by Quincy Allen
Seeing Cole’s interest, Jake stared north as well, when his left eye was drawn to a faint but noticeable distortion north of town. Covering his eyepiece, the distortion disappeared, and when he covered his good eye and looked through the monocle, he could just make out a small, almost-swirling patch of air hovering above the ground.
“What the …” he mumbled. Keeping his good eye closed, he adjusted the monocle, opening the iris even further. The brightness hurt his eyes, and somewhere between a closed iris and too bright to see, he found a sweet spot where the monocle seemed to filter out something, revealing a large distortion nearly a mile north of town that nearly touched the ground and seemed to be wide enough for an airship. It was difficult to tell for certain at that distance, but he knew there was something out there.
“Something wrong, Mister Lasater?” Leonel said, stepping up beside him.
“There’s something out there.”
“Is there?” Leonel asked innocently. “How do you know that?”
Jake turned and gave Leonel a smile. He knew a bluff when he heard one, and Leonel knew exactly what Jake was looking at. Jake simply tapped his ocular with a finger. “You don’t play poker much, do you?” Jake asked.
Leonel laughed. “Not at all, in fact. Although my sister is quite competent.” Leonel let his answer hang in the air between them, obviously hoping the change of subject would distract Jake.
“What is it?” Jake insisted. It was friendly, but Jake was about at the end of his tolerance for secrets, especially when he could see the damn thing.
Leonel sighed and then nodded briefly, having reached a decision. “That, Mister Lasater, is the shadowgate … or at least as much of it as exists in this world without something going through it.”
“So, it’s essentially closed right now?” Skeeter asked, stepping up to them.
Jake glanced at her. She was staring north as well, and she had a combination of lenses lowered in front of her eyes. She could see it, too.
“That’s correct,” Leonel confirmed. “There’s no mistaking when it’s open.” He peered intently at Skeeter, who was fixated on the gate hovering in the distance. “It will be the same purple as the core below us, only a deeper, darker purple.” He said the words deliberately, pacing out each word. And he continued to watch Skeeter, seemingly waiting for something.
The young girl’s head cocked sideways slowly, obviously pondering what he’d said. She then stepped up to the edge of the platform next to Cole, and Jake watched her eyes trace from the shadowgate in the distance, to the front gate of the city and down the main thoroughfare that led straight to the front doors of the tower beneath them.
A slow laugh bubbled up from the girl, and she turned to face Leonel with a knowing smile upon her face. “It’s the source,” she said with absolute certainty.
Leonel’s nod was almost imperceptible. He lowered his voice. “Please don’t tell my sister that you know.” He winked once. “She’d be quite put out.”
Skeeter nodded.
“Know what?” Jake asked.
“Don’t worry about it, Jake … It’s just tinkering stuff.” She looked at him and changed her tone slightly. “And you don’t need to know.”
Jake knew immediately that she was hinting at the conversation they’d had the night before about keeping secrets. “If you say so, Skeeter,” he said easily.
A growing silence closed in on them, and then Leonel’s eyes focused on something behind them. “Take a look,” he said, pointing to the northeast. “You’ll find this interesting.”
Jake, Skeeter, and Cole all shifted their gaze further east, and they all immediately spotted one of the choppers heading toward the city from out of the dusty flatlands beyond.
The chattering machine approached the edge of the city, and then it disappeared before their eyes.
“What the hell?” Jake blurted.
“Turnaround,” Leonel shouted. “Quickly!”
Everyone did, and moments later the machine appeared on the far side of the city, headed on the same line it had been traveling, coursing to the southeast.
“What the hell was that?” Jake asked.
“That was one of our scouts flying by in the real world.”
“What do you mean, ‘in the real world’?” Skeeter asked.
“Well, as you all know, the city can’t be seen from the outside without some very specific equipment.”
“Yeah,” Jake spoke up. “One of the captains of the Dragun—I can’t remember which—mentioned that Roswell was removed from the physical world.”
“Precisely,” Leonel said. “Our ships are equipped to see and pass into this pocket of Roswellian reality, for lack of a better word.”
“And the scout didn’t have that,” Skeeter said, “or had it turned off somehow.”
“Yes.”
“I will never get used to this place,” Jake said. Everyone on the deck had followed the trail of the chopper to the southwest, but Jake noticed a layer of haze to the southeast, and he suddenly got a sinking feeling in his belly. He’d seen haze like that before. During the war.
He dashed across the deck just as the chopper they’d been watching banked hard left and headed toward where Jake was now fixated. He placed his good eye to a pair of binoculars.
At the edge of a sparse forest of ponderosa pine, he could just make out the telltale clouds of troops moving at the edge of the horizon. They were too far off to see any detail, but there was no mistaking troops massing on dry earth.
“Leonel!” Jake shouted, looking over his shoulder.
“What is it, Jake?” Leonel said, rushing up. The other observers on the tower were now all looking to the southeast, and the chopper was heading straight for them from that direction.
“I’m assuming the tower has some sort of warning bell or something?”
“Something like that,” Leonel said, looking worried.
The chopper screamed toward them, and this time it didn’t disappear when it hit the edge of the shield. It passed over the city and headed straight for them.
“Then sound it off,” Jake said. “Roswell is about to have company.”
One of the nearby observers dashed from a pair of binoculars to one of the panels on the tower. He flipped it open and pressed a button within.
A high-pitched, mechanical howling sound burst forth from strange emitters placed just beneath the platform. The ear-splitting sound echoed over the city, rising in pitch and then descending, only to cycle up and down again.
“What is it?” Leonel shouted over the sirens and the chattering chopper. “What did you see?”
The chopper screamed by the tower as the pilot waved a red flag.
“Cromwell,” Jake replied. He looked down on the city. The slowly mulling residents of Roswell had burst into a flurry of activity, with many disappearing into their homes while others raced toward what Jake guessed would be rallying points for squads or companies or whatever Roswell called its equivalent. “And he brought a war with him.”
Chapter Fifteen
A Roswell Hoedown
“I traveled all over the West with Jake, but Roswell was always home.”
~ Cole McJunkins
The thunder of a genuine Roswell hoedown pulsed in the field nearby. Jake, a very deliberate observer, leaned against a water barrel set at the mouth of a dead-end alley, letting the music and stomping and shouting wash over him. The barrel stood between the Mare and the blacksmith’s, halfway hidden in shadow … just like he was.
He’d noticed the barrels spread throughout the city—in alleys, on corners, in people’s yards. He suspected they might be full of food or water stores, but he really had no idea what they were for. The odd thing was they all had a hole cut in the top, big enough for a large fist, but he hadn’t given it much thought … on account of the troops and impending war and crazy hoedown and all. Once again, Jake wondered what the hell he’d gotten himself into.
A war cry from one of the dancers dre
w his attention.
Jake was little more than an observer to what he thought were thoroughly non-traditional festivities on the eve of what could quite possibly be one hell of a battle.
In the darkness, his only companions were a few stacks of empty crates, a couple of tumbleweeds, and the water barrel under his butt. Every few minutes Lumpy shuffled on the other side of the wall, disturbed by another shout or boom from the hoedown. The huge bull would occasionally huff and kick the ground or a wall to express his annoyance at the festivities. Either that or he was still getting used to the new shoes Jake had arranged to be put on. If everything in Roswell went to crap in a hand basket, he wanted to be able to hop on Lumpy and get the hell out of town.
Jake stared out past the mob that filled the park beyond the Mare. A strange, electric music pounded away as several hundred people stomped and bounced to the rhythm, moving in a wide circle around a large bonfire. In the distance, he heard similar revelry throughout the city, which concerned Jake, because his experience in the army usually involved much more sullen preparation for battles.
He just didn’t know what to make of it.
There was a cheer from the crowd as the music picked up in both volume and pace. The beat reminded Jake of the Indian drums he’d listened to as a boy, but the music laid over it was like nothing he’d ever heard—fast, overwhelming—his heart pounded, and the music stirred something within him like no Indian chant ever had.
At the heart of it stood a group of automatons like those he’d seen in Denver and San Fran, playing a strange assortment of instruments that he’d never seen before. And there was something else. The automatons—five of them this time—seemed more life-like, not stiff and jerky like the others he’d seen. Their motions were smooth, flowing, he couldn’t help but think they were lifelike. They moved, and even danced, as if they were real people.
A group of both Apache and Cherokee formed a tight, inner circle around the bonfire, their faces painted for war, all of them dressed in the traditional garb of their distinct peoples. They seemed to be leading the dance, their wailing voices carrying over the music, matching its pulse and stirring something primal within Jake, just as it had when he was a boy.
The Indians were the most familiar thing to Jake, almost an anchor amidst the strange sights. The Roswellians dancing around the Indians were even more strangely dressed than those he had seen during the past two days. Some had painted their faces in bright colors or to mimic animals. Others wore masks or had applied feathers, and even wings, to their clothing. And there were even more gadgets and gear than he’d seen in the daylight. These people had dressed themselves to the nines, and Jake could only assume it was in preparation for the coming battle.
There was one notable difference from the outfits he’d seen in Roswell during the day. Virtually every one of the Roswellians wore an identical pair of goggles around the neck or hatband. Jake couldn’t imagine what they could be for, but his instincts told him there was a reason for it beyond simple conformity.
Cole was out amongst the dancers, stomping in rhythm with the rest, and Jake had seen Skeeter off to the side inspecting the strange vehicles that lined the streets at the edge of the park. Ghiss had said something about needing some sleep and disappeared back into the Mare, which didn’t surprise Jake one bit. Ghiss didn’t seem to be much of a dancing sort of man. That left Jake to himself, wondering if Corina would come out. He felt himself longing to see her again but figured she wouldn’t want to show herself with so many people about.
A hand upon his shoulder shattered thoughts of white hair and tender lips. His Officer’s Colt was halfway out of its holster as he turned and realized that the hand belonged to Shadowcat.
“Easy, Jake,” Shadowcat said, holding up his hands. “It’s just me.” He took several steps back and practically disappeared into the shadows. Only his green eyes—glowing with a pale inner light—showed in the darkness.
Jake looked quizzically past the man into the empty alley and then scanned the roofline. He hadn’t heard a thing. Even with the dance going on, his senses were usually better than that.
“How did you—?”
“I didn’t mean to startle you, but I didn’t want to be seen.” Shadowcat motioned for Jake to step further into the shadows, and his teeth flashed in the darkness. Jake noticed that his canines were somewhat longer than normal.
“You seem to have a knack for that—not being seen, I mean” He settled the Colt back in its holster and stepped into the alley.
“I have a way with shadows.” the dark man replied smoothly. He hesitated for a few seconds, and then a look of concern floated up to the surface of his angular features. “I have to ask you something.” There was an uneasiness about him that seemed out of place on the strange man, as if his entire existence was a thing to be controlled and always fully under his command.
“I’m assuming it’s about what was under the tarp, right?” Jake asked. It was the only thing that Shadowcat had keyed upon during their first meeting. Everything else was friendly business as usual.
Shadowcat nodded slowly. “I know who … and what … is inside that reliquary. I was wondering if you did.” He paused, and his eyes narrowed slightly as the flicker of a knowing smile drifted across his face. “The Lady is quite lovely, isn’t she?”
It was Jake’s turn to hesitate. He didn’t know how much to say, but the secret was obviously already out of the bag. Jake suddenly realized that he felt an affinity for the man who stood before him, as if he’d known him all his life. He still had to play it safe, though.
“I reckon she is.” He couldn’t help wondering how Shadowcat knew Lady Dănești, and the question must have been obvious on his face.
In answer, Shadowcat grew wistful. “Exiles make easy bedfellows,” he said, “but that was a very long time ago.” He leaned back against the wall, his arms behind his head as he stared up at a starry sky.
So that was it, Jake thought. Shadowcat and Lady Dănești had been lovers at some point, although how their paths had crossed was something he couldn’t even guess at. “You don’t seem to have an issue with taking us where we’re going, so what’s on your mind?”
“Do you know what she is?”
Jake gave him a perplexed look. “What she is?” He didn’t know where this was going. “I know she comes from some place in Europe, if that’s what you mean.”
Shadowcat chuckled. “No. That’s not what I mean.”
Maybe Shadowcat had something against witchcraft. “Is it because she’s a witch?” Jake stood up a bit straighter, ready to defend the Lady’s honor.
Shadowcat laughed outright. “No, it’s not that either. I live with a witch … a sorceress, actually—they’re not the same thing, by the way.” He got a more serious look on his face. “Do you know what a vampire is?”
“Never heard the word,” Jake replied, curious.
“Well, it means different things to different people. On this world most people have come to fear them … and with good reason. Most of the covens here are more like wolf packs than they are civilized societies, hunting and feeding on their prey—human prey—like the predators they are. There aren’t many in this country, but they’ve managed to flourish in some areas of Europe and Asia. Some of the more antisocial ones live off on their own or wander the countryside looking for sustenance … blood actually. Vampires have an appetite for blood. They’ve been demonized by most of the religions in Europe, and there are even religious sects devoted to hunting and killing vampires … not an easy thing to do, by the way.”
“Are you saying the Lady is some sort of blood-sucking killer?” Jake remembered the coyote they’d found on the trail to the river, realizing that it very well could have been Lady Dănești. Once again Jake wondered what the hell he’d gotten himself into.
Shadowcat smiled once again. “Quite the opposite actually. She’s a killer, there’s no mistaking that, but she’s not a predator like most vampires here. She’s one of the
most civilized creatures I’ve ever met.”
“All she told me was that she has a curse.” Jake knew there was plenty the Lady had left out of her story, but he hadn’t pried because he just wanted to get the job done, get paid, and get on with his business.
“I know she considers it a curse,” Shadowcat said. “I always thought of it as a gift, but I don’t suffer the loss of daylight the vampires on this world do. I was born of faerie and vampire, so I got the best of both worlds. Like most of the vampires here, Lady Dănești was merely turned … and in her case, against her will … by a monster.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Jake asked.
“Let me see your left arm.”
“What?” The request took Jake off guard.
“It’s gold, isn’t it?”
Jake slipped his glove off and held up his hand. “Bronze and brass, but it looks gold in daylight.”
Shadowcat took Jake’s wrist in his hand and peered closely, inspecting the runes and symbols etched deeply into the smooth metal. Closing his eyes, he whispered a few words as he traced the patterns with his finger. There was a pale flash as the runes glowed green briefly in the darkness.
“This is remarkable work, especially for this world.” Shadowcat released Jake’s arm. “She’s a hero, you know. One of the bravest souls I’ve ever known.”
“The Lady?”
“Yes, but I believe a time is coming when her bravery and devotion won’t be enough. She’s going to need help.” Shadowcat closed his eyes, and he spoke as if he were reciting something from his childhood. “The child shall meet a golden soul with singular vision, and together they will face evil as one.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Jake hadn’t missed the reference to gold and someone with one eye. Shadowcat obviously believed Jake was that person.
