by Karen Myers
“It’s yours,” Rhodri said, releasing the claim.
George opened the Edgewood Way at this end but kept the far end closed. The last thing he wanted was some courier trying to come through while this was going on. He wasn’t worried about any tokens they might have, since those wouldn’t work while he owned it in Rhodri’s place.
The end of the trap way was close to this end of the Edgewood Way, and still sealed by his hasty work yesterday. He thought the end would dissolve, sealed or not, as the way started to die, and left the seal in place to help make sure the end couldn’t shift somehow when he started.
If this worked, it would be violent at this end, too, as air was sucked into the collapsing way. He glanced over his shoulder to check that Rhodri and Edern were well back, and found Mag close behind him, with two large pseudopods extended at the level of George’s hips.
*Picture of Mag anchoring George.*
“You see what I have in mind? Think it’ll work?”
*Agreement.*
“Alright, then. Let’s get started.”
She extended the pseudopods around him without pressure, a solid cage of rock for him to lean against while leaving his chest and arms free. An extension on each side ascended over his shoulders like a harness to hold him down.
He stood solidly, his feet apart, braced against Mag. He squeezed the near end of the trap way firmly enough to break the seal, forcing it open in the process, but held the collapse at that point, grasping the end mentally like a tube in his left hand. Then he used the image of his right hand to strip down the tube from near to far, squeezing lightly and releasing it at the end, and returning to do it again. His physical hands repeated the gestures, rather than caused them, an echo of the coordination his mind was attempting.
A wind began to build in front of him, roaring from his back and into the ways, passing through the Edgewood Way entrance into the collapsing trap way. He got a rhythm into his pumping actions, but the trap way continued to shrink slowly once the process started, making constant adjustments necessary. He wanted to make it last as long as possible.
When the way shrank enough that its opening ceased to block the full Edgewood Way passage, the air in that passage was sucked in, too. George had a momentary fear that the Edgewood Way would be compromised, but after the initial jolt, the situation stabilized and he was able to continue. Like a tornado that picked up a house but continued its destruction unchecked, he thought.
His back was pelted continually by debris, but his coat and Mag’s embrace protected him from most of it. What he found most unnerving was the sound pulse that accompanied his mental gestures, the noise of the wind ebbing and blowing under his indirect control, like an immense breathing animal.
Inexorably the trap way continued to narrow despite his attempts to slow it down, and the suction effect lessened in the process. When it shrank to just a few feet across, he couldn’t stave it off any longer and let it all collapse, grateful that Mag’s support kept him from doing the same himself.
He sagged there for a minute, recovering from the effort while all around him he heard the quiet patter of small wind-borne bits falling like rain. Little gusts stirred them up and dropped them again, until the air settled down into stillness as if nothing had happened.
He straightened up and Mag released him. When he turned around, he saw Edern and Rhodri picking their way over the debris-littered flagstones in his direction. Edern’s face was unreadable, frozen, but Rhodri could hardly keep his footing, so intent he was on trying to figure out just exactly what George had done.
“Take it back,” he told Rhodri, to forestall discussing it with him. He released his ownership of the Edgewood Way and Rhodri reclaimed it.
“I’ll bet that stung him,” Rhodri said, turning him around and brushing the back of his coat clean and tousling his hair to shake the dirt loose.
George bore with him for a moment, then pulled away.
Edern stood at a small distance and bowed to him formally. “Thank you, kinsman.”
George nodded in acknowledgment, tired rather than elated at his success. Time to pack up and leave, despite the low clouds and the threat of more snow.
Edern asked Rhodri, “Is the Edgewood Way back to normal?”
“You can restart the couriers anytime. They’re probably waiting on us to verify all is well, so we’d need to send the first one from our end.”
“No. Before you do anything else, change the markings on the flagstones to mark the new location of the way entrance,” George said wearily. “No more accidents.”
Rhys passed from uncomfortable doze to wakefulness in the darkness of his cell. He couldn’t judge how long he’d slept, or whether it was still night outside.
His bound hands and constricted arms were the source of a throbbing pain all the way to his shoulders but there was nothing he could do about that other than endure it. The worst was soiling himself helplessly. He had to make an effort to ignore the shame of it, and the smell.
His head felt a little clearer. What had woken him? Some change in the air?
He didn’t know how many cells there were or how many “guests” Madog might be entertaining in them, but it was quiet enough that he could hear distant noise. That was new, he thought. A fight of some kind?
A stiff breeze blew in through the cracks in his cell door, and lifted up the dust. It was followed by gusts of fresh cold air, carrying the resinous scent of pine trees that overwhelmed the stench of the cell. It smells like dawn, he thought. What is this? The wind continued for several minutes before subsiding.
In the following silence he heard distinct noises of alarm. Whatever had happened, it was unexpected, he judged.
He wished the wind would return. It was cold, but it was clean. Some part of his military training came back to him, and he knew that warmth was more necessary to survival in extreme situations than comfort, but he missed it anyway. He smiled wryly to himself—he was truly Gwyn’s foster-son, overly fond of cleanliness.
He might have dozed off again, but the next thing he noticed was footsteps marching to his cell, and the rattle of keys, the glow of torches coming through the cracks.
Madog followed his guards into the cell and looked down at him. Rhys was too stiff from a night in bondage to rise. He saw Madog dabbing at a shallow cut on his face which oozed blood steadily as head wounds do.
“What was that wind?” Rhys asked.
Madog regarded him sourly and didn’t reply.
Rhys wanted to keep silent, but he couldn’t help himself. “Was this how my parents died?”
Madog was in no good mood, but the question brought a smile to his face.
“I never saw them die,” he said, cheerfully but with a bit of regret. “The trap way I used for them wasn’t well-anchored and the other end tore loose. I always assumed they ended up in the air somewhere. Before falling, of course. I wonder if their honor guard served them well, at the end.”
He enjoyed Rhys’s unguarded expression of horror. He said, conversationally, “It’s been one of the hardest things for me to correct in my beast, this opening of ways into the air.”
This was going to be easier than he expected, he thought. His prisoner was already too worn to look confused by that explanation. He wrinkled his nose. The smell rising from him offended him.
Edern, now, that would have been much more of a challenge.
He’d have to keep this one alive for a while to bait Gwyn. That meant keeping him from Scilti.
He assumed a magnanimous expression. “Cut his bonds and bring him some water and rags for washing,” he told a guard.
He looked down at Rhys as the guard bent over him. “Can’t have you dying just yet.”
“What is it you want?” Rhys asked from the ground.
“Why, your foster-father’s lands, of course, all of Annwn.”
“Isn’t there enough for you in the endless lands to the west?”
“It’s Annwn I want, not empty wilderness. I
will be the Prince of Annwn when I defeat him, and then we’ll see what’s next, when I stand from that base and look at the old world choices. Who will stop me? The absent Beli Mawr?”
“Cernunnos will never accept you,” Rhys said.
Madog laughed at that. “He’ll accept power, and the winner of the contest.”
“No. He supports justice.”
“My, you are young, aren’t you? I keep forgetting.” Madog left him, still smiling.
The smile subsided as he walked back through the chaos in the central hall of his dungeon. The wounded had been cleared away but there was still debris all over the floor along with the bloodstains.
The first gust, from the closure of his second court way, had blown out all except one of the torches but done little else. He’d come when summoned to see the situation, and that’s when the trap way was closed, the one that did all the real damage. In the dim light, guards had fallen or been cut by sharp objects picked up by the wind. In the end, one fool broke his neck and several more were injured.
He wasn’t concerned about the losses to his guards—there were plenty—but he wanted to know how the huntsman had done it. He had no doubt it was the huntsman, no one else could destroy the ways. It offended him that there were things the huntsman could do with the ways that he hadn’t discovered, yet.
He reminded himself that it didn’t matter. His recent ways into Edgewood may be gone, but he could make more whenever he wanted. Let them busy themselves there for a while.
Edern turned his horse back several feet to retreat from the discomfort near the top of the ridge, and Rhodri joined him, wincing. George looked at them both and half-smiled as he dismounted awkwardly with his heavy pack and handed his reins to Rhodri. He stood next to his horse, detaching the saber from his saddle to hang it around his waist instead and removing the long staff that had been tied on.
Edern said, “You don’t feel it at all, do you?”
“Only the faintest twinge, enough to know it’s there if I’m looking for it.”
Rhodri frowned. “Hardly seems fair. It’s just like when I touched Mag.”
“I have a theory about that,” George said, “When Mag showed me an image of the larger area map with all the ways marked, the ridge was full of them, underground. I think that’s what comes out the top focused somehow and does the damage here.”
Edern thought about it. “But surely that’s not evenly distributed, everywhere along the entire Blue Ridge.”
“That’s the point. I don’t think it can be. We don’t have time now to look for any gaps, but there must be some. You should ask Mag about it…”
He broke off, and Edern filled in the missing part for himself, “in case I don’t come back.”
Ever since the disaster yesterday Edern had watched George withdrawing, disconnecting from his friends. He recognized it as his way of cutting ties to make this leave-taking easier. He wasn’t sure if George quite realized what he was doing, but it was clear enough to him. He’d seen many men preparing to leave for battle.
Rhodri, he knew, didn’t understand why George had been curt with him, not explaining much about what he’d done destroying the ways. It was too painful for George to resume the easy state of exploring their skills together, and so he cut Rhodri off, frustrating him. He’d explain it to him on their ride back.
George settled the pack more comfortably on his back. “Heavy enough,” he said, “but at least it’s downhill.”
Edern watched him make himself seem cheerful, for their sake. He approved. Put a good face on it, kinsman, he encouraged him silently.
George walked over to him and put his hand inside his coat. He pulled a sealed document out, several pages folded together with a name written on the outside, and reached up to give it to Edern. “See that this gets to Angharad, will you, sir?”
Edern nodded soberly, then bent down and grasped George’s shoulder for a moment. “Listen to me, nephew. Be careful. Take no unnecessary risks. Your family and friends want you back, whatever happens. All of us.”
Rhodri said, “You know you need to return and give me some explanations, kinsman. How else can I learn if not from a master?” He said it with an irreverent grin, but Edern saw the sincerity behind it and expected George did, too.
George turned and began the short walk up the remainder of the wooded slope. He paused at the top and waved. “Wish me luck,” he said. He crossed over and glanced back. Edern bowed to him from his saddle and watched him until he vanished out of sight on the other side.
He turned his horse to go and Rhodri joined him, leading Mosby. Edern looked at his woeful face, now that he no longer had to maintain appearances for George. “Don’t give up on them, no matter what happens, and don’t let Mag do it, either. There’s hope here, whatever you may think.”
He saw that Rhodri wasn’t convinced. Hard to make the young take the long view, and even harder to keep his own heart from bleeding over Rhys and George, but he thought he perceived other forces at work here. Remember that Cernunnos is concerned with justice, he told himself, and this is his champion we just sent to the enemy. He worried that George might simply be a pawn in that game, something to discard after it serves its purpose. But then, wasn’t Rhys one, too? And, no doubt, himself, he reflected ruefully.
High on the western slope of the Blue Ridge, George paused at the first break in the trees that offered him a view. The northern end of the Shenandoah Valley stretched out before him. North Mountain on the other side was barely visible under the skies with their threat of snow, and the nearby river he knew to be running at the base of the ridge was hidden from him by the swell of the slope, but the view of the mid-valley was clear. There was the ridge that rose up from the valley floor, Massanutten Mountain. In his world, a small city was at its base and a scenic highway ran down its spine. It was much too far away to make out any such details from here.
He expected this hike to take about three days, at ten miles per day. He had enough food that he wouldn’t be delayed hunting, but the snow would slow him down. He wasn’t sure how he would cross the Shenandoah River, but he needed to be close to see what his choices were going to be.
He took off one glove and pulled Angharad’s pendant out. He hung it from his finger and it swung south and a bit east, pointing steadily. A link home he thought as he put it away.
Not his only one, either. Can you hear me, Mag, he thought to her.
*Yes. Picture of George in snowy woods. Picture of George shrouded, hard to see.*
Don’t worry, I’ll stay hidden, he told her. Like a very big mouse. He echoed back the same picture to her, but much smaller compared to the trees.
*Amusement. Concern.*
It was good to have company. Before continuing on, he gazed at the valley landscape before him from a couple of thousand feet up, looking for ways. He found them everywhere. Most were concentrated at the top and base of Massanutten Mountain, and those that weren’t typically had one end anchored there. Hundreds, there must be hundreds of them, he thought.
He felt something on his cheek and looked up. Snow had begun to fall lightly. He picked up the nearest deer trail leading south and down. There’d be less snow under the trees.
CHAPTER 17
Seething Magma returned her attention to Eluned. She’d broken off to speak with George, raising a pseudopod like a hand to indicate a pause.
Here in the conservatory an entire end of the room had been given over to tables with impromptu symbols on them. Eluned and Ceridwen were working with Magma, ably assisted by Cydifor.
Seething Magma touched a pseudopod to the dog collar that represented George. She extended another one to the column of verb drawings Eluned had put together on a long strip of paper. She touched the side view of a mouth, and the symbol for past tense.
“George spoke?” Eluned ventured.
One knock.
“All is well?”
One knock.
“Any news?”
Two knock
s.
Eluned waited politely, but Seething Magma stopped there. How could she relay the little joke to them using objects and drawings, she wondered.
She sensed George’s fatalism about this rescue attempt and it made her very uncomfortable. They live such a short time anyway, she thought. Some of this risk was on her child’s behalf. How do they look at this? She couldn’t see how to ask the question.
So frustrating to be limited to concrete symbols rather than abstract concepts. Still, she thought it was clever the way they worked together to tease meaning out of her, and it was getting more efficient by the hour, now that Eluned had some time to spare for it.
The symbol vocabulary had grown. The drawings that represented verbs were a great help, and they’d added some more people: a bit of antler for Cernunnos, a toy black hat for Madog. That last had been George’s contribution. She’d felt his amusement but didn’t understand what was so funny about it.
Eluned resumed the conversation that had been interrupted. “So, my lady, all the ways we encounter are made by your folk?”
She knocked a yes, and a no, then touched the antler.
“Except for the ways made by Cernunnos?”
One knock.
“How are his ways different?” Eluned said.
Seething Magma waited for the yes/no list that would follow.
“Are they all traveling ways?”
One knock for yes, at least as far as Seething Magma knew.
“We believe he destroys ways, but your folk can’t?”
Another single knock.
“Anything else?” Eluned asked.
Three knocks. Seething Magma didn’t know.
She watched Eluned making notes. There was another interesting thing these people did, this business of reading and writing. She thought it unnecessary for her kind, with their long indelible memories, but she could see its use for short-lived people such as these. She remembered the taste she had of George learning from written archives as a student, instead of getting formal instruction from his parent, um, parents—hard to remember they had two of them. I guess if one dies, they still have one. Is that why?
