This is where we found the victim. . . . Petrus thought frantically, wondering what the link between them and this human could be.
Wenlann appeared to recognize the place as well. Why did he burn the trailer? Did someone do it to cover up the crime? She gave him a knowing look, but sent no thoughts; just as well, as they didn't yet know how sensitive this human was. Would not do for him to intercept a wordless message. Odras' expression was as neutral as ever, but Petrus knew he must recognize the place as well.
"As you can see," Wolf said, lighting another cigarette and motioning toward the burned remains of the trailer, "I'm not exactly set up to entertain guests. After my motorcycle wreck someone came here and murdered my grandfather." Wolf tore his attention away from Wenlann, who had parked the bike on the side kickstand, and looked Petrus directly in the eye. "Do you know anything about it?"
Why lie? "We found him, yesterday morning," Petrus admitted. "We sensed some wrongdoing here, and we came to investigate. We found him dead, he'd been shot in the chest. Odras had a cellular phone. We called the police, but didn't stick around." Petrus shrugged, feeling the burning of embarrassment on his face. "There was not much we could tell them."
Wolf's eyes drifted over to a large dark stain on the sand. "I see," he finally said, and the elf had no idea if he was angry or not. It was as if he could hide his thoughts and feelings as well as Odras can. The prospect chilled him.
Wolf looked up, glanced at Wenlann in that maddening way, then looked again to Petrus. Well, at least he's accepting me as the leader of our little party. I must at least give him that.
"This isn't exactly your home, is it? I mean, our legend tells of another land, that is like an alternate dimension or something, where the chi-en live. Is that where you're from?"
"In a sense, yes," Wenlann said, before Petrus could speak. "We've come here for a reason." She stopped, glanced up at Petrus, as if suddenly realizing she'd spoken out of turn. "Petrus, you should speak for the group. You are in charge, after all."
"You know something about my grandfather's death, don't you?" Wolf asked, more as a statement, though not an accusing one.
"No more than we have said already," Petrus said, flustered. Yes, he felt like he should know more about this murder. It and the dark power lingering after it had attracted them the moment they arrived in this land, even if it hadn't been directly linked to the Unseleighe. A close facsimile of Unseleighe power, perhaps, he speculated.
"My people, the Chaniwa, we have a long history," Wolf said, taking a nervous drag off the cigarette. "In the early days of our tribe, we came into contact with a group of chi-en, or elves, such as yourself. They were once the slaves of Nargach, an Unsaylee being of your kind. Don't ask me what Unsaylee means, I don't know. I do know that our ancestors, the ones who joined the tribe, were not the same." He paused momentarily, the smoke trailing up past his face, looking as if he were trying to remember something. "They were Saylee, the opposite. Enemies of the Unsaylee."
Wenlann gasped, but said nothing. Petrus stared at him, hardly believing what he was hearing. Without any prompting Wolf had described the core of the elven conflict Underhill, the Seleighe, the Unseleighe.
"If I'm hearing this correctly," Wenlann said, "Your ancestors are elves?"
"We, the Chaniwa, I mean, call them chi-en, but yes they are indeed elves, such as yourself," Wolf said, moving a little closer to Wenlann. Odras gave Petrus a warning look; the mage wasn't missing any of this exchange. "I feel like I've met you before," Wolf said to Wenlann. "Have we met? Do I know you from somewhere?"
Wenlann blushed, her gaze falling to the ground. For a moment Petrus felt like he was eavesdropping on a lover's conversation. Odras stood by his 'steed, patiently waiting for the conversation between Chaniwa and Seleighe to run its course.
"I don't think so," Wenlann said, "but I have to admit, I have the same feeling of, well, that I know you from somewhere."
Well, as Thorn pointed out, they weren't here to socialize. They were on a mission for the King, and this line of discussion wasn't getting them anywhere. The Rider Guardian remained in their company, but Petrus sensed he was growing more distant as time passed. And if Thorn knows more, he isn't saying, yet. So far the alliance the King had made with this spirit had only led them to Wolf, which so far had been inconsequential, and unpleasant as well. Perhaps we don't need Thorn after all. But it wasn't up to him to dissolve the alliance, that was the King's duty, and Petrus' duty was to serve the King.
"Did you say the Unseleighe Nargach?" Odras inquired.
Everyone turned to the mage, including Thorn, then back to Wolf.
"Yes, it was Nargach. Or Nargat. This was the chi-en who enslaved the Saylee."
A shadow fell over the mage's face. "That explains quite a bit. I feel we might have stumbled onto something more powerful than any of us bargained for."
Now Thorn looked excited. "Nargach? Nargach! Are you certain?"
"As certain as anyone can be. But that was centuries ago. My guess would be even a thousand years ago."
"That length of time wouldn't matter to an Unseleighe, for two reasons," Petrus said. "Elves live much longer than humans. A thousand years relative to this world is a long time, but not beyond possibility. And second . . ."
"Second," Wenlann said, interrupting again. Petrus bristled. "There's the time rift between Underhill and this world. Time passes differently here." She looked to Odras, asked, "Is it possible this is the same mage?"
"Possible, and probable," Odras replied. "In fact, I'm certain of it."
"But Nargach," Thorn said, struggling to get their attention. "Nargach was the Unseleighe that I encountered recently. This is the reason I went to Underhill in the first place, to find Avalon."
Wolf looked like, well, that he'd seen a ghost. "When, Thorn?" he asked. "When did you see Nargach?"
"When I first made contact with you, after your bike wreck," the country lad said. "Two Unseleighe intercepted me, one of them was named Nargach. They wanted to bribe me to help them."
"Help them what?" Wolf said woodenly.
"They wanted to capture you," Thorn said. "They said they wanted to use your power, that was their interest in you. It's my purpose to protect you. Did I do well?"
Wolf looked at the Guardian incredulously, then cracked a smile. "You did fine," he replied, casting a glance toward Wenlann, who looked away coyly. "You did just fine."
"Something doesn't quite mesh," Petrus said, gritting his teeth. "What is the big connection? I can't believe this is all one big coincidence. Odras, do you know Nargach from somewhere?" Of course he does, he must. And Odras is old, older than my father, older than I imagined. It's beginning to look like Nargach is manipulating Japhet, instead of the other way around. Ooooh, boy. What an Unseleighe mess!
Before Odras could form an answer, which didn't appear to be forthcoming anyway, Wolf spoke up. "I know what the connection is," he said, sounding what, guilty? About what? Petrus wondered.
Wolf looked at something on the altar, then said, "It's Ha-Sowa."
Thorn, Wenlann and Petrus all replied, "Who?"
"A spirit . . . no, a demon, something evil," Wolf said, sounding miserable as he walked over to a long table with a coffee pot.
Wolf picked up a small wooden carving and held it out to Odras. "My grandfather made this. My grandfather . . . had intimate knowledge of this spirit. He knew what he was talking about."
Odras took the carving in both of his large, dark hands. "Long ago, the Unseleighe court knew more about demons than they do now." He paused to examine the carving in detail, then grimly handed it back to Wolf. "Some have lived to the present. Nargach is one of these ancients. I thought him dead long ago, until I felt stirrings in Underhill, deep, dark stirrings that reached beyond the depth of the typical Unseleighe. Then I knew he still lived, but I didn't know where. He must have insinuated himself in Japhet's remaining clan sometime shortly after Zeldan's defeat." The old mage took a few steps toward th
e table. "May I approach it?" he asked, and Wolf consented. "I had heard rumors about the Chaniwa. And also of the brief slave trade the Unseleighe indulged in when the Seleighe were at their weakest. This altar," he said, scrutinizing the various items on it, but not touching. "This is not typical of the human tribes of this continent, is it?"
"No, it is not," Wolf said. "It comes from the white man's land, from long before they settled here."
"The Celts," Odras said. "Celtic magic, in particular. This is the pentagram."
Wolf picked up the dream catcher, with its uneven five-pointed star made of sinew. "It's called the Hand of the Chaniwa. It is a symbol of our religion, as well as our tribe as a whole."
"You said 'tribe,' " Wenlann said, moving beside him to examine the dream catcher. "Where are the rest?"
"There are no others," Wolf replied, sounding sad. "Me and my grandfather, Fast Horse, we were the last. Now it's just me."
Despite his jealousy Petrus found it in himself to feel pity for this human, if only for a moment. How sad he must be.
"Here," Wolf said suddenly, placing the carving back on the altar and reaching for something else. "I want you to have this." He held out a necklace, which looked extremely, well, primitive. It was strung with what looked like animal teeth of some kind, with several hand-carved beads.
Wenlann looked overwhelmed. "This is . . .this must be a family heirloom," she said. "I can't—"
Wolf wouldn't take no for an answer. "Yes, you can. Please. Let me give this too you. It's important that you have it."
She looked as if she would argue further, then she reached for something around her neck. "On one condition. That you take this in return."
It was the silver, heart-shaped Celtic knot. As they exchanged necklaces Petrus knew from that moment on that the situation had changed drastically in their small group, and he was certain he wouldn't like the results. However, he was powerless to do anything about it. Remember the mission, he thought frantically. Remember the mission, that's the only thing that's going to keep me from going nuts!
"It's beautiful," Wolf said. "And there's a . . . is that a wolf in the design?"
Petrus leaned over to see what he was talking about. Wenlann said, "I never noticed that before, but yes. The ears, the snout." She shook her head. "It's like it was invisible, until I gave it to you."
Petrus sought to change the subject. "How did a demon from our world get loose here?"
Odras replied, "Ha-Sowa is not a demon from Underhill."
Wolf looked up. "But I thought—"
"The Unseleighe are masters of turning the demons that haunt the humans' land to their own use; at least, they used to be. Nargach is one who still knows how to do this."
"The early tribes had no such spirit. Where did Ha-Sowa come from, then?" Wolf asked.
"The Egyptians called her Hat Sotor," Odras answered. "Indeed, the cat was said to be a lioness; as the Unseleighe's goddess-slave, this lioness aspect seems to have embraced her entire appearance."
Odras sighed and contemplated the altar, as if the carving of Ha-Sowa would jump up and give him the answer his puzzled expression seemed to be requesting. "I would guess that she had weakened, not just with time, but with the passage of the culture that worshipped her. The Unseleighe would find such entities and give them a new purpose. Their purpose. Fortunately most of the thrice-damned Unseleighe clan lost touch with the ability to do so."
For Petrus the news raised another question: How does Odras know so much about this? The Avalon clan had been rather isolated before even Zeldan had attacked, and Odras was from a distant Seleighe Elfhame he couldn't remember the name of. At any rate, he supposed he was glad for Odras' knowledge. It could only help them in the long run.
If it could only help us now, he thought.
"We are here to locate the Unseleighe, led by a lord named Japhet Dhu," Petrus began, but Wolf seemed to be only halfway listening. "Nargach is with them. What about Ha-Sowa? Have you seen or felt her presence?"
Wolf looked at Petrus with a dreamlike expression, as if he were looking right through the elf.
"Ha-Sowa is near," Wolf said, at length. "My grandfather told me she was, and now I feel her. But she is my problem."
"No, she is our problem," Wenlann said emphatically. "Perhaps Ha-Sowa is the common link that's pulling all of us together. I'm not much of a believer in coincidence."
Petrus had to admit, neither was he. So, now what? Contact the King, tell them what they had learned? "Do you have a phone?" he asked.
Wolf looked around the remains of the trailer, the shack that looked ready to fall over. "What you see is what you get. No phone here." The human grinned, somewhat condescendingly. "What do you need to do, call your King? I'll bet the price of long distance is outrageous."
"Not with MCI's 'Friends and Family'," Petrus replied, not missing a beat. "Actually, what I wanted to do was drop him an e-mail message. It's even cheaper that way."
"Oh," Wolf said, but he had that polite but uncomprehending expression that humans and elves, who knew nothing about computers, both shared whenever the subject came up.
"Well, then," Petrus said. "Perhaps we should go on in to town, as we had planned," he said, moving to mount Moonremere.
"Well, excuse me while I pry that hint off my forehead," Wenlann replied sourly.
"Where we can contact the King, and perhaps find . . ." Petrus continued, but his voice trailed off, as he was about to say "find suitable digs," but that would have been most impolite. He made do with, "A place to stay."
"I would offer my home, but I think it would be a little cramped. Everything I have is yours," he said, but he was looking at Wenlann. "If you're looking for a good, inexpensive place to stay, try La Puerta on Central. They have phones."
"Thank you," Petrus said, and as Wenlann prepared to ride, he asked Wolf, "Are you, uh, going to be all right out here?"
"This is my home," Wolf said. "I am armed, as well. And I've got Thorn here to look over my shoulder."
"Be that as it may," Thorn said, who also appeared to be ready to ride, "perhaps you should consider staying close to these folk? I doubt I could handle much in the way of demons, short of fleeing them."
"I'll consider it," he replied, "but right now I must stay here."
"I'll be back soon," Wenlann said, without so much as a glance toward Petrus, who sensed the unspoken "when I'm alone."
Helmeted and ready to go, the three elves rode out of the homestead in single file, and made a right on Highway 60.
Traffic was light when they turned north on 25, which was fortunate since Petrus found the cold iron content in the cars and trucks they passed to be very uncomfortable, even through the leather he wore. It wasn't all that cool to begin with, and he was still getting used to having a bright, blazing sun in the sky. Moonremere seemed nervous around some of the larger vehicles, the big semi-rigs in particular, who not only made a horrendous noise but churned up air currents that made passing them on a motorcycle an adventure.
Albuquerque wasn't a big city, especially by Dallas standards. As they approached it from the south the skyline was limited to a handful of office buildings, multilevel garages and a few large hotels. Not an enormous metropolis, but not a little town, either; more than large enough to vanish into. What Petrus found so striking was the Sandia mountains and the infinite sky, clear and blue, that seemed to go on forever. And the comfortable dryness of the air was nothing like Underhill, which tended to be damp in Avalon.
And the energies . . . in the ground, all around them, unused, untapped, wild. There was the hint of a node somewhere near, but most of the power seemed to be a part of the wind as well as the earth. Dallas was nothing like this, he observed, wondering what Odras thought. He also wondered if the Unseleighe would be able to use this type of power against them. He suspected they would have trouble with it, and didn't want to distract Odras by asking about it now.
They took the Central Avenue exit and proceeded east, seein
g a number of motels along the way. Along this stretch of street it looked like the main industry of the area was mobile home dealers and Indian crafts . . . any of the motels would have likely been suitable, but Petrus felt compelled to follow Wolf's advice and find La Puerta.
The long white adobe motel came up on their right, a large brick-pillared sign announcing La Puerta Lodge. They pulled in just after the sign and stopped in front of the office.
Petrus glanced over at Odras, who had the honor of carrying their freshly kenned cash.
"The King said to prepay for a week," Wenlann reminded him as he took the bills from Odras.
Fighting annoyance, he said, "Yes, I remember what the King said." He caught a glance of the wolf's-tooth necklace, which enhanced his annoyance by a factor of ten, then started for the front door of the office.
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