Ghostcountry's Wrath (43 page)

The man paused, waiting.

“You've heard me talk about my friend Calvin? Cherokee guy? The one whose cousin graduated from here a couple of years back?”

“O'Connor, wasn't it?” Hudson asked, frowning. “Kirkwood?”

“Yeah. Well, Cal's his cousin.”

Hudson shook Calvin's hand. “Kirk's a good man. Knows his stuff.”

“Cal does, too,” David replied. “Knows some of it better'n Kirk, actually,” he added with a wicked wink at Calvin.

“Does he, now?” Hudson murmured. “Well, I'd stay and chat, but I've gotta run. Gotta piss off another bunch of blue-haired ladies.”

“Huh?”

“Gotta break the news to 'em that DeSoto didn't go anywhere near their town square.”

“Carry on,” David laughed as Hudson moved past. “And don't worry,
we
won't break anything.”

Hudson didn't reply, but Calvin held his breath until the door clicked shut below them. David grinned at him as he opened its twin at the top. “Smart man, that was: knows
almost
as much about southeastern mythology as you do, Cal.”

Calvin merely scowled and followed David into the room beyond.

Maybe thirty feet long by twenty wide, it proved to be a laboratory of sorts, with long tables in the center and marble-topped lab counters complete with sinks along the window wall. David made for the nearest. “Nice thing about this place is that one of the grad students has been doing some research that involves burning native plants to study their resins—which means the sprinkler's disconnected.”

“Good thing,” Calvin agreed as he glanced around the room. “Yeah, I think this'll work fine. Now all we've gotta do is gather the gear. You say you know where to find most of what we need?”

David nodded. “There's an herb collection in here we can raid as long as we don't use all of anything, and as long as it won't matter if the stuff's dried.”

Calvin puffed his cheeks, then nodded. “I think I saw enough outside to make up the rest.”

“Figured you did.”

Calvin stared at Okacha uneasily, noting how tense she was. Sandy seemed to have fallen into the support role she tended to assume when not on her native turf and was keeping Brock and Don in line—not that Don needed much. He was mostly dozing—an odd reaction from one who'd spent most of the last week asleep, but not unreasonable, Sandy said, for one who had undergone the stress he had. His main complaint seemed to be hunger.

“There're vending machines out in the hall,” David offered. “I'll show you, if you want.”

Sandy nodded. “Don probably needs something. The rest of us—”

“We really oughta fast until this is over,” Calvin broke in, snatching the keys from a startled David's hands. “It'll only be a half hour or so, if we don't have any problems.”

“If,”
Alec muttered grimly, busy over the zipper of his backpack—which held the pot that held the pouch that held the ulunsuti.

“If,” Calvin echoed, likewise shedding his knapsack, but not the atasi, which he stuffed in his belt. “If I'm not back in fifteen minutes…I dunno. Fall back on Plan B or something.”

“There
is
no Plan B,” Alec noted with a frown.

“Sure there is,” Calvin countered from the door. “You just don't know what it is yet!”

* * *

“I can't believe I actually found
everything
I needed,” Calvin sighed a quarter hour later as a wild-eyed David wrenched open the door before he could even knock.
“I— What the hell?”

Even as he spoke, he was shouldering past his friend, who, in spite of having quick reflexes himself, barely hopped out of the way in time. He strode straight for the clump of people knotted around Okacha. Sandy shot him a concerned look. Brock simply looked startled.

“I was just goin' to get you,” David called to Calvin's back.

Calvin ignored him. “'Kacha
?”
he cried, pausing only long enough to dump the armload of leaves and branches he'd been clutching onto a table, before taking a close look at the panther-woman. Unfortunately, as soon as he saw her, he knew what was wrong. She was standing bolt upright, so tense she looked as if she might shatter like a soap bubble if anyone touched her. She was not trembling, precisely; but he got a sense of low-level vibration, as if every muscle fought with its opposite for control. And her face—Calvin had never seen such an expression, for it mixed fear and pain and a rock-hard determination. Okacha's eyes were open, the pupils dilated, but he doubted she saw much. Or rather, it was as if she gazed upon something none of the rest of them could see.

“How long's she been like this?” he demanded.

“Maybe five seconds,” Sandy replied. “David was just going after you.”

Calvin bit his lip, then nodded.
“Dave! Cedar! Now!”

David grabbed a double handful from the sharp-smelling pile Calvin had abandoned and thrust it at him. From there, the procedure was familiar: a brief censing with the stuff, then a larger sprig waved beneath Okacha's nose. She sniffed, coughed, then inhaled more vigorously. An instant later, she blinked. “I'll bet you're gettin' tired of that,” she gasped weakly as she slumped into a lab stool.

“Snakeeyes?” Calvin snapped. “He's on his way, right? How soon? Can you tell?”

Okacha shook her head wearily. “I'm not sure. I think it just stopped raining up where he was. And I'm pretty sure what just happened was him drawing on me to shift shape, which is a little odd, 'cause he can usually do that by himself. You may have messed him up with the cedar—which may buy us some time, but also may piss him off even worse.”

“Which means we've gotta hurry,” Calvin concluded with a frown. He glanced around the room, saw expectant eyes. “Okay,” he said decisively. “Some of you have seen what I'm about to do. Shoot, some of you have
helped:
you, Dave, and Alec and Liz. The rest of you—except 'Kacha—I'd say the thing to do's to get as far away from us as you can and still stay in the room. I only say that 'cause I'd like somebody to hand if anything fucks up, but I also want you as far from trouble as is viable. Brock, this means you. And Don. You too, Sandy. Sorry.”

Sandy shrugged, her face tight with irritation. “I'd argue if there was time, but there's not any.”

“You
can
help,” Calvin told her apologetically. “You and Brock—and Don if he's up to it—can stick some of this cedar at the windows and doors. Any other opening you can find, too.”

Sandy nodded. “Come on, guys.”

David, Liz, and Alec looked on with trepidation. “Same as before?” Alec asked warily.

“Well, there's no time to paint up, or anything,” Calvin replied as he laid the war club on a table and skinned out of his T-shirt. “And I don't have any mojo water— No, wait: I do—I think. Brock, you still got that jug from Usunhiyi?”

“Yep. You need it?”

“Bring it over.”

He did.

“I don't see any point in strippin' 'less you guys just feel like flashin' what you've got,” Calvin went on as he splashed the contents of the jug on his face, chest, and arms. “Mostly it just helps the focus 'cause it makes you aware of yourself as a part of the natural world, and also 'cause it reminds you that a different set of rules are at work. But I don't think it really affects the ritual much.”

David shrugged and slipped off his shirt. Alec followed. They removed their shoes and socks as well, but went no further. “You guys finish dousin' yourself with that—sorry Okacha, but this doesn't apply to you, though it would, ordinarily.”

The panther-woman merely nodded mutely. Calvin thought she looked as tired as anyone he'd ever seen. Mental battles could be as taxing as physical ones, he supposed.

But he had no time to spare for sympathy now, much less speculation.

Risking one final check on the room, he snared his backpack and the assorted bits of flora he'd just gathered and lugged them to the counter along the outside wall. He chose the centermost section, complete with sink, and set to work.

From a Ziploc bag in the pack he produced the buckskin pouch Sandy had taken to calling his sorcerer's kit. From it he removed a number of smaller bags of the same material. He chose one and opened the rawhide drawstring top. Inside was sand—sand from Uki's Power Wheel in Galunlati, to be precise. Using the top of the pouch as a spout, he sketched a replica on the marble countertop, grateful that it was at least natural material.

A second bag produced shavings from a lightning-blasted tree. He had just heaped them in the center of the Wheel and started to erect a tripod over them—each twig one of the plants of vigilance—when a bird smashed against one of the high-placed windows.

It made a sharp report, almost like a gunshot. Calvin looked up instantly, felt his heart skip a beat. Another bird—a crow, he thought—impacted the glass as he watched. Fortunately, the windows were the sort with wire mesh embedded in them.
Damned
fortunately, in fact, because the next five seconds saw ten impacts. More followed, all up and down the range of windows.

“Sandy, check the stair door,” he yelled. “Brock, take the other one. Block 'em both if you have to. Liz, keep an eye on 'Kacha, and if you see her tense up again, hit her with more of that cedar. Better yet, stay there and switch her with it.”

Not bothering to see if his orders were obeyed, Calvin turned back to his work. A third bag revealed a pottery bowl the size and shape of a human cranium, which he placed by the Wheel and pile of shavings. A moment later, flint and steel had a tiny fire blazing—brighter than it should have, given the quantity of material, nor was it exhausted as quickly as ought to have been the case.

While he fed the fire, he began to chant in a low voice: a formula Uki had taught him that occurred in none of the books he had ever seen. Not even Swimmer had known it, he who had revealed so much to James Mooney.

Alec and David joined him, unbidden. Liz watched apprehensively, then, when Calvin motioned them forward, came along with Okacha.

More birds beat at the window. A pane shattered, but the glass remained intact. An upward glance showed the window dark with beating wings and darting beaks. A thousand black eyes sparked and flashed and accused him. He shuddered and went on with his chanting.

Fortunately Alec remembered what to do, and did it. Calvin was sorry for him, too, for he knew how much Alec hated magic. It was too irrational, he said; he was a scientist; he preferred things that behaved predictably—cause and effect, and all that. Still, now that the push had come, he showed no sign of faltering as he retrieved the jar that held the ulunsuti, undid the seal and pouch, and tipped the crystal into the bowl. It glittered there, even in the twilight gloom, as if anticipating what was intended.

“Just a couple more minutes,” Calvin murmured, at the end of his chant, before starting it up again. “Alec, you know the rest? I'd have you do it, 'cept I don't think there's time.”

“Whatever,” Alec grunted. “Where's the blood?”

David grimaced and flopped a black plastic garbage bag he'd retrieved earlier onto the counter. Undoing it, Calvin reached in and dragged out a dead starling—one of the dozen or so that had flown into the truck during their escape, which Okacha had subsequently dispatched. A pause to fish a knife from his pocket, and he set to slitting throats.

The results were disappointing. Though the birds were still faintly warm (warm enough, he prayed), they'd nevertheless been dead for nearly an hour. And with no heart to pump it, there was precious little blood to extract. As it was, he was reduced to wringing the limp feathered bodies above the ulunsuti, and then smearing it for good measure.

The crystal took it greedily, drank in every drop and seemed to call for more. He tried, eventually passing his knife to David to speed processing.

And all the while the small fire burned, and all the while he chanted.

The impacts of birds against the windows grew more frequent.

Another pane shattered, directly above them; a sliver of glass the size of his finger tinkled to the counter. He made to brush it aside reflexively—and caught the side of his hand along its razor edge. More reflex brought it to his mouth, but then he had another idea and clamped it atop the ulunsuti. It glowed much brighter at that, and Calvin closed his eyes, tried not to look at the gush of blood, which was actually quite considerable, as the stone drank its fill. It had begun to glow now, and as the glow grew brighter, he motioned Alec, Liz, David, and Okacha closer with his free hand. “This isn't how it's supposed to work,” he gritted. “But you guys—you who've been there—visualize Galunlati. Try to think of a place that's as far from Uki as you can.”

Liz started to protest, then bit her lip and closed her eyes in turn. Calvin opened his again—and saw the ulunsuti's glow increase steadily. In an instant it was as bright as the fire that burned beside it, and an instant after that, it was expanding into a blinding glare like one of Liz's fog lights. And in the heart of that glare, a landscape was revealed: a place of trees too tall for the world of men, and mountains higher.