"Did you say the Unseleighe Nargach?" Odras inquired.
Everyone turned to the mage, including Thorn, then back to Wolf.
"Yes, it was Nargach. Or Nargat. This was the chi-en who enslaved the Saylee."
A shadow fell over the mage's face. "That explains quite a bit. I feel we might have stumbled onto something more powerful than any of us bargained for."
Now Thorn looked excited. "Nargach? Nargach! Are you certain?"
"As certain as anyone can be. But that was centuries ago. My guess would be even a thousand years ago."
"That length of time wouldn't matter to an Unseleighe, for two reasons," Petrus said. "Elves live much longer than humans. A thousand years relative to this world is a long time, but not beyond possibility. And second…"
"Second," Wenlann said, interrupting again. Petrus bristled. There's the time rift between Underhill and this world. Time passes differently here." She looked to Odras, asked, "Is it possible this is the same mage?"
"Possible, and probable," Odras replied. "In fact, I'm certain of it."
"But Nargach," Thorn said, struggling to get their attention. "Nargach was the Unseleighe that I encountered recently. This is the reason I went to Underhill in the first place, to find Avalon."
Wolf looked like, well, that he'd seen a ghost. "When, Thorn?" he asked. "When did you see Nargach?"
"When I first made contact with you, after your bike wreck," the country lad said. Two Unseleighe intercepted me, one of them was named Nargach. They wanted to bribe me to help them."
Help them what?" Wolf said woodenly.
"They wanted to capture you," Thorn said. They said they wanted to use your power, that was their interest in you. It's my purpose to protect you. Did I do well?" Wolf looked at the Guardian incredulously, then cracked a smile. You did fine," he replied, casting a glance toward Wenlann, who looked away coyly. "You did Just fine."
"Something doesn't quite mesh," Petrus said, gritting his teeth. "What is the big connection? I can't believe this is all one big coincidence. Odras, do you know Nargach from somewhere?" Of course he does, he must. And Odras is old, older than my father, older than I imagined. It's beginning to look like Nargach is manipulating Japhet, instead of the other way around. Ooooh, boy. What an Unseleighe mess!
Before Odras could form an answer, which didn't appear to be forthcoming anyway, Wolf spoke up. "I know what the connection is," he said, sounding what, guilty? About what? Petrus wondered.
Wolf looked at something on the altar, then said, "It's Ha-Sowa."
Thorn, Wenlann and Petrus all replied, "Who?"
"A spirit… no, a demon, something evil," Wolf said, sounding miserable as he walked over to a long table with a coffee pot.
Wolf picked up a small wooden carving and held it out to Odras. "My grandfather made this. My grandfather… had intimate knowledge of this spirit He knew what he . was talking about."
Odras took the carving in both of his large, dark hands. "Long ago, the Unseleighe court knew more about demons than they do now." He paused to examine the carving in detail, then grimly handed it back to Wolf. "Some have lived to the present. Nargach is one of these ancients. I thought him dead long ago, until I felt stirrings in Underhill, deep, dark stirrings that reached beyond the depth of the typical Unseleighe. Then I knew he still lived, but I didn't know where. He must have insinuated himself in Japhet's remaining clan sometime shortly after Zeldan's defeat." The old mage took a few steps toward the table. "May I approach it?" he asked, and Wolf consented. "I had heard rumors about the Chaniwa. And also of the brief slave trade the Unseleighe indulged in when the Seleighe were at their weakest. This altar," he said, scrutinizing the various items on it, but not touching. "This is not typical of the human tribes of this continent, is it?"
"No, it is not," Wolf said. "It comes from the white man's land, from long before they settled here."
"The Celts," Odras said. "Celtic magic, in particular. This is the pentagram."
Wolf picked up the dream catcher, with its uneven five-pointed star made of sinew. "It's called the Hand of the Chaniwa. It is a symbol of our religion, as well as our tribe as a whole."
"You said 'tribe,'" Wenlann said, moving beside him to examine the dream catcher. "Where are the rest?"
"There are no others," Wolf replied, sounding sad. "Me and my grandfather, Fast Horse, we were the last. Now it's just me."
Despite his jealousy Petrus found it in himself to feel pity for this human, if only for a moment. How sad he must be.
"Here," Wolf said suddenly, placing the carving back on the altar and reaching for something else. "I want you to have this." He held out a necklace, which looked extremely, well, primitive. It was strung with what looked like animal teeth of some kind, with several hand-carved beads.
Wenlann looked overwhelmed. "This is…this must be a family heirloom," she said. "I can't—"
Wolf wouldn't take no for an answer. "Yes, you can. Please. Let me give this too you. It's important that you have it."
She looked as if she would argue further, then she reached for something around her neck. "On one condition. That you take this in return."
It was the silver, heart-shaped Celtic knot. As they exchanged necklaces Petrus knew from that moment on that the situation had changed drastically in their small group, and he was certain he wouldn't like the results. However, he was powerless to do anything about it. Remember the mission, he thought frantically. Remember the mission, that's the only thing that's going to keep me from going nuts I
"It's beautiful," Wolf said. "And there's a… is that a wolf in the design?"
Petrus leaned over to see what he was talking about. Wenlann said, "I never noticed that before, but yes. The ears, the snout." She shook her head. "It's like it was invisible, until I gave it to you."
Petrus sought to change the subject. "How did a demon from our world get loose here?"
Odras replied, "Ha-Sowa is not a demon from Underhill."
Wolf looked up. "But I thought—"
The Unseleighe are masters of turning the demons that haunt the humans' land to their own use; at least, they used to be. Nargach is one who still knows how to do this."
"The early tribes had no such spirit. Where did Ha-Sowa come from, then?" Wolf asked.
"The Egyptians called her Hat Sotor," Odras answered. Indeed, the cat was said to be a lioness; as the Unseleighe's goddess-slave, this lioness aspect seems to have embraced her entire appearance."
Odras sighed and contemplated the altar, as if the carving of Ha-Sowa would jump up and give him the answer his puzzled expression seemed to be requesting. "I would guess that she had weakened, not just with time, but with the passage of the culture that worshipped her. The Unseleigne would find such entities and give them a new purpose. Their purpose. Fortunately most of the thrice-damned Unseleighe clan lost touch with the ability to do so."
For Petrus the news raised another question: How does Odras know so much about this? The Avalon clan had been rather isolated before even Zeldan had attacked, and Odras was from a distant Seleighe Elfhame he couldn't remember the name of. At any rate, he supposed he was glad for Odras' knowledge. It could only help them in the long run.
If it could only help us now, he thought.
"We are here to locate the Unseleighe, led by a lord named Japhet Dhu," Petrus began, but Wolf seemed to be only halfway listening. "Nargach is with them. What about Ha-Sowa? Have you seen or felt her presence?"
Wolf looked at Petrus with a dreamlike expression, as if he were looking right through the elf.
"Ha-Sowa is near," Wolf said, at length. "My grandfather told me she was, and now I feel her. But she is my problem."
"No, she is our problem," Wenlann said emphatically. "Perhaps Ha-Sowa is the common link that's pulling all of us together. I'm not much of a believer in coincidence."
Petrus had to admit, neither was he. So, now what? Contact the King, tell them what they had learned? "Do you have a phone?" he asked.
Wolf looked around the remains of the trailer, the shack that looked ready to fall over. "What you see is what you get. No phone here." The human grinned, somewhat condescendingly. "What do you need to do, call your King? I'll bet the price of long distance is outrageous."
"Not with MCI's 'Friends and Family'," Petrus replied, not missing a beat. "Actually, what I wanted to do was drop him an e-mail message. It's even cheaper that way."
"Oh," Wolf said, but he had that polite but uncomprehending expression that humans and elves, who knew nothing about computers, both shared whenever the subject came up.
"Well, then," Petrus said. "Perhaps we should go on in to town, as we had planned," he said, moving to mount Moonremere.
"Well, excuse me while I pry that hint off my forehead," Wenlann replied sourly.
"Where we can contact the King, and perhaps find…" Petrus continued, but his voice trailed off, as he was about to say "find suitable digs," but that would have been most impolite. He made do with, "A place to stay."
"I would offer my home, but I think it would be a little cramped. Everything I have is yours," he said, but he was looking at Wenlann. "If you're looking for a good, inexpensive place to stay, try La Puerta on Central. They have phones."
"Thank you," Petrus said, and as Wenlann prepared to ride, he asked Wolf, "Are you, uh, going to be all right out here?"
"This is my home," Wolf said. "I am armed, as well. And I've got Thorn here to look over my shoulder."
"Be that as it may," Thorn said, who also appeared to be ready to ride, "perhaps you should consider staying close to these folk? I doubt I could handle much in the way of demons, short of fleeing them."
"I'll consider it," he replied, "but right now I must stay here."
"I'll be back soon," Wenlann said, without so much as a glance toward Petrus, who sensed the unspoken "when I'm alone."
Helmeted and ready to go, the three elves rode out of the homestead in single file, and made a right on Highway 60.
Traffic was light when they turned north on 25, which was fortunate since Petrus found the cold iron content in the cars and trucks they passed to be very uncomfortable, even through the leather he wore. It wasn't ;dl that cool to begin with, and he was still getting used to having a bright, blazing sun in the sky. Moonremere seemed nervous around some of the larger vehicles, the big semi-rigs in particular, who not only made a horrendous noise but churned up air currents that made passing them on a motorcycle an adventure.
Albuquerque wasn't a big city, especially by Dallas standards. As they approached it from the south the skyline was limited to a handful of office buildings, multilevel garages and a few large hotels. Not an enormous metropolis, but not a little town, either; more than large enough to vanish into. What Petrus found so striking was the Sandia mountains and the infinite sky, clear and blue, that seemed to go on forever. And the comfortable dryness of the air was nothing like Underhill, which tended to be damp in Avalon.
And the energies … in the ground, all around them, unused, untapped, wild. There was the hint of a node somewhere near, but most of the power seemed to be a part of the wind as well as the earth. Dallas was nothing like this, he observed, wondering what Odras thought. I le also wondered if the Unseleighe would be able to use this type of power against them. He suspected they would have trouble with it, and didn't want to distract Odras by asking about it now.
They took the Central Avenue exit and proceeded cast, seeing a number of motels along the way. Along this stretch of street it looked like the main industry of the area was mobile home dealers and Indian crafts… any of the motels would have likely been suitable, but Petrus felt compelled to follow Wolf's advice and find La Puerto.
The long white adobe motel came up on their right, a large brick-pillared sign announcing La Puerto Lodge.
They pulled in just after the sign and stopped in front of the office.
Petrus danced over at Odras, who had the honor of carrying their freshly kenned cash.
"The King said to prepay for a week," Wenlann reminded him as he took the bills from Odras.
Fighting annoyance, he said, "Yes, I remember what the King said." He caught a glance of the wolfs-tooth necklace, which enhanced his annoyance by a factor of ten, then started for the front door of the office.
A very small, frail woman stepped into the office. She had a little tuft of blue hair, pulled into a bun, with square bifocals, and wore a rather dated but functional blue dress, which went all the way down past her ankles. She stepped lightly over to an old, solid wood counter, greeting him warmly with a dentured smile. Just beyond the office he caught a glimpse of a quaint, comfortable living room, with an rather old console television blaring away with what sounded like a stock car race. The place had an old smell, of mothballs and cedar, not unpleasant, but warming. No corporations here, just a mom, and a pop, and maybe a dog. Petrus relaxed as he smiled at the woman.
"Lovely riding weather it is," she said, glancing out the window at the three motorcycles. "My husband and I used to tour on Indians, just after the war."
"Oh, it's been a nice ride," Petrus said. "Beautiful country as well."
The woman was studying the bikes further, which was starting to make Petrus nervous. Her brow wrinkled. "Are you folks all the way from Germany?"
Huh? What is she… Then he saw what she was talking about. The license plates! Oh sheisse, Hans is from Germany, and so is his beemer! Fortunately, only one of the plates were visible, the one on his bike, closest to the office. Otherwise she would have seen three identical plates.
"Those are beauties," she said, turning reluctantly from the window and pulling a card out of the drawers. "A friend of ours has an old slash two. Lovely shaft-driven machines, just lovely." She handed him a card and, thankfully, a plastic Bic pen instead of a metal one.
Petrus filled out the card with their "address," Box 11, Rural Route Nineteen, Kingman, Oklahoma. "I'd like to prepay for a week," he said.
"Oh, how nice," she said. That's…oh, I can give you a discount. Seven days? One thirty, with tax."
"Thank you, ma'am," Petrus replied politely as he handed over the bills. "That's very kind of you."
"Oh, never you mind," she said, her eyes twinkling. "I've ridden motorcycles for years. We're practically family!"
Which explains why Wolf recommended this particular motel, Petrus thought, maintaining a sincere smile. She handed him two keys, each on big green plastic tags that said "La Puerta Lodge."
"It's number seven, on the end. There's even a carport where you can park your bikes. You just let me know if you need anything. And you can call me Mattie."
"Thank you, Mattie," Petrus said as she rang up the money on an old, non-electric cash register. "We were hoping to find a nice place like this."
If I stay here any longer, she's going to start feeding me milk and cookies, he thought as he closed the screen door behind him.
The room was small but suitable, though the bed would be a little cramped for three. Looking over the room, deciding where the cold iron was, and determining there wasn't much they would have to watch out for except for the fixtures in the bathroom, Petrus realized there wouldn't be much time for sleeping on this mission, so the bed's size was irrelevant.
Odras brought in the bag with the laptop and set it beside the telephone on a small, imitation woodgrain table. Petrus began setting up the machine to dial in to America Online. Meanwhile Wenlann stood behind him, in front of the mirror, admiring the necklace Wolf had presented her.
Crap! I'd almost forgotten about that, he thought as he plugged in the adapter and began the brief booting process. He tried looking away, but it was impossible; the mirror was on the wall right in front of them, and the necklace, which she fondled lovingly, appeared right above the laptops screen. It was as if she were taunting him with it.
Well, if she is, she's not going to win! he decided, and plugged the phone line into the internal modem.
"You know, this must b
e very old," Wenlann said. "These are real wolf teeth."
Petrus ignored her, concentrating on the screen. Then, a moment later, "Did you say something?"
"This necklace," she said, and Petrus had to glance up. "Some sort of power is connected with it. Do you suppose Wolf is a mage?"
"It seems possible," Petrus replied neutrally. "His grandfather certainly must have been. But that doesn't mean he is."
Odras spoke from near the door. "If you'll permit, I am going to place some protective wards around the perimeter. Then I might pursue this idea with these gemstones."
"Go right ahead," Petrus said. We're about to have a hell of a fight anyway. He must have seen it coming.
The mage nodded and slipped out of the room.
Petrus turned to the laptop, hoping the conversation would just end. Pretending to be busy wasn't much of a pretense; he hadn't used the AOL account in a while, and he was trying to remember how this machine was set up.
"You're not changing the subject on me like that," Wenlann said, from just behind his right ear.
"Wenlann," Petrus said, making no attempt to conceal his irritation. "Do you mind?"
He typed a brief message to the King, giving their location, and a short summary of their encounter with Wolf.
"He was not insensitive to magic!" Wenlann protested, reading over his shoulder.
"Do you want to write this?" Petrus said, but sent what he had composed before she could answer.
"Well, I suppose it doesn't matter now," Wenlann said, and sat on the edge of the bed, the necklace now cradled in both of her slender hands. Petrus turned around and glared at her. This bothers you, doesn't it?"
If she hadn't been smiling, mocking him, he might have held his tongue. But the situation suddenly made remaining civil an impossibility.
"Yes, it bothers me!" Petrus said shortly. "There! You wanted a reaction out of me, you got it."
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