WebMage

by Kelly McCullough

  "Just sleep it off and don't worry about anything, my little blue friend. I've got everything under control." I couldn't help adding, "And if you believe that, I've got a pomegranate farm I'd like to sell you. Riverfront property with a beautiful view. Sure, the river's the Lethe and it's deep in the heart of Hades, but once you taste those pomegranates you'll never want to leave. Even a couple of seeds will do. Just ask Persephone."

  Minutes passed without anything happening. I couldn't delude myself into believing the Furies had forgotten about me, but I began to hope the storm was too nasty for them to hunt properly. I got the Toyota up to seventy-five, which was way too fast for conditions, but nowhere near as fast as I wanted to go. I could see maybe thirty feet, and that not well. The wind whipped the snow around like a horizontal tornado with me at the eye, hurling individual flakes at the windshield like icy bullets. If it hadn't been for the compass on the dashboard, I'd have lost all sense of direction. I was only able to stay on the road by riding the yellow line, and even that kept fading in and out of view.

  Every so often I'd a hit a patch of ice, and through the steering wheel I'd feel the tires lose their grip on the road. At those moments all that kept me going in the right direction was momentum and luck. It was terrifying in a way the Furies could never be. Alecto and her sisters would kill me if they could, but that was personal. They would do it with the ultimate knowledge of who I was and why I was dying. The storm wouldn't even notice my passing. The irony that I had summoned this particular storm into being to save my life, and that now it might kill me, didn't help my mood.

  A sign loomed out of the white blur on my right, pointing me toward the Highway 10 entrance ramp. Pumping the brakes like a madman, I slowed for the turn. As I began to spin the wheel, there came a sharp bang, like a sledgehammer smashing into steel plate, and the Toyota rocked wildly, tilting down and toward the right. At first I thought I'd blown a tire, but then something in the right-hand corner of my vision caught my attention. Turning my head, I saw five narrow spikes driven through the roof of the car. The finger claws of a Fury. They'd missed my head by no more than six inches. A second set was driven through the steel another foot and a half to the right, and I was sure that if I looked back I'd see matching toe claws over the cargo area.

  I pushed the gas pedal back to the floor and roared up the entrance ramp, hugging the right side of the lane. As I clutched at the wheel, I felt a twinge in my right arm where the webbing hadn't bonded perfectly. Halfway up the ramp, I found what I was looking for, a big traffic-merging sign. When I hit it, the thin metal supports snapped like the pins on a poorly installed sound card, and the heavy steel sign folded over, slamming into the Fury on my roof at fifty miles an hour. With a horrible screeching sound, her claws tore free of the Toyota, and she hit the road behind me. I didn't look back. There were two more around, and I knew better than to believe I'd done more than inconvenience the third. She'd be back, and she'd be angry.

  That's when I noticed the fuel light. I didn't know enough about Land Cruisers to know whether that meant I needed gas immediately, or in fifty miles. Cursing violently, I started looking for gas station signs. The storm was still sitting on the landscape like a roll of cotton batting, and I didn't dare try to top the seventy-five miles per hour I'd been running at. Since that hadn't shaken the Furies loose yet, I didn't think it would. I was going to need some kind of plan if I wanted to live through my refueling stop. It was a couple of minutes before I saw an Amoco advertised for the exit ten miles ahead, and by that time I knew what I had to do. I'd have given the tip of my other pinkie to have Melchior help me out on this one. Heck, I'd have given the whole finger just to know he was going to be all right, but when I gently shook him, he didn't even twitch.

  Chapter Eleven

  By the time I pulled the Land Cruiser onto the exit, I'd already been whistling a spell for several miles. I can do binary, but at some tiny fraction of the speed of Melchior or other webgoblins. I was attempting a big spell, and I wasn't going to get any second chances. That meant starting early and hoping I got the time to finish it. I'd already botched two bars and had to repeat them. Bits of raw magic were fluttering and sputtering around the interior of the car like moths made out of ball lightning, bug and zapper in one neat little package. I wasn't sure what that was going to do to the spell, but I didn't have time to start from scratch. I was just going to have to cross my fingers and hope Tyche, Goddess of Fortune, was sending lucky waves in my direction.

  I made it to the Amoco without any of the Furies taking another whack at me. The building was closed, but fortunately they had credit card pumps. I picked a pump as far under the awning as possible. That way, Alecto and her sisters would have to come at me on foot. It wouldn't help much, but I'd take any advantage I could get. As I slid out of the car, I continued to whistle. It was harder in the cold wind, and I had to repeat a third bar.

  Waiting for the pump to process my card was agony. I kept peering into the dark, expecting the Furies. I'd just started pumping gas when they arrived. They came in gently this time. As far as they were concerned, they had me, and there was no reason to be hasty.

  At least, that's what I assumed they thought. In the course of my day-to-day existence, I'd never really had much call to deal with them before. They weren't the sort who ended up at family gatherings. While they might be distantly related to the three houses of Fate, they weren't exactly A-list. There are probably social functions where a nude embodiment of vengeance would be first on the roster of invitees, but my grandmother's annual picnic at the foot of Olympus wasn't one of them. Which isn't to say that they might not be great company. They certainly couldn't be any less fun to be around than Hwyl. But none of that really mattered. What did matter was that they weren't immediately trying to rip me limb from limb. Every second they held off put more gas in the Land Cruiser.

  "We were called for this?" asked Alecto, gesturing dismissively in my direction.

  "The Fates have fallen very far indeed if they need our help to deal with a mere demideity," responded Megaera. She sniffed the air speculatively. "A wounded one at that."

  "Perhaps there is more to him than meets the eye," said Tisiphone. "Jason wasn't much to look at either, but he caused no end of trouble. This one's ploy with the road sign was quite effective."

  "A temporary victory at best," replied Megaera, rubbing a bruise on her upper arm. "We'll soon rectify that."

  "But listen," said Tisiphone, "he whistles a spell even now, and he's not running."

  "He will," said Alecto.

  "Of course," agreed Tisiphone. "Otherwise, it would fail to please. No chase, no challenge."

  "He's stopped his mouth music," said Megaera. "But there is no effect. Do you suppose the spell failed?"

  "It's possible," said Alecto.

  "How sad," said Tisiphone. "It would have made things more interesting. Shall we take him?"

  "I think yes," said Alecto.

  "Um, ladies?" I interjected.

  "Yes," said the three in perfect unison, one voice issuing from three mouths.

  "Perhaps there's another reason I stopped."

  "An alternate possibility," said Tisiphone.

  "Yes," agreed Alecto. "More entertaining perhaps?"

  "I do hope so," said Megaera.

  "What reason would you give then?" asked the tripartite voice of the Furies.

  "I might be stalling for time," I replied. "I might have the spell all but completed, and just be waiting for the perfect moment."

  "Ooh," said Alecto, clapping her hands together. "A most excellent ploy."

  "Very nice," replied Megaera, "if ultimately futile."

  "Of course," agreed Tisiphone, "but diverting nonetheless."

  "We'll pick that one," said the Furies.

  "I'm glad you did," I said. And as I spoke the tank finished filling. "It's my favorite as well. Now, let me share with you the last notes of something I call Jurassic Gas." I pointed the nozzle of the gas pump at t
hem, whistled five descending notes, and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened. I had hit a flat when I should have hit a sharp in that last bar and all that was coming out of the pump was gas. Trying not to panic, I whistled the five notes again.

  This time, as the gas continued to spray toward the Furies it twisted in the air, reshaping itself into a leaping allosaur. It was small to start with, less than a foot tall, but it kept pulling gas out of the pump to increase its size. In an instant, the hose and pump had split open and unleaded was fountaining into the winter air. As it grew, it took on color and life, becoming a living, breathing dinosaur. The other pumps followed one by one, until a whole pack of vicious carnivores was rushing at the Furies.

  "Clever," said Tisiphone, grinning and bobbing a quick nod in my direction.

  "Not bad," said Alecto, nodding as well.

  "Straightforward application of the principle of association," said Megaera. She sounded unimpressed. "I suppose it'll do."

  "What fun!" said the collective voice of the Furies. Then they smiled, showing teeth every bit as sharp and plentiful as the allosaurs'.

  Gasoline is, at root, the compressed remains of prehistoric life. My spell had reminded it of that fact. Oh, I know the vast majority of it is plant matter, but all I needed was that tiny percentage that wasn't and some clever magical footwork to create a world-class distraction. I hopped back into the Toyota. As I headed for the on-ramp, I spared one quick glance over my shoulder for the dinosaurs. It was a pity really, they would be extinct again all too soon.

  "Now what?" whispered a voice from the seat beside me.

  "Melchior?" Hope hit me like a sucker punch.

  "Yeah," said the webgoblin, his voice barely audible.

  "You're back online?"

  "I wouldn't say that," he husked. "I've got no motor functions at all."

  "How are you talking?" I risked taking my eyes off the road long enough to glance at him. He was lying very still, and when next he spoke his lips didn't move.

  "I'm making my modem do unnatural things. It hurts."

  "Then don't speak," I said. He sounded as though his voice was coming from the wrong side of the Styx, and it was all my fault. If I hadn't ordered him to try Scorched Earth, he'd be fine.

  "That was Jurassic Gas."

  "It was," I replied.

  "You didn't do it very well."

  "Gosh thanks." I'd come to rely on Melchior too much. Casting the spell without him had been awful, and I knew I hadn't gotten it quite right. But I was annoyed that it had been so obvious that Melchior, even in his unconscious state, had noticed. "How do you know that?"

  "There's enough raw magic in the air to generate a half dozen crop circles. I think that's what woke me. Now, answer my first question."

  "What?" I asked. Then I realized he was asking about what happened next. "I don't know. Jurassic Gas was the only bullet I had in my clip."

  "Go to Ahllan," he said, his voice sounding fainter. "She can help."

  "The troll?" I asked. "What good is that going to do? The Furies can track any locus transfer I make. She might be a troll, but she wouldn't last five minutes against the sisters of vengeance."

  "Use the painting."

  "That's no good—" I stopped. He might have a point. The Furies could follow an electronic trail easily enough, but they might not be able to track me through a gate. On the other hand, they had my scent by then. With their powers, they'd be able to use that to find me, even if they had to start from scratch. Ruthless, tireless, inescapable, that's what being a Fury was all about.

  "That's just a delaying tactic," I said.

  "Feeble grin," he whispered in lieu of the expression he couldn't make. He made a wry, little chuckling sound. "Isn't that better than the alternative?"

  "Point taken, but I can't do that to Ahllan. She saved my ass once already. It'd be poor thanks to drag the Furies through her living room. I'll just have to think of something else."

  "Damn," whispered the goblin. "Just when you need him to be self-centered, he goes all noble on you." There was a horrible crackling noise. It sounded a bit like a modem trying to eat itself. "Can't talk much longer, so listen. You have to go to Ahllan. Didn't want to tell you this. Garbage Faerie is special. It's not really on the net. No one can find you there. Ahllan is the leader. You can trust her. I—" The crackling noise came again, and Melchior stopped speaking.

  "What do you mean?" I asked. "Leader of what?"

  There was no response. I closed my eyes for a second. For some reason the road had gone blurry. Something hot and wet made its way down my right cheek.

  "Melchior, I don't know if you can hear me or not, but hang in there. You said I should go to Garbage Faerie, so I'm going to Garbage Faerie. When we get there, I'm going to get you fixed up like new. You have to stay with me. After all, you don't want me to have to rewrite you, do you?"

  My only answer was silence.

  "Melchior," I whispered, "Stay Alive. Execute." It wasn't a real command, but it was the only thing I could think of that might make any difference.

  I leaned over and twisted his programmer's switch, powering him down. If there was a security virus in there, it couldn't do any further harm while he was off. I never should have rebooted him, and I mentally kicked myself for not thinking of it earlier. I guess I'd just grown too dependent on him.

  I was alone, and the mournful crying of the wind as it found its way in through the holes made by Megaera's claws seemed to mock me. I didn't want to do any more magic just then, but the sound was too much for me to bear, so I made a slight modification to Patch & Go and used it on the roof.

  The drive to the Twin Cities took almost three hours, and it was the loneliest trip of my life. As the car warmed up, I discovered that the previous owners had owned a dog, or at least it smelled like they had. Underneath that was a faint odor like burned transistors that I fervently hoped wasn't coming from Melchior. The radio didn't work, and the falling snow muffled all outside sounds. It also blotted out the rest of the visible world. The light of the headlamps scattered off the tiny white crystals of the snow, quickly losing all power to penetrate the murk. For perhaps fifty feet in a narrowing cone I could see the road. There wasn't enough side light to let me see the shoulder of the highway, and all the rearview showed was a vague, red glow.

  Nothing existed beyond a silent, white tunnel through which I guided the old Toyota. It reminded me of a locus transfer, during that time when you don't really exist except as a packet of information streaming from one point to another. The only difference was that a locus transfer takes bare instants, and the drive seemed to go on forever. I had a lot of time to think dark thoughts.

  That was something I normally tried to avoid. I am possessed of a certain melancholy streak. Most of the time I'm able to suppress it by using my sense of the absurd as a sort of shield. It's hard to be depressed and a wiseass at the same time. But at that moment, none of my jokes felt the least bit funny. Humor needs to be shared, and I had no audience, not even Melchior. Or perhaps I should say; especially not Melchior. The webgoblin was my alter ego, my foil, and my straight man. But most of all he was my friend, a constant companion. I'd never really contemplated what life without him might be like.

  It wasn't something I wanted to think about just then either, especially since there was a chance it might be a permanent separation. However, with Melchior's still, blue body on the seat next to mine I couldn't avoid it. I ran a hand across the cool pebbly surface of his cheek. It was perfectly still and devoid of animation, unmoved even by the reflex twitch skin normally gives when it is touched unexpectedly. I left my hand there for a long time, wishing he could make some response. He didn't.

  It was only as I was contemplating how much I would miss him that I realized that somewhere along the line Melchior had become a person for me. It wasn't only his utility that I would miss, but his personality as well. His sarcasm. His sense of humor. Even the way he always seemed angry at the wor
ld. If we both survived the coming days, I would have to ask him what he wanted, give him the chance to opt out of my private war with the darkest of the Fates. I owed him that.

  For a member of my family, it was an extraordinary realization. Being a part of the structure of Fate is some of it. Even the wildest of us have a certain instinctive feeling that there should be a set order to things, and that we are the ones who should determine that order.

  But there was more to it than that. Atropos, Lachesis, and Clotho were our matriarchs and our examples. If they treated the various autonomous webdevices—the goblins and trolls who did the detail work for us—as things to be owned and commanded, that was what was right and proper.

  The problem was that it wasn't true. Atropos was cruel and power-hungry. My grandmother was autocratic and domineering. Clotho was an autarch as well, though possibly not as bad. Her role as a creator, drawing our threads from the interworld chaos, seemed to insulate her from the worst excesses of the Fate mentality. Still, each in her own way treated everyone else, family included, the same way they dealt with the trolls and goblins. It hadn't ever struck me as a problem before, and probably the only reason it did now was because I'd strayed into the crosshairs. But that didn't change the fact that it was wrong, or that I'd ordered Melchior around in the same high-handed fashion.

  With this realization came further guilt. If it weren't for me drawing him into my conflict with Atropos, Melchior would never have been exposed to whatever had put him in his current state. I suppose that in the balance there was the fact that without me he would never have existed, but that was rationalization. Creation does not beget ownership. I was the one who had made Atropos into an enemy, but it was Melchior who might pay the ultimate price. It made me angry at Atropos and, even more, at myself.