Advanced Mythology (34 page)

The Master tapped his lower lip with a thoughtful forefinger. “I see. But you must also see vhat I do, that he has lessons to learn in leadership.”

Keith frowned. Something in the Master’s words rang a bell. Keith turned to Holl. “Now that the cat’s out of the bag, can I give you a piece of advice in handling this situation? A quick lesson in good leadership and task management?”

“Certainly, Keith Doyle,” Holl said.

“Delegate. Let me go down there.”

Holl’s eyes went round with alarm. “No! You’re out of your head.”

“Holl, I can do it,” Keith said. “I’m good with supernatural beings. Look at the air sprites and the sidhe.”

“What about the
bodach
?”

Keith tilted his head humorously. “Two out of three isn’t bad. But how else can I keep my title as the world’s only research mythologist if I don’t try? What do you think, Master? Shouldn’t he choose the best man for the job?”

“You think you are the vun who can help qvell this angry being?”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Keith admitted. “But what harm can it do? You’ve already spent months living with this thing. If I fail, you’re still in the status quo. If I succeed, all to the good. No one else here seems to be able to break through. I do have experience talking to other species. Okay, so one of them kicked the stuffing out of me, but I survived. And look, better me than your handpicked successor. There’s only one of him.”

“And only one of you,” the Master said gently.

“I consider it a calculated risk,” Keith said, with a shrug. “Why not? He could have asked me to do it from the beginning. I’d have said yes then, too.”

“I could not allow it because ve knew you vould accept the task and the risk. It vas too easy. He had to come to the point vhere he vould succeed or fail. At that point he vould haf to make the decision himself. He broke confidence, vhen he knew that vould haf consequences, for the vell-being of us all.”

Keith was outraged. “So by failing he passes?”

The Master shrugged. “It took him longer than I had assumed. He had to veigh blind obedience against the task at hand, and efen still he did not open up completely vhen it vas clear the situvation had gone far beyond his abilities. It is a lesson in leadership he vill only haf to learn vunce.”

Holl shook his head. He was too tired to be angry.

Keith looked at Holl sympathetically. “I’m glad I’m not you. I’ve only got to keep my grades up and try to make up with my girlfriend, if I can.”

“You are more important than that, Keith Doyle.”

“Not at the moment,” Keith said, trying to sound more offhand than he felt. He was nervous about confronting a being that had knocked the wind out of almost the entire village at once, but he was excited, too. “Well, boss? Do you want me to go into the basement and try and talk to that thing?”

Holl looked at the Master, conscious that what he said now would have repercussions for years to come. “I would be grateful if you would try.”

“Then I’ll do it,” Keith said, getting to his feet. “Keep the first aid kit handy.” Holl rose, too. “Where are you going?”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No,” Keith said firmly. “You’re not. You are not expendable. And I’d rather try this alone. If I screw up I don’t want anyone else in the line of fire.” Cocking an imaginary hat over his eyes, he stumped out of the barn.

“He’s one of a kind,” Holl said, shaking his head in pure admiration. “He’s right, though: he has more experience than any of us in confronting an unknown menace. Why did you let this test go on so long?”

“You had to know the price of this gift,” the Master said. “A few months’ consideration vill haf done you no harm. And you might haf solved it yourself. It is not over yet. He may still fail.”

“Then I’d better have the first aid kit ready,” Holl said. “You underestimate me. I know the price of this gift.” He hurried out of the barn. The Master watched him go, smiling a little in the depths of his red beard.

***

Chapter 32

“Hello?” he called as he walked down the cellar steps. “Come out. I won’t hurt you.”

He heard a rustling, then realized it was footsteps coming from upstairs. Half a dozen people saw him go into the basement. Most likely a sizeable group was gathering, wondering if he was going to be walking back up there under his own power. Of course he was, Keith thought firmly.

The small windows high in the wall between the lanterns were dark. Sunset was long past. Keith should have felt tired. Instead, he experienced a rush of energy brought on by the possibility of experiencing something new. Human nature was a funny thing, Keith thought. He was likely to get thoroughly roughed up, even killed, but his steps were light. Beach scared him, but he was genuinely looking forward to meeting Holl’s poltergeist. Both parties were capable of beating the living stuffing out of a person, both obviously had their own agenda, both were unpredictable and dangerous, yet Keith preferred his chances with something out of the unseen world. He was sorry Candlepat had distracted him from seeing it. He knew she meant well. She had made herself scarce by the time Keith had gone to confront the Master.

Holl had last found the fire monster in a wine barrel. Keith lifted up the lids of a few, but saw nothing except liquor. It had also once emerged from the drainpipe. He looked. Nothing down there but an echo. Holl had told him all about the creature’s visits, how it seemed to bore its way in to drink up Marm’s beer and cause trouble. Keith felt his way along the walls, sensing the spell that protected the house. It was a version of the charm that ran all the way around the property: more thorough but less powerful, and smooth as plastic under his fingertips. Not completely; he sensed rather than felt jangling edges where the charm had been disrupted. An answering tingle ran down his spine. It had broken through again. Was it here now?

The sound of crackling answered him. He suddenly realized that he was casting a deep shadow that danced against a wall suddenly lit in orange. His spine still tingled, but it was growing very warm, too. Slowly, Keith turned around. Hovering in the air at eye level was a ball of fire about the size of a cat. It had small black eyes that glared unblinkingly at him.

“Hi. I’m a friend of the owners. Who are you?”

Wham!
An invisible cannonball hit him in the stomach, propelling him the short distance to the wall. Another knot of force met him there, and sent him sprawling across the room.

“Hey, wait, I’m friendly!” Keith protested, picking himself up. The poltergeist, or whatever it was, had uncoiled like a snake, and was swimming toward him in the air. He threw up his hands to protect himself. Quick as lightning, the streak of fire was behind him. Another kick sent him back the other way. He rolled to a halt against the wall under the stairs. Reaching up, he grabbed hold of the newel post and wrapped his arms around it. The next kick hurt, but he managed to hold on. “Stop! Why are you doing this? Look, my friends are nice people. You’re scaring them. They haven’t done anything wrong. All they want to do is live here. Look!”

He hooked one elbow in between the treads of the staircase. With one hand he started drawing illusions. Enoch might have taken off points for technique, but under the circumstances his images were pretty good. First he showed the village the way he remembered it first: everybody sitting down to dinner in the basement of the library. Family groups, happy, eating and talking and laughing, but somewhat subdued. Then, he created a really detailed image of the farmhouse sitting on its hilltop, surrounded by a glow. The elves, looking much happier, started farming and gardening and building little houses. The fire creature didn’t let up. Once it discovered it couldn’t throw him around anymore, it started ramming him with its nose, burning his shirt and pants in patches the size of Keith’s fist. As Keith set the figure of Dola dancing he’d originally thought up for the Fairy Footwear commercial over the miniature field he’d drawn, the fire monster came straight for his head. Keith ducked, covering his face with both arms, but he didn’t let the image die.

“Wait, you’ve got to see more! This place is very important to them. They’re really nice to be around.” The one thing he vowed not to do was hit back. He had an idea that that was what got Holl and the others in trouble with the creature in the first place. No matter what it did to him, he’d respond with more information. It was his only chance to break through. If this didn’t work, the elves would have to keep from doing magic here forever. Keith was determined to make peace. “See? The Master is my teacher. He’s great. He’s taught Big People as well as little people.” He showed the Elf Master with the mixed class on Sundays, showing many of the students who had passed under his hands: Lee, Teri, Dunn, even Karl Mueller, who’d turned out to be a rat, and told the monster what they’d been able to accomplish because of their education. “Lee’s a newspaper writer now. Teri designs clothes—oof!” Keith didn’t dodge fast enough to miss the next pass. The snakelike tail whipped him in the cheek.

“Hey!” he exclaimed. “That hurt! You’re not listening to me!”

Figuring to turn the tables, he went on the offensive. Wherever the little monster shot off to in the room, Keith had a picture waiting there for it: Enoch carving lantern screens, Dola babysitting Asrai, Keva kneading bread. Each showed one or more of the elves engaged in a peaceful, productive occupation.

Two could evidently play at that game. Keith had to jerk his head back to avoid being smacked in the face by a wave of fire. It threatened to pin him against the wall. He wiggled out from behind it, only to be met by another wave. He ran across the cellar, meaning to take shelter among the barrels, and plunged directly through another that sprang up in the center of the room. It shed little heat. The creature meant to scare him, not hurt him.

“Oh, so you’re not so bad after all,” Keith said. “But I’m not budging.”

He kept up the picture show, making visuals out of vivid memories. He had to grin at the recollection of Enoch trying to parallel park his car, his head barely showing over the edge of the steering wheel, concentration written all over his dour face. A powerful blow in the chest knocked him over backward. He found himself on the floor, looking up into the bright black eyes.

“Hi,” Keith said. “Forget it. I’m not going anywhere. You might kill me, but you won’t outwait me.” He squeezed his eyes shut as the flames came closer and closer to his face.

“Not the ssssame,” came a sibilant voice from inside the flames.

Keith’s eyes flew open. It could talk! “As who? Not the same as who?”

Instead of answering, part of the creature seemed to dissolve into a haze as the rest of it gathered in a loop. Within the confines of the circle, a picture formed in flame. Keith recognized the elves, faces drawn in hair-thin lines of fire. “They fight and flee. You sssstay. Ssssuperior.”

“Me? Superior? Compared with them?” Keith asked, getting used to the hissing voice. “No way. I’m just more stubborn.”

“Ssss.”

“My name is Keith Doyle. What do they call you?”

The flame gathered itself into the long, narrow shape again, but this time there were rings at the end of its tail, which it shook with a menacing clatter.

“Nadouessioux,” it hissed.

“Nadoss … nadussess … can I just call you Rattlesnake Person?”

“Ssssnake Boy,” said the fire-snake in pictures of his snake self and a fiery human shape. “I have been called that before. The onessss who lived here before worsssshiped me. Offered ssssops.”

Keith nodded. “Snake Boy. This land belongs to my friends. I know they locked you on it by accident, but the fence has been open for weeks. Why are you bothering them? What’s the problem? Do you want them to leave you some kind of tribute? Wine? What is it you want?”

The fire-etched picture changed to a complicated web of lines. Keith peered at it for a while, then decided it was a map of some kind, with flowing roads traversing high and low ground, running around and through waterways and canyons. He got the impression by the depth of the lines that the roads were very, very old. “Sorry, I’ve never been there. Where is that? It doesn’t look like any terrain I’ve ever seen.”

“You
are
there,” the fire-snake hissed. “It issss here. Below you all around.”

“Below? You mean underground?” Keith asked. When the creature didn’t seem to understand he showed his own image sinking into the floor. The creature dove into the ground, then erupted, its tail switching wildly.

“You did not go!”

“I can’t,” Keith said, bracing himself for another attack. “I can just make pictures.”

But instead of being outraged, the snake-thing was amused. “You fooled me. You are the tricksssster. Your head issss the right color.”

“The trickster?” Keith plucked at his hair. “I know Loki in the Norse mythology is supposed to have had red hair. Is it a universal tradition for the color to go with the job?” But his image-making skills didn’t extend to abstract concepts. “Can I see that map again?” The nadouessioux gathered into its coil, displaying the complex pattern again. “So where are we?” A tiny square appeared at the junction of three of the roadways. The energy forming the lines seemed to stop at the square, striking off sparks when they hit it. “Ah! I get it. They opened up the protection charm, but not where you need it? If they open the way, will you knock off trashing the house? Wait,” Keith said, as the fire-snake lashed its tail impatiently. He made a picture of Holl opening a door at each end of the cellar. “What if they do that?”

“Ssss,” the nadouessioux said with satisfaction. “And musssst give me some of the ssssweet liquid.” It showed him a picture of a barrel suffused with a brilliant glow. Keith grinned.

“Marm’s got a fan,” he said. “I’ve got to ask them, but I bet you’ve got a deal. Holl!” he shouted.

Footsteps clattered down the stairs. Holl was at the head of a crowd of Little Folk, with the Master following calmly behind. They all stopped short when they saw the glowing beast coiled on the air next to Keith. He almost laughed. Their arms were full of medical supplies. They seemed astonished to see him unharmed. He stood there with all the dignity his burned clothes and bruised limbs would allow.

“Let me introduce you to Snake Boy.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Holl said warily.

“I’m here to broker a truce,” Keith said. “It looks like a bunch of the local magical roads run right through your cellar. All Snake Boy wants is for you to stop creating a roadblock on the main superhighway.”

The nadouessioux formed itself into a circle and showed them the map. The Master came forward to peer at it. Snake Boy’s flames were almost the same color as his beard. “A most astonishingly detailed representation of energy flow,” he said. “And ve are at this junction?”

“Yessss.”

“Uf course ve vill make such a vay,” the Master said. “Ve vere avare of the flow, but did not realize ve constricted it.”

“Obsssstructed.”

“Yes. It vill be remedied at vunce. Is there anything else?”

The nadouessioux snapped back into its snake shape at once. “Ssssweet liquid,” it said.

The Master smiled. “As you vish.”

Most of the Folk withdrew from the basement, leaving the Master to finish arranging the terms of the truce and Enoch to open a hole at each end of the shield charm. Olanda and the other cellarers were wringing their hands over loosening the protections for the stored food, but Enoch had pointed out that they were likely to keep more of it this way. The others gathered around Keith to fuss over him. Shelogh and Calla exclaimed over the charred patches in his clothes and the reddened skin below. Tay ran for the healing salve. Keith stood like a mannequin while they daubed and bandaged him.

“I can’t mend those until you’re out of them,” Rose said, fingering the burned cloth. “Do you vish to stay in the house tonight?”

“No, thanks,” Keith said. “All I want to do is sleep.”

“Are you all right?” Holl asked Keith. “I feared the worst when you called out.”

“I’m fine,” Keith said. “That thing packs a solid wallop!”

“Indeed it does,” Holl laughed.

“It didn’t mean any harm,” Keith explained to the Folk gathering in the kitchen. Calla cautioned him not to move while the salve soaked in. He sighed with relief as the burns stopped stinging. “I think you were both freaked out to find one another on what you both thought of as your turf. It’s going to be okay now. I convinced it you’re okay.”

“And how did you do that?” Catra asked.

Keith grinned. “I did the dog-and-pony show. I threw pictures of it, images of all of you doing normal, peaceful, everyday things. Eventually, it stopped hitting me, and told me what it wants. I told you it pays to advertise.”

Holl laughed. “I should have believed you.”

“Wait until I get my MBA. Then I’ll have credentials.” Keith stretched, then looked at his watch. “Two a.m.! Holy underwear, Batman! If you guys don’t mind I think I’d like to go to sleep now.”

“Do you want something to eat?” Dennet asked. “We’re in your debt.”

“Nope. Just sleep. Thanks.”

“You’ve earned that and more, widdy,” Holl said. “I’ll walk with you.”

Keith shrugged into his coat, feeling the aches in his back and arms. “I have got just one favor to ask.”

“Name it,” Holl said.

“Next time, if a problem comes up, would you just tell me?”

Holl reached up and slapped him on the back, catching him in the middle of the largest bruise. “I promise.”

***