a campfire, stirring something in a pot. She stood as we approached. Her hair was long and grey and dressed in two braids drawn forward over her shoulders, and around her neck she had a collection of silver necklaces and pendants on leather cords. For some reason the latter reminded me of Sebastian with all his fetters. Her clothing was long and loose, a blue cotton shirt tucked into a long skirt, and I envied how fresh the fabric looked. Even though the blood rain in El Malo had turned out to be an illusion, the sweat-caked dirt that clung to my clothing was unpleasantly real.
As the horses stopped the woman approached. She looked at me for a few seconds, and I had the odd impression she was not only studying my disheveled appearance, but trying to peer into my soul. Finally she stepped back and gestured toward the wagon/Winnebago. The skull warriors dismounted, and Sebastian and I followed suit. When Isaac was lifted down, the woman seemed unhappy about how he was being handled, and she snapped a few terse orders to the warriors in charge of that maneuver. Given how fearsome the men had seemed to us, it was nothing short of amazing to see how naturally they deferred to her.
Isaac was carried into the wagon, and Sebastian and I followed. The interior was strewn with colorful rugs and cushions, with carved bits of bone and wood and disks of engraved metal hanging from every support beam. There was a low cot against one wall, and the woman directed the men to put Isaac on it. Then she waved for them to leave. Once more I was struck by how naturally they obeyed her. Soon after, we heard the sounds of hoofbeats receding into the distance.
Without sparing a glance for Sebastian or me, the woman sat on the cot beside Isaac and eased his shirt open. The deep purple bruising all over his torso was worse than I’d expected, and when she saw it she shook her head sharply. “Fools,” she muttered. It was our first hint that anyone here spoke English. She shut her eyes for a moment, breathed in deeply, then placed her hands on Isaac where the damage looked the worst, causing him to moan softly in pain. She touched a few different spots, then announced, “Nothing broken,” in an accent I’d never heard before. “But he’s bruised in many places. It’ll hurt for a while.” She reached over to a side table for a small glass bottle. “Drink this,” she told him, and she lifted him up so he could do so. When the bottle was empty she lowered him gently, and he sank back limply into the cot, like a doll that had been emptied of all its stuffing.
“You’re a Healer?” Sebastian asked.
“Among other things.” She put the bottle back on the table and turned to us. Her skin was weathered and ruddy, her strong Native American features rimmed by fine lines. She could have been fifty or eighty or anything in between, but her gaze had a depth that was ageless. “Well.” She looked me over from top to bottom. “So you’re the one I was asked to protect.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Why? Who asked you to do that?”
She nodded toward the entrance. “Go sit by the fire. I’ll be there shortly.”
We did as we were told. There was a small circle of rocks around the campfire, and as I sat down on one of them I felt the last of my strength leave me. If the skull warriors had returned with their crossbows at that moment and told me I had to get up or die, I couldn’t have managed it. I saw a bowl of water with a ladle in it sitting off to one side, and I took the liberty of taking a drink. It was cooler than the water in our canteens, and it refreshed my spirit.
I looked at Sebastian. “Any idea what’s going on?”
He glanced back at the wagon. “Tribal shaman, I’m guessing. But customs differ, so there’s no telling what that means.”
A few minutes later the woman came out, carrying two small bowls in one hand and several spoons in the other. She went to the campfire and stirred whatever was in the pot, then portioned out some of it and handed the bowls to us. The spoon she gave me was smoothly polished and mottled in color: horn, perhaps.
“Thank you,” I murmured. The stew smelled of chili and black pepper and after I blew on a spoonful to cool it down, I found it delicious. A touch of heat settled in the back of my throat.
“You’ve come a long way,” the woman said to me.
I laughed a bit. “Yeah. You could say that.”
“There are closer portals. You could have covered some of the distance on your own world and then crossed over. It would have been faster.”
The spoon stopped on its way to my mouth. “You know about my world?”
“I know a lot of things.”
I nodded toward Sebastian. “I had friends I wanted to bring with me.”
“Which cost you dearly.”
“What do you mean?”
She reached over and touched the feather in my hair. “Because of this, my people knew to help you. The spirits knew to let you pass. All of that was arranged by the one who gave it to you, before you ever set foot on your journey. But then you showed up with outsiders.” She glanced disapprovingly at Sebastian. “And one of them a necromancer. A boy who enslaves spirits, preventing them from moving on to the next world. There’s nothing more deeply offensive to the spirits of El Malo.”
Slowly I put my bowl down. “Are you telling me that all that hell we went through getting here was because Isaac was with us?”
“Not all of it. They would have tested anyone. That passage isn’t meant to be easy. But I’m sure it was far worse because of him.”
&nb
sp; “God’s love,” Sebastian muttered, and I said, “Please don’t tell him that.”
She shrugged. “He’s earned his redemption, at least in the eyes of the azteca. His willingness to give his life to save a wounded spirit proved him worthy. At least for now.” She paused. “Though whether he’ll be allowed to leave here is another thing.”
Ignoring the implied threat, Sebastian asked, “Who are the azteca?”
“Descendants of those who sought refuge here when the Spanish invaded their homeland. Their warriors guard our border. Used to make their masks out of human skulls, but the Council put a stop to that. Desecration of the dead is never a wise move.” She sipped from her cup. “Be glad you’re out of their hands. They’re the ones who invoked the sandstorm for us, to block the sight of outsiders, and their methods for maintaining it are, let us say, somewhat bloody.” She put down her cup and rose. “Enough for tonight. I have little but blankets to offer you, as I don’t usually entertain company, but the night is clear and there’s good earth around the campfire. Tomorrow I’ll take you to the place you came to see.” She looked at Sebastian for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You have healing on you. I don’t know what form it’s in, but I can sense its power. Come and give some to the boy.”
“Wait!” I said. “You knew about the wren feather. That means you know who gave it to me. You know what I’m here for, don’t you?”
She shook her head slightly. “The place you’re searching for isn’t in the Badlands, though there is a path here that may lead you to it. I’ll take you there tomorrow morning. Beyond that, no one can help you. Not even her.”
I opened my mouth to ask another question but she held up a hand to silence me. “Enough. Sleep now. We’ll talk in the morning.”
The buzzing of Morgana’s fetter woke Sebastian up.
Dreamweaver Page 17
