by Sharon Lee
Or not. According to the message he’d given Vassily to deliver, he found value in the sharing of power, memory, and spellcraft. I sort of doubted that, since I was a callow and half-trained youth. Even if my jikinap tasted old—which it did, and was, since it had belonged to Mr. Ignat’, before he gave it to me.
And yet…he specifically mentioned that he had been changed.
That…was disquieting. Had the exchange of powers also included the small homey magics that attached to the Guardian of Archers Beach? Or—
My cell phone warbled. I fished it out of my pocket, grinned at the number on the screen and flipped it open.
“Hey, there,” I said.
“Hey,” Borgan answered. Usually, hearing Borgan’s voice made me feel happy. But that hey…
I swallowed, feeling a little lump of dread lodge just under my breastbone.
“What’s wrong?”
There was a slight pause.
“Well, now, that’s what I don’t know. Something’s gone off; the balance in the waters, say it…changed, and not in a way I’ve…ever felt before.”
He was worried; really worried.
“What can I do to help?”
“Don’t know until I have an idea of what’s going on. Might take some time, so I thought I’d better let you know that I won’t be by tonight.”
The little lump of dread got bigger.
“Be careful,” I said, thinking how the ronstibles—Daphne and her, as far as I knew, nameless sister—had come ’way too close to his undoing.
“Take Nerazi,” I added, and didn’t say, if you won’t take me.
“I’ll be careful as can be,” he promised, but he didn’t promise to take Nerazi as backup. “If I get this settled quick, I’ll come by the house, if that’s all right?”
“It’s all right. Borgan—”
“And if I find there’s something you can help me with,” he continued, “I’ll call you, Kate. Now, you take care, too. I’ve gotta go.”
He cut the connection. I stood there between the dolphin and the deer, staring down at my cell. Finally, I shook myself, snapped it shut, and shoved it back into my pocket.
The dread—that wasn’t as easily put away. Something had upset the balance of the Gulf of Maine, and the Guardian had no idea what it was. That was just…
But, really, Kate, I said to myself, if something went pear-shaped with the land, would you necessarily know what it was, right off? Think of the still zones and how much work it is to scope them out.
“You worry too much,” I said out loud.
It didn’t seem to do anything positive for my state of mind.
Fine, then. Borgan was a grown-up, and if he wasn’t as old as Mr. Ignat’ nor as accomplished as Prince Aesgyr, he was more than able to take care of himself. He’d be fine.
“Merry-go-round!” a shrill voice interrupted these reflections. “I want to ride the merry-go-round!”
I looked up.
A little boy in shorts, flip-flops and a red T-shirt emblazoned with the words New York Yankees was pulling his mother’s hand, urging her to hurry.
I swallowed my dread and my agitated thoughts, and jumped off the decking.
“Good evening!” I called, walking toward the operator’s station. “It’s a terrific night to ride the carousel!”
* * * * *
The goblin Daphne had been…a challenge, with anger and grief buoying her natural abilities.
A challenge, but in the end a challenge met, though it was well, she reflected, as she reclined in the goblins’ former dwelling—it was well that she had supped of Olida/Korkilig first.
The sea moved sluggishly in this secret spot; it nourished, but not at the speed nor the depth provided by the open waters of which she had so recently partaken. She therefore faced a decision: remain here, and remain hidden from the Borgan, as the goblins had been hidden from him. Or return to the open waters, where his eye would be upon her.
She considered the choice, though there was very little to recommend the goblins’ lair. If she was to bring the Borgan into her net quickly, she must build her strength. The consumption of the goblins had greatly improved her situation; she must not waste that peculiar blessing.
So, she would go again into the open waters. It was in her mind to seek this Seal Woman, whom the goblins had called Nerazi.
* * * * *
It looked like word had gone out that Fun Country was the place for all the cool kids to be, and the cool kids—with their parents, sibs, and in some cases, their grandparents—had come down to the park to play.
The carousel went ’round, with only the briefest possible pauses to off-load and onload more passengers. At one point, there were fifty people in line; at another…more than that. Baxter Avenue was so packed with people that I couldn’t see past the press of bodies to Tony Lee’s. I took tickets and smiled and chatted, inching off the ride time just a little, while the orchestrion belted out “The Man on the Flying Trapeze,” “Daisy, Daisy,” “Beer Barrel Polka,” “The Sidewalks of New York”—and so on, until it went silent, having run to the end of the roll.
Normally, I’d just wait until there was a break in the crowd to rewind and start the machine again. A glance at the line was enough to convince me that there would never be a break in the line ever again—or until closing time, whichever came first.
Well, I thought, it’ll just have to run silent. Wouldn’t be the first—
“Mommy,” a high voice spoke from the depths of the line, “what happened to the music?”
“The CD got to the end,” a woman’s voice possibly belonging to Mommy answered. “It’ll start up again in a second.”
I sighed.
The orchestrion is an antique, and it plays punched paper rolls that are incredibly fragile and somewhat difficult to deal with, even if you’ve had as much practice as I’ve had. Not much sense trying to explain that to the little boy or his mom. Easier, and more satisfying, for everybody, to just start the music again.
I thought about that, very carefully, as the carousel spun ’round. And careful thought yielded the conviction that I could pull this off, with no loss of life, and without anyone being the wiser.
Therefore, I raised a tiny bit of the jikinap napping at the base of my spine, breathed in and very carefully visualized the steps necessary to rewind the roll and start it again. A little tickle of agreement met this effort; I felt a slight ripple of heat, and tasted just a hint of butterscotch at the back of my tongue. All of which meant that magic was on the case.
I hoped.
I hit the bell twice to signal the end of the ride, and watched the carousel slow down.
“Wait ’til she’s stopped before you get off,” I called. “Wait ’til the animals stop moving!”
They were good and careful—most were, though you’d get the occasional teenager who wanted the thrill of jumping out of the saddle at the height of his mount’s up-cycle.
I watched them dismount, again calling out helpful instructions.
“Exit gate right around to the left! Thank you for riding the Fantasy Menagerie Carousel! Come back again soon!”
They walked around the wheel until they found the exit gate, the inevitable two or three opting for their other left, and getting a little tangled in the crowd of their fellow riders, until somebody got them turned around.
While this was going on, I’d become aware of a tingling in my hands and fingers, and a little flicker of motion behind my eyes, accompanied by the barest taste of butterscotch. The pattern was familiar—could it be feedback from the jikinap I’d dispatched to rewind the orchestrion? I’d never felt my power working before, and wondered if I ought to be worried.
Though I really didn’t have much time to worry, right now.
“Welcome to the Fantasy Menagerie Carousel,” I told the first person in line, a teenage boy with feathery blond hair kissed white by the sun, who was holding hands with a girl wearing a purple shirt with a scoop so daring I coul
d see the tops of her breasts.
I resisted the urge to ask, “Does your mom know what you’re wearing?” and instead continued the traditional greeting.
“Two tickets each, please; enjoy your ride!”
The last rider was through the gate when I noticed my hands weren’t tingling any more.
I hit the bell, and eased the lever up.
The orchestrion began to play.
* * *
What with one thing and another, Marilyn didn’t actually sound the closing horn until damn’ near one o’clock.
So, I told myself, as I stepped through door in the storm gate, into the at-last-silent park, it’s a good thing Borgan couldn’t make it tonight, anyway.
Which assumed that Borgan had figured out and fixed whatever was wrong in his waters, and was now comfortably asleep on Gray Lady. I hoped that was the case.
But I didn’t believe it.
I pulled the door to, and reached for the lock, my attention mostly on wondering if I would seem…clingy if I just gave him a quick call to see how he was.
Kate, he’s a grown man—considerable understatement, there. He knows his waters and his business. Let him do what he knows—
I felt it, then, the weight on the land. The same weight, I was certain, that I’d felt before—the timid trenvay who had run away from Borgan.
Slowly, I turned toward it—as before, he or she was located in the lightless alley between Summer’s Wheel and the carousel’s storm wall.
“I’m glad you came back,” I said softly, while I sent warm tidings and promises of safety through the land. “Please don’t run away. I’m Kate Archer, Guardian of Archers Beach. I’d like to see you, and to get to know you—and serve you, if I may.”
As on the previous occasion, the weight shifted on the land. I had the impression that whoever it was had come one or even two cautious steps toward me…
Which was approximately the moment that all hell broke loose.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Monday, July 10
Low Tide 4:54 A.M. EDT
Moonset 3:59 A.M.
The noise almost knocked me flat; every trenvay and Ozali within the bounds of Archers Beach had to have heard it—and the half-sighted mundane population, too. Hell, Gran’d probably heard it, inside her tree.
Loud as it was, it wasn’t the sound of the World Gate being opened, which would have relieved me, if I hadn’t noticed right then that the reason the shock hadn’t knocked me flat was because my jikinap had risen straight up my backbone, holding me up, like—no.
My jikinap was being drawn.
Memory flickered, and I was a kid again, in the garden of Aeronymous House. I was helping to gather flowers for the dinner table, a delicate task that taught fine use of one’s jikinap. My tutor was with me, and we had decided that a single crimson blossom would be the finishing touch for the arrangement that I would build from the mound of creamy flowers in the gathering basket.
We had turned, and suddenly the air…altered. Now, I would say that it felt like a storm coming, with ozone fizzing along nerve endings. Then, I only knew that I’d never felt anything like it before. I’d been well trained; in any unusual situation the first thing I was to do was to lock my meager store of power.
I managed to do it just an instant before the air contracted in a sudden sharp snap.
My tutor fell at my feet, pale flowers spilling over the pathstones. I dropped to my knees beside him, touching his face to verify what I could plainly see. His power had been wrenched from him. He was dead.
He’d misted into nothing under my fingertips, leaving them faintly damp.
Back in Archers Beach in the Changing Land, I snatched at my store of jikinap too late, exerting all of my will to slam it down to the base of my spine.
The drawing force was too strong for me. Despite my best, and most desperate, efforts, my power was moving up my spine. If I didn’t do…something…the Ozali who had arrived inside of that mind-numbing bang was going to drain me of power—and probably my life.
Kate, I told myself, let it GO.
But my jikinap had been merged, however briefly, with Prince Aesgyr’s jikinap. And I was willing to bet that the Ozali behind the wall was no friend of Aesgyr’s.
Impossibly, the draw increased; I felt my power begin to fragment, cracking like paint that had been baked under the summer sun, tiny chips floating away. There was only one way that this could end. I’d lose my power, my life—and Aesgyr’s secrets, too.
No. That was not going to happen. I remembered my father, blasted into mist; my grandfather, refusing to believe what was happening to him, even as he crumbled into dust. No. That was not going to happen again. Not here. Not to me.
I was rigid, drawn up onto my toes by the force of the other’s will. Panting, I stubbornly clung to my fragmenting power—and opened myself to the land.
There was a sensation of coolness, as of a vast and welcoming grotto blooming beneath my feet.
“Freely given,” I gasped.
My jikinap…quivered. Condensed.
Then, it quietly drained away, down my backbone as if the punishing force that called it didn’t exist, flowing out of me, and into the land, absorbed like rainwater into a thirsty flowerbed.
The sensation of an intense, irresistible force trying to pull me in half—was gone, like a string snapped, and I went from on pointe to flat-footed, staggering for an instant before the land steadied me. I shivered, and received the impression that a cold, wet nose had been thrust into my hand. The land had my back, that was.
Good to know. Because, having survived the last half minute or so, now I had to deal with whoever was inside the storm gates. Which was, based on our recent interaction, an Ozali of great power and absolutely no concern for the well-being of others.
Who had chosen not to use the World Gate.
This isn’t good, Kate, I told myself.
On the other hand, reinforcements ought to be arriving soon. I hoped. Mr. Ignat’ had to have heard that noise—and Arbalyr. Nerazi. Borgan.
“Right beside you, Kate,” a familiar voice said calmly.
“Felsic.” I tried to keep the surprise out of my voice. “I’m not sure this one’s yours.”
“Anything that comes in that loud and that hungry is mine,” Felsic said grimly. “That ain’t good for the land—and it surely ain’t good for Peggy. Felled her like a log.”
Panic stitched a bright, hot line through my chest.
“You left her?”
“Vornflee’s sitting watch. I made sure she was right an’ tight before I come down. That’s what took me.”
“Just as well; we had some preliminary matters to settle.” I took a breath, hesitating, still expecting…
“The other’s will’ve gone to their services,” Felsic said softly. “To hold as fast as they can for the Guardian and the land.”
…and Felsic had left her service, to be the Guardian’s backup. That said…a lot about something. Too bad I didn’t have time right now to figure out what.
“All right, then,” I said, trying to sound cocky, and probably failing miserably. “Let’s get this thing done.”
I opened myself fully to the land, feeling the whole strength of Archers Beach rise into me. Not jikinap, but power. Considerable power, that could never be reft from me.
“That’s the way of it,” Felsic said approvingly, and I shoved the door open.
I’d turned the lights out when I closed the ride down, but the Ozali waiting for us was more than bright enough to light the space.
She was tall, and exuded cold. The metal storm walls already bore a coating of frost; icicles had formed on the carousel’s canopy, and a meadow of ice flowers populated the cement floor, clustering tightest at the hem of her robe.
I shivered, but not because of the cold.
The being before us wasn’t just a Master Ozali with no manners.
This…was one of the Wise.
The fact that I’d bee
n expecting the Wise to arrive any day now for the past couple weeks had done nothing to prepare me for the arrival of this Wise One at this time, and in such a manner.
“Quite a ruckus you made, there,” I said, by way of a greeting, and lifted my head to meet ice-blue eyes. “Would you like to tell me why?”
“I will speak with the Gatekeeper,” the Wise One said, though I didn’t see her mouth move.
“You’re speaking to the Gatekeeper.”
A sudden blast of snowflakes struck my face, stinging.
“You are not Ebony Pepperidge.”
I took a deep breath; the cold air helped clear my head.
“That’s right. I’m Ebony Pepperidge’s granddaughter, and I keep the Gate in my own right. Want me to show you how it works, so you can leave quieter than you came?”
The Wise One stared at me, no expression on her icy face. She didn’t seem to be aware of Felsic. I’d seen Felsic use that trick before; interesting that it seemed to work on a Wise One just as good as it worked on the Archers Beach cops. I’d have to ask after the technique, assuming that we, the carousel, and the town managed to survive the next couple minutes.
“What,” I asked, with as much patience as the occasion deserved—which is to say, none—“do you want?”
The cold eyes narrowed slightly.
“What I want depends upon the answer to my question. There has been an illicit use of this Gate. Why did the Gatekeeper allow this to occur?”
Fuck. I had expected the Wise, when they arrived, would want to do a head-count of the prisoners. That this one was asking, not about the prisoners, but about Gate usage meant…
Well, it meant that Prince Aesgyr had managed to hide his actions from his enemies at home. Good for Prince Aesgyr, but bad for me, because there was no way I could cover for the Gate opening. The prince’s magical signature would have been all over that.
No, wait.