In the middle of the river, directly in his path, is land with buildings on it. He must somehow reach that land, Veil thinks; the sky is beginning to glow, and he needs a place to go to ground during the day when the Newyorkcities come out.
He has no idea how deep this river is; the water is too murky to tell. However deep it is, it must be crossed. He will have to wade and trust in the Nal-toon to see him safely across. He is running out of time.
The river may well come up to his neck, Veil thinks, and he does not want the Nal-toon to get wet. He removes the sling from around his neck, wraps it tightly around the Nal-toon, the spear, and the knife. Holding the bundle above his head, he begins to walk down the steep incline leading to the river.
He has only gone a few steps when he slips on wet stones and plunges into the water. His mind screams in panic as foul-smelling water closes over his head, blinding him, filling his nose and mouth. He stretches his legs, frantically searching for a bottom that isn't there. Now he will die, Veil thinks; he will sink forever and be buried beneath this depthless Newyorkcity river.
However, despite his panic, Veil has never lost his grip on the Nal-toon. Now God slowly begins to carry him back to the surface.
Veil is choking, but he manages to control his cough reflex and hold his breath as he clings to the clothes in which he has wrapped the Nal-toon. After a few moments his head pops above the surface. Coughing and choking, swallowing water, he heaves his body across the Nal-toon, wraps his arms around God, and holds on. The choking spasms pass, and Veil frantically gulps air while he breathes a prayer of thanks to God, Who is now transporting him across the river on His back.
But then Veil realizes that a great effort on his part is still required; there is fantastic power in the movement of the river's great, wet body, and that movement is carrying him to the south. If he does not fight that power, Veil thinks, he will be carried past the land and helplessly swept down the middle of the river, where the Newyorkcities will easily kill him with their bang-sticks.
Ignoring the pain in his left arm, Veil uses it alone to grip the Nal-toon. He lashes out with his feet and beats at the water with his free hand, struggling with all his might against the force of the river. The muscles in his arms and legs begin to burn, but he struggles even harder; he closes his eyes and increases the tempo of his thrashing. When he opens his eyes and glances up, he finds he is only a short distance from the land.
Suddenly he is caught in a small tidal whirlpool and spun around. He reaches out with his hand—and his fingers catch in a crevice between two large rocks. With his last strength he pulls himself in to the land. He clambers up over rocks, then falls, gasping for breath, on dewy grass.
He is cold and thirsty. He does not want to drink any more of the foul-smelling water, for he fears that it may be poisoned. However, he feels that he has no choice but to slake his thirst now, while he has the chance, for he has not passed a single spring and he has no idea where the Newyorkcities draw their water. Having caught his breath, he lies on his belly on the rocks and drinks; the water tastes terrible, but it dulls his thirst.
Veil rises, turns, and starts to walk toward the nearest building. He has gone only a few steps when he stops and tenses as a sleepy-looking Newyorkcity emerges from one of the buildings and begins walking almost directly toward him on one of the stone paths. Veil grips the shaft of his spear but does not draw the head from its wrapping of clothes.
The man barely glances at Veil. "Good morning," he says, yawning and rubbing his eyes.
Veil senses no threat in the man's tone or bearing, and he allows him to pass by. "Go in peace," he says softly.
It is growing lighter. Veil puts his bundle under his arm and moves toward a space between two buildings.
"Hey, you! Where the hell do you think you're going?"
This voice, coming from Veil's left, is definitely threatening. Veil quickly places his bundle on the ground, pulls the spear free, and wheels to find a Newyorkcity warrior, dressed in blue clothes and carrying a bang-stick, running toward him. Knowing that his spear is useless against a bang-stick, Veil picks up the bundle and sprints in the opposite direction, along the side of the building.
"Stop, you son of a bitch, or I'll shoot your black ass!"
Veil rounds the building, races to the end, turns left, and runs down a lane of grass bounded by the river and the building. He sees a narrow opening, ducks into it. The passageway reeks of rotting, unburied scraps of food, but there are piles of battered metal objects behind which he can hide. He crouches down behind three of the objects and waits, spear held ready, certain that he can kill his attacker at close range.
The enemy warrior appears at the entrance to the passageway a few seconds later. The man's face is flushed, and Veil can hear the breath rasping in his lungs. The hand holding the bang-stick is shaking as the man moves slowly into the passageway.
Veil is about to leap out and hurl his spear when the warrior suddenly stops. He wipes a glistening sheen of sweat from his face, then begins to back away.
"Shit. I'm not about to risk my ass on a part-time job. Fuck him."
Veil smiles grimly and allows himself to relax as the Newyorkcity disappears from sight. He rearranges his bundle into a sling that he can once again carry around his neck, then looks up and squints into the bright sunlight at the end of the passageway. The light makes his head ache and his eyes burn. He is beginning to feel sick and dizzy, and he knows that he must quickly find a place to go to ground.
Directly above his head is a metal structure with small platforms that project from the side of the building. He might be able to go to ground on top of the building, he thinks. He leaps for the bottom of the metal structure, grips it, and is pleasantly surprised when a portion of the structure swings down, making it simple for him to climb; as he does so, the bottom portion of the structure swings back into its original position.
Veil lies down on the sticky, pebbled surface on top of the building and stares out over Newyorkcity. This land is so vast, he thinks, so strange. In all directions, buildings thrust toward the sky; countless cars speed along on countless streets, which crisscross and stretch into the distance as far as he can see. . . .
Suddenly, without warning, his entire body spews sweat, and he feels his insides begin to churn. Something is terribly wrong with him, Veil thinks, and he quickly removes his cloak and loincloth so as not to soil himself. Then he vomits, and he continues retching long after there is nothing left in his stomach. He collapses on his right side, gasping for breath—and then the process begins all over again.
At last, exhausted and barely able to see, Veil drags himself away from the soiled area, then collapses in a pool of his own sweat and passes out.
* * *
In Veil's dream, his Toby awakens groggy and disoriented. Then he remembers: The Newyorkcities are after him and he is sick—probably from poisoned water. But he must go on.
Veil tries to stand but cannot. He loses track of time as he lies sprawled on the hot surface, only half conscious. His flesh burns, and he cannot remember ever being so thirsty; he is so thirsty, Veil thinks, that he would even drink more of the poisoned water—if only he could get to it.
He must go on. If he remains where he is, the Newyorkcities will eventually find and kill him. He must go on. Suddenly it is night, although Veil's Toby does not remember sleeping. He does not know how much time has passed since he climbed to the top of the building, and his fever-thirst is now so great that his swollen tongue fills the back of his throat, making it difficult for him to swallow and breathe.
He stinks of sickness.
"Give me strength, Nal-toon," he murmurs.
He struggles to his knees, then laboriously rises to his feet. Sweat oozes in great drops from his pores, rolls and gathers into a shining film; his flesh steams in the cool night air. He sways, but manages to remain standing, leaning on his spear for support, he hitches the sling over his shoulder and staggers across the top of th
e building to the metal structure. Slowly he descends, concentrating intently on each hand- and foothold.
On the ground he moves unsteadily off to his left, then crosses a narrow bridge that spans this arm of the river. The sight and sound of the water playing against his jagged thirst is almost overwhelming, but Veil now has second thoughts about drinking it; the Nal-toon will not reward him for stupidity or weakness, he thinks, and he must search for sweet water to cool his fever and purge his body. He manages to align himself with a chosen landmark, staggers on.
Eventually he staggers into a small clearing surrounded by trees. However, the area is too small to offer sanctuary—most of it is open, in full view of Newyorkcities in cars on the bridge overhead.
Veil moves around the perimeter of the clearing, then stops and begins to tremble with hope and anticipation when he hears the sound of splashing water. He moves quickly toward the sound and discovers, near a tree, a strange structure of stone and metal. Water spouts from the center of the structure. He has no idea where the water comes from, for he can see no spring anywhere nearby. He assumes it is but another example of the Newyorkcities' magic, a place where Newyorkcities drink. This water will be sweet.
When he has looked around and satisfied himself that there are no Newyorkcities in the area, Veil moans and runs to the water. Supporting himself with his hands against the stone base, he thrusts his face into the cool, cascading water and drinks.
He drinks until he vomits, then repeats the process again and again; he knows that he must purge his body of as much of the poison river water as possible. Eventually he begins to drink more sparingly. When he has finally slaked his thirst, he uses handfuls of the clear water to wash his body.
For a few moments his head clears and his vision snaps back into sharp focus—but then his vision again blurs, his head throbs, and his body breaks into a sweat. He leans against the stone-and-metal water structure until a spell of dizziness passes. He drinks again, then starts off on a line of march parallel to the bridge overhead. He knows that he must find sanctuary before the sun rises, or he will be finished.
Veil passes out of the clearing and finds himself in a maze of metal buildings, much smaller than those on the other side of the river. In agony, he struggles on, moving in a pain-blurred, staggering, slow-motion race against the glow of approaching dawn.
Finally he comes to a barrier of woven metal strands stretching north and south as far as he can see. On the other side of the barrier are long, rectangular, wooden objects that sit on metal wheels but are not cars or Land-Rovers; there are more of the objects than Veil can count, and all of them rest on twin strands of thick metal that weave and crisscross one another like the sand-tracks of many desert snakes.
He has found his sanctuary, Veil thinks. He can hide inside one of the wooden structures. But first he must find a way to get past the barrier, which has countless little knives running along its top.
If he cannot go around or climb over the barrier, Veil thinks, then he must dig his way under.
He waits for an attack of nausea and dizziness to pass, then moves slowly to his left, studying the ground. When he sees what appears to be a patch of soft ground, he drops to his knees and begins to dig with his knife and scoop with his hands. He frequently has to pause in order to catch his breath, but he eventually manages to dig a trench beneath the barrier; he slides under, dragging his spear and carrying sling after him.
As Toby walks unsteadily toward one of the railroad cars, Veil leaves the K'ung, rolling away from the dream and floating up through sleep toward his own dawn.
Chapter Eight
Veil, feeling emotionally drained and physically exhausted from his dream-trek, signed in with the security guard at the north entrance to the missionary college complex, then headed toward the faculty dormitory. He met Reyna, approaching from the opposite direction, on the sidewalk outside the building.
"Good morning," Veil said with a smile. "If you don't mind my saying so, you really look like hell."
The frail woman with the large, soulful eyes managed to smile back. "Hi. You don't look so hot yourself."
"I think we've both had a rough night, each in a different way."
"Toby . . ."
"I know. I listened to the news reports. He's been sighted in all five boroughs, as well as in Connecticut. A man in New Jersey swears that Toby materialized in his living room and stole his stamp collection. Obviously, Toby's been busy. He's also now a national celebrity, with offers from all three networks to foot his legal expenses in exchange for exclusive rights to his story. I'm sure if Toby knew about all the deals that were being cooked up on his behalf, he'd hurry right in."
"It's not funny, Veil."
"Toby's situation isn't funny at all," he replied evenly. "I think the reaction of the public and media is."
"There's mass hysteria, Veil. There are vigilante groups forming."
"That isn't funny, either. You've been out looking for him, haven't you?"
Reyna nodded wearily. "Veil, forgive me. I don't mean to be rude, but I'm very tired."
"Reyna, I think I have a pretty good idea where you've been looking." Veil removed a folded map from the back pocket of his jeans, held it up. "We should talk. I think it's time we started working together."
Reyna's eyes darted back and forth between Veil's face and the map in his hand. Her own face reflected consternation at first, then suspicion and fear. "How did you—?"
"Just a second," Veil said softly, quickly replacing the map in his pocket as he glanced over Reyna's shoulder and saw a black, unmarked police car pull up to the curb ten yards behind her. "We've got company. Just take it easy, Reyna, and stay cool. I'll handle Mr. Nagle. Trust me."
Reyna wheeled around and stiffened when she saw Carl Nagle and Vahanian emerge from the car. Her hand, cold and dry, reached out for Veil's, and he gripped it. Nagle's face flushed when he saw Veil. The big man started forward but stopped when his partner calmly stepped in front of him, blocking his way. There was a whispered but heated conversation, during which Vahanian's view appeared to prevail. Nagle threw up his hands in a gesture of frustration, but he stepped back and leaned against the rear fender of the car while Vahanian came down the sidewalk to Veil and Reyna.
"Good morning," the olive-skinned, husky detective said. His smile revealed even, white teeth.
"Good morning," Veil replied, his voice flat.
"Miss Alexander, may we talk?"
"If you'd like." Reyna's fingernails were digging into
Veil's flesh, but her tension was not immediately apparent in her voice.
"Perhaps we could go up to your apartment?"
Reyna quickly shook her head. "There's no need. I've already told you all I know."
Nagle, still extremely agitated, abruptly pushed off the fender and poked a thick index finger through the air in Veil's direction. "You can go, Kendry!"
Veil looked at Reyna and winked. "Do you want me to go?
"Please don't go," Reyna said in a small voice. "Not while he's here."
"I'll stay," Veil announced to the huge detective.
Nagle started to come down the sidewalk but stopped when Vahanian wheeled around and vigorously shook his head. Nagle hesitated, then turned and went back to his previous position.
Vahanian turned back to Reyna. "Will you tell me where you've been?"
"I've been walking all night. When I heard the news about Toby, I got upset and couldn't sleep."
"Strange I didn't see you in Central Park."
"Why is it strange? By the time I heard the news, he was already gone from Central Park—at least, that was the report."
"Miss Alexander, I'm going to ask you the most important question up front. Are you now hiding, or did you ever hide, the African somewhere?"
"That's a ridiculous question."
"The man's a total stranger to this culture and environment. I don't understand how he could have remained free and survived this long without help."
<
br /> "God is helping him."
Vahanian grimaced. "The idol? Don't tell me you believe—"
"God, Lieutenant, not the Nal-toon."
"Then God is going to be in trouble with the Criminal Justice System of the State of New York."
"In which case it's the State of New York that's in trouble."
"I find it unlikely that God would help a killer who's a fugitive from justice."
"Toby has killed twice—both times in self-defense. He and his people have been terribly wronged. I don't believe he's guilty in the eyes of Our Lord."
Veil gave Reyna's hand a reassuring squeeze, then released it and casually strolled down the sidewalk toward the police car. Nagle saw him coming, and the detective's doughy face creased in a puzzled frown— although the raisin eyes remained as dull as stone. Veil stepped into the street, walked around the car, and leaned on the trunk across from Nagle.
"It's a pain in the ass having to drag Vahanian around with you everywhere, isn't it?" Veil asked in a low voice.
Nagle's mouth was slightly open. He shook his head, blinked slowly. "What did you say?"
"Do you believe in mental telepathy?"
"Kendry, what the hell are you talking about?"
"I'm trying to read your mind. What I pick up is that you're thinking that it's a pain in the ass to have to drag Vahanian around. If you were alone, you'd just drag that girl into the car and beat whatever information you want out of her."
Suddenly the tiny eyes came alive, seemed to grow larger as they glittered like polished agates. The muscles in Carl Nagle's jaw contracted so quickly that his teeth came together with an audible click. He started to walk around the car, a movement that caught Vahanian's eye and caused the other detective to glance up sharply.
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