It’s slow, tedious work, and I’m appalled by the sheer number of sick lauvan piling up against my chest. By the time the cable is clean, I’ve collected eighteen handfuls of the yellowish strands. I swallow hard, try to ignore my roiling stomach, and wrap my arms around the bundle. I stand straight and gently pull the bundle away from the cable. My aim is to separate the sick lauvan from the mountain, in a motion that reminds me of separating a lock of hair from a woman’s ponytail. The lauvan ends are not attached to the Earth at the center as they are at their origination points—instead they twist and mingle together en masse—so it’s possible to separate the strands. There is some small resistance, but for the most part the lauvan glide through my arms easily during my walk to the west, clockwise around the mountain. I look to my right at the sea of glistening threads and am pleased to see the long yellow lauvan in my area slither toward me and separate themselves from the healthy ones lying on the ground.
I hike along the edge of the trees until I spot the next nearest cable, just over a hundred paces from the first. At the edge of the cable I squat down again and carefully maneuver the lauvan bundle onto my back, out of the way. I pull the nearest sick lauvan toward me. It’s time to begin the process all over again.
When I finally have the sick lauvan from the second cable under control, I wrap my left arm around the new bundle and gingerly transfer the one on my back to my right arm. Now I have two bundles and I can connect them.
I really hope this works. I feel the sweat beading on my forehead from a combination of my efforts, nausea, and the beating sun. I also hope no one is watching—this next step would be hard to explain.
I step forward on my clockwise path en route to the next cable. The lauvan bundles slide smoothly through my arms. Three paces from the cable I stop and bend over. My right leg lifts over the bundle in my right arm, and my left leg follows. That done, I twist my body around one entire turn until I’m facing my previous direction.
I look back at the bundles of lauvan behind me. They are now crossed in a humming twist.
Feeling immensely pleased with myself, I take five paces and repeat my climbing turn. I can’t imagine what I must look like to a bystander. But as long as this works, I don’t care what I look like. My plan for this mountain is to weave together all of the sick lauvan in a circumnavigating ring around Mt. Linnigan, and join the ends to the grounding fire opal. The extra earth or fire energies in the sick lauvan should release back to the Earth through the opal in a harmless way, and hopefully release the tension in the knotted cables. So far, my plan is working. I just need to gather and walk in my peculiar twisting dance around this center. It’s going well. Two cables done. There can’t be that many more.
CHAPTER XVII
There are fifty-two lauvan-cables connected to Mt. Linnigan.
Fifty-two.
By the time I reach my original cable, I’m shaking with exhaustion and my mouth is desert-dry. The sun has almost set, which is saying something only two months from the summer solstice. I’ve been at this since daybreak.
“Last one, Merlin. Come on, you can do this.” I complete another ungainly turn. “It’s only the most important part now. No sweat. Metaphorically speaking, that is.” Sweat drips from my face onto the grass below.
The yellow cord of bundled lauvan from the first cable lies neat and tidy along the ground, running away from my feet. I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s staying together as I hoped it would. Now I just have to complete the circle and ground the lauvan. I step over the bundle, dragging my cargo with me, and lie down on the ground. The old bundled cord lifts off the ground just enough for me to shimmy underneath with my new bundle in tow. I pull the new lauvan through, and carefully twist it so that it becomes a neat cord. Most of the lauvan finish at the same place, and I am left with a frayed yellow end of the bundle of lauvan in my arms. I encircle this with one of my own lauvan once again, sling the bundle to my back, and pull the fire opal out of my pocket.
The rainbow lauvan of the opal provide such a welcome contrast to the sickly yellow-brown I’ve been dealing with all day that I simply gaze at the opal for a moment, enjoying the sight.
But I’m too tired to spend much time delaying the end of my efforts, and I quickly scuff the dirt at my feet with the heel of my hiking boot. I want to make a small depression I can bury the opal in, so no one accidentally picks it up and wrecks all my hard work. It will never be hidden from me—I’ll be able to see where the lauvan descend into the ground. It’s probably best if I don’t tell Sylvana what I’ve done with the fire opal. She might throw a fit if she knew I’d buried it in the dirt.
I kneel down and drop the opal into the small hole I’ve managed to dig. I reach in with both hands and gently pick apart the lauvan so that a few loose ends sway in the air. The sick lauvan need connection points to attach to. After a few moments, some of the lauvan begin to fumble their way into the dirt, as if reconnecting to the earth where the opal came from. Perfect. Before they all disappear into the earth, I grab the bundle on my back and shove the loose ends into the hole. A few minutes pass until the sick lauvan begin to mingle with the fire opal lauvan. Once every visible end is connected, sometimes twenty yellow to every opal lauvan, I release the bundle from my grasp and untangle it from my own lauvan. The bundle sways and falls to the ground, but its end remains in the depression. I fill in the hole so the fire opal is covered from prying eyes, and stand up.
“That’s it,” I say out loud. “I did it. They’re all grounded.”
I look up at Mt. Linnigan. All afternoon I’ve been working with regular tremors shaking the ground beneath my feet and the ominous cloud of steam an ever-present fixture in the sky. But now the steam has changed from a constant pillar to an ephemeral cloud that floats away from the peak, not to be replenished. The ground is still. The mountain slumbers once again.
I throw back my head and my arms come up in celebration.
“Yes! Woo-hoo!” I yell incoherently in my delight. I finally did it. After false starts and dead ends and too many distractions, I finally solved this puzzle. I won. The unknown spirits and the people behind Anna’s actions won’t get the destruction they clearly pine for.
I hardly feel my exhaustion and aches through my elation. I start to run, gathering up the necessary lauvan, and when I leap off a small outcrop I yank hard to transform. A flight is just what I need. I shriek to release my euphoria, circling an updraft to soar high above the troublesome center of Mt. Linnigan. But not so troublesome that I can’t deal with it.
***
I keep my flight short and land beside my car within a few minutes. Beneath my jubilation my exhaustion threatens—it’s best if I don’t delay my return to Earth. I don’t want to drop out of the air just because there is no energy left to keep my falcon-form.
As I roll into town, I look at the vista of Wallerton with a fondness I didn’t feel this morning—its glinting windows in the setting sun, its cars zooming along the highway, its fast-food strip with cheerful neon lights—I gaze at it all with a proprietary air and find it pleasing. On the main street a pizza shop greets my eyes, a mom-and-pop joint so common in these small towns. My stomach suddenly roars, a reminder that I’ve only eaten that one bland muffin after the sun rose. I park in the adjacent parking lot and pull out my phone.
It rings twice before Jen picks up.
“Merry!”
“Hey, Jen. You eaten yet? I can bring pizza to the hotel.”
“You’re an angel. I’m in room 215. Come by sooner rather than later. And don’t forget the pineapple.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I hang up and approach the pizza shop with light steps and a lighter heart. I fixed the volcano, I’m heading home tomorrow, and I’m staying away from distracting, disturbing, alluring Anna Green tonight and instead sharing a meal with Jen.
An electronic buzzer sounds when I open the door, and I’m hit by a waft of warm, spiced tomato breeze. I breathe in deeply and sigh in contentme
nt. It was a glorious day for the cuisine of the world when Hernán Cortés stepped off his ship in 1521 carrying the first tomato plants to Europe.
I place my order—screw it, I’m getting two pizzas, I’m starving—and lean against the wall to wait. My eyes wander vaguely until they come to rest on a television screen flickering in the corner. It’s tuned to a local news channel. With a start, I realize that they’re reporting on Mt. Linnigan. The man I spoke with yesterday, the scientist from the tent, is speaking to the reporter. He looks tired and confused.
“We’ve had absolutely no activity over the past hour, which is unprecedented since we started monitoring the mountain.”
“So has Mt. Linnigan finally fallen asleep again? Are we safe in our beds?” the reporter asks.
“It’s far too early to be making any claims, but if these trends hold it would be an excellent thing.”
Indeed, Dr. Pessimist. It would be an excellent state of affairs indeed.
I stand against the wall smiling foolishly at nothing in particular until my order is ready.
“Thanks very much,” I say to the teenage boy who hands me my two pizza boxes. “You have yourself a great night.”
“Thanks?” he replies, looking bewildered but gratified.
On my way to the hotel, I drive by Anna and Sylvana’s apartment building. I debate whether to stop, and whose buzzer I should hit if I do. After a moment of indecision, I park the car and walk up to ring buzzer 103. Sylvana answers right away.
“Hello?”
“It’s Merry. Can I come in for a sec?”
“Sure.” The door clicks. I push through it, and try to be as quiet as possible while passing 102.
Sylvana opens the door before I can get there. Her face is pale and her eyes search my face.
“So? How did it go?” She looks down at my grubby clothes and frowns in confusion. “Umm…”
“Don’t worry, I’m not staying,” I reassure her. “I just wanted you to know that I wrapped everything up at Mt. Linnigan, and it looks really good.”
“I know, I saw it on the news.” She covers her mouth with both hands in a nervous gesture before laughing in partial disbelief. “Wow. That was really you?”
“Seems like it.” I smile back at her, my jubilation still making me buoyant. “It was a hell of a lot of work but if it really fixed the problem, I don’t care.” I remember my other reason for visiting. “How was Anna? Did you manage to distract her? I didn’t see her at the mountain, so thanks for that.”
“Well, I don’t know what you did to her, but she slept until noon. When she woke I told her what you said to me. She was really groggy and confused for a while. When she finally woke up for real, she remembered to be angry at me, then only begrudgingly thanked me for looking after her.”
I laugh.
“There’s gratitude.”
“I didn’t expect anything better, honestly. She’s still pretty sore at me from our fight. Anyway, I tried to tell her she needed to take it easy, and it seemed like she took my advice. She rolled into her own apartment soon after and I didn’t hear movement until about seven o’clock, when the mountain stopped steaming and rumbling. Then she hopped in her car and left, I don’t know where. I’m sorry.” Sylvana looks contrite.
“That’s okay,” I say. “Seven is when I finished. I don’t think there’s much she can do at this point. Everything is tied up pretty well.” I turn to open the door and say, “I’d better go. Thanks for all your help today. You were great.”
“Thanks for saving Wallerton,” she replies, giving me a smile full of hope and admiration. It’s been a while since I’ve let anyone in on the lauvan secret and they’ve taken it well. It feels nice to be admired.
“Sleep well. May you dream of cool water and fresh breezes, not lava flows.”
Sylvana laughs.
“You too, Merry.”
My dreams are preordained, so that’s not likely. But maybe a happy memory can visit me tonight instead. Although even happy memories are tarnished by the grief of loss.
***
I quickly visit my own room to shower hastily before beating a path down the hall. Jen opens the door before I can knock.
“My savior. Bring those boxes of heaven in here right now.” She swings the door wide with a flourish and steps back to allow me to enter. “I’m famished. My first day of work took it out of me.”
“Yeah, how was that? Did you ace it like you do everything else?” I hand her the pizza boxes. Jen lifts the lid of the top box and takes a whiff.
“Mmm, lovely. Well, I don’t know if I ‘aced’ it, but everyone seemed to understand everything, even when I had to translate random volcanology terms with my own descriptions. I mean, how am I supposed to translate ‘correlation spectrometer?’ I had to get him to translate into English first before I attempted Cantonese.”
I laugh.
“Some science electives would have come in handy today, wouldn’t they?” I sit on the edge of the bed. “Well, this is awkward. Where do you want to eat? I forgot this hotel has a minimalist approach when it comes to furniture.”
“Just hop on the bed. We’ll see what’s on TV later. No sense not being comfortable.”
I prop myself up on the headboard with the endless spare pillows hotels love to provide. Jen sits cross-legged on the other side of the bed, and we tuck in with gusto.
We’re silent for a while. I’m mindlessly enjoying the flavors on my tongue and the sensation of my stomach slowly filling up. Jen finishes her piece and reaches for more.
“So, what did you get up to today, on your little hooky holiday?”
Holiday, my ass. I worked like a beast all day.
“Hiking again,” I say through a mouthful.
“Man, you’re fit. Do you remember where you went this time?” Jen tilts her head in my direction.
“Well…” I debate what to tell her and decide on a portion of the truth. “I may have snuck into Three Peaks Provincial Park to see this famous volcano.”
“Merry! You didn’t,” Jen gasps. She smacks my arm. “You idiot. What if it had blown?”
Then I would have constructed the strongest lauvan barrier I could, and hoped for the best. I shrug in a sheepish manner.
“I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. It’s pretty amazing to feel the Earth shake beneath your feet. Living on the edge, you know?”
“You’ll be a daredevil until it bites you in the ass one day.” Jen shakes her head and takes a bite of her forgotten pizza.
“Hey, you’re one to talk. You’re the one who took a job that went straight to base camp. You didn’t even hesitate.”
“I was surrounded by people who were monitoring every miniscule burp the mountain gave, with a fast car to whisk me away the minute things went south. Whereas you were traipsing around on foot on the slopes of a volcano. Point to Jen.”
I lift my free hand in a sign of defeat and I pop the last of my crust into my mouth, then reach for another slice.
“Hmm, meat lover’s or Hawaiian? It’s a hard decision. Ha, just kidding. There’s no decision.”
Jen grabs my arm before I can take a slice of the meat lover’s pizza, and flips it over so the pale underside of my forearm is exposed. She touches the small blue leaf tattooed there.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you forever. You’ve never told me—what’s the story behind these?” She waves her hand at my other arm and its matching leaf when she releases me.
How long do you have, Jen?
“These?” I hold up my crooked arms to expose the tattoos. “They’re the result of me not following through with my grand vision. Losing interest partway through.”
“What was the vision?”
For an answer I lean over and grab the hotel’s notepad and pen from the night table. I have to think for a moment—it’s been a long time since I’ve dredged up memories of my brief schooling with the druids. Quickly I sketch the outline of my oak leaf, then methodically trace out the other l
eaves, snakes, and knots that mark the different levels of initiation. By the time I draw the full tattoo of a high priest, the notepad is full of a mélange of figures and symbols. I remember seeing a high priest at a ceremony only once—the tattoos covered his entire forearms.
“There.” I turn the notepad to Jen and push it over to her. She leans in to study it. “That was the vision.”
“That’s incredible. And so typically you, Merry. It’s like a neo-pagan’s fantasy. Have you always been interested in history?”
Neo-paganism, indeed.
“I guess.” I look at the drawing thoughtfully. “I went through a phase. I wanted it, but I didn’t account for my lack of follow-through and changing interests. It pays to know yourself. Although it worked out okay in the end.” I trace an oak leaf with my finger. I would never have become Arthur’s tutor without my druid training, minor as it was. And without Arthur—I can’t even fathom what my life would be like. As tenuous and ridiculous as waiting for Arthur might seem, it has given me a purpose for my overlong existence thus far. It may be a silly purpose, a hope too faint to bother hoping, but it’s mine. It’s what I cling to and it’s what makes me get out of bed in the morning, most days.
Jen looks at me as if expecting me to explain more. When I don’t, she studies the drawing instead.
“I would have started with the snake,” she says, twisting the paper to get a better look.
“Yeah, well, the idea was to do it all.”
“You could finish it.” Jen wraps the paper around my forearm and tilts her head to evaluate.
I smile, but my heart gives a pang for a past that will never come again. I can never finish the tattoo in earnest, because there are no more druids. Not that I particularly want to, but still. The choice is no longer mine.
“I’m too old now, way past that phase. I’ll just keep the leaves as a reminder not to get tattoos without careful consideration—they last forever.”
Jen giggles and takes another slice of pizza. She fluffs and arranges the rest of the pillows I’m not using and flops down next to me.
Ignition Page 14