Somewhere between ghost and god. Where the hell am I?
The rider was a kid about his own age, wearing a leather helmet, goggles, and one of those old aviators jackets that buttoned down the side. And with the black riding boots, he looked like he'd just climbed out of an old rag-wing Sopwith Camel.
"Went down kind of hard back there, didn't you?" the kid asked, not in a snide way, but in understanding, as if he'd done the same thing himself once. Given his ghostly appearance, Wolf realized this was highly likely. "I'm Thorn," said the young rider, moving closer to Wolf and pulling a well worn work glove off his right hand, then extending it. Wolf took the hand reflexively. Warmth flowed through the touching palms. Nothing solid, but not imaginary, either. Thorn was just a country kid who obviously had the same obsession for Harleys as he did, though in a different time and place.
"Went down, and out," Wolf said, glancing back at his prone body on the sand. "The bike's probably totaled, too."
"You can get another bike," Thorn said softly, his feet shifting nervously in place, as if he were standing on something solid. "Another life, well, that's a little trickier." A boyish grin spread across his young features, making his freckles leap out like a connect-the-dots puzzle.
Fear and uncertainty tugged at Wolf, and blood would have drained from his face, if he'd had blood or even a solid face.
"So did I die down there, or what?" Wolf asked, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice.
"No," Thorn said simply. "Or you wouldn't be talking to me. You would have gone on, to the other side, through the great light. This conversation wouldn't be taking place. At least, not here. And not with me."
In the distance Wolf saw another set of red flashing lights, rolling toward them on Highway 60 from the east. The deputy had gotten out of his car and was touching Wolf's neck. He looked surprised.
"Other side of what?" Wolf asked, feeling control, if indeed he'd ever had any, slipping away.
"If you haven't been there, you won't know. If you've been there, you wouldn't ask. When you go back after this, then you will know," Thorn said, looking like he suddenly needed to be somewhere besides here.
This didn't make a bit of sense, but then neither did anything else, right then.
"I can't go back," Thorn said suddenly, but he didn't sound regretful. Indeed, he made the announcement proudly. "My purpose is to protect you, and other riders. Like a guardian angel."
Wolf looked back at the mangled mess of his Sportster.
"I think it's a little late for that."
"Normally, I wouldn't have encouraged a slide like the one you just pulled off, going down. But I needed to take drastic measures." He gestured down the highway, to a cluster of five or more boulders several yards away, each the size of a VW bug. "Or you would have gone directly into them. Then we wouldn't be talking now. You would know what you don't, now. You would be on the Great Ride."
This kid was starting to sound cosmic, like Grampa, and it was giving Wolf the creeps. But he believed everything the lad was saying.
"I… did things, to cushion your fall. You're going to survive this one," Thorn said, taking his old bike by the handlebars and pushing it off the rear kickstand. "I'll be watching over you, but you're gonna have to be a little more careful next time. I might not be able to intervene. It might be too late."
The old Harley roared to life, started by means Wolf did not perceive.
Thorn?" Wolf called as the rider took off, but his only reply was a brief wave over his shoulder. Then the antique bike shot away at an incredible speed, far faster than he would have imagined of any bike, and was gone.
With Thorns departure, Wolf knew that his time was up. His body called to him, pulling him down, the sensation something like landing feet first in a pool of water. Then the pain, slamming down like a hammer, as his damaged cage of flesh closed around him.
He knew he was home, and already he didn't much care for it.
With the screams of the blinded bikers still echoing pleasantly in his head, Japhet Dhu led his band away from the city to the open desert beyond. He considered their group lucky, having encountered no human resistance as they rode their adapted elvensteeds into the comforting darkness, roaring like a pack of wolves. Perhaps, Japhet speculated, it was for the best that they withdraw to this human domain. Perhaps their fortune lay in preying on these human imbeciles, instead of on the Avalon elves.
They made camp in a narrow ravine, some distance from the main road. Drawing on the untapped energies just below the surface of the ground, Nargach and Japhet cloaked their camp in a shroud of concealing glamorie. The shell they constructed rendered them invisible to the casual observer, and cooled the air to the chill and damp of Underhill. Japhet granted his men permission to rest, while he and Nargach stood guard.
These energies are all but unused," Japhet said, noting the strength of their sheltering spell, and the ease with which he made their environment comfortable. "I see why my father was so fond of this crude land."
Nargach shook his head slowly in disagreement. Japhet's anger rose, but he hid it from the other mage. "It is abundant energy, but it is weak energy. We can cast glamories and ken garments with it, but beyond that its usefulness is limited." He turned to their leader, his eyes narrowed. "Certainly you already knew this. He who is the son of the mighty Zeldan."
Japhet ignored the jibe. He was about to change the subject by mentioning Mort's understanding of these humans and their Devil, when something else caught his attention.
"Aie, and what might this be," Japhet said as he watched the lone motorcycle rider flying down the highway. Within the concealing spell the elves dwelt in a plane that intersected both the physical and spiritual realm, and from this vantage he had seen, blazing through the spiritual darkness like a beacon, an aura so powerful he thought at first he had seen yet another elf, and an Avalon one at that. On further examination he saw that this was only a human.
His power is surprising, Japhet thought, aware that Nargach was silently observing this newcomer with equal interest. I had thought only creatures of Underhill. could claim such brilliance.
The highway wound through a shallow valley, with a sparse green forest, more shrubs than trees, dotting the landscape. The Harley burned a hasty trail for the horizon, as if something pursued it, but this was not so. The rider seemed to be making speed for the sake of speed alone. The blatant disregard this human had for the law interested Japhet.
He may be useful.
Then another vehicle came into the picture. It had apparently been in pursuit of the bike for some time, but the rider appeared to be oblivious to it. Lights flashing, siren wailing, the black and white car left no doubt in the elf's mind that this was indeed the cops, out for blood.
"The human runs from the law," Nargach observed. "We may have some things in common with this creature besides the steed he rides."
"Perhaps," Japhet said absently, itching to mount his elvensteed and check out this situation, from a discreet distance.
Nargach evidently sensed his thoughts. "I'll accompany you," he said, as they both mounted their bikes and took off after the humans.
Their concealing spell remained active as the distance between them and the police car closed. The human evidently saw what was behind him, and began to slow. Japhet and Nargach kept a respectable distance.
Apparently the human had tried to stop safely beside the road, but something went horribly wrong. The rear tire suddenly slipped out from under him, and the bike started sliding sideways. The human threw himself clear of the machine, slid a good distance on the ground, and stopped. The cop hit the brakes, swerved, and just avoided striking the bike, coming to a stop beyond the rider. The bike's front tire flew off and rolled down the highway, over a rise and out of sight.
"Then again, perhaps he won't be much use to us," Nargach said. Japhet paid him no attention, instead scrutinizing the motionless rider.
Dead?
Perhaps. The rider had s
ustained injuries, as told by the dark, sickly color of the aura. The elf quickly fortified his own spell, rendering themselves invisible on this plane, so as not to be seen by this new spirit.
"We are not alone, here," Nargach said suspiciously.
Another entity came into the picture. He rode a motorbike as weft, but it seemed to be of a much older make, perhaps of a different time. Japhet could not hear the conversation, but it looked as if the human's spirit straddled both worlds, committed to neither. Whatever he was hearing from the other seemed to be convincing him to return to his body.
"We must investigate this," Japhet said. "Immediately, before this being returns from whence it came."
The rider had already begun to incorporate into its body, returning reluctantly to the damaged flesh. Before the rider had entirely left this plane, Japhet managed to pick out a name from the conflicting mass of data of its soul: Wolf. The Unseleighe also saw with startling clarity the power of this human, his mage potential.
I must possess this human, Japhet thought as he commanded his elvensteed to pursue the other entity. And I must know what this spirit is…
As a Rider Guardian, Thorn watched over many a motorcyclist, and followed the evolution of two-wheeled technology. Thorn found himself drawn to the Harleys. He had watched over the U.S. Army recon units as they scouted for armor. He had watched over the 200-mile Championship at Daytona Beach in 1953, the Hell's Angels on their choppers and the officers on their 74 OHV Police Models. Thorn had presided over a thousand deaths, and as many near-deaths. There were sometimes long periods between the deaths, during which he explored the edges of his domain, where he discovered other populated realms. His favorite was Underhill and the elves who dwelled there. But soon duty would call, and another situation would summon him. He did not know how long he had been a Rider Guardian. He didn't care; he still got to ride Valerie. And he knew these were the only terms under which he could do so.
The contact with Wolf had been typical. A young rider; angry about something, riding fast, riding wild, mind distracted by other things, mind on everything but the road before him and the two wheels beneath him. But unlike others, Wolf's soul had burned brightly, as if it belonged to something other than a human. Thorn did not know what this might mean, however, and simply accounted for it by Wolf's Chaniwa heritage. These things he gleaned off the surface of the confused soul before contacting it; best to know what one is intervening in.
Even while speaking with Wolf, Thorn knew they were being watched by something else out there. Thorn had only rarely encountered such spirits, lost souls Thorn could do nothing about. On occasion he had even found powerful spirits, demons, who would do him harm. Early on he learned he had one powerful defense, the ability to flee danger at a high rate of speed. Nothing in this realm had harmed him, but then he had never stood up to anything of real strength.
He steered Valerie into the darkness, away from the edge where it met the physical. The ride was slow and leisurely. He wanted these mysterious beings to overtake him; he wanted to know who they were.
We are watched, Valerie said, with a hint of anxiety. Take flight? Flee?
"No, not yet," Thorn said casually, shifting to second. "First let's see who these critters are."
They're not Guardians, Valerie said, but Thorn already knew that.
"They will not hurt us," Thorn said. "Rest easy. Didn't you complain just the other day how dull things had gotten?"
Valerie's only reply was the purr of her eight valve motor.
Thom rode a piece, not glancing back to see if they were following. They were, he had no doubt. Two of them. And they were riding motorcycles… or at least something meant to look like bikes. The desert had all but disappeared, replaced by an endless darkness, the Land of Shadows. But he rode the edge of this land, not wanting to retreat to the power of the Lord, who lurked deep within the shadows. He wanted these two to follow, but not be frightened away by his ruler.
Suddenly they overtook him, riding past him on either side and cutting him off. Bad motorcycle manners in any world. Thorn frowned, slowed, then stopped Valerie. The two critters did the same, blocking his way.
With Valerie idling beneath him, Thorn regarded the two inquisitively, with an expression of mild annoyance. Let them think I can't get away. Then we shall surprise them, if the need arises.
Thorn had felt their hatred for absolutely everything ooze off them like sweat. He pretended to be bored as he turned Valerie off, and surreptitiously probed them for clues of their origins. They are not demons, he discovered with some alarm. They are elves, Unseleighe elves, from Underhill. This might be a real problem.
That was a most interesting exchange back there, with the foolish human thrown from his steed," one said, and from the demeanor and body language of the other, Thorn guessed him to be the superior of the two. "Why would you bother with such insects?"
"They have souls," Thorn pointed out. "And I used to be one of those insects." He wondered if it might have been an error to tell them this, but it was too late to recall the words. "You are not of this realm," he continued. "Are you visiting, or are you planning to take up permanent residence here?"
"And what if we were?" the leader said, his hostility radiating from him in thick, black waves. "What would you have to say about that?"
"I would say 'welcome'," Thorn said, faking a pleasant expression. "There's plenty of room for all of us. But it is such a dismal place for most beings. Why would you be interested in hiding here?"
The leader's face darkened. "Who said we were hiding?' the elf hissed.
"Poor choice of words. I don't speak very much out here, and my language is rusty. I'm rather isolated."
"You didn't seem to have that problem with the human," the other said He moved around behind Thorn, making it impossible for him to watch them both.
"The human was one of my charges," Thorn said. "I help those in need, those who ride motorcycles. That is my purpose. That is what I do."
The two exchanged looks, turning from confusion, to amusement. "That is your purpose?" the leader said. "Whatever did you do in your past life to receive such a sentence?"
"I'm just lucky, I guess," Thorn said. "I get to ride even after I'm dead."
They roared with laughter, which further convinced Thorn these two were impostors. If they don't understand the importance of riding for the sake of it, they don't belong on those machines, whatever they are made of!
"So who was that human you helped?" the leader said, pushing his amusement aside. "He was very powerful for a human, one I might have mistaken for elven if I knew no better."
So they sensed it too, Thorn thought, and wondered if they were pursuing this boy, Wolf, for some dark reason. "He was just a soul in need of help," he replied. "No other reason."
They stared at him hatefully. Did they see through the lie? His own thinking startled him. Was it a lie, that this was just another motorcyclist? He thought back to the exchange with Wolf. Typical young male human, thinking little, angry over nothing. But underneath all that there was something special, a spark that I don't see in most people. These creatures must have seen the same thing.
"I don't think he's telling us the truth," the other said. "He even doubts his own words."
Drat! Thorn swore. They are more than I can handle. I must escape, right now.
"We want that human," the leader said. "We want you to help us capture him. We can use his power. Nargach, what might we be able to offer him in return for his services?"
"Gold," the Unseleighe said casually. "We can make anything."
Thorn pretended to be interested in the offer. "Let's talk," he said. "But I must include Valerie in this discussion."
"Valerie?"
"My steed," Thorn said, touching the engine with a tiny bit of magic, enough to turn the engine over. That is one advantage of being an angel on a motorcycle, he thought wryly. You don't have to roll start your bike! The move startled them, as if they were afraid he might fl
ee. Well, that's exactly what I have in mind. Time to bluff.
"I have to turn her over so she can speak with us," Thorn said conversationally. This too was not entirely true; she had been patiently taking in the entire exchange, despite her urge to bolt. She was idling smoothly, feeling like a graceful cat, ready to leap. Well, she's going to get that chance.
"So tell me, which of the Seleighe families chased you out of Underhill? Outremer? Avalon? They must have really whipped your ass."
Rage stifled any immediate reply the leader might have made. His face turned a hideous purple.
"You'll pay for that insult!" the Unseleighe managed to spit out. Thorn sensed them drawing power from the desert, raw, natural power few beings could manipulate. But the problem was at his back, as Valerie shot between the two; a moment later, the elves were barely visible dots on the horizon of the Land of Shadows.
His relief at escaping them soon turned to consternation. They are going to find Wolf eventually, and they probably don't have his best interests in mind. It is my duty to aid him. He is injured and vulnerable. I can't take these two on by myself. I need help.
I need to contact the Seleighe, find out what's going on. Avalon is nearest. Perhaps they know who these abominable creatures are. .
Chapter Eight
Lucas' hope that there might be an end to his personal hell had evaporated the very day he left the hospital. He had even begun to wonder if he'd imagined the whole suicide thing.
It was a few weeks into summer vacation. He had discovered one night that The Axe was still closed. The long walk had taken him along Central Avenue, a fairly active party strip bisecting Albuquerque. On his way back he stopped at a motorcycle dealership, gazing through the plate glass at the godlike machines within. A shiny new Katana which looked identical to Mike's caught his eye. When he saw the word USED on the paper tag hanging off the handlebar, he saw that it could well be the very same bike. The price was outrageous. You could still get a new Geo for that amount of money.
Lackey,Mercedes - Serrated Edge06 - Spiritride.doc Page 9