Spiritride

by Mark Shepherd

  Lucas too stopped straining against his bindings, and met her frustrated look with one of his own. "So if this is another dimension, then that light circle thing we came through must be the only way in . . . and out."

  "Yeah, just about," she said, trying to think of something she could equate to Underhill that would be in his realm of understanding. "There are different areas, some more isolated than others. This one is, well, still under construction. Now it's possible," she said, as an encouraging thought came to mind, "there may be a permanent Gate somewhere around here. Did you see anything when they led you in? My sight was a bit restricted."

  Lucas considered this briefly, then frowned. "I saw something weird. It looked like a big granite slab, with a bright oval or something over it. Not as bright as the one that brought me here."

  So there is one, she thought, elated. "That has to be it. Was it guarded?"

  "I don't remember," he said, looking pained. "Would it take me back home?"

  "I'm afraid not. At least, it isn't likely. It would take us somewhere else in Underhill . . ."

  "But if it took us away from these creeps, it would be an improvement," Lucas said, with a little smile. "There couldn't be anything worse, could there?"

  Oh, yeah, there could, she thought, but held back the discouraging thoughts. "There may be as many as six different destinations, though it's not likely to have more than three. It's sort of like a junction on a highway, only the location of your destination was four dimensional instead of two." Am I getting too deep for him? Lucas was listening attentively, showing no signs of the blank gaze of the totally lost. Evidently not.

  "And you have no way to tell where you're going?" he asked.

  "Well, no. Not unless you are a mage, which I am not."

  "Okay, then," Lucas said, turning over and showing his back to Wenlann. "If you're telling me all this it must mean you're on my side." He moved closer, and Wenlann heard something sloshing around in a container. "In my pants I have a bottle of something that might help."

  Wenlann watched him wriggle a flat, metallic can out of the back of his jeans, which fell out on the cave's surface with a thunk. "Solvent," he said, fumbling with the can. "I swiped it back at the cabin. This stuff will eat right through this sticky tape."

  "How can I help?"

  "I think I can open it. But I need you to hold the can."

  "Well, I can move around and hold it with my feet," she said, forgoing a lengthy explanation about elven allergies to iron. She slid around and reached the can with her feet. "Okay, I got it."

  Lucas gripped the lid and strained. The can slipped from between her feet and fell over.

  "Shit," Lucas said.

  "No, I got it," she said again, working the can into an upright position. "I'll hold on to it harder this time."

  Lucas twisted again, and this time the cap cracked open. "Now let's just hope this thing doesn't have a seal under the cap. I didn't think 'bout that." The cap clattered to the ground, and Lucas took the can in both hands, and rolled over. A good amount of solvent glug glug glugged out of the can, pouring over the tape covering his wrist and hands.

  "Might take it a while to eat through . . . then, maybe not," he said, pulling his hands apart, the gray tape making a messy, gooey cat's cradle between them. "Easy. I'm loose."

  Lucas pulled the rest of the tape off then freed his legs. A few well placed tears in the tape released Wenlann. Presently they were walking in the cave, Wenlann leading Lucas stealthily to its entrance.

  "Shhh. Listen," she said, freezing in her tracks at the sound outside. It was a steady, familiar sound, of bronze scraping stone. Someone's sharpening their swords. Good. Maybe it will be some time before they notice our absence.

  "It was around to the right," Lucas said, in a whisper. "I think."

  "If they're close, we might not be going anywhere," she whispered back. "With these rock formations, I can't tell where that sound is coming from."

  "What are they doing?"

  The truth? Why not. "Sharpening swords. Big ones. Another reason we need to be out of here."

  Lucas gulped audibly, but the new information seemed to stiffen his resolve. Wenlann listened, trying to get a focus. One moment it seemed to be coming from right in front of her, then from yards away. I'd forgotten how weird the acoustics got in the Unformed. The only way to know where they are is to stick my head out and look.

  "Be ready to run like hell," she said, and peered around the corner. Indeed, the fools had posted no guards near the cave. She spied the two younger ones, sharpening their weapons with a stone some distance away. The Gate Lucas spotted was about as far away as the two Unseleighe were.

  Suddenly, the sharpening ceased. Wenlann quickly pulled her head back in, then heard one of them say, "What was that?"

  "Summon Nargach," the other said. "I'll investigate."

  For a moment Wenlann stopped breathing, locked in indecision. If we stay here, they have us. The Gate is as close to us as they are, but only if we act now. . . .

  She whispered, "Now." Lucas dashed out of the cave and Wenlann ran after him. She became aware of another Unseleighe behind her, but she wasn't about to turn around to look.

  "Run, Lucas! Don't stop!"

  He leapt without hesitation; the Gate flared as Lucas vanished into it. Go, you brave little . . . Before completing the thought something poured over her like a net. She stumbled, then fell to her side. Paralysis. Again. At least the boy got away.

  "It's a Gate," Odras said as they came around the bend on the dirt road. Already the circle of light was beginning to fade. Odras dismounted and stepped closer to examine it. "They left through there, and they took Wenlann with them. There is another vibration, a human." He squinted, looking at Wolf. "Do you know if they took other hostages?"

  Wolf had to think about this a moment. "There was someone else there, but I never saw him. I was a bit . . . distracted."

  "Perhaps we can find this other human too," Petrus said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice, a difficult feat since he didn't really know what he was angry at the most: himself or Japhet. Or Wolf. Do we really need him for this? "Odras, perhaps the time has come to test your new Gate-making ability?"

  "Aie," Odras replied. This portal is too far gone to be of use anyway."

  Petrus turned to Wolf. "You ever been to another dimension?"

  "On occasion," the human replied. "I'm game."

  "Should we notify the King first?" asked Odras.

  "If we bother going back to Avalon, the trail will be too stale. And that's assuming they don't decide to Gate here first; we still don't know if Wenlann's message got to them, or if she even sent it. No, I move that we go after Wenlann now."

  "Which in itself may be . . ." the mage said, his voice drifting off. Something Wolf was wearing caught his attention, and he walked over to him. "Wenlann's pendant," he observed. "A very strong relic. I can use this to focus on her location!"

  They all rode back to a long, straight stretch of road.

  Thorn pulled up next to Petrus. "It would be best if I went in with you. Otherwise I might have trouble finding you."

  "You all must remain behind me," Odras said, "And gradually—gradually—increase your velocity to fifty-two miles per hour."

  "We're ready," Petrus said. "Let's do it."

  Odras started first, followed by Petrus and Wolf, riding side by side. After forty miles per hour Petrus saw the field forming, then Odras gunned it, as they were starting to run out of road already. An egg-shaped field of white light flashed in around them, pulling them into their destination.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The transition from the humans' world to Underhill was instantaneous, as blazing daylight turned to the ever-present dusk of Petrus' homeland. This, however, was neither Avalon nor any of the other carefully engineered elfhames. This was the fog-shrouded Unformed, and in this particular portion, the visibility was near zero.

  The elvensteeds slowed to a crawl. Wolf had
trouble slowing down, his front tire even brushing against Moonremere's rear tire.

  "I think we should do this one on foot," Petrus said, though Wolf and Odras had already dismounted. "We're missing someone. Where's Thorn?"

  They looked around, but saw him nowhere. "He may have ended up elsewhere in Underhill," Odras said. "He is, after all, spirit. The Gate I set up might not have deposited him in the same place."

  They listened, but heard nothing in the gloom to indicate activity, or even life. Odras was probing the area gently, his eyes half closed in trance. If there was danger out there, he'd sense it.

  "We are at the edge of a slightly developed pocket of the Unformed," he said. "There are primitive rock formations, and perhaps a cave or two, up ahead. I also sense a permanent Gate on the other side of it."

  "What about Wenlann?"

  The mage reached again, this time his head slightly bowed, as if praying to the gods for her well being. Then he looked up, with a slight twist of a smile. "She's here. Paralyzed by their spells, but she is here, and she is unhurt."

  Wolf was clearly relieved. "Where?"

  "Ahead," Odras said, pointing through the mist with a long, crooked finger. "Among the boulders. There is a cave. But I sense no other prisoners. The child is not here."

  Petrus was not too far removed from being a child himself, and the human's sudden absence added more anxiety to an already troubled situation. We must save Wenlann, he knew. Right now that looks like the only thing we can do.

  "There is a single Unseleighe, a short distance ahead. He doesn't know we're here, but he does suspect something amiss."

  "A mage?" Petrus asked, in a whisper. Wolf had crouched reflexively at the mention of the other elf.

  "No, but he thinks he felt the vibrations of a Gate," Odras said, reaching for his sword.

  Well, he did, Petrus thought, drawing his sword slowly to make less noise. "Perhaps we should deal with him now, before he alerts the others."

  "Aie," Odras said. "Quietly, now."

  With combat imminent, Petrus screened everything from his awareness except his breathing, his sword, and his opponent.

  Ahead he saw a lone figure, outlined in the mist; the Unseleighe turned around suddenly, his sword drawn. Petrus flew at him with everything he had, wanting this to be a swift kill as well as a silent one. But as their swords connected, clanking loudly in the mist, he knew this was not to be.

  Petrus thrust, and the other stepped back, throwing him off balance; in that instant, he was quite vulnerable, and would lose the use of his right arm, if not the arm itself. An instant before the Unseleighe might have responded, he heard a whizz, thunk, and the Unseleighe froze. As his opponent fell over on his chest Petrus saw the large blade sticking out of his back, and beyond him, Wolf. The human came over and retrieved his blade.

  "I don't know if he's dead or not," Wolf said, wiping his blade on the fallen elf.

  "Oh, he's dead all right," Petrus replied. "That knife is steel, forged from cold iron. Death metal." Then he added, grudgingly, "I'm glad you have that."

  Already there was motion ahead, amid the large boulders Odras had detected. From the mist two more sword-wielding figures charged, and Odras stepped forward with his weapon.

  Petrus drove his attacker back, suffering a nick on his left arm for the trouble, but after the move he saw the rest of the clan. Japhet and the mage were carrying a still form between them. Petrus' blood turned to ice.

  Wenlann.

  Time for dirty swordsmanship. The Unseleighe parried an enthusiastic thrust, and stepped back; Petrus' sword came down on his opponent's booted foot, hard. The difficulty in pulling his sword out told him he had hit his mark, perhaps even cutting the foot in half.

  The Unseleighe fell back, with a silent scream on his lips, and Petrus ran toward the leader and his mage at a dead run. Beyond them the Gate flared to new life.

  They're not going to even try to fight me! he thought, maddened by the thought of them getting away with her. The cowardly—

  His mental tirade ceased suddenly when he tripped over a large, substantial something in the mist. For an instant he was airborne, then his left shoulder connected with the ground. His sword clanked to a halt some distance away, invisible now in the layer of mist. When he tried to call out, he found the wind had been knocked out of him . . . while the others disappeared into the Gate.

  NO! You're not getting away again . . . his mind screamed, as he watched Japhet and his mage do just that.

  I'm going after them, even if I've a broken arm! He managed to get up on one knee, but that was as far as his body would cooperate.

  The roar of the Indian motorcycle called out from the mist behind him. Petrus didn't know what Wolf could have in mind; the Unseleighe were gone. If he were trying to run them down with the beast of death metal, he was a bit late.

  Wolf on the Indian roared past, going directly for the Gate.

  He can't be . . .

  He was. As the bike hit the Gate, going at least forty, the magics surrounding it wailed in protest of the cold iron, sending off a halo of red, yellow turning to white; Petrus shut his eyes against the sudden light. Once the brightness faded he looked again. Wolf and his Indian had vanished.

  He lay back down, seething with the defeat; presently Odras came to his side. The mage was out of breath, but unhurt.

  But wasn't there . . .

  Odras said, "I finished off the one with the injured foot. Three Unseleighe down."

  "And the ringleaders got away, with Wenlann," Petrus said.

  "Without their elvensteeds," Odras commented.

  "They just wanted to get away," Petrus said in anguish, wincing in pain as he moved his shoulder. "Did you see Wolf?"

  "I tried to warn him about riding into that permanent Gate with that beast of steel," Odras said, examining Petrus' arm.

  "I don't think it's broken," Petrus said, bending his arm experimentally. "Bruised, perhaps. We must go after them."

  "I'm afraid we won't be going anywhere, for a while," Odras said, still probing the tendons of the elbow.

  "There's nothing wrong with me!" Petrus objected, and moved to stand up.

  "It is not your injury that has me concerned. It is our navigation." Odras stepped back, and regarded the Gate with a sour, frustrated look. "The pendant. Wolf had it, and it was the only thing we had to track Wenlann. Now that it's gone I'm not even certain how to get back to Avalon."

  The Gate continued to glow, a solid yellow color, the hue of a well-made permanent Gate.

  "We must follow them," Petrus said, but he knew this would be difficult, if not impossible. The mage walked through the gloom over to the glowing portal, and began probing it.

  Petrus moved again to get up, and this time something jabbed him in the hip. What the . . . ? he thought as he reached for and pulled out the wolf's-tooth necklace Wenlann had given him.

  "Uh, Odras?" Petrus said, getting up and hobbling over to him. "I think I have something that might help."

  "What is it?" he said, holding the necklace up to the light.

  "A possession of Wolf's," Petrus replied. "He gave it to Wenlann, and Wenlann gave it to me. Wolf has the heart pendant . . ."

  The mage appeared to be well ahead of him. "Good thinking," Odras said, "And yes, this is a most powerful relic. This Gate will have to be our exit." Odras said. "I suppose I should release our elvensteeds from their present form." The casting made a bare glimmer of light, and parted the fog; Moonremere appeared first, followed by Odras' noble 'steed, both seeming rather spry and light of foot. The stones of amene, topolomite and diaspar remained as decoration in Odras's 'steed's bridle.

  On their 'steeds they approached the Gate one final time, Odras holding the wolf's-tooth necklace to up the yellow light briefly before putting it on.

  "I know where he went," Odras said after taking the reading. "There are six separate settings on this portal. And the trail is, again, a bit muddied. But I think I can reconstruct enough of the
trail to put us in the correct realm. Stay as close to me as you can."

  "Aie," Petrus said, and led Moonremere into the circle of light.

  "Run, Lucas! Don't stop!" Wenlann called out as he plunged into the weird disc of light, feeling it close around him thickly as if he were entering a pool of water. On the other side was darkness and a soaring feeling of vertigo. His arms reached out automatically to brace his fall, connecting with another disc, which pulled him through.