Wild Thing (25 page)

'Your history results are a little low, Sara.  I wondered perhaps whether you'd like to know more about what happened after the magic returned?'

At that suggestion, she sat up straighter. 'Yeah!'

'In some ways, we could perhaps have predicted it, after the Week of Miracles.  Can you tell me when that was?'

'Um.  March 31, 2036.'

'Good!  You remember, there was an even mix of good and bad “miracles” in that first week: as many people doing terrible things as wonderful things.  Yes?'

She nodded.  Briefly, he considered using it to illustrate the lesson “power corrupts,” since the even mix of good and ill did run counter to normal patterns of aggregate behavior; but decided that was probably a lesson best left for later years.

'And what catastrophe followed the Week of Miracles?'  At her blank look, he added, 'What big disaster?'

'Oh!  The First World Storm!'

'That's right.  And why did so few people die in the First World Storm compared to the Second?'

She thought for a moment.  'Because the Enemy of Mankind made the Second one!'

He winced at the simplistic answer.  'Well, in a sense I suppose that is true.  Although
how
she did so, no one is quite sure even today.  There is some evidence she influenced elemental beings at the global scale.'

Sara looked lost.

'Some people think there are elementals so big they can affect the whole Earth, and they think D'Artelle deliberately
arranged
the Second World Storm to start during the depth of winter in the northern hemisphere.  The First World Storm lasted only a week; the Second, four terrible months.'

At her wide-eyed nod he continued.  'So the death toll from the First was so much smaller because India, South America and Africa are more tropical continents, and few people live in Antarctica.'  For a moment he had a strange feeling, something related to the Australis Ocean, but dismissed the tangent thought.  'So, because the First Storm covered the whole world during summer in the northern hemisphere, the death toll was “only” about one hundred thousand.  In stark contrast, in the Second World Storm
ten thousand
times as many people died: over a billion people.'

'Ohhh.  That's a real lot, isn't it?'  She looked sad, before brightening.  'But Godsson killed her in the end, and saved everyone, didn't he?  With help from the Dragon Lord!  Is Lord Shen really a dragon?'

'Well, he
looks
like a normal human man.  Chinese.  Very intense eyes.  With flecks of gold.'  Harmon thought back to their one and only meeting.  'I simply don't know, Sara.  Certainly, a living, breathing dragon did help him reclaim the position of Emperor of China – with some extremely deft political maneuvering of his own.  It is also true that that dragon and Lord Li Pao Shen have never been seen at the same time.  And Lord Shen claims he has a draconic form.  I suppose it may be possible.'

'Wow.  How do you become a dragon, Keepie?  Could I?'

I certainly hope not!  '
I don't think you could, no.  Even if there is a way, I think it would be a closely-guarded secret.  But I was telling you what happened when the magic returned.'

'Why did it return, Keepie?'

'A good question!'

Sara beamed.

'I have heard many theories, all unconvincing.  Personally, given the fact that all the supernatural creatures and beings which have reappeared in modern times have also featured in myths and legends for hundreds, and even thousands of years, I would not be surprised if that continuity of existence across the non-magical period were somehow a significant point.'

He'd lost her, he could tell.  So instead, he recounted the story of the return of the being
Kali
in July '36, and the terrible consequences as other members of the Hindu pantheon “returned,” leading inexorably to the Great Conflict: Science opposing Magic.

She listened, absorbed, as he spoke of that awful struggle and the terrible sacrifices, as the Indian people rejected the demand to
worship or die.
  He spoke of the first use of the atomic bomb as a weapon of war for almost a hundred years.

But the worse history lesson – Melisande d'Artelle's treachery – could wait for some other day.  He shook himself.  'Come, Sara.  I see it is now 6 pm – I've kept you a little longer than I intended, I'm afraid.  I think it's too cold for you to be patrolling tonight with Faith.  Time for dinner, anyway.  I'll read you a book afterward, if you like.'

Disappointment at not patrolling with Faith was replaced by pleasure at his offer, he noted.

It felt strangely good.

Chapter 27 

Godsson turned even before she reached his door.  Frowning, he made his greeting gesture.  'It's rather late, Sara.'

She shrugged.  'I wanted to find out more about Melisande d'Artelle.'

'Really.  Perhaps if you take off those sunglasses I will.  I dislike being unable to see your eyes.  You have nothing to fear from me.'

'I know.  But I can't take them off.  They're not for you, they're so the stupid computer won't recognize me.  That's why I wear this dumb repairman cap, too.  And the high heels.'

For a long while he said nothing.

'Why this fascination with the Enemy of Mankind, Sara?  Do you find yourself drawn to these stories?  Do they call to you?'

'I'm just tryin’ to understand why she did so much bad stuff.  Uncle said she killed a zillion people in the Second World Storm.'

'A fair statement.  Did he also tell you that it was at her behest that the Melt retro-virus was created?  And the Red Plague?'

She shook her head, and even through the sunglasses he could see the whites around her widened eyes.

'Why was it called the red plague?'

'Can you not guess?  What color is blood?'

'
No way
.'

'And all while she ran the Helping Hand organization, working closely with the WHO.'

'Who?'

'Some call them that, yes.'

Godsson should have expected the misunderstanding which followed, and just given the organization its full name…

'But
why
was she so evil?  Was she always that way?'

'It's possible she became evil while still quite young.'  He watched her as she digested that.

'But to be
that
evil, something must've happened to her!'

'Evil people don't think they're evil, Sara.  That is the tragedy.'  Again he just looked at her.  Then sighed.  'Even Melisande, at the end, claimed she did what she did to save the human race from an even greater threat.'

'No way!  What threat?'

'It doesn't matter.'

'
What!
  Are you- I mean, of course it matters.  An even bigger threat to the
whole
human race?
  What was it?'

'It doesn't matter.  She was merely trying to deceive us.'

'What. Greater. Threat?'

'
It doesn't matter.'

'If you don't tell me, I'm not gonna visit you any more.  Not ever.'

Godsson considered that, for long enough for Sara to begin to scowl.  'Very well.  But if I tell you, you must promise to do me a favor in return.'

'Okay.'

'Do you promise?'

'Yeah, I promise.  Now:
what greater threat?
'

'Aliens.'

'Huh?'

'Melisande said she did what she did because aliens were invading.'

For a long while Sara said nothing.

'You're just making that up.'

'No.  By my Father's Name, that was what she claimed.  What she even appeared to believe.'

Sara digested this.  'Wow.  So, what kind of aliens?  What do they want?  How long-'

'I'm sorry, Sara, that is absolutely all she shared on the subject.  But now, you made a promise to me.'

She sighed.  'Yeah, okay.'

'Good.  I need you to help me get out of here.  So I can fight Her properly.  With you by my side.'

Sara was shaking her head.  'I can't do
that!
  I'd get into awful trouble.  I'd be Grounded for weeks!'

'So you would break the promise you swore mere minutes ago.  How typical.'

'But you said your father said you couldn't come out till everyone wanted you out.'

'Everyone will.  After I'm out.'

'No, Godsson, I can't do that.  I'm sorry, I just can't!'

'Go, then.  I will Call some…one else.'

'Don't be horrid.  I said I'd do you a favor.'  She thought. 
What might Godsson like?  '
Maybe I could get them to get you a pet or something?'

But he ignored her, and began pacing – almost
marching –
back and forth across the room.

'Godsson!  Wouldn't you like a kitten?'

Still he marched.  Strangely, the glass misted over, making it harder and harder to see him, gradually hiding him from her sight.

'Well, fine, see if I care!'

She stormed off.

Behind her, the frost continued to build.

There was no way she could sleep after that!  She rugged up extra warmly before sneaking out of her room, her flashlight defocused to throw a diffuse light.  Faith had been surprised but pleased to see her after she'd crept up to Mr Shanahan's place, quietly calling her out of her cyber house.

They'd patrolled for almost two hours, and now Faith's breath panted out in steamy puffs beside her as Sara skipped through the pines leading down to the Institute, occasionally sharing what she'd learned in today's history lesson.  She and Faith had finished their patrol in the area where helicopters sometimes landed with new patients, or grumpy FBI men.

She stopped when Faith halted with a queer half-whine, staring ahead through the trees at the Institute, its light just visible between the trunks.  A strange sound of cracks and pops in the trees began, moving closer then suddenly rising all around them.  Arctic air rolled over them in a wave, Faith's fur crackling, frost feathering her coat and prickling against Sara's skin, shivering in her hair and eyelashes.

Then all was still.

'Faith, what-'  Sara stopped at the sight of her own breath puffing out in a white cloud of tiny crystals.  She gasped, and the air rushed back into her lungs, searing with intense cold, so cold she had to just
sip
at the air.  Her eyes hurt, watering, and she blinked swiftly, feeling the tears instantly freeze.  Her eyes narrowed to slits.

'Maybe we should get inside?  I d-don't think this is n-normal.'  Lips already numbing, the cold sliced through her winter jacket and pants.  Her fingertips tingled, aching.  'Come’n.'

Faith whined once and moved forwards, and Sara followed, each step crunching through sudden frost, each breath puffing out in frozen plumes.  The air had misted white, and Sara realized it was snowing tiny little flakes, so small she could hardly see them.  Sharp snaps and cracks sounded from the branches above.

Her teeth started to ache, and then to chatter.  She could feel ice in her mouth, and her toes hurt.  'F-F-Faith, I th-think we'd b-b-better hurry.'  She started to trot, to run, but stumbled and almost fell.  What was wrong with her legs, with her feet?

She couldn't see properly.  One eye had shut and now she couldn't open it.  Rubbing at it with fingers that wouldn't bend properly, she felt eyelashes snap, and stopped in confusion.  The white mist was thinning, but it was so pretty, drifting down like dust from angel wings.

So cold.  She wavered on her feet.  Her teeth were chattering so much she couldn't hear her breath freezing anymore.  Through the still, clear air she could see the lights of the Institute, closer now.  Faith whined, ahead, and she forced her legs to move forwards.  Like lumps of lead, she swung them now in a tottering wooden gait, keeping her balance more by luck than skill.

She couldn't bend her tongue anymore, and it was getting harder to move her legs.  Each step was a swaying shuffle, each root and tussock a barrier to haul a leaden foot over, each breath an icy knife in her chest.  How had it gotten so cold, so fast?

The warm lights of the Institute seemed a mile away.

When Sara and Faith finally staggered from the trees, the cold – already arctic – worsened.  Two steps later her legs stopped working entirely and Sara fell, toppling stiffly to the icy ground, snapping grass.  Eyes frozen shut on angry tears, she wrestled distant limbs that ignored her.  Her hands were fists, clubs she couldn't feel.  Elbows digging stubbornly into rock-hard soil, she worked her hips, inching along the ground, carving a path through splintering grass.

A sound beside her: then stiff fur brushed against her, low, and she managed to unbend an elbow enough to throw one arm over Faith.  Together, the two struggled forward toward the light.  Faith staggered each time Sara shifted her weight, knees slipping against the ground.  The two fought on, step by draining step.  No thought, just the endless dragging effort.  Faith's turbines made strange, tortured sounds as they tried to spin up, while she moved as if in pain.

Then warm air, bringing life into her lungs instead of cold death: her skin, her lungs, burning as sensation returned.  They collapsed together, sharing the life-saving warmth.

Rubbing at her eyelids, the stinging heat brought a welcome rush of tears, and she stared blurrily around her.  By the Institute's lights she saw they lay just inside a circular perimeter enclosing the buildings.  Beyond, frost crusted the ground and made the trees stand out against the dark.  Her muscles started working again, in violent shudders that shook her small frame.  She sat up.

They were a hundred meters from the main entrance.  Strangely, the white-dusted trees were fading quickly into darkness, the snow already melting.  Looking back at the end of their trail, she saw remnants of frost disappearing, and got shakily to her feet.  Tottering back to the curving boundary, she gingerly stretched out one shivering hand, ready to snatch it back.  But no cold came.  The air was normal.

'W-weird.'  She could see Faith agreed.  'Uncle said the Institute's inside a big magical circle, a “
Ward
”.  So that must have been magic c-cold!'