The roar of the Indian motorcycle called out from the mist behind him. Petrus didn't know what Wolf could have in mind; the Unseleighe were gone. If he were trying to run them down with the beast of death metal, he was a bit late.
Wolf on the Indian roared past, going directly for the Gate.
He can't be…
He was. As the bike hit the Gate, going at least forty, the magics surrounding it wailed in protest of the cold iron, sending off a halo of red, yellow turning to white; Petrus shut his eyes against the sudden light. Once the I)rightness faded he looked again. Wolf and his Indian had vanished.
He lay back down, seething with the defeat; presently Odras came to his side. The mage was out of breath, but unhurt.
But wasn't there…
Odras said, "I finished off the one with the injured foot. Three Unseleighe down."
"And the ringleaders got away, with Wenlann," Petrus said.
"Without their elvensteeds," Odras commented.
They just wanted to get away," Petrus said in anguish, wincing in pain as he moved his shoulder. "Did you see Wolf?"
"I tried to warn him about riding into that permanent Gate with that beast of steel," Odras said, examining Petrus' arm.
"I don't think it's broken," Petrus said, bending his arm experimentally. "Bruised, perhaps. We must go after them."
"I'm afraid we won't be going anywhere, for a while," Odras said, still probing the tendons of the elbow.
"There's nothing wrong with me!" Petrus objected, and moved to stand up.
"It is not your injury that has me concerned. It is our navigation." Odras stepped back, and regarded the Gate with a sour, frustrated look "The pendant. Wolf had it, and it was the only thing we had to track Wenlann. Now that it's gone I'm not even certain how to get back to Avalon." .
The Gate continued to glow, a solid yellow color, the hue of a well-made permanent Gate.
"We must follow them," Petrus said, but he knew this would be difficult, if not impossible. The mage walked through the gloom over to the glowing portal, and began probing it.
Petrus moved again to get up, and this time something jabbed him in the hip. What the… ? he thought as he reached for and pulled out the wolf's-tooth necklace Wenlann had given him.
"Uh, Odras? Petrus said, getting up and hobbling over to him. "I think I have something that might help."
"What is it?" he said, holding the necklace up to the light.
"A possession of Wolf's," Petrus replied. "He gave it to Wenlann, and Wenlann gave it to me. Wolf has the heart pendant…"
The mage appeared to be well ahead of him. "Good thinking," Odras said, "And yes, this is a most powerful relic. This Gate will have to be our exit." Odras said. "I suppose I should release our elvensteeds from their present form." The casting made a bare glimmer of light, and parted the fog; Moonremere appeared first, followed by Odras' noble steed, both seeming rather spry and light of foot. The stones of amene, topolomite and diaspar remained as decoration in Odras's steeds bridle.
On their steeds they approached the Gate one final time, Odras holding the wolfs-tooth necklace to up the yellow light briefly before putting it on.
"I know where he went," Odras said after taking the reading. There are six separate settings on this portal. And the trail is, again, a bit muddied. But I think I can reconstruct enough of the trail to put us in the correct realm. Stay as close to me as you can."
"Aie," Petrus said, and led Moonremere into the circle of light.
"Run, Lucas! Don't stop!" Wenlann called out as he plunged into the weird disc of light, feeling it close around him thickly as if he were entering a pool of water. On the other side was darkness and a soaring feeling of vertigo. His arms reached out automatically to brace his fall, connecting with another disc, which pulled him through.
From darkness and dizziness, to forest and light; Lucas lay stomach down on a thick layer of oak leaves, which had cushioned his short fall. He remained there, unmoving, waiting for something to happen. Only the wind, rustling the leaves around him, made sound. He looked back to the Gate, waiting for Wenlann. No one else came through.
No, he wanted to scream, but grief was seizing his voice. She had to make it! They couldn't have gotten her. They…
Lucas fought back a wave of tears, and when he wiped at them with a dirty hand, he got something in his eye.
The pain suddenly distracted him from his grief, and he spent several long moments blinking the debris out.
He sat amid a thick forest of oak and pine, with little sunlight penetrating the cathedral ceding of green. A spot or two of light touched the ground around him. This was not New Mexico, but at least it was somewhere on Earth, or so he thought. Hell, if I have to I'll fly Northwest home! If I can remember dad's Master Card number…
Lucas got to his feet, discovering a few bruises and aches, but otherwise found himself intact. Beneath the Gate was a smaller slab of granite. Then he considered the creatures who were after him, and supposed they might yet follow him through this thing.
She said to run. To keep running, he thought, torn between waiting for her to make it through, and leaving the area in case she didn't, and something else made it through instead.
Out of here, he finally decided. Getting caught by those things again would be no help to her. I still don't know where here is.
He started walking away from the Gate, looking for a path or any sign of civilization, while suspecting the search would be futile in this pristine land. As his feet rustled among the fallen leaves, he felt as if he were the first person to ever walk here.
"You idiot. Not only did you leave our steeds behind, you've brought us back to Avalon," Japhet said, standing at the crest of a hill. Nargach, who had set the paralyzed Wenlann down on the ground, joined him to see for himself. From her skewed position, Wenlann saw beyond the hill the top of the new Castle, some distance away.
Hope soared. They didn't mean to come here. She prepared herself to send a message to the King.
As if reading her mind, Nargach promptly lay a broad shield around them, increased its strength, then lay another one atop that.
"Dismiss this Gate," Japhet said, to the doorway they had just stepped from. "We don't want the others to follow."
From her limited perspective, Wenlann had determined that Petrus and Odras had indeed followed them to the Unformed, and had taken out the three Unseleighe warriors, leaving only Japhet and Nargach. This could be good, or bad: good, because the odds were even more against the Unseleighe. Bad, for the same reason, because Japhet would now be desperate. A desperate Japhet is an unpredictable Japhet. And they still had her firmly imprisoned.
"It's a permanent Gate," Nargach calmly replied. "I would need vast energies to rid ourselves of it, and if I so much as looked for these resources any mage in the istle would sense it." The mage approached the other, lowered his voice, and added, "Unlike our little band of outlaws, Avalon has more than one mage. Their Kine is a mage, and there are more. Do I really need to remind you of this?"
Wenlann had expected the usual angry retort from Japhet, but other things appeared to be occupying his mind, such as how the hell do I get out of this jam?
"We should return through the Gate," Nargach said, turning away from the hill. "Where we can retrieve our valuable elvensteeds."
Before he could say any more Japhet laughed sardonically, stopping him short. "I think not! No, this place will be fine, for now. Who would think to look for us in their own backyard? We should find somewhere to make camp. Somewhere away from this," Japhet said, gesturing toward the Gate. "Then we can concentrate on a plan."
Cautiously Wenlann tried probing Japhet. Nargach was deep in thought on other matters, she surmised as her probe went unnoticed. She recoiled at the dark cesspool of paranoia and hate she found in Japhet's mind, then embraced his dark feelings as if they were clay, something she could mold into whatever shape she wished.
Here goes…
In spite of the exist
ing uncertainty swimming about in the Unseleighe's mind, it was not a simple task. She was, after all, doing this literally under the nose of an experienced mage. Her work was as subtle as she could make it, while keeping it strong enough to be effective.
Nargach is going to defeat you, Wenlann sent, gradually at first, then increasing the thought in strength, and repeating it. What's to stop him? Why should he follow you? He is a great and mighty mage!
Though she could not see Japhet, the two of them suddenly stopped walking.
"What is it? Nargach said. "You wish to carry her for a time?"
"No, I don't. It's nothing…" he said, sounding annoyed. They resumed their walk. Wenlann restrained her elation, knowing she had accomplished her task.
Now, to work on him some more. My, this could get rather entertaining.
Wolf's red Indian dropped a half foot to a new land, a new dimension, as Petrus had so dramatically put it. The bike's massive shocks took the impact with ease, as if they were brand new. Well, Wolf thought, pulling up on the handlebars to keep it upright, it kind of is.
If this was where those other two Unsaylee had taken Wenlann, they were nowhere in sight. He stopped the bike on loose, sandy gravel, wondering briefly if he were back home in the desert. A quick glance at the horizon confirmed that he was nowhere near home, or perhaps not even on Earth. The forest that began a short distance away at first looked like stands of tall cactus. They were trees of some sort, maybe a succulent plant, but they were enormous. The branches were green and round, stuck out from the main trunks at right angles, with round, green shoots coining out from them, also at right angles. It reminded him of a picture of ancient conifers that were around at the time of the dinosaurs. With no leaves, the strange trees looked like dog's fur from a flea's point of view, the lone stalks reaching for the sky like the spiky remnants of a forest fire.
The Gate he had just dropped out of hovered over a marble pedestal, carved in the ancient Greek style. On examining the ground around it, he found nothing besides his own tire tracks. His heart, and hopes sank, realizing the mistake he'd made.
Odras said they could go off into different areas, he thought. This, obviously, is not where Wenlann went!
The Avalon pendant hung heavily around his neck, reminding him of another blunder he'd made. The only way they found her in the first place is that they used this to key in on her location! And now they don't even have this to use.
His next move seemed simple: Ride back through the Gate and get back where he was. I'm sure as hell not doing any good here.
From the forest behind him came a loud cluttering sound, from neither bird nor mammal, at least from any he recognized. He looked and saw nothing, absolutely nothing, that could have made the sound; unless the trees did. Another reason to get out of here. This place is truly weird.
He turned his back on the forest, and prepared to mount the Indian; the pedestal beneath the Gate would be difficult to negotiate, but he had ridden up steps on his old Harley that were taller than this. Just as long as I have enough momentum, I can get up anything.
Just as he was preparing to sling his right leg over the seat, he heard the sound of a sailing projectile, which was immediately followed by the projectile's landing square between his shoulder blades.
The impact threw him forward, then landed him on his face. The dirt tasted strange, as if it were laced with cinnamon. He couldn't have been down for long; he'd just been whacked hard by something small and heavy. No serious damage.
No big deal, right? he thought, rolling over.
There were at first glance twenty or thirty of them, but they were packed so tightly in a broad circle around him and the motorcycle that this was only a guess; the forest of legs that presented itself to him at ground level indicated many more. As he stirred the chittering started all over again, sweeping through the excited crowd like a gust of wind.
The reptilian creatures were not particularly tall, but given their vast numbers this was no consolation. Humanoid lizards with arms and legs circled around him in an excited huddle, large black macaw-like beaks snapping in agitation. Around half of them held slingshots in the form of long, leather thongs with rock-filled pockets; this explained what hit him in the back. And given the range and accuracy needed for such a hit, these guys must be really good with them. That, coupled with the massive parrot beaks that looked like they could crush a leg bone, added up to a rather iffy situation.
He might have made a dash for the Gate if the lizard folk hadn't blocked his way. The Indian stood unmolested, and the critters kept a healthy distance from it, for which he was grateful. They must think it's alive.
Wolf sat up, slowly, ignoring the pain in his back as much as possible. He took one long look at the assembled, and once he knew he had their undivided attention, cleared his throat.
"Say," he said, summoning instant silence. "Do one of you guys know how to Madison?"
He found a deeper, shaded area of forest, where the trees seemed to be twice their normal size. Lucas held up a Black Jack oak leaf, and spread his fingers against it, with leaf to spare. Both palms would fit within its borders.
The Gate had receded far behind him as he made his way through the woods, and the strange elven creatures who had been pursuing him, even if they'd passed through to this world, were now a distant threat. The journey yielded no clues as to who might live here, or to how he might return home. But the farther he advanced into the forest, the safer he felt. The suggestions of wildlife told him he might be able to stay here if necessary, and the prospect was more comforting than he would have guessed.
As he entertained these notions he came across a clearing, with a broad circle of rocks and a tiny log shelter with a thatched roof. With a start, he saw he was no longer alone.
She sat on a low bench, facing another low bench the size and shape of a coffee table; in the center of the circle was a fire pit with the charred remains of wood, but nothing presently burning. The young lady wore a long white robe, and an ocean of curly red hair cascaded down her shoulders and back. She turned to look at him; at first she seemed vaguely surprised, then charmed, by Lucas' standing there.
"Come closer, little one," she beckoned. Lucas frowned inwardly, feeling like he was being addressed like a little kid, but at this distance dial's probably what he seemed to be. "You're safe, here."
He walked closer, hesitating at the circle, feeling like it was sacred and that walking across it would profane it. She seemed to sense his reason for hesitating, and smiled appreciatively.
The circle is not cast," she said softly. "Until then, it is only a rock garden. Please, come over here," she said, patting the vacant spot on the bench beside her.
He stepped over the circle of rocks, but whether it was cast or not, he felt like he'd stepped into another world. The turmoil of Panic and the weird Damien, the imprisonment, the bloodied room, the skulls, and the escape from the elf critters he'd just pulled off was now far away, light years away. In the few days after his suicide attempt, he had intuited a world or path he knew was to be his, but it was a vague feeling, twisted apart by his own internal chaos. Without having the words to describe it, he felt the mystery he had been looking for was right here, in this circle, and this beautiful lady held the key.
He wanted to ask, what is this place? but a part of him knew the answer.
"I'm lost," Lucas finally said after a moment of awkward silence. He sat down beside her before what he now perceived to be an altar, with one large unlit candle on a pewter base, in the center. A single thin vase with a cut rose, petals, stem and thorns all black as ebony, to the right of it. On the left lay a pillow of black velvet, holding a crystal ball.
"And you have been found," she replied, turning to him. For the first time he saw the headpiece she wore, and nearly fled in terror. It was the pentagram, the symbol the Satanists used.
"What's wrong?" she asked, apparently sensing his alarm.
"That symbol. Are you a devil worshiper?"
Her look of astonishment turned to amusement, but it wasn't embarrassing, as such a look would normally be from an older girl. "This symbol," she said, indicating the headpiece, "is very old. Those who have used this symbol in the name of evil do not understand it. It is a symbol of peace, of harmony, of love for other beings, human or non. Plant or animal, or spirit. It's been perverted by others, in whatever position. One point up, for the Goddess. Two points up, for the God But nothing can contaminate its true meaning."
This was all starting to fit, and unlike the Satanists he'd recently fled he was believing her, without being whacked out on drugs. He also knew, sitting beside her in this strange and beautiful forest, that spray-painting tombstones in the light of a full moon would be an alien, criminal act to her.
There are better things to do in the light of a full moon, he heard in his mind, knowing the words were hers. She reached over for the little black pillow with the crystal ball on it.
Much better things.
She held it forward, and he held his hands beneath hers, and when they connected a stream of images passed beyond the crystal as if the black pillow were a movie screen and the ball was the lens of the camera; he saw the fire burning bright, with people dancing around it, wearing loincloths if they wore anything at all. Some jumped over the fire, some held drums to it, warming and tightening the heads, then returned to the outer circle where the drummers were, pounding a rhythm that was the heartbeat of the planet. Others danced in a spiral beyond the circle, then weaving back, toward the fire, to witness the rite. An old man wearing a headdress made from a wolf skin, fur coming down over his face as a mask. The wolf was the hunter, but this time he was also the sacrifice, as some of the younger braves danced after him, thrusting spears at him, mimicking the hunt. The wolf fell, but from the fallen wolf came the man, as if reborn. They were calling him chakka… chakka… chakka…
And among the dancers, standing out like a pearl on black sand, was the white, red-headed woman, the lady who sat before him now, whose hands he held in his own.
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