Queen of the Dark Things (38 page)

“I have been given the opportunity to stand back and see history as one might see the land from this hill. It is all laid out. And it was my job to protect it. To sing of it. To be its custodian. I did that. And now that is Jirra's job. And I can rest.”

Colby eyed the spirit knowingly. “You're already at rest, aren't you? This is just an echo.”

Mandu nodded, waved his arm around the dark of the dream. “Dreams are the one place the spirits cannot hear us.”

“You knew that I would need to hear this and that I wouldn't be alone.”

“I was wrong to not want to teach you, especially when you learn so well.”

“You never wanted to teach me?”

“White fellas don't learn the dream so good. But when a great spirit of the desert comes with the wind and brings you a child, saying, ‘Teach him the old ways,' you do not question him. This is proof. The spirits were right to bring you to me. We come from the clay; we return to the clay. It is how it is supposed to be. Over time, the world changes. We can do little about that. But getting to take part, no matter how small, in a great story of such changes? Getting to leave something behind, whether given credit or not, is the greatest gift. I have that now. So thank you.”

“I haven't changed anything. Certainly not the world.”

“Your wish changed everything, Colby. Changed the order of things. I don't know how it works, or what the dream behind it is doing, but whatever it did, very powerful spirits took an interest in you. They set about changin' the path of your life to get you where they wanted you to be. My spirit had me do the things I did to get you here, to this moment, because he said the choice you make here, at this point in your life, is the one that decides not only who you become, but what becomes of the world. The fate of all the dream rests in your hands. Do you remember the story of the orphan who cried awake the Rainbow Serpent?”

“Yeah. Are you saying I'm the orphan?”

“You were, once, before you made that bloody wish. But then you became the serpent.”

“Wait, what?”

“The serpent was just hungry. Been asleep a long time. To him, the people were nothin' but tucker. He never knew how big he was, that his body carved rivers in the earth. Never knew that his very dreams would dream the world awake. That's you. That's you now. In your story, the orphan becomes the serpent. Dreams the world anew.”

“I don't even know how that's possible. I'm not that powerful.”

“That's the other part of the story. The moral for everyone else. Small people change the world. Bring down great monsters.”

“How do I bring this one down?”

“The dreamwalker?”

“Yeah.”

“You cut her cord. Severed the link between her spirit and her body.”

Colby glared at Mandu. “You tricked me into doing that.”

“Too right!”

“Why? Why did you let me think I did that?”

“Because of how you felt after you did it. I didn't understand it at first either. My spirit told me this must be done and I trusted my spirit. But then I saw how you watched over her as she slept; how your guilt made you more conscious of how you used your power. When I met you, you were a boy unafraid to throw magic around, to rob the world of its dream to solve your problems. Now you are a man who hesitates before acting, thinks about the consequences of his actions, protects the dream where he can. Even when you kill a thing, you give its dream back to the world. That's why you had to believe.”

“It was another damn lesson?”

“They're all lessons, fella. Everything is a lesson in this life. Even the small things.”

“I cut her cord to learn a lesson?”

“Her cord was cut because it had to be. She could not become who she is now if it hadn't been. And this is who she was always meant to be. The reason you did it was to learn a lesson.”

“So why did it have to be cut?”

“Because, if her body dies—”

“She dies. I know. That's not an answer.”

“That body was not her destiny. She was meant for the world of dreams, not the one of her body. But what if someone were to
disbelieve
her body? Will it away?”

“She would be disbelieved with it. Right?”

“Yes. Unless . . .” Mandu looked across the fire, waiting for Colby to get it.

“Unless . . . ?” Colby's eyes shot wide. “Unless some other spirit had made her body its home.”

“Too right again!”

“Then I wouldn't be disbelieving her, I would be disbelieving something else. Is that right?”

“A dreamwalker whose body is taken by another spirit is condemned to walk forever as a spirit.”

“She'd be immortal. A spirit. Forever.”

“Just as she always dreamed. To walk in the dream forever.”

“That's why she's coming for me.”

“Partly.”

“Is the other part revenge?”

Mandu shook his head. “Those spirits, her kutji. She's as much their slave as they are hers. When she dies, she too will be kutji. She won't remember all of who she is. Only the strongest parts. And the parts strongest in her right now are her anger and her fear. The kutji want her dead. They'll betray her given the chance, if it doesn't break with their business.”

“She doesn't just
want
me to give her her immortality. She needs me to.”

“Desperation is dangerous, especially with a spirit so strong as hers.”

“Why didn't she just ask?”

“Maybe she doesn't think she can. Would you trust the boy who left you in the desert with your nightmares?”

“But I didn't!”

Mandu looked sadly across the fire. “No. I did. And if you don't do this right, I'll have sacrificed a friend for nothing. Her ending doesn't have to be tragic. And no thing worth havin' isn't worth a little suffering for. Give her what she wants, Colby.”

“I don't know that I can.”

“I hope for all our sakes that you can figure out how. But it won't be easy. Not with what's happening even now.”

“What's happening now?”

“You'll see. It'll change everything.”

“Shit.”

“Yes.”

“What do I do?”

“Remember the fish. Do not stab or bait one at a time when you can fish the whole pond at once with a little preparation. You'll know what that means when the time comes.” Mandu looked up at the stars once more. “It's time.”

“Oh, Jirra asked me to—”

“Tell him I miss him too.”

“I'll miss you, Mandu.”

Mandu smiled. “Most Clever Men only ever get to teach one other Clever Man. I got to teach three. All very clever. Very clever.”

“Three?”

“Yes, three. You, Jirra, and Kaycee.” Mandu stepped back toward the shadows then stopped. “Oh, I almost forgot. One more thing.”

“What?”

“Wake up.”

C
HAPTER
51

A
S
S
HADOWS
F
ADE

M
eanwhile, as Colby slept beneath the stars of an Australian sky, the skies above Austin had grown unexpectedly stormy. Clouds moved quickly, thunder rumbling without a flash of lightning to betray its origins. A sharp, cold wind blasted the streets, stripping the leaves off trees, dropping the temperature a good thirty degrees in the span of an hour. Winter was setting in and this front was its announcement. Below, a single figure strode flamboyantly, his pace quickening against the storm.

Aaron Brandon strolled down the street as if he was on top of the world. He felt virile, pumped, his parts still tingling. It had taken all night and fifty dollars' worth of drinks to ply that girl out of her panties, and she could barely stand up by the time he had. After he'd finished, she could barely slur out her own name, let alone remember his. Last he saw her, she was still slumped in the alley, all but passed out in his juices, muttering something like, “Wait, where are you going?” before mumbling herself to sleep.

Aaron Brandon was a douchebag. A proud douchebag. All muscles, tribal tattoos, and twenty-four-karat gold. And he was of the decided opinion that if she remembered tonight at all, it would be a blessing to that girl—a memory she would cherish of the time she'd made it with a real man. After all, she was only a six, and sixes were lucky to get it at all from anything but neck-beard IT rats and balding men ten years their senior. She was lucky if she ever got anything close to him again. And now he was off to one of his favorite off-Sixth-Street dives to see if he could catch himself a closing-time loner for round two and a ride home.

Bill the Shadow stood in the darkest corner of the alley between two downtown buildings, just out of reach of the streetlamp up the block. He hated Aaron already. He'd seen him before, trolling the downtown bars for easy tail, and had earmarked him for a last-minute substitution on a light night. Usually Bill preferred darker souls than this—violent souls—but pickings were slim, he was hungry, and Aaron had it coming. The man was human trash, a worthless sperm machine pumping out mediocre sex in three-minute bursts to women who could barely tell what was going on around them.

It was an odd treat, drinking one of those. As big and badass as they might seem, they didn't really understand their own darkness. They didn't regard their own sins as anything of the sort. There was no remorse lurking in their gut. Only entitlement. But Bill loved destroying entitlement.

He crept behind him, keeping a safe distance, occasionally scuffing the pavement with his boot heel before darting into nearby shadow. Aaron was just drunk enough to be slow, but not so much that he didn't pick up on the sounds.

Aaron repeatedly turned around, hearing the scuff, seeing a flash of dark out of the corner of his eye, a smudgy blur that vanished a second later, wondering if he was jumping at the sound of his own footfalls. By the third time, he began to grow anxious.

“Who the fuck?” he shouted the fourth time he heard it, chest puffed out, fists clenched, arms flexing like the hero on the cover of some old video game. “I will beat the fuck out of you. Who's out there?”

A cigarette lit up in a deep shadow, the cherry peering out like a single tiny light in the brooding dark.

Aaron stormed over, brow furrowed and furious. “You homeless fuck. I will kick you until you piss bl—”

There was nothing in the shadow. Not even a cigarette. He looked around. Nothing. The streets were empty. There was a slight wind coming in off the river, the only sound a paper dancing across the street in the breeze.

“What the—”

Then he saw something. A shadow moving. A man, standing against a wall. Wide hat. Long coat. Aaron was shitting bricks now. That man wasn't there before. And the more he looked at him, the less it looked like a man at all.
Was it the shadow of a pole? An overhang?

He took a step closer, looking both ways despite there not being a single car.

“Hey! You!”

The shadow didn't move. He raised his arm, fist above his head as if he had a hammer of some sort in it, ready to bring it down.

“I said
you
!”

Still nothing.

“Shit.”

Then he doubled over, vomiting into the street, spewing forth a thick spray of green and brown. Then just brown. Then brown and red. Then red and only red. He fell to his knees throwing up blood, his orange tan going pale white, the blood vessels in his eyes bursting purple from the heaves. Veins spider-webbed around his sockets, his eyes thick with tears.

The vomiting stopped and Aaron began to choke. He clutched his throat. Pounded himself in the stomach. Tried to swallow. But his mouth wouldn't shut. His jaw gaped wide, wider than it should, then it broke, snapping out of place. Aaron tried to scream, his head tilted all the way back on his neck, but nothing came out. Just muffled awfulness. Whimpers. Choked pleading.

Two small black hands, neither quite the same size, clawed at the corners of his mouth, breeching a shadowy head out of the unhinged jaw. Then eyes followed. Then a large, square mouth. Within seconds a full-size kutji was squeezing its way up through his throat and out into the street.

Aaron died right there, collapsing, head smacking limply on the pavement, the kutji scraping his blood and vomit from itself in thick handfuls.

Bill emerged from his spot against the wall, bitter, ready for a fight. “Seems you're a long way from home, hombre.”

The kutji nodded. “A long way. But in the right place.”

“I'm not so sure about that.”

Then came the beating of wings, the sound of scurrying in nearby alleys. Bill took a step back, eyeing the street as over a dozen shadows emerged from the dark spaces of the city or out from the night sky. They surrounded him silently in a semicircle.

“Aw, hell. This is gonna be one of those nights, isn't it?”

“Actually,” said the lead kutji, still shaking the last remaining bits of Aaron from his body, “it's going to be
that
night.”

“Oh, I wouldn't go that far, chief. It's going to take more than a dozen of you to scare me.”

“We're not here to scare you. We're here to kill you.”

“So it is going to be one of those nights.” Bill sighed deeply. “All right. Let's get this over with. I'm starving and there's not a whole lot of night left.” Bill adjusted his hat, sliding it back on his head as he took one last drag off his cigarette. He popped his back, cracked his neck, pitched the butt, then growled.

He spat out a sudden cloud of fog as the kutji swarmed toward him. Bill ducked and weaved, the diminutive shadows grasping at him and catching nothing but empty air. One grabbed for his leg but he lifted it in time for the kutji to slip right beneath him as Bill brushed his jacket back like a matador. Then he snuck away, loitering on the outskirts of the cloud, listening as the miscreant mob swore, flailing about to find him.