Ghostcountry's Wrath (48 page)

“And…?” Alec prompted.

Sandy/Calvin shrugged. “Once I changed, me and Cal did a little wrestling—enough to tell it worked, though apparently, the effect's only negligible in the real world. It's only when you come up against things like Snakeeyes that you get mondo reactions like we just saw. Magic amplifies magic, so to speak.”

“So where
is
Cal?” Brock wondered slyly.

“Down by the river—I hope,” Sandy replied. “I told him we'd toot the horn three times if I succeeded.”

“I'm on it!” Brock volunteered, and promptly trotted off.

“This is…interesting,” Sandy confided to Liz, glancing down her surrogate body. “You oughta get Dave to let you try it sometime.”

Liz raised an inquisitive eyebrow in David's direction. “Actually,” she giggled, “it'd probably do more to promote understanding between the sexes if he tried on
my
shape once in a while—preferably at a certain time of month.”

Sandy/Calvin guffawed.

David simply rolled his eyes in resignation.

The Ranger's horn hooted three times.

“David,” Alec gulped nervously. “Am I dreaming…or is a mist rising?”

Epilogue: The Foggiest Notions

(Jackson County, Georgia—Wednesday, June 20—just past sunset)

Honk! Honk-honk!

Calvin started awake from where he'd been dozing in a laurel thicket atop the eastern bank of the Middle Oconee River. Was that what he hoped it was? He hardly
dared
hope. Trouble was, he'd been going flat out for something like two days straight with only naps to stave off the worst fatigue—which meant that he wasn't certain about
anything
anymore: like whether he'd actually heard a car horn or only dreamed it; or could there maybe have been a bird that sounded like one, and either way, whether or not there'd been three honks. Dammit, why hadn't he anticipated that he'd be unable to avoid catching some z's and asked that they repeat the signal at five-minute intervals?

Twenty-twenty hindsight, he supposed. Of which he had God's plenty.

Honk-honk-honk!

That
had
been a car horn, and with that, he levered himself to his feet, noting how sore he was in odd places, how painfully hollow his stomach felt, and that a fox squirrel had been staring at him with wary interest until he'd moved. A pause to retrieve the backpack that contained most of Sandy's clothes—minus the jeans that were his only garment (too loose in the hips, too short in the leg, and so snug in the waist he had to leave them half unzipped), and he pushed through the screen of thick, shiny leaves.

And immediately got another shock, coupled, this time, with a chill.

He had stepped out into fog—a disturbingly
thick
fog that was oozing up the bank from the river very rapidly indeed.
So
rapidly, in fact, that it rose from ankle-deep to calf-deep even as he gaped at it. A glance west showed light but no sun, which meant he hadn't slept as long as he'd feared—but also revealed that the far shore was obscured by a bank of mist. Only his side was clear, and that not for long, for by then the fog had reached his knees, which finally set him moving.

It wasn't natural, he knew that already. Fog simply didn't act like this: flowing steadily up and out, with a tangible front that seemed to herd him on as he frantically stumbled upslope through more laurel, more generic undergrowth, and finally into the relative openness beneath a several-acre stand of hardwoods.

And always it moved faster than he—had
already
flowed around him, so that he now waded up to his waist and could discern the ground but dimly. Beyond—around—oaks and hickories rose out of the white like cypresses in a swamp. The sky beyond their branches was white, too, though it should have shown the richer shades of dusk, and the wind had kicked up and was blowing hints of cooler weather, and of serious thunder. The air at nose level was tense and nervous; that below his waist, cool, calm, and still. It was as if he was already in two worlds, he thought tiredly, and suppressed another chill.

Two minutes later, he could not see at all, but could still approximate his direction by the slope of the land and the relative quality of the light: pale to the west, darker to the east.

Three
minutes later, he could see even less—hardly more than his hand before him, but the ground had leveled, and he got a sense of fewer trees.

And then he tripped on something solid and rough-barked, and fell forward onto another something that was soft and slick and moved beneath his hand. He jerked it away abruptly, but not before he glimpsed a thick-bodied serpent wearing scales in a diamond pattern. He didn't need to see the rattles as it slithered away.

He slowed then, both from fear of tripping again, and of stepping on something that might actually bite this time. Even so, he felt two more scaled shapes slide away from his bare feet before he found himself slogging through damp, knee-high grass, and an instant later, with no warning at all, stumbling across yet another log—and into clear air.

It was the Power Wheel that fronted the asi, he knew that instantly.

His friends were there, too: wary captives of a cylindrical wall of roiling white mist that rose twice as high as their heads. Still, he gasped out his relief as reflex identified Dave, Liz, Alec, and Brock, with enough joy on their faces to override the apprehension they likewise must be feeling. Snakeeyes was nowhere in sight—he'd pretty much expected that. But where was Sandy? And who was that other guy, who rose from where he'd been sitting wearily on a log, with his head propped on elbows that rested on knees? Only, he already knew; was already swallowing shock as his too-tired brain recalibrated enough to tell him that was Sandy, still wearing his shape—which was odd, given how spooked she'd said she felt when she first put it on. It took some getting used to, too; seeing his own body in three dimensions, from angles he never had—and seeing that body move and breathe without
him
being in control.

She looked up at him—but not with the relief he'd expected. Rather, her expression was one of despair—utter resignation.

“I'm stuck,” she said simply, finally meeting his eye, though she didn't rise. “I tried just now to shift back, and couldn't.” And with that she held out her hands. Both palms were crimson with blood, and that substance likewise showed as a red stain on the scale that glittered on his—her—bare chest.

Calvin was already reaching to enfold her, so sick at heart as to be almost in shock, when the whole world turned to light and heat and noise.
Lightning
he identified automatically, even as he felt himself flung forward—straight into Sandy's too-muscular arms and hard, unyielding chest. He
oofed—
or she did—but by then reality had stabilized. The air was thick with the scent of ozone.

But another odor rode an odd new wind as well: that of wood smoke, of distant campfire's burning. He'd smelled that before, too, and recently. But where?

But before he could decide, Sandy had thrust him away from her, and he saw.

A single bolt had struck the asi dead center, scorching blankets and scattering his friends like cordwood. As best he could tell from the way they were already picking themselves up, none were injured—which was fortunate, since by then he had other cause for alarm. For even as he stared at the smoldering rags of what had been the door flap, a figure emerged. He thought for a brief, despairing moment, that it was Snakeeyes born again, for all he could see initially was long black hair and piercing eyes in a dark face.

Only…the face was
too
dark and the eyes wrong. But before he could speak, the man stepped out among them, and Calvin knew him. It was Asgaya Sakani: the Black Man of the West. His face was grim, unreadable. “
Siyu,
Utlunta-dehi,” he grunted tersely.

“Siyu,”
Calvin stammered back, stunned. “I—uh, that is—what brings you to the…the Lying World.”

The Black Man's eyes flashed like distant lightning. “Lies! Lies are what bring me to the Lying World! You came into my Quarter unbidden. And there you wore shapes not your own, and practiced deception after deception on those who are sworn to uphold my commands!”

Calvin swallowed, but stood straighter, too tired to do aught but blunder ahead. “Yeah, well, we'll talk about that in a minute,” he sighed. “But first, it might interest you to know that Sandy here's just destroyed a
master
of lies. One who stole lives and practiced deceptions, and would have one day been a threat to Galunlati—and perhaps to the Darkening Land as well. And besides, we came 'cause one of your…subjects asked!”

The Black Man's reply was to lock gazes with Calvin. And then, abruptly, the arrogance and accusation melted away—and the Black Man smiled!

“You trespassed in my Quarter without leave,” he said, his voice like a fading storm. “You passed where no living man should have. Yet a moment ago, I heard a newly arrived soul screaming out its madness on my borders and cursing your name. Naturally, I hastened there, but on my way, I met many souls—many,
many
souls, all of whom had been trapped on the edge of my Quarter by their own uneasiness at having years of their lives usurped. Like your father they were, Utlunta-dehi: incomplete, and so unable—or unwilling—to go on. But when you caused Snakeeyes to be killed, those years came back to them, and they could rest. They will yet enjoy those unspent years, when they ride the wheel in your World again.”

Calvin could only nod out his relief. Behind him, he sensed the warmth of Sandy's body shadowing his own. David, Liz, and Alec looked wary. Brock was simply gaping, wide-eyed. “I—I'm glad to have been of service,” Calvin began. “And I'm sorry if I've overstepped my bounds in your land. Yet—”

“Yet what?”
another voice thundered—this one from the fog-veiled east. That same mist had muffled it beyond recognition. Calvin swung around to face that way—and could just make out the dim outline of a tall man-shape darkening the swirls and tendrils there. It did not step through to join them, however, but remained where it was: a clotting in the mist.

“Yet what, Edahi?” that voice repeated sharply. It was closer this time, and lower; and he recognized it.

“Visitors,” that voice rumbled back. “I do not
like
visitors, Utlunta-dehi,” it continued. “I do not like them when they come from the Lying World without command or invitation. And I especially do not like them when they know
you,
whom I have forbidden to contact me until a year has passed, which it has not. Were I so inclined, I could accuse you of flaunting that prohibition.”

Calvin hung his head. “I'm sorry…master. I was under an obligation. It seemed like the best thing to do at the time.”

“Best for you, perhaps!” Uki snapped, still from the mist. “Not necessarily for me!”

Silence. Then, from Brock. “So,
screw
you!” the boy cried. “Cal did what he had to. If he hadn't sent 'Kacha away when he did, old Snakeeyes would've had her power to draw on and he might've been able to beat 'em then—or Sandy, or whoever. And if he'd done that, he'd have got Cal's scale and war club, and the ulun-whatsi, and there's no telling what he'd have done with 'em! 'Cept one thing I do know is that 'Kacha was afraid he'd try to use 'em to get where you were.”

“And if he had?” Uki challenged from the fog.

Brock shrugged, shifted his weight. “He'd—well, I don't
know
what he'd have done, but I know he'd have found out some stuff you might not want somebody like him to know. 'Sides, didn't you guys hide from us once already? Seems to me like you might even be
afraid
of us. And if you're afraid of folks like me and Cal and…and Sandy, what about folks like Snakeeyes, who're
really
bad?”

The boy broke off then, his sudden fury abated. He stood glowering at the darkness in the mist.

Silence, again.

And more silence.

Then: “You are correct, boy—or at least in many ways you are—as
I would have said had you given me time!
But I wanted my student to taste the foul before I fed him the fair—except that you preempted me!”

Brock flushed. “S-sorry.”

Unexpectedly, Uki laughed. “Utlunta-dehi has spoken of you,” he chuckled. “He says you would learn the secrets you call magic. Is that still your wish?”

Brock glanced up warily, abruptly all attitude and bright eyes again. Calvin felt his heart skip a beat. What was Uki
doing?
No way he should offer something like that to a kid like Brock.
No way!

But the boy squared his shoulders and shook his head. “I—can't say I won't be curious,” he murmured, and Calvin could tell the effort cost him, that he knew he was cutting himself off from something at once wonderful beyond imagining and dreadful beyond his darkest dreams. “In fact, I'm gonna be curious,” he continued, more loudly. “But no, I think I've seen enough—for a while. I need to think about all this and then…I guess I need to think some more. And then”—he glanced at Calvin—“we'll see.”