He reaches the opening, sets the Nal-toon down inside, then pulls himself up over the lip of the floor. He lies on his back for some time, too weak to move, gasping for breath. Finally he manages to roll away from the light at the opening. He listens, but there is no other sound in the darkness; he is alone and safe. He is still under the protection of the Nal-toon.
He puts his hand to the left side of his face where the Newyorkcity kicked him. Pain stabs through his skull and flashes behind his eyes as his fingers touch the tender, puffy flesh. He is sick, Veil thinks, is missing teeth, and he cannot see out of his left eye. But he is alive, and besides, he has suffered worse. Long thirst in the desert is worse. This would not be a worthy trial if there were not some suffering demanded of him. The only important thing is that he continue to think and act as a warrior.
"Thank you, Nal-toon," he murmurs.
Now his thoughts turn to the strange, powdery blood of God. It is a good sign, not bad, Veil thinks with growing excitement. Since it is obvious that he still enjoys the Nal-toon's favor, it seems possible that the Nal-toon has provided His white blood as a gift to help him.
Gritting his teeth against the fierce pain that whipsaws back and forth behind his eyes, Veil rolls over on his side. He sits up and carefully, reverently, examines the Nal-toon and the white blood trickling from His base. God must be providing him with this blood for a reason, Veil thinks, but he does not know how it is meant to be used. However, it is certain that any gift flowing from the very heart of the Nal-toon will be far more powerful than anything he has ever known; it will have to be used with great care.
Veil tears off a piece of clothes from his sling and uses it to stop up the flow in the Nal-toon's base. Then he carefully sweeps the blood that has already flowed onto the wood into a small pile. Uttering a prayer, he pinches some of the powder between his thumb and forefinger and puts it on his tongue. The blood has a bitter taste, like a medicinal herb. He takes a slightly larger pinch, puts it to his nose, and sniffs.
Immediately a sensation of warmth sweeps up through his nostrils and flows like warm water behind his eyelids. A few seconds later, to Veil's amazement, the pain in his face dulls, receding to a tiny point somewhere inside his left ear.
The Nal-toon's blood acts like shilluk, Veil thinks, and his heart pounds with excitement. Except that the blood is many times more powerful than shilluk. Now he knows that the Nal-toon has given him His blood in order to ease his pain, and it is meant to be sniffed in very small amounts.
As if to reaffirm his new knowledge, Veil takes a slightly larger pinch of the Nal-toon's blood-shilluk and breathes it into his nostrils. The residual pain in his left ear blinks out as a pleasing sun-warmth oozes down through his entire body. He hears a sound like the rustling of wind in the desert; the wind is filling him, lifting him off the ground. He is floating away . . .
Enough! Veil thinks. The Nal-toon's gift must be used with as much care as water in the open desert.
The pain has disappeared, and despite the odd sensation of floating, Veil is no longer nauseous. None of the magic machines the Nal-toon has given the Newyorkcities can compare with this wondrous gift, he thinks. He cannot remember ever feeling so at peace.
Veil eases himself down on his stomach, rests his head against the Nal-toon, and drifts off to sleep within sleep.
* * *
It is night when Veil awakens, as Toby, in his dream; once again he is nauseous and in excruciating pain. He vomits, and this causes new club-blows of pain to hammer against the left side of his skull.
Moaning in agony, he searches in the darkness until he finds a few grains of the Nal-toon's blood-shilluk. He hurriedly sniffs some from the palm of his hand and immediately begins to feel better. He starts to inhale more, then stops himself. He will take only as much as he needs to ease his pain and sickness, Veil thinks; to take more, to deliberately seek euphoria and the comfort of sleep, would be to abuse this most wondrous gift. Also, he must remain conscious now; it is night and he must move on.
Replacing the carrying sling around his neck, Veil eases himself to the ground. His stomach knots with anxiety when he looks up at the sky, for clouds obscure the stars. His sickness has disoriented him, causing him to lose track of the direction in which he must go in order to reach the airplane fields. He needs the stars.
The stars in the sky over Newyorkcity are different than in the sky over the desert, he thinks, and it is often difficult to see them through the background of lights and the haze of smoke that chokes the air of this strange land. But the configuration of the stars, though different from those at home, remains consistent, and that is all he needs in order to orient himself. But he must be able to see them.
He leans against the side of the wooden object and waits, trying to remain calm. He is certain that the Nal-toon will soon clear the sky for him, and his faith is rewarded; soon a wind rises from the north and begins to blow the clouds across the sky. Veil gains his bearings from a brief glimpse of the stars, and a short time later clouds blow back over the moon, shrouding him in darkness.
He retches again. When the spasms pass, Veil carefully removes the piece of clothes covering the base of the Nal-toon, then allows a small amount of the precious blood-shilluk to flow into his palm. He inhales the powder and, as before, his pain and nausea immediately disappear. It is a fine night, Veil thinks. It is good to be alive, under the Nal-toon's protection.
* * *
Time has lost meaning. Veil moves slowly, wearily, staggering from side to side. He constantly has to remind himself not to test the Nal-toon's mercy by being careless, and yet he is only dimly aware of entering an area of more streets and buildings.
He almost weeps with joy when he comes upon a wooded area that seems almost as densely forested as Centralpark.
He enters the jungle on a stone path, passes through a copse of trees, and finds himself at the edge of a clearing filled with stone totems. These totems are different from the one his people erected on the graves of Reyna's parents, Veil thinks, but he instinctively senses that they are death-totems. He is in a jungle where the Newyorkcities bury their dead.
His first reaction is fear, for in his feverish state he imagines that he can see the spirits of dead Newyorkcities hovering over their totems. Then he reminds himself that he is under the protection of the Nal-toon; no spirit will attack a warrior moving under the protection of God. His fear passes.
In a spirit of thanksgiving and respect, and to assure that the Newyorkcity spirits do not betray his presence, Veil sets about constructing his own small peace totems. When his closed left eye begins to throb, he sniffs more of the Nal-toon's blood-shilluk. He finishes his totems in a state of pain-free euphoria.
Within a short time he has found an area suitable for going to ground. There is a shallow stream nearby; Veil lies down in its clear waters, occasionally drinking as he allows the water to cool his burning flesh.
He uses a sharp-edged, flat rock to scoop out a shallow trench in the soft, cool earth on the stream's sloping bank. He anchors the surrounding soil with sticks and rocks, then devises a cover of leafy branches woven together with vines and supple twigs. Finally Veil settles down in the trench with the Nal-toon close to his belly. He pulls the woven cover over him and rests his head on a soft, leafy mat he has woven for that purpose. Feeling pain and nausea, he sniffs more blood-shilluk and closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling of sanctuary and the warm sense of well-being that the Nal-toon's gift brings him.
He realizes with some surprise that he is not hungry, despite the fact that he cannot remember when he last ate. Hungry or not, Veil thinks, he must eat to keep up his strength. He will stay in this jungle of the dead until he feels better. Here he can snare small game and fashion new weapons.
Veil allows himself the luxury of sniffing more of the precious blood-shilluk, and he drifts away like a leaf rolling in a gentle breeze.
* * *
Veil is no longer concerned with the passage of time.
Far more important to him is the fact that the blood-shilluk seems to have dried up his insides, for he no longer suffers such severe bouts of vomiting and diarrhea. However, he remains very weak, and he finds it difficult to hunt for food. Despite his weakness, he does manage to snare a rabbit and a large rat.
Veil imagines that he can feel some of his strength returning—but very slowly. The swelling on the left side of his face has gone down, and his left eye has opened, although the vision in that eye is so blurred as to be useless. He manages to fashion new weapons: a bow, its wood flame-hardened and strung with thin, plaited vines; arrows with flame-hardened tips dipped in his own waste; a throwing stick.
But he is not recovering as quickly as he thinks he should. Every labor is an immense effort requiring deep concentration and exercise of will; he suffers terrible headaches, and the flesh on the left side of his face burns when he touches it. He begins to fear that his continuing sickness and pain are at least partially the result of some Newyorkcity magic spell that is draining his strength, and it is only the Nal-toon's blood-shilluk that is keeping him alive in this place.
He has confirmed his suspicion that the Nal-toon's gift is very dangerous if used in excess—it brings deep unconsciousness, which, however pleasant, could prove deadly to him, inasmuch as it renders him totally vulnerable to his enemies. Thus he is now constantly on guard to use the great gift sparingly, only on those occasions when his sickness and pain seem unbearable, or when his bowels loosen, or when the ache in his head threatens to blind him in both eyes.
He has also begun to notice another effect of the blood-shilluk: When he goes too long without using the gift, he experiences sharp stomach cramps.
At last he decides that he is simply not going to grow stronger as long as he remains where he is, possibly being drained by a Newyorkcity magic spell. Despite his terrible weakness, Veil resolves to move on at nightfall.
* * *
Later in this dream-day Veil is aroused from his stupor by the sound of a voice. A woman is speaking his language.
Reyna.
He should trust her. He should go to her. She will help him.
No.
Overwhelmed by loneliness and longing at the sound of his own language, Veil begins to weep soundlessly. He has never been so sick or weak, and he comes very close to removing the woven cover over his head and revealing himself.
No.
If the Newyorkcities can cast a spell to drain his strength, Veil thinks, they may also be able to raise spirits from this jungle of the dead to try to trick him. Even if the voice is really Reyna's, there is always the possibility that she means to betray him. The voice could be but a part of the trial set by the Nal-toon, and Veil feels that he cannot afford to take a chance.
No.
Veil wriggles even deeper into his trench. He holds the Nal-toon tightly in an attempt to banish his loneliness. Faced with the possibility that he is being hunted by spirits, he is now firmly resolved to move at nightfall, no matter how weak he is. He must get to the airplane that will take him home.
Chapter Eleven
Veil waited, back braced against a tree trunk and hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans, as Reyna slowly approached through a field of small, uniform grave markers. She looked pensive, Veil thought, but not as distraught as she had appeared earlier. Throughout the morning they had walked, together and apart, through Calvary Cemetery, with Veil playing a recording of Reyna's voice while Reyna called out—and sometimes sang—in the K'ung tongue. They had made no attempt to track Toby, only to announce their presence. Then Reyna, fearing that Veil's presence would frighten Toby, had gone off alone.
She had been gone almost an hour and a half, and from the way she walked, Veil felt certain she had found something.
"He's been here," Reyna announced as she came up to Veil, wrapped her arms around his middle, and rested her head on his chest. In her voice was relief, mingling with anxiety and fatigue.
"You're sure?" Veil asked.
"Yes," she said, freeing one arm, turning and pointing to the north. "He came in around Fifty-first Street, just below Queens Boulevard. I found one of his footprints on some bare ground. He's sick, so I guess he can't help being careless."
"That's good news," Veil said quietly. "Just so long as he doesn't become too careless."
"Um-hmm." Reyna again wrapped both arms around Veil, and he eased them both down until they were sitting on the ground. For a few minutes Veil thought the woman might be sleeping, but then her voice came to him, muffled slightly by the material of his light jacket. "I don't know whether or not he's seen any of my totems, but I saw one of his. It's a spirit-totem erected to show respect for the spirits in a place of the dead. Toby recognized this as a cemetery."
"But no sign of Toby himself?"
Veil felt Reyna shake her head. "I found the place where he went to ground. There's a stream beyond the woods behind me."
"I know. I saw it."
"That's where he rested—near the bank." She paused and looked up at Veil. "There were feces and vomit around the site, as you would expect," she continued with a slightly puzzled frown. "What's surprising is that the feces aren't as loose as you'd think they would be in somebody suffering from typhus or dysentery—or both. We know he's very sick and badly injured. Lord, the very fact that he can still walk at all is amazing. He must have a very high fever and be in terrible pain."
"It could be the heroin," Veil said as he absently stroked Reyna's hair.
"What?"
"The heroin, Reyna. Toby may have accidentally found how to use it in a way that can benefit him. It's true that it wouldn't take much of it to kill him, but it's also true that if he, say, sniffs a small amount at a time, he'll get the benefit of its medicinal properties. Heroin is an unbelievably potent anesthetic, of course, but it also tends to dehydrate. It would tighten his bowels somewhat. In this case, the crap inside that idol could be Toby's salvation— at least for a time."
"But how could he know to sniff it?"
Veil shrugged. "It comes from the Nal-toon, right? It's a divine gift, so he has to do something with it. It tastes like hell, so he must have tried smelling it and gotten some into his nose. Bingo."
"If that's true, Veil, then it's another miracle."
"Mmm. What do you think the chances are that he'll come back there?"
"No chance. If Toby intended to use that place again, he'd be there now—during the day. He was there last night, but he's someplace else now. Sick or not, Toby feels that he must keep moving as best he can." Reyna sighed, rose to her feet, and brushed off her jeans. "Rest time is over. I'm going ahead."
"Let me come with you," Veil said, rising. "I'm not the tracker you are, but I'm not bad."
"Indeed," Reyna replied impishly, rising up on her toes to kiss him. "You're not bad at anything. Still, you'd only frighten him, and I don't want you getting a spear in the belly button. Sick as he is, he probably hasn't gone far.
You wait here, I'll be back."
* * *
Veil glanced at his watch; it was almost six-thirty. He cursed softly under his breath, then set off at a quick pace through the field of grave markers. He passed through a stand of trees, jumped over a stream, and hurried toward the southeast end of the cemetery. He sighed with relief when he saw Reyna sitting on the edge of a low stone wall that marked the border of the cemetery. Behind her, traffic moved by on Fifty-eighth Street. Stripped of the muffling effect of the trees inside the cemetery, the air was filled with the groaning hum of rush-hour traffic on the Queens leg of the Long Island Expressway.
"I was worried about you," Veil said as he sat on the wall next to Reyna. "You've been gone all afternoon."
"I'm sorry," Reyna replied, squeezing Veil's hand. "I've been waiting. I think you passed Toby somewhere back there. I wanted to come back and get you, but I was afraid to take a chance that he might get spooked and slip out ahead of us at this end."
Veil raised his eyebrows slightly, then sh
aded his eyes from the slanting rays of the setting sun and looked back the way he had come. "You're sure he's still back there?"
"Not a hundred percent, maybe ninety. After I left you I did a quick walk-through to this end. I figured that if I found sign here, it would mean that he was still ahead of us and we wouldn't waste time looking any longer in this cemetery. Anyway, as you can see, there's a lot of bare ground down here at this end. I couldn't find any tracks."
"Granted that he's sick, hurt, and moving very carefully, it's still only a mile, maybe less, from the stream to here. You'd think he would have come farther during the night."
Reyna twisted around to look at the expressway and the embankment beyond. "I know. Just because I couldn't find sign doesn't mean that he's still back there."
"We still have a couple of hours of daylight left. If you want to go into Mount Olive and look around, I'll stand guard here."
"It's a thought," Reyna said absently.
"It's your decision, Reyna."
"We'll both wait here," Reyna announced decisively. "By the time I get started over there, it will be dark, anyway. I still believe he's behind us. If we spread out a bit and stay through the night, we may at least keep him contained here—and tomorrow I'll go back in and really start looking. We'll keep the tape recorder running. Do you think the batteries will last?"
"I have spares in my pocket." Veil paused, turned to Reyna. "It may be time to start thinking about what we're going to do with Toby after we find him."
Reyna looked away. "I haven't even tried to think that far ahead."
"I'm not sure I believe you, Reyna. Even assuming that we nab him before anybody else does, we still have big problems, don't we?"
"Yes," Reyna answered softly.
"The obvious first step is to turn him in to the police after we hide the idol somewhere. Then we mount the best possible legal defense, which I'm sure we can do considering the publicity Toby has generated."
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