Spirits White as Lightning

by Mercedes Lackey

  "Hi," Beth said, taking his hand. His grip was strong and warm, the palm slightly rough in the way of those who work with their hands. "I'm Beth, and this is Kory. I sure hope you know more about this stuff than we do." And if you're from Elfhame Fairgrove, I guess we'd better warn you about little green men with nail guns before you go.

  Tannim grinned engagingly. "Not really—but I read directions really well. Hey . . . what's this?"

  Beth explained about the Faraday Cage, and to her relief, she didn't have to explain much.

  "We use them sometimes at Fairgrove, too. Pretty cool."

  With so many helping hands, the work went quickly. The Faraday Cage was unpacked and assembled—despite Tannim's protests of mechanical helplessness, he certainly seemed to know what to do with a toolbox—and soon the gleaming copper mesh, a cube twelve feet square and eight feet high—filled the room. Tannim and Kory unrolled rubber floor mats and covered them with an Oriental carpet before the servants moved the mahogany table back inside. It had to weigh as much as a small car, but Chinthliss' impassive servants handled it as if it weighed nothing at all.

  Soon the computer itself was spread out upon the table, an Omnium processor—only one generation up from the Pentium, not two, but Intel had looked at its choices of names—Sexium, Septium, Octium, Nonium—and wisely opted to skip them all—with a 27-inch flat screen, full-color laser printer, and wireless Internet connection. Cables ran to the solar array lying on the floor beside the table, an LED flashing slowly as it began to charge.

  "I guess we better switch the cage on before we turn on the computer," Tannim said, "or there isn't going to have been much point to this, right?"

  Just then Chinthliss' butler arrived, to announce that luncheon was served. He fixed his master with a militant gaze, as if daring him to mistreat his guests. Chinthliss nodded reluctantly, although Beth could see that he was as excited as a kid on Christmas morning, and just as eager to play with his new toys.

  Over lunch, Kory told the others the tale of their flight and narrow escape from their pursuers in Las Vegas.

  "And you mean that those guys are somewhere Underhill? Wild," Tannim said. He didn't sound particularly worried. "Hope they've got more with them than those dart guns. Not everything down here is allergic to iron."

  "What is of greater concern to me—as it will be to Keighvin Silverhair—is the motive for their attack, as well as their methods," Chinthliss said. "You say they used no magic?"

  "None that I could sense," Kory admitted. "Yet their artifice was such that they were invisible to me, though Beth could see them. And I do not understand how their vehicle could operate at all."

  "Beats me," Tannim said, interested. "Fairgrove is pretty up-to-date when it comes to automotive technology, and offhand I can't think of anything that could do what you've described. Flying fast—and silently—and with some kind of cloaking device—there isn't anything out there, or in development, that could do that."

  "Unless it did not come from your world at all," Chinthliss supplied helpfully. "Underhill is vast, and there are realms within it that rely as much upon technology as the Sidhe do upon magic. Yet why should they choose to trouble the elfhames upon Earth?"

  "That's the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question," Beth agreed. "We've run into people before who wanted to treat Talents like lab rats, and there's all those psychic research programs the government runs, but . . . these people knew about elves. And were hunting them."

  "It would be sad indeed were the ancient alliance between Sidhe and human to founder upon this rock of enmity," Chinthliss said. "I shall consider the matter, and see if any of my resources can provide an answer to this riddle. And now, let us return to our work."

  * * *

  By the time the four of them returned to the conservatory, the boxes had been tidied away and the solar panels were up and running. "Here goes nothing," Beth said, flipping the switch to power up the Faraday Cage.

  She heard a faint whine that cycled quickly up past the edge of human hearing, and Kory winced. When the others moved to enter the enclosure, he stepped back.

  "I believe I shall remain here."

  Beth glanced at him curiously for a moment, then understanding dawned. If the cage worked as advertised, and sealed off everything inside from the currents of magic constantly wafting through Underhill, stepping inside would be like going into a soundproof room—or worse—for Kory. It was tempting to fall into the habit of thinking of the Sidhe as invulnerable, but the truth was, they had as many weaknesses as mortals did. They were just different ones.

  Whatever the reason for Kory's distaste, it was plain that Chinthliss didn't share it. He led the other two into the cage and seated himself in the squamous leather chair behind the table. Beth felt a faint tingle—as if a storm were brewing—as she stepped inside, and smelled a faint tang of ozone, but nothing more.

  "What do I do?" the dragon asked eagerly.

  "Well, first you load the operating system," Beth said, leaning over his shoulder.

  An hour later, the software they'd brought was installed and running, and there was a fat pile of manuals at Chinthliss' elbow. Even the internet was up and running, on a T1 line to a standard server with a cross-worlds energy link via tightbeam broadcast to Underhill through a Nexus. Chinthliss had not only gotten his e-mail up and running, he'd ordered several thousand dollars worth of CDs to be delivered to a P.O. box in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

  Well, it's a good start. . . .

  "It'll take you a while to get the hang of all these apps," Beth said, regarding the screensaver full of flying toasters that moved smoothly across. A bouncy march played over the computer's speaker suite in flawless high-fidelity concert hall sound. "But that's everything."

  "Excellent. I am truly impressed," Chinthliss purred.

  "And now, my lord?" Kory said from outside the cage. "We have fulfilled our side of the bargain."

  Reluctantly Chinthliss shut down the computer, watching as the screen went inert and dark. Then he got to his feet and walked out of the Faraday Cage.

  "Just as I promised you," he said, reaching into his suit jacket and placing a large gold key into Kory's hand. "Full access to my library and all that it contains. The information you seek is there. Tannim and I will be away on business for some days, but my house is yours. Charles will provide you with anything you desire."

  "Charles" must be Chinthliss' formidably-correct butler. As if he had been summoned by the speaking of his name—and for all Beth knew, that was literally the case—the manservant appeared in the doorway.

  "Prince Korendil, Lady Beth. May I show you to your rooms—or would you prefer to go directly to the library?"

  "The library," Kory said decisively.

  Beth turned to Chinthliss and Tannim. "Thanks so much for all your help."

  "Hey, my pleasure," Tannim said. "I'll check out those guys you mentioned when I get back to Fairgrove. Haven't seen anybody like that hanging around, but you never know. There's some weird folks out there."

  "That's the unvarnished truth," Beth agreed, and turned away to take Kory's hand. "See you around."

  "Come down and visit," Tannim urged. He waved, and followed Chinthliss from the room.

  "If you will be so good as to accompany me?" Charles said.

  * * *

  The entrance to the library was on a par with the rest of the palace's semi-Victorian sensibilities: a double set of coffered oak doors twelve feet high, surmounted by an elaborate plasterwork coat of arms. The golden doorknobs were in the shape of eagle claws grasping jade spheres, and there was a keyhole on the right-side panel just beneath the knob.

  "If you require anything further, do not hesitate to ring," Charles said. He bowed stiffly and walked off, leaving the two of them standing before the library doors.

  "Well," Beth said, suddenly nervous. "This is it."

  "Yes," Kory said. "But somehow I fear . . ." He shrugged, leaving the sentence unfinished, and inserted the key in the lo
ck.

  Both doors swung inward. Beth drew a deep breath, stifling a squeak.

  The room was huge—four stories tall and as long as a football field. Books lined the walls, all the way to the ceiling. There were ornate gilded catwalks circling the room so that one could reach the higher volumes, and ladders on tracks were set on each level so that the top shelves could be reached. There were long tables running down the center of the room, and a number of comfy chairs that seemed to urge her to curl up in them with the nearest handy volume. The alabaster lamps that hung down from the ceiling bathed the entire room in a soft shadowless light. Beth took a few steps into the room, gazing around herself in wonder.

  "There must be about a billion books here," she said in awe.

  "Yes." Kory looked around, frowning. "A great number of books. But where is the catalogue?"

  Beth wandered over to the nearest shelf and inspected the titles. A copy of The Arabian Nights stood next to a book on practical gardening for the weekend gardener. The book next to that had no title at all on its spine, and when she picked it up, she saw that the pages were covered in a strangely ornate script that she didn't recognize. She put it back. Next to it was a book in French—the title was something like A Saraband for Lost Time, but Beth wasn't confident enough of her French to be quite sure. Next to that was an Oz book, but not by Baum.

  "They're not in order," she said, turning to Kory. "They're just . . . here."

  "As the information we seek is here," Kory said gloomily. "Somewhere."

  "But why would he do that to us?" Beth could think of nothing else to say.

  Kory sighed. "I do not think he meant us harm. It may not have occurred to him that we could not find something here as easily as he could himself. Or perhaps it did—but this is what we asked for—access to his library. He has fulfilled the bargain we asked of him."

  Beth walked over to the nearest chair and sat down numbly, staring at acre after acre of randomly shelved, uncatalogued, unindexed books. Even if they searched every volume—a task that could take years—they had no guarantee that they'd even recognize the information they wanted when they stumbled across it.

  Dumb, Kentraine, dumb. You were so careful at the Goblin Market to ask for exactly what you wanted. Why couldn't you put your brain in gear when it really mattered?

  "All is not lost, Beth," Kory said.

  "Oh yeah?" she answered bitterly. "It sure looks like it from here."

  FOURTEEN:TOGETHER WE

  After the grief and exertion of the night before, Eric slept as if someone had hit him over the head with a blunt instrument. He awoke, still exhausted and disoriented, in the late afternoon, barely able to remember what day it was.

  Tuesday. I think. And that means I missed class today, but somehow, I can't find it in my heart to care. Jimmie's unjust death was still too fresh, and everything surrounding it too unbelievable and tangled. Hosea a Guardian. Aerune back to make more trouble. And, unless he'd slept a lot harder than he thought, sometime last night the lot of them had infested Hosea's banjo with the soul of a thirtysomething underground chemist.

  I need a shower. I need tea.

  He staggered blearily out from behind the closed bedroom door, and was mildly surprised to see Hosea in the living room, his banjo across his knees. Hadn't Hosea . . . ? Oh. Memory smacked him on the brain once more, and Eric continued wordlessly on to the shower.

  Ten minutes under a shower hot and cool by turns put what was left of Eric's brain into working order. He dressed and went into the kitchen to see about the tea.

  As he was standing over the kettle waiting for it to boil—Eric was a firm believer in the adage that a watched pot needs the help—his mind registered the fact that Hosea was playing quietly. And more than that. There seemed to be a kind of whispering sound mixed in with the melody, like the sound of wind through leaves, but whenever he tried to hear it, it disappeared again. Curious enough to abandon his morning-transplanted-to-afternoon ritual, Eric went out into the living room. Hosea looked up as he entered.

  "Afternoon, Eric. For a while there, I thought you were going to sleep the clock around."

  "I still feel like I'm a few days short on sleep," Eric sighed, running a hand through his hair. He glanced at the banjo in curiosity.

  "Oh, Jeanette and I was just getting caught up on a few things, and I was hearing all about that Dark Lord feller we run into last night. He sure is a piece of work."

  "Yeah. Kind of `Welcome to the Hollow Hills, now go home.' But you said you were talking to, um, Jeanette?"

  "It's the darndest thing. When I'm playing, it's just like I was talking to her—only I'm thinking, and I guess she is, too."

  "Can she hear me? I mean, right now?" Eric asked.

  Once more Hosea ran his fingers over the strings, and again Eric caught the overlay of eldritch whispering. Hosea grinned.

  "She says she's dead, not deaf. Seeing's not quite the same, but she can hear real fine."

  "Um . . . great." Eric cudgeled his brains. "I guess we kind of need to know what Aerune's planning, and then figure out some way to stop him." And good luck to that. I don't think the Guardians would stand much of a chance against a Magus Major, and Aerune's a lot more than that. It's not so much that the Unseleighe Sidhe are more powerful than the Bright Elves as it is that the Dark Court doesn't care what it has to do to gain its power and the Seleighe Sidhe do. Still . . .

  "Ayup. Miss Hernandez called while you was still sleeping and said she wanted to get together tonight and study on that with you and the rest of . . . us." Hosea looked a little discomfited at the renewed realization that he, too, was one of the Guardians, and quickly changed the subject. "And Kayla's been here for awhile. She took a look at that studio down there and went out to buy a couple of gallons of black paint."

  Eric grinned faintly, thinking of Ria's reaction to Kayla redoing her Park Avenue pastels in basic black. It was nice to think that one thing in this mess had worked out for the best.

  "Any word about the funeral?" Eric forced himself to ask.

  "Day after tomorrow. I guess I'll have to go out and get myself a dark suit."

  "Yeah. I'd like to help you out there, but I don't think the two of us wear the same size."

  That got a grin from Hosea. "No, sir. I reckon we don't. Well, I expect I've been loafing long enough. Time to get back to work. I'm packing up Jimmie's things." Hosea laid the banjo aside.

  "I'll help," Eric said, though it was about the last thing he wanted to say. Still, it was a brutal job, and Hosea shouldn't have to do it all by himself. And it was a last service Eric could perform for a fallen comrade.

  * * *

  "So we can't fight this Aerune, and we can't get the elves to fight him? That doesn't leave much," Toni said in disgust.

  The four Guardians, Eric, and Kayla were gathered in Eric's apartment once more. For the last several hours the six of them—with advice from Jeanette via Hosea's banjo—had been trying to figure out what—if anything—they could do about the threat of Aerune mac Audelaine.

  "It's not that we can't get the Sidhe to come in on our side," Eric explained patiently. "It's just that we can't get them to do it fast. By the time they're convinced Aerune is a real threat, and organize to stop him, a lot of damage will have been done."

  "A good thing to prevent, if we can," Paul said. "And from what Jeanette has told Hosea, our Sidhe friend has learned some lessons from the last time you went up against him. He's got allies in this world working to sow distrust between human and Sidhe—a neat trick, since humans are largely ignorant of the Sidhe's existence and the Sidhe, from what you've said, are largely indifferent to the common run of humanity."

  "That's about the size of it," Eric admitted. "And as usual, humans can manage to do a lot more damage in this world than any number of Sidhe. Aerune's more immediately dangerous, but it's his allies that worry me. Cut off Aerune's involvement with them, and that threat might disappear, though."

  Eric spoke from e
xperience. Aerune was undoubtedly giving the mysterious Parker Wheatley Jeanette had told them about the ammunition to put on a pretty good show for whoever was backing him in government circles. Remove that aid, and the whole conspiracy might collapse under its own weight.

  "Well, isn't there some way you guys can just stop Aerune from coming around here? Nail his door shut, or something?" Kayla suggested.

  "We can't exactly put a lord of the Sidhe under house arrest . . . even if we could get to him," Toni said dubiously. "Or can we?" She looked at Eric.

  "I'm not completely sure on this," Eric said, "but I kind of think he could break through any barrier we set in place . . . and to keep him from being able to enter the World Above, we'd have to be able to seal all the Nexus points connecting Underhill with the World Above. And even if we could get all the Elfhames to agree to that, it'd have severe repercussions for humanity. From what Beth and I could see back when Elfhame Sun-Descending was in danger, humans and Sidhe are pretty closely intertwined. We're the ones with the creativity, but something about them feeds that creativity in us. Split us off from each other completely, and we'd lose something pretty important."

  "Still . . . house arrest," Paul mused. "There has to be some way to trap Aerune Underhill and sever his connection with our Mr. Wheatley."

  "Pop quiz," Kayla said. "How do you trap something bigger and stronger than you that can bust through any walls you put up?"

  They sat and stared at each other in glum silence. Suddenly there was a scraping at the window, and Greystone stepped through.

  "Sure an' it's surprised at your lack of a classical education I am," he said in a broad stage brogue. "Hasn't a one of you ever heard of the Minotaur?" The gargoyle winked at Kayla, who grinned. She'd met him for the first time earlier today, and taken his arrival with a lot more sangfroid than Eric had exhibited.

  "The Minotaur!" Paul exclaimed. "Of course! The solution has problems of its own, but—"