by Tom Deitz
He was not prepared for what he witnessed, however—for though his father’s shape did blur and twist, it did not actually change much at all. He did not grow fur, nor feathers, nor scales; he put forth no antlers or tail. Instead, he became a younger version of himself. No! He became…Calvin!
But that meant his father had tasted his blood!
“I was there when you were born,” came his own voice in his father’s cadence. “When they cut your cord, some of it splashed into my mouth and I swallowed it. And in the years since then, you hurt yourself more than once and I tended you. Wouldn’t you guess that somewhere in there your blood got in my mouth again?”
“And you’ve been huntin’ me since I left!” Calvin whispered.
“I have—but that rule don’t matter here—nor in the Lyin’ World, if you really want to change.”
Calvin didn’t reply for a long moment. Then, simply: “I am honored.”
“Mike?” Maurice prompted. And passed the scale to the boy.
Once again Calvin waited breathlessly until he saw Mike’s face go hard and intent as he fisted the talisman between his fingers and squeezed. Blood flashed brightly.
Again no fur or feathers. Rather, the shape of a teenage boy, slim and dark-haired.
“We were blood brothers once.” Mike sighed softly. “We cut each other’s hands and tasted each other’s blood. Maybe by usin’ Don’s shape to save myself, I can save him.”
Whereupon he passed the scale back to Maurice.
Calvin didn’t watch this time, for he suddenly felt a strange distancing from himself, as if he were stressed-out or drunk. He closed his eyes to fight it.
When he opened them again, it was to see his father in his own shape, and Mike in his. Neither showed any sign of a wound.
…and when he opened them again—for already he realized it had been his dream-self that had witnessed the ritual, that, perhaps, had dreamed even while he dreamed—it was to see quite another shape glaring down on him.
An ancient, weathered hag.
“I have found you!” the crone cackled loudly, capering about in a swirl of gray hair and buckskin that raised clouds of dark dust around her gnarled bare feet. She laughed shrilly—more a scream, really—and certainly loud enough to rouse his companions, who blinked up at her in groggy perplexity. Even Don mumbled and twitched, but did not open his eyes. Calvin tried to get to his feet, but an artfully “accidental” blow from the old woman’s foot caught him in the ribs and knocked him down again. He staggered, winded, only barely managed to prop himself upright against the cliff. No one else moved, still half in thrall to sleep as they were. Only Okacha looked alert enough to act. He hoped she didn’t.
Abruptly the crone ceased her capering, swept forward, and stuck her face in his, nose inches from his own. “They call the place you come from the Lying World,” she shrieked. “But it ought to be called the Deceiving World! You’ve led me a merry chase, boy—and were it not for the rabbit, I might never have found you!”
“Rabbit?” Calvin managed to croak between ragged gasps.
“He has passed by me twice since he tricked your friends,” the crone snapped. “But I caught him the third time, oh yes, I did! I caught him, and I told him I was tired of him, that he had made me angry. I threatened to make a pouch from his skin. I even pulled out my knife. But do you know what happened then, boy? Deceiving boy, from the Deceiving World?”
Calvin could only gulp and shake his head dazedly.
“I will tell you what he did!” the crone cried. “He told me that if I would spare him he would bring me to you!”
“We’re, uh, sorry,” Calvin choked out, wondering what was keeping the others from getting the hell out of there, given that he was obviously the target of the old biddy’s ire. “Like I said, we’re sorry. But…uh, well, we’re ready to leave anytime now. In fact, if you’d show us the way…”
“Which way?” the crone spat sharply.
“Uh, the way we came, I guess.”
“You cannot go back. Not that way!”
But Calvin had no time to protest, for even as he slapped his hands against the cliff in anticipation of pushing forward, he felt his fingers go…through! It was as if he had punched through a thin sheet of Styrofoam into…nothing.
A thin scream broke from Sandy. A frightened yip was Brock. A growl rolled from an Okacha, who was flailing wildly as the earth itself dissolved beneath her and dragged her down.
Calvin looked around frantically, saw the sand fading like ice dropped into hot water.
And then he was falling…
…falling…
With nothing all around.
PART FOUR
Tskili
and
Adewehi
Chapter XX: Nothing to Crow About
(Jackson County, Georgia—Tuesday, June 19—sunset)
…a twisting, tearing sensation that was not pain because pain was too specific to exist where nothing was, where the senses had no guides: no sights, no sounds, no smells—no anchors for nerve-endings at all…
…and then that twisting reversed, and stimuli flooded back so fast Calvin had to close his eyes as he staggered headfirst into heat and noise and color. It was like having his breath knocked out, he thought dimly, even as reflex flung his arms forward to stave off a fall.
He fell anyway, and felt his right hand stab into something soft and crinkly instinct told him was leaves, while the left scraped and slid along a surface rougher and utterly unyielding. It brought more pain—but a kind he understood.
He rolled with the impact, heard the rustling crash of similar encounters nearby, punctuated by grunts, groans, muffled curses, and one angry female voice yelling, “Shit!” Eventually his back caught against something superficially soft yet stable enough for his eyes to dare showing him a blur of green and flashing lights. It oofed in a young male tenor, then went silent. Perhaps it too had realized it was still alive and was content to savor that fact.
But where?
The woods for certain, to judge by the tree trunks that surrounded them. But beyond that…?
He sat up carefully, brushing twigs off his T-shirt and jeans, noting that he had fetched up against Brock, who was sprawled on his stomach, face crammed into tan-brown humus, one leg athwart a rotten log. Beyond the boy, Okacha was already standing, likewise taking stock. A glance to the left showed a wild-eyed Sandy blinking at him in something between bemusement, confusion, and relief. Leaves cluttered her hair—oak leaves. A dark furry shape just past her was the bearskin-shrouded Don. A sneaker slipped from Calvin’s hip as he grunted to a crouch—from which position he finally found sufficient sense to assess the landscape.
They had come to rest—if rest was the appropriate word—on a wooded slope maybe ten yards above a narrow creek that threaded the defile between two forested hills. Separating them from the stream lay the piled stones of what, in the last century, might have been a bridge abutment or the foundation of a mill. The slope above them continued until it was lost in a tangle of low summer shrubbery, mostly dogwoods and sweet gum, which, along with the hills themselves, placed this probably in middle Georgia. Which was comforting, because it was at least familiar, but also disconcerting, since it meant they were a couple of hundred miles from where they’d left—and, more importantly, from Sandy’s R.V. As for the larger trees thereabouts, most were oaks and maples, though hickories and poplars were also in evidence; all in the same full leaf as had prevailed when they’d left their own World. By the ruddiness of the light and the lengthening shadows arrowing toward them from atop the hill, he judged it near sunset. What sky was visible between branches looked gray-white, but the air smelled of thunder—which linked this to the place from which they’d just been evicted.
He shuddered at that. Brock evidently felt it, too, which prompted the boy to roll onto his side. His face was dirty. “So where are we?” he asked brightly.
Calvin started to shrug, but then something tickled his mem
ory. He scowled at the piled stones again—and knew. “Jackson County,” he croaked, his voice still stiff and thin from where he’d been winded. “Jackson County, Georgia, that is. And unless I’m even crazier than I think, that oughta be Bloody Creek down there.”
“You know this place?” Okacha murmured warily, eyes narrow with suspicion.
Calvin nodded, even as he made his way toward Sandy, who, true to her practical nature, was groping toward the still-unconscious Don. “It belongs to some friends of mine,” he continued. “’Course I’ve only been here once, and that was a few years ago. But I was close to here last summer. In fact, me and Dave and Alec and Liz camped on a knoll just over this hill. These are the woods where I summoned Awi Usdi.”
“And got Spearfinger,” Brock grumbled under his breath.
Calvin ignored him, except to note that he was likewise up and functional. Instead, he hunkered down beside Sandy, who had rolled Don onto his back and was checking his pulse. The boy was breathing steadily, which was good. “How’s he doin’?” he asked in a low voice. Scramblings behind him were Brock and Okacha joining them.
Sandy shrugged. “I’m not even sure how I am right now—besides cramping like mad. But as best I can tell, he’s fine. His breathing’s okay, he’s got good color, and his pulse is calming down. I haven’t checked his eyes for dilation yet.”
“That was some trip, if it made a sleeping person’s pulse go bonkers,” Calvin observed.
“Nobody’ll argue with that!” Okacha agreed edgily. After a moment’s peering across Calvin’s shoulder, she commenced prowling the area, collecting boots, socks, bits of clothing. “Found the packs,” she called an instant later.
“Good job,” Calvin called back. He took Sandy’s hand while she smoothed Don’s brow with the other. “So, why here?” she asked finally, her face tight with discomfort.
It was Calvin’s turn to shrug. “I dunno—unless… Well, like Brock said: this is probably where Spearfinger first came through, given that I did the ritual near here, and this is the only concentration of rocks ready to hand—which are what she travels through. So I…guess that old woman—whoever she was—just sent us to where the World Walls were thinnest—fortunately.”
“Relatively speaking,” Sandy muttered. “I—”
A cough from Don interrupted her. She leaned forward, intent on his face, her hair coppery in the ruddy light. Calvin mirrored her.
Another cough, then two more. A long shudder wracked the boy. His eyelids fluttered, then stilled again. “Wha’ time’s it?” he mumbled. And then his eyes popped open, wide with incredulity. “Jesus!” he yipped. “Where am I? Who’re you?” Then, after a further round of coughs and blinks: “Calvin?”
“In the flesh—I think,” Calvin replied.
“But…but where’d…you come from? An’…where’re my clothes?” He fell back and closed his eyes. “Jesus! I don’t believe this!” he groaned. “Wha’ happened?”
Calvin took him by the arm. “What’s the last thing you remember?” he asked carefully. Sandy shot him a warning scowl.
Don’s lids slitted open; his brow furrowed with concentration. “I remember lookin’ in a mirror an’ seein’…Mike, an’— No, it wasn’t a mirror, it was water! The creek out by my house. And he reached up to me, an’—”
He closed his eyes again.
“Don?” Calvin snapped urgently. “You okay?” The boy nodded.
“How much of the rest do you recall?”
A pause, then: “A bunch of…of really scary stuff. But Mike was there, an’ I told him I was sorry, an’ he said it was cool. But then I didn’t want to leave him, an’ I knew he couldn’t go on, an’—” He broke off, stared at Calvin with tear-brightened eyes. “He’s gone on now, ain’t he? I dreamed that. But everything you dream there’s true, ain’t it?”
Calvin nodded in turn. “I think so. I certainly hope so.”
Okacha, who had been rummaging among the packs, padded over, still barefoot. “Maybe these’ll do,” she said tersely, her face grim and troubled as she thrust a bundle of fabric into Calvin’s hands. He sorted through it, determined that it was a mix of Brock’s spare skivvies and jeans, with one of his own T-shirts, then passed the wad to the boy, who grabbed it gratefully and proceeded to dress beneath the bearskin, amidst many grunts, groans, and crunchings of leaves. “You’ll have to do without shoes, I reckon,” Calvin told him. “Nobody brought extras. Sorry.”
“No big deal,” Don sighed, emerging from the fur to slip on the too-large T-shirt. Then, abruptly: “I’ve gotta call my mom! She’s gotta be goin’ out of her mind! Uh, what day is it, anyway?”
Calvin checked his watch. “Well, if this thing’s not had a breakdown swapping Worlds, never mind time zones, it’s Tuesday.”
Don’s brow wrinkled as he did rapid computations. “Oh, crap! I’ve been gone nearly a week!” He shot to his feet, then paled and had to sit again.
“Legs wobbly?” Okacha asked, steadying him.
“You could say that.” Then, abruptly, even as he flinched away: “You’re…her, ain’t you? The panther-woman? You were in my dream.”
“Yes, I was,” Okacha replied matter-of-factly. “Wanta try to get up again?”
Don stared at her uncertainly, then shook his head. “Gimme a minute. Uh, anybody got any food?” he added. “I’m starved.”
Calvin shook his head in turn. “’Fraid not, unless—Sandy, you didn’t happen to pick up any, did you?” She likewise shook her head.
“I’ve got that jug of water the Thunder Boys gave us,” Brock volunteered, scrambling toward the packs. When he returned with it a moment later, he also held Calvin’s atasi. “Thought you might want this close by,” he said solemnly. “You know, just in case.”
“Thanks,” Calvin grunted. He sniffed the jug, noted nothing suspicious, then took a tentative sip. The water was cool, sweet, and preposterously refreshing. He passed it on to Don, with an admonition to drink slowly. “Okay,” he continued, as the others slaked their thirsts, “we know where we are. The next thing we’ve gotta figure out is where we go from here, and who needs what.”
“A telephone would be good,” Sandy said instantly. “I know some folks near here who’d probably let us use theirs,” Calvin told her.
“This is…close to Athens?” Okacha asked.
Again Calvin nodded. “Maybe eight miles north. I—”
“Athens?” Brock broke in excitedly. “You mean like in R.E.M. and the B-52’s and the 40 Watt Club?”
“More like in Dave Sullivan, Alec McLean, and an ulunsuti,” Calvin shot back. “I figure we’ll call Dave first, and get him to come retrieve us. Once we get ourselves straightened out down there, we can work out the rest—obviously we’ve gotta get hold of Don’s mom pronto, and—”
“Anytime,” Okacha gritted, looking even tenser than before. “I don’t like this place.” She shuddered.
“Me neither,” Calvin agreed. “So what say we collect our gear and boogie? We can work out details walkin’ as easy as sittin’ still.” He paused, looked at Don. “You up for it?”
Don smiled wanly. “I’m cool.”
“You’re also barefoot,” Calvin noted dryly. “I can carry you if you need me to. The closest road’s dirt.”
“We’ll see.”
“Fine,” Calvin replied, rising. “Everybody ready?”
“Gotcha!” From Brock.
“First thing,” Sandy told Calvin, as they trudged up the hill behind the boys, “we need to get hold of Don’s mom as soon as we can, and get him home as soon after that as possible, not only for his sake and hers, but because the police already think something weird’s going on, and if they find out you’re mixed up in it, they’ll really go ballistic. So we have to either be very circumspect or very up-and-up.”
“Okay,” Calvin panted. “Go on.”
“Number two,” she went on, with a grin. “I’ve gotta retrieve my truck, if it’s not already been found—and thereby hangs another
possibly disastrous tale. On the other hand, given that I have to go south to get it anyway, I might as well take Don with me and save his mom a trip.”
Calvin didn’t reply immediately. Then: “We’ll have to work out the details on that when we see which way the land lays. Meanwhile…Brock, how ’bout you?”
“What about me?”
“You cool? About magic, I mean? Or do you think I still owe you?”
Brock grinned fiendishly. “Let’s just say we’ll talk about that when I see which way the land lays.”
Calvin could only sigh. “That leaves the big ’un, doesn’t it, Okacha?”
Okacha nodded darkly. “We did make a bargain,” she said. “I’ve fulfilled my part—I think. But now that I’ve seen what I have…I’m not sure I oughta insist you fulfill yours.”
Calvin started to reply, but Sandy shushed him. “Bullshit,” she snapped. “A bargain’s a bargain. I’m not sure I enjoyed what we just went through. But I am a physics teacher, and I’ve seen enough warped physics the last few days to keep me thinking for a lifetime—and that’s just the selfish part. Never mind that Cal’ll fret himself crazy about you if we don’t get you somewhere Snakeeyes can’t get at you.”
Calvin stared at her, grinning crookedly. “Which is the next big problem. I mean, we know how to get help—shoot, we can hitch if we have to. And there’s a half dozen ways to get Don back home, and the same for the Bronco. But neither of ’em carries a threat—not like Okacha’s from Snakeeyes.”
“Who’ll also be a threat to you,” Okacha pointed out. “He knows you’ve got the scale. He knows you know things. Shoot, he probably knows you’ve got a friend with an ulunsuti.”
“Which is why we’ve gotta get you someplace safe pronto,” Calvin shot back. “Someplace he can’t draw on your power, while I figure out how to defuse him.”