Unfallen Dead (31 page)

“Get her to back off, Nigel,” I said.

He glared. “Connor, you continue on this pointless course of defiance. Lives are at stake here. Move aside, or I will move you personally.”

“The only life at stake here is Meryl Dian’s. I don’t answer to you, and I sure as hell don’t answer to Ceridwen,” I said.

She pushed forward and raised the spear like a club. “I will not stand for any more insolence from you and that traitorous bitch!”

That did it. She went a word too far. “I’ve had it,” I snapped. My mind opened to the spot where the spear burned so brightly, tasted the essence that lay there, felt the power that called to me even as I called to it.
“Ithbar.”

The spear jerked in Ceridwen’s grip. Her eyes widened, but she refused to let go. Amazingly, it dragged her toward me. She turned golden bright as she called up essence to resist my command.

“Stop!” Nigel shouted.

Nigel thrust his hand forward and a ball of white light shot out of his palm. I ducked as it broke into a tangled net shooting right for me. Murdock’s body shield flared and absorbed the hit. I couldn’t believe it. The bastard had really tried to hit me with it.

Ceridwen gripped the spear with both hands, but she could not restrain it. Inexorably, it pulled away from her. When it came within reach, I grabbed it. A fierce cold Power raced up my arm. Inches away from each other, Ceridwen and I locked gazes. Her eyes vanished within featureless orbs of gold as she fought for control, trying to batter my mind into submission. The spear shuddered between us, our arms jerking with its struggle. I refused to relent, demanding it come to me. The silver filigree on the spear reacted to the sudden influx of so many different energies around it. It rippled on the shaft of the spear, coming alive like dancing drops of mercury. Icy strands of it oozed around my fingers and raced up my forearm.

An angry, animal growl came from deep within Ceridwen’s throat as she called more essence to bear. The dark mass in my head surged through me. Darkness flowed out of my hand and touched the spear. Essence exploded between us. Ceridwen screamed in rage and frustration as the power of the spear flung her into her bodyguards.

Meryl had told me the spear was a true silver branch. I had to hope she was right and see if it would grant passage into another realm. I spun toward the fairy ring and thrust the spearhead into the veil. A tear ripped the haze, liquid yellow light bursting out and sluicing down on me. My head blistered as the dark mass jumped. The spear responded to my will again, and the hole wrenched wider at my thought. Tainted essence slithered and flapped around the opening. It dove for the white line of power in my hand, the darkness mass and the spear both convulsing at its touch. I threw myself into the rip, and my head exploded in a thousand knives of pain. A raging torrent of ebony and emerald, white and gold smeared across my mind.

I fell into the veil between worlds.

I staggered under an assault of searing pain. Essence whipped around me in a kaleidoscope of burning colored light. Wind raged through the air, a high-pitched wailing that tore at my mind. I propelled myself blindly through the radiant bands of power, desperate to get away. The darkness in my head and the brightness in my hand warred with each other and the air, flinging me in one direction after another. The maelstrom stripped me down to impulse and instinct until the desire to escape the pain ripping through me was all I knew.

The onslaught receded, slowly, grudgingly. The ground stabilized, and I stumbled into an empty space, an eye of calm within the storm. Around me, a dense, smoky haze rustled and shifted, a barrier that flashed with sparks of essence. Exhausted, I leaned on the spear. All the joints in my body ached like they had been pulled apart and snapped back together. A constricting pressure throbbed along my left arm. I pulled off my jacket. The silver filigree from the spear had replicated itself around my forearm.

The wind died. In a milky gray sky, bands of darker gray essence scudded like ragged clouds after a storm. Light flashed, visible light, not the colored manifestations of essence. A booming sounded in the haze, vibrating the ground in a rhythm that grew stronger with each increase in volume. The dark mass in my head shifted one way, then another, as if trying to avoid a trap. Something moved through the mist, something huge, with an essence signature more intense than any I knew.

The presence drew nearer, becoming brighter and brighter in the vision of my sensing ability. A dark shadow figure formed within the shadows of the haze, the shape of a man wrapped in a vast aura of light. The haze drew away from him like the parting of curtains. Shards of essence encircled his head like a crown. Over a long red tunic, he wore a cloak that shifted through hues of yellow. He had the look of the Danann about him, if it were possible for the Danann to look more radiant than they did. He furrowed his brow when he saw me. “Such a small dark thing ripples the Ways.”

He had an enormous intensity, more than the tree spirit I had met, more than anything I had ever met. I didn’t have much experience with kobolds, but he didn’t feel like one or any other fey I knew. I held the spear defensively. “Viten?”

Surprise etched across his face when he saw the spear, and a shudder ran through him. His cloak came alive with motion and melted into his body. He grew larger, and sank cross-legged to the ground, his hair turning dark, his eyes showing the threat of a wild animal. Essence flowed from his temples and branched from his head with a burnished light. “Do you come to mend the Ways or to bend them?”

His voice sent shivers through me, resonant and deep. “I’m looking for someone,” I said.

The giant swelled, his color fading, then he settled back. “A woman.”

“Her name is Meryl Dian.”

He shuddered as he flowed into a standing position. Thick hair sprouted from his head into long tangles above deep-set eyes that glittered in hues of storm and shadow. A blue robe flared out of his back and across his shoulders. I stepped back.

“What is this?” I asked.

His entire body spasmed. “Naming is a deep matter.”

“Dammit, where am I?” I asked.

Yellow essence swirled, and the first incarnation reappeared, wrapping his golden cloak about him with a smug smile. “You’ve danced on my borders many times, but never crossed. How come you now with a sliver of the Wheel?”

“What borders? What do you mean?”

The figure moved nearer, essence rising like a shadow. “You warp the Ways. You are not worthy to wield such Power. Surrender it to me.”

I held the spear across my chest. “No.”

He shivered, his body fragmented, then pulled back together. He extended a jeweled hand. “Surrender it.”

The gesture felt oddly indifferent, as if he had merely asked me for some small token. He didn’t look happy. I sought his eyes, but their shifting colors made it difficult. He made no move to take the spear. Despite his enormous essence, whatever he was, he seemed unable to act. Feeling more confident, I hefted the spear. “You can’t take it from me, can you? You’d have done that by now.”

The unsettling eyes remained fixed on me as his skin blurred and shifted, swelling as he fleshed into the burly giant. He sat before me again, looking down at me with a feral gleam. “What value has this woman that you dare the Ways?”

Talking about the value of anything would be a dangerous question from a normal fey. I had no doubt a mistaken answer could be dangerous. “What value should be placed on a life?”

The giant grunted, as if confirming something in his own mind. “You would wager your life for something that you cannot assign value?”

“It’s not my place to wager.”

The giant laughed, a deep rumble that I felt in my own chest. He swept into the form of the blue-robed man. The spear tugged at my hand, and I tightened my grip. “Sorry. I’m keeping it.”

His body undulated and the roar of crashing waves broke through the mist. “You do not know what you risk.”

I had to crane my neck to see his face. “I never do, buddy. Are we done? Because I don’t have time for this.”

His enormous hand reached for me. I instinctively held up the spear. He paused, shuddered, and the wild man was back. “You dare much. The living disturb this place to no good end.”

I tilted the tip of the spear away from him. He was enormous. No need to provoke him any more than I had. “I’m here to take the living back with me.”

Again, the disconcerting shudder, and the blue-robed man reappeared. “In this, then, we are aligned. I will be obliged to you if you succeed.”

“Can you point me in the right direction?” I asked.

The golden-cloaked king shuddered into view. “The Wheel of the World turns as It will. It is not mine to lead even a sliver of It.”

The wild man returned. “The wielder wheels and is wheeled but chooses his own path. We are the Wheel and Its instrument.”

The robed man towered up. “The Ways seal and unseal. A needle binds even as it pierces.”

A great wind rose. The figure pulsated as its forms sought to dominate each other, then spun outward in a flash of white. It vanished. He vanished. They. Whatever the hell it was. The mist wall wavered and dissipated.

The dagger in my right boot twisted in its sheath, digging into my ankle. A spell maintained it as a short fighting knife most of the time, but it changed shape through some means I didn’t understand. Heat emanated from the hilt as I withdrew it. It squirmed in my hand and stretched into the full length of a sword. The last time it did that, I was in a fight for my life.

I faced an opening in a wall of standing stones. A brief glimpse of Nigel leaning over Ceridwen flashed by. The scene slid to a vision of the Civil War monument on the Common, then another of the townhouses on Beacon Hill. The perspective never remained for long, as if the opening itself was in constant motion. My stomach did a little flip. I was looking at Boston through the perspective of the fairy ring. I was in the hazy column of essence, really and truly beyond the veil. I had entered TirNaNog.

An enormous circle of standing stones surrounded me, enclosing several acres of beaten grass. Granite lintels ran along the tops of the standing stones except for a single break in the circle opposite my position. In the center, nine trilithons stood, arches formed of two standing stones with a lintel across their tops. They made a crescent around a towering pillar stone tapering to a height of several meters. I had seen paintings of such places, fantasies I thought, of what an active stone circle would look like. It was Stonehenge on steroids.

A woman in an ancient druidic robe brushed past me and approached the portal to Boston. When she stepped between the standing stones, gray spots of essence materialized like a barrier. She pressed forward, muttering, and melted through to the other side. A perplexed look came over her face as she stared at a Boston police officer, and her body shield activated as the scene swept away from me. However she made it through, it looked a lot less painful than when I had done it.

Around the circle, the other portals between the standing stones showed a steep grass embankment outside the circle. A few standing stones framed an opalescent haze of essence that resonated the same way as the fairy ring back on Boston Common. Across the inner field, the Dead of TirNaNog moved from portal to portal, attempting to walk through, but except for a few with powerful body essences, they met the same resistance I had earlier. Two portals framed visions of rioting on the other side, and another showed a huge bonfire. Around me, fey of all kinds gravitated to the portals, pushing at them like the druidess had done.

I paused by a trilithon in the center. The lone breach in the outer circle of lintel stones aligned with the back of the crescent-shaped arrangement of center stones. A long line of standing stones marched off into the wide field beyond the stone circle. Stone circles have a causeway approach and an entry portal, and this one was no different. Bigger by a factor of ten, but classic.

The place resonated essence in a pale shadow of what I knew, except for two things. The pillar stone at the center shone stark blue-white, an intense concentration of Power. And a trailing streak of two body signatures—Powell’s and Meryl’s. Their trail led from the Boston portal, around the center of the henge, and out the entrance portal. Powell had come to find one of the Dead and taken Meryl with her outside the circle. I followed them to the gap in the circle.

Beyond the two large stones that flanked the entrance, an earthen embankment surrounded the entire stone circle, rising higher than my head. A ditch lay beyond that, then another embankment, not as high as the first, but still taller than I was. And another ditch beyond it, and another embankment, and on and on with each embankment becoming progressively smaller, while each ditch became shallower. The causeway itself ran straight and flat, lined with paired standing stones for nearly a quarter mile. As the embankments to either side became low enough to see over, a green field came into view and spread for miles outside the standing stones of the avenue. A breeze danced over the grass, sending flowing waves over the surface that caught afternoon sunlight and tossed it back.

At the end of the causeway, the hope that I would find Meryl and leave quickly faded. A few scattered people roamed the field. They had essence signatures with the distinct edge of TirNaNog about them like the Dead within the circle. On the edge of sight, a forest line crouched in several places, dark and motionless. Except for the Dead moving toward me, the only other movement was a dark smudge on the horizon. It was too far off to make out details, but the essence within it shone brighter than everything around it. Whoever was out there was alive.

I hesitated. It would take me hours to reach them. If it was Powell, I could wait until she returned to the circle. One of the few things I knew about the land of the Dead was that time moved at a different pace, sometimes slower, sometimes faster. I had no idea how much time had passed there between Meryl and Powell going in and my arrival. In Boston, it was late evening and still was when scenes from the Common flashed by the portal. In TirNaNog, it felt like late afternoon. Maybe Meryl didn’t have hours. Maybe she didn’t have minutes. My chest hurt at the thought that I might be too late.