Minerva Wakes

by Holly Lisle

  The two of them studied the image in the mirror. The scenery whipped past. Darryl caught glimpses of verdant flatland, a built-up stone road, Minerva’s feet and the duffel bag, and then a dizzying blur as she snapped from looking out the window to looking at the driver.

  Darryl got a good look at the profile of the creature who was driving his way across the Eyrith countryside. He had huge, curly-edged ears, a flat, wrinkled face, and a white lion’s mane of hair. Darryl turned to Birkwelch.

  “What is that thing?”

  That’s one of Eyrith’s highlanders — looks like a typical farmer taking his beasts to market.” Birkwelch sighed and tapped the glass with one talon. “You might have been lucky this time. The Weirds will be using every means at their disposal to find Minerva — they will have sensed her presence in Eyrith the second she left the magic-shielded zone around Talleos’ cabin. But the highlanders don’t go in much for anything the Weirds want.”

  Birkwelch glared at Darryl and added, “Even so, let me make a suggestion. Never write for the ‘fastest’ anything. Write for the ‘safest’ — or there’s no telling what sort of trouble you’ll write everybody into.”

  Darryl looked at the ugly farmer uneasily. Every time the man opened his mouth, two sets of long yellowed fangs glinted in his mouth. Minerva glanced from the man’s face to his hands, and Darryl saw sharp claws instead of fingernails tipping his fingers. “I can’t believe she accepted a ride from something like that,” he finally muttered. “I wouldn’t have.”

  “If she’d stayed on the road, the Weirds would have had an easy time catching her.”

  Birkwelch suddenly sucked in a breath and stared at the mirror. Minerva and the farmer were coming into a town, and Minerva’s glance moved from indecipherable signs to some attractive wattle-and-daub houses, and then to a huge dark stone fortress that stood off in the distance on a giant artificial mound.

  “What?” Darryl asked when the dragon didn’t say anything.

  “They’re going right into Weirds’ Hold.” The dragon appeared to be unable to believe what he was seeing.

  Darryl studied the bouncing view of the approaching town and shrugged. “So?”

  “Those walls on the mound...” The dragon pointed to the fortress again.

  “I see them.”

  “That is Weirds’ Hold.”

  Darryl glowered at the dragon and growled, “So... what? Get to the point!”

  “Think, man, think! Nobody would call a place Weirds’ Hold unless it had Weirds in it, would they? Weirds’ Hold is the Weirds’ keep. That bastard farmer is taking her right to them.”

  Darryl leaned heavily against the sewing table that acted as his desk. “This could just be coincidence.”

  The dragon scratched between his scales and looked at Eyrith in the mirror. The farmer parked his vehicle in front of a large windowless building on a back street. “Could be.” The dragon looked at the sign, and shook his head. “Don’t think it is, though. That’s the Sacred Brethren Waystation. The Weirds run it.”

  “They’re going to get her?”

  Minerva grabbed her duffel, got out of the vehicle, and walked around to the old farmer’s side. Darryl got his first look at the man’s face from the front. The farmer’s eyes were the same vivid, glowing emerald Cindy’s had been.

  The dragon saw those eyes, too. “They’ve already got her,” he said.

  * * *

  Barney’s feet still bled a little. They hurt so bad where the Unweebil had cut them that Barney didn’t want to move ever again. He curled in a ball on the mattress he’d made for himself, and faced the stone wall of the cage.

  Jamie patted him on the back. “You can make it all better, Barney. Don’t let that stinking Unweaver make you quit. You can get better.”

  “Mommy didn’t save us,” Barney said. “She was right here — and she didn’t save us.”

  “That was a dream,” Carol said. “It wasn’t real. You know that.”

  “We were all there. You saw her, too.”

  “Well,” Jamie said, “yeah — we saw her... but she wasn’t really here. I mean, all that stuff was just a dream.”

  “She can’t beat him,” Barney whispered. “She can’t. We’re gonna be stuck here with the Unweebil forever, and we’re gonna die.”

  Barney lay curled on the little mattress, staring at his hands. They looked thinner, he thought, and paler. He almost imagined he could see through them.

  The Unweebil was going to win, and that was going to be the end of everything.

  CHAPTER 11

  As Minerva stepped into the restaurant, the feeling of vague disquiet that had grown in her over the two hours of riding became full-fledged panic. She could see nothing ominous or out of place about the restaurant; it was clean and well lit and pleasantly decorated in a sort of faux-rustic fashion. The chandelier was made of old pikes, with electric lights in the shape of burning candles affixed to the weapon points. The tile floors and tabletops gleamed, and the waitresses, in outfits that made Minerva’s seem drab by comparison, were neat and cheerful. The two sturdy young women — creatures of the same species as Lorcas — welcomed Minerva and the farmer, seated them at a table, and brought water and a dark red wine, all the while keeping their curiosity politely in check.

  And still, she worried. “Where’s the, ah — the ladies’ room?” She lifted her duffel onto her lap.

  “The privacy rooms?” The farmer pointed toward the back, toward two doors, marked with swirls and circles and little hatches.

  Minerva winced, and said, “I can’t read what they say. Which one is for women?”

  The old farmer laughed and pointed to the one on the right.

  Minerva thanked him and quickly excused herself.

  Once on the other side of the restroom door, she locked it, and knelt, and peered under the door. She could see a thin sliver of the dining room, including the farmer’s boots, and the waitress’s boots right next to him.

  I’m being paranoid, she thought. She’s just taking his order. Even so, Minerva brought out her paper and a pencil. Murp popped out of the bag, too, and stretched and yawned. Then he sat next to her, and watched while she drew a tiny ear, and concentrated on hearing.

  “...three eggs, and the chorgin, and slab kaldebeast. Rare. No — I get kaldebeast ever’ day. I think I’d like the morlu. Cut me a piece about two-three fingers thick...”

  Minerva quit listening. That was certainly silly of me. He is just ordering. She went to the bathroom, and let Murp use the trash basket as a litter box. When they were both through, she popped him back in her duffel and washed her hands. Murp seemed less thrilled about taking up residence in the duffel the second time, but she bribed him by sketching some Tender Vittles and Pounce cat treats, and tossing them in with him.

  When she got out, the waitress hurried over to the table, smiling. The farmer was gone.

  “Take your order?”

  “I don’t know what I’d like. What do you recommend?”

  The waitress listed a few things, and Minerva picked from names she thought she recognized. Then she asked, “Where did Lorcas go?”

  The girl gave her a vacant grin and shrugged. “Don’t rightly know,” she said, “but he ordered a meal would choke a grevvil. He’ll be back any time.”

  Minerva grinned. More paranoia, she decided.

  Her meal and Lorcas’ arrived — huge platefuls of sizzling meat and dark vegetables in thick sauces — and an instant later, Lorcas returned as well. He hurried in from outside, looking rather flustered, but he smiled when he saw her. “Had to water the beasts in the truck, and then I thought I ought to call the mate and tell her I got here all of one piece.”

  Minerva grinned. She wished she could call her husband and tell him she was safe and on her way to find the children. “No problem,” she said. “I just figured if you didn’t hurry back, I’d finish my meal and eat yours.”

  Lorcas eyed her heaped plate with some doubt, then laughed. “I w
oulda’ paid to see that.”

  They dug into their food. “Thank you,” Minerva told him between bites. “Thanks for the ride, and for the meal, and everything. You’ve been very kind.”

  The farmer smiled over at her, his green eyes almost glowing. “My pleasure.” His voice sounded oddly hollow. For an instant she fancied his features shifted — they seemed almost to run and blur — but when she rubbed her eyes and looked at him again, nothing of the kind recurred.

  I don’t feel tired, she thought. Must be a trick of the light. The lighting in here does seem a little bizarre.

  And indeed, as she thought that, the lighting in the restaurant briefly dimmed to brown, then came back up again. Lorcas cocked his head to one side and his ears swiveled. “Reckon I’ll go check on the animals. Right back.”

  Minerva nodded and continued eating. No sooner was Lorcas outside, though, than she rethought his actions. Damn, but I wish this place had a window, she thought.

  And at that moment, pale glowing black letters ghosted in a transparent stream across her plate. They looked like they’d been typed — Courier typeface — complete with a typo that the invisible typist struck out and retyped.

  _____

  Minerva, get XiXtX out of there while you can. The old man was a plant, and the restaurant is a trap. I love you. Darryl

  _____

  She looked around, trying to appear casual. The waitresses were watching her. She smiled, and picked up her bag, and walked back to the women’s restroom. No sense tipping them off, just in case they were in on things.

  How did Darryl get that message to me? she wondered. She hid in the restroom, scared stiff. Minerva locked the door — though if anyone really wanted her, the door was thin and the lock flimsy. A good kick would open it. What could she do to get herself out of trouble?

  She got out her vellum. She had two completely clean sheets left. Not much ammunition.

  First things first. She drew a heavy oak beam set through two massive metal rings to bar the door. This time, she concentrated on the image and kept her eyes open, watching the door to make sure the magic worked.

  She saw a shadow form along the place where the beam would be, and faint sparkling shimmers of light — the sort of effect she would have imagined pixies dancing in a fairy ring would create. The light coalesced into a solid, rainbow-colored glow, then flickered out.

  Oh! Magic is just like sex, she thought. It works better with your eyes open.

  She heard a commotion out in the dining room. The restaurant’s front door slammed, and heavy-booted feet marched in. Deep, threatening voices shouted, “Where is she? You were supposed to keep her here!”

  One of the waitresses yelled back, “She went in there! We didn’t let her get away! She’s trapped!”

  The next instant, the door rattled from a vicious kick.

  “Come out now and we won’t hurt you!” the voice from the other side of the door demanded.

  I bet. Just kill me, disintegrate me, and turn me into dust motes.

  “Eat shit and die, scum-sucking maggot!” Minerva yelled back. It was sort of cliché, but she’d always wanted to say that. She’d just never had the chance before.

  The restroom had no window, no other doors, and solid walls. Minerva tried scraping her way through what she had hoped would be dried mud. But the walls, under a thin wattle-and-daub coating, were solid stone masonry. The building, which had looked primitive and not terribly durable, was in fact a disguised fort.

  The door shuddered with repeated kicks. Her huge beam, its bolts sunk into solid stone, would hold against almost anything. But the door itself wasn’t very sturdy. The instant one of her pursuers took an ax to it, he’d be through. She thought desperately, then drew a bolt running vertically through the door into the floor below and the huge lintel above. As an afterthought, she sketched what she imagined as two-inch-thick metal cladding to line the back of the door.

  It shimmered into existence.

  The next kick, when it came, was muffled, but the swearing wasn’t. Hope he broke his leg, Minerva thought. The door wouldn’t hold forever, she thought with some amusement, but it would give her a little time.

  What she was going to do with that time was another matter entirely.

  Darryl had found a way to communicate with her. She wondered if she could communicate back. Minerva recalled the dragon Birkwelch saying something about Darryl watching things through her eyes — seeing everything she saw in the mirror back home. If that were the case, Darryl would be able to read notes she wrote to him, if she just looked at them. And whatever trick he had discovered for writing to her, perhaps he could perform again.

  She wrote, Darryl, can you read this?

  After an instant, glowing print appeared in the air in front of her.

  _____

  Yes.

  _____

  How do I get out of here? she scribbled.

  The machine characters scrolled through the air.

  _____

  Dragon says draw a door.

  _____

  She stared at the solution for an instant. “Shit,” she muttered. “Of course.” Behind her, the things that were after her began to batter the door with something heavier than their boots. A felled tree, she guessed. Or maybe the old man’s truck. They wanted her pretty badly.

  She wondered what was on the other side of the wall — and wished she had some weapon besides the little silver knife. What she knew about the functionings and operations of weapons, however, she could stuff into the point of a bullet with room left over.

  And then Minerva remembered Mrs. Mindley that day at the supermarket — the day the whole mess started. She remembered wishing her grocery cart had sported front-mounted machine guns and a flamethrower, so she could blow the wicked witch of Data Processing away. And Minerva smiled.

  “Yeah. That’s what I need. The shopping cart from hell. But motorized.”

  With the rattling and clanging and shouting behind her, and the first tendrils of smoke curling under the door, it was hard to concentrate, but she forced herself. She needed to get the design right. She settled on a wide-tread four-wheeled vehicle with large tires. She hurried the artwork, and the thing came out looking like a demented moon rover. Live with it, she thought. She drew her best guess for a flamethrower mounted on a swivel stand on the left side of the dash, and a few lines suggesting a machine gun on the right. Big seat with harness seatbelts, rollbar over the top, glass bubble half-shell cover designed to give her two-hundred degrees of field of fire. Then the operating details — steering wheel, ignition key, accelerator pedal, brake, and speedometer with the top speed — actually the only speed — marked at one hundred miles per hour.

  Detroit would laugh itself sick.

  The hinges on the door behind her gave with a sickening crack. Minerva stared at her sketch and concentrated. Metal screeched against stone, and the smoke grew thicker and more acrid. And Murp yowled in terror. In the midst of the turmoil, the light of her magic coalesced slowly. She controlled the size and shape of her evolving vehicle, and watched with pleasure as it became solid beneath her hands.

  Now the door out of here.

  She belted herself into the buggy with the duffel strapped around her waist, pressed her foot on the brake, then turned the key which grew out of the ignition. Shit, she thought, noticing an omission in her vehicle’s design. Forgot a gear shift. Bet it doesn’t do reverse. The motor made no noise, but she could feel it vibrate and pull against the brake. Good enough. She spread the vellum on her knee, and with charcoal drew a long, smooth arch. She focused on the wall she hoped led out of the building entirely and concentrated on making it go away.

  It did.

  Water sprayed out of the hole in the wall — gushing out of plumbing no longer connected to anything. Voices on the other side of the wall shouted. Minerva couldn’t tell what was out there. Oh, well.

  She took her foot off the brake and pressed the accelerator, and the buggy launch
ed itself from the restroom into the great unknown like a thoroughbred from a starting gate. Her drawing flew from her lap and fluttered behind her. People welled up in front of her and dove to either side, screaming. A flock of winged nightmares — toothy man-sized horrors — flapped into the air at the sight of her and flew her way. She’d come out on a cobblestoned street, a busy one, full of late-afternoon shoppers carrying home their treasures, and farmers with their beasts and their carts nearly empty of produce, and an entire herd of small children, perched safely out of the way, who shouted and laughed as she rocketed by.

  The buggy was still accelerating. She lifted her foot from the accelerator pedal, but the infernal thing seemed to have a mind of its own. It bounded down the street, caroming off the uneven road surface. The grips of both the flamethrower and the machine gun swung and bucked The machine gun butt hit her in the face so hard she saw stars. She didn’t dare take her hands off the wheel to see if it had done any damage, but from the pain and the feeling of wet warmth on her right cheek, she was pretty sure it had opened the side of her face.

  Bad design, she thought. Fucking awful design.

  She pushed on the brake and slowed. Immediately one of the huge winged things passed her, wheeled around and dove. She hit the brake harder, grabbed the flamethrower grip with her left hand, and pulled the trigger.

  This turned out to be a tactical error. Flame shot out and roasted the diving monster — but it also washed back at her. She jerked her hand away from that weapon and gunned the buggy again. The falling monster hit the glass dome over her head with a solid thud and slid off behind her.

  One down. She tried to be enthusiastic about her first kill, but a quick look over her shoulder showed there were entirely too many where that came from.