Sure, I was lost in a Minnesota whiteout, and I couldn't see my feet, much less my way; but after slipping away from Dairn and Hwyl, outhacking Eris, and besting the crone who holds the shears, I felt I couldn't lose. It's funny how wrong you can be.
* * * *
"Boss?" said Melchior, poking his head out of the bag.
I'd shifted the bag to my left shoulder and was using it as a sort of improvised sling. Mel moved carefully, but the inevitable jarring still hurt.
"What is it, Mel?" I asked through clenched teeth.
"I'm freezing," he said.
"So am I."
I didn't think that I'd ever been so cold. It had been dark for a while, and with the coming of night the temperature plummeted. I was really regretting that I hadn't taken the time to swap my cloak for the parka. The temperature was aggravating the damage to my arm, and it felt like the blood from the wound in my side had frozen. If I'd been human, it would have been game over by that point. As it was, if I stayed on my feet and kept moving, and if it didn't get much colder, I'd probably live through the night. I kept telling myself that. It didn't help as much as I'd have liked.
I'm not a true immortal. I don't age and I'm tough, but I can be permanently injured, witness my knee and my fingertip, and I can be killed. And these were prime conditions for killing. It was way below freezing, I was exhausted and lost, and I didn't dare use magic for fear of broadcasting my location to Atropos.
At least it was still snowing. As long as the snow kept falling and the cloud cover stayed, it wouldn't get too cold. Record lows are always set on clear nights when there's nothing between the ground and space to keep the heat in.
"Where are we going?" asked Melchior.
"I'm not sure. I've been so busy worrying about the 'away from' part of running I haven't given much thought to the 'where to' bit. I don't want to try an Up link yet. I'd rather not use any more magic until we're a good long way from the cabin. That's why I haven't had you do anything about my injuries. Our chances for clemency are going to be a whole lot better if the Fates have a chance to see what Eris was doing in the Fate Core before they find us."
"I'd rather they didn't find us at all," replied the webgoblin, morosely. "Atropos will never let us live after this stunt."
"I don't know about that. If I'm fast enough on my feet when it comes time to explain things, we might be all right. After all, it won't look very good if she keeps crying for my head once she finds out I saved the Fate Core from the Goddess of Discord."
"You don't actually believe that, do you?" His voice was incredulous.
I'd thought about it quite a bit as I skied along on the frozen streambed. "No, I suppose I don't. But if they decide to cut my thread, there's nothing I can do about it except spit in Hades's eye when I get to the far bank of the Styx. Besides, I need something to keep my mind off the fact that I'm slowly freezing to death."
"I have a better way to do that, Boss," said Melchior, standing up in the bag.
The movement hurt my arm, and my response came out sharp and harsh. "What's that?" I snapped.
"There's light off that way," said Melchior, pointing.
I followed the line of his finger. Between the trees on my left, there was a very faint glow. The whirling snow hid details, and it looked like someone shining a flashlight through a cotton ball, but it was there. I turned off the stream and headed toward it. As I got closer, the light grew steadily brighter. I still couldn't make out details, but I had a pretty good idea of what it must be. I'd been able to see the lights through a blizzard from something like a half mile away, and the only places on Earth with that much light are used-car dealerships.
About fifty yards out, I came to an eight-foot chain-link fence with a strip of barbed wire on top. There were endless rows of "previously owned" sport utility vehicles on the other side. The fence extended out of sight in both directions, so I stopped and, one-handed, undipped my skis from my boots and tossed them over. Holding my poles carefully, I jumped after them. I didn't land well. My bum knee might be all right for everyday use or even skiing, but it didn't like long drops at all. No sooner had my feet touched than it felt like someone had decided to use my knee as a golf tee, someone who had a problem with divots. Fortunately, the snow cushioned my collapse. It also muffled my scream. Little bits of floating light danced in front of my eyes while I clung to the edges of consciousness. I didn't particularly like being aware just then, but passing out facedown in a snowbank seemed like a good way to take a permanent rest.
After a while, I decided to get up. Using a slightly battered Ford Bronco as a crutch, I dragged myself into a standing position. When I felt I could deal with a new shipment of pain, I tried putting weight on my right leg. The knee held, but complained loudly. If I took things gently, I'd probably be able to stay upright, but I sure as hell wasn't going to do any more skiing. I was just trying to figure out what to do next when Melchior chimed gently. He popped his head out of the bag, jarring my arm again.
"You've got an incoming visual from Cerice."
"I do? Well then, put her through," I replied.
His eyes and mouth lit in the primary colors of light, and Cerice sprang into being on the snow in front of me. She was wearing a golden silk kimono patterned with red phoenixes. Her white skin was even paler than usual, and her nose was red. She looked as though she'd been crying. That worried me. Cerice never cries.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Oh, Ravirn, they're going to kill you. How could you? I didn't even know that was possible."
"They are," I said. Then, "How could I what?" And, "What's possible?" I was confused.
She shook her head. "Don't think I'm an idiot. I'm talking about the virus in the Fate Core. I've heard the whole story. Clotho and Lachesis were there and everything. They tried to cut your thread." A look of bafflement crossed her face. "How did you do that? They're furious."
"Do what?" I was scared and confused. The killing me bit I could understand. That was pretty damned straightforward. Just "snip" and game over. It was the rest of it I didn't get. Like the part where I was still vertical. "Cerice, what are you talking about?"
"It's not going to save you, you know. As soon as they found out your thread had been erased, they sent the Furies after you." She lowered her head sadly. "I can't believe you killed Laric. I thought he was your friend. Chaos and Discord. I'm having a hard time believing any of it, but the evidence is awfully damning." She closed her eyes, and her voice became a whisper. "And to think I've been falling for you." There was a pleading note in her voice as she said this last, as though she wanted me to give her some reason to believe I wasn't responsible for whatever it was I'd been accused of.
"Cerice," I said, as firmly as possible. "Hush."
I was utterly baffled. Only about one word in three of what she was saying made any sense. She seemed to be speaking in some kind of code. I didn't know what Cerice thought had happened, or why she was so upset with me, but I strongly suspected my time was running out.
The word Furies had concentrated my attention marvelously. The Furies, embodiments of the twin concepts of revenge and justice, are one hundred percent bad news. If they were coming to kill me, I was probably going to die, and it probably wouldn't be a clean death either. Family lore said that when they'd gone after my cousin Menander, they'd played him like a cat plays a mouse: lots of frenetic running, squeaking, and batting that ended with a nasty little crunch. I tried to clear the image from my mind. I needed to find out what was happening if I wanted even the slimmest chance of avoiding that death.
"I haven't a clue what you're talking about," I said to Cerice. "I don't know anything about erased threads."
Not unless she was talking about whatever it was Eris's dragon had been doing when it ate life threads. They could have been erased, but they could also have been rewritten into Discord-worshipping zombies. I didn't know enough about the inner workings of the Core even to hazard a guess. Besides, I didn't feel er
ased. But I didn't have time for wild speculations or for twenty questions with Cerice. I'd have to sort it out later.
"There was a virus in the Fate Core," I said, "but it wasn't mine. It belonged to Eris. Laric and I killed it." She opened her mouth, but I held up a hand. "Let me finish. If the Furies really are on the way, I may not have the time to say any of this ever again. Laric died fighting the virus. He was my friend, and I'd have spared him if I could. Nobody regrets his death more than I." I paused and took a deep breath. Talking about Laric took more out of me than I'd expected, and I needed to recompose myself.
"Lastly, and most importantly," I said, "if you really are falling for me, that would be the best thing to happen to me in what looks like it's going to be a rather short life."
I realized then that I wanted to tell her that for me falling had given way to fallen some time ago. I hadn't truly appreciated it until that moment, with death approaching on wings of vengeance, but what I felt for Cerice was more than deep affection colored by lust. Maybe I'd been half in love with her for years without knowing it. Whatever the case, somewhere along the line half in love had become more like three-quarters. I wanted to let her know, but I couldn't. It would have been unfair in the extreme, to promise a heart that might stop beating at any moment.
"I have to go," I finally said. "And if this is the last time we speak, remember that I cared for you, more than I've ever cared for anyone else." It was inadequate, but it was the best I could do. "Good-bye, Cerice."
"Good-bye, Ravirn." She looked up again for one brief moment and met my eyes. "I… I cared for you, too." The lights in Melchior's face went out, and she was gone. I lifted him out of the bag and set him on his feet. Then I pulled the sleeve back from my injured forearm.
"It's time to use magic, Mel. It can't make things any worse."
"Not with the Furies coming to kill you. You could swallow a pint of nitroglycerin and try to escape by pogo stick, and it wouldn't make things worse."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence. Melchior, Patch & Go. Execute."
"Executing," he said.
He spat a netspider into his hand. By squeezing it, he was able to get a big gob of cobweb, which he applied to the paired entry and exit wounds on my arm. When that was in place, he whistled a short burst of binary, and I felt warmth spreading outward from the points of contact.
I'd coded the spell while recuperating from my encounter with Moric and company. It wasn't exactly a full healing spell. Those take a lot of time and personal power investment, and I'd wanted something that required neither. But it wasn't really an illusion either. That wouldn't have done much good. Instead, it was somewhere in between. The webbing would bond with the flesh and make the wound look and feel healed.
I'd be able to use it normally for a while, but eventually I'd have to peel it off and really fix the problem. In the meantime it wouldn't do any real healing and might actually get worse. Also, I'd probably lose some flesh when I ripped the stuff loose, but I was willing to trade function now for cost later. I'd have liked to do the ribs as well, but the Furies could arrive at any time and I had something else I needed to do first.
"Melchior," I said, "Scorched Earth. Execute."
"Loading," said the webgoblin.
Scorched Earth was a big spell, and it would take a little while to prep. I just hoped it was time I had. It had crashed the mweb the last time I tried it. Right at the moment I couldn't think of a better result. I had no illusions that it would actually prevent the Furies from getting to my present DecLocus, but it would certainly slow them down while I tried to put some distance between us. As I waited for the spell to finish loading, I felt the sickly fingers of panic begin to caress my soul. Maybe I shouldn't have taken time to fix my arm. Maybe I should have just hung up on Cerice the moment she'd said Furies.
"Executing," said Melchior after a few seconds. He began to spew high-speed binary. Another couple of seconds passed before he stopped whistling. "Scorched Earth successfully… Success… Succ… Scorched Earth Null Set. Mweb security alert. Illegal Command. Fatal Error. Fatal Error." He sneezed once, very loudly. Then his whole body went rigid, and he keeled over.
I suddenly had trouble breathing. It felt like my lungs were filling with sand. My familiar had crashed, and I was going to die. My leg hurt. My side hurt. If I added in the fact that my girlfriend seemed to think I'd done something horrific, I had the beginnings of a country western song. I felt like shit, and I must admit I entertained the idea of quietly lying down in the snow next to Melchior and letting events roll over me. It would have been so easy. Atropos was going to win, and I was going to lose. Why prolong things?
I'm not sure why I didn't give up then. I think it was Cerice and all the unanswered questions. If I'd died then, I'd never have been able to find out what we could mean to each other or learn what she'd been talking about when she said my life strand had been erased. It might not seem like much of a motive, but it kept me moving.
I bent and flipped Melchior onto his back. Just below and behind his right ear was a small wartlike projection. It was his programmer's switch, which would force a reboot. Taking it between thumb and forefinger, I twisted and pushed. There was a gentle chime followed by the sound of a processor cycling. Hopefully, that would take care of the crash, but I doubted it. Webgoblins are very stable little machines, and it takes a lot to bring one down. I was pretty sure the problem hadn't been with Scorched Earth, which meant it was probably a countervirus of some kind. The sneeze, a common alert signal for webgoblins with viral problems, tended to reinforce that speculation.
My guess was that the Fates had upgraded mweb security after the last crash and that the new systems had done something vicious to Melchior. That scared me. The Fates can be very nasty when they want to, and Melchior was, much as I might hate to admit it to anyone but myself, my best friend.
Grabbing my webgoblin by the scruff of his neck, I stuffed him into the bag and started limping across the snowy pavement. I didn't bother to pick up my skis. I wasn't going to outrun the Furies on foot, not when they could fly at close to sixty miles an hour. I needed a car, but the ones here in the back of the lot were all parked in. I was almost at the front of the line when I heard a sound like someone ripping a hole in reality somewhere behind me. Sure enough, peering over my shoulder, I spotted a jagged rent hanging in the air above the place where I'd abandoned my skis.
Take a movie screen. On it, project a snowstorm. Now place an enraged tiger in the room behind the screen. At some point the tiger is going to realize that all it has to do to get out and shred the audience is to use those nice, sharp claws and make an itty-bitty hole in the screen. The end result was pretty much what I was seeing. The only difference was that next to the Furies, an enraged tiger is a fat and lazy house cat. The first one through the hole was Alecto; I could tell by her wings.
That's the easiest way to identify a Fury. None of the three ever wears clothing. They don't need protection, and modesty is a concept utterly foreign to them. As she emerged, I pictured her and the others as I had last seen them at a hubris trial.
Alecto was a tall, beautiful woman with a voluptuous figure and skin the gray of granite. Her eyes and nipples and the hair that grows on her head and at the base of her belly were sable shot with silver, like lightning on a dark night. Her wings were a midnight storm.
Megaera was shorter and less generously proportioned, with an olive complexion. Where Alecto was ebony and silver, Megaera was a rich dark green. Her wings hung in the air above her like a seaweed mat big enough to swallow ships.
Tisiphone was slender, almost boyish, her skin so pale you could see her veins tracing fractal patterns in blue ink. Her hair and eyes were flame, and her wings ignited forest fires.
I didn't wait around to see them in person though. I wanted to make my exit while there was still only one of them on my side of that rip. Turning to the nearest car, I whistled a quick spell of opening. It wasn't a very good spell—it's hard to whi
stle when your lips are freezing—but it was only a car door. I tossed my bag and ski poles onto the passenger seat and slid into what turned out to be an old Toyota Land Cruiser. Reaching under the steering column, I applied a little superhuman strength and wrenched the ignition switch free. The engine caught on the first try, which frankly surprised me, considering the way the rest of my life was going.
In the rearview I could see the second Fury, Tisiphone as it turned out, pass into this DecLocus and unfurl her burning wings. The next step in my little auto theft was to snap the steering lock. As I did this, Alecto lowered her head to my fallen skis like a wolf sniffing out the trail of an injured deer.
I floored it. Tisiphone, who'd maintained an alert stance, watching while her sister took the scent, howled and pointed. Megaera, who had just emerged from the place between worlds, and Alecto nodded agreement. Wings snapped wide and the trio flung themselves into the air. In an instant they'd vanished into the storm.
When they'd taken Menander they'd attacked like falcons, climbing high into the sky and dropping on him in pile-driver dives, smashing him to the ground again and again as he tried to escape. He was nothing but a pulpy sack of shattered bone by the end. As I accelerated, my mind kept rerunning the scene endlessly, like the preview of an overhyped coming attraction at the local theater.
Cutting around the dealership building, I headed for the front gate. In another season I'd have taken the direct route to the highway and plowed through the fence, but I didn't dare get stuck in a snowdrift. The gate was closed. It didn't even slow me down. A Land Cruiser moving at forty miles an hour packs a lot of punch.
As I hit the open road, I switched to pushing the pedals with my left foot to take some of the strain off my injured knee. It was never going to be as good as new, but I heal fast, and giving my leg some downtime might make all the difference later. After a bit I glanced at Melchior. He should have finished his reboot by then, and it would have been a perfect time to have him back online. No such luck. The rigidity had left his body, but that was the best that could be said for him. I ran a hand gently along his spine.
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