Fire and ice (38 page)

Alfred Horner shook his head. "Wasn't nothing you could have done. We weren't here, either-we'd gone out to dinner. The nurse said she was breathing one moment, next moment she wasn't. Doctor said it might happen that way."

"I know. I still wish I'd been here."

"You were here," Alfred said firmly. "You were wherever Jenny was. She knew." He flushed slightly at this unaccustomed detour into fancy, and his grip around Liam's hand tightened painfully. "Don't be a stranger, you hear? You're part of the family. You stay part of the family."

Liam couldn't speak, could only nod, but it wasn't for the reasons that Alfred might have expected.

When you betrayed someone, you didn't just betray them, you betrayed your families, your community, an entire way of life. He thought of Becky Gilbert, of how her relationship with Bob DeCreft had begun a chain of events that ended twenty-two years later with three deaths. Begun in fire, ending in ice. The poet was wrong; ice was a better destroyer than fire, particularly if you were in the mood for vengeance. Fire was quick and clean, a leap of flame, a wave of heat and then nothing but a pile of soft and formless ash, dispersed with the first breeze. Ice was slow, heavy, corrosive, relentless, grating. It took a long time to get where it was going, and when it got there, it left behind a towering confusion of rubble to be sorted and identified and disposed of. Ice left baggage.

Liam knew he would never be able to look at Alfred and Rose Horner again without remembering that during the last year their daughter had lived whole and conscious and happy upon the earth, her husband had been in love with another woman.

Enough of what Wy had said to him that Monday afternoon was true, but it was not all of the truth. Liam had known Jenny all his life, had gone to grade school and high school in Anchorage with her, and when they had met again after being separated by their college years and her brief sojourn Outside, it was the coming together of old friends. There was a bond of common history, a common language; it had been so easy for them to slip into marriage, especially since it seemed so suitable to his father, her parents, his department, her family having had political connections from statehood on and the money to go with them. Jenny was attractive and amusing and rich, and Liam was deeply envied by his coworkers, which didn't hurt his ego any. Without any false modesty, he knew he had a lot to offer, too, the promise of better to come.

All this, and they were comfortable together and didn't know any better, and so they married. His father had raised him to prize his word, had utterly condemned Liam's mother for breaking hers when she had run off with the nightclub owner from Bonn. Liam couldn't remember her, or Germany, for that matter; he'd been barely a year old and his father had requested an immediate reassignment. But his father had neither forgotten nor forgiven, and any child of his raising would take his marriage vows seriously. Liam had. Something of a rounder before his engagement, in the time between then and meeting Wy he had not strayed, had not even been seriously tempted to. He was pretty sure he never would have. Not positive, but pretty sure.

But he had met Wy, and he had learned better the levels of communication, of empathy, of desire that were possible between two human beings, and his life had forever changed from that moment. For the first time he saw his relationship with Jenny for what it was. There was nothing of either fire or ice in it; only a tepid warmth, like lukewarm water that when you first stepped in felt comfortable to the skin, but if you stayed in too long would slowly sap the life from mind and body, leaving you numb, spent, incapable even of the few strokes necessary to keep your head above water.

He thought of his father's probable reaction to his son's behavior. Liam Drusus Campbell was thirty-six years old and had been laying down the law to the citizens of the state of Alaska for the last ten years, but he was deeply grateful that Colonel Charles Campbell was safely assigned to flight training in Pensacola, as far as you can get from Alaska and still be in the same nation. Wy had been right about that much, at least.

Besides, he was enough of a disgrace to his father as it was, given his fear of flying.

There was absolutely no doubt that Fate was a woman, he thought that night, lying sleepless in the Horners' spare room. Men weren't smart enough to be this mean. No, no, you're walking the straight and narrow, coping, productive, content, maybe even happy, and Fate comes along and says, "My, don't you look smug," and gives you a big shove and the next thing you know you're wandering around in the wilderness with no idea of where you are or where you're going. You can try to figure out where you've been and how you got there but that's pushing it. All you can really do is feel your way through the brambles and pray you see daylight before you get cut to shreds.

It doesn't help your forward progress any that during all this time you can hear Fate laughing at you.

He'd like to meet up with Fate in a dark alley sometime, he thought, rolling over and thumping his pillow. With a club in one hand.

He'd like that a lot.

He returned to Newenham three days later, and drove to the trooper post to find Moses Alakuyak sitting on the steps, waiting for him. "You practice while you were away?"

"As a matter of fact I did," Liam said, shutting the door of the Blazer behind him. "I practiced out on my in-laws' deck. They think I've lost my mind."

Moses grunted. "You call her?"

Liam gave the shaman a sharp look. "Haven't had time."

"Make time."

Liam was annoyed. "Mind your own business, old man."

"You are my business, boy," Moses retorted, "and so is she. Let's stand some post."

They stood some post.

After ten minutes his thighs began a fine trembling sensation. He checked out his feet to make sure he was maintaining his three-point connection with the earth--right ball, left ball, heel. Root from below, suspend from above.

"So, your wife's dead," Moses said.

"Yes," Liam said. His stance was solid, but the tremble was still there.

"It wasn't your fault."

Liam said nothing.

"You can carry around the guilt for the rest of your life, that's what you want," Moses observed. "It'll wreck you for sure if you do."

The trembling increased.

"Or you can honor her memory by living your life the best you can."

His whole body was trembling now.

"You got a shot at a new life. Take it."

According to Bill, half the residents of Newenham were there to start over. "I don't deserve it," Liam said.

"Who says?" Moses demanded. "You God, you know all, you see all? If life hands you a lemon, make lemonade. If it hands you a Rolls-Royce, climb in and break out the champagne. Take your preparatory breath."

It took Liam a moment to realize that Moses was going into the form. "Ward Off Left."

He caught up with his teacher at right Push Upward. They did Pull Back, Press Forward and Push, and then Moses taught him Fist Under Elbow. It took Liam thirty minutes to train his body to finish up facing the right direction, but at least it was the right direction, no matter how he got there.

Finally, Moses said, "Enough for today. Practice, practice, practice."

"How'd you take up tai chi in the first place, sifu?" Liam said, managing not to groan as he came upright.

Moses busied himself changing into street clothes. "I was in the navy, stationed at Subic Bay. Took my first liberty in Hong Kong. I got up early the first morning, started wandering around, found a bunch of people in a park doing it. Looked interesting, so I went up and talked to the leader afterward. Turns out he'd escaped from mainland China with some American missionaries. He told me what he was doing, the Yang style, and he ran me through the form a couple of times. When I got back to base I looked for a teacher, found one in Manila." He shrugged.

"What do you like about it so much?"

Moses buttoned his shirt, considering. "I like the control it gives me, and the connection it makes between me and the elements. And," he added casually, "the voices don't hassle me so much when I'm doing form. Sometimes it's the only thing that gets me through the night. What'd you find out about Gary Gruber?"

"How did you--"

"I know pretty much everything there is worth knowing, boy, how many times do I have to tell you? He didn't kill Bob for Laura, did he?"

"No. Or at least, not entirely."

"Big wad of cash in his account?"

Liam, who had been trained to talk trooper business only with troopers, and sometimes not even with them, said to this strange old man, "Yeah. Paid in the week before herring. Drawn on Cecil Wolfe's business account."

Moses grinned. "Trust Cecil to figure out a way to claim murder as a business expense."

"Yeah. Nice to know I wasn't completely off base when I fingered Wolfe for killing Bob DeCreft."

"Even you have to get something right once in a while," Moses agreed.

"I took too long to get there, though. I was so afraid Wy was guilty I couldn't see my way clear to who was. And I should have known Wolfe would never have done it himself. Didn't fit the pattern. He sent Mulder to wreck Wy's plane, the rest of his crew to sink McCormick's boat and beat him up. The only time he took direct action was when he shorted Wy on her check, and he knew he was safe enough there because she wouldn't be able to complain without explaining why she'd been shorted. If she did that, she'd never get hired by another herring fisherman ever again."

Moses finished changing clothes and in the process from sifu back into shaman. "He might not even have meant to kill DeCreft. He might have just wanted to scare him. Maybe let DeCreft know that Wolfe knew DeCreft was spotting for two."

"I suppose that's possible," Liam said, reluctant to concede Wolfe even a negative virtue.

"Doesn't matter what he meant." Moses cocked an eyebrow. "Could have killed Wy as easy as Bob." He stared hard at the horizon before delivering judgment. "In a way, you could say Cecil killed himself. He set the process in motion--he bribed Gruber to sabotage the plane, DeCreft gets killed, Cecil takes advantage of his death to rape Laura, Becky finds out and kills him. Yeah, you could say he killed himself."

You could, Liam thought, if you ignored the fact that Wy and DeCreft had been double-crossing Wolfe to begin with. "Anyway, Gruber had been on Wolfe's payroll for a long time. I had them pull Gruber's account for the last couple of years. When he first came to Newenham to spot herring, he was spotting for Cecil."

Moses nodded. "Figures." They sat in silence for a moment. "So the way it looks, Gruber being in love with Laura Nanalook and all, Wolfe paid Gruber to do what he wanted to do anyway."

"It looks like it. They're both dead, so we'll never know the whole story."

"We won't miss 'em, either one of them."

From the tall white spruce across the road, a big black raven croaked agreement. Looking up at him, Liam thought he looked like the angel of death, shiny and black and so very well fed. "Three deaths the first week I'm in town," he said. "People are going to think I'm a blight on the community."

Moses grinned. "Sorry, boy, you just ain't that powerful. Or that important," he added with a bark of laughter.

Again the raven echoed him, with a sound eerily similar to Moses' rusty laugh: caw, caw, caw.

"That damn raven--what is he, your familiar or something?" Liam said irritably. "I see him everywhere you go."

"No you don't," Moses said testily, "you see him everywhere you go. He's not mine, he's yours."

"What?"

Moses got to his feet and dusted off the seat of his pants. "He's yours. He looks to you. Poor bastard."

Liam didn't know who Moses was referring to, him or the raven.

Moses leveled an admonitory finger. "You watch out for him--he's a trickster, like all of his kind. He'll bring you the sun and the stars, but you give him a chance and he'll steal your woman away, too. Why didn't you kill him?"

"What?" Liam said, off balance. "Who? The raven?"

"The man who killed your wife. Why didn't you kill him?"

The shaman's eyes were bright and penetrating. Liam felt pinned to a board, with no means of escape but the truth.

Well, what was the truth? He wasn't sure he knew anymore, and he'd been there. "I suppose you mean when I arrested him, after he got out."

"Six months he did," Moses said. "For driving drunk and killing your son and putting your wife in the coma that eventually killed her. You must have been mad."

"Mad?" Liam turned the word over in his mind. "Mad? I don't know. I couldn't believe it when I pulled him over and ran his plates. I couldn't believe it was him. And then when I walked up to the car, and saw him. He knew it was me; he recognized me from the courtroom." He paused. "He started to cry, and beg." He looked at Moses. "He opened his door and fell out onto the road and crouched down on his knees, shivering and sobbing, snot running from his nose."

"And drunk," Moses said.

"And drunk," Liam said. "I wasn't mad, I was disgusted. I wanted to kill him, all right. I wanted to pull out my gun and put him out of his misery."