Their gazes met. Tarhlo knew Simon instantly. He was riding in the jogger but his father wasn’t fooled. His reaction was faster than the eye could follow. Leaping at Simon he punched him hard. The blow caught Simon square on the jaw and pitched him into the door behind him. Before he could recover, Tarhlo struck twice more, thrusting himself between Simon and Clara. Sensing danger, the hemindhs were moving in closer, while Jenny and Emma were standing too.
Everything seemed to unfold in slow motion, as though air in the room had suddenly turned to caramel. Tarhlo’s shatl was tensing his muscles, a sign that he was preparing to strike again. The hemindhs were rushing in a mass at Simon, except for three whom Emma and Jenny were fighting; Jenny was battling two at once. As Tarhlo’s fist came flying toward Simon, two hemindhs leapt in his direction. Everyone was screaming in comic silence (Simon’s headphones prevented any sound from leaking in). Simon took action. His finger pressed a button and the tape deck started playing.
Simon was glad his headphones were the soundproof type. Judging by Tarhlo’s pained expression, the music was poison. The sounds bombarded him from everywhere at once, and he dropped to his knees and started screaming in anguish. His hands were on his ears but the noise leaked through. While the hemindhs were only slightly affected, they were shocked to see their leader so helpless. They turned away from Simon and tried to help Tarhlo.
A nurse entered the room just then. Simon saw her ask, “What’s going on?” Aware that she was badly outnumbered she turned and ran into the depths of the ward, to phone the security desk downstairs, most likely.
While the bolkhs were distracted, Simon stepped toward Clara. Holding the recorder between his knees, he unscrewed the cap off the bottle and motioned her to drink. She was too far gone on smakho to react. Squeezing her nostrils, he brought the bottle to her lips. When her mouth fell open, he poured the contents in.
Some spilled to the floor but most got in. The blend of milk, oregano, and thyme neutralized the smakho and brought her up sharply. She blinked and stretched, like Snow White awakening from the witch’s spell. She was alert enough to drink on her own, so he handed her the bottle and waited by her side.
That’s when five of the hemindhs struck. Enraged that he was interfering, they lunged at him. Simon wasn’t much of a fighter. All he could do was steel his shatl to withstand their blows. But that’s when something happened. The hemindhs seemed to miss their target. It was as if an unseen hand had grabbed them and thrown them against the window — the reinforced glass just managed to hold. Two jumped back up and got between Simon and Clara. From there they were able to strike at Simon.
One scratched him in the face while the other punched his sternum. As Simon doubled over, his fist swung out and struck a hemindh’s skull, breaking at least a couple of the jogger’s fingers. Undaunted, Simon kicked three times. He was able to bring one hag down, but he missed the second time and lost his balance on the third. The two hemindhs jumped him, clawing with their nails. He elbowed one, but two more piled on. Jenny and Emma weren’t able to help — Emma had her hands full and Jenny was half-pinned to the floor. The hags were getting the better of them.
But …
Simon happened to roll near Clara and the hemindhs attacking him were tossed aside, as if a hand had come to Simon’s rescue. They regained their feet and ran at him again, only to fly off at a sixty-degree angle, all without him having to lift a finger. Three times this happened. Why?
He thought of that picture that he’d seen in Paris, showing the woplh and hamax with a circle around them. He suddenly understood its meaning. This was his power. If he stood near Clara, he could generate this field and keep everyone at bay. He could save them both from any assailant, like an umbrella repelling a heavy rain. What had Cletho said, back in the cave? That it wouldn’t be smart to mix the woplh and hamax? That’s why Tarhlo had kept them apart, in the domh and while hiking to that car on Gibraltar. Together they were strong. No — together they were invincible.
This realization distracted him. A hemindh just managed to drag him back from Clara. Worse, she was able to grab his headphones. They fell to the floor and a wall of sound struck home. Simon imagined it was lot like being hit by a bus. People were shouting, grunting, cursing. Chairs were flying. Tarhlo was howling. But the music hurt the most by far.
The noises didn’t sound human at all. The guitar was like acid burning into his kaba. The singer’s voice sliced through Simon and mashed all his organs together. The harmonica was turning his bones to mush and setting all his nerves on fire. Simon felt dizzy, empty, drained of hope. His will couldn’t keep his shatl erect and he reeled and tottered to the tiled floor, like a jet being forced to make a crash landing.
And then the music stopped.
Simon looked up groggily. One hag had seized the player and switched it off. She removed the cassette and tore it with her nails, ensuring that it couldn’t be played again. Simon was trying to clear his kaba, while his shatl was attempting to get off the floor. A foot kicked his ribs and knocked him over. As he tried to rise a second time, the same foot laid him low.
Tarhlo.
Simon’s “dad” was standing over him, eyeing him closely. Tarhlo’s expression was cold, murderous even. Three hemindhs had Emma and Jenny beaten: their arms were pinned behind their backs. The other hemindhs were holding hands and forming a closed ring around Simon. He immediately thought of the exhibit in Paris and the picture that Michel had shown him and Earl. What was his theory about this ring? That it would prevent a kaba from escaping a vessel? He reached out with his senses. Yes. He could feel the hemindhs’ will about him, solid as a concrete wall. No one moved and no one spoke. After the fury of the last two minutes, this lull was almost laughable.
Tarhlo waved a hemindh closer. She passed him a flask, which he deftly opened. Simon could smell the smakho within. What now? Oh. His father was going to make him drink, so that they could knock him out and leave him stranded. The group would travel somewhere else, making sure they couldn’t be followed this time.
Tarhlo yanked Simon up and pressed the flask to his mouth. He was smiling vindictively as he made to pour the smakho down. A drop of it and Simon would be out for the count. Tarhlo’s mouth was open to jeer at Simon, but exactly then a hand touched his shoulder. It was thin and white, the hand of a girl, but suggestive of enormous power.
Clara. She’d been drinking Simon’s brew all along and flushed every trace of smakho from her system. Tarhlo was gripping him tightly still, but Simon managed to catch her expression: it was a mix of sadness, regret, confusion, but above all else there was a burning anger.
“Krahla,” Tarhlo spoke, taken aback, “this doesn’t concern you.”
Clara stared fiercely and struggled to speak. Simon didn’t think she was up to the task.
“Krahla,” Tarhlo went on, in a cajoling way, “don’t interfere. I won’t harm Krahl. I’m just putting him to sleep.”
She refused to back away. Her lips kept moving.
“Krahla,” he said impatiently, “we’re wasting time. Please step back.”
“Leave,” she finally managed to say.
“Leave? Of course,” Tarhlo said with a laugh. “We’ve sown as many limnls as we can and it’s time we headed to our next destination.”
“Leave,” she repeated, with greater force.
“Yes. Good idea. Let’s get going. We’ll give Krahl this drink and …”
“Leave,” she screamed. “Leave! Leave! Leave!”
That’s when he realized she wasn’t talking to him.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kabas can’t be seen or heard. But what’s true of one kaba, or even a dozen, isn’t true of thousands of them — not inside a tiny room at least. Or so Simon learned over the next few seconds.
Now that she was free of smakho, Clara controlled her “gates” again. She could admit any kaba, or expel them at will. This applied to the bolkhs inside her. The very moment she told them to leave, it was as if
a bouncer were kicking them into the cold.
Simon raised his hands protectively, there was such a flurry of shapes about him. A stream of shadows abandoned Clara and cluttered the room, unseen, unheard, but unquestionably there. Simon could feel them pulsing around him, flitting against the walls and ceiling, bashing into chairs and tables in their anxiety to find new vadhs. There was an aura of fear, rage, and desperation — desperation most of all — as they circled about aimlessly, their one shelter gone and no substitute in sight. As unbearably close as their presence was, more kept streaming from Clara’s hollows.
Tarhlo was looking on in distress, like a man whose house is covered in flames. The hemindhs were wailing and beating their heads, as if a massacre were occurring before their very eyes. Still more kabas retreated from Clara, their frenzy growing with each passing second.
Despite his shock, Tarhlo reacted calmly: he opened a door to let the kabas escape and find themselves new vessels to hide in. Sure enough, they rushed outside and filled the fifth-floor hallways. Not that this would save them. If more doors weren’t opened, they would fly about in vain and quickly weaken. Tarhlo was trapped. He could stay with the hamax or he could let his people die. The second choice was out of the question. That’s why he cursed and ran from the room, followed by a couple of hemindhs. Moments later there was the sound of windows being smashed.
Simon knew he had to act. Tarhlo would come rushing back shortly, and the kabas would find themselves vadhs and shatls. Within minutes hordes would start to gather, intent on drugging Clara again.
Before the remaining hags could stop him, Simon grabbed Clara’s hand. He felt a crackle ripple around them and inside his shatl his kaba glowed. Alarmed that Simon was touching the hamax, the hemindhs attacked. An instant later all went flying and crashed into the walls.
“Are you okay?” Simon asked his mother.
“I’m fine,” Emma answered. “How did you find us?”
“I had help from Jenny,” he said, throwing his cousin a smile.
Jenny answered with a feeble grin. She’d taken a few knocks. Her forehead was bleeding and her ankle was twisted to the point she couldn’t walk on it. As she limped to Simon and hugged him briefly, he wondered how she’d be able to keep up. They couldn’t leave her, but they had to move quickly.
His worries were groundless.
Touching him, Jenny felt her strength return. Her forehead stopped bleeding and her ankle straightened. Simon couldn’t believe it, until he realized his broken hand wasn’t troubling him either.
He recalled Michel’s words, how he and Clara would bring out strengths in each other. This capacity to heal was one of them, he figured. But this wasn’t the time to take stock of their powers.
“Let’s move,” he said.
“Where to?” Emma asked.
“We’ll figure that out later. Let’s escape this building before the bolkhs regroup.”
They passed into the hallway. Tarhlo was visible but his hands were full. Guards had arrived in answer to the nurse’s call, and Tarhlo and the hemindhs were fighting them off. The battle was desperate. Glad for this distraction, Simon fled the scene. Leading the group past several doors, he came upon a concrete stairwell. Jenny started falling behind. As soon as she was out of their orbit, her forehead started bleeding and her ankle acted up again.
“Don’t lag!” Simon warned. “Keep holding hands, no matter what!”
As they descended the stairs, they heard footsteps above. More hemindhs were approaching. The hospital was full of lakhn patients and the wandering bolkhs had taken them over. If the group didn’t leave, they would soon be surrounded.
They emerged on the ground floor and were greeted with chaos. When Tarhlo had smashed the windows upstairs, the bolkhs had escaped and flitted down to street level where they’d hijacked the closest available vessels. Animals were storming the building — dogs, cats, squirrels, rats, anything the bolkhs had been able to find. There were homeless folk too, of every size and description. The foyer was packed and still the hemindhs kept coming. The guards tried to hold them back but were brutally set on and neutralized. Two were unconscious and the bolkhs nabbed them too.
A toothless hag spotted them first. She screamed and the mob zeroed in on Simon. The elevators were blocked, the exits were blocked, the central hallway was blocked … but not the passage to emergency. Dodging between a series of gurneys, Simon led them down a gleaming hallway, pausing only to close a door and wedge an empty wheelchair against it. Moments later they were in the emergency ward. At its far end was a bay where an ambulance stood idling.
From a side door a pack of dogs came rushing in. Spying the group they hurtled forward, growling and barking and baring their fangs. A greyhound leapt at them, a Doberman, a Lab, and a tiny chihuahua. They flew through the air, their teeth clacking in anger. Simon focused and pitched them backward, smashing them into chairs, walls, and medical equipment. The clatter was ear-splitting.
They reached a bay and sidled past its door. A man attached to an IV followed and took a vicious swing at them. Beside him was a boy with his arms in a cast. Both were tossed like rag dolls. On the far side of the room more hemindhs appeared and the dogs were preparing to rush them again.
They had to leave. Quickly. Glancing round feverishly, Simon spied the ambulance. Its engine was idling, as if inviting them to enter. Could he?
Yes.
“Get inside!” he yelled. “But keep holding hands! Enter through the driver’s door!”
The women went ahead of him. As they installed themselves, he fought a second wave of dogs, as well as squirrels jumping down from the rafters and birds dive-bombing him from every side at once. And a mass of humans was approaching.
“Get in!” Emma yelled.
Simon swung into the driver’s seat and closed the door. Just in time. Hemindhs collided with the vehicle’s sides and hammered its windows recklessly. They smashed hands and fingers in their frenzy to break in. The glass started buckling.
“Let’s go!” Emma cried.
Setting the vehicle in gear, Simon stepped on the gas. The tires screeched and they pitched forward, knocking down a hemindh who was about to dash a chair into the windscreen.
He pulled into Beekman Street, narrowly avoiding a cab. As it screeched to a stop and the driver started honking, Simon saw four hemindhs charge it. They opened a door, dragged the driver outside and, an instant later, the cab was racing toward them. At the same time birds knocked into the windshield in an attempt to throw the ambulance off balance. Dogs were tearing furiously behind.
He reached Beekman and Nassau. Frantic to leave these bolkhs behind, he hung a right then a left, ending up on Spruce Street. Roaring past a stop sign, he grazed a Honda Civic, provoking another volley of honking. The Honda was about to give chase but the cab rammed into it, sending it flying.
“There are bolkhs in that cab,” Emma warned. “And watch those dogs!”
Every dog they passed would abandon its owner and take off after them. The same was true of madmen, drunks, and any kaba that was lakhn. A shirtless man tossed a bottle their way. A ragged woman shoved a buggy in their path. Simon had to swerve and hit a bin full of books. As a stream of paper filled the air, he turned left onto Park Row.
A line of cars confronted them. The cab was half a block behind, and so was a truck with a hemindh at its wheel that was smashing anything in its path. Simon jumped the pavement to avoid the traffic. A hotdog vendor leapt aside and screamed as the ambulance wrecked his stand. A drunk assailed them with a stroller, and a pack of dogs tried to bite the tires.
Simon regained the road and veered onto Barclay. A cyclist and a dozen cars were hemming him in. He wove between them with amazing precision, as if they were moving in slow motion. With Clara next to him, he knew just what to do. The dumptruck and cab weren’t nearly as graceful: the cab wound up striking a pole, while the dumptruck crashed into the steps of a church.
“That’s amazing,” Emma gasped. “
The Carpenters should see you driving now!”
Simon smiled grimly.
He entered Church Street. The cab and truck had fallen behind, but they still weren’t in the clear. A flock of birds was on their trail and hemindhs were appearing on the sidewalk in droves. They passed a woman walking six dogs. All six broke free and set off in pursuit. And as they approached the next intersection, the hemindhs formed three lines. Each blocked a street off, forcing them to turn on Warren.
“What are they doing?” Emma cried.
“They’re coralling us,” Simon yelled, making the turn. “They don’t care if we hit them. They’ll survive even if their shatls don’t. But they’re assuming I won’t kill these people, not if I can help it. So the vadhs and shatls can steer us where they want.”
Warren ended at City Hall Park. They could only turn right or left on Broadway, or so the raging hemindhs thought. They numbered in the dozens, had their hands linked together, and were all grinning widely, certain that Simon had no place to go. If he turned he would crush a lot of innocent shatls — including kids and a very young baby. He was trapped and clearly theirs for the plucking.
“We’re stuck unless we run them over,” Emma cried.
“I can’t do that.”
“Of course you can’t,” she agreed.
“So we’re sunk,” Jenny said.
“No,” Simon said. “There’s always the park!”
The light at the end of Warren was green. Picking up speed, Simon drove across Broadway. Honking furiously, he aimed for the sidewalk ahead. Normal people were hanging about, wondering what this commotion meant and why a large crowd was blocking traffic on Broadway. When they saw an ambulance flying toward them, they jumped to one side, just managing to dodge it. That’s when Simon jumped the curb and wound up on a walkway leading into the park, grazing its wrought-iron gate in the process.
People were visiting City Hall or the courts. He saw panicked faces pass in a blur. Well-dressed luras scrambled into bushes and a woman spilled her coffee as she mounted a wall. Everyone was desperate to avoid being struck, not only by the ambulance but by the wave of hemindhs running behind it. They were like a herd of cattle stampeding.
Transmigration Page 17