Choose Your Enemies Carefully

by Robert N. Charrette

  "I will not!"

  Sam stared Herzog in the eye. The Gator shaman’s pupils were contracted despite the low light level, making more of his uncanny yellowish-green irises visible. The shaman's stare was unnerving, as much for its intensity as for its uncanniness, but Sam held his gaze fixed.

  Several long minutes passed before the Gator shaman bowed his head. "Herzog will drum."

  The shaman shambled back to his instrument. Sam waited until Herzog had settled down before stretching himself out on the cold floor. Sam began the exercises of relaxation, readying himself for the shamanic voyage. Lying on his back, he could smell the must in the cracks of the concrete. At least the floor wasn’t wet.

  "Accept Dog," Herzog said as he began to beat the drum.

  "I’ll use the image for all its worth."

  "Accept Dog," Herzog repeated. The shaman’s drumming blended with his words, the music repeating the phrase over and over with increasing insistence.

  Sam felt himself slipping down into trance. Closing his eyes, he let himself go. The darkness behind his eyelids shifted like a field of dark stars whizzing past a trideo starship. A brief perception of light intruded on the pure sensation of motion and he recognized the tunnel before all went dark again. The tunnel is the passage to the otherworld, Herzog had said, the way to the land of the totems.

  Although he knew he was in the tunnel, Sam really couldn't see anything. There was no indication of which direction he should take. He felt lost and abandoned. Herzog had said that the tunnel would lead him; all he had to do was follow it. How did one follow something that led nowhere?

  Dog is your guide, Herzog had said. Well Dog, where are you? / need guidance. Feeling remarkably silly, Sam called out. But nothing answered to Dog’s name. He called again. Nothing again. He turned in place, trying to perceive some difference in the darkness. Slowly he realized that he was beginning to see the walls of the tunnel A distant sound reached his ears, like a faraway trickle of water striking stones with a steady beat. The drumming. Herzog was helping.

  A faint glow appeared almost straight down from his position. Sam stepped forward, feeling a certainty that the passageway led toward the distant light source. Though the tunnel led directly downwards, Sam had no trouble negotiating a passage. He simply floated along the gallery. Anxious to get on with it, Sam flew down the tunnel. The sooner it was done, the sooner it would be done. He sped down the passageway, the light growing ever stronger.

  "All right, Dog," he called. "Here I come."

  The light grew brighter as he traveled. The walls became visible, then washed out as the illumination increased. Light filled the passage. In the midst of the harsh brightness stood a massive figure.

  Sam rebounded.

  The Man of Light blazed before him, glowing bulk filling the tunnel. There was no way around the Man. Sam darted away into a side passage and almost immediately pulled up short to avoid running into the Man of Light again as the gleaming figure suddenly flared into existence in Sam’s path. Sam spun to retrace his path and was confronted again by the Man. The dying of the light behind him and its flaring as he turned had barely been noticeable. He twisted his head to look over his shoulder. It was dark. By the time he had turned his body around and taken his first step in that direction, the Man was there. Sam raised a hand to shield his eyes from the brilliance.

  The Man of Light laughed at him.

  In the Matrix, one operates by accepting the imagery and responding appropriately. If one’s software was good enough, one’s action was translated into a computer reality. Here in this magical realm, Sam was faced with a terrifying obstacle. He wanted to run and hide, but he knew the results of that response. There had to be another way.

  When one ran into trouble in the real world, one yelled for help. Would that work here?

  "Dog!" Sam shouted. "Help me! Where are you?"

  Sam was relieved, surprised, and a little frightened when he got a response.

  "Here, boy." Dog’s voice was faint, as if the words were muffled by an intervening door.

  "Where?" Sam asked. He could see nothing through the burning radiance of the Man of Light.

  "Here," Dog answered.

  "I can’t see you."

  "But I’m still here."

  "If you’re here, you can help. Come to me. I need your power."

  "Come yourself. What do you think I am? A cocker spaniel looking for a handout? If you want power, you come and get it. You'll have to take matters into your own hands."

  "How?"

  "That’s your problem. I’ve got more than enough to share, but you haven’t been very nice to me lately." Lord above! Was that how magic worked? Did one have to bargain with one’s own psychological constructs? Sam began to think that maybe he was crazy. Holding conversations with yourself was a sure sign that a chip wasn’t seated right. Symbolic imagery, he told himself. Fighting the constraints of the imagery would only make it harder to manipulate the energy. Lacking any idea of what to offer, he said, "I’ll be better."

  "Promises, promises. I’ve heard it all before. You want it, come and get it."

  "Frag it! How do I get to you? The Man blocks the way."

  "That he does. You’re a man, too. But then, not ail men are men and sometimes you’ve got to solve problems mano a mano, eh?" Dog was silent for a moment, leaving Sam puzzled and frustrated. When the totem’s voice returned, it was fainter. Sam had to strain to make out the next words. "I understood that you felt a certain amount of time pressure. Get a move on. I may have four, but two legs are enough to run on."

  "Dog, what are you talking about?"

  There was no answer.

  "Dog? Dog!"

  Sam was alone again, save for the Man of Light. Holding a hand before his face, Sam tried to see through the glare. The looming shape of the Man was indistinct, his outline blurred by heat haze. He was white as if burning brightly. Sam had no doubt that the Man was the source of the heat he felt.

  Well, Sam had dealt with heat and flames before. He shuddered at the memories of Haesslich’s toothy head rearing back. Sam had been sure he was going to die that night. He hadn’t because Dog’s song had saved him. The song had been a protective spell which had saved Sam from the dragon’s flaming breath.

  Confronted by another blazing threat, Sam began to sing the song. Confident in its power, he stepped forward. Even if the Man didn’t evaporate, Sam felt sure the fire would be no threat.

  At first, his confidence seemed justified. Sam approached the Man with no increase in discomfort. He sweated a lot, but that could have been nerves as easily as heat. The Man seemed to radiate an aura of fearful menace.

  The Man stepped into Sam’s path.

  "Stop," he said.

  Sam was astonished. "You can speak!"

  "In your mind."

  If Sam’s evaluation of the process of magic was correct, the whole experience was in his mind. Subjective or objective, time was passing. Sam straightened his carriage, trying to nullify the creeping sense of peril that clawed its way up his spine. "Let me pass."

  "No."

  Sam tried to step around the Man. A arm that felt furred in fire smashed into his chest and knocked him backwards. He landed butt first and then sprawled to slam his head painfully against the floor of the passageway. Dazed, he stood again. He had to get around the Man of Light.

  "You shall not pass," the Man said.

  "I must," Sam insisted. Did one of his teeth feel loose?"Get out of my way."

  "I oppose you because you hunt me and mine. Leave us in peace and I shall not trouble you. She is no longer part of your world. Return to Seattle and forget all you have learned here in England. It will be better for all."

  "Better for you, you mean."

  "Yes. But for you also. I have been lenient. Trouble me further and I shall show no mercy."

  "Mercy? What mercy? I’ve seen your crimes."

  The Man laughed. The sound was loud, almost painful. "You have no idea what you h
ave seen. You are a foolish norm who seeks to meddle in affairs that are not his own. You are manipulated by other forces and you can’t even see them. How could you perceive what I am or what I have done? Tell me, little norm. Do you remember your woman in Seattle? What would she say about your little arrangement with Katherine Hart? Your affair is an infidelity by her rules as well as yours. And you can’t even remember when it started, can you?"

  Sam started to protest that his feelings for Hart had grown naturally and that she had responded just as naturally, but he suddenly realized that he couldn’t remember when they had first expressed such feelings to each other. His feelings were strong and clear; he loved her. She was beautiful and caring and . . .

  The Man’s laughter cut into his thoughts. "Does she feel the same for you?"

  "Of course!" Sam remembered the first flare of passion on the cold Solstice night they had found the druids’ ritual circle empty. He remembered her eagerness and his. He remembered the heat, the rightness. He remembered . . .

  Remembered that the druids’ circle hadn’t been empty. The false memory of the empty topiary circle faded, and he saw the chalk pentacle, smudged and broken. He saw the blackened heap of ashes and the burned corpses within it. He saw the pile of debris and felt the residual wrongness of its presence. But impressed on his memories like an afterimage was the Man of Light, his burning figure encompassing and shielding the ritual circle.

  The Man of Light had been there that night.

  "And in your dreams since, little norm," the Man said.

  Sam felt violated. When he, Hart, and Estios had attempted an astral reconnaissance of the site, they had met the Man. In a searing moment of pain, they had fallen under his sway. Somehow, the Man had altered their memories, played with their minds.

  "So much for your mercy." Sam felt his stomach tighten with cold, congealing purpose. A righteous desire for justice had driven him before. More than the repugnance he felt at having been manipulated into physically aiding the druids, this raping of his mind made it very, very personal.

  Was this the taste of hate?

  He dropped his hand from before his face. He no longer needed to shield his eyes from the glare now that he perceived more of the nature of the Man who was not a man. The thing he had called the Man of Light no longer looked human. Its three-meter-tall body was furred with a pelt of snowy white, a complete contrast to the dark skin of its face, hands, and feet. Fangs filled the grinning mouth and a dark talon glinted sharply at the end of each of its fingers and toes. Its aura shrieked its nature as a predator in a way he didn't understand. He felt the power of the being and knew the Man of Light as a mere echo of the truth. The Man was not a real entity, but a spell entity cast in the image of its maker. Sam had been ensorcelled.

  He was furious.

  There was no way for Sam to know if the spell entity spoke for itself or was a conduit for its maker. It might even be no more than a set of preprogrammed responses. But what it was seemed unimportant; what he would do about it mattered. He addressed the spell entity as if he were speaking to the caster. "I will stop you."

  "You have not the power, nor will you reach the power."

  "I will."

  "You will die."

  "To hear Dog tell it, I already have."

  The flames flickered briefly while Sam spoke, but the Man’s voice was still strong. "If so, you will die again. The true death; and your soul will howl as it feeds me."

  Despite the dire words of his adversary, Sam felt emboldened. Mention of the totem had triggered a change, an ever-so-slight weakening, in the Man’s aura. Maybe now that he knew it for what it was, the Man was weakened. Perhaps Dog was the key, the symbol Sam needed to manipulate to cross this barrier. Dog had told Sam to run. Maybe he was supposed to do that literally, or at least as literally as one could in this never-never land of the mind. Sam squinted, trying to gauge the stance of the Man of Light, to read the readiness of his pose. The Man was tall and massive; maybe he was slow. Big things in the real world were often slow.

  Sam steeled himself. The Man seemed to notice Sam’s tenseness and began to shift. There was no more time for hesitation. Sam bolted forward, legs pumping. The Man shifted to block him, reaching out with a long, furred arm. Sam dove under it, hands stretched out to break his fall. His palms scraped against the floor of the tunnel and Sam scrambled faster, using all four limbs to keep moving. The Man’s clawed hand crashed into the wall next to Sam’s head. Sparks leapt in a spray of fire where the talons scratched furrows in the tunnel wall. Sam kept moving, pushing himself upright again and running for all he was worth.

  The light expanded around him, filling his vision with an emptiness of white despair. Sam ran. There was too much at stake. Too much he had to do. Then the light and the Man were gone. The tunnel was gone as well.

  Sam stood on a dirt road. He felt the soil and stones under his bare feet. A soft breeze caressed his skin. All of it. He was naked, but somehow that seemed all right. The Man of Light was nowhere to be seen or felt. Sam had escaped him. He looked around.

  The texts on shamanic experiences had spoken of what the voyager experienced on the far side of the tunnel. Those accounts had led Sam to expect a pristine and vibrant wilderness. The scene that lay before him was hardly that.

  There was wilderness here. He could see it on the horizon where the dark shadow of a forest lined the far hills. But the countryside nearer to hand had been transformed from its original state by the coming of man. The dirt road upon which he stood led across gentle rolling knolls, most of which were covered by well-tended cropland. Hedges lined the road and broad shade trees cast their shadow to lessen the sun’s burden. Here and there, fruit trees stood in ordered rows quite unlike the irregular clumps of woods scattered about. In a dell just the other side of the first hill, the thatch-roofed buildings of a rustic village clustered around the road and a few lanes that led away from it. Smoke rose from stone chimneys and laundry hung from stretched ropes in rail-fenced enclosures, suggesting that the houses were occupied. Sam saw no people. He also looked for a church, but found none. Save for that lack, it was idyllic.

  Sam had never seen anything like it outside of a historical trideo or an art gallery.

  "Comfy, don’t you think?"

  Sam mastered his astonishment and turned to look at the canine sitting by his side. Dog grinned his doggish grin.

  "I was beginning to think you were a waste of time."

  "What is this place?" Sam asked.

  "Here."

  "I asked what, not where."

  "So you did. Does it really matter?"

  Sam chuckled. "Since it’s all in my head, I suppose not."

  Dog stood and began walking down the road away from the village.

  "Am I supposed to follow you?"

  "There are always choices, Samuel Verner called Twist. Make your own."

  Sam did. He started out after Dog. The totem animal began to trot, so Sam did too. Dog only ran faster.

  "Hey, wait up," Sam called.

  With looking back, Dog replied, "I don’t wait for any man, man."

  Sam bit back a response, saving his breath for running. In all his years of raising and caring for canines, Sam had learned that no man, not even a boy with boundless energy, could outrun a dog; the animals always seemed to have more than enough speed to race circles around the slower humans. Sam ran as fast as he could, and to his surprise, the gap between him and Dog closed. As he drew abreast of the racing animal, Dog grinned at him. Curiously, Sam felt unwinded.

  "You’ve got a lot to learn," Dog announced.

  "I know."

  "That’s a start."

  For hours they ran and walked and talked. Along the way. Dog taught him a new song.

  30

  "That’s why I wanted to talk to you alone," Sam concluded.

  Hart seemed edgy, as if something about his tale of his encounter with the Man of Light bothered her. The nervous play of her fingers in her hair had in
creased as he told her what the Man had said. Her reaction unsettled him, eroding the confidence he had felt since he’d returned from Dog’s green land. So he had edited the story and had not told her of what the Man had said about their relationship. What would she say if confronted with the Man of Light’s story that their love was concocted by mind-controlling magics? Would she deny their love was forced upon them? He hoped she would, but he couldn’t be sure. Even if she did profess a real love for him, would that be real or just an implanted reaction?

  For a minute after he finished, she continued twisting ringlets into her errant locks. Then she tossed her head back, shaking her fashionably curled hair back into place, and gazed out over the rooftops as if searching for a response. He waited. No one would disturb them up here for a while, since Willie was sacked and Dodger still roaming the Matrix. Without looking at him, she spoke.

  "Whatever your apparition was, he was a liar. Nobody is good enough to affect all three of us at once. You maybe; you’re still learning. But while Estios is an ass, he is a strong mage." She crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself. "If something raped all of our minds that easily, I don’t think I’d want to face it when it wasn’t busy." Hart walked away from the edge of the rooftop and sat on the rusting hulk of a climate control unit. "But I don't think that’ll be a problem."

  "Why not? Are you sure that our memories of what we found at Glover’s estate are correct?"

  "Yours match mine," she said, as if that were confirmation enough.

  She unslung her bag and dumped its contents onto the flat surface. She unholstered her onyx-handled Crusader machine pistol, laying the weapon by her side before fishing among the haphazard pile of matte black containers she had released from her bag. She chose the largest, the one which held her Crusader’s accessories in custom-fitted compartments. She snapped open the lid and removed the cleaning kit. Checking her gear was one of the ways she calmed her mind. Sam let her get the gun disassembled before he crossed the roof to continue the conversation.

  "If the Man of Light wasn’t what he said he was, what was he?"