Blue Moon (31 page)

"Well,” Morganna said, “this may be so, but since the Emorroris is nearly impossible to stop, I'm rather hoping you're wrong."

"Ah."

"If it's the Seps or not, we must try to stop it,” Nimue said.

"Who's this we, elf-girl? I don't recall volunteering my services.” Morganna beat a pack of cigarettes on her palm, extracted one and lit up. The smell of burning cloves filled the air as she inhaled. “Besides, you're out of it. I'm out of it. We are observers, nothing more. We have no magic, and after sleeping for several hundred years, you've the muscle tone of an oyster."

"I can fight,” Melnue protested. “Tell me what to do. What are its weaknesses?"

"There's got to be something we can do,” Nimue added. “I can't just sit here."

"I'm not letting you out of the agreement. Not to get killed."

"The agreement?” Melnue asked. “What agreement?"

"A peace treaty between my sister and me,” Morganna explained. “We both agreed that we would not act in any fashion to divert the fate of humankind. In short, we've sworn to mind our own business."

"But, Morganna!” Nimue cried.

"There's nothing we can do,” Morganna insisted. “Wait ... yes, we can get killed. That's what we can do. Sorry, but I'm not interested.” She stubbed out her cigarette. “Let's split."

Raul knocked on his sister's apartment door. Her dog barked excitedly, but no one told it to be quiet, no small feet rushed to the door. He'd known the second he'd stepped foot in front of the door that no one was home. His little nephew, even when he was being good, seemed to fill the world with noise and action.

He sighed. So much for Sierra's plan. He looked around at the small, neat houses, at the huge towering slag pile that dominated the skyline. He'd gotten in trouble, years ago, for playing on it with his friends.

He leaned on the railing and stared at it. The setting sun's colors seemed to be sucked out of the air and into the pile of darkness. It was the tallest thing around, larger than anything he'd ever seen, outside an actual mountain. He tilted his head and considered it. It had to be pretty well packed, he thought, for machines to travel up far enough to stack the slag on top the pile. He'd run up one of those paths once, as a boy, on a dare.

He went to the car and got out his second-best telescope. It was an old homemade, cannibalized from fourth-hand parts. He didn't want to risk his good one in a fall if the slag wasn't as stable as he thought.

He crossed the street and the abandoned lot that the workers had once used as parking space. Weeds were reclaiming it, breaking up the pavement. He watched his feet carefully, mindful of the debris neglect attracted. There were smashed beer bottles, some cigarette butts. He even found an old muffler, its rusted tailpipe an invitation to tetanus.

He circled the fence, from time to time looking around to see if anyone was watching him. He knew there was no way the kids in this neighborhood had left well enough alone. Some industrious youngster would have made a way in. Raul would have done so himself, had he figured he could without being caught. Back when he lived here, men still worked the heap, and a slice in the fence would have been investigated.

There it was—someone had been clever and realized that if the fence looked cut it would get fixed. So, the kid had cut along one of the poles and across a few inches, making a doorway. Then they tied it shut with wire. He undid the twisted wire, looking one last time to see if anyone was interested. He slipped through then redid the ties.

He was walking on weed-choked dirt now, dirt that slowly became pebbled with the gray-black of slag. Weeds tried to grow in it, but farther in they mostly disappeared. He found what looked like the old path and picked his way up.

Sabin hated digging. but he did it, though slowly, realizing that perhaps this body was reaching the end of its usefulness.

He pushed the dirt away from the shroud, ripped it open. Eyes glowed in the dark.

"Now,” he said reasonably. “Are you ready to be a good girl?"

"It's not here,” Libby said, surveying with disappointment a clearing that looked nothing special in the dark.

"It was a good guess,” Dashiel offered.

Alex looked at the trees, at their dark, naked branches spreading up towards the electric blue of the sky above. The moon was cracking the horizon, a brilliant neon moon a color he had only ever seen in Libby's eyes.

Her eyes glowed as bright as headlamps, but rather than being disturbed because she had glowing orbs, he was disturbed over what they meant. He brushed his hand along her arm, and when he reached her elbow he pulled her to him. A kiss, he thought, in this last moment of silence before the battle.

But when his lips brushed hers, she pulled away.

"I'm married,” she said.

"I'm outta here,” Dashiel said.

Alex thought about this for a moment, remembering something being mentioned about it earlier. “Do you love him?"

"God! No!"

"Then why are you telling me? Do you feel guilty over ... what we did? Are you about to dump me? What?"

She chewed her lip. “I don't know. I got afraid ... I mean, Sabin's sort of mentioned it, but if he does again, and you ... I mean, I wanted you to hear it from me, that's all."

He gently took an elbow in each hand and brought her close again. He looked into her eyes. They were very bright now, with the moon rising, and it was like looking directly into the sun, but he did it.

"Look, I...” He paused. “Libby, I don't know what's going to happen, after tonight, but I meant what I said."

She smiled. “It's not after tonight I'm worried about, really.” Then she sobered. “I know it's going to be ... different, isn't it?” She stood up on her toes, and they met each other halfway, and kissed under the newly risen sapphire moon. “I'm glad I seduced you when I had the chance,” she whispered, pulling away much more gently this time. “I love you, too.” She turned and started back up the path.

It was then that the land ruptured, and the orchard was ripped in half. Alex grabbed her, pulling her away from the edge of the gash that formed just where Libby had been standing a moment before. Libby crept forward again, and Alex grabbed her waistband.

"Flash flood,” was all he said, yanking her to safety as a tide of gold-and-green light swept through, splashing the trees and rocks, making a hissing sound where it hit. Alex pressed her face to his chest and kept his own turned away.

Libby felt Alex jump as something hit him, the roar of the tide almost impossible to talk over. After a moment it faded, and she turned around. Gold-and-green ran like a calm river and glowed, outlining the trees. She looked at a rock and saw it was seared, dribbling a black, sparkling ooze from its wound.

Alex spat on the back of his hand and wiped it on his pants.

"Are you all right?” she asked, grabbing the hand carefully.

He tried to pull away, muttering that it was okay, really.

"I want to see if you need a bandage or something. You won't get one on your own."

The mark on his hand was diamond-shaped, as if his skin was just paint wiped off to reveal coppery-brown scales beneath.

"That's weird,” she said.

"That's magic.” He ripped his hand away. “Pure, unadulterated magic. It does weird things."

"Wow,” Dashiel remarked, looking at the green-and-at-the-same-time-gold flowing water. “So, that's what it looks like."

"It looks like all sorts of things,” Alex said. “Sometimes it's purple or black, sometimes it looks like fire or wind. That's just what this type of magic looks like.” He shrugged, and stood then held his uninjured hand out to Libby. “I think we'd better start walking."

She looked at him, understanding at last. “This magic is going to where the Stone is. If we follow it, we'll find the Stone."

Alex nodded.

"This way, then,” Dashiel said. “Let's try and save the mushy stuff for the ending, okay?"

The dog took point, and Alex slowed down to let Libby walk in front of him. To his surprise, he felt her fingers cur* * * *oosely around his. He tightened his grip a little so she would not slip way too easily, and she smiled as she picked her way along beside the river of magic.

Zorovin watched the blue moon rise, standing on the roof of the tallest building he could find. He was resigned, knowing that when a blue moon came a few weird things happened. Magic was stronger in the air, but that was all.

He could feel the Merlin Stone, and knew that its magic would strengthen the influence of the moon. He looked at the book he'd been reading, painfully making out the words. With the loss of light, he gave it up and waited for the inevitable.

He decided that as a human he was a complete failure. He thought of Sierra, and his poor handling of her. She had seemed, sometimes, like a dragon herself, a calm, cold intellect bent towards one goal. He was not sure that her plans would grant her desires, but he supposed it was better that she try than do nothing at all. He rather hoped she succeeded. Perhaps he would visit her on the other side.

He shook his head. More failures heaped upon him. He could not think around being human to do the tasks he should have accomplished. The Merlin Stone should never have gotten taken; he should have found his son immediately upon his arrival, not fooled around with the witch woman just because she was different and reminded him of things he'd lost long ago. He looked over his shoulder to where her house lay beyond distant trees and wondered what she was doing.

I need to find my son, he thought. I need to be a dragon again. He felt something in the air then, a thickening; and all the noise seemed to disappear. Even cars and refrigerators seemed to hold their breath in anticipation.

When the ley lines exploded and filled with magic, he raised his arms and welcomed the change. A moment later, there was nothing to prove he had been there, save for a worn paperback with a dragon holding a woman in its claws on the cover.

Sierra studied the river. She would look at it, then at the boat, then at the river again.

Zorovin was out there somewhere, looking for his son. Libby had the Merlin Stone in her keeping, and Sabin was close to his own goals.

She had not thought that Sabin would get this far when he first caught up with her. Just play dumb, she'd decided, and try not to be alone with him.

She pulled the cloth off the boat. The black feathers melted to shadow, the mirrors and crystals glittered like blue jewels.

She'd thought, when “Rita” had died, when her husband had committed suicide, that her responsibilities were done. With Rita's death, Sierra's connections to her family were gone. She shook her head at this thought. Libby...?

She held her hand over the gold stream. It was calming now. She slid the boat partway over the bank then got in, keeping her weight to the back. She pushed away, and the boat slid down into the ley river like a dream. She attached the oak pole to the back and began to punt down the river of magic, the pole waving gently back and forth under her hand like a goldfish tail.

I have waited for this moment.
Ever since Sabin's tales of the other world had awakened the hunger for it, ever since she'd read her first book and found that it was all possible. Ever since she'd done her calculations and realized that a blue moon—a real blue moon—was likely to occur in her lifetime.

Libby could take care of herself. It wasn't as if she was alone—she had Zorovin's son.

Zorovin. His name was like a sigh in her head. She turned away from it, turned away from Libby, and felt the caress of magic running along her soul. She took care to avoid the red stuff her boat seemed to churn up from the bottom, dipping her hand in and bringing a palmful of warm pale gold into her boat. She struggled to remember what gold meant. Gold was light, she thought, a torch to light the way in the darkness. It illuminated, it showed the true forms of things.

She blew on it. The ripples were small, lazy, for the stuff was thicker than water. She rolled it from one palm to another, and it moved sluggishly. It was warm, and it smelled clean and crisp.

Libby. Zorovin.

"Enlighten me,” she said, and drank.

Warmth moved through her. Her stomach rolled, seemed to twist itself in knots when the liquid entered. She lay down on the velvet and closed her eyes, concentrating on keeping the magic inside.

She could feel it radiating outwards, warming her stomach lining. She sat up, and waved her hand at the pole. It turned with a new eddy in the current, one that led to the edge of the river. Her stomach burned, but she could see things with a clarity that was almost painful. Her decisions were stripped of excuses and guilt, and she saw what she most desired to do laid out before her, what she had to do. She was vaguely surprised it had never occurred to her before.

The boat docked itself with a soft bump, and she stepped out onto the grass. Strange misty ghosts flittered around her, then scattered as if taken by a chance wind. A batch of orchids had sprung up around the base of a tree, and they hummed a strange, moaning song, more dirge than melody. She patted the boat.

"Stay,” she whispered, feeling regret at leaving it behind.

If she called Zorovin he would come, but he might leave Libby to do so. No, it was best to try and find them herself. She felt for them, using logic—they would go wherever they had to for that damn Stone—and emotion. She felt a small tug to her left and began to make her way through the woods.

Behind her, the ghosts returned to the boat, playing tag around it. It shook free of the tuft of mud and grass that had held it and drifted free, the giggles of mischievous spirits following it on the breeze.

"It's begun,” the Black Queen whispered to the wind as she clung to her perch on the back of Emorroris-seps. The world had opened up, had bloomed in chaos and destruction. The rivers that spread out beneath her were like so many melted rainbows, pooling and swirling towards one central place. The nexus of the ley lines.