Wicked Bronze Ambition gp-14

by Glen Cook

  I now knew how he had resolved the cold equation. He had taken Hagekagome to a place where wild dogs lived and left her with them. And she had not found her way home. Or she had understood well enough to know that, no matter what, home could no longer be there. So, because she loved Mikey so much, she made his life easier by choosing not to follow him.

  I got misty just thinking about it.

  I hugged Hagekagome back so hard that Strafa began to growl.

  I would never tell Hagekagome that she had confused me with my brother. Never.

  I knew what all this meant now. That of all the nights of my life, this would be the saddest. A massively stupid error by a sorceress with good but mad intentions had collided with an old kernel of pain and had breathed in life that belonged to my wife-to-be, without intent, accidentally, and agonizingly cruel.

  I couldn’t get tangled up in the mechanisms of how and why. I just accepted the fact that a cute dog who had loved my brother had come back as an incredibly beautiful, if not very bright, young girl who also loved Mikey with canine depth and commitment.

  I could accept that because I had been chin-to-chin with strange stuff throughout my career. I expected the strange to keep right on, heading down the road, unless Strafa’s death did what Tinnie Tate’s incessant nagging had failed to accomplish, which was to break me down.

  Truth. I didn’t have to get into these things if I wanted to avoid them. I had the gigs with the brewery and Amalgamated. I had inherited wealth, little as I wanted that. I no longer had any need to work. I could sell the business to Singe. She was sure to make a raving success of it, with never a drop of blood being shed. If I felt compelled to hit the mean streets looking for an ass-kicking or head-thumping, I could always sign on with Prince Rupert.

  I was going to have to learn to swim in rare social waters, like it or not. That was one cost of having become involved with Furious Tide of Light. Her being gone would not excuse me from being Mr. Furious Tide.

  My grandmother-in-law, if no one else, would make sure I was out in front from now on, the curtain behind which the more bizarre crew lurked. Me. Garrett. The mask of normalcy disguising the Algarda tribe.

  I glanced back at Little Strafa. Her hands had become shakier. Maybe it was just the intense moonlight, but she also seemed to have developed a deathly pallor.

  Hagekagome had become a little more shaky, too. Her grip on my arm seemed almost desperate. She panted like an overheated or frightened pup. Brownie and her friends were restless, too. Number Two emitted the occasional doleful whine.

  An old childhood story, based on legend or rural folklore, told of a fox girl who fell in love so deeply that the local gods gave her permission to take human form to be with the man she loved. The catch-and there is always a nasty one where gods are involved-was that it could be only for a short time, and then she would die. But so deep was her love that she made that choice, trading a long magical life-foxes being magical as well as natural creatures-for the brief time she got to share with the one she loved.

  I found a part of me thinking I should mention that story to Jon Salvation next time we got together. It would make a sweet tragedy. Only it would be like him to throw in some ugly commentary on his own bleak species by having the human lover just shove the fox girl aside after she sacrificed everything, maybe going after some bimbo with enormous hooters instead.

  Penny said, “We should do something besides just sit here talking. Time is not our friend. It’s almost up for Hage.”

  And of course, Garrett, the ultrasensitive wonder child that he is, absolutely conformed to the negative expectations of his female companions despite having had his nose rubbed in the fact that Hagekagome and Little Strafa were part of a twisted real-world iteration of the tale of the fox girl, thanks to the efforts of various less than competent sorcerers.

  Singe launched a sigh of exasperation. “Is your brain made of cheese? Or chert? They are going to go, Garrett. And it won’t be long. The process has begun.”

  Hagekagome was shivering badly now. “I’m so cold,” she whispered. “I’m so sad. I don’t want to leave you.”

  Boy genius that I am, my first impulse was to ask, “Little Strafa, too?” instead of answering Hagekagome’s need. A whole murder of crow women read me beforehand. Snarls, hisses, and growls came at me from every angle, slowing me down. Making me pause long enough to digest what Hagekagome had said, so I was able to respond with a satisfactory “I’ll always be with you, Little One. I’ll always have you in my heart, till we’re together again.”

  It didn’t seem possible, but she squeezed my arm even tighter. She was shaking even more. I told her, “Don’t be afraid. You were always a good girl.”

  “I’m not afraid. I just don’t want to leave you.”

  Penny got up and came around to Hagekagome’s other side, moving Orchidia to do it. She glommed on to the pretty girl, tight. “Hey, Hage.”

  “Hey, Dread.”

  Brownie made a whining noise. So did Number Two. Orchidia and Little Strafa repositioned themselves so they could both contribute warmth from behind.

  Hagekagome hit me once, weakly, over the heart, with her left fist as she forced her way over to rest her left cheek against my chest. Her big brown eyes sparkled in the moonlight, diamond tears. “I love you. I love you more than anything.”

  And then she closed those beautiful eyes.

  120

  There was a disconnect in reality for a moment, like there was a one-half-second fade to black that might, in truth, have lasted a thousand years or an entire cycle of the universe. When it was over I had another dog in my lap, an ancient black-and-white female who had to have set a record for life span in dog years. All the strays pushed in around me, sniffing, whimpering, and giving her face good-bye licks.

  At that moment I decided I would honor Mikey’s love by laying Hagekagome down beside my own love. She would have a fine funeral, too.

  We were entering a season of funerals. We had to see off Kyoga’s son, Orchidia’s twins, and the marvelous Mashego. And maybe Vicious Min as well. We hadn’t heard anything more there.

  John Stretch would report.

  I had a more immediate concern.

  Strafa clung to my back as fiercely as Hagekagome had clung to my arm, shaking. “Tara Chayne, Orchidia, I don’t think I can survive losing her again.”

  Moonblight responded, “You can handle this. You’re a grown man. A war veteran. You’re just tired and feeling sorry for yourself. Hike up your big boy britches and get on with it.”

  There she went, kicking me into the land of what the hell is going on? again.

  Orchidia suggested, “Time is less friendly than we thought only an hour ago. The dog girl reverted sooner and faster than I expected.”

  So Little Strafa’s time might come sooner, too.

  Singe asked, “What can we expect?”

  “More of that.” Orchidia indicated Hagekagome. The old dog looked sad in the moonlight. Strays looked at me like they thought I should do something.

  Looking at Brownie, Number Two, and the others I saw something I’d missed till now. These were Hagekagome’s children. Well, more remote descendants than that, probably. But she was their beloved and honored matriarch and they had shown her to her heart’s desire before she’d had to leave them.

  I levered my stiff old bones upright. I needed help. It had been a long day, yet there remained more day to be lived.

  I lifted Hagekagome. She was heavier than I expected. I headed downhill. The Algarda Mausoleum lay just over a hundred yards distant. Moonlight painted the graveyard crisply spooky. Everybody, dogs and all, came along.

  Little Strafa crowded me as tightly as Hagekagome had earlier, grimly aware that she was running out of time.

  She was not comfortable with it, the way Hagekagome had been. For a time there had seemed to be a chance of living to grow up and become the wife. . But that hope had gone. She wanted to kick and scream and fight, but there was no thr
oat to wrap her little fingers round.

  We were halfway to the mausoleum when Tara Chayne delivered a heartfelt rendition of “Oh, shit!” while looking back upslope.

  The big guy stood where we had sat watching fireworks. Where Hagekagome had left us. He spotted Little Strafa, boomed a question loudly enough to waken babies a mile away.

  That would bring the sextons out.

  I told Strafa, “You’re the only one who can handle this.”

  She stopped to wait while the parade moved on. A minute later I found myself developing a grudge. The mausoleum remained as we had left it earlier, open to anyone daring enough to disturb the dead during All-Souls.

  I passed Hagekagome to Orchidia, eased inside, found the lamps, fired them up, then went back for Hagekagome.

  Jiffy stood calmly and respectfully out of the way, Little Strafa holding his hand. She was calmer now.

  I swapped a lamp for Hagekagome, carried her inside. Orchidia lighted my way. Tara Chayne followed. Brownie came, too, the only mutt with courage enough to enter. Singe and Penny chose to stay outside.

  I placed Hagekagome on the available plinth. I was teary again. Orchidia drifted to the doorway, bellowed at Little Strafa to get her butt in here; her presence was required.

  Strafa did not comply.

  I couldn’t help myself. I swept dust off the glass between me and my wife, raised my lamp for a final sorrow-filled look. .

  Trick of the lamplight, Strafa seemed to have gained some color.

  An outcry rose outside, Penny and Singe both shouting for me, “Now!”

  Little Strafa was having a seizure. Jiffy had her in his massive arms, controlling her, but was at a loss over what else to do. He passed her to me the instant I was close enough; then he just stood there looming with wet cheeks.

  The violence of Strafa’s seizure waned to a bad case of the shakes. She opened her eyes for a moment, slammed her arms around my neck, and squeezed till it felt like she might break something.

  I settled to the grass and held her. There was nothing else I could do. Nothing I could think to do. Penny and Singe tried to comfort me.

  Little Strafa’s shakes weakened. She opened her eyes one last time, forced a sad smile, touched my cheek with the tips of the fingers of her left hand, whispered, “Love you. Forever.”

  She stopped shaking. She stopped breathing. Then, a few minutes later, she stopped being.

  There was another of those fade-to-black moments, after which we all gawked at my empty lap.

  Jiffy went somewhere to be alone with his pain.

  I sat there amid family and dogs and wandered off into the lost realm that had been so attractive lately.

  Murmuring and shuffling brought me back.

  Orchidia and Tara Chayne were easing out of the tomb, a sagging but breathing grown-up Strafa suspended between them, too weak to lift her chin.

  I took a quick look eastward before I rushed in.

  No. We didn’t get to add dawn light to the drama. Not yet.

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: fbd-d3f779-3f44-ba4e-4f88-c769-fdef-1fd605

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  Document creation date: 05.07.2013

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  Document authors :

  Glen Cook

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