Passing the Narrows (2 page)

 

    "I've heard the Narrows mentioned," said the sorceress.
"Just after the War, it was even surveyed as a possible site for
arcane unlatching. But the survey team found only a mild
residual charge, natural in origin."

 

    Swain hooted. "Surveyed it, did they? Brought a boatload
of wand-wavers over it in broad damn daylight, they did. Broad
damn daylight. We told 'em. Oh, yes. We told 'em it only
stirred on moonless nights, but they was Yankees an' officers and
too damn smart to pay mind to the likes of us."

 

    The sorceress shook her head. "Arcane concentrations do not
vary by day or night -- "

 

    "This ain't no arcane concentration, Yer Yankeeship."

 

    "Then what is it, Mister Swain?"

 

    "It's a haunt, ma'am. A powerful one. You ever hear of the
Winney?"

 

    "The Winney? No."

 

    "She was a hospital boat. One of ours. Had two hundred or
more wounded on board, most of 'em civilians from towns your hero
Sherman paid visit." Swain leaned into the night-lamp's glow.
"Well, the Winney hit the Narrows just as one of them
Yankee ironclads rounded the bend. The Winney's master
came out on deck with a white flag. One of your boys picked him
off with a miniball while the rest opened up with artillery. The
Winney went down, crew and wounded and rats and all. No
survivors."

 

    "Utter nonsense," said the sorceress.

 

    "Some say the dead of the Winney come up from the mud
on moonless nights, lookin' to take their vengeance. And they
ain't too picky about who they take vengeance on, anymore."

 

    "Ridiculous, Mr. Swain," she said. "If that story is the
basis of your fears, then I am truly relieved."

 

    "That's just the popular version," said Swain. "I didn't
say I believed it. I just thought you'd appreciate it, bein' of
the Yankee persuasion and all." Swain winked at the sorceress's
glare. "No, ma'am, I tend toward the story a Choctaw medicine
man told me years before the War even broke. The red men called
the Narrows Nusi ma Kosh. Means 'That Which Sleeps.' You
wouldn't catch them within ten miles of the Narrows after
sunset."

 

    "Primitives."

 

    "Don't go callin' 'em names, wand-waver," said Swain. "They
was here before you. Long before. So maybe there's something
down there, way under that black Mississippi mud. Something
older than the Choctaw and older than the Union. Maybe it was
sleepin'. And maybe the War and you wand-wavers done about woke
it up." Swain chuckled. "But I reckon you'd call that
superstitious primitive hillbilly nonsense, wouldn't you?"

 

    "No, I would not," she said. "But there are many sites that
exhibit natural concentrations of arcane energy. Stonehenge, for
instance -- "

 

    Swain's open hand slapped the map-table. "This ain't
natural, wand-waver," he said. "It ain't Stone-henge, it ain't
natural, and it ain't goin' away just because your precious Union
don't want it between you and Vicksburg."

 

    "You have no evidence -- "

 

    "Madam," snapped the Captain. "Be silent." The sorceress
bristled. The Captain motioned toward the river ahead. "Listen,
madam," he said. "Listen, and tell us what you hear."

 

    The sorceress was silent for a moment. "I hear the
throbbing of the pistons, and the hiss of steam, and the churning
of your paddle wheel."

 

    Swain's eyes grew wide. "Damn," he muttered.

 

    "I fail to see the significance of this," said the
sorceress.

 

    "The bugs," said Swain. "Think back to Float. Bugs were so
loud you could hardly hear a shout. Always are, on summer
nights. 'Cept tonight."

 

    The sorceress listened, searching past the surge and thrash
of the
Yocona
for any hint of sound from the forest.

 

    "How far are we from the Narrows, Captain?"

 

    "Two hours."

 

    The sorceress sighed. "There are certain measures I can
take, Captain. Precautions."

 

    The Captain snorted. "Wand waving."

 

    "If you must call it so," said the sorceress. "Your vessel
will not be permanently affected."

 

    The Captain shrugged. The sorceress turned and marched out
of the pilothouse.

 

    The Captain pulled out his pocket watch and opened the
cover. "You're late, Swain," he said. "It's three minutes after
midnight, and you've said nothing about the weather."

 

    "Go to Hell, Cap'n." said Swain.

 

    "Yes," said the Captain. Strange lights slanted across the
Yocona 's
foredeck, raked the riverbank, spun back. "It
appears I'll do just that." He yanked a bell-pull, and an instant
later Barker's voice sounded from a voice-tube.

 

    "Cap'n?"

 

    "The wand-waver is laying spells," said the Captain. "Stay
out of her way. Pass the word."

 

    "Yessir."

 

    "I want every lamp we've got lit, Mr. Barker. Inside and
out. All of them. They are to remain lit until we reach
Vicksburg."

 

    "Yessir. Every lamp."

 

    A glowing tangle of spell-stuff snaked across the
Yocona 's
crowded foredeck, writhing and curling and
flowing among the cotton bales and flour-kegs and tightly-lashed
crates like a thick, inquisitive fog. The larger filaments
anchored themselves to the
Yocona 's
railings and bolts and
hand-holds, covering her until the vessel was enveloped in a
ragged, drooping luminescent web.

 

    "Ain't seen that since them Union ironclads shelled us at
Mobile Bay," said Swain. "Remember that, Cap'n?"

 

    "I remember," said Swain.

 

    "We damn near got one of 'em, didn't we?"

 

    "Damn near."

 

    The sorceress appeared on the foredeck, weaving her way
through bales and crates. She stopped, threw back her hood, and
lifted her hands.

 

    The
Yocona
lurched, wallowed to port, and shook from
her stern to her bow. A jar of pencils flew from the map table
and scattered on the deck. The pilothouse night-lamps dimmed and
flickered before guttering back to life.

 

    The Captain clenched the wheel and cursed. Voices and bangs
rang out of the boiler room voice tube. Swain cackled.

 

    "She might not believe in the Narrows, but I reckon the
Narrows believes in her."

 

    The Captain spat out his cigar. "Barker!" he bellowed.
"Full stop! And get those men back to their posts."

 

    The
Yocona
shuddered again. Ten-inch oak beams
creaked and moaned as though coming back to brief, agonized life.
Deep within the
Yocona 's
frame came a crack like a cannon
shot as one of the eighty-foot chains that tied stern to bow
stretched and broke.

 

     A flash of silent lightning lit the foredeck and the river
and the leaning, moss-shrouded willow-trees.

 

    The lightning also touched the sky. In that instant, it
seemed to the Captain that something huge beyond all reason was
rising up to hang over them.

 

    The sorceress shouted, her words strange and angry. The
river boiled suddenly, thrashing and filling the air with the
stench of just-raised mud and old, wet rot. Swain leaned close
to the window beside him, straining to see into the night while
alternately mumbling prayers and cursing his missing legs.

 

    "God help us, Captain," he said, after a moment. "God help
us. It's awake."

 

    The Captain wrestled with the
Yocona 's
wheel and
followed Swain's wide-eyed gaze. There, just at the periphery of
the
Yocona 's
running lights, he saw movement, saw men.
Men in uniform. Confederates.

 

    They lurched and stumbled and fell, always moving toward the
river. Some clutched rifles, some pulled crude litters. One
bore a tattered flag.

 

    The lightning flared again, and the flag unfurled long
enough for the Captain to pick out crossed rifles against a blue
starburst -- the same flag the Captain's son died under at
Billings.

 

    The flag bearer reached the edge of the river. A face more
bone than flesh lifted up and grinned at the
Yocona 's
running lamps.

 

    "It's me, Paw," came a voice from the ruined throat, somehow
sounding over the screams and the steam-engines and the thrashing
of the river. "It's me! I'm coming back to you, Paw! Comin'
right over!" Then the flag bearer stumbled, the flag fell, and
both were swallowed by the thick brown water.

 

    The
Yocona
shuddered again, then jerked as though
falling a hand's breadth. On the foredeck, the sorceress
stumbled, caught herself, and hurled a fistful of light up into
the night.

 

    She shouted a word. The explosion blinded the Captain, sent
Swain sprawling to the deck, and shattered every window, every
door-pane, every dining-room mirror on the
Yocona
. When
the Captain could see again, the river was calm, the forest was
empty, and the sky was wide and full of stars.

 

    "Damn damn," snarled Swain. "Get me a chair, Cap'n. Glass
all over down here."

 

    The Captain stared ahead, unheeding. "Dammit, Lester, help
me up!" said Swain. "Quit lookin'! It ain't there if you don't
look!"

 

    The Captain moved slowly to Swain, caught him by his arm,
and lifted Swain back into his customary seat. "Much obliged,"
muttered Swain as he sat. "Now you might do some steerin' before
we climb the bank."

 

    Broken glass crunched as the Captain darted for the wheel.

 

    "That's better," said Swain. "I was afraid ol' Swain might
be the only one aboard with his head still latched on tight."

 

    "You might be," said the Captain. Outside the pilothouse,
men shouted and cursed. A dozen small fires sprang up across her
decks, only to wink out at a wave from the weary sorceress.

 

    The Captain steered the
Yocona
to the middle of the
Yazoo River and bent to retrieve his damp cigar-stub. "I saw my
son, out there," he said around the cigar.

 

    "He ain't out there, Cap'n. You know that."

 

    "He was with the others. Went in the water."

 

    "No!" barked Swain, slapping the map table. "No, he
didn't. Nobody did. He's dead, Cap'n, and that's a damn shame.
But he's at rest, not wandering around some damnfool haunt two
hundred miles from Billings." Swain spat and shook his head.
"That thing out there looks inside you, Cap'n. It looks inside
and it sees what you want or what scares you, or both. And then
it shows you things, if you're fool enough to look."

 

    The Captain fumbled for a match, scratched it, touched it to
the cigar. "What did you see, Mr. Swain?"

 

    Swain spat. "I saw a face, Cap'n, way up in the sky. That,
and a pair o' legs and an arm that looked awful familiar."

 

    The Captain turned. "Legs and an arm?"

 

    "The legs was wearin' pants, Cap'n. Pants and fancy-like
boots. Jest a standin' there on the deck. I never seen nothin'
so foolish in all my life. Damn near said so."

 

    Barker appeared at the pilothouse door, poked his head in
through the broken door-pane. "Cap'n?" he said.

 

    "Yes, Mr. Barker?"

 

    "Fin and Poke are gone, sir. Went over the side. Wade says
something came up out of the water and took Pete. It's just me
an Wade and six or so of the others."

 

    "Get the men off the deck, Mr. Barker," said the Captain.
"And keep them off. Get some planks. Board up the windows in
the boiler room, get in, and nail the door shut."

 

    "Yessir." Barker paused. "Are we turnin' back for Float?"

 

    Barker whirled, yelped, and stepped aside. The sorceress
opened the door and entered the pilothouse. Her robes trailed
smoke, and the scent of burnt hair wafted from her, and her face
was covered with a dirty sheen of sweat.

 

    "I reckon," said Swain mildly, "that some folks have words
that need eatin'."

 

    "Quiet, Swain," said the Captain. He turned away from the
river and faced the sorceress. "I trust you were not injured,
madam," he said.

 

    "Not permanently," she replied. Her voice was hoarse, and
she began to cough.

 

    The Captain reached into his jacket and produced a battered
silver whiskey flask. "For your throat, madam," he said.

 

    The sorceress took the flask. "Thank you," she said, and
took a long drink.

 

    "The Narrows ain't done yet," said Swain. "So don't you two
start no victory drinkin' just yet."

 

    "Is he correct?" said the Captain.

 

    "He is," rasped the sorceress. "We were attacked. It faced
unexpected magic, and it retreated, but it will try again. You
were right all along, Mister Swain," she said. "That Which
Sleeps is waking, and it was our doing." She took another draw
from the flask. "Another brilliant example of contained Union
military sorcery."

 

    Swain goggled. "I don't know which I like less," he said.
"The Cap'n offering Yankees his good Kentucky whiskey or Yankees
bad-mouthing their war heroes."

 

    The Captain squinted into the night. "The river grows
troubled," he said. "And we're nearly to the Narrows proper."
He took the flask from the sorceress. "Madam," he said. "Your
mission. Are you willing to turn back, now that you've seen what
we face?"

 

    The sorceress shook her head. "I cannot turn back," she
said. "Or wait. There can be no delay."