Everyone fell silent for a moment, turning in to their own thoughts. Mary and Ritva each hugged her knees and rested her chin on them, which emphasized their mirror-image likeness. It brought out their resemblance to Rudi, too-the high cheekbones and slightly tilted almond-shaped eyes they all showed were probably from that shared blood. Mike Havel had been one-quarter Anishinabe Indian, the rest mostly Finn with a dash of Norse, all strains common in the upper Peninsula mining country of Michigan he'd come from, long before the Change-fifty-odd years ago, now.
Their mother, Signe, probably contributed the wheat-colored hair and their eyes, which were just the shade of a morning sky; the Bear Lord had been flying her and her parents and brother and younger sister, Astrid, over the Idaho mountains not all that far from here when the machines died, and had got them down alive. And brought them to the Willamette country, and from that much had flowed… not least a fleeting encounter on a scouting mission that had produced one Rudi Mackenzie!
I wonder what flying like that was like, Rudi thought wistfully. He'd been up in balloons, and flown gliders and hang gliders a few times, and that was better than anything but sex. But to be able to fly where you wanted for as long as you wanted, as fast as a bird.. .
Frederick Thurston spoke. "I've been thinking," he said.
He was the youngest there, a year younger than Edain, still a little gangly with the last fast growth of adolescence, though at six feet he'd probably gotten all his height. His face was the color of a well-baked loaf, and his hair a short-cut black cap of tight curls; President-General Thurston had been of that breed miscalled black before the Change.
"Sure, and that's often advisable," Rudi said. "And we've all cause to be grateful for the direction of your thoughts, so."
"I… I don't think I should try to fight my… fight Martin. Not right now."
His full-lipped mouth twisted as he spoke his elder brother's name. Rudi nodded in sympathy. Hard, hard to be betrayed by close kin, and see your own father killed by your brother's hand.
The commander of the little Boise cavalry detachment looked at him in alarm; Rosita Gonzalez was a dark wiry woman in her early thirties, with a sergeant's chevrons riveted to the short sleeve of her mail-shirt.
"Sir, we can't let him get away with it! He killed the President.
"
Frederick nodded. "No, Sergeant, we can't let him get away with it
… and bear in mind that the President was my father. Though he'd want us to think of the country first." Grimly: "Though in this case, the personal and the political go together. He has to die."
And your late President was the man you resembled, as you said that, Rudi thought. Suddenly you didn't look young or uncertain at all. Which is interesting in itself, eh?
The younger of the Thurston men-they had two sisters, both still girls-went on:
"But from what we've heard, he has gotten away with it for now. The Vice President and half the top command died at the Battle of Wendell."
"What a coincidence. Convenient for the bastard."
The usurper's brother winced; it was plain he'd loved his elder sibling.
And love doesn't die as clean as a heart-shot deer, Rudi thought.
He'd liked Martin Thurston himself, on short acquaintance and before his treachery was revealed.
A dying love kicks and thrashes, and then the carcass of it festers and it can poison the waters of your soul as surely as a dead goat in a well. Fred here is still trying to draw what he saw down into his gut and believe it.
But he went on doggedly: "And the others, the brigade commanders and regional governors… they'll be his men soon enough. He's even got a fairly good excuse for restoring the State of Emergency powers, with a war on, and canceling the elections Dad… the President.. . was going to call. This wasn't something he… did on the spur of the moment. It's long-planned. If I tried to come out in the open now, not only would there be civil war, but I'd lose. And that would be the end of any hope of putting things right."
Gonzalez looked at him. "What do you want to do, then, sir?" she said carefully. "Since defeat is not an option."
"Give him enough rope to hang himself. Look… this isn't just about us, about Boise. This Prophet son of a bitch… it's more than a warlord with a big appetite, those are a dime a dozen. I believe what Rudi says, now, and I believe Ingolf about what he saw out East on Nantucket. I want you and the others to spread the truth. Cautiously! When the time's right, I'll be back to do my part. By then, things will be ready. I'm willing to fight Martin, it's worth it, but not without a chance of beating him."
"Yes, sir," she said respectfully. "If you don't mind my saying so, that's a very… adult way to look at it."
"I know when my birthday is, Sergeant," he said.
Her dark hard face turned to Rudi. "And you'll have this Sword you say is waiting for you on Nantucket?" she said skeptically.
"If I live, Rosita," the Mackenzie said gently. "Nothing's sure. .. except that there's no hope or luck to be found turning away from a task the Powers have laid on you."
"Frankly, I never really believed Ingolf here," she went on. "No offense! I know you believe it, Ingolf, but… well, a lot of stories come from the outlands. Creepy places with enchanted swords and extinct animals…"
"There's a passenger pigeon at Dun Juniper," Rudi said quietly. "Most of us here have seen it. That came from Nantucket."
"And the Prophet believes the story," Ingolf said. "He put Kuttner in when the Bossman hired me to go East, and Kuttner was his main secret agent in the household of Iowa's Bossman. And when I escaped from Corwin, he risked pissing off everyone on the West Coast by sending his Cutters after me. They near as damn-all did kill me; if Rudi and his friends hadn't been there that night…"
Rudi touched one hand to the livid bruises that Kuttner's dead hands had left on his throat, through the mail collar and padding.
"You were there," he said. "You saw this."
Gonzalez swallowed and looked away. "Yeah… Yeah, I was." She shuddered. "Hell, I saw a dead man keep fighting until we cut him to pieces. Christ. So maybe a magic sword isn't so loopy after all."
Ingolf nodded; he seemed to have cast off most of his chill, but he held out his big battered hands to the coals of the fire.
"It's there," he said flatly. "I saw a hell of a lot of things on Nantucket, and some of them may have been me going bugfuck, but the Sword is there. And the Voice, the voice that told me to go find the Son of the Bear Who Ruled and tell him about it."
Astonishingly, he grinned a little. "Didn't know what to expect. .. but you're not as furry as I thought you might be, Rudi."
The Mackenzie laughed at that, then stopped himself: it hurt too much.
"What'll you do, then, Fred?" he asked the General's son. "Take to the mountains? Go West? My mother would welcome you and give you sanctuary at Dun Juniper. You might find a few Mackenzie bowmen who'd come back with you in a while as well, to be sure."
"And the Lady Regent would make you welcome in Portland," Mathilda said. Her spine straightened. "And she'd give you gold, and knights and men-at-arms to follow you. My House owes you a blood-debt now, a debt of honor."
"Or you could go to Lord Alleyne and Lady Astrid in Mithrilwood," the twins said-their voices were so close together that they had an eerie overlaid quality.
Ritva went on alone: "Aunt Astrid would love it. An evil usurper to put down and an exiled prince to help! It's just the sort of thing Rangers are supposed to do."
"Stanon" Mary said, nodding: absolutely, in Sindarin.
"I'll come with you, if you'll have me," Frederick said quietly, looking at Rudi. "I've got a feeling that… it's real important you get where you're going."
He smiled, and his face looked young again, despite sweat-streaked dust and new lines worn by care and grief. "And back! Don't forget that!"
"Sir!" the cavalry sergeant said. Then: "Well, I suppose it'll be interesting…"
Frederick Thurston sh
ook his head, just once. "No, Sergeant. You and the troops will stay here. You'll report to your units as if you'd gotten separated at Wendell and you'll keep your heads low until you know you're safe."
He held up a hand at her protest. "And you'll spread the truth.. . carefully. When I get back, I want things to be ready. Major Hanks will be in charge of setting up a… network, I think you'd call it. I doubt Martin, the new regime, will pay any attention to an engineering officer."
Gonzalez' mouth quirked a little. "He'll probably mothball that pedal-powered blimp Major Hanks loves, sir. And that'll make him even angrier than he is right now!"
Rudi thought quickly, and then held out his hand; Frederick's grip was hard and strong. He shook hands all around; it had the air of a solemn rite, somehow.
"Welcome to the quest," Rudi said. "I'll be glad of your help and company, Fred."
"And we're back up to nine," Ritva said; she and her sister nodded, solemn as owls. "It's canonical."
They both looked innocent when Mathilda glared at them, and one of them tipped Rudi a wink. He laughed himself, and rose to help Ignatius smother the fire.
"Your sisters may be wiser than they think," the priest said quietly as they worked. He went on at Rudi's raised eyebrow:
"I have been thinking of what this quest means," he said, with the scholarly precision he used for serious matters. "Have you noticed that you seem to be… collecting people? Of a particular type?"
Rudi chuckled. "Sure, and I so seem to have an attraction for disinherited princes," he said.
"That is because you are a hero, I think."
Rudi frowned at him. "Well, thank you-"
The priest shook his head. "No, I'm using the word in a… technical sense. I suspect, my son, that you are a hero in the sense that Sigurd or Beowulf or Roland was. Heroes accrete heroes around them-heroes, and great evils. I thought that was true only in ancient story, but apparently the archetype holds true in our lives as well."
"Ah," Rudi said softly. Was that a goose that just walked across my grave?
"Well, for my sake, I hope you're wrong, Father," he said. "I love the old stories, but sure and I'd rather listen to them than live them out."
"I too. Human beings live by their legends; but if what I suspect is true, then we are living in one." A wry smile. "But even Our Lord was refused when he asked that the cup pass from him."
"Something my mother said once… that my birth-father had walked into a myth without knowing it. I hadn't expected the same to happen to me." He shivered slightly. "Does it make it better or worse that I know?"
"Perhaps we should have expected it," Ignatius said soberly. "We children of the Change. It took the technology of our parents from us-but that is not all. Other things are… moving into the vacated spaces. It is as if time were moving backwards in some fundamental way."
"Back to the time of legends," Rudi said.
"Into the time of myths," Ignatius agreed.
"I wonder what will happen if we go too far back?" Rudi said.
Ignatius looked up at the stars. "We find God. Or God finds us."
It took Rudi minutes to cast off the mood the priest's words had laid on him.
But it's only so long a man can ponder on the deep things, he thought. Whatever shapes the Gods have in mind for him to wear, he's also just a man.
"Walk with me, Matti," he said. "Or rather, hobble by my side."
They walked out a little into the dark. He started to put his arm around her shoulders, and winced at the sharp stab of pain, then completed the motion.
"Sore?" she said sympathetically.
"From my face to my toes; and likely to be more so tomorrow."
Mathilda nodded. " I'm feeling like my own grandmother. You fought more, but I spent twenty hours tied up in a hauberk."
Rudi nodded. "I almost wish I had a real wound to distract me, so. But glad I am to have you back in good company, Matti, my anamchara; while you were gone I came to a better understanding of the great whacking hole your absence would leave in the scheme of things."
She looked up at him and smiled, but…
"Something troubling you?"
"It's not fair," she laughed.
"What?"
"You're perceptive too. Male obliviousness is supposed to be a woman's last defense."
"Ah, well, I have all those sisters, and my mother," he pointed out. "And Dad… Sir Nigel… only came along when I was ten. Gave me an insight, so it did."
Her face turned serious. "You know, when we were cornered by the Cutters, we thought we were going to die."
"By the Trickster, so did I when they cornered me! All ready to meet my late blood-father, so I was. And was rescued not by my own efforts but by a god from the machine… or at least, a machine sent by the gods."
She frowned and nodded. "Well, as they were closing in on us… just before Odard's man Alex laid him out with the crossbow butt… he said he loved me."
"Ah," Rudi said, suddenly alert. "And what did you make of that?"
Mathilda made as if to punch him in the chest, then reconsidered; it would be more painful than a playful gesture should.
"None of that question-to-a-question Socratic thing! It's irritating enough when Juniper or Father Ignatius does it! And you're no holy man."
"Well, if you're asking me if he's sincere… I'd have said that Odard was the great love of Odard Liu's life. But he's a man with a great sense of style, too…"
"Meow!" she said. "And declaring his love as a dying act would be stylish?"
Rudi smiled and shrugged.
"It couldn't have been just for advantage," Mathilda said slowly. "We were dead, Rudi. And that hit on the head was the real thing; he's still hurting from it. And when you rescued us… he threw himself under a sword to save me."
"And not even his worst enemy-the which I am not; I like him-would deny that he's a very brave man."
She glanced at him from the corners of her eyes; he could tell she thought he was being a good deal too fair. "Aren't you the least bit jealous? Just a teeny bit?"
"Sure, and I didn't mean to be insulting!"
"You are! Jealous, that is."
Steadily, Rudi went on: "I would be a bit jealous at the least, were I afraid you'd decided you were the love of Odard's life."
"But I'm not of yours," she said quietly. "Am I, Rudi?"
He turned and put a finger under her chin and kissed her. It was gentle-with his face in its present state it couldn't be otherwise-but warm. Not the first time they'd kissed, but…
"Woof!" she said a long moment later.
"Woof indeed," he said, clearing his throat to get the huskiness out of it. Then:
"Matti, I can't fall in love with you, or you with me. We've known each other too long! But the love's there, never doubt it."
"I won't be any man's lover, except my husband's," she said defiantly. "Not even yours, Rudi."
He nodded-she was as constant in her faith as he was in his, and hers put some very odd demands on her.
The problem being that it doesn't mean she dislikes my flirting with her. It just means she's guaranteed to keep saying no. Which may be fine for her, but would leave me walking in a most odd and mirth-provoking way, after a while. I do love her, but I'm not a Christian.
"And were I your handfasted man, there would be no other for me," he said soberly. "But…"
She shook her head and sighed. "But right now, we're going to be running and hiding and fighting, not courting."
And when we get back, there will be matters of State, and of our gods, he thought.
Tears pooled in her eyes; the starlight sparkled in them, and it occurred to him that a man could drown himself there and account it a pleasant passing. He brushed them aside with his thumb.
"Shhhh, don't be sad, anamchara. We're alive, and together, and while those are true we won't be lonely," he said. Then, with a sly edge in his voice: "Frustrated, perhaps…"
This time she did poke a finger into hi
s ribs, and laughed, which he'd wanted. He yelped and they walked back towards the dying embers, a puddle of glowing red in the vast darkness about.
"Time to get some sleep, then," he said, and nodded to the twins; they ghosted off to take first watch.
"I'm… going to do some letters," Mathilda said. "You brought my writing-kit. Maybe Sergeant Gonzalez can deliver them for us, sometime."
"Now, that's a good idea," Rudi said. "But I'll do mine in the morning. We've a very long way to go…"
And farther still to our homecoming, he thought with a stab of longing. And peace and rest.
TheScourgeofGod
CHAPTER TWO
DUN JUNIPER, CASCADE FOOTHILLS, WESTERN OREGON
AUGUST 20, CHANGE YEAR 23/2021 AD
"Yet another of the things I learned after the Change," Juniper Mackenzie said with a rueful chuckle.
She spoke quietly and kept her face grave as the solemn young men and women of the escort fell in with bow and sword and buckler, steel caps on their heads and the moon-and-antlers sigil of the Clan blazoned on the chests of their green brigandines. It was the least she could do, since they'd been called away from field and forge and loom for this.
"My dear?" her husband, Nigel, replied.
He stood trim beside her in kilt and plaid, feathered bonnet and green jacket, ruffled shirt and silver-buckled shoes, erect as a boy despite the sixty-three years that had turned him egg-bald and washed the yellow of his mustache to white. The twisted gold torc of marriage around his neck was the twin to hers.
"When I busked at the RenFaires and Society tournaments in the old days I sang of knights and kings and princes, of battles and captivities and rescues, but never a word about how much time Arthur and Gawain and Lancelot probably spent sitting 'round a table-"
"Round or not," he said, with that slight smile that made his face look young for a moment, like a tow-haired schoolboy from Puck of Pook's Hill bent on mischief.
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