by Tom Deitz
He did, too. For the same mythology book that had given him the lowdown on Spearfinger had also spelled out the manner of her demise.
What had the myth said? Something about a group of hunters that had trapped Utlunta in a pit and shot her full of arrows that wouldn’t pierce her stony skin—until finally Tsikilili the Chickadee had told them to aim for the palm of her left hand…because she kept her heart there?
Calvin didn’t know about the heart, but the rest made as much sense as any other conclusions, and more than anything the law would likely have considered.
That she had already been killed once yet evidently lived again did not concern him; he had pretty much come to accept the fact that beings from Galunlati never stayed dead very long.
The next step, then, was to retrieve his bow, check on Robyn and Brock, and prepare to seek his quarry.
PART III
Fear and
Trembling
Chapter XIV: Chance Encounter
(east of Whidden, Georgia—twoish)
So much to do and so little time to do it in, Calvin reflected, as he jogged through the woods toward Brock and Robyn’s camp. He had decided to remain in man-shape, though he knew he ran considerable risk in retaining that form. Still, he thought he was far enough from the murder scene to venture it; and besides, he was becoming leery of constantly changing skin. That kind of thing had to be a shock to the system, and he didn’t know how long he could keep it up. For that matter, was there a limit? Did it get easier all the time (as it sometimes appeared to be doing, though it still hurt like hell), or did your body eventually wear out and simply stop cooperating? And what about your mind? Did sharing two consciousnesses cause any sort of lasting mental harm?
And what of the scale bouncing up and down against his chest? It was the source of the change, but could it wear out? Was the magic it contained also finite—especially here in this World, cut off from the source of its Power?
He fervently hoped not.
Spearfinger was in this very county, and he was almost certain she was looking for Dave. Now more than ever Calvin needed to call his friend and tell him to be on guard. The smart thing, though, would be to try to contact Uki first, on the odd chance Calvin could breach the Barriers Between this time; that way he could give Dave maximum information. Yet to attempt any of those things right now would not only leave his new friends unprotected, but risk his own capture as well—which would leave him unable to aid anyone at all.
He slowed for a moment, flopped sweating against a tree, and tried to think clearly. Did he really have to go after Spearfinger tonight? But if he didn’t, she’d be free to work more mischief, and he couldn’t stand the thought of another life being lost because of him. There were two on his conscience already, and very likely at least one more. Robyn and Brock would not join that company—not if he had anything to do with it.
Unless—a sudden chill shook him—they already had. Was his warding strong enough? When he had set it he had not considered that it might have to hold against one of the great evil powers of Galunlati.
No, he had to stop Spearfinger as quickly as possible. Every second wasted was a second in which she could kill. This, he realized dully, was what the omens had all been pointing to.
He started off again, though he did not feel at all rested, and bent his trail to the left, hoping to come on the camp from the north side. The forest was not so thick there, and he made good time, loping along like a wolf, with the wind whistling gently past his ears, and every footfall striking light upon the earth. The thrumming had stopped, he noted absently, but just as he began to wonder why, he heard something crashing noisily through the woods. The footfalls sounded vaguely human, and Calvin was instantly on guard, for fear someone was already on his trail—or worse, Spearfinger herself. But when a particularly sharp crack was followed by sudden silence and then an angry “Son-of-a-bitch!” he knew otherwise.
“Brock?” he called softly before he could stop himself. “Hey, Brock! That you?”
No answer, and Calvin had no choice but to investigate. Moving as quietly as he could, he eased toward the cursing, making sure it wasn’t a trick or a trap before he revealed himself.
He need not have been concerned, for the slender form that lay panting breathlessly among the ferns was definitely male, clearly not Brock, and almost certainly in very bad condition, to judge by the way he was shaking and trembling. He was older than Brock, or at least bigger, and his hair was dark whereas the runaway’s was fair, though it was so snarled with leaves and twigs and streamers of Spanish moss that Calvin almost couldn’t see it. His clothes—blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and oversized, big-tongued British Knights—were a mess too; torn and filthy, and with more than a little blood patterning the fabric.
“Jesus,” Calvin muttered, scrambling across the fronds to crouch beside the boy, whose gasps and pants were mingling with intermittent sobs. “Hey, kid, you all right?”
“No!” the boy moaned. “They’re dead, they’re all dead!”
“Dead!” The word cut through Calvin’s heart like a knife. “Who’s dead?”
“All of ’em!”
“Come on then, let’s get you straightened up, and you can tell me about it.”
The boy did not stir, just went on sobbing, but Calvin slipped an arm under him and helped him turn over and sit up. “You’re not hurt or anyth—” he began, then, “Christ! You’re the kid at the Magic Market!”
“Don,” the boy managed between sobs. “Hey, you’re the guy with the cool-ass bow!”
“Calvin,” he supplied. “I—” But his sentence was cut short when Don suddenly wrapped his arms around him and started crying uncontrollably. It was as if Calvin’s presence had released some long-pent-up tension that now flowed out so fast it was backing up and making the boy shake. All Calvin could do was hold him and pick the leaves out of his hair. “You’re okay, I’ve got you now,” he whispered. “It’s gonna be all right.”
At last the boy’s grip eased, and he shrugged out of Calvin’s embrace. A quick wipe of his nose on the tail of his T-shirt, and he blinked up at Calvin, his expression a mixture of fear, rage, and adolescent embarrassment.
“Okay, now,” Calvin murmured softly, “who’s dead?”
“Mike is…my best friend, and I think my sister is, and I’m afraid my mom’s gonna be if I don’t get help fast!” He started to his feet but Calvin caught him by the waistband and dragged him back down. “Not so fast, Don. What makes you think your buddy’s dead?”
“’Cause I saw him! We were campin’, and I got up to take a leak, and my sister came up through the woods, only it wasn’t my sister, and she was singin’ some kinda weird song that made me freeze, and she just walked up to Michael and…and killed him!”
“Okay, okay,” Calvin said in his most reassuring tones. “I believe you, don’t doubt it. But I have to ask you, was there anything strange about your sister? Anything out of the ordinary?”
“Everything was strange.”
“Yeah, I know, but anything in particular? Did she look different, or anything?”
“It was her finger…she had a…a real long finger, like a spear or a sticker-thing, or something. She stuck it in Mike while he was sleepin’ and…and started eatin’ his guts!”
“And you’re sure it was your sister?”
“Of course I’m sure!”
“What does she look like?”
Don told him, but it only confirmed what Calvin already knew.
“Okay, Don,” Calvin said carefully, “just relax and try to think clearly, ’cause I really am gonna try to help you, but there’s some things I’m gonna have to tell you that may be hard to believe, so just hang in there and trust me, okay? You’ve had a bad shock, but I think I know some of what’s caused it, and if you’ll help me, maybe we can stop this from happenin’ to anybody else. You with me so far?”
“Sure,” Don sniffed dubiously. “But I really gotta go warn Mom!”
; “She’ll be all right, I think,” Calvin said carefully, not certain if he should say more. “I’ve got a pretty good idea where she is.”
“She went to town with her boyfriend—he’s a policeman.”
Calvin shook his head. “Not to town, to a place near here where there’s been another murder.”
“Another…”
“Now hear what I’m saying’, Don. Bad things happen sometimes, and when they do you just have to accept ’em. You’ve just gone through probably the worst thing that’s ever gonna happen to you, and you’ve already made it past the hardest part, so it’s really all downhill from here. I got some news nearly that bad just this afternoon. But I’m gonna have to tell you one more bad thing. You know what you said before? Well, you were right about—”
“It’s Allison, ain’t it?” the boy interrupted. “She really is dead, ain’t she?”
Calvin regarded him levelly. “Yeah, I think she is.”
“Figgered as much.”
“Yeah. But look, guy, I need to know everything that happened, every detail you can remember about your friend’s death. I know it’s gonna hurt, and I know you’re in a hurry to catch up with your mom, but if you can tell me everything, maybe I can do something to fight it.”
“Well,” Don began, “it was like I told you: me and Mike was goin’ campin’, but Allison had disappeared, only we didn’t know, and…”
He went on then, recounting as much as he knew about Allison’s disappearance and subsequent strange return, about the camping trip, about Michael Chadwick’s murder, and what he’d done thereafter. It took Calvin a while to sort all the facts into some kind of logical order, because the boy kept glossing over things, or getting sidetracked, or trying to hurry, but eventually Calvin had a pretty clear idea of the chain of events, plus a fair notion of where Don’s house was and the layout of the surrounding terrain. That was information he’d need when he went Spearfinger hunting.
“Okay, Don,” Calvin whispered when the boy had finished. “Now think hard: that song you said your sister was singin’—think you could remember the words?”
Don shook his head at first, but then looked thoughtful. “Didn’t make sense, but…I think the first word was something like Owie-lan-at-siki, or somethin’ like that.”
“Uwelanatsiku, maybe?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“Were there any other words? Think hard!”
Don’s brow furrowed. “Just some kinda nonsense syllables, something with esses. I can’t remember what.”
“Maybe it doesn’t matter,” Calvin muttered, mostly to himself. Then louder, “I think that clinches it, Don-o: the finger fits, the shapechangin’ fits, the mastery over stone fits—and the song fits. You know what it means, don’t you?”
“It means ‘Liver I eat,’ don’t it? She sung it once in English right there at the end.”
Calvin gave his shoulders a brotherly squeeze. “Thanks a bunch, guy. You’ve told me a lot of useful stuff, like that business about travelin’ through the ground and all. And I—”
“You believed that?”
“Sure I do. Folks as freaked out as you are don’t lie, even when it sounds crazy. Besides, I’ve…seen some things myself.”
“And you think you know what this thing is?”
“Yeah,” Calvin replied. “And I’ll tell you what I can, but some of it’s gonna be hard to believe, and I’ll have to let you in on a couple of secrets for it to make sense. Deal?”
“Deal.” And was that maybe the ghost of a smile?
“Okay, well, first of all, you know I’m Cherokee, right? Well, do you know anything about Cherokee mythology?”
“Just a little. Some stuff I learned in Boy Scouts.”
“Ever hear of Spearfinger?”
Don shook his head. “’Fraid not. But…hey, you’re not sayin’ my sister’s turned into some kinda monster out of Cherokee legends, or something, are you?”
“Not…exactly. I…I’m afraid it’s a lot more likely that Spearfinger killed your sister and took her form.”
Calvin proceeded to tell the boy all he could recall about the legend of Utlunta, then continued with a quick rehash of his finding of Allison’s body, ending with a radically edited account of the conversations he had overheard at the murder scene, including the coroner’s speculations about the missing liver. He did not, however, mention that he was implicated—or his earlier encounter with the sheriff, or his father’s death. Kid had enough on his mind without having to deal with Calvin’s problems.
“There’s a couple more things I gotta tell you, though.” Calvin concluded.
“Shoot.”
“Ever hear of the uktena?”
“Ain’t that some kinda snake monster, or something?”
“Yeah, but there aren’t any around anymore, at least not in this World—but there are in Galunlati.”
“What’s Galunlati?”
“The Cherokee spirit world.”
“You mean like heaven?”
“More like a magical version of this World. No technology or anything.”
“You talk like you’ve been there.”
“I have.”
“You’re shittin’ me!”
“No,” Calvin assured him solemnly. “Listen: you yourself have seen something tonight that you’ll have to admit isn’t part of this World. And it happens that it fits a Cherokee myth almost perfectly, okay?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Right, then doesn’t it stand to reason that if one supernatural creature exists, more might?”
“Maybe,” Don conceded dubiously. “What’re you gettin’ at?”
Calvin took a deep breath, wondering if he wanted to finish what he was about to begin. Finally he reached into his neckband and dragged out the uktena scale on its thong. It glittered in the moonlight, strangely bright. “Know what this is?”
The boy squinted at it. “Arrowhead?”
“Nope.”
“Shark’s tooth?”
“Wrong again.”
“Hey, man, just get on with it, okay?”
“Okay, okay, hold your horses. I’m just trying to break this to you gently.”
“Break what to me?”
“This is the scale of an uktena, Don. And it…helps me to work magic.”
Don stared at Calvin askance. “No shit?”
“Swear on my life.”
“What kinda magic?”
“I’d…rather not elaborate just now. Let’s just say I think I may be able to use it to destroy Spearfinger.”
He paused then, wondering how to proceed, since he obviously did not need a sidekick right now. Don had indicated that he wanted to warn his mother, which was certainly not a bad idea. And they probably needed to get word to the dead boy’s parents as well. But Calvin didn’t want to send Don off alone to find either, nor did he feel he had time to accompany him on those errands himself. He also doubted he could trust what the boy might say in his present condition. Finally, Calvin puffed his cheeks and said, “Don, I know you want to get hold of your mom and your friend’s folks, but…I think you’re better off stickin’ with me for the time bein’. I’ve got some friends near here I can leave you with, and—”
“Leave me with?”
“Yeah,” Calvin acknowledged with a sigh. “I can’t delay any longer. Spearfinger might be killin’ again already…but I’m startin’ to get some ideas about what she’s up to.”
“But you don’t wanta say, right?”
“You got it! Now come on, guy, let’s boogie. You are okay to run, aren’t you?”
“You got it,” Don echoed, rising. But Calvin knew his conviction was largely an illusion.
Both of the runaways were sleeping—or going through the motions, anyway—when Calvin escorted Don into their camp. But Brock awakened a little too quickly, as if he’d been lying there with one eye open already. A couple of the palmettos looked disturbed too, and Calvin suspected that the warding had been breache
d at least once from within. Something had certainly been at it—he could tell by the way it had tingled beneath his feet when he had crossed it.
“Where’ve you been?” Brock demanded, trying to sound groggy, but Calvin thought his yawns were a tad too wide. The runaway’s eyes narrowed when they fell on Don. “Hey, who’s your friend?”
“What’s up?” That was from Robyn, legitimately confused. “Jesus God, Calvin, who’s that?”
“His name’s Don. He’s…had some real bad news tonight, and may still be in trouble. I—”
Robyn raised an eyebrow, instantly suspicious. “What kinda trouble?”
Calvin squatted beside her and dragged Don down with him. “I’ll tell you what I can,” he began, “but that won’t be much, so you’ve gotta trust me. We’ve all got secrets here, and there may be more before the night’s over—or everybody may know everything. The point is, right now I’ve got something I need to do somewhere else and fast—and I need somebody to take care of Don. He’s just seen one of his friends…die, and it’s kinda freaked him out, so I thought—”
“Oh Christ,” Robyn moaned. “Why didn’t he just go to the cops?”
“I can talk,” Don grumbled indignantly.
“I know you can,” Calvin told him. “But you’re gonna have to be real careful about what you say for a while, okay? At least until you get your head on a little straighter. Just remember what you told me and what I told you, and then think how that’d sound to somebody who wasn’t there.”
Don nodded meekly. “Yeah, sure.”
“Besides,” Calvin told the runaways, “do you really want him talkin’ to the cops just now? As wired as he is, it’d be real easy for him to let something slip about you guys.”
Brock was staring suspiciously at both of them. “Something really weird’s goin’ on, ain’t it?”
Calvin puffed his lips in exasperation, wishing the boy was not so observant. “You could say that.”
“How weird?” Robyn asked pointedly.
“Weird enough.”