《Chosen One Protective Services》


 Reading in the Rain

    Lightning split the sky like a crack through gray china, and with an earthsplitting BOOM, and a rush of pattering and spattering on the tin roof, Rusty Colfax knew that the long drought was over.


    Seven years. Seven years since the rain had stopped in, and what had once been gentle green pasture shriveled into baked, cracked slabs of clay. Texas Tombstones, John Grady called them. Seven years... shucks, some of the cows he was feeding now hadn''t ever known rain before, and their frantic lowing and mooing worried him for a second. If they got too riled up, the clapboard and tin barn wouldn''t survive for long.


    But the thunder moved west, fading as it went, and the rain roiled and whipped against the roof for a few minutes, then calmed itself. And once he saw the cows weren''t going to panic, he poured out the last of the feed, threw the bag on the floor, and beat feet to the house.


    He wasn''t the only one. Around him, he saw five of his brothers scurrying and yelling. He grinned to see them, and put on a burst of speed...


    ...and then he remembered that it was mail time, and he skidded to a halt, went butt over teakettle, ate dirt, and scampered up to run the other direction. Up the long drive toward the road, and the solitary mailbox that loomed out of the shining curtains of rain that picked up, as he ran harder.


    ¡°No no no no,¡± he said, as he saw the cardboard package sticking out of the mailbox. A package that was sogging under the raw weight of the rain, splitting, and spilling out books onto the ground.


    ¡°Ah shi... shucks!¡± he said, as he slowed, staring down at the soggy pile of paper that was sinking into a puddle down by the mailbox. The puddle was a brilliant slurry of red, blue, and green, and just below the surface he could see the April issue of Amazing Stories turning back into the pulp it had been made from.


    There was nothing to be done for the fallen, but perhaps he could save what remained. As another magazine fell from the sogged out package, and a book started to slide free, Rusty wrapped his arms around the package, and held the last of its content in. He managed to extract it from the mailbox without too much tearing, and ran for the house again.


    He burst in through the screen door, and his mother looked up from the stove with a weary grimace. ¡°No, you can''t have the day off! Just stay inside and find something to... oh shoot, Rusty. Oh no.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Rusty said, as he put the package on the table, its faded red and white checkercloth stained from countless family dinners. ¡°I couldn''t reach it in time. I shouldn''t have waited.¡±


    ¡°It wasn''t your fault, honey. Maybe it was God''s will,¡± Mom said, taking off her oven mitts, and reaching for her Pall Malls. ¡°He shouldn''t be reading all that heathen trash. Bible''s the only book he needs now.¡± She lit up a cigarette as Rusty sorted through the package. The flash of the lighter showed the lines and creases in her face. She used to say that she''d started smooth and added a wrinkle for every child. Which didn''t add up, but he wasn''t about to point that out. When Jimmy had told her she had way more than twelve wrinkles, he''d gotten a knock around the ears and dishwashing duty for a week. Which made all the rest of the boys laugh because that was girl work.


    Rusty kept his head down and his tongue silent, as he fumbled out three little books. One of them was soggy but probably salvageable, and had a picture of a robot, and the name ¡°Asimov¡± vaguely visible on it, and that made him smile. He liked robots. Another had a mostly-naked man on the cover holding a sword. The cover was sogged and ripped, and the title was broken. ¡°The Return of...¡± was most of what he could see. He hurriedly tucked it under the first, just in case Mom saw it and got offended.


    The last one was practically untouched by the rain, and it had a ring and a sinister looking eye in a circle on the cover, but Rusty didn''t waste much time reading it over. It was intact, and that was what mattered.


    He left the remnants of the package wrapping on the table, and headed toward the door off the kitchen, only to stop as his Mom reached out an arm and blocked him.


    ¡°Rusty. Tell him Pop didn''t mean nothing by it. He was just angry.¡±


    Rusty stared up at his Mom, feeling his throat swell up a little. There had been shouting last night. Shouting he could hear from the barn, where he slept with all his brothers who were old enough to make it into the hayloft. Shouting and harsh words, that ended like it always did, with the door slamming and the battered truck rattling to life, as Dad went to go find the kind of comfort that ran about twenty-five cents a glass down at Patman''s bar.


    ¡°You tell him he ain''t no burden. That we''re still proud of him. And we''ll figure out the money somehow.¡± The lines on her face split as she smiled, and for a second those brown-stained teeth flashed. ¡°I mean, we got rain. It''s a miracle. Reckon God can spare us another one. Just gotta keep going to see it.¡±


    ¡°Yes''m,¡± Rusty whispered.


    His mom withdrew her arm, and went to go look out the window, watching the rain roll by as the tobacco smoke curled toward the stained ceiling. And Rusty left before she could ask him to do another thing that Dad wouldn''t.


    He found his way back into the farmhouse. It was an old building. It had been his grandfather''s, and his grandfather''s father before that, back when they owned most of the valley, back before business had started eating up their land, one bad year at a time. The house had seen a lot of Colfaxes come and go, and it creaked under his feet, and sighed as it seemed to relax, the wetness and shift of the air pressure making the old house slump and groan almost as in relief. And from the back of the hall, just before the faded, carpet-covered stairs stretched up, a staticky song played from the workroom door. Some singer whose name he couldn''t remember crooned to an unseen woman, asking her to be his party doll. Rusty flushed as he heard it, then steeled himself and knocked at the edge of the doorframe as he peered in.


    It was a cluttered room. Once it had been the house''s library, back before Dad had sold most of the books. The shelves now held junk, and copper wires stretched in all directions, a few paper wrapped, and marked DO NOT TOUCH. A workbench sat against the wall, with long, grimy windows letting down the dim, clouded light of the fading sun, now hidden behind the mass of rain. And before the workbench was a chair, its two chrome wheels shiny and new, unlike everything else in the room.


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    The chair had a high backing, and for a second Rusty wasn''t sure if its occupant was there. But a glance toward the corner of the room showed the mattress was empty, its sheets askew, and the piles of books around it mostly undisturbed.


    And then a muscular arm, bare to the shoulder, with twisting red and black and pink patches where the flesh had regrown badly, reached out and turned the dial on the old bakelite radio, turning that singer''s voice¡ª what was his name again? Buddy something? ¡ªturning the voice into static, that hissed like a thousand angry rattlesnakes, then to silence, with a CLICK. And the only sound in the workshop was the pattering of the rain on the old roof, and the drip of water where no water should be.


    ¡°Cy?¡± Rusty said. ¡°I''m sorry. The box was sticking out. The rain got to most of it.¡±


    ¡°Russ? Ah man, it WOULD come today. That''s some bad timing. Eh, story of my life, kid, you dig?¡±


    And the figure turned the wheelchair around, smiling.


    Rusty''s brother Cyrus had what his mother had called a beautiful smile.


    It was about the only beautiful thing left to him.


    Cyrus had gone to war, and things had gone bad, there. Rusty didn''t have the full details, but from what he''d overheard, some guy named Willy Pete had done a number on him, and Cyrus'' face was a mass of scar tissue. He wore spectacles and an eye patch over his right eyesocket because there was nothing left underneath, and a t-shirt and loose pair of boxers were his only clothing. The legs were the worst hit, worse than the missing eye. Once they''d been like small tree trunks, Rusty recalled. Now they were shriveled and twisted, with loose skin hanging off. They''d been spared the burns that covered most of the rest of Cy, but the tree that had pinned him down while Willy Pete had worked him over had broken his back, and that was that. No more walking for Cyrus. No more running. No more war.


    But none of this slowed Cyrus down, and he grinned wide as Rusty handed him the slim paperbacks... well, two slim paperbacks and one pretty thick one. That one with the eye was big.


    ¡°Let''s see what we have, huh?¡± Cyrus held them up, one by one. ¡°Asimov? Pretty dry, but you always know what you get. Another Conan... yeah, sure. Why not. And oh hey, reckon this is the one Bartleby was raving about. Says it''ll be bigger than A-bombs. Yeah, why don''t you read this one to me first?¡±


    ¡°You want me to read it?¡± Rusty asked. ¡°You''re better, you should do it.¡± his brother did voices for characters when he read. Rusty liked hearing the voices, it turned whichever book Cyrus was reading into a radio play. Like those old Shadow stories. Those had gone off the air the same year Cyrus came back, and Rusty missed hearing that sinister chuckle tell him that the Shadow knew all sorts of stuff.


    ¡°I can''t, my man. I''m almost to a breakthrough, I know it.¡± Cyrus reached back to the workbench, and showed him something that had started life as a telescope. It was wrapped up with copper wire, and had another lens over the one on the wide end, stuck on with screws and duct tape. ¡°This puppy is gonna revolutionize artillery. Just need to make sure the vacuum tube gets locked in properly before the gel sets. Then we''ll be able to shell commie bastards all night long, without mistakes. Without collateral.¡±


    Cy''s voice broke on that last word, and Rusty studied him for a second, worried.


    Then Mom''s words came back to him. ¡°Hey. Mom uh, she said. She said don''t worry. Dad''s sorry.¡±


    ¡°Sorry is right,¡± Cy said. ¡°He''s a sorry sack of flesh, and I''m worth two of him, even in this chair. He blames our woes on everyone else except for him, and all he does is knock up mom, make her take care of one kid after another, and drink the crop subsidy profits away at that damn bar. And now he''s sending you, instead of coming here like a man to apologize for himself? Jackass. Grandpa should''ve tanned his hide better.¡±


    ¡°Mom sent me,¡± Rusty whispered.


    Cy shook his head. ¡°Ah, shitfire. Sorry. You didn''t deserve none of that. Won''t matter much anyway. Listen, long and short of it is my path don''t end here, and we both know it. I got too big to stay around this little farm. I''ve seen the world, and I''ve got to get back out in it. And this sight is my way to it. If I can perfect this, talk to a few of my old squad, I can get in good with Uncle Sam again. And if I do it fast, I can get this improvement up there before the next war.¡±


    ¡°What next war? I thought we were at peace, now?¡± Rusty stared up at his big brother.


    ¡°Russ, daddy-o,¡± Cy reached out and mussed his hair, skewed up the rain-soaked ginger curls into spiky barbs as Russ backpedaled, and glared. ¡°Peace never lasts, Russ. There''s always somebody to fight. The world needs good guys. There''s always another bad guy, trying to kill good people. And if I finish this up fast, I''ll get to help stop those guys. Even if I can''t hump a ruck anymore, there''s something I can do, and the pay will be even better than my old billet. You dig?¡±


    Russ looked down. ¡°Will you go away again?¡± he asked, and he tried not to, but his voice wobbled and broke on the last couple of words.


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Cy said. ¡°I have to. The world''s so much bigger than this place. I had an adventure, Russ. There were people who needed me, and I helped them... tried to help them. Wish to God we''d won, straight up, but that armistice will have to do. But I got free of here, and now my dreams are too big for home. Besides, Mom has enough mouths to feed. Shit, maybe she can even swing college for you and a couple of others, if I can bring in enough dough.¡±


    Russ swallowed, hard. He was old enough to know that a lot of this sounded like dreams, like fantasies even farther distant than that book with the nearly-naked muscle guy on the cover. But he knew that his brother had to keep on believing them. Or else he might start believing that Dad was right. And then where would he go? What would he do? Russ didn''t think it would end too well, and it SHOULD end well. Cy was a HERO. Heroes deserved good endings.


    So as his brother turned back to the workbench, and started fiddling with the converted telescope, and the wires, Russ cracked open that last, thickest book that had survived the sogged package, and started to read.


    ¡°When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special mag...mag..¡±


    ¡°Magnificence, I''m guessing,¡± Cyrus said, smiling as the rain slowed.


    ¡°Yeah, that. Uh, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton...¡±


    *****


    Maybe it was the wonder that book awoke in Rusty''s dreams.


    Maybe it was the day, the most humid in June, but the only dry one. He''d woken up feeling jumpy, feeling full of energy, feeling restless.


    Maybe it was the fact Cyrus was on the right track, cheerful and laughing whenever his electric night sight made all the lights in the house flicker.


    Or maybe it was his father''s big argument with Mom, and him yelling about how the kids were eating them out of house and home, an argument that made Rusty stay awake long into the night, long after his younger brothers had gone to sleep, snoring and farting and muttering into the hay of the loft, as the now ever-present rain pattered on the tin roof.


    Maybe it was some combination of all of these things, that made Rusty stand his ground when the wizard arrived.

 The Wizards Call

    It was June, two months after that first drought-breaking deluge, and Dad was sleeping late again. So Rusty had to skip the last day of school, and milk the cows, and water the sheep, and check to make sure none of the chickens had gotten out in the night like they had that one time, and nearly drowned in the mud and clay slurry that was their backyard now.


    But while he was out sludging his way through the field, he noticed two things.


    The first thing, was that the creek down the slope was full, fat, and the lightest shade of brown it had been ever since it had been reinflated by unending rainfall.


    The second thing, was that at some point, while he was in the middle of walking between each chicken coop, the rain had stopped, and the sun was starting to peek out.


    Rusty lingered over the last couple of coops, casting suspicious looks skyward, but the sun kept getting bigger, and the clouds kept getting smaller.


    ¡°RUSSELL!¡± his mom yelled, and Rusty almost dropped the milk buckets, as he picked them up and hustled back houseward. ¡°Don''t you be lollygagging, boy!¡± she said, hands on her hips, as she glared at him over the red tip of her cigarette. ¡°I''ll tan your hide, if you''re stalling on chores again.¡±


    ¡°No ma''am! It just stopped raining and that surprised me some!¡±


    Mom blinked. Then she looked up. ¡°Huh,¡± she said, and the anger was out of her voice, just like Cy flicking a switch and the lights in his room going back to normal. ¡°I''ll be darned. I didn''t even notice, but I ain''t heard the sound of rain on the roof for a time. I''ll be darned.¡±


    ¡°Can I go swimming? The river''s clean, more or less!¡±


    Mom pursed her lips, and squinted at him, and for a moment he was afraid she''d tell him no on general principles. Then she sighed. ¡°As soon as the others get home from school. Boys first, you''ll be with''em. I''ll get Sue to mind the girls, after you''re done, so don''t spend more''n half an hour. And make sure Bill and Todd and Nathaniel don''t drown, they never learned swimming.¡±


    ¡°Yes''m!¡±


    ¡°And put that milk away ''fore it spoils!¡±


    ¡°Yes''m!¡±


    It was a pain, hauling it down to the cellar and pouring the milk into the tanks for pickup later, but he got it done fast, and tackled the rest of his chores head on. He knew his mom; he''d have exactly half an hour, and if he was late he''d have less. There was no telling if the rain would start again tomorrow, or if the river would be as swollen and perfect if he delayed. This was it, and Rusty knew he had to make the most out of this glorious opportunity.


    And so, when the muddy yellow school bus came rolling down the road, and his shrieking brothers and sisters piled out, Rusty was waiting at the door with his patched old hand-me-down swim trunks. A few garbled words of explanation got the idea across, and backpacks and books went flying as his five brothers ran for the clothes drawers, hunting for something that could pass as swimwear.


    His duty done, Rusty beat feat through the mud, running down the slope to the river, and leaping in with a mighty cannonball. He''d been scarcely six when Cy had taught him how to do this, but the satisfying crash, and the shock of the cold water on his skin made him laugh when he surfaced, paddling forward and flailing his legs under the water until his feet found their footing.


    It was smooth at the bottom of the creek, smooth with mud and the wear of the flood. Rusty stood on his tip toes, let the water run under his jawline. He was tempted to float, but he couldn''t quite remember how it went, and judging by the shrieking horde of siblings rushing his way, it was a bad time to try. So instead he half paddled, half-walked in slow motion upstream, away from where they were preparing to join the deluge.


    Then they were in, he was underwater for a few worrisome moments as eighty pounds of squealing kid dogpiled him, and the next few minutes were full of mud and fighting and watery coughs, and laughter.


    Things settled down after the initial chaos, and Trent and Bill joined forces with Rusty to take on the others, Ray Ray and Nathaniel and Jonas were happy to go all out against them, and Todd mainly bobbed up and down in the shallows and dug up mud with his feet, transferring it to his hands and threatening to throw it at anyone who got near.


    It was pretty fun. It kind of made up for all the dripping leaks, and all the buckets Rusty had to constantly empty each morning. And the mold he had to comb out of the sheep. And the mud that got everywhere... yeah, it was here too, and yeah, it''d be all over their feet while they walked back to the house, but that was at least fifteen or so minutes in the future, and Rusty was in the now, trying to dodge and feint around Ray Ray to give Jonas a good ducking. (He didn''t feel right shoving the smaller ones under, but Jonas was fair game. Besides, he''d gotten Trent good, and he had it coming.)


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    It was Nathaniel who saw the stranger first. Later on, when his parents tried to get it out of him, he''d say that he was just THERE all of a sudden. One second there was nothing but the low wire fence at the edge of their property across the river. Then the stranger just WAS.


    If Nathaniel could''ve communicated a little more clearly, he could have told them how the man almost seemed to fade in, like a picture coming out of static on a television screen until it firmed up into something visible, something whole, and the static around him which wasn''t static, but little dancing lights that weren''t light, exactly, but something the eye couldn''t quite make out... yeah, but Nathaniel was seven, and not too great at articulating things which, to be fair, wouldn''t have been believed if he were older, anyway.


    But it was Nathaniel''s gasp, and sudden paddling back in the water that made Rusty turn from where he was watching the house, waiting for Mom to call them back, to look across the way and see the wizard for the first time.


    The man had to be a wizard. He couldn''t be anything else.


    He stood there with the western sun crawling down behind him, stood there leaning on a thick, gnarled staff that twisted and bulged with asymmetrical boles and strange angles. His beard was down to what must be his navel, and he was wearing a wide-brimmed hat that might have had a point, it was hard to tell with the light where it was. His clothing swept the ground. It could have been robes, it could have been some kind of oversized coat. It was hard to tell.


    Even while he was backlit, Rusty could see his eyes. Hard. Glittering. Two shards of smoky burned glass against linoleum white sclera. Later on he would learn that they gave off a light of their own, but right now as his brothers noticed and fell silent one by one around him, all that Rusty could think was that the eyes were wrong, as wrong as the eye spots on a butterfly, false eyes meant to frighten predators... and prey.


    The wizard cleared his throat, in the sudden silence. ¡°I seek one among you¡ª¡±


    And that''s when Todd threw mud at his face.


    He had him dead to rights.


    The wizard was mid-speech, mouth open, eyes fixed on Rusty''s gaze.


    He should have eaten about three ounces of Texas dirt.


    But the second the mud hit him, he flickered, flickered like a flame dancing in the wind, and suddenly he was three feet from where he''d been.


    Magic! Rusty thought, and he felt pure joy surge up through his belly, up like air in reverse passing through his lungs, up into his mouth and brain with a blast of happiness. I knew it! I knew it was real!


    Dimly, he was aware of his brothers screaming and shouting and splashing. His peripheral vision caught their backs as they fled, and through the roaring in his ears, he heard the pattering of bare feet on the mud, as they ran away from whatever the hell this guy had going on. They wanted none of it.


    But Rusty knew what was coming. And as the man continued, Rusty waded the creek, stood tall and smiled a big, big smile at the words coming out of the wizard''s mouth.


    ¡°I seek one among you to save my world. The dark lord''s power grows daily, and hope is almost lost. But prophecy speaks of a chosen one, and at last, I believe I have found him.¡±


    ¡°YES!¡± Rusty punched the air. ¡°YES! YES YES YES HAHAHAHHAHHAHA!¡±


    When he stopped whirling around, he became aware of the wizard squinting at him with a look something like his Pa normally reserved for coyotes before he went and got the gun. ¡°Are you simple, boy? Are you stricken in your brain?¡±


    ¡°What? No. No, I mean... I''m the chosen one. Right? I have to be.¡±


    The wizard''s hard eyes softened. ¡°Yes. Yes, of course you are. There is no time to be wasted, then. Take my hand, if you would be the hero of legend.¡±


    Something made Rusty hesitate, just for a moment. He glanced up at the house, saw the pack of his brothers almost to the back door. Saw a flash of light from his brother''s window, where he was no doubt still working on his dream invention.


    And he knew he had to act now or never, because if he hesitated any more, his mom might come out and forbid him from being a chosen one.


    He didn''t know what he''d do if that happened.


    So he pushed any trepidation to the wind, reached out, and grabbed the wizard''s hand, as gnarled as his staff, as dry and warm as old wood.


    ¡°Close your eyes,¡± said the wizard. ¡°Trust me on this, child, you do NOT want to see what lies between.¡±


    Rusty did, and after his whole body seemed to shiver and lose most of its weight, after he almost felt himself floating off the ground, and the air was really, REALLY hard to breathe for a second...


    ...Rusty opened his eyes on another world.


    *****


    ¡°What. The. Fuck?¡± Cyrus Colfax hissed, as he lowered the half-converted telescope from his eye, and stared at the now-empty patch of riverbank.


    ¡°Oh shit, oh no. Mom! Dad! Wake up, we''ve got PROBLEMS!¡± he said, as he ignored the screaming pain of his phosphorous-ravaged muscles, and wheeled his chair straight out of the room, almost running over a few shrieking brothers.


    But they got out of the way as Mom came running, apron flapping, spoon in her hand. ¡°What? What''s going on! Settle down, what''s wrong!¡±


    Cy bellowed, his voice drowning out all the babbling and howling of his siblings. ¡°Get Dad! I think Rusty just got Gandalfed!¡±

 Mud, Blood, and Tears

    The sky was green. That was the first thing Rusty noticed when the wizard told him to open his eyes. It was a sort of cross between lime cotton candy, and the green of a pale leaf. Gentle, easy, and soft.


    The second was the smell of it... verdant and wet and cool.


    Did we go to the shire? Rusty wondered, feeling joy start to build in his stomach. He didn''t recall the author saying anything about green skies, but this smelled like he''d imagined that land smelling.


    Then he lowered his gaze, and no, it wasn''t the Shire at all.


    ¡°Welcome to Elythia, chosen one,¡± the wizard said, as Rusty looked down upon a vast swamp, massive trees that rose to the height of the tallest buildings he''d seen, draped with moss that swayed and undulated in the wind. Stone pillars rose out of the green and brown water, oddly free of plant life, standing out like gray fingers of drowned giants.


    They were in a circle of these pillars, Rusty realized. It was a grassy hillock, a high point in the swamp, clear of trees. The grass was singed and charred in a way that reminded him of a lightning strike, and it crunched as he shifted his feet, feeling grit against his bare soles.


    ¡°Elythia,¡± he whispered.


    I''m in another world...


    Then he shivered.


    ...and I''m in my underwear.


    ¡°Um. Sir? What''s your name?¡± He''d never asked it, he realized.


    The man''s creased face split with a warm smile, just visible under his massive beard. ¡°You may call me Terathon. It is my honor to guide you, chosen one.¡±


    Terathon. It was a good wizard name, Rusty thought.


    Then he shivered again. He wasn''t wearing nearly enough for his Texan blood. ¡°Um. Do you think... can I... is there some place I can get clothes from? And I''ll need a sword, right?¡±


    There didn''t seem to be any kindly uncles around to loan him goblin slaying blades or suits of armor. Hopefully Terathon had that covered?


    The old man must have caught the worry in his eyes, for he chuckled. ¡°Fear not. It is not far to the Lasthold. The elves there await your coming, and will happily garb and gift you what you need to¡ª¡±


    An arrow hissed out of the trees, and Terathon flickered away, back ten feet, eyes wide open.


    More hissing, and Rusty felt someone punch him in the elbow. He staggered forward, looked down, and saw a foot and a half of wood, right through his arm, and a thin trickle of blood tracing down his forearm.


    Rusty screamed and ran toward the wizard. There was no pain, not until he tried to tug at the arrow as he went, and then he fell down, screaming and rolling on the ground as much as he could without jostling the arrow because OW.


    That probably saved his life.


    Later on, when he remembered the night, when the nightmares would wake him up, in the dark and send him into a corner to curl up and cry and rub the scar on his arm from his first real fight, Rusty would remember that a whole lot of arrows had gone over him, after he hit the ground.


    But at the time, Rusty was trying to hold his arm tight to his body and get the pain to stop. It didn''t, but eventually it faded to the point where he could breathe without whimpering.


    And that''s when he realized that there was no more hissing overhead.


    The arrows had stopped.


    Rusty listened, heard his own ragged breathing. Slowly, he let go of his bloody, wounded arm, and clamped his good hand over his mouth.


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    Splash.


    Splish.


    Splash.


    It was coming through the swamp, toward the hillock Rusty was on. It was coming from all around. Things were moving through the water. He didn''t know how big they were, but his imagination made them sound huge.


    Rusty tried to hold his breath, but every time he managed it for a while, his arm would twitch, and the pain would burn up like fire, and he''d gasp into his clenched fist. Once he stopped sobbing, he''d listen again, and the sounds were louder, closer. Three or four times he did this, and it felt like a torturous eternity, but the part of his brain that wasn''t gibbering in fear told him that only maybe half a minute had passed.


    Where was the wizard? Where was the man who''d promised to guide him?


    Something croaked at the edge of the hillock, near, so near. Loud croaking, that rumbled and rattled. Rusty had heard an alligator grumble once, on the battered, staticky television that he and his siblings got to watch sometimes when they were good. This sounded like an alligator that was trying to talk. He didn''t understand the words, wasn''t sure if he could understand them even if he spoke that language, because he''d NEVER been so scared in all his life.


    Where was the wizard?


    Thought turned into action, as he gave into fear.


    ¡°Terathon!¡± he screamed, and his arm burned, but he just screamed louder. ¡°TERATHON! HELP!¡±


    And just as quickly as he''d done it, he realized that he''d screwed up.


    Badly.


    Croaking voices rose to excited bellows, and Rusty felt the hill vibrate underneath him. He tried to get lower than he was, tried to burrow down into the grass, and yelped as his skewered arm twisted and sent him into the fetal position, rocking and crying.


    And when he finally managed to look up, there were monsters gathered around him.


    They didn''t look like alligators at all, but they were in the neighborhood.


    Reptiles, definitely. Something like turtles mashed together with crabs. Eyestalks and shells and beaklike maws. They had pointy things strung along harnesses on their torsos, and a few carried short, thick spears, and twisted masses of vines and branches that he was pretty sure were bows. Mainly because the ones nearest him had them drawn taut, and arrows pointing straight at him.


    ¡°Please,¡± Rusty said, his voice cracking, as he felt the blood ooze out of his arm, felt his heart beat with every drop lost. ¡°I don''t want to die. Please don''t kill me.¡±


    They stared down at him, beaks clacking, and grumbling in that weird gator talk.


    And then the lead one lowered his bow, turned his head, and rattled off words to the others.


    A few of them rattled back, some of them pretty loud. Rusty got the notion they didn''t like what he was saying. He? She? He couldn''t tell.


    The lead one turned back to him.


    He didn''t complete the turn.


    ¡°Hnosh!¡± shouted the wizard.


    And the first four crab turtles exploded.


    Rusty gaped in horror, then coughed and spluttered, as the one in the lead fell to its remaining knee, and spewed blood right into his face. It tasted vile, and no sooner had Rusty registered it than his gut heaved, and he almost passed out as he scrambled away, the pain in his arm flaring and making the blackness surge around the edge of his vision.


    ¡°Hnosh!¡± shouted the wizard again, as scaly things bellowed and arrows hissed and feet thudded across the hill, and flesh rent and splattered.


    The wizard flickered past him at one point, chased by arrows, doing that strange warping thing away, pursued by a monster.


    Then Rusty was down again. His bad arm wasn''t doing what he told it to do anymore. It was a lump of bloated, dead meat on the end of his arm, every nerve screaming. If he could have cut it off to stop it hurting he would have.


    But there came a small mercy, at least.


    When the pain finally eased again, Terathon was standing over him. ¡°Chosen one. Well done! You lured them in perfectly. They''re gone now. You have nothing to fear.¡±


    ¡°I... am I going to die?¡± Rusty asked, eyes blurry with tears, snot pouring from his nose, barely held at bay as he sniffed and coughed.


    ¡°No. The worst is past us.¡± The wizard looked at his arm and sighed. ¡°This will hurt. Be ready.¡±


    ¡°Ready? Ready for... what?¡±


    Terathon lifted his staff, and gestured, and a strange symbol glowed on his hand.


    The end of his staff ignited, a flame springing up like a pilot light. It glowed blue, then red.


    Rusty swallowed. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°This must be done, chil... chosen one. You will bleed to death if we do not.¡±


    Rusty swallowed harder, coughed snot, screamed a little as the arrow in his arm shifted. This was the worst he''d ever been hurt, in his twelve years of life.


    But he reached inside, and found something that wasn''t quite bravery. It was more of a cold voice that told him that if he wussed out here, he''d just die.


    ¡°Okay,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°What? I''m sorry, chosen one, what did you say?¡±


    ¡°Do it. DO IT!¡± he screamed, feeling his nerve wavering.


    The wizard lifted his hand again. ¡°Zan,¡± he muttered, and this time a symbol on his neck glowed. It was a different symbol, Rusty would remember, much later.


    And abruptly, the arrow was gone from his arm.


    The pain eased, the pressure gone, and Rusty tried to flex his fingers.


    Then he gasped, as the blood poured out like water from a faucet...


    ...only to sizzle, as the wizard grabbed his elbow and jammed the flaming end of the staff into the open wound.


    Thankfully, mercifully, Rusty blacked out around that point.

 Seeking Magic

    Oatmeal.


    Rusty smelled oatmeal.


    Oatmeal and fire, and the thought of fire made him remember. Rusty sat bolt upright...


    ...then fell over, as a familiar pain ripped up his side. He would have screamed, but his throat was raw, and it was a shadow of how bad it had been before. So he just lay there on the stone, and blinked until his arm stopped throbbing.


    Wait.


    Stone?


    ¡°I am glad you woke, chosen one,¡± Terathon said, as he stirred the pot. The wizard was crouched over a small firepit, and the crumbling flagstones and broken walls that surrounded them were not the hill that Rusty had almost died on. And it was night. When had it turned to night?


    ¡°We have much to do, and little time,¡± the wizard continued. ¡°But for now, eat.¡±


    Rusty looked to his arm. A bandage wrapped around it, tied in a knot he didn''t recognize. It hurt, but it was a dull ache, and Rusty stood, shaking, clutching his forearm, and moved to the fire. It was oatmeal, or some other kind of porridge, and it was the best thing he''d ever eaten.


    Finally he put aside his bowl and the carved wooden stick that had served him as a spoon, and looked at Terathon. ¡°Is this how things are?¡±


    The wizard furrowed his brow. ¡°Things?¡±


    Rusty lifted his good arm, and gestured around at the ruins. He could vaguely make out the shadows of the swamp beyond, the massive trees and their hanging moss rippling in the wind. There were many stars, but no moon he could see.


    ¡°Not... this. You called this Eladria?¡±


    ¡°Elythia. That is the name of this world.¡±


    ¡°Not that. That''s not the things. I mean... the monsters.¡±


    ¡°The Grach.¡±


    ¡°I guess? The scaled men?¡±


    ¡°Do not think of them as men. They are slaves to the dark lord, and they hate all that is good in this world. They seek to tear it down, to destroy all civilization.¡± Terathon gestured to the ground. ¡°Mighty ancients built this fort, long ago. They fell to the Grach, who murdered and plundered them, and drove their remnants into hiding.¡±


    Rusty swallowed. ¡°Oh. Okay. I...¡± his mind flashed back to the circle of monsters, to the one who''d pointed his bow away, and argued with the others. ¡°Why didn''t they kill me?¡±


    ¡°They almost did.¡± The wizard took his staff, and pointed toward Rusty''s arm. Rusty flinched. ¡°There is no reasoning with them. There is no mercy in their hearts. When I displaced parts of them from their bodies, they were arguing over how best to cook you alive.¡±


    Rusty''s eyes went wide. ¡°Holy shi¡ª I mean, shucks!¡±


    ¡°Corn shucks?¡± The wizard frowned. ¡°I should recast this spell, it translates oddly at times.¡±


    ¡°No, I mean... I guess it doesn''t matter.¡± Rusty swallowed. Then his brain caught up with Terathon''s words. ¡°Displaced parts? What?¡±


    ¡°Ah...¡± Terathon nodded, as he dumped the last dregs of the pot out, and pulled out a waterskin, rinsing it and setting it aside to dry. ¡°This is simpler to explain. And it ties into why I have brought you here, chosen one.¡±


    ¡°Rusty.¡±


    ¡°What? This spell definitely needs work.¡±


    ¡°No. My name is Rusty. Please call me that.¡±


    Terathon looked him over.


    And something about his gaze made Rusty want to shrink back a bit. There was... it was hard to put it into words, something he''d never seen in an adult''s eyes before.


    The wizard was... annoyed? No, that was the wrong word.


    ¡°Rusty, then,¡± Terathon said, his voice faintly resigned.


    Did I do something wrong? Rusty wondered.


    He didn''t want to ask, though, in case the answer was ¡°yes.¡± He was in a strange world, wearing only dirty underwear, and his arm felt like it would fall off any moment now. If the only person who was at all any kind of ally and mentor here told him that he''d messed up somehow, Rusty was pretty sure he was going to cry and that wasn''t something men did. His father had taught him that, with his hand and his belt.


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    But if the wizard was upset, then he did not let it show in either his voice or his words.


    ¡°Rusty. Listen. I did not bring you here to teach you of the crimes of the Grach. I brought you here to teach you of magic.¡±


    And immediately, Rusty forgot his wound, forgot his worry, and felt wonder creep into his mind. ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Truly. There is much to learn, but little time, now. Listen well, and remember. In this world, all magic comes from runes. They grow in places where the world''s magic collects, grow like crystals or flowers. And when they come to their ripest, they can be harvested.¡±


    ¡°What do they look like?¡±


    The wizard raised his hand, and flame appeared on his fingertips. And at the same time, a red symbol flashed on his hand, all lines and curves and strange angles. Just as quickly it faded, before Rusty could get a good look at it.


    ¡°That was the rune of ignition,¡± Terathon said. ¡°I sought it out, and found it in the darkness, glowing. And I tore a piece of it away, and drove it into my hand. For that is how you master a rune, by absorbing a part of it into your flesh, and into your chakra.¡±


    ¡°What''s an Chakra?¡±


    ¡°It is...¡± the wizard frowned. ¡°I cannot explain it. It is energy that collects in your soul. But know this, chosen one, to my trained eyes your chakra shines like a mighty sun. Given time and training, it might surpass my own.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Um, okay.¡± Rusty shifted. This was a strange idea. But then, he''d never gotten far in school work, maybe there was some concept or idea in advanced classes that would make this make sense.


    Then his eyes shifted to Terathon''s throat. ¡°You have to stab them into yourself?¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    ¡°And you''ve got one on... your throat...¡±


    Terathon smiled, and this smile wasn''t so friendly. ¡°Displacement is the greatest rune I hold. The strongest I ever found. I made sure to put it in a place where it could not be taken from me easily.¡±


    ¡°Oh...¡± Rusty whispered. ¡°They can be taken?¡±


    ¡°We have no time for full explanations,¡± Terathon said, a bit too quickly. ¡°But yes, of course. Chop off my hand, and I could not use the rune of ignition any more. That''s what you need to know. So you must choose the place for your first rune carefully, that''s the point I''m making there, chosen one.¡±


    ¡°First... I''m going to have to... okay.¡±


    ¡°Not your throat, or anywhere that might kill you, that''s my advice,¡± Terathon said. ¡°When you find the rune under here, aim for some place that can''t be easily chopped off, but won''t killyou if you aim poorly. Not into your skull, for example.¡±


    ¡°There''s a rune under here?¡± Rusty blinked again.


    The wizard rolled his eyes. ¡°Were you not listening?¡±


    ¡°I was. I''m... sorry. Okay. I have to go get it and... put it in my body. Somewhere. Okay.¡± He swallowed. ¡°Is there anything guarding it?¡±


    ¡°I doubt it,¡± Terathon said. ¡°The ancients are dead, and this place has not the feel of a proper mana vault. And the Grach don''t bother patrolling it. What''s more, it feels minor to me, perhaps a rank three at best. No, I would be surprised if anything guards it.¡±


    Rusty relaxed. He didn''t want to seem like a coward in front of Terathon, but he had just had the worst day of his life. The brief fight on the hill showed him that he had no idea what he was doing in any kind of real fight. So this seemed good. ¡°Okay,¡± he whispered. ¡°Where''s the door, or stairs, or whatever?¡±


    ¡°Do not be hasty,¡± Terathon said, but he nodded in approval, and offered a wide smile that pushed his beard out a bit. ¡°You must rest and recover, first. Even the lower runes are a shock to the body, when they are mastered. Rest tonight, and in the morning...¡±


    He stopped, and closed his eyes. ¡°Shit.¡±


    Rusty gasped in shock. An adult had CURSED in front of him?


    Yeah, his brother did that all the time, but that was because Cyrus had been in the army. You were allowed to curse when you were military, Cyrus told him that and his brother knew everything.


    ¡°We don''t have time any more,¡± Terathon said, standing to his full height, and dousing the fire with a wave of his hand and a flare of the rune. ¡°Trouble comes for us, swiftly.¡±


    ¡°What? Is it more of the Groke?¡±


    ¡°Grach, and no. This is worse.¡± Terathon stared out into the night. Out and UP.


    Rusty stared up too, and for a second, he thought he saw something flickering against the stars.


    ¡°Those who awaken their chakra can feel it in others,¡± Terathon said. ¡°And there is a powerful one approaching. It must be a dark sorcerer. If they find you, they''ll kill you. And I won''t be able to stop them.¡±


    ¡°I... can we run?¡± Rusty asked. ¡°Or hide?¡±


    ¡°I can hold them, for a time. Get inside, get the rune. Get out and travel by daylight, head south until you come to Lasthold.¡± Terathon whirled, and stabbed a finger to a dark spot on the ground. Then he drew a stick forth from the fire, and made its fire double in size with a motion. ¡°Go! Hurry!¡±


    There was panic in the wizard''s voice.


    And even more than the swearing, this got Rusty moving. The most competent man he''d ever met, the wizard who was teaching him magic was afraid.


    Rusty took the torch and ran, arm throbbing every time his feet hit the flagstones, and he didn''t stop until he came to the low stairs that descended into the earth like ribs in a dead thing''s chest. He took them slowly, stopping only once to look back at Terathon.


    Terathon met his eyes, and pointed. He mouthed one word, and Rusty didn''t need to see his face clearly to get the gist of it. Rusty scrambled into the darkness, and took the stairs just as fast as he dared.


    *****


    If Rusty had stayed behind, if he had managed to hide and somehow stay undetected, he would have seen another wizard float down out of the sky, his robes flapping around him, undulating like some undersea creature swimming through the night. The man was younger, clean-shaven, and hatless, but those were definitely wizardly robes, and the spear he was holding could have been mistaken for a staff, in the dim light.


    The man''s robes were darker, blue so deep that it could be mistaken for black, as opposed to the plain brown that Terathon wore. But Rusty wouldn''t have seen anything he would have expected to indicate a dark wizard. No spiky crowns, no sinister tattoos, no scars or disfigurements or pitch-black eyes, none of that.


    Just a tired looking man, staring across the fire at Terathon.


    After a tense moment, they spoke. Rusty wouldn''t have understood the language, even if he''d stayed.


    Once, the newcomer gestured to the sunken staircase, and Terathon smiled, bowed, and swept his arm toward it in an ¡°after-you,¡± motion.


    The newcomer hesitated, then shook his head. He pointed out into the swamp, and Terathon sighed, adjusted his hat, turned his back on the other wizard and started trudging across the stones.


    The newcomer gave the stair one last look, considered... then looked back at Terathon, shook his head, and followed the wizard into the swamp.

 Into the Darkness

    As Rusty pelted down the stairs, he felt waves of guilt overcome him.


    Frodo would have stayed, he was certain. Frodo would have fought next to Gandalf.


    But then, he''d tried that in those mines, and Gandalf had told him to run. This was like that! Obviously Terathon would have a mighty battle with the dark sorceror, and show back up later, in new robes. That was how it worked with wizards, right?


    Besides, Rusty was wounded. He cradled his arm as he went, kept it still as he ran down, doing his best to keep the lit end of the torch from burning his face. Frodo had been wounded, and he''d needed his friends to save him. And Rusty only had one friend here. There was no one to carry him if he got hurt worse.


    The thought made him stumble, and slow down a bit.


    And for a horrible few moments, it sunk in that he was alone on this world.


    There was precisely one person on this world who gave a damn about his life. Heck, he didn''t even know if there were any other humans around!


    It was a strange and alien world, and he had no way home, and nobody to mourn him if he died. He couldn''t just give up and go back to his old farmhouse and his barn full of brothers and his mom with her lined face that would be full of worry for him, and his dad who might notice he was gone eventually, and Cyrus, who would definitely call his army friends to come find him but they didn''t have wizards to go across worlds, and...


    He had to sit down on the stairs then, and tears pushed on the back of his eyes, and he cried a little. Just a little, because boys didn''t cry and there was a bad guy coming to kill him, and so he got up and snuffled, and headed deeper into the stairwell.


    And in a few minutes, he came to the end of the stairs.


    They might have gone deeper, once. It was hard to tell, through the solid layer of mud that coated the floor, and squished between his bare toes.


    Rusty looked around, taking in what he could see.


    It was a cut stone room, with tunnels branching off in five different directions. Four of them were close to each other, but one stood apart. It seemed almost like a hand to him, with the fingers splayed out a bit and the thumb on the side. The walls were cut stone, with slabs bulging on the ceiling, and a couple of them fallen into the mud a long time ago, making muddy, mossy lumps on the floor.


    The air was wet and musty here, and he sneezed a little, sneezes that turned into a gasp as his arm twinged with pain. Darned thing, Rusty thought, and snuffled, hocking snot into the mud. For a second he worried about breathing in poison, but then a faint sound drifted down the stairs from above. Voices? Yeah, time to go.


    Which way was the next question, but there was only one tunnel that didn''t match the others, so that seemed like a good place to start. Rusty stepped away from the stairs, and picked his way across the chamber.


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    He paused before the archway. It was round, almost a half-circle. Looking down at the mud at the threshold, he could believe that it had once been a fully circular entryway. It put the age and scale of the place into perspective. How long had that mud been building up? That archway stretched high up, almost to the edge of the torchlight, and it was at least sixty feet from the left side to the right side.


    Rusty shook his head. Terathon was probably in the fight of his life, right now, what was he doing standing around?


    He had to honor the wizard''s sacrifice.


    And thinking about it, he had no idea how long this torch would last. He''d never used a torch before. So he picked up his pace as fast as he dared, tucked his wounded arm close to his size, and jogged through the mud.


    It had been a poor choice.


    The corridor curved slightly as he went, and he zig-zagged back and forth between each wall, trying to make sure he didn''t miss anything. And there were places the mud was sunken in close to the walls, that suggested smaller archways had been there, but were covered over now. He sure didn''t have time to dig them out, and one of his arms was out of order anyway. So he pressed on, and hoped.


    The ceiling got lower as he went, and the mud started sloping gently downward. For a moment he hoped he''d find the end of the mud. He hoped that up until the corridor ended in a bare wall. Rusty''s heart sank...


    ...up until he felt the draft.


    Looking closer, he saw that at the center of it, there was what looked like the top of an archway. And there was a space under them, not a large space, but enough that a twelve-year old who''d never had enough to eat a day in his life could maybe wiggle through.


    Could he do it with a bad arm, and without dunking the torch in the mud? Well, that was another question entirely.


    And as Rusty sat there and studied it, that''s when he heard the sound of smacking, and gooshing. It didn''t take long to figure out it was the sound of something pretty big dragging itself through the mud.


    It took a horrifyingly smaller amount of time to realize that it was coming from behind him.


    Rusty got down on his knees, measured the gap, breathing hard and trying to shut down his rising panic. He tried putting weight on his bad arm, and aaaaaaah no. Nope, bad idea. He leaned straight up, switched his torch to the left hand, and tried to ease down on his good arm. That went better.


    But the gap was too small to slide through. He''d have to go flat, he realized, if he was to have any chance at all. Keeping the torch lit and upright would be tough.


    Scraaaaaaappppe. SLUSH.


    Ohhhhh, that was way too close.


    He didn''t look back. He kept his focus on the hole he had to scoot through. There was no other choice now, and it had to happen.


    Maybe if he rolled the torch under, it wouldn''t go out immediately?


    Maybe, but that was one heck of a gamble. If things didn''t go his way, he''d be in the dark.


    It was also his only weapon against whatever was back there.


    It wasn''t perfect, wasn''t good, but it was the only thing he could think of, so he lay on his back, turned his head on his side, and pushed, pushing himself back through the mud.


    The draft was easier to feel here, cool air pushing against his skin, strong and focused, and almost as unrelenting as the grimy stone that pushed down against him, the further he scooted inward. It was a good thing he wasn''t like Trent, who howled like a coyote whenever he had to go into tight spaces. But it still wasn''t fun.


    SQUUUUUUELLLLCH!


    Oh, that was bad! That was almost on top of him!


    The torch was hot in his hand, and he tried to shift it downward as he went, tried to keep it from scraping itself out against the stone.


    He almost managed.


    Ironically enough, it wasn''t the pain from his bad arm, or the narrowness of the crawlspace, that sunk him.


    It was his underwear.


    He felt it sliding down, and without thinking he reached down to grab it, keep it on...


    ...and the torch seared his leg.


    Rusty screamed, dropped the torch and squirmed away before he could stop himself.


    And the torch went out.

 Those Who Serve and Protect

    Cyrus Colfax did not like Dallas.


    Part of the reason for that was stupid. When he''d been flown back Stateside, a burned and bandaged husk of a man who was only sane due to a mix of army-sanctioned amphetamines and heroin, he''d flown into Amon Carter field. There''d been a situation-normal-all-fucked up(SNAFU) at the field, and he''d been left in his wheelchair, waiting for a medical escort home that never came. Eventually the drugs wore off and he remembered screaming until he blacked out, with everyone in the terminal lobby staring at him like he was a freak. He remembered pleading with them for help, or trying to anyway, and nobody moving.


    That was just geography. Just shitty luck of the draw he''d ended up in that field, embarrassing himself. Could have been any other stop along the way. So maybe that wasn''t entirely fair to Dallas.


    But the fact that absolutely everyone he''d met in his life that had come from Dallas was either a raging asshole or about as competent as a blind sniper, was a pretty fair reason to hate Dallas in Cyrus'' book.


    And unfortunately, special agent Rodney Burrows was no exception. He seemed to be doing his level best to take home the gold medal in both the raging asshole and the ludicrously incompetent categories.


    ¡°All I''m saying, is that if you don''t need the wheelchair, I don''t see why we had to drag it in here,¡± special agent Rodney Burrows whined, fanning himself with a sheaf of papers as sweat rolled down his brow and tried to assault his blinking, narrow eyes. ¡°I get it, you just got it ''cause you needed out of the army, but this ain''t the public. You don''t have to sit in it to sell your act none.¡±


    Cyrus glared at him. He thought about trying to explain to the man that just because he felt good enough to stand and walk around sometimes didn''t mean that was how it was all the time. Sometimes he couldn''t, and then he needed the chair that he''d spent hours padding and arranging to keep the pain down to manageable levels. He considered trying to explain that his fried and battered body could go from one state to the next in a matter of minutes, or sometimes seconds, and he couldn''t always predict an oncoming episode.


    But Cyrus knew that special agent Rodney Burrows didn''t want to hear it, would probably think he was lying or making excuses. And he had a sinking feeling that good old Roddy was probably going to think that about everything he said, and that his errand in this building was futile.


    But damn it, he had to try. Rusty was god knew where, with god knew who, doing god knew what. And that was too much god for any man to handle by his lonesome, especially one who''d lost most of his faith somewhere south of Seoul.


    So Cyrus settled for just glaring at the man as he bustled around the hot room, one of many in the blocky, fortresslike compound that was their Dallas headquarters. A cheap ass nicked and banged up wooden desk that had probably been surplused from world war two sat between Cyrus and the agent, and a lazy ceiling fan muddled the air through the single open window on the end of the room. File cabinets lined the walls, and a bucket on the floor stunk of muddy water mixed with asbestos, probably drippings from the large stain on the ceiling above that indicated a pretty serious leak from all the recent rain.


    It took the agent a long few minutes to set up his steno pad and arrange pens next to it, one by one. It took a few more minutes for special Agent Rodney Burrows to uncase and plug in the big metal case that held a reel-to-reel tape recorder, a fancy new piece of equipment that distracted Cyrus as he studied it. He''d never had the funds to afford one of his own, and he''d only read about these newer models in magazines. This one, you didn''t need a microphone to record things, you could just talk at normal speaking levels and it would pick up everything. That was pretty impressive to Cyrus.


    ¡°Okay, we''re ready to start,¡± special agent Rodney Burrows said, running his fingers through his Brylcreemed hair, and wiping them on his tie. ¡°This is your last chance to back out, friend.¡±


    ¡°I''m not going to back out,¡± Cyrus told him. ¡°I''m ready.¡±


    ¡°Your funeral,¡± special agent Rodney Burrows shrugged. Then he started the tape recorder, and cleared his throat. ¡°Special agent Rodney Burrows speaking, on June fourteenth, nineteen fifty seven. It is...¡± he consulted his wrist watch. ¡°...Two minutes past three o''clock in the afternoon. I am here taking the statement of one citizen Cyrus Conklin¡ª¡±


    ¡°Colfax,¡± Cyrus whispered.


    ¡°Carfax, sorry. Cyrus Carfax. Please identify yourself for the record, and state your date of birth, social security number, and current place of residence.¡±


    ¡°My name is Cyrus Colfax, and I was born on the twenty-fifth of October¡ª¡±


    ¡°It works better for the records if you go with the month first,¡± special agent Rodney Burrows broke in.


    Cyrus caught his eyes and glared. The agent just smiled back, unfazed.


    ¡°I uh, I was born on October twenty-fifth, nineteen thirty two,¡± Cyrus said, looking back at the tape recorder. ¡°My social security number is... ah, hang on.¡± He rummaged in his suit pockets.


    ¡°You don''t know your number?¡± The agent sounded incredulous.


    ¡°No, I don''t have one. Mom decided they were the mark of the beast and I haven''t had time to fix it properly, yet. But I''ve got a serial number, got that when I enlisted...¡± he dug out the card, supplied his number and address, and a few other small details as the agent thought of them.


    Finally special agent Rodney Burrows seemed satisfied. ¡°Okay. Why are you here, Mister Carfax?¡±


    Cyrus let that one slide. His correct name was being recorded, so if Roddy buddy got it wrong from here on it, no big deal. ¡°I''m here because my brother has been kidnapped.¡±


    ¡°Allegedly,¡± special agent Rodney Burrows interrupted.


    ¡°I''m alleging that, yes. Because it''s what happened,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°My brother, Russell Colfax, was playing outside with his other brothers, when¡ª¡±


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    ¡°No, hold on, we can''t just jump to that,¡± special agent Rodney Burrows whined. ¡°You have to say the date it happened, uh, allegedly happened, first!¡±


    There was a silver lining to special agent Rodney Burrows attitude. And that benefit was that the man was irritating Cyrus so much that he could ignore his growing, itching pain and discomfort from his wasted body. The fury was distracting him, and giving him motivation to finish the damned thing and do it well on the first take, so that he would never have to see special agent Rodney fucking Burrows ever again in his life.


    ¡°June first, nineteen fifty seven,¡± Cyrus growled. ¡°That''s when¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, remember, you have to say the month first, then the day... oh wait, you did it right,¡± special agent Rodney Burrows interrupted. ¡°Sorry, never mind. Go on.¡±


    Cyrus resisted the urge to throw the guy through the window. It took a lot of resisting. He gave the details, then told the man what he''d seen through the window. The agent listened, nodding every few seconds like one of those sipping bird toys his buddy had picked up in Japan on his layover. And every time Cyrus glanced up to catch his eyes, he saw that special agent Rodney Burrows was staring past him, probably at the clock on the wall. Just marking time, until he could finish up and go home, probably. Cyrus knew the type, had marked special agent Rodney Burrows the second he''d rolled up to the door, and the man had whined about helping to carry his chair inside.


    Well, that was fine. He wasn''t the sort of person who could help with this mess anyway. But to get to the people who COULD, Cyrus had to play this little game. He knew how it worked. He''d seen enough of how the game was played to win it, even if he hated doing it.


    So when he finished describing how the wizard-looking fucker had just up and disappeared with his brother, he threw in the part that really mattered, the part that had the best chance of actually getting something done.


    Also, the first actual lie.


    ¡°I believe that the man was an agent of communist factions,¡± Cyrus said to the tape recorder.


    Immediately, special agent Rodney Burrows sat up, his narrow eyes widening, and his mouth slack. ¡°Wait, what?¡±


    ¡°I believe that my brother was taken as leverage against myself,¡± Cyrus said.


    Special agent Rodney Burrows frowned at him. ¡°But why the hell would the Russkies want leverage on a discharged cripple?¡±


    Oh, oh, this man needed four knuckles in the nose. But Cyrus breathed hard, gripped the table, and reminded himself that Roddy boy didn''t matter. ¡°I''m working on something. For the army. It hasn''t been assigned a classification yet. I can''t talk about it.¡±


    All technically true, except for that last part. Nobody in the army knew he was trying to develop a new night sight. Nobody there would give a shit if Cyrus talked about the invention he was making to sell them. But Cyrus would be damned if he told Roddy baby that.


    ¡°Why are you... what are you doing here, if you...¡± special agent Rodney Burrows blinked, confusion starting to grow on his pale face. ¡°Why doesn''t the army have you locked down, tight?¡±


    ¡°Because I''m not in danger right now,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°My security''s much better now, than it was when Rusty got grabbed. But my brother is in danger, and I''d like it if he were found before the ransom demands showed up.¡±


    ¡°Does local law enforcement know?¡± Roddy asked.


    Cyrus recalled Sheriff Buxley, and how the fat man''s face had barely moved as Cyrus told him what happened. Buxley barely got off his ass to collect the bribe money that the richer farmers paid him to run immigrant laborers out of town when they tried to find other jobs, there was no way in hell he''d set the band of goons that he called deputies to do anything for the relatively poor Colfax family.


    ¡°They know about the kidnapping. But not about the project, or the motive. I didn''t know if I was cleared to talk with them about that.¡±


    ¡°Shit. Uh, shoot.¡± Special agent Rodney Burrows shot a guilty glance at the tape recorder. Now he was on record as swearing, and that mattered to him, evidently. ¡°Why don''t we start over, just to make sure we didn''t miss any details?¡±


    One and a half hours later, Cyrus'' legs were masses of throbbing, aching meat, and his back was cramping something fierce on him. But he had a good feeling, as the pair of burly FBI employees that Roddy boy had summoned manhandled his chair out of the building, and out to the street. Cyrus took it over from there, his muscled, bulky arms flexing as he rolled himself down to where his father had parked the truck. It didn''t surprise him to find it empty.


    A few minutes of questioning passer-by directed him to the nearest bar. A quarter slipped to a kid trying to hock subscriptions to ''Grit'' got the boy to go in and come out, followed by a shame-faced, middle-aged man who was rounder than he was tall, and walked with a permanent stoop.


    ¡°Cyrus, my boy!¡± Steve Colfax said, putting his fedora back over his wispy, receding hair. ¡°Sorry, thought you''d be a little later.¡±


    He stank of cheap gin, probably sold at three times the price he could get it at home because Dallas was horrible. But he was walking straight enough that Cyrus figured he was good to drive, and that was all that mattered. ¡°I''m ready to go home, dad,¡± Cyrus told him. ¡°I did all I could, here.¡±


    His father pursed his lips, looked backwards to the bar. Then toward the larger buildings, of Dallas'' downtown. Cyrus had seen that look before, on his friends who had hit Tokyo for leave. It was the ¡°I want a hooker, but it''s gonna take time and a lot of beer to find one that''ll lay me for the little money I''ve got to offer,¡± look.


    It might not have been exactly that, but the old man''s devil was firmly on his shoulder, as he started to sound his son out. ¡°I don''t know. Maybe we should stay the night? It''s a long drive back, it''d be easier to get a hotel. You could have uh, your own room, and¡ª¡±


    Cyrus groaned theatrically, and doubled over. ¡°Ah god, it itches! It itches so bad. Yeah, we can stay the night. But I''ll need a sponge bath. Few hours in cold water ought to do it. Can you help me, dad?¡±


    Truth was, he didn''t have to pretend too hard. He was at the point of the cycle where it felt like fire ants were starting to get under his grafts.


    ¡°Let''s get you home, son,¡± Steve said. ¡°Your mother would give me no end of grief if I kept you from her overlong.¡±


    About an hour later, rolling down the dusty roads, it occurred to Steve Colfax to ask his son how it had gone, and if he thought the agent he talked to would help him out.


    ¡°That guy?¡± Cyrus shook his head. ¡°He''d fail the dietary requirements test to be a marine. That cat would choke and die trying to eat crayons. But if we''re lucky, if we''re really lucky, he''ll take the things I said to someone who doesn''t have his thumb stuck up his ass.¡± Cyrus sighed, and looked out the window.


    It was his best shot. And it''d have consequences, if the wrong person looked too hard at his story, and decided to take him to task for it. He was gambling a lot, putting his entire reputation and his future dream on the line on the off-chance that this might pull in someone who could help Rusty.


    But he couldn''t NOT try.


    And hell, if he got in trouble, he could handle it. He still had friends, and a few of them were doing pretty well for themselves. Service had given him contacts and allies, even a few in other countries if he had to escape and lie low.


    But to be honest, he hoped it didn''t come to that. For all that Texas and his fellow Texans were bound and determined to shit on his hopes and dreams and fail him at every turn, it was still his home. And SOMEONE would need to keep the family going, after Dad eventually drank himself to death or ran off with some dumb young thing who thought a broken middle-aged man was just her kind of sugar daddy.


    That was a problem for later, though. Right now Rusty was the problem, and hopefully what Cyrus had done today was part of the solution.


    It was, actually.


    Though it would take later than he hoped, it turned out that it was.


    And Cyrus'' life would never be the same.

 From Riches to Runes

    It was a funny thing, fear.


    Every time Rusty thought he''d hit his limit, he found that no, it was possible to cram a little MORE adrenaline and panic into his twelve-year-old frame.


    And for the moment, at least, that raw, chemical mix was enough to mostly forget the pain in his bad arm, and scramble through the muddy crevice at double time. There was no light, but that was okay, because he sure as heck didn''t want to see what was after him. He scraped his face and knees against the rock ceiling above him, scraped them so badly he was pretty sure he was bleeding, but all that was secondary to the driving need to FLEE the thing slithering and scrambling behind him.


    Then, with a gasp and a shudder and a blessed feeling of pressure easing, he was out from under the wall, out into an open space. He reached his good arm up, couldn''t feel anything above him, so he hauled himself out, noted absently that his bandage had ripped off his arm at some point, stood upright, and hauled his muddy, sogged underwear up over his hips again as he turned and tried to look for the best place to hide.


    As it turned out, it was another good news/bad news situation.


    The bad news was that he could barely see anything. It smelled more open, if that made any sense. The cool draught was flowing all around him, in a way that suggested that the room he''d gotten to was vast and open.


    The good news, was that there was the tiniest bit of silvery light, a speck at the edge of his vision. The way out? Maybe. It looked like it was up off the floor.


    Then a scrape behind him drew his attention.


    The thing was trying to come under the wall.


    And the squishing and scratching noises sounded an awful lot like something big trying to dig out enough space to pull itself through to get to him.


    Rusty swallowed as bile rose up in his throat. And he found himself tired. Adrenaline took it out of you, and he''d been running hot on a belly full of weird oatmeal and nothing more. He was thirsty, his arm was torn up, and he''d just wiped himself out squirming through that gap.


    But if he stopped, he was dead. He knew that with certainty. He was country-raised, and he knew that no predator that size put that much effort into a hunt unless it expected a seriously good payoff at the end of it. And it HAD to be a predator. The wizard had told him there wouldn''t be any guards, but the stairs were open to the surface. This thing had probably moved in and used it as a lair.


    So Rusty turned toward the pinprick of light in the distance, and put one foot in front of the other. He didn''t think he had the energy to run all the way there.


    And that saved him.


    The first... few hundred feet, maybe? Yeah, that went fine.


    Then the ground sloped down all of a sudden, and he tried to stop, and the mud turned out to be way too slick for quick stops. Rusty''s feet went out from under him, and his ass planted hard on the floor. At least it was squishy.


    It took a frantic few moments of flailing as he slid down the slope, before he got his right hand dug in enough to stop himself... and when he stared down the way the slope went, he could make out two things.


    The first, was a dim purple light filtering up from below.


    And the second was the massive crevasse that it illuminated. He couldn''t see all the way down into it, but it was pretty deep, and had big purple crystal chunks growing on the sides.


    Was one of those the rune he needed? They glowed, they were growing in patterns, yeah. But he was pretty sure that if he tried to get to one, he''d fall to his death.


    So instead he hauled himself back over the lip of the slope, panting, using his good arm as much as he could, until he could stand upright again.


    He followed the lip of the crevasse, the place he could just see, thanks to the faint light, until he was around it. It didn''t fill the entirety of the room, but it was pretty wide.


    At a thought, he stopped and listened. The thing was still digging behind him. Rusty sobbed a little, dry sobs, then hurried up. He tried to watch for more crevasses as he went, but as soon as he put the purple light behind him, he was back to being mostly blind.


    Mostly.


    That silver dot in the distance was bigger, now. And he alternated glancing down to the floor and staring back up at it as he went. It worked, mostly.


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    It worked well enough to let him see what he was going for. A silvery symbol, illuminating something like a stone table. It hung in the air above a hollow spot in the table, like an ornament hanging from a Christmas tree. But there was nothing for it to hang from. It was freestanding, glimmering there in the darkness, all angles and curves.


    It took a second for Rusty to realize what it reminded him of. It was mostly curves, two large ones that wrapped around, and contained other lines and shapes within. But the overall shape of it resembled a diagram he''d once seen in an encyclopedia.


    It looked like a brain, with icicle-like protrusions hanging from it.


    Rusty''s throat felt dry, as he remembered Terathon''s words. He had to break off part of it, and jam it into his flesh. Wasn''t that what the wizard had said? He thought it was.


    His left arm throbbed as he thought that, and as he reached the raised dais that the table was on, he hesitated. He''d already had something shot through him today, and oh wow, it had hurt. Was there a way to do this without stabbing himself again? What if he swallowed it, or put it up his butt?


    Rusty looked at the icicle bits, and decided no. No, that was definitely not going up his butt. And with his luck, they''d probably choke him if he tried swallowing them. And the wizard had told him not to put anything in his head, so... yeah. Okay.


    He stood below it, staring. Break off a piece, and jam it into himself. Okay.


    Rusty lifted his hand, put it down.


    This is what I came here to do. Come on!


    He tried to reach out to it, drew his hand back. This close to it, the light burned with something that wasn''t heat. It was like being too close to an electric fence, when the air was just right, and you could feel the energy of it humming and thrumming, letting you know what would happen if you touched it.


    I came here to do this, Rusty told himself. Terathon''s fighting for me right now! He believed in me. This could maybe let me save him!


    He swallowed, hard, and reached out to the rune... and hesitated.


    He might have lost his nerve, at that point. He might have failed altogether, and gone looking for another way out.


    That might have been what he did, except for one thing.


    That was the moment he realized that he couldn''t hear any digging sounds any more.


    The creature was through the gap.


    It was in the room with him!


    Rusty learned a valuable lesson, that day. Rusty learned how to use his fear to make himself do things that he was afraid of doing.


    Mind you, this didn''t necessarily make what he was doing a good idea...


    Rusty reached out to the rune, and snapped off an icicle-like spear of it, and instantly there was a WHUMP, and a wave of force that pushed him back from the table. Silver dust exploded into the air, and the glowing silvery light started to fade almost instantly.


    And to his horror, the piece he was holding started to fade, too. Not as fast as the rest of the now-scattered pieces of the rune, but quickly.


    Rusty did not have long to figure out where he was going to put the thing.


    He looked down at himself, looked down at his scrawny, muddy, scraped body, and saw the wound in his arm, torn open again from his crawl and exertions. It was just below his elbow, and seeping blood all down his forearm.


    Well, I''ve got a hole in that anyway, Rusty decided, and before the fear came back, he jammed the pointy bit he''d torn off straight into the arrow wound.


    And oh GOD that hurt!


    He was on his back, screaming and flailing and beating his arm against the muddy stone, as it sizzled, and flickering, strobing silver light ran up him and sparked. If a sailor had been watching him do this, they might have compared it to watching saint elmo''s fire flicker on and off during a storm, or ball lightning sparking and hopping across a deck. It was flashy, and spectacular, and Rusty saw exactly none of it because he felt like he''d just pissed on an electric fence and kept on pissing, locked in place, unable to stop the stream.


    Finally, the pain ebbed. And as he kept his eyes closed and sobbed in the now-total darkness, he saw something, in his peripheral vision.


    The predator? He twisted, tried to look at it. Too late he realized he was leaning on his bad arm, but... it didn''t hurt as much, now. He felt the wound, felt a massive scab where it had been. The flesh felt whole. There was still pain, but it was muted.


    Another flash in his peripheral vision, this time from both directions at once. Silvery flashes in the darkness.


    Rusty blinked, and the flashes started to assemble into shapes. Symbols.


    He opened his eyes again and they went away, scattered back into flashes in his periphery.


    You''re being hunted, the back of his brain reminded him. Figure this out quick, Rusty.


    Rusty took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.


    The peripheral lights surged across the blackness of his closed eyelids, drew themselves into the symbol of the rune. And then they shifted and flowed into new symbols, that flashed past, one by one, like a ticker tape. They made no sense.


    They shifted and repeated, and they made no sense again, but some of them triggered memories when they came up. Smells of baking bread, the feel of riding a horse for the first time, the way satin felt against his fingertips... Disparate and unconnected memories, as the ticker tape of symbols went by, his eyes flicking back and forth under his lids as if he were dreaming, trying to read the unreadable.


    And somewhere around the fifth time they repeated, Rusty started to understand what the symbols meant. He didn''t read them, not exactly, but he understood them now, even if what they were saying didn''t entirely make sense.


    As near as he could tell, they meant this:


    Rune: Memory has been integrated into your chakra network.


    Total usage: 3/39


    Then came a glowing diagram of his body, only it was all lines. And on one arm, a silvery orb pulsed with his heartbeat, flaring and receding.


    Then new symbols appeared.


    First Rune attuned. Chakra system awakened. Rune usage unlocked. Assensing unlocked. Consumption unlocked. Companion manifested.


    UNDERSTAND.

 An Alien Mind

    Knowledge ripped through Rusty''s mind, and he hunched over, planted his hands on the floor, as he sat there on his knees, prostrated and trying to focus on breathing and keeping his sanity intact.


    But he understood, all right. He understood, that he''d just changed himself on the fundamental level, and nothing would ever be the same.


    That said...


    Rusty opened his eyes, and breathed, feeling the fear ebb, replaced by a dark certainty. That said, there was still something hunting him, and even if he''d gotten ahold of magic that was no guarantee that he''d walk out of here alive.


    ¡°That''s pretty sensible,¡± someone whispered in his ear, and Rusty shrieked, felt the fear come back, jumped to his feet, and dove behind the stone table.


    Someone sighed. ¡°Close your eyes, please. Maybe hurry. The monster''s lost your trail but if you keep making noise, it''ll pick it up again pretty quick.¡±


    Rusty hesitated. But common sense prevailed. The stranger had managed to sneak up on him, could have done him harm if that was what was intended. But he''d spoken, instead. This probably wasn''t a trick


    Rusty closed his eyes, and he saw a silvery figure step out of the darkness, picking its way across the floor. It was small, maybe two feet high. At first he thought it looked like a baby, but it was far too thin and spindly, limbs out of proportion to its large, round head, smooth, without hair or nose. Its eyes were large and black.


    It looked, Rusty realized, like one of the little aliens that his brother had told him about. The ones that were supposed to be in Roswell, when they crashed ten years ago.


    ¡°Are you an alien?¡± Rusty whispered.


    ¡°No, I''m your familiar.¡± the figure said, as it came up to him, and sat on the ground, putting its legs criss-cross applesauce. It didn''t seem to have anything between its legs, Rusty noticed.


    ¡°Oh. Um, okay. Are you a boy or a girl?¡±


    The figure tilted its head, and considered. ¡°I''m not either. You made me. I can be what you want me to be. Do you want me to be a boy or a girl?¡± Its flesh started bubbling on its chest and crotch, reshaping itself, and Rusty shook his head, fast.


    ¡°No, no, that''s fine, um, let''s keep it decent, okay?¡±


    ¡°Okay. But I can take any shape you want.¡± It looked back into the darkness behind it. ¡°Maybe we can sort that out after you get away.¡±


    ¡°How... how do I do that?¡±


    ¡°Well, I think you need to find a way out and get out before it gets you. Or maybe fight it and kill it. That would get us more chakra.¡±


    ¡°How would I kill it? I don''t even have a sword, or a gun, or anything!¡±


    ¡°Well, you''ve got a rune. Let''s see... huh. Memory? Hm. That''s kind of tricky. Yeah, that one might not be so good at killing stuff.¡±


    ¡°So how do we get away?¡±


    The familiar smiled. ¡°I get away if you get away. I''m all in your head. Nobody else can hear me. As to how YOU get away, I''d suggest running past it or looking around this place and finding another exit.¡±


    ¡°Is there another exit?¡± Rusty asked.


    ¡°Maybe stop whispering, and just imagine yourself whispering. I don''t know how good its hearing is. And I don''t know if there''s another exit out of here.¡± The familiar shrugged. ¡°I barely know more than you do, and most of what I know is about runes and chakra. I''m kind of a... I''m a part of your own brain that''s been empowered to talk to you directly.¡±


    Rusty stopped, and considered it. ¡°You''re me.¡±


    ¡°Mostly.¡±


    ¡°But you can see the thing?¡±


    ¡°No, you can. You''re just not using that sense correctly yet.¡±


    ¡°So how do I do that?¡±


    ¡°Remember the symbols you saw?¡±


    ¡°Um... yeah?¡± Rusty said. ¡°They went by kind of fast.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that''s easy. I can give you this one for free. I want you to imagine silver letters in front of your eyes. They need to say, ''Grant me eidetic memory and total recall.''¡±


    Rusty tried. It was hard to concentrate. His arm had stopped hurting, yeah, but it was cold and he was muddy, and he''d never done much in the way of visualization before.


    ¡°Here, I''ll help,¡± whispered his familiar, and suddenly it was much, much easier. He could almost imagine he was reading for a book, as he mouthed the words and they came into being before his eyes.


    ¡°Grant me eidetic memory and total recall.¡±


    Rune ¨C Memory: Engaged!


    Eidetic memory granted! Cost 1


    Total recall granted! Cost 2


    Chakra Usage: -3


    Total committed Chakra: 6/39


    ¡°Good!¡± his familiar said, and despite the cold, despite the fear for his life, Rusty felt happy. It was a rare day when he got praise.


    ¡°How does this help me, though?¡± Rusty asked.


    ¡°Remember the symbol for Chakra assessment?¡±


    And Rusty DID.


    ¡°Yeah! Right on, Rusty. Now do the same as you did with the last spells, only this time imagine something like ''activate chakra assessment''. Just use that symbol instead of the word assessment.¡±


    This time he got it on the first try.


    And the second he did, something across the cavern lit up, traced in lines much like the diagram of himself that he''d seen earlier. There were no beating orbs in it, like the silvery thing in his arm, but it let him see a rough body shape that he would have been much happier not seeing. The thing was like a snake, except it had some kind of legs in the back and front, and multiple things that were either more heads or tentacles.


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    Hydra? He thought to himself, remembering the book on greek mythology that Cyrus had loaned him. Remembered it exactly, every word on the page.


    ¡°Maybe it''s a hydra,¡± his familiar said. ¡°I dunno. Don''t wanna get close enough to find out.¡±


    It seemed to be questing back and forth across the way, dipping its tendrils or heads to the ground, and pacing in a line. Back and forth... why was it doing that?


    The chasm, Rusty remembered. It''s trying to find a way around.


    It looked to be at about the right distance for the chasm... and abruptly, Rusty recalled every step he''d taken in the darkness, remembered it precisely and visualized the space he''d covered.


    ¡°Total recall!¡± his familiar clapped its thin hands together. ¡°I figured that would come in handy.¡±


    ¡°I guess it is.¡± Rusty gnawed his lip. This was going to take some getting used to. If he survived the next few minutes. ¡°Do we have a spell to see in the dark?¡±


    ¡°So... the way I understand it, is that each rune lets you do anything associated with the idea that represents the rune. Long story short, easy stuff doesn''t take much chakra, hard stuff takes lots of chakra. I can''t think of any way to make memory let you see in the dark, but if you can come up with something, maybe you can do it?¡±


    ¡°I can see the thing, but not the cave around it...¡± Rusty frowned.


    ¡°This room doesn''t have chakra. The snake monster does. And so do you.¡±


    Rusty looked down at himself, and almost gasped. He was silvery lines in the dark, just like the diagram that he''d seen a few moments ago. But there was no pulsing core, unlike the diagram.


    ¡°Yeah, that''s inside you now,¡± his familiar said. ¡°You''d have to cut yourself open to see it with just simple assessment. It''d take maybe a rune to see where it is without y''know, surgery. Or a giant snake thing eating us. Speaking of that, how are we going to handle it?¡±


    Rusty frowned. Then he thought about it, really thought about it.


    And he remembered the path he''d taken. He knew he could retrace it perfectly, flawlessly. The thing couldn''t see him. It seemed to be sniffing or tasting the ground.


    As he watched, it ranged further toward the way he''d come, further toward the edge of the chasm. Then it paced back, going the other way.


    Eventually it would find its way around.


    ¡°So how''s it smelling us? What''s it scenting?¡± his familiar asked.


    Rusty looked down at his formerly bloody arm. ¡°Maybe it was the blood?¡±


    ¡°Maybe. It was on us pretty quick, back when we had the bandage on.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but we were holding the torch, then. We''re not, now. Maybe we''ll get lucky.¡±


    ¡°So you''re thinking retrace our steps back and... of course you''re thinking that, I can see that from in here. This is going to take some getting used to, Rusty.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I have an alien inside my head now.¡±


    ¡°Let''s keep that head attached and we can sort out living space later, yeah?¡±


    ¡°Deal.¡±


    And Rusty took a deep breath, and retraced his trail.


    It went fine, up until he was halfway to the crevasse.


    The snake-thing, the hydra, looked up, and in his direction.


    Rusty froze.


    ¡°Breathe quieter! Breathe quieter!¡± his familiar said, jumping up and down.


    ¡°Stop shouting!¡± Rusty whispered.


    Oh, that was a mistake. The hydra slithered along the crevasse, heading his way.


    ¡°I''m in your head! I''m not the one making noise! This is REALLY STRESSFUL!¡± the little alien screeched.


    Rusty glanced over to where he''d crept around the crevasse, looked back to the hydra. No way he''d get past it at the speed he was going.


    Okay, new plan.


    Thanks to watching the hydra, he knew where the chasm was, more or less. And he could recall how it looked from the other side.


    He forced himself to move slowly. He didn''t know how it was sensing him, but he thought it was helping. The hydra wasn''t speeding up, so that was good. Rusty crept along into the darkness, forging a new path. The side of the crevasse he was heading to was higher than the other, so he knew he wouldn''t see the glow until he was right on top of it. If he went too fast, he''d go over the edge and die.


    Every few steps, he''d stop and look over his shoulder. The hydra had rounded the crevassed now, and his memory told him it was following his original trail. If it stayed doing that, then he might be able to get away clean. He''d just follow the crevasse back behind it, and head to the hole it had dug. He''d get away while it was exploring around the stone table, and run for his life.


    It was a good plan.


    Up until the thing paused, right at the point where Rusty had left the trail, and stared his way with all of its head tentacles.


    Rusty stopped.


    The thing took a step.


    Rusty took a step.


    The thing charged!


    Rusty ran, counting his steps, visualizing what he could of the crevasse. It hadn''t looked THAT wide, and he was counting on that.


    And when he came to it, came to where the purple glow leaked from the floor, and he knew, he KNEW that the next step would plunge him into the yawning void, he leaped, with only the sound of the thing chasing him and the panicked screaming of his familiar to accompany his desperate move.


    There was a terrible moment, where he didn''t know whether he''d live or die. And his total recall flashed to his brother telling him about a guy named Schrodinger and his cat.


    And then his feet struck the muddy slope, and he knew he''d survived. The cat lived, this time.


    Then the rest of him hit the slope, and he started sliding down, toward the chasm, and he realized that maybe that cat was doomed, after all. He scrabbled, dug in with both hands, felt a nail flip back and cried in pain, but managed to stop himself. He could feel the wind on his butt, feel his feet hanging over the crevasse.


    But he was alive.


    Then, with a terrible THUD, the ground shook, and he whimpered as he dropped a few inches, before managing to secure himself.


    Something next to him groaned. A burbling groan, that rose to a deep, deep growl.


    Rusty turned his head, and there was the hydra, its greenish lines right next to him, digging its hind claws deep into the slope as it slid gently downward. It scrabbled, locked its front claws in, and pulled its bulky body up with terrible strength. This close to it, Rusty could smell it... swamp scum and sweat and a rank smell that reminded him of goats.


    And under all of that, old blood. Worse stench than a hog slaughter.


    Rusty squeaked.


    And slowly, the heads, or tendrils, or whatever, started turning his way.


    He felt breath all over his body, saw them rising above him.


    Time seemed to slow down. Memory. He had memory magic. What could he do with memory magic?


    A head or tendril darted at him, and he worked a hand free, and punched it. It reared back, and the growl rose to a deafening crescendo.


    And an idea occurred to Rusty. If he''d had time, he would have run it by his familiar, but there WAS no time. So he just did it, and prayed to god that it would work.


    Despite the thing looming over him, despite the literal slippery slope he was laboring to keep ahold of, Rusty closed his eyes, and visualized the silver letters.


    ¡°Forget me!¡±


    Memory wipe adult tarqual!


    Committed chakra: 6/39


    Cost: 12 chakra.


    Remaining free chakra: 21/39


    Unlike the spells he''d cast before, he could feel these.


    The growling stopped.


    Rusty opened his eyes.


    The hydra... adult tarqual? Whatever it was, it was no longer focused on him. Its tendrils were sweeping up and around, up the slope. It shook itself, and started to crawl, slowly, laboriously.


    For a second Rusty thought it was fine.


    Then the thing paused, one front foot up in the air.


    And it swiveled to look at him, growling again.


    ¡°NO!¡± Rusty screamed, and the thing recoiled, tried to dance along sideways, slipped a bit...


    ...and Rusty saw his chance.


    He let go of the muddy slope, let gravity pull him down, and kicked the thing''s rear foot as hard as he could.


    The tarqual yelped, as its rear claws were knocked free...


    ...and down it slid.


    Rusty didn''t watch it go. He was fighting to get ahold of something, anything... and at the last moment, as he felt his legs go out over open air, he managed to grab ahold of the ledge.


    The tarqual didn''t.


    Down it went, until its fading bellow was stopped by a loud, and very abrupt CRUNCH.


    Rusty hung on, shivering, feeling tired, feeling his just-healed arm aching. But he was a skinny thing, and after a second, he managed to haul his lower body back up onto the slope.


    And there, clinging to the mud, exhausted and injured and safe, he cried.


    This was no grand adventure. This wasn''t dragons and dwarves and riddles and wonder.


    This was just him, in a muddy cave, trying not to die in a place where his mom wouldn''t know he was dead.


    Letters and symbols flashed silver across his eyes, but he ignored them. He knew he''d remember them later, perfectly.


    He''d remember ALL of this perfectly, no matter how he''d try to forget later. The spell he''d cast had done that.


    Rusty would remember everything.

 Its Time to Cook!

    The stairs were way worse going up, than they had been descending. Rusty didn''t have a torch any more, so he couldn''t see where he was going. He had to trust that his total recall would guide his steps. He took it slow, but it was still a heck of a lot of work. He was used to running around on flat Texan hardpan. Heck, even back home, he wasn''t allowed to go upstairs that often. That was where the girls'' rooms were, and Mom didn''t figure he or his brothers had any business up there.


    Rusty was tired down to his bones, and it was getting harder to think. But as he rose up the stairs, and his feet kept within the bounds of his memories, he realized that he could probably close his eyes and look at the words he''d missed back down on the edge of the pit.


    An Adult Tarqual has died within your chakral radius!


    Consuming chakra...


    You have increased your chakra by 3.


    Committed chakra: 6/42


    Remaining free chakra: 21/42


    ¡°Yeah,¡± his familiar whispered. ¡°Now I dig it.¡±


    Rusty stopped. ¡°Where did you go?¡±


    ¡°I never left,¡± his familiar said, peeking into the darkness of his closed eyes, its little silvery-gray head just visible to his side.


    ¡°So what do you dig?¡± Rusty asked. He liked the word. It meant ¡°understand.¡± Cyrus had learned it in Korea, and taught it to him. Dad didn''t like them using it for some reason, but Mom didn''t care, and she was more important because she was around way more often than Dad.


    ¡°Well, I didn''t know what chakra consumption meant, at first. The way the rune explained it, you could grow your chakra by getting it from creatures when they die. But I didn''t know if you had to eat them, or if it just happened. Now there''s this thing called a chakra radius involved. And I think... I think the more chakra we have, the bigger chakra radius we''ve got. I dunno how to test that, though.¡±


    Rusty remembered, and his mind instantly snapped back to the ledge. He shuddered, as he remembered all the emotions and feelings he''d had at that moment, but it confirmed that he hadn''t been looking down into the pit when the creature went ¡°crunch¡±.


    ¡°Nuts,¡± his familiar said. ¡°Well, if there''s more of those things around, I''m sure we''ll figure it out sooner or later. Or more Grach. Pretty sure we''ll run into those again, since they''re servants of that dark lord.¡±


    ¡°Terathon can teach us,¡± Rusty said, resuming his climb. His legs were getting heavier. He had to get up there soon, or he''d collapse where he was standing.


    ¡°Yeah, but we have to get to him first,¡± his familiar said. ¡°That might be tricky.¡±


    ¡°We just have to head south until we come to Lasthold,¡± Rusty said, slowing down. A fresh breeze had just ruffled his hair. He was getting close to the top. ¡°Shush a second,¡± he said. ¡°Let me listen. I don''t know if that dark wizard is still out there, waiting for us. Or maybe Terathon won?¡±


    His familiar just looked at him, and shook his head. Rusty knew in his heart that it was a dumb question. If Terathon had won, surely he would have come down and found them. No, he''d either lost or been forced to flee. Or been captured. Like when Saruman had grabbed Gandalf and put him up in a high tower.


    I''m getting distracted, he thought, and listened. The only thing he heard was the distant swamp, and that was pretty muffled.


    ¡°You could try assessing again,¡± his familiar said. ¡°But I think your chakra radius ties into that somehow, so I dunno how far you''ll be able to see. And whoa, hold on, the rune knowledge is telling me that when you do that, you get brighter. It makes US easier to see with assessment. So never mind, probably a bad idea.¡±


    Rusty nodded. ¡°What''s your name?¡±


    ¡°I''m your familiar. I''m part of you. I don''t really have a name.¡±


    ¡°I think you should have a name,¡± Rusty decided, listening to the distant song of insects, and the rattling of leaves in the trees.


    ¡°Why? I''m you.¡±


    ¡°I just think you do. It would make me feel like I''m not talking to myself.¡±


    ¡°Well you kinda are.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but talking to yourself is pretty crazy. I don''t want people thinking I flipped my lid.¡±


    ¡°If you just think to me instead of talking to me, people won''t see you talking.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but I want to talk to you. Because that makes me feel less like I''m... alone.¡±


    His familiar patted his hand. And there was maybe something like a ghost of a touch on his fingers, when it did that. ¡°Okay, Rusty. I dig it. So lay some names on me.¡±


    ¡°Flash.¡±


    ¡°Buck Rogers is cooler. He was first. Flash just copied him.¡±


    ¡°He did it better!¡±


    ¡°Maybe some things, but Ming was a really stupid villain.¡±


    ¡°He had hawk men!¡±


    ¡°Buck had a robot!¡±


    ¡°It was a stupid robot.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but even a stupid robot''s better than hawk men.¡±


    Rusty grimaced. He remembered he hadn''t liked how the hawk men had been drawn. There was something about them that creeped him out. ¡°Thanks for reminding me.¡±


    ¡°You''re welcome.¡± His familiar grinned, toothlessly.


    ¡°Okay, no Flash OR Buck. That jerk in fourth grade was Buck.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah, that asshole!¡± his familiar stopped smiling. ¡°He threw our binder off the bridge! Papers went everywhere. You should have pushed him off, after it.¡±


    ¡°What? No! Mom would have tanned our hide if we killed someone!¡± Rusty realized he was shouting, and slapped his hand over his mouth. But the seconds went by, and nothing broke the swamp noises coming from above. ¡°Okay. I think we''re clear to move up. We''ll think of a name for you later.¡±


    ¡°I kind of like Conan.¡±


    Rusty flashed to the runny picture of the mostly-naked guy that had been on the book. That guy had thews. His familiar? Not so much. ¡°Yeah, you''re no Conan.¡±


    ¡°Neither are you, mister thin,¡± his familiar hurried to keep up, as Rusty strode up the stairs. ¡°Need to spend a lot more time doing push ups if you wanna plunder the jeweled thrones of the earth.¡±


    ¡°At this point I''d settle for plundering some more oatmeal,¡± Rusty muttered, emerging from the stairwell, and peering around into the starlit darkness.


    There were no signs of a struggle. Maybe Terathon had lured the dark wizard off for a wizard battle? This was a good sign.


    ¡°Hey! We just got lucky!¡± his familiar said.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Look at the pot!¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Indeed, the small metal pot that Terathon had used for the meal was off to one side, sat there to dry and then presumably forgotten.


    Rusty hurried up the steps and picked it up, hoping that maybe some small bit of porridge was still in there. But no, the wizard had been thorough.


    It felt a little funny under his fingers. He traced the rim in the dim starlight, and found a rough patch along the side. The metal had been crosshatched by engraved lines. ¡°Is this to strike a match?¡± he wondered.


    His familiar shrugged. ¡°I don''t think Terathon needed matches to light a cookfire. I don''t know if they have matches here. But I guess Terathon probably didn''t make this pot, so maybe those elves he mentioned did it. Any way, it''s one more tool than we had a minute ago.¡±


    Rusty weighed it in his hands. Well, he was going to go and try to find Terathon later, so he didn''t guess the wizard would mind him using it until he brought it back to him.


    How can I use it without matches, though? I guess I could try to rub sticks together.


    And instantly his mind filled with every diagram or advice from the battered ¡°DESERT ISLAND SURVIVAL GUIDE!¡± that sat on the battered bookshelf at home. Then a few pages on the topic of fire building from the ¡°PLANE CRASH SURVIVOR!¡± journal he''d found and read in the barn a few years ago. No idea why they''d had that one. It had been a long, long time since any Colfax who wasn''t in the service could afford to be on a plane.


    ¡°Flint is easier,¡± Rusty said, slowly. ¡°There''s plenty of vines and bark and sticks out in the swamp to make a wood friction bow, but all that wood is going to be damp. So we might could find some flint or chert or rock that works like that if we look around this rocky spot.¡±


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    ¡°I think we need light for that,¡± his familiar said, squatting down next to him. ¡°You woke up at night here. We can''t use total recall to remember the place in the dark. And do you really want to wait until morning, here?¡±


    Rusty shrugged. ¡°I think a better question is do we really want to try to wander around in the swamp in the middle of the night? Especially once we get under those trees, that are going to block the starlight?¡±


    ¡°Oof. Yeah, I didn''t even twig on that thought,¡± his familiar sighed, and put its legs criss-cross applesauce. ¡°It''s kind of frustrating only having part of a brain. It''s like hey, could I at least have been the part that didn''t feel screaming fear when giant snake monsters try to eat us? Would that have been too much to ask?¡±


    ¡°You''re doing fine.¡± Rusty reached out and tried to pat its head. His hand went right through the little guy without touching anything, but his familiar giggled and made a show of squirming away like it tickled.


    Rusty laughed. He couldn''t help himself. Then he clapped his hand to his mouth, and looked around the dark ruin. Nothing moved. No sign that anything had heard him.


    ¡°That was a pretty big snake thing down there. I''m pretty sure there aren''t any other predators around here, ''cause it would have chased them away.¡± Rusty said, more to reassure himself than anything else.


    ¡°So you''re thinking we stay here tonight?¡± His familiar sighed. ¡°At least it''s kind of warm up here. Better than down below.¡±


    ¡°I don''t want to have to climb all those stairs again,¡± Rusty said. ¡°Let''s find some place to hide. Maybe we can get some sleep while we''re at it.¡±


    Rusty was tired, but sleep evaded him. He did find a corner of the ruin where a wall had been hollowed out by rain and creeping vines, and wedged himself into a two-foot wide hole that led far back enough, that he was out of sight from the outside. The only thing he could see was the faint light from the opening, and when he closed his eyes, his familiar sitting next to him.


    Hours passed, and he killed time talking things over with the little guy. And by the time morning came, they had a name for his familiar.


    ¡°Roz,¡± the little alien said, tilting his head. ¡°Roz Well. Yeah, I like it!¡±


    ¡°Cool,¡± Rusty moved past Roz, and poked his head out of the hole in the wall. ¡°Let''s find some flint.¡±


    The good news was that when he was seven, Rusty had gotten seriously bored and read a book called ¡°GEOLOGY AND THEE!¡± So he knew roughly what he was looking for.


    The bad news was that a lot of the rocks Rusty and Roz found around the ruins didn''t match anything like what he''d seen in that book. They were on a completely different world. Of course the rocks were different!


    But after about half an hour of gathering and testing samples, Rusty found something that was blackish with orange bands, that made sparks when he dragged it on the striking plate of the pot. Not huge sparks, but enough that he figured he could maybe start a fire. So he put the biggest shards of it he could find in the pot, and stood up.


    Then the next problem occurred to him. ¡°So... which way''s south?¡±


    Roz shrugged. ¡°Well, the sun rises in the east... no. Wait. That''s back home.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, we have no clue how it works here. But... Terathon was using a spell to talk to us, I remember. And he said south. The spell would have translated it. So that gives us something to work with.¡± Rusty frowned. ¡°Do you think the spell he used to transport us here would have shifted which way we were facing? He was west of us when he took us to this world.¡±


    ¡°Yeah...¡± Roz frowned. Then opened his eyes wide. ¡°Oh! Yeah, you can remember where the sun was when you popped in, here! And it had to be close to nightfall, because we didn''t sleep for THAT long, otherwise we would have pooped!¡±


    ¡°Roz! Ew.¡±


    ¡°Well we would have. No way you would have held it for a whole day.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but talking about it makes me remember pooping. Every detail. Gross.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, Russ.¡±


    ¡°It''s okay. Uh... you don''t poop, do you?¡±


    Roz turned his head completely around, and stared at his butt. Rusty couldn''t make out what he was looking at. Come to think of it, every time the familiar had shown up, it was facing him.


    ¡°No butt hole!¡± Roz announced, cheerfully. ¡°Aw man, this probably means I can''t eat anything. Nuts.¡±


    ¡°You probably taste what I taste,¡± Rusty told him, settling the pot under one arm. ¡°Okay. Sun was... there when we arrived, and it''s just morning now, so south is probably... that way!¡± he pointed out of the ruin, down to where the hill melded into the swamp.


    It was pretty good reasoning, so they set out and hoped for the best.


    The good news was that the swamp wasn''t as watery here, nothing like when he''d originally arrived in Elythia. Once they descended from the high hill that the ruins sat upon, they were picking their way across streams and tiny ponds that separated hundreds of low hillocks that bristled with vegetation and wildlife.


    With a little care, Rusty was able to keep his feet more or less dry. This was important, he remembered. Cyrus had told him over and over again that wet feet would kill you when you were out in the wilderness, and had a long way to hike. He had told Rusty about Fletcher, a man who hadn''t changed his socks for weeks, after going on long patrol around a place called Pyongyang. When Fletcher had finally taken his socks off, chunks of his feet had fallen away.


    Rusty wasn''t sure if Cyrus was telling the truth on that one, or he was exaggerating it a little bit. He did that sometimes, Rusty was pretty sure. But hey, on the upside, Rusty didn''t have socks to worry about.


    It did make the day pretty chilly, though. It wasn''t bad, but it wasn''t Texas, and he was used to Texas. Rusty found himself shivering and with goosebumps after an hour of walking. And as he went, his belly got louder about being empty. The thirst was getting to him, too. The air was moist, which had helped him get through the night, but now that he was moving his body needed water.


    So once he was out of sight of the ruins, Rusty headed for a hillock that had a few towering trees growing from it, and started looking for deadwood.


    There wasn''t much. And what was fallen, was infested with little bright green bugs. The first time Rusty picked one up it snapped and mush and bugs hit the ground.


    Rusty decided it wouldn''t make for a good fire.


    ¡°Well, what else can we use for fire?¡± Roz asked.


    ¡°Um..¡± he thought back to the PLANE CRASH SURVIVOR book. ¡°In Mongolia they use dried horse poop.¡±


    ¡°I mean, you could go back to where you took a dump to see if it dried by now, but something tells me you''re out of luck, there,¡± Roz mused.


    ¡°Yeah. No horses here that I''ve seen.¡± Rusty thought and looked around. All the grass up here was pretty wet. The trees were probably his best bet. ¡°I can maybe try to use the lip of the pot to scrape some of the bark off. The inside''s got to be drier than the outside, right?¡±


    ¡°Only one way to find out.¡±


    The pot rim didn''t find a grip on the bark until Rusty got annoyed and whacked the pot against the tree, and cracked it a little. The noise echoed through the swamp, and the nearby tall grass rustled as lizards, bugs, and one thing that looked like a many-legged rat on stilts ran for cover. Rusty watched it go, debated throwing the pot at it to try and get some meat, but decided against it. He had no way to cook and clean it.


    Besides, the fire was a priority. He couldn''t drink until he''d boiled water. That was paramount when you were drinking in the wild, every book agreed on that.


    The inside of the tree was a little drier. And there were no green bugs in there, just the occasional long worm that tried to slither away from him. He caught one, held it up to the light. They were translucent purple, and he could see their guts working, see their organs through their flesh. He thought about cooking and eating one, but even though it was empty, his stomach rolled, queasy. ¡°I''ll save that idea for later, if it gets bad,¡± he told Roz.


    ¡°I mean... meat is meat, at a certain point, you know?¡± Roz pointed out. ¡°It''s probably safer than trying to eat local veggies.¡±


    ¡°What makes you say that?¡±


    ¡°The fact that it didn''t poison you when you picked it up.¡±


    Rusty dropped the worm, and it instantly started double-timing it back to the tree. And after wiping his hand thoroughly on the dirt, Rusty went and built a small pile of bark, put the pot on it, took the sparking rocks out, and scraped them until he eventually managed to get a small fire going.


    ¡°Don''t you need water?¡± Roz reminded him.


    ¡°Oh. Uh. Yeah, that would be smart.¡± He picked up the pot, went and scooped the nearest stream, then concentrated on building the fire up.


    He barely had enough bark to get coals, but once he did, the water boiled easily enough. ¡°No cups. I''ll have to drink from my hands,¡± he said, reaching out to the pot.


    ¡°Hey!¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Are you about to stick your hands in boiling water?¡± Roz asked. ¡°Because there''s easier ways to die, you know.¡±


    ¡°It wouldn''t kill me,¡± Rusty argued, then frowned. He HAD been about to stick his hands in boiling water. What the hell was wrong with him?


    ¡°I think the Rune might have put a strain on your body when it healed you,¡± Roz said. ¡°That''s what it seems to say. You''re probably going to need some time to recover. Gonna be slower and dumber until you do.¡±


    Rusty tore out a couple of handfuls of damp grass, and shifted the pot off the fire to cool. ¡°So you can talk to the rune?¡±


    ¡°Not... quite. You remember the instruction sheet for grandpa''s wireless set?¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah, the crystal radio!¡± Rusty''s face brightened. That old, battered kit had been fun to play with, until one of his brothers had found it and wrecked it out of spite. He never DID find out who''d done that little bit of stupidity.


    ¡°Yeah, it''s sort of like the instruction sheet for the wireless. Only it''s in a completely different language, so it made me to help translate it. And it''s not like reading, I just have to kind of think hard at it in a special way and I realize that I already know certain things. Does that make sense?¡±


    ¡°No, not really,¡± Rusty hovered his hand over the pot, as the bubbles slowed. Still too hot. ¡°I guess we can ask Terathon about this when we get back to him.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, he''d probably know,¡± Roz said, sitting down next to the smoldering coals. ¡°I wonder what kind of familiar he''s got? Wow, I wonder if you get another one every time you get another rune?¡±


    ¡°The instruction book doesn''t say?¡±


    ¡°Not really. I kind of either know stuff or I don''t.¡±


    Rusty smiled. ¡°I''m glad you''re here. You''re a big help, Roz. You''re pretty swell.¡±


    ¡°Thanks!¡± Roz tried a smile. It made his noseless, toothless face go funny, and Rusty laughed to see it. And for a few minutes, it wasn''t so bad on this strange, new world. The grass blew through the trees and vines, and sent the smoke from the fire skirling up and around and through the canopy. The sun shown down, the fire warmed him, and the water, after it had cooled, was the best he''d ever tasted.


    And all of that calming relaxation vanished in a heartbeat, as Grach voices echoed through the swamp. Instantly, Rusty peered east, and saw the distant rustle of grass on the next hillock over. He felt the fear rise in his gut, and remembered with the arrow that had skewered his arm, and nearly killed him. And without thinking, without hesitating, he hit the dirt and started crawling through the tall grass, worming along on his elbows and knees, and praying that they wouldn''t see him go.


    ¡°It must have been the smoke!¡± Roz shouted, running alongside him. ¡°Shoot, I didn''t even think of that!¡±


    ¡°Can we make them forget?¡± Rusty blurted out.


    ¡°Um... maybe,¡± Roz said. ¡°You got back a few chakra overnight, and when you drank water, but making one animal forget you cost a lot. This is probably at least a few of them. I don''t know...¡±


    Rusty swallowed hard and kept moving.


    The voices drew closer behind him, and yeah, there were at least a few. Three or five or so, chattering and clicking low, and one of them rumbling whenever they stopped moving. They seemed to be moving cautiously, taking their time.


    On the upside, the hillock curved as Rusty went, descending to a small forest of reeds that grew out of the mud below a lazy stream. There was another hillock beyond, he saw. The grass was thick, maybe if he crossed over and made his way around the lower part, then snuck upward¡ª


    Rusty didn''t get the chance to try it.


    A sudden rustling right in front of him, and he stifled a shriek, and looked down to see a two legged lizard the size of a boa constrictor rear up, and stare at him from about three inches away.


    Oh no that''s a nest, Rusty realized, as he took in the bed of plant matter it was rising out of. And those are eggs... oh no.


    The thing stared at him with two eyes wiggling on the end of stalks. Its beak clicked and clacked.


    The wind stopped. There was no sound, save for the thing''s mutterings. And Rusty watched in horror, as the thing''s tail reared up, and up, scorpion like. There wasn''t a stinger on the end of it, but it didn''t look friendly.


    Spell! I can use a spell on this! Rusty realized. He screwed his eyes shut, and started to visualize the letters again...


    ¡°RAAAAA TCHK TCHK TCHK TCHK TCHK!¡±


    The thing had lungs all out of proportion to its body.


    BLAP! BLAP! BLAP! That wasn''t its lungs. That was the sound of solid hitting liquid. Repeatedly. Loudly.


    Rusty startled back and screamed, as he opened his eyes to see the thing flailing its tail rhythmically into the mud, sending geysers of it a dozen feet into the air, as it screamed its warning.


    ¡°That''s done it!¡± Roz shrieked. ¡°Run, Rusty, run!¡±


    Rusty ran.

 Shelter Among the Dead

    Rusty would never know just how close he came to death.


    There were a dozen Grach in the patrol he was fleeing from, and when the Whooper started its bellowing, flapping display, he was well within range of their bows. And while they couldn''t get a clear bead of visibility on him, they saw the rustling of the reeds well enough that they could have easily shot him as he scrambled up the adjacent hillock. And at this distance, their arrows would have had enough punch to maim or kill him with one good hit.


    But the fact was that the Grach were spooked.


    They thought they had found the campsite of an elf.


    The pot was very much their work. They were also the only ones out here that bothered building fires, in the middle of the warmest part of the year.


    And the Grach knew elves. They had come to fear elves.


    So when the Whooper started up, they dove for cover, each one expecting arrows from above, knowing in their single-chambered hearts that the campfire had been a lure, and they''d been fools for coming this close to investigate it.


    Only when it was clear that there would be no arrows, and the Whooper''s noise died down enough for them to hear Rusty''s blundering, panicked flight through the reeds and weeds and muck, did they realize what was out here.


    And one by one, they rose, stowed their bows and blades, looked grimly to each other, and set off in pursuit.


    *****


    Much later, after Rusty would have a chance to sit down and remember everything in excruciating detail, he would find himself thinking that that particular part of the swamp was beautiful. Grassy hillocks loomed out of the water like bubbles of air in flatbread, full of flowers of all hues. Tall, thick trees draped with splatterings of moss had colonies of tiny, birdlike insects that flittered out as he passed, and swirled in wide clouds before retreating back to their high hives that hung like giant pinecones dozens of feet above the ground. The water was clear and pure, and flowed into increasingly wide streams as he went, carving deeper and deeper between the hills until the light around him was restricted to what little filtered through the canopy directly above; the high walls to either side provided shelter and shade, to the burbling streams that he followed, trying to stay to as southern a route as possible.


    And if he''d been fresh, he would have made it.


    But Rusty was running on a few handfuls of porridge, less than a canteen full of water, way too little sleep, and a heck of a lot of stress. He kept slipping and falling on the slick mud that was an inch or two beneath the streambed, and hearing the sounds of pursuit behind him.


    They didn''t seem to be as fast as he was, but he knew he couldn''t manage this pace forever. And gasping, and spitting out muck from a particularly nasty fall, he knew that if he kept it up, he''d break a bone or pull a muscle, and then that''d be it for him.


    If this kept up, they would catch him.


    ¡°We have to hide,¡± he whispered to Roz.


    ¡°Uh, okay. We might need magic to get out of this one.¡±


    ¡°We''ve got memory, what can memory do here?¡± Rusty whispered, as he loped down the stream. ¡°You said we might have trouble wiping a person''s mind, and there''s a whole bunch of them back there!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I dunno. You made that other thing forget ALL about us. Maybe you don''t have to go as far?¡±


    ¡°I''ll have to stop to put something together. We need to find a good spot if that''s how I need to go,¡± Rusty whispered.


    ¡°Okay, Rusty. You''ve got until we find a good spot to figure out the plan. Um... no pressure.¡±


    ¡°You''re a bad liar!¡± Rusty shot back, and focused on the way ahead. There were occasional furrows where the stream cut multiple passages in the cliffs, maybe he could duck down one and divert the Grach to¡ª


    Rusty lost his train of thought, as he looked down a cross-cut rivulet.


    There was a canteen hanging from a fallen log.


    Not a thing like the pot, this was a green-cloth covered, obviously aluminum canteen with the words US ARMY emblazoned on it in black paint.


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    Rust skidded to a stop, sending little fish tadpole things hopping out of the water and to cover, and changed course to run down the new passage, snagging the canteen as he went.


    Someone from my world is here! He thought, feeling hope surge up inside of him. Maybe they could help! Maybe they had a gun or something! Maybe...


    Rusty shrieked, as his feet slid out from under him, and he half slid, half fell down a drop.


    Fortunately the mud at the bottom was soft, and he lay there, stunned and spluttering, in a shallow pool. He got his head above water, gasped...


    ...and looked over across the pool, to see the corpse.


    They were young, about his age. It was hard to tell specifics. Something had been eating it, and a bloody skull gazed at him with eyeless sockets. It was curled into a fetal position, hugging its belly. Its clothing was muddy and torn, but he recognized blue jeans, a puffy vest with white lining trailing at the edge of the water, and a button up shirt.


    But as familiar as all that was, as horrific as the body''s injuries were, all that paled to the strangeness of the glowing mass of twisting material that extruded from its shoulder. It glowed a dark gray, and formed a symbol that he knew was a rune.


    What kind of rune, he couldn''t say.


    ¡°Rusty?¡± Roz asked. ¡°I don''t think we have time to get out of this little hollow. So it''s time for that plan, now.¡±


    Rusty''s breath sighed out of him.


    He pushed himself up, slowly. He ached from the fall, but there was no time. Nothing seemed broken, so that was good. Wow, I''m glad that rune healed me up. It would have been bad to land with that shot arm the way it was before.


    Rusty looked around. He was in a little rock-walled hollow, about ten below the ground above him. The water from above spilled into a small waterfall, that had formed a shallow pool here, that streamed out through small holes in the rock wall across the way. Too small to pass through, he thought. He could maybe squeeze, given time and enough mud, but the Grach sounded only minutes away, at best. Not enough time. Though there was plenty of mud, his fall had churned up a ton of it from the bottom of the pool.


    And that gave him an idea. A gruesome one, maybe, but it might work.


    Rusty slogged over to the corpse, whispered ¡°sorry,¡± and dragged it into the center of the pond. He arranged it face down, floating in the water, waited until it sounded like the Grach were practically on top of him, then took a deep breath and dove.


    It wasn''t a deep pond.


    And it was easy enough for him to grope around behind him, feel the limp and drifting limbs of the corpse, and pull himself under it.


    The rune in the body''s shoulder bumped him as he went, scraping against his skin, feeling hot and cold at the same time. Rusty clenched his teeth, tried to ignore the sensation. It tingled, and it got worse the longer he sat there, but he didn''t dare move.


    Voices above, muted by the water.


    Something splashed near him. He shut his eyes.


    The corpse jerked over him, floated a bit away. Rusty followed it as best he could, slowly, slowly, hoping the mud shielded him from enemy sight.


    More voices. Rusty''s lungs burned. He pressed his lips together, tightly, held his nose shut with two fingers.


    The voices stopped. Rusty waited.


    Spots swam behind his eyes, and his throat burned, his lungs felt like they were swelling in his chest. He NEEDED to breathe.


    Rusty waited.


    Finally, when he could wait no longer, he broke the water, and gasped. He tried to be quiet.


    It was easier now that he wasn''t touching the rune. Easier to get control of himself, as he panted and sucked air into his lungs, and dared a look upward. Nothing above. Once he''d stopped panting he strained, and heard sounds in the distance. Grach moving away?


    He looked over to the corpse, half-expecting to see an arrow sticking out of it. But no, there was nothing. They might have thrown a rock at it, he thought. Just testing to see if they were faking.


    Rusty stayed in the chill water for as long as he could, well after the voices were gone and the sun had moved a bit in the sky. Then he stood up, walking through the shallow water and dragging the corpse to the small, gravelly sliver of shore where he''d found it.


    There he considered it for a long moment.


    ¡°I wonder who this guy was?¡± Roz asked. ¡°Maybe there''s other ways to get to this world.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Rusty agreed. ¡°Maybe we can get back...¡± The idea was tempting. But that would mean leaving Terathon behind, and all those elves he''d talked about. They needed their chosen one.


    But still, naked and muddy and battered and hungry as he was, the idea of home sounded mighty fine at the moment.


    ¡°Rusty?¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Do you think you... I mean, could you search him? He''s dead, he doesn''t need his stuff any more. Especially that rune.¡±


    Rusty swallowed. Now that he was out of the water, and this close to the corpse, it smelled pretty bad. If he''d had anything left in his stomach, it might have tried to escape, but for once his hunger saved him some indignity. ¡°I can try,¡± he whispered, his voice breaking a little. ¡°Um. Did the rune come out of him because he died? If I die, is mine going to... sprout? Like his did?¡±


    ¡°I think so,¡± Roz said. ¡°The instructions get a bit fuzzy, here. I get the feeling it''s something you''re either expected to know already, or something they figured you wouldn''t need an explanation for because you''d be dead.¡±


    ¡°Is it... safe to absorb it? Terathon had two runes,¡± Rusty looked at the symbol. It looked like one of those visual puzzles, what did they call them? Optical illusions, his now-perfect memory supplied. Every time he looked at it, it seemed to shift between two or three different shapes. He could vaguely keep up with it, and he expected that was only due to the spells he''d cast on himself.


    ¡°I don''t know if it''s safe to absorb it,¡± Roz said. ¡°I get the feeling that runes are kind of not safe just by the whole ''you have to jab them into you to trigger them,'' bit. But it''s more magic, and more is good, right?¡±


    ¡°You''re not wrong,¡± Rusty said, and before he could lose his nerve, he reached out, snapped off a long line from the pattern, and sunk it into his own right shoulder.

 New Developments

    Cyrus had never enjoyed July in Texas. He enjoyed it a lot less now, when his skin was all fucked up from the grafts, and he spent most of his days sitting in chairs. He invariably ended up in a puddle of his own sweat. Baths were only a temporary reprieve at best, and usually required assistance from one of his siblings.


    That was hit or miss. Though there hadn''t been much discussion on it, Mom and Dad had pretty much appointed Bill to take Rusty''s place. Bill was a good kid, but he didn''t like work much, wasn''t as dutiful as Rusty had been. And lately he''d been making a habit of being somewhere else at the usual times that Cy needed an extra pair of hands.


    It also hurt a little, to see how easily the family had folded in after Rusty''s disappearance. His Mom was still quieter than usual, but if there was any sign of grief, she didn''t show it. His Dad had made a show of listening to him and to be fair he HAD driven Cyrus to Dallas, but now he was right back on old habits, drinking away their money and sitting around complaining about immigrants instead of actually doing anything to help the family.


    The boys, to their credit, had mourned. The other six had run and left Rusty alone with the stranger. There was a good dose of shame from that, and Trent had told Cyrus that they were holding onto Rusty''s stuff until he came back. Nobody was taking anything from his box, even though they knew he had a Charlie Gorin card, and that would finish out Ray Ray''s collection for the Longhorns.


    Cyrus was pretty impressed about that. They were taking this seriously. And they still had hope.


    But it was the girls that surprised him the most.


    On the fourth of July, when the rest of the family had crammed themselves into the battered old Chevy 3100 and headed out to Carson''s field to get a good view on the township''s fireworks celebration, (and a free dinner from the church potluck,) Cyrus had his arms buried deep in the guts of the house wiring, swapping out the fuses in the box, and flicking switches on and off to make sure that the latest tests wouldn''t blow the breakers too early. His tests required a hell of a lot of power, and constant maintenance to ensure that the draw wouldn''t cause any accidents. And this was one of the rare occasions that the house was empty, and he wouldn''t trouble anyone by doing his calibrations.


    So when he heard feet creak on the floorboards above, Cyrus reached over, put out the kerosene lantern, and pulled his demo knife out of his shirt pocket, flicking out the blade. He waited there in the darkness of the cellar, stilling his breathing and straining to listen.


    Footsteps creaked as someone padded across the kitchen, and he heard them pause at the open cellar door. Then they descended, slowly.


    But they were light, too light, even for someone trying to be sneaky. They were... a child''s?


    ¡°Rusty?¡± Cyrus called out.


    They stopped moving. ¡°No,¡± came the reply, and Cyrus relaxed, slide the blade back into the knife.


    ¡°Beth,¡± he said. ¡°Why aren''t you with the others?¡±


    ¡°We decided we had to talk with you. And they figured I was best ''cause I could miss a meal if I had to.¡±


    ¡°Talk about what?¡±


    Beth was silent for a bit, then he heard her kicking the side of the wall. ¡°Can you turn on the lights?¡± she asked. ¡°I don''t want to walk any further down into this dark.¡±


    Cyrus chuckled. ¡°Yeah, all right. Go on back up, I''ll join you when I''m done. Won''t be but a minute.¡±


    ¡°Can... can you get back up okay? I know your legs are, uh...¡±


    ¡°I was planning on coming back up alone, anyway. Figured you''d all be out a while. I''ll be fine, I''ll manage,¡± Cyrus told her. ¡°Go on now, git.¡±


    Truth be told, he wouldn''t have minded her help getting back up the stairs. His knees had never healed right, and he''d put on quite a few pounds since he''d gotten back stateside. But he knew that the stairs were rickety enough that he didn''t want to risk Beth getting hurt if they broke.


    Ten minutes later, she was sitting with him in his room, looking curiously over his workbench, and picking the tools up one by one. She was short and stout, was Beth. It had been unkind for the others to tell her she could afford to miss a meal, she was nowhere near what any sane man would call fat,. But to be fair, for a Colfax, who was always competing for food with a baker''s dozen of other children, she was large for her fifteen years of age. She had a mop of curly black hair, taking after Mom''s side of the family with that, and two bright green eyes that moved fast, taking in everything like it was about to disappear on her the second she looked away.


    That thought hurt; it brought his mind back to Rusty.


    ¡°Okay,¡± he said. ¡°We''re here. They said we had to talk. Who''s they?¡±


    ¡°Us,¡± Beth said, picking up a screwdriver, and twirling it on two fingers. ¡°Sue and Meredith and June and me. We need to know if¡ª¡± She stopped. ¡°Um,¡± she added.


    ¡°You need to know if...¡±


    ¡°It''ll sound really impolite if I say it.¡±


    ¡°Say it anyway. I don''t worry much about polite these days.¡±


    ¡°We need to know if it was really a wizard that took Rusty, or if you''re crazy!¡± Beth blurted out.


    Cyrus laughed. ¡°Okay, that''s fair.¡±


    That seemed to catch Beth by surprise. ¡°You''re not mad?¡± she squeaked. ¡°I mean, not crazy mad, but angry mad, and I thought you''d be angry mad that we thought you might be crazy...¡±


    ¡°No, it''s fine,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°I did have a screw loose, once. Back when I was lying in a hospital bed in Okinawa, trying to deal with the pain. They had to strap me down, so I didn''t rip myself to bits to stop it.¡±


    ¡°Susan said it was pretty bad,¡± Beth said, biting her lip. ¡°She wouldn''t tell us what happened, just that it was a miracle you lived through it.¡±


    ¡°It was pretty bad,¡± Cyrus said, staring out the window, and seeing a memory from five years back, and thousands of miles away. An ambush, a falling tree... waking in the still hours of the night, and realizing that his legs were under the tree, and he couldn''t feel them. And then the crump, crump, crump of artillery, and the white light that lit up the night, and that terrible heat on the wind...


    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Cyrus closed his eyes. There would be enough reminders of that night later, when the fireworks got going. That was why he was here, and not with the rest of the family. Cyrus forced his mind back to mundane matters. Girls. What were the girls up to? He knew a little about recent events, a little he heard when people talked as they passed by the door to his room. ¡°Susan. Susan''s beau is going to propose soon, right? What''s his name? Mickey, like the Mouse?¡±


    Beth giggled. ¡°Oh, he''s sweet on her. As soon as he gets the money together they''re gonna get hitched. Yes, it''s Mickey. Like Mickey Rooney. Maybe not in the looks, but he''s got a pretty good voice. He sings in Hostetler Baptist, you know.¡±


    ¡°I didn''t know,¡± he said. ¡°Baptist, huh? All right, he''ll have a job soon enough if he doesn''t already. That church practically runs this place, and they''ll be happy to have a young married couple to parade around.¡±


    ¡°I guess,¡± Beth blinked. ¡°Susan''s worried his mom doesn''t like her much. I don''t know one way or the other on account of we don''t attend there.¡±


    ¡°If they''re Baptists then his Mom''s preferences won''t matter as much,¡± Cyrus shrugged. ¡°That''s how I see it. If the rest of the church is fine with it she''ll come around.¡± The talk settled him some, and he felt comfortable getting back to the touchy subject. ¡°No, I''m not mad you thought I was crazy. I was once, and I worry I might end up that way again. So I''m very, very careful about keeping tabs on myself.¡±


    ¡°And you think it was a wizard?¡± Beth squinted at him. ¡°Like Gandalf?¡±


    ¡°You know about Gandalf?¡± Cyrus was surprised.


    Beth slid down a bit in her chair. ¡°Meredith and me, our bedroom is above yours. I overheard you and Rusty reading that book through the register. And uh,¡± she found her nerve again, and shed the embarrassment. ¡°I believe that a stranger took Rusty. The other boys, they ran from him. But why did you call that man a wizard?¡±


    ¡°Well. He was wearing a robe, and he was holding a staff. But that wasn''t why. Look here,¡± Cyrus said, waving to his prototype.


    It was big and boxy, and sitting on a rolling cart. He''d repurposed the box that a movie projector had come in, snagged it when the Monarch cinema in town had gone out of business, and now that box was the casing for a lot of vaccum tubes and wires. More wires trailed from it, some going to a splice in the wall, and a few others leading to buttons and switches draped around the workbench. A pair of telescopes poked out of the far end of the casing, pointing toward the window. It was messy, but that was fine. It worked... sort of, and to Cyrus it was both hope and the culmination of three years of obsessive work.


    Beth watched with no small amount of trepidation, as Cyrus rose, picked his way around the wires, and unshuttered the viewing port he''d put into the back of it. ¡°Come on,¡± he told her. ¡°Put your eyes up here, I''ll get it fired up and adjusted.¡±


    She picked her way behind it like it was going to explode at any second, and hesitated, watching him flick the switches one by one, push buttons, and turn dials. The lights flickered, and an ozone scent filled the air. Cyrus kept his lips pressed tight as he watched the ends of her curls lift up slightly, as if pulled by dozens of little threads. But he kept his mouth shut. That''d be a fun prank when she noticed it later.


    ¡°Okay,¡± he said, opening the window blinds, keeping them just above where the setting sun glared its baleful eye. ¡°You should be sighted on roughly where Rusty was, when he disappeared. That''s how I had it that day, I was working and keeping an eye on them, because Mom asked me to.¡±


    ¡°Oh wow!¡± Beth said, when she finally screwed up the courage to press her face against the viewer. ¡°Okay, that''s what those telescopes are for. And this rainbow thing is pretty. It makes it hard to see, though.¡±


    ¡°The thing that looks like an oil slick? Yeah, that''s a side effect,¡± Rusty said, turning a knob on the side of the case. ¡°How about now?¡±


    ¡°It''s still there, but yeah, I can see the creek.¡±


    Cyrus glanced over, fiddled with his glasses, and waited. A moment later, he had what he wanted. ¡°Okay, you see that crow coming down for a drink?¡±


    ¡°I do!¡±


    ¡°Great! Push the button on the left side of the viewer.¡±


    It took her a second to find it, but she managed just before the Crow finished getting its drink and fled.


    ¡°Did that do anything? I heard it click, and the left telescope flickered.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I''ve got an old camera rigged up to it. You took a picture of what you were looking at.¡±


    ¡°Oh! Oh, okay. This''ll take a while to develop, won''t it?¡±


    ¡°About half an hour. We don''t have a proper dark room, so I have to wait until nightfall to start, that''s the only problem with it. But here''s the thing.¡± He started the long process of powering down the prototype safely. ¡°While they were at the river, I wasn''t watching them the whole time. I was working out equations at the desk. I didn''t know anything was going on until they screamed.


    ¡°And when I got to the prototype and looked through it, I took pictures.¡± Cyrus reached into his desk drawer, and pulled out the prints he''d painstakingly developed from the 35mm film roll he''d shot that day.


    Beth looked to the pile of film, then back to him. ¡°You just sat there and watched while he took Rusty?¡±


    Cyrus grimaced. He''d beaten himself up over that, too, so he didn''t grudge her getting in a lick or two. ¡°At first I didn''t know what was going on. And Rusty seemed excited... almost happy. So I watched. And I figured that if anything went wrong...¡± Cyrus pointed to the rifle leaning against the window.


    ¡°Oh! Oh. So... what went wrong?¡± Beth squinted at him.


    ¡°Here''s a shot I took. Mind you, the quality''s bad. It''s in the middle of the day.¡± Cyrus slid over a print. It showed a great, dark backlit form, and a little in front of him, a black outline of a slightly different hue, and outline that you could squint at, and maybe recognize as a child.


    ¡°There''s no oil slick colors here,¡± Beth said, looking it over.


    ¡°Yeah. I can''t afford a color camera. Have to use black and white.¡± Cyrus shrugged. But here''s the thing. You see that branch in the creek?¡± He tapped a white stick, caught as it bobbed merrily downstream.


    ¡°Yeah...¡± Beth looked from it to him. ¡°So?¡±


    Cyrus pulled out a second print. ¡°This is from a second after I watched them both disappear into thin air.¡±


    It was a shot of the empty riverbank. And the stick was a few feet from where it had been a moment ago.


    Wordlessly, Cyrus pulled out print after print, showing in stop motion, the journey of the stick downstream and out of his prototype''s field of vision.


    Beth''s face turned white. ¡°You''re not crazy,¡± she whispered.


    ¡°No. And he just... I don''t know. Whoever that guy was, if he was a wizard or something else, I can''t explain how he took Rusty away. It might not be magic but it might as well have been. And the Sheriff didn''t find any tracks leading away, so...¡± he collected the prints, and put them back in the drawer. Beth watched them go.


    ¡°Has he seen the photos?¡± she asked, and Cyrus felt a surge of pride that his sister was so keen. His brothers hadn''t been much use at all.


    ¡°No, he hasn''t,¡± Cyrus told her. ¡°If I showed them to him, he''d just take them as evidence and not do anything useful with them. He doesn''t have the imagination to figure out a way to help us, or the power and resources to go up against someone who''s got something like magic.¡±


    ¡°Then who does?¡± Beth asked.


    Cyrus leaned back in his chair, and studied her. He thought about telling her how the wizard had glowed and swirled with the moire effect, while he was watching the stranger interact with his brother. He considered talking about how a strange mix of colors had puffed out, when they''d disappeared, so thick that he thought he was looking at a fog of glitter. That cloud had lingered for a full minute, until it dissipated.


    Cyrus rather thought that he might have a way to do something about the situation, maybe, if the right sort of people helped him in the right sort of ways. But he knew that anything he told her would get back to the girls, and from there to who knows who else''s ears, and he didn''t want to skunk the work he''d put in back at that cramped office in Dallas. He wanted to see if that bore fruit, before he got her hopes up.


    ¡°I don''t know who can help us,¡± Cyrus told her. ¡°It might be just us. We might have to sort this out ourselves.¡± He didn''t fancy the odds, there, but he would try if he had to.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Beth said. Then she drew in a deep breath. ¡°I don''t think you''re crazy,¡± she said.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Cyrus told her.


    ¡°This means it''s okay to tell you.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Cyrus lifted an eyebrow.


    ¡°Rusty isn''t the only kid who''s gone missing.¡±

 There Was a Hole, Here

    Rusty knew what was coming, when he impaled himself with the second rune fragment. He had been expecting the pain, knew that it would hurt like hell for a little while.


    But as his shoulder burned, and the fizzling, sizzling black energy crawled over his body, Rusty realized that the pain was different, last time.


    And that he had vastly, vastly underestimated it.


    It felt like every nerve in his body was next to a lit match. It felt like snakes had crawled down his throat and were biting his guts, filling them full of venom. It felt like fire ants were in his brain.


    This was NOT how the last rune had felt!


    But the worst part of it all?


    Rusty couldn''t scream.


    He couldn''t scream, because the Grach were nearby. The sound would carry. They would hear him, and realize that he was still alive, and come hunting for him again.


    Rusty clenched his teeth and thrashed instead, fell in the water and splashed and thrashed, pounding the gravel of the shore with both hands, and hyperventilating. It helped, a little. But once his eyes started losing their vision, started fizzing out and swimming with black bubbles, he DID scream a little. He stopped it by jamming his fist into his mouth, screaming into that instead.


    He thought he was muffling the sound somewhat. There was no way to tell.


    Eventually, it ebbed. And his memory, his now-perfect memory told him that it had lasted about forty seconds, give or take. He didn''t go for a precise count, that would have recalled the pain, and he knew he didn''t want to think back to that now, maybe not ever again.


    And as he blinked, shining letters appeared in the dark of the back of his eyelids.


    Rune: Hole, has been integrated into your chakra network.


    Committed Chakra: 14/42


    ¡°Hole?¡± he laughed. It came out really shaky.


    ¡°Hole,¡± Roz confirmed, from his seat on the corpse. ¡°I feel like we missed an opportunity. That one would have been really fitting if we jammed it up our butt.¡±


    Rusty laughed harder. The pain was mostly gone now, though his shoulder ached a little, so he cut loose. Well, as much as he dared. The Grach were still around somewhere.


    The thought sobered him up some, and he lay on his back, half in the water, staring up at Roz. Then he squinted, looked past the little gray figure. Roz considered him, then turned back around and looked up as well. ¡°What? Something in my teeth? Wait, trick question, I don''t have those.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Rusty said, staring up at the edge of the pit he was in, then rotating his neck, to trace the edge of where the stone met the surrounding ground. ¡°I''m just thinking that we''re in a hole. And this one looks really, really circular. Like perfectly circular.¡±


    ¡°Oh wow! You think he made this with his magic?¡±


    ¡°Maybe. But why? He died down here.¡±


    Roz tilted his head. ¡°That''s a really good question. Maybe he thought it would stop whatever killed him?¡±


    ¡°Maybe. Can you, uh, talk to the rune? See what it does?¡±


    ¡°I am. Woof, this one is hefty. This one took eight chakra. Memory only took three. Maybe because it''s broader? Yeah, I think so. Um... this one is dangerous. Both to you and to others.¡±


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°To me? Did it kill this kid when he used it?¡±


    ¡°Maybe. So... now that I''ve got two ''instruction manuals'' to look at, I think that it''s possible to try too hard with things. If you try to cast too big a spell for your chakra pool, you might drain yourself.¡±


    ¡°Oh man,¡± Rusty stared at Roz, who was off the corpse and pacing back and forth. ¡°What happens then?¡±


    ¡°I don''t know,¡± Roz, said. ¡°The instructions... well, the thing that''s kind of like instructions, basically says don''t do that.¡±


    ¡°So what IS chakra, anyway?¡± Rusty asked.


    ¡°The runes don''t know. They just know they use it, and you''ve got it. And that Tarqual thing had some, that you absorbed.¡±


    ¡°So it was a little magical?¡±


    ¡°Maybe. I don''t know if chakra is magic. Terathon said he could see the magic within you before you got the rune.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that''s how he knew I was the chosen one,¡± Rusty said.


    ¡°You''re right. So who''s this guy? What''s he doing here?¡± Roz said, looking at the corpse again.


    Rusty considered it. Now that he was coming down from the pain, and wasn''t running for his life, the body had a smell to it that wormed its way into his nose. Blood, a faint undertone of shit, and something mustier. But none of that compared to the pain in his gut, and that was the priority now. ¡°I don''t know any of that, but he had a canteen,¡± Rusty said, looking over to where it bobbed in the water. ¡°So maybe he had food, too.¡±


    ¡°You know what you''re going to have to do to find out,¡± Roz said. ¡°Are you up to that?¡±


    ¡°It''s better than starving,¡± Rusty said, and got to work searching the body.


    It was pretty gruesome. But Rusty had grown up on a farm, been through more than one butchering, especially since Dad had gotten erratic over the last few years. So long as he focused on finding food, this was all stuff he could worry about later.


    He kept telling himself that.


    The kid couldn''t have been much older than him. He had a similar clothing size. The underwear was unsalvageable. He''d shit himself when he died. Most things did, Rusty knew. But the pants were mostly good enough after a quick scrubbing. The shirt was torn to hell and back, but his jacket was usable, if a little ripped and torn in back. He''d had a backpack at one point, but all that was left were straps and a torn flap of canvas. The shoes were a bit big, but laced tightly enough, they''d do. Rusty hung them around his neck by the laces to let them dry.


    He DID have food. Rusty found a plastic wrapped pack of jerky in his pocket, with the label blurred and washed away by water. It was the sweetest meat he''d ever tasted, and it was gone too soon.


    The treasure in the other pocket was a silvery metal folding knife with a bunch of attachments. Rusty recognized it instantly. It was a demo knife, just like the one his brother had brought home from Korea. Rusty folded out the main blade of the solid, stainless steel apparatus, and nodded in satisfaction. He had SOMETHING to defend himself with, now.


    He looked down at the sad, stripped little body, with its face chewed off, and the other gouges where something had been at it. While he''d been working at it, small black bugs had flown down from above, and were slowly coating the corpse. In time it''d be gone, just bones in a hole.


    Rusty knew he should get moving, that he''d come out of this about as well as could be expected, but something held him back. He wanted to know what had happened here. Who this kid had been, and how he''d died.


    And as he studied the kid''s gnawed head, he thought that he might have a way to do that.


    ¡°You think that''ll work?¡± Roz said, sidling over to the body again and staring down. ¡°I mean, it might. But it might not be too fun. Guy''s been dead a while.¡±


    ¡°Does the rune think it''ll work?¡± Rusty asked.


    ¡°The runes don''t exactly think. And they don''t include examples, so... sorry, charlie, I don''t know. But it makes sense to me.¡±


    ¡°Do you think the, uh, spell, would cost too much?¡± Rusty asked. His gut told him this was a bad idea. But his curiosity wouldn''t let him give it up. This was going to happen, and they both knew it.


    ¡°It might. Um... one thing I did get from the runes is that distance can increase the cost. So the closer you are, the less chakra it takes.¡±


    ¡°Right. Okay,¡± Rusty licked his lips, then squatted down next to it, and put his hand on the back of its head, away from the gnawed patch that had once been a face. Now that he wasn''t in fear of his life or worried about the Grach killing him, he had time to consider how the dead flesh felt under his fingers. He was no stranger to dead things; you didn''t grow up on a farm without handling your share of dead critters, but this was the first time he''d come across human remains that weren''t in a coffin.


    This could have been me, Rusty thought, staring at the kid. I might die here too, if things go really bad.


    Then, before he could lose his nerve, he closed his eyes and thought carefully about the words he needed for the spell.


    He whispered them to himself, sounding them out as he wrote. It helped get them straight.


    ¡°Show me this body''s memories about how they got to Elythia.¡±


    That was a pretty long spell, and it took a few minutes to get it all visualized.


    Selective mnemonic recall and view on deceased juvenile human brain!


    Committed chakra: 14/42


    Cost: 4 chakra.


    Remaining free chakra: 24/42


    And instantly, Rusty knew this was going to be bad.

 Dead Memories

    Rusty''s mind swam, and he dropped to his knees as the world whirled around him. His eyes blurred with colors and images that warped and flowed like running paint on a rippling canvas. He could smell asphalt, smoke, cotton candy, apples, pickles, fresh shit, and a melange of other odors that went rapid-fire through his sinuses, with such intensity that he barely kept the jerky down. A collection of warped voices and noises, a cacophony of loudness and whispers that was too discordant and mismatched to comprehend, pounded against his ears.


    I''m reading a dead man''s mind, Rusty held to that fact, struggled to keep ahold of it. He probably should have expected the memories to be a little mushy.


    But in among them, just as Rusty started to try to pull back and find his way out of this deluge of confusion, the world snapped into harsh focus around him.


    He was no longer in the little pit, in the wilds of Elythia.


    He found himself on top of a building, near an antenna. There were taller buildings off in the distance, and to the side of them, a gap that showed water. There was a big statue out that way, and though the scene faded and crackled with holes and goo and running colors the further away he got, he thought that the statue was raising a torch, and had a spiky crown. And he knew what THAT meant!


    ¡°Yeshu mirad hoom bagrama,¡± a voice said, blurry and garbled like it was underwater.


    Rusty''s viewpoint¡ª the viewpoint of the kid who''d died, he understood now¡ª jerked and spun to face a wizard.


    Rusty knew he was a wizard, just as he''d known Terathon was one. This one was clean shaven and didn''t have a hat or a staff, it was true, but he wore long, dark flowing robes that fluttered around him as he descended from the sky in slow motion. So Rusty figured that assuming he was a wizard was a pretty safe guess.


    ¡°Min fara skul ban,¡± the wizard said in that underwater voice again, lifting a hand as the perspective wobbled and staggered back.


    Had the parts of this kid''s memory that remembered sound decayed? Rusty wondered.


    But that theory got scuttled when the kid spoke. His voice still had that muted, muffled sound to it, but it was louder. ¡°Who the heck are you?¡±


    ¡°Ib hel frummus Balangor. Wo vast ko emfeei sola Maram du pleast el fram¡±


    The world hiccuped, and now the wizard, a tall, tall man, was crouching down to eye level with him, in front of him, mere feet away. His eyes were focused, like a cat fixated on a mouse.


    ¡°I''m the chosen one?¡± the kid''s voice came again. ¡°You need me to wax this dark lord guy?¡±


    And to Rusty''s shock, the wizard smiled, and nodded.


    ¡°Shit yeah!¡± the kid cheered. ¡°I''ll go get my survival gear! Wait here!¡±


    Then everything went dark.


    And with a feeling like he was backing out of a cold, stagnant pond that had spent a few years collecting dirt and rotting plants and muck, and feeling it drape over his skin and falling off in slopping heaps as he went, Rusty willed himself back to his own mind and memories. Sound returned, echoing from all around, getting clearer as he went. Panting, gasping, and for a second he thought an animal had come up to him and was getting ready to eat him, but then Rusty realized that no, that was him.


    Then he was back in the pit, pulling his hand away from the head of the corpse. He was cold, of a sudden, and Rusty pulled the salvaged jacket around himself.


    ¡°Well that was a thing,¡± Roz said. ¡°Can we not do that again? Because that was... yeah.¡±


    ¡°I hope we never have to,¡± Rusty said. ¡°It probably doesn''t feel as gross with living brains.¡±


    ¡°No way to tell until we find one. And I don''t count. I''m borrowing your brain, so if you really want to read yourself, go ahead.¡± Roz sat down, and dipped his feet in the water.


    ¡°Nah,¡± Rusty said, looking at the walls of the pit. ¡°I don''t think I''ll go back in to see how that guy died, either. It looks like something chased him, he tried a spell that was too big for him, and either the spell or the thing chasing him killed him. I mean... the only thing that bugs me is that I don''t know his name. But I don''t want to go back into what''s left of his head to learn it. He was from New York, though. And he was the chosen one. That''s what the wizard told him.¡±


    The wind whispered in the distance, as they stared across the water. It howled a bit, as it passed over the pit they were in.


    Roz eventually spoke. ¡°So.. weren''t YOU the chosen one?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. To put paid to the dark lord,¡± Rusty said, tucking his hands in his pockets. It was nice to have pockets again. It helped distract him from some looming, and very troubling questions.


    Questions that Roz was only too happy to jump headfirst into. ¡°So if HE was the chosen one, how are YOU the chosen one?¡±


    Rusty looked back to the body.


    ¡°I mean, maybe he WAS the chosen one but he failed?¡± Roz asked. ¡°And they needed a new chosen one?¡±


    ¡°If you''re the chosen one, you''re not supposed to fail,¡± Rusty said. ¡°There''s prophecies and things.¡±


    Roz tilted his head. ¡°Who chooses the chosen ones?¡±


    The wind howled, the only sound in the silence.


    There was an answer, there. It was a pretty obvious one.


    But it was one Rusty desperately wanted to, needed to be untrue. Because even considering it, raised some troublesome notions. It raised the notion that he was here, on an alien world, with absolutely no way of getting back without people who at best, were liars. It made him think that the wizard, who were actually wizards, as it turned out, were not his friends, and might actually intend him harm. And it raised the notion that in fact there might not be a prophecy, or a chosen one, and that he wasn''t the hero of this particular story. He wasn''t guaranteed to go home at the end of this book, because this wasn''t a book at all. This was a situation he had leaped into with a lot of expectations that perhaps, had been based on wishful thinking and a little too much trust.


    So Rusty did his best not to consider that answer. He decided that he needed more information.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°Okay,¡± Roz said. ¡°So what now?¡±


    ¡°Way I see it,¡± Rusty said, folding his new knife and tucking it away, then standing and squinting up in the direction of the sun, ¡°Terathon has all the answers, and he told us to head south. So we get out of here and head south.¡±


    ¡°Pretty deep pit,¡± Roz said. ¡°Got a way out?¡±


    Rusty considered it. Smooth walls. About a dozen feet deep. Mostly full of water, save for some natural channels that the hole had bisected when it had been magicked here.


    Those natural channels were at the edge of the pool. They''d been draining it. Too small to go into, but he could fit his hands into them...


    ¡°I have an idea,¡± he breathed. ¡°It''s time to test that new rune.¡±


    ¡°Think it''s safe?¡± Roz asked. ¡°It''s pretty big, chakra wise. Using it probably uses up a lot of chakra.¡±


    ¡°I think we''re probably gonna die in a hole if we can''t get out of here. Okay, let''s see...¡±


    ¡°Remember to use gray words. This rune''s blackish-gray, so you have to match the color,¡± Roz reminded him.


    ¡°Got it. No silver.¡±


    This time, it was a little easier to visualize the words. It only took about a minute and a half, and that was because it was a pretty long sentence.


    ¡°Make holes up this wall big enough for handholds.¡±


    Create ladder in stone!


    Committed chakra: 14/42


    Cost: 6 chakra.


    Remaining free chakra: 18/42


    Rusty''s shoulder throbbed, and sizzled with energy, and Roz shouted ¡°Touch the wall, quickly!¡±


    He slapped his hand against the wall, and a series of tiny explosions seemed to crackle up it. He blinked, as dust battered against his face, and coughed stone out of his snoot, before opening his eyes to see that yeah, there were ten holes in the wall, spaced in series of two, two feet apart both horizontally and vertically.


    ¡°Okay,¡± Rusty grinned.


    ¡°Not bad at all,¡± Roz agreed. ¡°Now can we get going? We don''t wanna catch foot fungus and need toes amputated, like Cy''s friend in Korea.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah...¡± Rusty said. ¡°Yeah.¡± But as he was climbing out, he looked back to the corpse, one last time. ¡°Sorry I can''t bury you,¡± he told the dead kid. ¡°Thank you for your things. I''ll try to use them well. I''ll, um...¡± he was going to say he''d beat up the dark lord for him, but it didn''t feel right. ¡°I''ll look for missing kid reports from New York when I get home, and tell your family what happened,¡± he decided.


    And maybe it was his imagination, but a pressure eased around him, as he said that. That was the decent thing to do, he knew. And now that his memory was perfect, he''d never forget that obligation.


    But there was much to do before returning home, and so he set off into the wilds again.


    *****


    Rusty moved as fast as he could, through the marshy wilds. He was elated to find that the salvaged canteen was still mostly full. Thinking back to it, that little fire he''d lit to boil water was probably what drew the Grach down on him. Either the smoke or the heat, depending on how they sensed things.


    There were also dark wizards out there, somewhere. And the way that Terathon had looked upward suggested that they were either using the trees to get around, or they could fly. So no fires.


    It was a beautiful land, even if it got wetter as Rusty went. Soon his steps were stirring up clouds of tadpoles from the streams he waded through. Bright green bugs followed him for a time, landing on him and flexing their wings as they considered him up close and personal, their eyeless faces reflecting the light with emerald shimmers. They evidently didn''t find him tasty, so he took no mind of them after the first couple of miles.


    There were a few close calls while he was wading through the streams. At a few points he felt things brushing against his feet, saw long, ribbon-like bodies gliding past. He checked himself very thoroughly for leeches at one point, but found nothing.


    ¡°I mean, those black bugs that were eating that kid only started in on him when you started messing with the body,¡± Roz said. Then he caught himself when he saw Rusty''s expression. ¡°Shoot, sorry. Too soon?¡±


    ¡°No, it''s fine. I''ll figure out who he was and talk to his parents. That''ll work,¡± Rusty said. ¡°And yeah, you have a point. Maybe I just taste bad to the local animals.¡±


    ¡°That''s lucky, you don''t have to worry about mosquitoes. In a swamp.¡±


    ¡°Silver lining,¡± Rusty muttered. It was what Cy always said.


    Two miles later, he was hungry again, and the swamp was getting soggier. It took minutes to cross the water between hillocks, and they were shrinking smaller and smaller as the land sloped downward. He was no stranger to hard work, but this was the most hiking he''d ever done, and he wasn''t used to this much mud. He needed food to keep going.


    ¡°Sounds good to me. What are you in the mood to tuck into?¡±


    ¡°I don''t know.¡± Rusty looked around at the sprawling morass of foliage, bugs, occasional lizards and fish peering at him from tufts of weeds, all overshadowed by the towering trunks of the trees. ¡°I can perfectly recall the books I read on edible plants, but that was for our world. And I don''t know that hunting anything would work out, either. If stuff doesn''t want to eat me, I''m not sure I should be eating it.¡±


    ¡°Okay. Well Terathon fed you that oatmeal, if I''m reading this memory right,¡± Roz said, rubbing his spidery fingers on his non-existent chin. ¡°I doubt he magicked that up. Maybe there''s some oatmeal grains around here somewhere?¡±


    ¡°That might be our best bet,¡± Rusty said. ¡°We''ll still have to cook it and we don''t have a pot anymore, but maybe it''s okay raw?¡±


    The upside to the spells he''d put on himself were that he could perfectly remember the smell of it, the texture of it, and how the grains looked, down to the most minute detail. The only problem was that his only experience with the stuff was that it had been cooked. It probably looked different in the wild.


    But it was the only lead he had, so Rusty started checking the weeds and clumps of foliage that he passed. He focused on the ones that wildlife fled out of as he approached, figuring that if they were eating it, his odds of finding something edible were improved.


    It was his best hope, but it didn''t pan out. He didn''t come across anything that looked, smelled, or felt like the oatmeal. And one of the plants that he started to feel twitched under his fingers, and tried to wrap around his hand, almost managed to snag him before he backed off. Only when it stretched out several vines toward him, did he see the many little bones in the muck underneath it.


    ¡°Well, we finally ran into something that thinks you''re tasty,¡± Roz told him. ¡°Maybe you''d find IT tasty?¡±


    ¡°I find it creepy is how I find it,¡± Rusty told him. ¡°And with my luck it''d give me diptheria or something like that. No, I think I''m gonna have to go to bed hungry.¡±


    ¡°Oh man. Is it... shoot, it is getting on that time, isn''t it?¡± Roz looked around at the swamp that had been steadily darkening around them for the last half hour. ¡°I didn''t even notice.¡±


    ¡°I''d have to stop soon anyway,¡± Rusty said, putting a few hundred feet between himself and the grabby plant. ¡°I''m beat.¡±


    ¡°So where do we camp? No ruins around here. I don''t know if we want to be out in the open,¡± Roz looked around.


    Rusty looked up.


    Roz followed his gaze, up to the tall tree, and the branches that were well off the ground. ¡°Oh. Wow. That''s gonna be a rough climb. Glad I don''t have to do it.¡±


    Rusty snorted. ¡°You''re all heart.¡±


    ¡°Don''t have that. Or arms or legs. Or anything that can help here except for sass.¡±


    ¡°So nothing that can help here.¡±


    ¡°I''ll cheer you on, Rusty. You can do this!¡± And to Rusty''s amazement, Roz pulled two pompoms out of nowhere, and started waving them around in the worst cheerleader routine he''d ever seen.


    After he''d stopped laughing, he DID feel better. ¡°Okay. Thanks for the sass. Let''s see if I can do this...¡±


    It was a scramble. But the tree he''d chosen had several broken off nubs down low on the trunk where it used to have branches. Either they''d fallen off or been chewed off, whichever it was didn''t matter. What did matter was that with some work, he could use them to get up to where the branches were untouched and thicker together. Which was a start, but not where he needed to end up. These were good for climbing, but too thin to risk sleeping on.


    It was a race against the sun to get up into the proper part of the canopy. His legs ached by the time he found a cluster of branches that could support his weight, and were wide enough he didn''t risk being blown away.


    That was a concern. Now that he was up here, the winds were pretty stiff. It was chilly, too.


    Rusty did his best to tuck in and wrap the boy''s jacket around himself. Without it, he would have been in a spot. But with it, he managed to get himself a little warmed up. And then, just like that, he was out.


    It was a pretty good plan, to be honest. Probably the best option available.


    And heck, it wasn''t his fault that he didn''t know about the tree striders.

 Takin a Ride

    The Chevy had been used when Dad bought it, back in 1955. The old truck had died, and they couldn''t afford anything new, so he''d traded a couple of head to Old Man Lewis. He''d still gotten the worst of the deal; it was only a few months old, but Old Man Lewis''s kid had rode it hard and put a hell of a lot more wear on it than he''d let on. Dad had to trade another head to one of his drinking buddies who knew a thing or two about trucks, to get it running with any degree of reliability. Cyrus had done what he could for the electrical parts, swapping out the starter and wires that Brett Lewis had somehow managed to turn into a spaghetti snarl of twisted copper, but at the end of the day it had still cost a good chunk of money to fix up. Dad would have been better off buying a new one.


    That said, being there and involved with getting her fixed up, had allowed him to make a few necessary adjustments.


    Cyrus was in the middle of adjusting the seat, when he heard the pattering of small feet behind him. He didn''t look up until Beth spoke.


    ¡°It''s about time!¡±


    ¡°Don''t blame me, blame Mom and Dad,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°She needed to do her rounds and drop off the sewing, and he needed to... well, he needed to get away from Mom.¡±


    ¡°Why? Did he think she was gonna make him work?¡± Beth asked.


    Cyrus paused and gave her a long look over his spectacles. She wasn''t smiling in the least, but there was a twinkle in her eye.


    ¡°You''ve almost got that deadpan down.¡± he said, offering a small grin. ¡°Keep it up and grandpa would be proud.¡±


    ¡°I miss him,¡± Beth said. ¡°He was fun. But he wouldn''t be proud it took us a whole week to get on this!¡±


    Cyrus sighed, and turned back to the seat, wiggling it until he could socket the auxiliary stalk in place. ¡°It is what it is, and there''s no going back to change the past. Besides, if he knew I was going over to Bunktown, he''d... wait. Us? No no no. I''M going. YOU''RE staying here until I get back. And that''s final!¡±


    Beth looked up at him, folded her arms, and squinted.


    Cyrus knew that squint well. Mom wore it daily, and he had a sinking feeling as to how this was going to go down.


    Five minutes later, with a big scowl on his face, and a triumphant smile on hers, he guided the pickup onto the southern road, and eased the vehicle into a stable thirty miles an hour. It could go faster, yeah, but he wasn''t sure it could do that without losing a few bits along the way.


    A few miles down the road, Beth stirred and pointed at the auxiliary stalk. ¡°How does that work?¡±


    Cyrus flicked his eyes to her, back to the road. Yeah, it was open and there was nobody around for miles if you didn''t count the coyotes, but old habits died hard. ¡°Clumsily,¡± he said. ¡°But it gets the job done. The plate covers the pedals so my feet can''t touch them, and I have to do everything by hand. I turn the grip this way, the rods and depress the gas pedal.¡± The truck coughed and sped up. ¡°I turn it the other way, it gradually eases up on the gas, and depresses the brake. It''s all really depressing.¡±


    ¡°That joke''s depressing,¡± But Beth''s smile grew a bit.


    ¡°Honestly I could do better, but it''s a rare day I get the truck for a while. It''s still a pain in the ass...butt, to shift, because that ties up both of my hands. I don''t trust my legs to brace the wheel if things get too tight.¡±


    ¡°Does it hurt your legs to drive without it?¡± Beth asked.


    ¡°Yeah, some. There isn''t as much muscle as there used to be. But the main problem is that my nerves are fried. They get spasms sometimes, especially if I put too much strain on them for too long.¡±


    Beth nodded, her smile fading. ¡°Lacey told me not to ask about what happened to you. Over in the war, I mean.¡±


    Cyrus kept his eyes fixed forward. Easier to talk when he wasn''t looking at her. ¡°Did she, now?¡±


    ¡°Said it might hurt you to remember it.¡±


    Cyrus stared out the window, at the sandy, rocky mess of Texas they were passing through. ¡°Nah. Not anymore. You can ask if you''re curious.¡±


    ¡°Are you lying to me?¡±


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Cyrus glanced over to see her face screwed up with worry. It was comical, in its way. Ten minutes ago she''d been giving him the fifth degree and refusing to be left behind, to the point of standing in front of the truck and refusing to budge. Now she was horrified at the thought he might feel bad over stuff that was long past.


    Thing was, she wasn''t entirely wrong. And while Cyrus wasn''t lying, exactly, he wasn''t telling the full truth. There were nights where he couldn''t risk going to sleep, because he knew the dreams were just waiting to take him back to that secluded ridge, that little patch of green where he''d broken in body and mind.


    But he looked at her, took his hand off the wheel for a few seconds to straighten his spectacles as he thought, let her see him thinking. Then he nodded, and shifted his gaze back to the road, and his hand back to the wheel. ¡°No. It''s fine. If you got questions, ask''em. I won''t get riled up.¡±


    ¡°Um.¡± Beth fell silent for a bit. Probably getting her thoughts in order. After a bit, she spoke up again. ¡°Why did you join the army?¡±


    That hadn''t been the question that he was expecting. His sister was surprising him a lot, lately. But then, he''d never really interacted much with her before. She''d been five when he left, and once he got back, Mom had pretty much started the girls on their own path, keeping them away from their brothers and isolating them upstairs when they weren''t doing chores or being hauled out to church or the store. Only Susan had come and checked in on him, kept him company and helped him with small things, and that was only early once he''d got back. The last few years she hadn''t visited much. She''d been husband hunting, he knew. Trying to land someone good, so she could get away from home and stop being under Mom''s thumb.


    ¡°Why did I join the army,¡± he said, dragging his mind back to Beth''s question. ¡°I guess it was because if I didn''t, then Dad and I would get into it. And the best case outcome there is that I get stuck running the farm. And I could do it... could have done it, back before I got busted up, I mean. But I wouldn''t ''a been happy doing it.¡±


    ¡°You think it would have gone that smooth?¡± Beth said. ¡°Mom keeps going on about how we need God to turn things around for us or we''re sunk.¡±


    ¡°Well, back when I joined, it was before the drought. Things were a little easier then,¡± he said, remembering the sound of Mom''s laughter. Remembering her and Dad turning up the old radio in the later parts of the night, when they wanted some family time without disturbing the kids too much. ¡°Now? Now I don''t know how the farm''s going to go. I couldn''t handle it now. My body couldn''t take the stress, and there''s too much debt. Best I could do is buy y''all some time.¡±


    ¡°You joined the army because you didn''t want the farm? What did you want?¡±


    Cyrus rattled his fingers on the steering wheel. ¡°I guess I wanted to get away from a place where generatios of Colfaxes grew up, lived, and died without leaving the county. I guess I thought there was more out there, and I wanted to go and see it. And I was right. It''s a big world outside. And some of the things people do out there are pretty good, and gives me hope that maybe we''ll do those things too someday, and make our home stompin'' grounds a little better. And some of the things that happen in different parts of the world are just plain awful, and it''s good to see it and know that where you came from isn''t actually as bad as you worry it is. And the army was a way for me to go out and see all that, be in all that, and get paid at the same time.¡±


    ¡°So it isn''t because you wanted to shoot people?¡± Beth sounded concerned.


    ¡°Fu¡ª fudge, no,¡± Cyrus amended. ¡°I knew that part was going to be horrible. Some people need shooting, though, and I made my peace with having to do it if it came down to it. And it did. And it was horrible and I don''t think it helped anything. But it turns out there''s a lot to do in the military that doesn''t involve shooting at people. I ended up driving a truck, hauling grunts and supplies around behind the lines, mostly. Met a lot of people from the allied forces that way, too. Got to ferry them around. Best part of that job was that I had plenty of time to read, while I was waiting for other people to get their thumbs out of... to get their stuff in order, so I could load and unload my cargo. Books got me through some bad times over there.¡±


    ¡°Mom doesn''t like us reading,¡± Beth said. ¡°We get around that some. Lacey found an old bible in the back storage shed where the pages got all wormed up. Susan cut the cover off, and we wrap it around books so it looks like they''re the bible. Mom hasn''t figured it out yet.¡±


    ¡°I''m more impressed that you got books into the house to read, I thought I was the only one.¡±


    There was an odd patch of quiet, and Cyrus looked over to see her staring out the window just a little too innocently.


    ¡°Are you the reason some of my books have gone missing?¡±


    ¡°Um...¡±


    ¡°Well, you little twerp!¡±


    ¡°It isn''t me! We pay... I mean, I''M not the one who borrows them.¡±


    ¡°I want my Jules Verne back! Both volumes!¡±


    ¡°You finished those half a year ago!¡±


    ¡°First read, yeah, but I want to read them again!¡±


    ¡°...fine. But, can we have that one with the little guys on the quest and the elves and stuff? We try to give a grace period to let you forget about things, but that one''s really good...¡±


    ¡°Jesus.¡± Cyrus rolled his eyes. ¡°All right. You''re doing me a solid here. Just bring back stuff when it''s done, no need to sneak around.¡±


    ¡°You don''t want Mom throwing it in the garbage, we got to sneak around.¡±


    ¡°Besides her, right.¡± In retrospect, it wasn''t too strange. The girls were stuck upstairs almost every night, with little to do. Of course they''d jump at the chance to get something to break the monotony. And the fact that it was just a little bit rebellious against Mom, well, that was icing on the cake to the ones who were old enough to start feeling like they had to act up every now and then.


    The rest of the trip revolved around book negotiations, and trying to figure out what to trade to get back the novels he''d noticed missing. It was a pretty good run, and he was almost sorry to see the looming presence of the transformer station in the distance.


    They had arrived at Bunktown.

 Bunktown

    There was a time when it hadn''t been called Bunktown. It had been just another patch of land whose neighbors were a mite fuzzy on where exactly the borders happened to be. Which was ironic now for a number of other reasons.


    Then back in the nineteen-thirties, an ambitious president had pushed out his New Deal for America, and this had been one of the places the government had picked for several developments. They''d acquired it, paid some money to each of the neighbors who might have had a claim on it. Then they''d spent a few years settling lawsuits from those same farmers and ranchers who still tried to graze their livestock on the land they''d sold. Once upon a time in Texas they would have done more than sue, but a lot of the locals had been hard hit by the great depression, and enough of the old guard were hungry enough that they could even choke down their pride for a few moments, take the paycheck, and just have to accept that they were going to have to deal with more jobs in the area, more money in the local economy and better infrastructure. Such a hardship!


    When the bulk of the legal issues were settled, the Works Progress Administration had come in and put up brick buildings, laid down gravel roads, and used the area as their primary headquarters for all the infrastructure that went into the local counties.


    After the bulk of the work was done, and Cooperston (Not to be confused with Coopers Town, which was down in El Paso,) had the full benefits of good roads, water that didn''t cause regular cholera epidemics, asphalt roads that connected them to the highways and allowed for far easier transportation and trade, and a coal plant plus transformer station that could easily handle the electrical load of the region with enough left over for rainy days, the happy landowners adjacent to the area had celebrated by bribing the mayor and county commissioner to redo the land surveys, and determine that the federal government had vastly overreached, and give them ¡°their¡± land back.


    The government by that point had more than enough of the fine residents of the Cooperston area, and more or less abandoned the area, with the exception of the transformer station and lines at more or less the center of it. Which was fine by most of the neighbors, but they tried a third round of lawsuits anyway, to try and get more money out of Uncle Sam.


    The neighbors, who enjoyed the vastly increased real estate values gained by the new deal and new infrastructure, all tried to grab as much of the land as possible for themselves, but mostly ended up canceling each other out. None of them were big enough shots to pull an old fashioned Texan land grab and deal with the consequences, so they sat and sulked at each other for years afterward. And the land sat unused and bare, much as it had for centuries before. Hell, except for the river at one corner of it and the tiny green patch along the water, most of it was just sand and rock and snakes. Really, none of the landowners adjacent to it had really WANTED it, they just didn''t want their neighbors to have it. Or anyone else, really.


    This went on until roughly about 1950.


    And then the border patrol decided to ramp up their operations in Texas.


    *****


    Cyrus told absolutely none of this history to Beth as they rolled up to the transformer station, and the cluster of shacks, and small brick bunkhouses that remained of the old WPA compound. He figured he didn''t know exactly what circumstances she''d end up in later in life, and it was best to just show her, and let her make of it what she would.


    As their Chevy rolled in, he saw figures peeking out through cloth drapes that had been strung over the old bunkhouse windows, heard voices break the air as mothers called small children back inside. He saw motion to the right, suppressed an urge to duck, and glanced over to see a couple of dozen kids running up from the river, a few stopping to stare at him, their eyes white against their tan skin. More yelling from the bunkhouses, at one point a squat woman, wearing a dress that consisted of sewn-together feedbags, came out and banged a spoon on a frying pan. That got the kids'' butts into gear, and they fled inside as fast as they could.


    Cyrus didn''t watch the end to that particular drama. He marked where other tire tracks had cut the soil recently, and steered the Chevy in, juggling the extender, the clutch, and the gearshift to get her stopped without seizing the engine up. Only once the truck was off, did he look up and over to the main building of Bunktown.


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    Once it had been the WPA''s meeting hall, and the offices for its administrators. Now, cloth recycled from feed bags and other farm supplies hung over the hollow windows, and a trio of old men sat in chairs on the porch, under the shade the overhanging roof. One tottered back and forth in an old rocking chair, and two more sat on opposite sides of a barrel, a game of checkers between them. But all had stopped their afternoon business, and were now staring at him, like a mouse watching an approaching snake.


    The men playing checkers stood and started backing up when Cyrus pulled out his cane... then relaxed, as he set the end to the ground, and put his weight on it. Cyrus grimaced. Yeah, he should have been a little more careful. At this distance a long metal tool could easily be mistaken for a longarm.


    The three started talking to each other, hushed voices, and the snippets he caught were no language he knew. Maybe Spanish, maybe something else. They fell silent when Beth slid out behind him, and the truck door echoed around the old compound as she slammed it shut. Then it faded, to be replaced by the omnipresent whine of the transformer station.


    The sun was hot on Cyrus''s scalp as he stumped across to the main building. His legs were cramped up from driving; it had been a long time since he''d had to leave the house, and driving for twenty miles hadn''t done his muscles any favors.


    As they got closer to the porch, and Cyrus'' eyes adjusted to the shade, the features of the old man rocking within it swam into view. His jaw was slightly crooked, one corner of his mouth open in a permanent lopsided leer. A couple of silver teeth gleamed among the yellowed aged grin. His eyes were glazed with cataracts, and his hair was a few stringy tufts of gray and white. But he watched Cyrus come impassively, and he was the only one, as the two sitting by the barrel got up and hurried inside.


    Cyrus knew he was intruding here. He hesitated, a few dozen feet from the porch, and tried to find his nerve. He hadn''t spoken to strangers since Dallas, and that had gone so poorly...


    Then he felt small fingers find his hand, and he looked down to see his sister staring up at him. Her trepidation was clear, at least equal to his own, and that gave him strength. He had to be strong for her, to help her keep it together. And if he could keep her from cracking, then he could be brave.


    It wasn''t so different from what he''d seen south of Seoul, now that he thought of it. The guys on the front lines, how they kept it together on the firing line, because they didn''t want their pals to break worse.


    ¡°Se¨¾or?¡± Cyrus asked. ¡°I don''t mean any harm here. I just have some questions, and I hope you can answer them.¡±


    The old man rocked, bony fingers clutching the armrests. Cyrus looked down to Beth, who shrugged.


    ¡°Se¨¾or?¡± Cyrus tried again.


    ¡°He can''t hear you,¡± came a low voice from the doorway, and Cyrus startled, stepped back, steadied himself on his cane as his leg tried to spasm and drop him.


    ¡°He''s deaf as a rock,¡± the woman explained, as she came out of the building. ¡°When the bombs fell, he was too close, and now he can''t hear anything.¡±


    ¡°Ah. Uh. Lo s-siento,¡± Cyrus said, blinking, and studying her.


    She was somewhere around his own age, late twenties or early thirties. Tan skin, wide brown eyes, and a serious, sombre, thin face that seemed a bit too long for her head. She was wearing a simple green dress with flowers on it, that had been patched up many times. Some effort had gone into trying to match the colors, but they still stood out, even to his eyes. Her hair was held back by a red kerchief, and it was straight and short cut, framing her head well. It was something like Bettie Page''s cut, without the bangs. And as his eyes traveled down her form, he couldn''t help but notice she had a few more similarities to the inestimable Miss Page.


    Then he remembered himself, and forced his eyes up. ¡°Sorry,¡± he tried again. ¡°I know we''re making you nervous.¡±


    ¡°I''m not nervous in the slightest,¡± the woman said, folding her arms. ¡°But usually good things don''t happen when people from town come out here by themselves, not after the morning, anyway. They''re usually trying to buy something we don''t sell, or try to scare money out of us.¡±


    ¡°Should I have come in the morning?¡± Cyrus blinked.


    ¡°If you want workers, yes. That''s when the trucks come out, and the men go to work the fields. Or whatever jobs you want them to do. That''s where they are now. They''ll be back tonight.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I heard that,¡± Cyrus nodded, trying to get his mind on track. It had been a while since he''d had to think about Bunktown. ¡°They didn''t want y''all on their property.¡±


    ¡°No, they didn''t used to mind that,¡± the woman shrugged. ¡°But now la migra comes for them if too many of us are there. So we are here. And now they are at no risk themselves from la migra. But if we are raided here, then all the farms lose their workers.¡±


    Cyrus pursed his lips. ¡°La migra?¡±


    ¡°Border patrol.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Sh...¡± he stopped, looked at Beth. ¡°Shucks. Okay, I can see how that would be bad. We''re nothing to do with them. We just have questions. Nothing bad''s going to come of them.¡±


    ¡°That remains to be seen,¡± she said, studying him. Then she sighed. ¡°I''m Catalina. Catalina Morales Who are you two?¡±


    ¡°Cyrus and Elizabeth Colfax,¡± he said, working his hand free from his sister, and offering a handshake. She took it. Her grip was strong, for her thin frame, and more callused than his own.


    ¡°Come in. Sit down. Have coffee and ask your questions. And I will try to see if we can find answers, so you can leave before more trouble comes to us.¡±

 Sin Respuestas, Solo Preguntas

    The clock on the wall had cracks running all through its glass. Smears and smudges showed where someone had used superglue to patch it together. Nonetheless, the hands on it worked just fine, and as they waited in the little kitchen off the main hall, Cyrus kept a weather eye toward it. If he didn''t have the truck back within an hour or so, there would be questions. Especially since Beth was involved. If anyone noticed her sneaking back into the house that would cause no end of trouble for her.


    Cyrus shifted his gaze over to Catalina, watching her work, quickly and efficiently. The little kitchen''s cupboards were stuffed with boxes and sundries, more food and supplies than he''d expected when he came out this way.


    She caught him looking, squinted and tilted her head. ¡°You''re surprised? Why? You don''t think I know how to make coffee?¡±


    ¡°No, it''s... I''m glad you have coffee to spare. We don''t want to be any trouble.¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°This isn''t the main kitchen. The abuelas are using that one to prepare the night''s dinner for the workers when they get back. This is just the one we keep for visitors and new arrivals.¡±


    Cyrus glanced over at the overfull cupboards. ¡°Looks like things are going well.¡±


    ¡°The workers get paid mostly pretty well, and we know a few people who sell us food pretty cheap.¡± She looked at the bubbling pot, pulled it off the stove, and poured a few cups. ¡°How about you, peque¨¾a? You want some too? No sugar for this, sorry.¡±


    ¡°I''ll take some,¡± Beth said. ¡°Thank you very much Mrs. Morales.¡±


    ¡°Miss, now,¡± Catalina said. ¡°My husband isn''t with us any more.¡±


    ¡°Sorry to hear that,¡± Cyrus said.


    Catalina walked over, set a cup in front of each of them on the battered formica table, and took a seat and a cup, herself.


    Cyrus took a sip, found it bitter, but good. He let the caffeine hit his system, closed his eyes. Good stuff. Behind him, he heard Beth cough a little, and set her cup down, with a clink.


    ¡°You said your name was Colfax,¡± Catalina said. ¡°It took me a little time, but I figured it out. Your farm is on our bad list.¡±


    ¡°Bad list?¡± Beth said, sounding surprised. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Something before my time. I only came here a couple of years ago. But the ones who escaped the last raid keep the lists, and they say that we aren''t going to work for Colfax again. I can look it up if you want, but it won''t change anything. So if your questions are can you get the people here to work for you, then no, you can''t. I''m sorry.¡±


    ¡°No, it''s nothing to do with that,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°It''s...¡± I can''t waste time, here. ¡°My brother is missing. Kidnapped.¡±


    Catalina''s eyes widened, then narrowed as she took a sip of her coffee. ¡°And you think we took him? Why?¡±


    ¡°We don''t,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°You and I both know what would happen if anyone from this camp tried anything like that in this town. And nobody sane wants to see that.¡±


    She relaxed a little, but not much.


    ¡°He was taken on the same day that Carmina was!¡± Beth burst in. ¡°We think it might be the same people who did it!¡±


    Catalina stood, nearly dropping her cup. ¡°How did you know about that? Who are you? Where is she!¡±


    Cyrus saw her tug on a chain hanging around her neck. He''d taken it for a locket or a cross, but to his horror, she pulled a small, metal whistle out of her bosom. This was about to go very bad, very quickly unless he took charge.


    ¡°We don''t know,¡± he said, raising a hand. ¡°Nobody knows. I saw my brother vanish into thin air, and I still don''t completely believe it! Please, we''re desperate! We''re desperate,¡± he repeated, forcing himself to calm down. ¡°That''s why we''re here.¡±


    Catalina''s eyes flicked between them, from Beth, who was sinking down into her seat, flushed, to Cyrus, looking deep into his eyes, fury and worry boiling behind her own. ¡°Say that perhaps you are speaking the truth,¡± Catalina said. ¡°This still doesn''t explain how you know about Carmina. How?¡±


    ¡°Lacey,¡± Elizabeth said. ¡°Back that last fall when we still hired migrants, umm.... 1953, I think? Carmina''s dad brought his son along. Lacey and he... got along. They uh, played a lot. They mail each other when they can. His name is Raoul Bolivar.¡±


    Cyrus did some mental math. Lacey would have been fifteen in 1953. He decided it was probably best not to inquire just how well this kid had ¡°gotten along,¡± with his sister. Hell, this might be the reason his farm was on their bad list.


    ¡°Raoul Bolivar...¡± Catalina slipped the whistle back under her neckline. ¡°Yes. He''s one of the ones who didn''t get taken by the raids. His father did. Raoul''s out working... Coster''s fields now,¡± she said, looking over to the door.


    Cyrus turned back, saw a calendar stuck to it that he''d missed before. It had index cards hanging from various days, all scattered around the board, and the cards were filled with precise handwriting. Dozens of names, he saw. ¡°You keep track of everyone? Why are they on different days?¡±


    ¡°Those are their paydays,¡± Catalina said, sitting down again.


    ¡°You keep track of their paydays?¡± Cyrus asked.


    ¡°We have to. If everyone starts lining up on the same payday, then we know we''ve got problems.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Beth asked.


    ¡°Because that means that the farmers have talked to La Migra and arranged for them to raid us a day or two before the farmers have to pay us.¡± Catalina said. She took a pull of her coffee. ¡°That''s probably why your farm is on our bad list. Or something like that.¡±


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    ¡°Oh,¡± Beth said, shocked. ¡°That''s horrible!¡±


    ¡°It is what it is,¡± Catalina shrugged. Then she put her cup down, and looked to Cyrus. ¡°I believe you now. But I don''t know if we can help. I can''t explain how Carmina was taken. It makes no sense.¡±


    Cyrus felt a building certainty. Just for a minute, just for a bit, there was hope creeping up inside him. ¡°Let me take a guess,¡± he said. ¡°There was a man, probably an old man wearing a robe.¡±


    Catalina said nothing, sipped her coffee as she stared at him.


    ¡°He talked to the child. And then they just disappeared. And there were no tracks or anything to show where they''d gone.¡±


    He saw it in slow motion, as Catalina''s eyes went wide, and her hands opened. Saw the coffee cup start to fall...


    ...and he lashed out, caught it one-handed, lowered it to the table.


    But she never broke eye contact. ¡°What do you know?¡± she whispered.


    ¡°That''s what happened to Rusty,¡± he said.


    Catalina swallowed. ¡°That''s all?¡± she asked, her voice cracking, hopeful.


    Cyrus looked away from her eager gaze, knowing that he was about to dash whatever hope he''d just awakened. ¡°I don''t know any more than that. Nothing that would help. I don''t know where they went, but I think some kind of... wizard, took our children. I don''t know why or how.¡± He looked back up, saw that she was hanging on his words, but there wasn''t the dying hope that he''d feared. Her eyes showed resolve, and determination.


    She really was quite pretty, he noted. And then he shoved that notion far away. NOT the time for it. ¡°Can you show me where it happened?¡± he asked. ¡°Maybe there''s something...¡±


    *****


    The little shack that they used as a schoolhouse was up against the fence around the transformer station. It hummed loudly in their ears as Catalina showed them the single room, the tar-paper and clapboard walls, and the scavenged seats and pulpit that she used as a lectern. She was the current schoolteacher here, in Bunktown.


    But Cyrus well marked the spliced cable poking through a hole in the wall, and the wiring that spun up to the light bulbs in the ceiling, and the space heater at the back of the room. That was professional work, better than he could do, and he pointed that out to her.


    ¡°Esteban used to be an electrician, back when we were in Guatemala,¡± Catalina said. ¡°He''s the reason we don''t have power problems.¡±


    ¡°The power company doesn''t mind you tapping the transformers?¡± Cyrus asked, incredulously.


    ¡°Oh, they adjusted them the last time they were out here,¡± Catalina said. ¡°Esteban said that they had set them up to kill the next person who touched them improperly. But he is clever, and he undid their work.¡±


    ¡°I''d like to talk with him,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°I''m honestly impressed. Could learn a thing or two. Where is he now?¡±


    Catalina shrugged. ¡°The fields,¡± she said simply. ¡°Picking crops for forty-two cents an hour.¡±


    ¡°That''s a damn crime,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°Hands that can do work like this shouldn''t be breaking their skin on crops.¡±


    ¡°It is how it is,¡± she shrugged. ¡°Perhaps one day it will be different. But until then, he has to eat, too.¡±


    ¡°Did he vanish from here?¡± Beth asked, dragging Cyrus'' mind back to the present. They were on the clock, he knew.


    ¡°No,¡± Catalina said. ¡°This is where I was, this is where the children were, when it happened. Carmina had just asked to visit the outhouse. I told her yes, go quickly.¡± Catalina crossed over to the wall away from the transformer station, and raised the blind over the eastern window. The sun stabbed in, and once their eyes had adjusted, she pointed to a small, square building off away from the rest of them. ¡°Then Lupo looked out the window, and he shouted that there was someone talking to Carmina. They were wearing a big bathrobe, he said.¡±


    ¡°Robe,¡± Cyrus muttered. He leaned on his cane. ¡°About where did it happen?¡±


    ¡°There,¡± Catalina pointed at a patch of dirt that looked like someone had been digging in it. ¡°By the time I got to the window, they were gone. The other kids got there before me, though. The children said that Carmina and the stranger had just vanished. We saw her tracks going to the Outhouse, because it had been raining just before. But we did not see her tracks going away. Her parents searched everywhere. Her father went a little mad, he dug down to see if there was a trapdoor, or something. There wasn''t. We would have let him dig, but there are underground cables all over here. He would have killed himself with electricity or broken something.¡±


    Cyrus nodded. ¡°This lines up.¡± He let out a breath. ¡°This is exactly like what happened. Except I saw it with my own eyes. But I can''t explain it.¡±


    ¡°So what do we do?¡± Beth asked.


    Cyrus shared a look with Carmina. The look that said It''s been almost a month since the children went missing, and this probably isn''t going to end well.


    ¡°I can do nothing,¡± Catalina said. ¡°Nobody here can. This is beyond us.¡±


    ¡°If you go to the police too...¡± Beth started, then stopped.


    ¡°The police want nothing to do with us, except for us to make no trouble and pay them money every month,¡± Catalina said. ¡°They do not care.¡±


    ¡°I wish you were wrong about that,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°To be honest, the sheriff didn''t care much about Rusty. But I''m trying to shake some trees a bit higher up. Trying to get the attention of someone bigger than them.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Catalina smiled. ¡°That is why I took you here. You can do things we cannot. And when you do, maybe you find Carmina too? Her name is Carmina de Rojas. I think it''s a false name, but I didn''t ask. But her parents miss her, and they would very much like for her to come home. She''s perhaps a little older than your child, here?¡±


    ¡°My sister,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°I''m unmarried.¡±


    ¡°Are you?¡± Catalina said. Then her eyes slid away, a touch too quickly. ¡°Well. I am sorry. You must go, now. If there is nothing more you can do here, you must go before anyone sees you are here. It would bring only trouble.¡±


    ¡°Reckon you''re right,¡± Cyrus said, nodding. He stood, and looked at her awkwardly.


    She looked back, considered him, then darted forward and gave him a quick hug. ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, then hurried out the door.


    Cyrus stared after her.


    Beth giggled.


    Cyrus glared at his sister.


    Beth just smiled back.


    ¡°She was nice,¡± she said.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°Wish I had better news for her. Come on. Let''s get back before Mom realizes you''re gone.¡±


    Halfway back to the truck, an idea half-bubbled up in Cyrus'' mind, and he turned, considered the high metal poles and snaking cabling of the transformer station. He listened to its grinding whine, licked his lips and tasted the hint of ozone in the air.


    There was something here, some clue he was missing, but damned if he could put it together. He needed more pieces.


    Sadly, the next clue wouldn''t come along until after Bunktown was gone.

 Cocooned!

    Rusty woke screaming, sweating, and swaying.


    The screaming, that made sense.


    Before this little adventure, before he''d jammed a chunk of pure magic into his arm, he had slept like most any child he knew. Occasionally he''d have dreams, and occasionally he''d remember a few of them. Sometimes they were nightmares, and that was bad, but as he''d grown older he''d learned to deal with them. They didn''t trouble him much...


    ...up until the point where he''d given himself eidetic memory and total recall.


    Last night had been hell, pure and simple. He''d spent the bulk of it watching the warped surroundings of his dreams flowing and darting between images like a malfunctioning television. He''d watched the deaths of the Grach that Terathon had dismembered multiple times from multiple angles. And there had been a few times where Terathon had missed, and taken HIM apart. He''d seen his family die in horrible ways as Tarquals and Grach and other things killed them, or dragged them screaming into the swamp. And he''d felt what it was like to die in a dream, over and over again.


    Then, the tenor of the dreams had shifted. For the last third of things, they''d involved being too close to a fire, or being outside in the high Texas afternoon, with the sun beating down. Fire ants were streaming towards him and he ran, but he was too slow and they picked their way up him and chewed holes in his cheeks, and poured down his gullet, and they WERE fire, and he was cooking from the inside out.


    Mercifully, Rusty woke up then. But he was sweating, and sweating hard.


    That took a moment to figure out. For a little while, he thought he was still dreaming. There was something snug and tight all around him, soft as blankets, and he thought he was remembering being back in the hayloft at home, trying to nap during summer. There was a dim light filtering in, and it was stuffy, the air was thick with his unwashed scent. He hadn''t had a bath or shower, the closest he''d come was the dip in the pit with the dead kid.


    But even with the cloth wrapped tightly around him, he felt too hot for that. Felt... off.


    I''m sick, he realized.


    ¡°Oh this isn''t good,¡± Roz whispered, half-visible as Rusty blinked his eyes, tried to clear his vision. He was breathing through cloth, and he smelled himself, and... no, there was something more. Sour milk? Maybe. It made his stomach roil and burn. He felt sweat pool under his borrowed clothing, made the world wobble...


    No. No, the smell wasn''t what was making the world wobble back and forth. The world was swaying of its own accord. He could hear the creaking of branches, and the rustling of leaves as a great wind stirred them up in bursts, repeatedly.


    Then the light brightened, and Rusty understood what was happening, as he looked up and saw faded shapes through the cloth around him.


    It wasn''t cloth. It was a cocoon, a pouch of webbing. And he was being carried under a great, many-legged form, slung under the abdomen of some enormous thing that was too close to a spider to be called anything else. The hissing and shushing of leaves came as the thing strode through the treetops, its great, thin legs seeking and finding purchase on the leaf-laden branches.


    From his angle, Rusty couldn''t see the head of the thing. He was glad for that.


    But he could see three or four other cocoons dangling from the thing''s abdomen. They weren''t far away. One of them had something like a lizard''s tail poking out. That particular cocoon was red with blood, and little black bugs chased after it, the same sort of bugs that had eaten the kid''s corpse yesterday.


    That memory was the final tipping point, and Rusty felt his stomach clench, and his guts heave upward. He spewed bile into the cocoon in front of him.


    By the time he stopped heaving and got control of himself, tears and mucus streaming down his face, he realized that he could breathe easier. He opened his eyes to see the open sky in front of him, and melted remains of the cocoon around his face. The bile had cleared it away... but only a small patch. Still, the air was cool, and Rusty gasped it in greedily, spitting every now and then to try and get the taste of vomit out of his mouth.


    ¡°Shelob,¡± Rusty whispered. ¡°This is just like Shelob,¡± he told Roz. ¡°But there''s no Sam to save me.¡±


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    ¡°Sam? Um, hang on.¡±


    In his haze, Rusty thought he could feel Roz rummaging through his memories, feel the prickling on his scalp as the familiar tried to make sense of fantasy fiction from another world. ¡°Oh. Yeah, sorry, I''m not much of a Sam.¡± Roz said. ¡°But hey, on the upside, we have a pretty good view of our surroundings, now.¡±


    Rusty blinked, tearing his gaze away from the big spider thing that loomed above him, peering out through the bile-carved slit in the cocoon at the world around him. He pressed his face against the webbing; it wasn''t sticky at all, and the crisp, cool air helped him get the smell of his own vomit out of his sinuses.


    He looked out onto a solid sea of leafy green, bulging upward in some places and dipping down in others. The canopy went as far as the eye could see to what he thought were the north and west. To the east, it tapered off into a vast glittering plain that he thought might be an ocean, or something like a great lake. Islands of green dotted it, broke it up here and there.


    If Rusty''s memories and navigational guesses were right, they were heading south. And south seemed to be the most interesting by far.


    Jutting fingers of stone rose from the canopy further south, bare and blackened. Something like a network of roots, or cables secured several of them, forming a pattern to the central peak. There was a structure up there, lost in the clouds. Flickers and flashes of what looked like a very localized storm danced around the highest peak. It was a little hard to make out, because three huge beams of light pierced the clouds and highlighted three of the mountains below the structure.


    The spider didn''t seem to be heading directly toward it, but it did look like it was moving in a generally southward pattern. And in the distance, to all sides, Rusty could see things further away that looked like more spiders, their blackish limbs and white chitinous frames strolling across the treetops like water skeeters on a stagnant pond. And all had feathery white bits under them that flashed in the sun, and blew back and forth gently as they went.


    And then the spider stopped. The cocoon swayed, and Rusty closed his eyes, feeling himself rock through the air, and back. The strand he was on was at least thirty feet long, it took a while to come to a stop.


    When it did, Rusty twisted it as best he could, and looked to the front of the spider.


    It was dipping low. He could see huge mandibles from his vantage point, a mouth that would easily be able to pick up a cow between its pincers. It was actually fairly small compared to the rest of its body.


    ¡°Why does it want me?¡± Rusty asked, as the spider rummaged around in the canopy, its head out of sight in the green leaves. ¡°I''m not even a mouthful to it.¡±


    ¡°Well it didn''t eat us, so that''s something,¡± Roz said. ¡°But it wants us for something. I''m not sure I want to know what.¡±


    ¡°Yeah...¡± Rusty worked an arm up, sliding it across the webbing. It wasn''t sticky at all. It was tough, but he knew his Hole rune could take care of it, if he needed to escape. But the problem with that, was that he was pretty far up in the air. The canopy was at least twenty or thirty feet below him, and he had no guarantees of landing on a branch. Even then, if he did, what would stop the spider from grabbing him again?


    So for now, Rusty watched and waited, and tried to ignore the fever that was boiling his guts. He didn''t have time to be sick.


    The thing rummaged around in the canopy, eerily silent for all of its bulk. Then there was a thrashing, and Rusty felt his cocoon shake and vibrate as the spider danced backward suddenly. He caught a flash of dark green through the leaves, then the spider reared up, with a scaly form between its mandibles. Rusty shoved his hand into his mouth to keep from screaming, as the thing lashed in all directions, snapped a maw with far too many teeth at the cocoons, and got jerked back, whiplashed as the spider shook it. What had to be bones snapped and crackled, as the spider''s prey died. The creature went still after that.


    A Juvenile Lashtak has died within your chakral radius!


    Consuming chakra...


    You have increased your chakra by 2.


    Committed chakra: 14/44


    Remaining free chakra: 30/44


    Rusty gasped, as he saw it clearly. It was built like a snake with stubs along its sides, somewhat like the leg-stumps of a caterpillar. But it was as thick around as a telephone pole, and long enough to encircle Rusty''s house with length left over. It was big... but not as big as Rusty''s captor. And as he watched, the spider raised two shorter legs to hold it steady, and began to inhale the thing down its gullet. Foot by foot vanished as the large insect ate it whole.


    ¡°Okay, so that''s what it eats,¡± Roz said. ¡°We''re too small for it to bother with so why does it have us?¡±


    ¡°Maybe it has babies,¡± Rusty said. ¡°Maybe we''re not too small for its kids to bother with.¡±


    ¡°I don''t like that idea. Can we get out of here?¡±


    Rusty closed his eyes, as the world wobbled and his head throbbed. ¡°Maybe. I need to figure out how to do this safely. It''s a long way down.¡±


    ¡°Maybe. But it beats being eaten alive... oh! What''s that?¡±


    Rusty watched from the darkness of his eyelids as Ros hurried over and pointed to the right. He opened his eyes and tried to swing that way, managed to twist the cocoon around to peer at the back end of the spider.


    One of its rear legs was rummaging down in the canopy, and something was screaming.


    The snake hadn''t screamed, Rusty thought. Come to think of it, the whole forest around them was eerily silent. That made sense, they were trying to avoid the attention of the giant spider. What was different here?


    Then the leg raised up, twisting, its joints sliding like a carpenter''s measure folding together, and a long strand of webbing rose up with the leg.


    And on the end of that strand, thrashing and screaming and sawing at it, was a girl.

 Run, Ran, Run!

    Rusty stared as it raised her up, blinked to make sure he was seeing things properly. His vision swam, but he was certain she had horns, ram''s horns poking out of her curly black hair. She wore hides that had been stitched together, and her legs were funny. They were backwards, with her knees facing the other way. She was kicking hard at the strand of webbing, trying to dislodge it from her arms.


    ¡°Weird,¡± Rusty said, shifting in the cocoon. It didn''t stick to him, slid easily around him. ¡°Maybe it''s not sticky permanently?¡±


    ¡°Rusty! Focus! We need to help her!¡±


    Focusing was hard, but Rusty braced himself, and tried to keep the little viewport centered on her. As it turned and he forced it back, he had a front row seat to watch the spider secure its prey.


    The thing lifted her up, its leg bending in at least a dozen places, to a section under its abdomen. It flexed, and dozens of long, thin arms extruded from slits in its hide. As she struggled and kicked, it spun webbing around and and her, turning and spinning her even as she fought. In a few minutes, she was wrapped, and suspended next to the others.


    She was only about twenty feet behind him. Rusty blinked, considered her cocoon. It thumped back and forth, bulged where she was obviously punching and kicking at it. He swiveled his viewport back to the front. The spider was taking its time finishing its meal. That looked gruesome, so he twisted around again to stare at the girl''s cocoon.


    Then he closed his eyes, thought of what he wanted to do, and looked down at Roz. The little alien nodded. ¡°Works for me. I know you. You can''t leave her here, so cooperating is worth a try.¡±


    Rusty concentrated, brought up the dark gray letters in his mind''s eye.


    ¡°Create viewing hole in girl''s cocoon.¡±


    Create small hole in Treestrider cocoon!


    Committed chakra: 14/44


    Cost: 1 chakra.


    Remaining free chakra: 29/44


    He opened his eyes in time to see the cocoon across the way puff dust out. ¡°That only cost one,¡± he whispered to Roz. ¡°Why? Making a bunch of little holes in stone was six, and I had to touch the wall to do it.¡±


    ¡°Maybe stone''s harder to disintegrate than spider silk? I dunno,¡± Roz said. ¡°Oh hey, she sees us!¡±


    And indeed, a pair of bright green eyes were peering through the hole he''d made, staring into his own as he focused.


    ¡°Watcha mor tol?¡± the girl shouted.


    ¡°Um, what?¡± Rusty shouted back, then winced as his head throbbed. He was feeling weaker by the minute.


    ¡°Hirsu calla for ma a seek!¡± the girl shouted, pulling her head back and putting her hands through, grabbing the sides of the cocoon and trying to tear it. ''Trying,'' being the keyword there. The stuff was pretty tough.


    ¡°English? Do you speak english?¡± Rusty called. ¡°No I guess it''s pretty dumb to expect that you speak english,¡± he said. ¡°Okay. Uh...¡±


    ¡°Seek ma!¡± the girl shouted. ¡°MA!¡±


    ¡°This isn''t working,¡± Rusty said. He closed his eyes. ¡°Roz?¡±


    Roz looked back at him. ¡°So you can''t talk to her?¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡±


    ¡°Okay. Do you have time to teach her your language?¡±


    ¡°I''m pretty sure I don''t.¡±


    ¡°Okay. So what''s it take to learn a language?¡±


    ¡°Well, uh.. someone has to teach you, and then you have to practice it.¡±


    ¡°Well why do you have to practice it?¡±


    ¡°So you can remember... oh. Duh!¡±


    ¡°Cool!¡± Roz grinned. ¡°Now we''re thinking!¡±


    ¡°I should have thought of that earlier,¡± Rusty grumbled.


    ¡°We''re sick. Don''t worry. That''s why I''m here, to help you chase down thoughts. You know what you need to do here, right?¡±


    ¡°I do. Thanks, Roz.¡±


    Rusty had to visualize in silver, for the memory rune. And, doing his best to ignore the girl''s shouts, he cast his next spell.


    ¡°Give her memories of learning to speak english.¡±


    Grant adolescent satyr an additional language!


    Committed chakra: 14/44


    Cost: 5 chakra


    Magic resistance detected... bypassed!


    Additional cost ¨C 4 chakra


    Remaining free chakra: 20/44


    He opened his eyes, and stared expectantly.


    Furious green eyes blinked back at him. ¡°You... you small pickle! You deciduous unflowering tree!¡± she shouted back. ¡°What did you do to me?¡±


    ¡°I needed to talk to you!¡± Rusty called back, sagging into the cocoon. ¡°You didn''t like that?¡±


    ¡°Unflattering trollop! Fie on your patoot! I gave you no agreement to masticate my brain meats! Tyrannical adjustment! Worse than death!¡±


    ¡°I''m sorry,¡± Rusty said. ¡°I didn''t know you wouldn''t want that.¡±


    ¡°Okay, I think some stuff''s getting lost in translation,¡± Roz said. ¡°Let''s uh, try to get back in the groove, here?¡±


    ¡°Mauling a mind without permission is punishable by torment!¡± then her eyes narrowed. ¡°Why must I elucidate this to you? Are you forthrightly benighted?¡±


    ¡°I don''t know what that means!¡± Rusty wailed.


    ¡°Don''t know... I gazed at yon, light flared within the husk you occupy, and now I fathom verbalizations of an incomprehensible lingo? Come now, I was not whelped hither yesteryear!¡±


    ¡°I''m beginning to see some flaws with our language learning spell,¡± Roz murmured.


    ¡°I did that, yeah, but I didn''t know it was bad!¡± Rusty called back, grabbing the side of the viewport as the spider lurched into motion once more. ¡°I want to get down from here! I thought we could help each other!¡±


    The girl paused. ¡°Stormer, you do not prevaricate. A truce then, and no further mind bedevilment? Let us be bosom amalgamates and part in tranquility post exit?¡±


    ¡°Uh, yes, I think! Sorry, it''s hard to understand you!¡±


    ¡°You bequeathed me this witchling tongue! It is by your hand I cognify this communication, and you cannot understand me?¡±


    ¡°I''m not very good at this!¡± Rusty wailed back.


    Silence for a bit, broken only by the rustling of leaves as the treestrider picked its way south.


    ¡°We hold that truth to be self-evident,¡± the girl sighed. ¡°I am Ran Tan the Meril Jannesiva Dok.¡±


    ¡°I''m Rusty.¡±


    ¡°Just Rusty?¡±


    ¡°Rusty Colfax.¡±


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°And what?¡±


    ¡°Where is the longitude of it? Do you withold the rest of your entitlement? This is inauspicious to mutual assistance.¡±


    ¡°Well my middle name is Carl. Like my Dad''s. So... Rusty Carl Colfax.¡±


    ¡°A pittance, but acceptable. You sound unaged. You doubtless have many more accolades to learn. So let us attempt descension to retreat from unpleasant conclusions.¡±


    ¡°I think that sounds good?¡±


    ¡°Doubtless! Emphasized certainty!¡±


    ¡°Okay. Ran Tan... can I just call you Ran?¡±


    She went silent for a moment, and her eyes withdrew from the viewing port. Then they came back again, squinting at him with suspicion. ¡°I will abdicate my immediate response of aggrieved offense and attribute this term of phrase to differences lingual, moral, and conceptual. Do you concur?¡±


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Sure?¡±


    ¡°For the nonce of the kerfluffle you may address my personage as ran, but I exact a vow of quietude from you, Rusty Carl Colfax. Yes?¡±


    ¡°Yes. And you can call me Rusty¡ª¡±


    ¡°I shall not!¡±


    ¡°Okkkkayyyy...¡± Rusty wiped sweat from his forehead. This yelling was wearing him out. ¡°So will it eat us if we don''t escape? Or feed us to its young?¡±


    ¡°You''ve stated the veracity of it with the second statement. See you the sphincters above?¡±


    Rusty looked upward. ¡°What''s a sphincter?¡±


    ¡°You gifted me this tongue, miscreant! Do you not comprehend your own language?¡±


    ¡°English is weird, okay? And I only got half the school my brothers did!¡± Rusty protested. ¡°I had to help with the farm... ow. Okay. Sphincters.¡± He looked up, studied the spider thing above them. It was difficult, the thing blotted out the sun, so he had to wait for its lurching gait to tilt it, and shine in at the right angle.


    But there did seem to be some darker spots in among the spider''s white chitin. Folds that bowed inward. ¡°Those holes up there?¡± There was one above every cocoon, with one spot left over, to the left of Ran''s cocoon, and Rusty started to get a bad feeling about it.


    ¡°Verily,¡± she said. ¡°When it is ready to commence, it shall haul us hither to its nest, and release the spawn that lurk within. They shall descend these strands, enter into the cocoons, and feast upon us. It shall then affix the cocoons to suitable trees, and wend its way uncaring.¡±


    That was worse than Rusty had thought. ¡°When is it going to be uh, ready to commence?¡±


    ¡°How should I ascertain that truth?¡± Ran squinted at him. ¡°I am certainly not a Treestrider! But if one were to attempt a supposition, I would state it will be most likely to set that course when the last spot is occupied.¡±


    Rusty swallowed. ¡°We''ve got that long.¡±


    ¡°Assuming the supposition is veracious, aye.¡±


    He sagged back in the cocoon. ¡°Okay. So we have maybe a little time, or maybe a while. But we need to leave before it uh, spawns all over us. So... I can do some things that might help, but the big problem is the ground. It''s too far away. Can you do anything about that?¡±


    ¡°Mayhaps,¡± she said. ¡°Of charms I have three. One for speed, one for flexibility, and one for needle. The speed one is about tapped out, but flexibility and needle still hold strong.¡±


    ¡°You''re making more sense now,¡± Rusty said.


    ¡°You''re using smaller words. Supposition equals that smaller is easier for your intellectual level.¡±


    ¡°Daddy-o, I think she just called you a dummy,¡± Roz whispered. ¡°But what''s she talking about, charms?¡±


    ¡°I don''t know,¡± Rusty muttered back. ¡°I don''t want to seem ignorant, though.¡±


    ¡°We are about to get literally eaten by spiders, Russ,¡± Roz pointed out. ¡°Maybe you could stand to swallow a spoon or two of pride?¡±


    Rusty closed his eyes, felt his stomach turn over at the prospect of swallowing. ¡°Yeah okay,¡± he said, and stood up again. ¡°Are charms like runes?¡±


    ¡°Verily! You do not ken charms?¡±


    ¡°I''m new to all of this.¡±


    ¡°Thine stormer kin didn''t educate your... ah, you said you were impaired in that region. Affirmative. Charms are like runes, but without the side effects.¡±


    ¡°Side effects?¡± Rusty asked. ¡°Roz, there are side effects?¡±


    ¡°Um... maybe?¡± Roz shrugged.


    The girl mistook who he was talking to. ¡°Aye, but it matters not now. Have ye charms to bear, or aught in your portfolio of talentry that can assist?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Rusty said. ¡°I can work with memories and holes.¡±


    Ran''s eyes went wide. ¡°Your cohort entrusted you with a charm dealing with memories?¡±


    ¡°I don''t know what a cohort is.¡±


    ¡°Band. Coterie. Family?¡± Ran tried out different words.


    ¡°My family''s... not here. It''s just me. I found the memory stuff.¡±


    ¡°It does extrapolate how you afflicted me with your pernicious language,¡± Ran''s eyes narrowed. ¡°In the future, should we perceive it, confess your memory charm to none. It would bring suspicion or covetousness to those who hear of it. All such similar charms are to be treated with caution.¡±


    ¡°Right. Um. I could make it forget about us?¡± Rusty offered.


    ¡°It does not care about us. I do not think it thinks about us. The Treestrider is a beast, and its instincts, not memories, are our concern,¡± Ran said. ¡°But inasmuch something pierced my cocoon. Is that due to your hole charm?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. It was pretty easy, too,¡± Rusty said. ¡°I could bust open our cocoons without too much work.¡±


    He saw her look down. ¡°Aye, but that precipice... flexibility, perhaps? Render our bones flexible, to survive the drop? But then the distortion could scramble our vitals. I perceive that to be unacceptable.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, it looks pretty bad,¡± Rusty said. ¡°Needles sounds good... can you use the charm to unravel a cocoon, and turn it into ropes that we can climb down?¡±


    ¡°Negative. The charm is not inscribed with such a feat. It can conjure needles into a spray, or on my epidermis, or it can repair torn articles of clothing, and that is the extent of its array. And I am no runecarver to alter its formulae to a new spell.¡±


    ¡°You can''t use them like runes? You can''t get creative with them?¡±


    ¡°How are you ignorant of these evident facts?¡± Ran squinted at him. ¡°Aggravating! Focus and cognate! What CAN be done?¡±


    ¡°I mean, I guess I can hole the cocoons, and you can use flexible on the ground, and we hope for the best?¡± Rusty said. ¡°We just have to pick the right moment¡ª¡±


    The treestrider shuddered, and the pods swayed as it missed a step. It shuddered again, and Rich held on for dear life, and tried to keep the hole in front of his face as he tried to make sense of what was going on.


    ¡°Ha! Famul te jaka!¡± Ran screamed. ¡°Bandelos, bandelos, de muir!¡±


    ¡°WHAT?¡± Rusty yelled, closing his eyes to fight against the vertigo.


    ¡°I knew they would not abandon me! This must be my family! Hee hee hee yes! Get her! Liquidate the beast! BANDELOS DE MUIR!¡±


    Something glowing snapped by Rusty''s face, and there was a sizzle overhead, followed by a rippling screech so loud that he had to clap his hands over his ears. A shower of goo rained down past his cocoon, before he felt it swing wide, and caught a lighting-quick glimpse of the trees spinning.


    ¡°Rusty! Slow down!¡± Roz told him, waving frantically as he blinked. ¡°You don''t need to try to figure it out all at once! We''ve got total recall, just look and watch, and then use your memories to figure out what''s going on!¡±


    That made a lot of sense, and he felt like he was going to collapse if the world didn''t stop spinning, so Rusty gave it a shot.


    The downside was that he wasn''t paying attention to what was happening around him. He was seeing the world through a one-second delay, as he rummaged through his memories, assembling a cohesive picture of everything from split-second glances through a very limited point of view, slowing blurred images to see things more clearly.


    It helped. It let Rusty get his guts under control, and reduced the pulsing pain in his head to a dull roar.


    The treestrider was fleeing through the forest, with bolts of light flashing up from below. They were coming in at an angle, and leaving searing scars across its underbelly and legs. One cocoon was aflame where the bolt had struck it, and something like a monkey writhed and screamed in the middle of it, trapped and dying.


    The bolts of light looked a little like the ray guns from that movie Cy had taken him to back in March... Forbidden Planet, that was the name of it! Only this time, instead of an invisible monster, they were blasting into the tree strider. And unlike the id creature in the movie, this one was feeling it.


    The cocoon swung and spun again, and Rusty got a glimpse of the flaming cocoon falling, the burning creature in it wailing all the way down. Ran was shouting something from her cocoon, in her own language. She didn''t sound as happy as she had been a moment ago.


    The lights were flashing at an angle now, as the thing scrambled faster, its bulk moving in ways nothing so large ever should. The shooters were behind it, but keeping pace, and Rusty had to assume they were lighting its abdomen up. Literally.


    For a moment, he thought the thing might outpace its attackers. But as he watched, and replayed the memories in his mind''s eye, he wasn''t so sure. It was unsteady on its legs now, injured and in pain. Several times the thing''s unseen feet missed holds below the canopy, and when that happened, the cocoons would spin like crazy.


    The upside was that Rusty was too nauseous to be terrified. The further upside was that when he heaved, nothing came up. He''d already learned that his vomit destroyed the webbing on contact, and blowing out the bottom of the cocoon by barfing and then falling to his doom would have been a really bad way to go.


    And then it crumpled.


    It was a big thing, and it took a while to fall, and that''s what saved them.


    The second Rusty realized what was happening, he shouted ¡°Use the charm! Use the flexible charm! Use it on the ground!¡±


    He didn''t have a great view for the next part. The angle was bad.


    But as the thing fell through shattering, crunching branches, bringing down leaves and smaller trees under its bulk, he knew what was happening and he tucked into the smallest ball he could, clenching his jaw and holding the back of his neck with both hands.


    Then he struck something hard... hard but yielding, and in that split-second he knew that he''d live.


    The surface gave... then rebounded, sending the cocoon flying upward, and in THAT split-second he knew that he might still die.


    The cocoon THUMPED into something slightly less yielding, slamming against it so hard that he felt pain blossom all up his back, and he shrieked. He hadn''t felt anything break, but that was at least bruises, maybe worse.


    Then the cocoon was rolling, and when it came to a stop, Rusty felt around until he found the part of it that was resting on something solid, closed his eyes, and used what little focus he had left to use one of his runes.


    Create large hole in Treestrider cocoon!


    Committed chakra: 14/44


    Cost: 1 chakra.


    Remaining free chakra: 19/44


    Rusty crawled out, found himself resting on the bulk of the tree-spider''s thorax, where it lay on its side like a small ridge in the middle of the swamp. The cocoon had rebounded from a nearby spur of stone, and gone back and smacked straight into the beast.


    He looked at the rock and shivered. They would have surely splattered on that like bagged pumpkins being swung at a brick wall. Ran had saved them. Or had she? Had she survived?


    ¡°Bez faak nu mori bellra!¡±


    Rusty shot a look at the squirming cocoon half-on a strider-leg, and half-sinking into the mud. Alive. Good! He thought.


    Then there came a rustling, from down by his feet. And to his horror, he saw one of the holes on the Treestrider''s underbelly opening up, and many, many-legged forms starting to waggle free.


    ¡°The young are abandoning their parent!¡± Roz said. ¡°Maybe we need to get moving?¡±


    ¡°Shoot! Yeah, no kidding!¡± Rusty slid off the creature''s thorax, fell into the mud, and scrambled back to his feet, slogging his way to Ran''s cocoon.


    But to his horror, the young were quick, and at least a dozen of the cat-sized things were crawling down the still-connected strand toward it. They were moving toward all of the cocoons, but the movement seemed to be drawing more of them.


    ¡°Get ready to run!¡± Rusty''s voice cracked, and he coughed as he choked on the aftertaste of vomit. And then he closed his eyes, trying his best to focus, trying to get the magic out before the spiders could close the distance.


    And he managed. Barely.


    Create large hole in Treestrider cocoon!


    Committed chakra: 14/44


    Cost: 1 chakra.


    Remaining free chakra: 18/44


    Ran''s cocoon burst open, and in a brown blur, the satyr was gone, fleeing into the swamp at speeds no human could match.


    He watched her go, staring open-jawed, before turning his gaze back to her cocoon.


    And looking straight into the beady, four-eyed gazes of a dozen little spiderlike things that had just been denied their meal.


    Rusty ran. They followed.


    But Rusty was uneven on his feet, cramped from crouching and sitting in the cocoon, weak from fever and pain. His back felt like it was burning, where he had slammed up against the cocoon during the crash.


    He looked back, to find them only about twenty feet away, and gaining. Their piston-like legs carried them over the wild brush and water and mud of the swamp like water striders on a lazy river.


    And then there came a flash of light from behind him, and one of the spiders disintegrated in a brilliant blast.


    Rusty tried to twist around and look forward, but fell, sending mud splashing up.


    More flashes, and as a treespider larvae leaped into the air, and came down almost slowly, straight toward his head, it exploded in brilliance. Rusty shielded his eyes as burning bug guts rained down on him.


    And when he unshielded them, he found himself staring up at the fairest face he''d ever seen.


    Long, pointy ears told him that Tolkien had got at least that much right.


    ¡°Stormer?¡± he heard a chorus of voices speak in his head. ¡°Why are you here?¡± The elf''s lips didn''t move, but Rusty knew, as it shifted, that it was the source of the speech.


    ¡°Howdy,¡± Rusty croaked, staring up out of the hole in the mud, covered in vomit and scraps of webbing, fever twisting his guts and every fiber of his body throbbing in pain. ¡°Terathon sent me. I''m the Chosen One.¡±

 Lasthold

    The nightmares were worse, this time, and repetitive. Over and over again, he''d dream of himself awake in the hayloft at home, but paralyzed. And over and over again, the tree strider''s young would work their way through the window of the barn, and crawl through the hay towards him. Sometimes they would reach him, and he would watch them eating him. There was no pain, and that made it worse, somehow. They''d pull his organs out, like Terathon had ripped organs out of the grach days ago.


    But throughout the repeated horror, Rusty started to put things together. Started to realize that he could move the dreams along, give them new directions to go. He could tease them on to other subjects, once he realized that he was dreaming. And he did, over and over again.


    Total recall is helping me, here, he thought. He would have loved to have talked about it with Roz, but Roz was nowhere to be seen. He tried visualizing words, tried to work magic in his sleep, but the letters kept changing on him. And when he got two or three together, he found he couldn''t read them.


    I need to make a new spell when I''m awake again.


    Then the dreams shifted. There were baby tree striders, but they were on fire. Rusty felt himself get warmer and warmer, felt the sweat pour off him, felt himself burn. He screamed a few times, but it was muffled like underwater voices.


    ¡°He''s pretty bad,¡± a woman said. ¡°I don''t expect he''ll make it.¡± she had a southern accent, sounded young, too.


    ¡°I''m not going to die here,¡± he tried to reassure her. ¡°The fire spiders can''t kill me.¡±


    ¡°What in god''s name does that mean?¡± she asked back, but then the words rattled around and distorted in his dreams, and the barn doors blew off as goats ran in shrieking ¡°GOD''S NAME? DOES THAT MEAN!¡±


    From there things only got weirder.


    Eventually, the fire faded. And Rusty fell into darkness. It was soothing, in its own way.


    It took him a few moments after he woke, to realize that this wasn''t another dream. Rusty opened his eyes, to try and figure out where he''d ended up.


    He was in a stone-walled room. There was a window, with streaky, bubbly glass and metal bars crossing it. The ceiling had cross beams, and there was a lit fireplace across from the bed.


    The bed? Yes, he stirred and felt soggy sheets shift around him. He was worried for a second, but one whiff told him it was sweat, not pee. It was a comfortable bed, and he settled into it, felt the mattress crunch beneath him. It was stuffed with straw, he thought. Rusty was quite familiar with that, thanks to long nights in the hayloft back home.


    ¡°Daddy-o, that was a rough trip,¡± Roz said, leaning over him and staring down in concern, when he blinked. Looking down, just like the elf, had.


    ¡°The elf,¡± Rusty said, and tried to remember. He remembered the elves, green-haired and pointy-eared and tall, their faces unmoving as they spoke in his head. Their leader had told him to follow them, back to Terathon. He''d asked questions while he''d followed, but they''d given no answers. And he''d fallen farther and farther behind, his head pounding and his stomach churning, until he''d collapsed. Then one had come back and picked him up, but he''d lost consciousness shortly after that.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Roz said. ¡°So what were you dreaming about?¡±


    ¡°You couldn''t see it?¡± Rusty asked. ¡°But you''re in my head. That doesn''t make sense.¡±


    ¡°I think I''m in a different part of your brain then the dreams are,¡± Roz said. ¡°I don''t know. Have we read anything about how brains work? Or eavesdropped on any doctors?¡±


    Rusty concentrated, tried to recall. ¡°I don''t think so.¡±


    ¡°This might be worth learning. With your memory rune, and all. Okay, looks like the elves brought us here, or brought us to people who brought us here, because this doesn''t look too elfy.¡±


    ¡°They didn''t look exactly elfy either,¡± Rusty commented, looking around. There was a door on the wall opposite the window. It was big, wooden, and bound with metal strips. ¡°It looks like a picture from that book on castles that I borrowed when I was seven.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Roz said, pacing around the bed, moving around a high-backed wooden chair. ¡°We''re among friends. Otherwise we''d be dead. Can you move?¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡± Rusty sat up, and immediately regretted it. His head swam and lurched... but it was nowhere near as bad as it had been, back during his trip in the tree strider cocoon. His back was oddly free of injury, and that surprised him. There were a few sensitive spots, but no real pain. Rusty looked down south of his waistline and found that he was wearing a cloth diaper of sorts, heavy reinforced cloth. The reason why was obvious when he felt inside it, and he shuddered, wiped his hand on the sheets before trying to stand up.


    He was shaky, but he managed. The door had a strange handle on it, three pronged and made to turn with something like a keyhole above it. The handle turned a little in his grasp, but the door didn''t move, no matter which way it went. He looked through the hole and saw a stone hallway outside. This one was lit by a soft, green light, unlike the flickering firelight that illuminated his room. But there was nothing to see, and after a minute or two of watching, Rusty felt his legs starting to ache. Still a little weak, he thought, and he went back and sat on the bed.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    The window rattled, and Rusty glanced up, saw raindrops sliding down the bleary glass. It was high up on the wall, a little too high to reach, and Rusty didn''t trust his legs enough to try pulling the chair up and peeking.


    So he sat, and listened to the rain, and replayed his time in Elythia. He reviewed the memories carefully, especially his time in the cocoon. That was difficult. Re-living that meant going back to the time when he was feverish, and going through all of that, again.


    Which reminded him. ¡°I need something to make these nightmares suck less, or they''re going to drive me nuts,¡± he told Roz. ¡°Can I mess with those?¡±


    ¡°Well, you''ve got the rune for memories, not dreams. But... what if you didn''t remember the nightmares?¡±


    ¡°I mean, I''d still go through them,¡± Rusty said, rubbing his face. He was thirsty, and there wasn''t any water around that he could see. ¡°So I''d still suffer.¡±


    ¡°But what if you forgot them a microsecond after they happened?¡± Roz said. ¡°I don''t know much about brains, but that should reduce the stress on your noggin, right?¡±


    ¡°It''s worth a shot,¡± Rusty shrugged. ¡°Okay.¡±


    He closed his eyes, visualized, and mouthed the words.


    ¡°I want to forget my nightmares a microsecond after they happen.¡±


    Selective near-instantaneous memory editing upon self!


    Committed chakra: 14/42


    Nightmare remover granted! Cost 1


    Chakra Usage: -1


    Remaining free chakra: 27/42


    Rusty sighed, as he felt the pressure in his chest ease. He tried to remember his nightmares, and couldn''t. Something in the back of his mind relaxed.


    And then he tensed up, as footsteps clattered in the hall, and the door rattled. He turned in time to see the three-pronged handle clicking, and then pause, a few inches open. Someone cleared their throat and knocked.


    ¡°Hello?¡± Rusty asked, scooping up some sheets and putting them over his diapered lower half.


    ¡°Oh! Y''all are awake?¡± It was a woman''s voice, southern and young. And if he hadn''t erased the nightmares of his memories a few seconds ago, he would have recognized it instantly.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Rusty said. ¡°I''m decent, more or less.¡±


    The door opened, to reveal a girl. Dark-skinned, wearing a blue plaid dress, with gingham bows. She was tall, a little plump, and if he was any judge of it, she had a few years on him. Her hair was curly and short, and she stared at him with open curiosity. ¡°I''m Alice Jackson, sir. Who are you?¡±


    ¡°Rusty. Rusty Colfax.¡± Rusty stared at her. ¡°You''re from Earth, too?¡±


    Her brilliant white smile gleamed in the firelight. ¡°Yes sir. From Atlanta, Georgia. Whereabouts do you call home?¡±


    ¡°Epitome, Texas. It''s uh, west of Dallas a ways.¡± That wasn''t exactly where he was from, but the place he was from didn''t have a proper name. Epitome was close enough to count as the nearest settlement.


    ¡°Well I''m mighty happy to meet you, Mister Colfax.¡±


    ¡°I''m... I''m twelve, and you look like you''re older than... please don''t call me mister,¡± Rusty said, remembering at the last moment that you were never supposed to tell a lady that she was old. ¡°I''m sorry, I just woke up,¡± he said.


    ¡°You got nothing to apologize for. Um... You said your name was Russell?¡±


    ¡°I said it was Rusty, but yeah, it''s actually Russell. Please call me Rusty.¡±


    ¡°Rusty. All right. Well Rusty, Miss Jadar said she felt you workin'', figured you was up. How you feeling?¡±


    ¡°Thirsty. Not as hungry as I thought I would,¡± Rusty titled his head. There was an aftertaste in the back of his throat, and it matched the last time the wizard had given him oatmeal to eat. ¡°Have you been feeding me?¡±


    ¡°We all have,¡± Alice said. Then she frowned. ¡°Well, not Gunther, he said it was beneath him. But me and Janice and Ken been taking turns.¡±


    ¡°Thanks. Um...¡± he glanced down at the sheets covering his waist. ¡°So you''ve been... changing...¡±


    He looked up in time to catch her looking away and flushing. ¡°We been taking care of you,¡± Alice said. ¡°Never you mind that. You can handle things from now on.¡±


    ¡°Okay. Okay, thanks,¡± he said, feeling his face burn a bit, and it was his turn to look away. ¡°Do you have some place I can clean up?¡±


    She did, as a matter of fact. And she helped him out of bed, and walked him down the halls.


    The place was all long, cramped hallways, with nearly-identical doors every ten to twenty-feet. There were no signs or labels, and only a few times did he pass open doors. The ones he did showed rectangular rooms, identical to the one he woke in, but unfurnished. The fireplaces were chimneys with a hole in the floor, no place to put wood, and no metal fireguards. The patterned stone that he trod upon was cold against his feet, and he shivered as he went.


    ¡°Your clothes were really torn up,¡± Alice told him, as she led him around the corner of an intersection, and stopped in front of the first double door he''d seen. Steam oozed out of the cracks, and the warmth felt so, so good against his mostly-bare flesh. ¡°So you''ll need new clothing. I''ll go talk with the mummers. They''ll drop them off outside the bath, so you take your time and they''ll be here soon.¡±


    A warm bath sounded so, so very good. And the doors opened to reveal a bubbling pool in the center of a stone room full of benches. Rusty nodded his thanks, slipped into the room, closed the doors behind him and peeled off his diaper before tossing it into a corner and sinking into the water. It was a little too hot at first, and he hissed as he forced himself under all at once, but after a couple dozen excruciating seconds, it became bearable.


    Rusty did his best to scrub himself clean with his hands, and managed. Some exploration showed that the large basin had inflow and outgoing pipes, and once the worst of his mess was gone, he put his lips to one of the inflow pipes and gulped a couple of drinks of hot water. It tasted clean, and he was just too thirsty to wait for something more civilized. He stopped after a few drinks, though, then swam lazily around the bath to try and get his muscles stretched out.


    ¡°I wonder what mummers are?¡± Roz asked, passing by him in a lazy backstroke as Rusty blinked. ¡°Are there dadders, too?¡±


    Rusty slapped water at him, and shut his eyes to find Roz grinning. ¡°Ain''t got no body, Russ. Can''t splash me.¡±


    ¡°You''ve got me,¡± Rusty said, finally feeling relaxed enough to sit in a shallow spot, and lean against the wall of the basin. ¡°And I''ve got a ton of questions, but not for you.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Roz said. ¡°So how many of those people Alice mentioned are chosen ones, I wonder?¡±


    Rusty bit his lip, and stared at the dripping, tiled walls.


    There were some questions he wasn''t sure he wanted answered. ¡°He said he THOUGHT I was the chosen one. There''s a difference. I''m sure there''s a good explanation for everything.¡±


    ¡°I hope so. But just in case, Rusty, we gotta be careful. You know?¡±


    Rusty''s mind flashed back to the dead kid whose clothes and rune he''d taken. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, and that was that. He lay back and he soaked, and sweated, and he just was for a while. And that was enough.

 The Choosers

    An hour later, with some oatmeal and fresh water in his belly, and a set of white robes and sandals keeping the worst of the coldness of the stone from chilling him, Rusty followed Alice up several flights of stairs. It took a little while, since his legs were still feeling wobbly, but she waited patiently for him at each landing, and didn''t seem to mind.


    Finally, they reached a floor where the wind whistled past the rattling and barred windows with a wailing scream, rising and falling but never unending. Flashes of lightning flickered past, and Rusty could almost taste the ozone in the air. Occasionally thunder would break, but it rumbled muffled and distorted. His head pounded, as he looked around.


    ¡°We''re almost there,¡± Alice said, in that soft southern accent. ¡°Come on, then. Just a little farther.¡±


    Rusty nodded at her, grateful for a friendly face. And a patient one. His mother or any of his siblings would have left him in the dirt right now, Cyrus excepted. The Colfax household had never been big on waiting for anyone, and it was usually first come, first serve.


    But nonetheless, as he went, he felt his sense of wonder stir anew. There was only one hallway here, and the walls widened to either side, until he was walking through a trophy room, of sorts. The skeletons of strange creatures stood tall, some hunched over so they wouldn''t hit the ceiling, others on plaques against the wall. There were quite a few Grach, Rusty noted. They looked smaller now that they were dead, but their shells and skulls still gave him a ripple of fear along his spine.


    And along with the bones, great crystals of all hues sat under glass, next to worked artifacts like weapons, crowns, and bits of armor. Some of it looked to be sized to fit humans. Others would have given even the Grach trouble. There was one helmet that had holes cut to let two things come out of the wearer''s forehead, and Rusty wondered if that had been made for someone like the satyr he''d saved.


    Where did she go? He wondered. How is she now? He hoped she was okay. Yeah, she hadn''t stuck around afterward to save him from the tree strider young, but the elves had matters well in hand, there.


    ¡°We''re here,¡± Alice said, and Rusty looked up to see a golden door ahead. It was engraved with words he couldn''t read, and what appeared to be a stylized tree covering the whole of it, crossed by twin lightning bolts. There was a weight to it, and the ozone taste in the air seemed heavy, almost like there was bleach in his mouth. He licked his lips, and Alice smiled next to him. ¡°Yeah. It''s like that. Just wait ''till you get a look at it later.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± That didn''t make much sense. Rusty was looking at it now. But Alice just smiled, went up, and knocked on the door.


    It opened as soon as she touched it, green light streaming out and blinding him for a few seconds, the metal of it creaking and ringing against the stone.


    But once his eyes cleared, he felt his heart leap.


    This was precisely what he had been hoping to see, and though some of the details didn''t match his imagination, Rusty knew a classroom when he saw one.


    It couldn''t be anything else. There were rows of desks, and an aisle in between, leading up to a dais and a lectern. High windows, good clear glass ones, let in green light from both sides. True, the desks weren''t of a familiar make, but the layout was just about the same as he remembered from his last year in Epitome Elementary. This room HAD to be used for education.


    It had been three years since Rusty had seen the inside of a school. He''d had to hang back and work the farm for Mom and Dad. It had been hard seeing most of the rest of his siblings go to school, leaving him alone at home with memories of the friends he''d left behind. All he had left were the hopes he''d had to grow up and be smart like Cy, and the knowledge that he''d have to put that aside and catch up later.


    But now he was going to go to a special school, and he was going to learn MAGIC.


    It had all been worth it.


    ¡°Oh. He lived. How nice.¡±


    Rusty blinked at the sound of the accented voice, and looked toward the speaker. And the other children, that were arrayed loosely around him.


    The one who''d spoken was a boy, maybe a few years older than him. Big, blonde, wearing white robes that had been tucked into sturdy green trousers. His hair was cut short, and he wasn''t smiling. He had a thick face, and a nose that Rusty could tell had been broken before. His eyes were narrowed as he looked Rusty up and down.


    ¡°Be nice, Gunther,¡± Alice said, folding her arms. ¡°He might be the one.¡±


    ¡°Let''s hope one of us is,¡± said another boy, a little smaller than Rusty, but of uncertain age. He was Asian, but he spoke without any accent, and his black hair was spiky and wild. He wore an oversized polo shirt that had been patched with white cloth that seemed to match the robes, and a pair of slacks that were missing most of one leg. Battered tennis shoes completed his attire. He was smiling, though. ¡°I''m Ken Li. Pleased to meet you. The big slab of meat over there''s Gunther Becker.¡±


    Rusty stuck out his hand. Ken shook it, Gunther didn''t, but Rusty let that pass. ¡°Howdy. I''m Rusty Colfax. Um... did Terathon recruit you all, or...¡±


    The door chimed open again, and they all turned to look.


    And to Rusty''s surprise, he recognized the girl that entered.


    ¡°Rusty!¡± Janice Beel shrieked, running forward and hugging him, almost bowling him over the desk in front of him. He caught her awkwardly, shuffled a bit, then blushed and put her down. But she still kept on hugging him.


    ¡°Janice, wow, I didn''t... you''re here too?¡± Rusty babbled.


    Janice Beel had been Rick Beel''s younger sister. Back when he was still going to school, Rusty had been best friends with Rick, who lived over by the train tracks, not far from the phone company. Janice was his little sister, about a year younger, and she''d had a horrible lisp and braces. She still had braces, but they were smaller now. Back in the day she''d tried to follow them all over the place, no matter how much Rick threw rocks at her and told her to go away. Her red hair hung unruly, and got in his face as she hugged the stuffing out of him, and he coughed and spluttered until she finally let up and pushed him back.


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    ¡°I''m here! I thought I was the only one here, but then I got my rune and got back and now there''s a lot of us! And you''re here too, this is wonderful!¡±


    ¡°Did Terathon tell you you were the chosen one?¡± Rusty asked.


    Over Janice''s shoulder, he saw Gunther grimace. The others shifted a little uneasily, too. Ken looked down. Alice bit her lip.


    But Janice just beamed more brightly. ¡°No, silly. Jadar did!¡±


    ¡°Jadar?¡±


    ¡°She''s one of the wizards. And¡ª¡±


    ¡°One of?¡± Rusty said, blinking. ¡°Wait, she? There''s girl wizards?¡±


    ¡°Yeah! You''re looking at one!¡± Janice did a little pirouette, red hair bobbing every which way.


    ¡°How can¡ª¡± Rusty bit his tongue. He''d almost asked how girls could be wizards, but thinking about it, it made sense the runes wouldn''t care who took them. He was impressed that a girl was able to stick a rune in her skin, though. He didn''t reckon any of his sisters were tough enough to do that. Janice had more guts than either he or Rick had given her credit for.


    ¡°Children,¡± an ancient voice rasped, and Rusty startled in surprise, whirled around to face the front of the classroom.


    There was no other way in besides the doors, but there, standing behind the lectern, was an old, old man. He was bent and hunched with age, not so much leaning on a twisted, dark staff as appearing to grow out of it. His robes were deep red, studded with purple gemstones in descending spirals that worked their way around his body. His beard was almost down to the floor, and he wore no hat on his bald head.


    He radiated authority. His eyes were filled with a palpable force that he swept across the children, holding them in place like a serpent terrifying mice.


    And only when he looked away, did Rusty realize that the wizard had the darkest skin he''d ever seen.


    It was one thing to meet Alice Jackson, and accept that well, okay, she was maybe a chosen one too, and she had a rune and magic, just like he did. He was in a strange place, and the rules were different than in Texas.


    But the wizard up there on stage, that was a man who obviously had authority, was THE authority. Even Terathon hadn''t had this level of presence.


    And he was black.


    Rusty wasn''t sure if he should be okay with this or not. His upbringing had not prepared him for this situation. The last time this sort of thing had ever been in question was a month ago, when Dad was trying to watch a man called Martin Luther King talk on television, and Mom had called it nonsense talk and insisted he turn it off.


    And in a handful of heartbeats, as the kids stared, mesmerized, Rusty decided that he should probably keep his mouth shut and think hard about this later. Wizards had different rules than Texas did right now, so he shouldn''t worry about it at the minute.


    Rusty would later remember this decision, and be very glad he made the choice to look at things that way.


    But that would be later.


    Right now, the kids stared back, uncertain of what, if anything, they were meant to do as the old man glowered at them.


    Eventually, he nodded, seemingly satisfied. ¡°One among you is the Chosen One,¡± he said, in a deep, breathy voice. ¡°But we do not know which of you that is, yet. And so your first lesson shall... help us along this road of discovery.¡±


    The doors sung open once more, and Rusty turned to see four figures, three men and one woman, walk forward into the green light of the high windows.


    One was Terathon, clad in his plain brown robes, but wearing a dark green sash, every inch of it covered in unfamiliar characters written in gold trim. Another was a woman, short and pale-skinned, her hair done up in black braids chased with white streaks, her robes also black and tucked into sturdy, iron-shod boots that were literally rusting on her feet. A third figure was young, his beard a mere goatee. His robes were bright yellow, and he wore a pair of leather gloves that appeared to have a rolling flame moving around them, burning points that seemed to almost shift like bugs, like if fireflies were actually made of fire.


    But it was the fourth figure that made Rusty gasp.


    A clean-shaven man in dark blue robes that fluttered and moved on their own.


    He was the very same man that Rusty had seen in that dead boy''s memories.


    The wizard at the lectern was speaking again, and if Rusty hadn''t had perfect memory, he''d have missed it entirely. A few seconds late, he tore his eyes from the clean-shaven wizard, and looked back to the lectern, and its ancient occupant.


    ¡°We will be your teachers,¡± the old man rasped. ¡°We will be your trainers. One among you shall be the savior of this world, and in time, we will know which of you is worthy to be the true chosen one.¡±


    He paused, drawing in raspy breath, and to Rusty''s utter surprise, Ken raised his hand. ¡°Sir?¡±


    Alice murmured to Janice, the two girls amazed, and Rusty saw Gunther''s face show utter surprise, before the big blonde kid got it back into shape. Rusty couldn''t blame him. Ken had some guts to pipe up, here.


    ¡°Sir, what will happen to those of us who aren''t the chosen ones?¡± Ken asked.


    The old man stared at him, as if he were looking at a talking fish, or some other unexpected and entirely alien thing. His eyes narrowed, as if he didn''t like what he saw, and Rusty imagined that he could almost feel the old man''s anger billowing out from him like a cloud, filling the room. ¡°I did not give you leave to ask questions, boy,¡± the ancient one finally said. ¡°Your impatience is a poor reflection upon your upbringing. But I will answer this, and only this, before we move on and stop wasting time. Those of you who are not the chosen one, shall be the chosen one''s companions. You shall help them reach the dark lord, end him, and reclaim his power for the forces of the light. Do you understand me, or should I simplify it for you?¡±


    ¡°I, uh, I understand. Sir. S-sorry.¡± Ken put his hand down, and looked away.


    ¡°Now I shall continue.¡± The old man said, breathing heavily. ¡°All of you have done the first task of the chosen. All of you have claimed your rune. I can feel your awakening from here, just as you can feel mine.¡±


    Was that that feeling of looming presence, of intensity? Was the rune the reason for that? Rusty had just chalked it down to the old man being scary as hell, but learning that there was magic behind it, that somehow made it a little better.


    ¡°And now, as we call you,¡± the old man continued, ¡°you shall show us your power. But first¡ª¡± The old man straightened up, and held the staff up high, throwing his other hand out dramatically. ¡°ROSH!¡±


    His fingers flared with golden light.


    The room shook.


    The tower groaned, and the shaking got worse, and Rusty gripped the desk in front of him, panic filling his guts. But a quick glance back at the rest of the wizards showed them calm. Terathon caught his eye, and gave him a nod, and Rusty felt better....


    And then the walls folded away. They separated, the beams of the ceiling collapsing in to either side, and the walls dropping in slow motion as the glass windows sunk one by one into holes in the floor where the walls had been. And the room was no more, only the desks and lectern and dais remaining on a great stone disk, above the clouds. It extended out a few hundred feet in each direction, with no railings to mark where the disk ended, and the long, long drop started. The wind hit them like a physical blow, staggering Rusty and the others as it howled, with the pure green sky shining down from above and a great, alien sun''s blinding light making them blink with its intensity.

 Aberrant Ideology

    ¡°Your mentors will call you, one by one. They shall grant you targets to show your rune''s powers upon. And you will demonstrate them for us.¡± The old man said, his voice somehow louder than the unending wail of the wind. ¡°Balangor. Who do you claim?¡±


    The blue-robed man stepped forward, and Rusty half-expected him to say that his chosen one was dead.


    But he was surprised. ¡°I claim her,¡± Balangor said, and Alice Jackson stepped forward, beaming.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Roz whispered in his ear. ¡°He picked two?¡±


    Rusty opened his mouth to answer, and shut it again. I guess that''s okay? I don''t know their rules, he tried thinking back at Roz.


    ¡°Are there any rules at all?¡± Roz asked.


    Rusty didn''t reply. Balangar was gesturing and pointing, mouthing a word that was lost in the wind, and near one edge of the disk, a pair of tusks grew up from the ground, twisting together to create a statue that looked like a cross between a crocodile and an elephant. It was made of bone, or teeth, or what was that stuff¡ª ivory, his memory supplied.


    Alice said something, and the ancient wizard bellowed, ¡°LOUDER, GIRL!¡±


    Alice flinched, shouting over the wind. ¡°I am Alice Jackson, and my rune is gravel!¡±


    Then she shut her eyes and pointed.


    Seconds went by, and Rusty shivered in the wind.


    ¡°You know how to use this?¡± Balangor asked. ¡°You DID get your familiar, right?¡±


    ¡°I''m... give me a moment, please! It''s hard to focus.¡±


    ¡°Your enemies will NOT, girl!¡± The ancient wizard roared. ¡°DO IT!¡±


    Alice screamed, holding her head. And Rusty felt something from her direction, a pressure in the air that made his sinuses loosen up. It was almost as if the wind had shifted in his direction, but he felt no more chilled than he had before.


    KRACK.


    KRUNCH!


    And a blast of shrapnel ripped up from the disk next to the statue, slammed into it, blasting chunks of horn away, and knocking the remnants of the statue off the edge.


    Alice sagged a little, and Balangor moved forward, taking her shoulder and pulling her back.


    The old man nodded, pitching his voice to be heard above the wind. ¡°Useful. Strong enough, perhaps. Let us see what the others have to bring to bear. Reevian. Who have you claimed?¡±


    The wizard with the fiery gloves stepped forward, smiling. ¡°I, er, I claim Gunther. Him.¡± He pointed at the blonde youth, who stepped forward, and folded his arms, pushing his chin up. ¡°Ah! You''ll need a target. Right.¡± Reevian said, pulling off a glove, and reaching into a satchel at his waist. ¡°Just like we practiced! Do it!¡±


    The wizard hurled something small and glittering, and where it struck the disk, a puff of black smoke swirled out.


    It should have been instantly blown away by the wind.


    It wasn''t.


    Something started to take form in the smoke, something with a long, thin face and claws, pulling itself out of the darkness of the vapor.


    It didn''t get far.


    ¡°Zerr Heizen!¡± Gunther screamed, pointing at it.


    And it was as if a thousand unseen hands gripped the smoke-creature and pulled. It screamed, high and thin and wailing, as it was torn to shreds and vanished into the wind.


    ¡°His rune is ''Tear!''¡± Reevian said, proudly.


    ¡°Ah!¡± The ancient wizard smiled, showing yellowed teeth. ¡°Now we are speaking! Yes. This is powerful. This is definitely strong enough.¡±


    But as they bantered, Rusty was watching Gunther. The big youth was breathing hard, holding his ribs.


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    ¡°His chakra went way down from that,¡± Roz whispered in his ear. ¡°I think if he tried to do that again right now, it wouldn''t go too well for him.¡±


    Gunther caught him staring, and scowled. Rusty looked away, back to the old wizard as he turned his attention back to the line of his subordinates.


    ¡°Jadar!¡± The ancient one continued. ¡°Who do you claim?¡±


    ¡°I claim her,¡± the woman in black stepped forward, and pointed at Janice. ¡°But I have concerns about her rune. It must be judged. It would be better, I think, if she were last.¡±


    Janice looked surprised, but the other wizards looked to each other. Their leader spat out a few words in a harsh language Rusty had never heard before, and Jadar replied back. Terathon shook his head, and pointed at Rusty and Ken, and the ancient one nodded, made a ''get on with it gesture.''


    ¡°You,¡± Terathon said, pointing at Ken. ¡°You are the first I claimed. Do you wish a living or unliving target?¡±


    ¡°I... wow, okay,¡± Ken said, stepping forward, his torn pants leg fluttering in the wind. ¡°I don''t actually need a target, I''ll use myself if that''s okay.¡±


    The wizards looked to each other with interest, and the ancient one nodded. ¡°Your confidence does you credit, boy. Show us.¡±


    ¡°Great! Wonderful,¡± Ken said. ¡°That''s the bees knees.¡±


    Rusty could almost feel the nervousness he was hiding underneath the bluster. Finally, Ken pointed at his hips. ¡°Watch carefully!¡± Then he shut his eyes, and a green light flared on his lower thigh, where the pants were torn.


    And Ken''s body changed, expanding outward at the hips, bulging at least a foot in either direction.


    Rusty stifled a giggle. Gunther didn''t bother, and his belly laugh rang out in the wind. Ken flushed, and his body quivered, then returned to normal. ¡°My uh, so yeah, my word, or rune, or whatever is ''waist.'' That''s... yeah.¡±


    ¡°Pathetic.¡± was the ancient one''s judgement.


    Rusty''s amusement died, as Ken flinched, looked down, and shuffled back.


    But Rusty had little time to feel bad for him, because Terathon was looking his way.


    ¡°We''re up,¡± Roz said. ¡°So what are we doing?¡±


    Yeah, we''ve got two runes to show off, Rusty said. But then he hesitated. He remembered what the satyr girl had said, about mind magic being seen as bad.


    ¡°Oooh, that''s a good point. And come to think of it, we''d also have to explain where we got the second rune from,¡± Roz said. ¡°I don''t know the rules about that. That could be a wizard crime or something. So...¡±


    Yeah, Rusty thought. We''ll pretend that Hole is the only rune we have, until we figure out the rules.


    Rusty stepped forward, just as Terathon asked. ¡°Will you want a living or unliving target?¡±


    ¡°Unliving, please,¡± Rusty said.


    ¡°Mmm.¡± Terathon stroked his beard, then looked to the blue-robed wizard. ¡°Balangor, could we have another ivory statue?¡±


    ¡°Easily,¡± Balangor said, gesturing. A second crocodile-elephant materialized, this one standing and roaring... and wobbling in the wind.


    Rusty closed his eyes, and concentrated.


    ¡°Make a big hole in that statue''s skull,¡± he drew in dark gray runes against an imagined white background.


    Create large hole in inanimate ivory!


    Committed chakra: 15/44


    Cost: 5 chakra.


    Remaining free chakra: 24/44


    He opened his eyes as the CRACK echoed through the air, and saw the skull crumble into fragments. ¡°That was the Hole rune,¡± Rusty said, into the silence. ¡°It makes holes in things.¡±


    ¡°Strong! Two good runes,¡± the ancient one said, rubbing his hands together. ¡°Good!¡±


    Rusty felt a crawling sensation on his back, and he turned to see Terathon studying him, with careful calculation. The wizard''s eyes had a suspicious glint to them, and Rusty stared back, unable to think of anything he could have done to deserve it.


    But then the ancient one spoke again. ¡°Jadar. You are the last. Show us your pupil''s power.¡±


    ¡°This one will require a sacrifice,¡± the black-robed woman said. ¡°Reevian, give us a grach.¡±


    ¡°Wait, did he say grach¡ª¡± Roz began, but the gloved wizard had thrown another glittering orb out.


    There was no smoke this time. One second there was nothing, the next second, a turtle-man was standing there, bracing itself against the sudden wind, raising hands up to shield its eyestalks.


    ¡°Now, child!¡± Jadar snapped.


    Janice stepped forward, and pointed, and her cheek flared a brilliant purple.


    The grach shook. The grach looked at her, lowering its hands, its eyestalks retracting as it stared in amazement.


    And Rusty almost shouted and ran at her, as Janice walked straight up to it and gave it a big hug.


    The grach hugged her back.


    ¡°My rune is um...¡± Janice said, tilting her head, red hair whipping in the wind. ¡°Ideology! This is a friendly grach now! I can make them all friendly, I''m sure of it¡ª¡±


    ¡°Arvack!¡± Commanded the ancient one.


    Janice stopped moving. Stopped talking.


    The grach let her go, looked around wildly.


    ¡°Hnosh!¡± shouted Terathon.


    Rusty closed his eyes as the Grach screamed, and wet sounds filled the air. He knew that spell.


    He opened them again, to see the wizards grimly moving forward. All but Jadar who bowed her head. A few yards away, the corpse of the grach shuddered and went still.


    ¡°Wait, what the hell?¡± Ken asked.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Alice screamed.


    They both froze, as the ancient one turned his gaze upon them, sweeping it over all of them.


    ¡°Her rune is corrupted,¡± he said simply. ¡°Left unchecked, the dark lord would have her. Terathon, take her below. Perhaps we can save her, given time.¡±


    Terathon bowed his head, moved to Janice and set his hand on her shoulder. ¡°Zoraph,¡± he said, and they were gone, twin snapping cracks echoing as the air rushed in to where they had disappeared.


    There were more words after that, but Rusty felt numb, let them roll over him. He''d review them in time, look at them in his memories, later.


    But right now, he was trying to keep it together, knowing in his guts, feeling with certainty that if he''d shown off his memory rune, he would have probably been taken away with Janice.

 Relief in a Bottle

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    Cyrus looked back up at him, tried to say something, but it came out as a croak. Oh yeah. When¡¯s the last time I had water? Shit.


    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


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    The only thing worse than a pitiable man was being dependent upon a pitiable man. And when that pitiable man pitied you


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 A Slow Kind of Poison

    </a> Cyrus opened his eye when the truck came to a halt, considered the old shack that was strung with Christmas lights, and had an American flag drooping and seared thin and pale by the unrelenting sun. The outside was bound with tin plates and baling wire, with smooth sheets of asbestos insulation peering through, and gleaming in the afternoon light. Barbed wire stretched away to either side, blocking off a field that had a definite slope to it, as the hard rains of June had eroded the dried-out husk of the soil, and made it impossible to work.


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    Benjy Custer was a regular guest at Hostetler Baptist, where he came in regularly to tell stories of how he¡¯d once been a wicked man, and jailed for his sins. And he told a pretty good story about how he¡¯d found Jesus while he was in the lockup, and changed his ways. But given the things he was doing when he wasn¡¯t helping the pastor warm a few hearts on Sunday, Cyrus thought that Benjy had decided that now it was his turn to hide, and Jesus was having some trouble finding him


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    Ah, shit.


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    Catalina¡¯s words came back to Cyrus. They''re usually trying to buy something we don''t sell¡­


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    </a> Someone cleared their throat, and Cyrus looked up to see a stranger in the doorway.


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    That was a shock. Cyrus had thought that dad had been pacing himself¡­ then he looked down to the mug in Dad¡¯s hand, for the first time. It was tilted, just a bit, and he could see the liquid inside was clear. Not amber, clear. Well, shit.


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    The only good part of that rumble of fear and hatred was that Cyrus managed to get his Dad and Dave Beel through the door without anyone taking notice, as they drank and yelled and worked themselves up. It was mostly hot air, he reckoned. Then Catalina¡¯s face flickered through his memory, and he hoped


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 Chapter 12: Souls and Senses

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    Right, sorry,¡± Rusty nodded. Terathon was teaching them how to focus properly. He blinked, and ate as he thought to Roz instead. What did you have in mind?


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    Rusty¡¯s eyes went wide. You¡¯re a genius! Except¡­


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    No we can¡¯t,


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    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


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    C¡¯mon daddy-o, stop mean mugging the blondie and let¡¯s get our peepers on,¡± Roz was jumping up and down, and Rusty fought to hide a smile. Jadar wouldn¡¯t have liked it. Most of the wizards were serious and grave¡­ and they kind of had a point. They hadn¡¯t brought the four of them here to have a vacation. Someone was going to be dead by the time they were done. Five of us,


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    Thunder rumbled across the sky, as he spoke, and Jadar shook her head. ¡°They are not likely foes. But you must always use caution when within sight of others who have traveled between worlds. Were they servants of the Dark Lord, you would be lost. Learn this lesson and do not err again.¡± she glanced up, as the rain pattered down with more force. ¡°And now it is time for the last lesson today. Look to the lightning. Feel


    KRAK! The bolt struck somewhere among the charred peaks, and it seemed large, so large in his vision. Time seemed to stretch, and he gasped as it almost seemed like something in his body flared up at the same time. It wasn¡¯t painful, in fact it was quite the opposite. It was¡­ the closest comparison he had was when Rick Beel had smuggled a whole bag of sugar out of the cafeteria pantry at school, and they¡¯d shared it between them. He was buzzing with energy, all at once, and it felt good.


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    Attend!¡± Jadar shouted again, and the kids flinched. Again. ¡°The lightning is not good or bad. It simply is


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    But no overdoing it,


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    Oh. Oh shit, it did.


    No wonder


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 Chapter 13-1: Enchantment!

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    Wait, they¡¯re dangerous?


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    So far¡­


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    But, this is only one reason why enchantments are dangerous,¡± Terathon said, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers together, folding the rogue pinky in with his other digits. ¡°They occupy chakra that stands between you and the well crumbling, it is true. But also, when you dig too deep, they fail. When you pull the chakra that is sustaining them away, they desert you. So any mental trick you might devise to aid your concentration, any¡­ cheating¡­ as you put it, that would go away. Probably when you are in the most dangerous situation in your lives. And you would lose the trick that made things easier. What happens then, when you must return to doing things the hard way and you never learned to do it properly?


    For all they are different, for all that the colors and substances of the organs within their skulls are like nothing I¡¯ve seen from¡ª¡± Terathon cut himself off. ¡°They work the same way as ours do. The gentle streams of chakra flow within, and there are a million million million strands of memories woven and connected by the nerves. Chemicals from different parts keep it whole and functional. Everything we feel, everything we perceive, all of this filters from our brain to our soul. And the runes do not often take their delicacy into account. The runes, in fact, do what you ask them to do, and damn the consequences.


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 Get Rocked

    Rusty about peed himself as the door to the classroom slammed open, and Reevian burst through. ¡°Van schir! Mak rool ten Verikes! Ignin¡ª¡±


    An explosion rattled through the classroom. Alice and Gunther screamed and dove under their desks. Ken froze. Rusty whipped his head around to see that Terathon was gone.


    Another explosion, and Reevian stopped, held up his gauntlets, the sparks on them whirring like fireflies. His eyes went wide.


    ¡°Shni farra ken ral?¡± Terathon said from behind him, resting a hand gently on his shoulder.


    ¡°Imis, Terathon. Wol farra na ban. Verikes sombo. Ignin bas a frak.¡±


    Terathon grunted. Reevian relaxed, putting his hands down, and stepped away. Rusty caught a flash of metal as Terathon pulled his other hand away from Reevian¡¯s back, and nodded. The two wizards locked eyes for a moment, and Terathon sighed. Then he turned to the students. ¡°I must go and see to a wizardly matter. Remain here and remain practicing until one of us returns.¡±


    ¡°Is it the Dark Lord?¡± Ken asked.


    ¡°Worse,¡± Reevian said, then froze as Terathon glared at him.


    ¡°Come, Reevian,¡± Terathon said, and the gauntleted mage shut the door behind him, leaving the four children alone in Terathon¡¯s classroom.


    Rusty looked at the others. The others looked back to him, glanced around at each other.


    Then Gunther shrugged. ¡°We must keep practicing, I suppose,¡± he said, and turned to look directly at the window to the balcony, glaring at it and smoothing a very torn piece of parchment in his hands.


    ¡°Okay, that was pretty weird,¡± Ken said. ¡°You just want to keep practicing? How can I concentrate after that?¡±


    ¡°Reevian looked really scared,¡± Alice said. ¡°He chose you Gunther, you ain¡¯t worried none about how scared he looked?¡±


    Rusty let them banter for a second, because he was busy. He¡¯d learned over the last few days, that he could replay memories over and over in his mind, and slow them down or freeze them. And he swallowed hard, as he saw just what Terathon was holding.


    ¡°Oh shoot,¡± Roz whistled. ¡°That¡¯s a knife. Um. I don¡¯t know how we feel about this. Wait, hold on. We¡¯ve seen this guy blow up people! Why does he need a knife?¡±


    ¡°I mean, Gandalf had a magic sword,¡± Rusty whispered. ¡°Wizards can stab people. Maybe they carry weapons just in case someone tries to be like Saruman?¡±


    Roz started to reply, then paused, and pointed. Rusty looked over to see the other kids staring at him. Oh yeah, I said that out loud.


    ¡°Terathon woulda tanned your hide for that,¡± Roz told him.


    ¡°Rusty? What was that about swords?¡± Alice asked. ¡°Your familiar got somethin¡¯ to say?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know that I can keep focusing,¡± Rusty said.


    ¡°Then you won¡¯t be the chosen one,¡± Gunther said, sneering. ¡°Fine. And keep talking. It makes it harder for me to concentrate, so I will have training you do not.¡±


    Rusty felt a surge of anger up his spine. ¡°You¡¯re all the time trying to be the teacher¡¯s pet, and you¡¯re mean mugging me when they aren¡¯t looking. I don¡¯t like that.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care what you don¡¯t like,¡± Gunther said.


    ¡°Well you should,¡± Rusty said, standing up, and now he knew his mouth was running but his temper was up. ¡°Because I don¡¯t like Nazis who think they¡¯re better than everyone else!¡±


    Gunther¡¯s eyes went wide. For a second, he just stared.


    ¡°Oh shit,¡± Ken whispered. ¡°Daddy-o, that was exactly the wrong thing to say. You don¡¯t know¡ª¡± he started. He never finished. Gunther leaped up out of his seat and charged Rusty, screaming. He went low, caught Rusty around the waist and ran him toward the wall.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Gunther was bigger. Gunther had big muscles.


    But Rusty had about a decade worth of farm chores and errands, and a whole mess of brothers.


    And while his muscles weren¡¯t as big as Gunther¡¯s, he¡¯d come by them honestly instead of being born with them, and as the chairs went crashing to the side and Alice and Ken scrambled to get out of the way, Rusty made himself go limp and put his head down, dragging Gunther¡¯s arms down and slowing him, and made what would have been a concussion for sure into a painful but not-too-horrible backwards slam that made Rusty¡¯s ribs ache.


    The second they rebounded, Rusty kicked off from the wall and now it was Gunther¡¯s turn to stagger back, as he overbalanced, and Rusty slammed his forehead into Gunther¡¯s face. There was a pop and a crunch and Gunther gasped in pain and let Rusty go, threw wild punches. One of them grazed Rusty¡¯s jaw and hit was his turn to stagger back, so Rusty put up his arms like he¡¯d seen Rocky Marciano do, and tried to ignore the blood in his mouth.


    Gunther yelled louder and beat on him, nose bloody and flat, with red spattering out and spraying everywhere, and Rusty let him go to town for a bit. Then he stepped in close and up came the haymaker.


    Gunther¡¯s head snapped up, the big kid staggered back, and Rusty saw blood with a tiny white speck fly, knew it was a tooth, and for a second he thought that was it. Then Gunther shook his head, glared at him with absolute malice, and Rusty could feel his will gathering, could feel him calling upon his rune¡­


    ¡°STOP!¡± screamed Alice, and then what felt like a dump truck full of rocks poured over them both.


    When Rusty could think again, he thought Ow. Immediately followed by Where am I?


    ¡°We¡¯re under a whole lot of gravel, pal,¡± Roz told him.


    Rusty tried to move an arm, felt the rocks shift, slightly. He couldn¡¯t get it more than an inch away from him, and as the rocks shifted, he felt the space he¡¯d just vacated fill in. The air was tight down here, and rocks were right up against his lips, so he couldn¡¯t open his mouth.


    ¡°Y¡¯all gonna behave now?¡± Alice asked, her voice sterner than he¡¯d ever heard it. Gentle, mild Alice was gone, and whoever this was, she knew how to use the Mom voice.


    ¡°Mmm-hmm?¡± Rusty tried.


    ¡°Ya¡ª¡± Gunther started to croak, then stopped, coughing. ¡°In my mouth! Agh.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sending the gravel back now,¡± Alice declared. ¡°Y¡¯all start fighting again, y¡¯all gonna get rocked again.¡±


    ¡°Mmmhmm.¡± Rusty groaned. His jaw throbbed where Gunther had punched him, and two of his molars were all wiggly. They sent spikes of pain up his skull, so he stopped wiggling them.


    The gravel clattered and rattled away. Rusty stood up, wobbly and with a hot surge of pain all along his shoulders that told him he¡¯d have a huge set of bruises there later. But he did see with a little satisfaction that Gunther was wobbly too.


    They glared at each other, as Gunther mopped blood off his face. ¡°Don¡¯t ever call me a Nazi again,¡± the big blonde boy said.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Rusty said. ¡°Ain¡¯t your fault. You must have just been a baby or so.¡±


    ¡°My last name is BERGMANN.¡±


    Rusty stared. ¡°So?¡±


    Gunther laughed. Ken laughed. Alice joined in.


    And when they eventually explained it to him, Rusty felt like ten day old cow shit. Gunther shrugged it off when he tried to apologize.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t know. And I was being an ass,¡± Gunther said. ¡°I thought you were weak and you¡¯d get us all killed. Now I see I was wrong. Friends?¡± Gunther offered his hand.


    ¡°Friends,¡± Rusty said, and they shook. ¡°Let¡¯s train hard and kill the heck out of that Dark Lord.¡±


    *****


    After they cleaned up as best they could, the kids realized that they might have actually gotten themselves in a whole lot of trouble. But when Reevian returned, he only nodded approvingly and commented: ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware that Terathon was teaching you advanced techniques, already. Who is most injured?¡±


    ¡°Gunther,¡± Rusty said. ¡°And I¡¯m a little banged up, too.¡±


    ¡°But not a scratch on the others¡­¡± Reevian¡¯s eyebrows climbed up towards his hat. ¡°Perhaps I misjudged you,¡± he said, and Gunther turned pale.


    ¡°It¡¯s not like that,¡± Alice began, but Reevian waved a hand. ¡°Hold still, the two of you,¡± he said, and pointed a gauntleted hand at Gunther, and then Rusty. Rusty sighed as he felt the pain fade from his back, and had the very strange sensation of feeling his gums wrap back around the loose teeth, as the pain faded. Across the way, Gunther¡¯s nose filled back in like a balloon re-inflating.


    Reevian beckoned, once they were whole again. ¡°Come. Terathon will be busy for the rest of the day. You can practice his techniques in your quarters. But tell one of us should you wish another bout. We shall assign you some space to practice in.¡±


    As they followed Reevian back up to the dormitory floor, Rusty and Ken shared a glance. ¡°Terathon?¡± Ken mouthed.


    ¡°Sir?¡± Rusty asked. ¡°Is Terathon all right?¡±


    ¡°Yes and no.¡±


    ¡°Was it the dark lord after all? Or one of his servants?¡± Rusty said, his mind filling with images of black riders, dead men on evil horses.


    ¡°No. It is something far worse,¡± Reevian said. ¡°It is politics.¡±

 Chapter 14: Cold Leads Heat Up

    It should work. It will work


    Almost like a ritual,


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    With trembling hands, Cyrus took the picture. Then he took more, shifting the scope to the sides, getting good shots, feeling joy sing in his brain as he found another piece of proof, proof that he wasn¡¯t crazy, proof that something insane and, well, magical, had happened.


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    Cyrus lost a good chunk of his buzz. He had mostly kept his head down and taught himself electronics while the spooks he was ferrying set up their radio sites and monitoring stations. Mostly


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    Come with me right now, we gotta stop them! They¡¯re gonna burn Bunktown!¡±

 A Cruel Curriculum

    ¡°I don¡¯t reckon I¡¯ve ever heard of the Netherlands,¡± Rusty said. ¡°Was that on the western front or the eastern front?¡±


    Gunther stared at him for a second, then laughed. ¡°You are funny. No, no. Ah¡­ the Netherlands, people often call it Holland.¡±


    ¡°Oh! You¡¯re the wooden shoes guys!¡± Rusty said, vaguely recalling cutting out and pasting pictures in grade school, pictures of windmills and tulips and women wearing weird bonnets.


    ¡°Everyone always points out the wooden shoes thing,¡± Gunther rolled his eyes. ¡°We have not done that for a long time, and I grew up in Manchester, anyway. Ah, it is a city in England,¡± Gunther said, seeing the confused look in his eyes.


    ¡°I reckon England¡¯s pretty good,¡± Rusty said, before he started scooping water up in his hands, and rinsing around his sore but intact teeth, before spitting. ¡°My brother¡¯s got an old war friend in Britain. He sends us books. There¡¯s a few by this Tolkien cat, that are pretty out of sight. It¡¯s how I learned about wizards.¡±


    ¡°A cat writes books?¡± Gunther¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°Never mind. But I think I understand, yes. For me it was a different book. A very good author called Karl May. He wrote about a German man who tamed the American West. He was called Old Shatterhand. Have you heard of him?¡±


    Gunther was almost eager, and Rusty sure did hate to see it fall when he shook his head. ¡°No. I know Roy Rogers, and sometimes my Dad lets us watch Gunsmoke when Mom goes to bed early. But I never heard of a Shatterhand guy.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Gunther looked away. ¡°Well it¡¯s okay. This is not like the Old West anyway. Except for maybe that knife that Terathon drew on Reevian. That was pretty Western.¡±


    ¡°You saw that too?¡± Rusty asked.


    ¡°Meine kobold¡ª my familiar pointed it out,¡± Gunther said, shrugging. ¡°I was trying to figure out what to do about it, but then they started talking and I knew I did not have to do anything.¡±


    ¡°You thought he was going to hurt Reevian?¡±


    ¡°He was going to kill him if Reevian gave him a reason to.¡±


    ¡°How¡­ how do you know that?¡± Rusty whispered.


    Gunther put down his own rag, and looked around the bathing room. No one else was here, but he lowered his voice as he bent down to Rusty¡¯s ear. ¡°When you grow up a Jew in a country where a lot of people blame Jews for dragging them into the war¡ª which we did not, nobody gave a fuck about us for decades and Hitler did as he pleased¡ª you learn to read people. How they stand, how they look, how they let their faces go when they are about to attack, it all tells a story. And Terathon was looking to give Reevian a very bloody end, up until Reevian made it clear he submitted.¡±


    ¡°But aren¡¯t we all supposed to be fighting the Dark Lord?¡± Rusty asked.


    ¡°We are. Whoever that dark lord is, they need us for that,¡± Gunther said. ¡°But¡­ ah, you were not here for a lot of the talks we had while you were recovering. There is a tension between all the wizards. Well, except for Zarkimorr. The others all fear him, and he acts as if they cannot hurt him. Perhaps he is right. But for all the others, there is a¡­ ah¡­ what is the word¡­ rivilitat? Rivil¡­¡±


    Rusty¡¯s perfect memory let him fill in the blank. ¡°A rivalry. Gosh.¡± he thought about it, some. Thought about how his Dad was forever complaining about how the ranchers out in the west patch couldn¡¯t agree on the land, so the migrants had up and squatted on it. ¡°Are we talking a contest or a prize they¡¯re trying to win, or is it a feud? I guess if there¡¯s knives out it¡¯d be a feud,¡± he said, thinking it over out loud.


    ¡°I do not know. If it were a contest, then they would be trying to sabotage each other¡¯s chosen ones. Jadar could have pushed me off the tower with a magical breeze or something during assensing class. Terathon could remove my liver in the night while I slept and none would be the wiser. But they do not seem to care about hindering or hurting us, they teach us all equally. Something is going on that I cannot see. But it does not matter.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Because this dark lord is worse than Hitler,¡± Gunther¡¯s eyes blazed with anger. ¡°I have seen what he has done! And if I can stop him, then I can save someone else¡¯s grandparents.¡±


    The raw conviction in his voice made Rusty¡¯s eyes water. Now that he knew Gunther was all right, he felt for him. This guy, yeah, he was pretty swell...


    ¡°And now that I know you¡¯re not useless, like Ken, or just a girl, like Alice, I won¡¯t try to hurt you so bad you have to go home. I won¡¯t have to carry you on my back like a weak baby.¡±


    ¡­no, scratch that, he was still an ass.


    But Rusty could work with that. He¡¯d just treat him more like a brother than a friend. And not a cool brother, like Cyrus or Jordan. More like a Ray Ray. Rusty still owed Ray Ray a knuckle sandwich for stealing his piece of birthday cake during the boys party.


    ¡°Gee, thanks for not crippling me,¡± Rusty said, as sarcastically as he could.


    ¡°You are welcome,¡± Gunther said, completely missing the sarcasm. ¡°Come. Reevian told me we have one more class before nightfall. I must guide you there and I do not want us to be late.¡±


    *****


    It wasn¡¯t unusual to have two classes on the same day. But this one took them further down the tower than they¡¯d been before, down past the balcony where Jadar had shown them the world gates of the elves, down through some sort of checkpoint, where Mummers bearing weapons that looked like crossbows watched them closely through long horizontal slits in the walls. But Reevian walked without concern, and his confidence put their worries to ease.


    And as they descended, they started to see more and more wood worked into the construction. Where the top of the tower was bare stone, save for the spaces that the students ate in, attended classes, and bedded down at night, everything else was unfinished and empty. But down here, it had the look and feel of a place very much in use. And down at what must be, by Rusty¡¯s perfect recall and some fast stair counting, the fifth floor from the bottom, they started finding carpets covering the floors that had the rumples and wrinkles of occasional use.


    A little past that point, they started to see tapestries. They showed fantastical creatures, men in strange armor, and battles full of knights riding things that very much weren¡¯t horses. They were more like bulls, if bulls had faces like badgers. They seemed to be fighting a lot of dragons, and short men with beards, and even a few elves, here and there.


    But there was always something recurring. Every tapestry had a symbol blazoned atop it, sewn in with gold-colored thread, a symbol of a unicorn¡¯s head.


    As they walked, Ken hurried forward a bit, tugging on his robe, and ended up neck and neck with Rusty. ¡°What¡¯s with the horny horse?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a unicorn. They¡¯re a fantasy creature.¡±


    ¡°Well so¡¯s most of this place. Are they something we gotta worry about?¡±


    ¡°Um,¡± Rusty tried to remember, and got the information he was looking for instantly. ¡°Their horns can cure poison and heal people and stuff. They run from most people, but like virgins.¡±


    ¡°They what? That doesn¡¯t sound good. Horses and people, uh¡­¡±


    Rusty blushed a little, kept his eyes firmly on Reevian¡¯s back. ¡°Not like that. Like they¡¯ll rest their heads in a maiden¡¯s lap, and that¡¯s how you can catch them.¡±


    ¡°To get the healing horns.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s kind of a jerk move, now that I think about it,¡± Rusty muttered.


    He didn¡¯t mutter quietly enough, because Reevian held up a glove with a single finger extended, and waggled it. Fiery sparks danced around the digit, and Rusty got the message loud and clear and shut up.


    And three junctions later, as the tapestries got thicker and they started passing by rooms with wooden desks and chairs and other furnishings, they came to a heavy iron door at the end of a hallway. ¡°Your instructor is inside,¡± Reevian told them. ¡°Pay them the respect you would give us. Attend your lesson well. When you are finished, return as you came and do not deviate. Do you attend?¡±


    ¡°We attend, teacher,¡± they chorused, and the wizard turned and left without another word.


    It took all four of them working together to get the door open.


    ¡°You¡¯re late,¡± the woman leaning on the windowsill told them.


    She was about as tall as Gunther, but broader, built solid and with masses of scars covering the bare skin of her arms, where the leather bracers didn¡¯t protect. She wore something like a layered apron that belted around her waist, and button up trousers that were tucked neatly into heavy duty boots. An iron cap with a golden unicorn¡¯s head on the front of it sat above a scowling face that had three scars that cut a crosshatch through the left side, one line of it slashed through where the tip of her nose had once been.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°We¡¯re sorry, we didn¡¯t mean to be late¡ª¡± Alice began, staring at the woman like she was a wild animal.


    ¡°Come in, line up, shut up, and look front,¡± the woman commanded, her voice drawling and low. And Rusty, who¡¯d heard this tone many a time from his Mom, did as he was told.


    He did look front, but he took a second to review his memory to get the full details of the room when he was staring at the far wall. It was a big place, obviously a corner of the tower that had been left mostly empty. There were no tapestries here, but there were heavy wooden shutters and sills on the currently open windows, and a series of long, low benches against the left-hand wall. Dangling bags hung from hooks in the ceiling, and tall wooden posts were embedded in the floor, forming a line front to back on the right-hand side. A few of the posts had carved and splintered faces, at varying heights. A few also had genitals, and that made Rusty¡¯s eyes go wide.


    Maybe that was why she punched him.


    hard.


    Through tears of pain, and his own feeble gasps, he heard Ken ask the question that was foremost in his mind now.


    ¡°What the hell? Why¡¯d you hit him?¡±


    let


    Then Ken yelped, and Rusty made out what he¡¯d later use total recall to figure out was a very short and very one-sided fight.


    Boots sounded at his back, heavy feet walking slowly across the floor to him, and Rusty scrambled away, still gasping, tumbled on the floor to get eyes on her. She nodded, paused in her relentless pace, and drew back a heavy foot. ¡°Dodge,¡± she told him.


    away.


    ¡°Better,¡± he heard her say, and then she stopped, and her boots thudded against the floor as she jogged toward the others.


    She chased them around the room, barely giving them time to recover, seemingly with an unending supply of energy and enthusiasm, though not a flicker of humor or joy crossed her torn-up face. She only stopped when they backed off to all corners of the room, nodding, and moving to stand in front of the only doorway out. The long room was silent, save for Alice¡¯s sobs, Ken trying to breathe through a bloody nose, and Gunther and Rusty¡¯s ragged panting.


    ¡°Take a break,¡± the woman told them. ¡°There is water in the cupboard by the benches. You have three minutes. You may speak. You may ask questions. If I don¡¯t like the questions I won¡¯t answer.¡±


    Then she sat on the floor, one leg up, hands on her knee, watching them.


    ¡°Who¡­ the hell are you?¡± Ken asked, sniffing between every other word.


    ¡°I¡¯m Jand and I get paid to hurt children.¡± she yawned. ¡°Two minutes and twenty-eight seconds.¡±


    ¡°Can we kill you?¡± Gunther asked.


    ¡°No. You can try. But you won¡¯t kill me.¡± Jand showed her teeth. It was less a grin, than an ape¡¯s warning.


    ¡°Why are you doing this?¡± Alice whispered, through sobs.


    Jand stared at her blankly. ¡°Now that¡¯s a stupid question. Why are you in this tower to begin with? What¡¯s your purpose here?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re training us to fight. You¡¯re training us to fight the dark lord,¡± Rusty said.


    ¡°See? He gets it,¡± Jand said. ¡°Try to be like him. He¡¯s good at dodging.¡±


    She scooped off her helmet, and threw it. The leather and metal cap caught him in the face and everything went black for a second as he hit the ground again.


    ¡°Mostly good at dodging,¡± Jand said, standing up and stretching. ¡°We¡¯ll work on that.¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± Ken said. ¡°You said we had three minutes! I¡¯ve been counting, it¡¯s nowhere near that!¡±


    ¡°Oh, that?¡± Jand said. ¡°I lied.¡± She turned and shut the door behind her with one arm, and its click was heavy and low, like a funeral bell foretending doom.


    Jand was bald, the first bald woman Rusty had ever seen, but he didn¡¯t have time to contemplate it as he ran for his life. Gunther tried to fight back, and Jand didn¡¯t pull her punches until he was on the ground and nursing his wrist, screaming that it was broken. Ken and Alice and Rusty tried to keep away from her as much as they could, but it didn¡¯t matter. She pursued them relentlessly, stretching them out on the floor with every hit, and adding in a quick boot to the ribs once they were down.


    Eventually it ended. It felt like an eternity, but reviewing it in his mind, Rusty figured it was only about seven minutes. Jan strolled over, retrieved her helmet from where it had fallen, and said simply, ¡°The lesson¡¯s over.¡±


    Then she walked over and opened the door, before sitting down on one of the low benches, shifting her belt around on her ample waist until a pouch that had been behind her was now in front of her, digging out a pipe, and lighting it with a chunk of glowing rock. She puffed as she considered them. ¡°Well? Why are you still here?¡±


    Rusty glared at her from where he and Ken were trying to get Gunther up without jostling his arm more. Gunther wasn¡¯t helping, and Rusty was boiling mad. ¡°Is this it? You didn¡¯t teach us how to fight! You just beat us!¡±


    ¡°Fighting¡¯s another lesson,¡± Jand said, unperturbed. ¡°Had to cover the basics first.¡± She puffed smoke out from pursed lips. ¡°Unless you think you have got that part mastered? You want to prove it to me, so we can get to the fighting part?¡±


    ¡°Uh, Rusty¡­¡± Roz said, from where he was hiding behind a bench. ¡°That¡¯s a really, really bad idea¡­¡±


    ¡°What do we have to do to prove it to you?¡± Rusty said, stepping away from Gunther.


    The helmet caught him in the chest, and down he went.


    ¡°Dodge!¡±


    Rusty lay on the floor. Gunther whimpered. Alice sobbed. Only Ken stepped forward. ¡°So I¡¯m pretty sure Gunther¡¯s wrist really is busted. Is that your job, to break us so we can¡¯t fight any more?¡±


    Rusty heard her shift, heard her heavy bootsteps crossing the floor, and gazed up at her as she scooped up her helmet, then turned to consider Ken, tossing the cap up and down in one hand. ¡°No,¡± she admitted. ¡°I should fix that before you leave.¡± She rummaged down the front of her tunic, pulled out a ring of small, glittering things rimmed with silvery metal. She sorted through them, then grunted in satisfaction. ¡°Here.¡±


    She knelt down beside Gunther, and Rusty saw Ken study the back of her neck, saw him tense up and clench his fists.


    ¡°Oh oh, oh bad idea,¡± Roz whispered.


    Rusty shook his head frantically, even though it hurt to do so, and Ken glanced his way and paused. He took a few ragged breaths, but he stepped back and his hands relaxed.


    ¡°Selah,¡± the woman said, pressing one of the glittery things against Gunther¡¯s hand. And Rusty felt warmth against his face, instinctually looked toward it as he felt a spell building up.


    ¡°Do the assensing thing! Do the assensing thing!¡± Roz urged, and almost without effort, Rusty thought of the symbol he needed to turn it on.


    He watched yellow light play through her fingers, felt the pressure of the magic, noted without surprise that Alice and Ken were doing the same thing. It didn¡¯t feel like any spell or working they¡¯d felt from the wizards. It was weaker, for one thing, and it seemed to ebb further as the light flared and then waned.


    But Gunther kept sobbing. ¡°It still hurts,¡± he whispered, between gasps.


    ¡°Bite on this,¡± Jand said, and passed him a leather strap. Then she grasped his wrist and turned it, and Gunther¡¯s muffled squeal reminded Rusty of the days where he¡¯d had to help slaughter a hog. ¡°It¡¯s broken all right. The charm won¡¯t do anything for bones.¡±


    She let go of his hand and stood, tucking the ring away.


    ¡°What¡­ what was that? That golden thing?¡± Alice asked.


    ¡°Healing charm,¡± Jand said. ¡°Rest until you can walk, then go see your wizard. He should be down a floor from here. He can fix bones.¡±


    his


    ¡°Stand up,¡± Jand commanded. ¡°Walk over here,¡± she said, fishing the ring out again.


    And the moment he managed, she tucked it away when he was a few feet distant. ¡°You don¡¯t need it. You¡¯ll heal on your own.¡±


    Then she sat down on her bench again, and smoked her pipe, and didn¡¯t answer any other questions.


    ¡°That was not a lady,¡± Alice burst out, the second they were out, with the door shut behind them. ¡°I don¡¯t know who she thought she was, but ain¡¯t no woman should act like that!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯d be pretty shitty behavior for a guy too, if we¡¯re being honest here,¡± Ken said. ¡°But that doesn¡¯t matter, right now. Gunther, how you feeling, big guy?¡±


    ¡°Like some hundin beat me like a drum,¡± Gunther muttered, cradling his wrist.


    ¡°Hun-what?¡± Rusty asked.


    ¡°Never mind. I¡¯ll do better next time. I can walk, Ken, get off me now.¡±


    Ken eased his arm away from Gunther¡¯s shoulder. The big kid wobbled, but stayed upright.


    ¡°Okay, real talking time,¡± Ken said, lowering his voice. ¡°We need to make a choice and we need to make it now. We either go looking for Reevian, or we go back upstairs. And we need to make this choice as a group, because he told us to go back upstairs and if we go looking for him, then we won¡¯t. But Jand told us to go find him. So¡­¡±


    now


    Alice hesitated. ¡°I don¡¯t know Jand. I don¡¯t know how ¡®portent she is, but she ain¡¯t a wizard. I don¡¯t want to get in trouble with the wizards. Maybe we should go upstairs and wait for Reevian to get back, get your bones fixed then.¡±


    ¡°I vote we go looking,¡± Ken said, turning and looking at Rusty. ¡°We¡¯re mostly American. Let¡¯s vote. You vote no, we go back upstairs and be good. You vote yes, we go looking. We ALL go looking, Alice.¡±


    Alice bit her lip. ¡°I..¡± then she looked at Gunther, and the drawn lines of his face. And her own face softened. ¡°Yeah. All right. Rusty?¡± she shot him a hesitant look. ¡°You make the choice, I guess.¡±


    ¡°Okay, Ken¡¯s pretty slick,¡± Roz said. ¡°He¡¯s doing this because he¡¯s curious, but he knows if he just came out and said that, then Alice would maybe tell on him. This way he got her to come around on the idea.¡±


    It felt a little dishonest to Rusty, but he¡¯d had to deal with enough sisters that he knew most girls wouldn¡¯t hesitate to tattle the second you did something they didn¡¯t like. So he just nodded. ¡°Reckon we need to get Gunther fixed up. Let¡¯s go find Reevian.¡±


    It was a small choice, really.


    But a few days later, it would change everything.

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    That would help against her,But not everyone¡¯s going to fight like her. And remember what Terathon said? How much would it suck to lose this trick midway through a fight?


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    It feels like lying, I don¡¯t like lying to them. We¡¯re supposed to be a real fellowship. We should be able to trust each other.


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    Good thing we¡¯re not doing that,


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    For a second, all Rusty could think was this is an orc. He¡¯s got Sauron eyes!


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    It¡¯s a forest, vast and untamed,¡± Bartleby said, staring at him. ¡°And we saved the boy from what I can only call a wizard. But when he fled, the door shut. And we were trapped. No way back. We tried to survive. We made it a few days, but hunger¡­ Burgess, he tried to eat some of the local plant life, and it poisoned him. He died. The boy and I, we were starving. Didn¡¯t have the proper equipment to hunt. And they found us. Not the wizard. Someone else. Something


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    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    They¡¯re going to shoot him,


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    It was amazing how the old instincts came back. They were right in the open, completely oblivious. He could have killed any one of them, knew it. He felt his finger tighten on the trigger guard, and shook his head, kept trying to make sure he saw everything before he acted. Because once I start doing, things are gonna happen fast and I won¡¯t have time to adjust.


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    That ain¡¯t no lady!¡± one of the posse shouted back, and Cyrus¡¯ heart sank as he recognized Buford Stokes. No, this ain¡¯t gonna be settled easily,


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    Cyrus¡¯ mind flashed to Benjy Custer, to his words months back. But if this gets much worse, I might have to get off of my ass and do something about it. And that¡¯s likely to cause a fair amount of fuss, especially before the harvest.


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    Oh damn, the bullets!¡± Steve swore, and as time slowed, and Tallman grinned as he raised his pistol, the first thing through Cyrus¡¯ mind was Dad you just maybe killed me.


    The second thing through his mind was Maybe I can fix this.


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    George smirked. Dames,


    But George never stayed depressed. This, like many others, was only a momentary burst of ill-will, and George entertained himself by trying to spot potential troublemakers as the crew did their post-flight dance. George did his usual game of figuring out who he¡¯d need to kill first in the event that they turned out to be commie agents trying to hijack the plane. Wait, no, scratch that, they¡¯d landed. That was a little bit of a relief. George was sure that if he pulled out the butterfly knife he could tackle the big guy down the way who was definitely pretending to sleep, but that would open him up to the woman with the screaming baby that could definitely just be a clever ventriloquist¡¯s dummy being used to conceal a gun. No, she¡¯d need to be top priority, and he wasn¡¯t sure he could get over to her with the garotte in time. So it was good they couldn¡¯t spring their cunning plan. They¡¯d waited too long! But oh, if they¡¯d made a move, he would have been ready.


    Sir?¡± came a voice from behind him, and George resisted the urge to reverse the blade and defend himself with a quick, lethal thrust. Evil intention would not have announced itself,


    Kids. George hated kids. Other children had grown up soft. Coddled. Not like him. They had it easy.fair.


    Shit! This could blow the whole op! I need a distraction!


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    I mean, I used the spare one we¡¯ve got for getting dinner when we¡¯re working late,¡± Burrows blinked. He had that look in his eyes that George knew well, the look of men who¡¯d never been truly tested. Men who had been trained to bow to authority, no matter where it came from. Perfect,This is my ticket! I need to ride this train as far as it¡¯ll go!


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


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    They?¡± George saw the whites of Rodney¡¯s eyes widen. ¡°Who¡¯s they


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    And it wasn¡¯t fair.


    George wanted to fight for his country. George had tried to go fight the commies. Had gone so far as to try to enlist to fight the commies for his country in Korea! But no one in Basic Training had truly understood


    They¡¯d assigned him to Denver, Colorado, and to his great surprise, the place was pretty barren of any sort of action. Well, of the kind he was looking for, anyway. And his joy at being a card-carrying, gun-wielding secret agent


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    George kept his poker face on. Shit, this guy¡¯s got some steel in him after all. Well of course he does, he¡¯s FBI.


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    But the words wouldn¡¯t come. He had nothing left. He was hurt, and exhausted, and done


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    Create hole in mixed materials target dummy!


    Committed chakra: 15/44


    Cost: 3 chakra.


    Remaining free chakra: 26/44


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


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    A snippet of memory ran through Rusty¡¯s mind, some politician on the television talking to a reporter. Of course we have to fight them in Korea! It¡¯s either that, or fight them in our streets when the reds rise up!


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    Three noses lifted and sniffled the air, and three kids looked at each other with amazement at the mouth-watering smell. Meat! Cooked meat!


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    I did that because any fool can gain a powerful rune and think himself invincible,¡± Terathon said. ¡°Especially with the raw potential that your world granted you. But one who finds their own rune, rather than being given it and limited by the teachings of their master? That apprentice can rise to true power. That apprentice learns


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 A Midnight Flight

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    Light flared up, blinding them, and Rusty heard Ken yelp in fear, fought down a wave of panic as the platform kept on its appointed path. If this were an attack Balangor would be evading right now,


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    Stolen novel; please report.


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    No. But you were talking about a the


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 Another Midnight Flight

    There. Mind the cables, mind the cables!¡± Cyrus said, as his brothers loaded the rest of the prototype¡¯s power system in the back of the Chevy. Once it was in there, he cinched up the tarps as best he could, while Helena got the other side.


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    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


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    Doesn¡¯t seem like the cowardly way,¡± Cy said, watching the cars go by, and only restarting the engine once they¡¯d been gone for a good thirty count. ¡°I know how this place operates. The mob didn¡¯t get blood at Bunktown. They¡¯ll want ours. The sheriff would make himself real


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    At least it¡¯s not my own skin sizzling,


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    Why¡­ god dammit.¡± Cyrus said, leaning on the lip of the truck bed. He¡¯d been through a night already, and all his aches and pains were acting up, now. His legs had gotten softer and he¡¯d gotten fatter, since the last time he¡¯d had to do anything remotely near this much activity. He ached. He was tired. He had bruises, and when¡¯s the last time he had those? He wanted to be done


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    he could rely on¡­

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    We¡¯re stopping at a no-tell motel?¡± Agent Rodney Burrows asked, thoroughly confused.


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    Oh yes. These are clearly hardened criminals, Yellow Hat. They committed mail fraud


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    Right!¡± George felt a burst of happiness. Finally, Burrows was taking this seriously


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    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


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 Welcome to the Jungle

    The platform kept moving, and for a second the green sun blazed down, forcing him to squint. Only a second. They were in shadow a moment later, with something blocking out the sun. He opened his eyes wide, got a quick look, then squinted again, just in time. All too quickly the shadow was gone. East, I think,


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    We can¡¯t use¡ª¡± Rusty shut up, and thought at Roz. We can¡¯t use memory! Balangor¡¯s right there!


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    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


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    I¡¯m putting his waist bones back to normal,¡± Ken said. ¡°It took a lot


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    Then he can reinforce those that remain. Any further discussion should wait.


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    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


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    He did,But Ran¡¯s people tried to kill us, so I don¡¯t know how much of a difference it makes. We need to talk about this. This is too much for just you and me to sort out.


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    What I really want to know is how many?¡± Ken asked, and his face was full of the coldest anger that Rusty had ever seen. His eyes didn¡¯t blaze, they were voids into pits filled with violence and murder. ¡°How many kids have they killed? Those cocoons had soldiers and children


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    Fuck them,¡± Rusty decided. In his head, his mother raged at him for swearing, and he felt the phantom impact of her palm against his face, but it just made him angrier. ¡°FUCK them. We can¡¯t¡­ no. We can¡¯t help them. Even if we succeed, they¡¯ll just, I don¡¯t know, melt us down into charm stock or something. Or kill us and take our runes. Or both. They think we¡¯re slaves.

 Goin to the Chapel

    You¡¯re sure about it?¡± Cyrus asked, feeling his heart sink.


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    It¡¯s a prototype,


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    Guard the truck,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°Come get us if there¡¯s trouble. NO, don¡¯t start,¡± he said, as she put her jaw up in the way Colfax women learned at a very young age. ¡°The truck is important.


    Cyrus regretted his life choices the second he opened his door and slid out of the truck. His legs almost caved and sent him to the ground, but he grabbed on to the swinging door, and held on, until he could struggle upright. When did I get so heavy?


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    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


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    I¡¯d rather not. I feel guilty about this as is,¡± Cyrus heaved a sigh. ¡°Feels selfish, but we gotta get Rusty back.¡± Or be able to say that we tried our damnedest, if it¡¯s too late already.


    Peering through the church window, he saw Benjy Custer up on the pulpit, hands gesturing as he spoke to the congregation. Figures. Yeah, we got to get this distraction going. Or else they¡¯ll make us some real strange fruit hanging from those trees out there.


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    George staggered out of the smoke and got his breath back, just as the taillights of the truck receded into the night. He stared after them, mouth agape, and infuriated beyond belief. This is my ticket to the big leagues, and this civilian is trying to cut me out of my glory?


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    Create false memory in adult human!


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    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


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    We die, we get it,¡± Alice burst out. ¡°Just come on and show us the way out of here, please!


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    Grach hooted as he approached, and he heard Carmina¡¯s voice off to the side, hooting back. The dim shapes of the grach reacted immediately, sinking below the swamp¡¯s surface. They¡¯re running too. But there¡¯s nine of them! Can¡¯t they handle one elf? How are they giving the soldiers such trouble?


    Then light flashed at his back again and he dove underwater as a beam speared overhead, this time from the back-right. That¡¯s a different angle!


    He darted right to avoid what he was pretty certain was a pretty painful thorny bush that Terathon had warned was toxic, and there was a CRACK, and bark pattered off his face from a nearby tree. A tree that now had a quivering arrow sticking out of it. He¡¯s switched to regular shots!


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    It was a long walk, through alien trees. The ground did


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    Bartleby sighed. ¡°Let¡¯s just say I had a long talk with myself, and couldn¡¯t let you go it alone. But you¡¯ve got bigger problems. I found you because this fellow


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    Guilt and adrenaline warred in him, and his hands shook as he grabbed the nearest shelf for support, setting the flashlight on it as he cried. The tears felt good, and no one was there to see him break down.You mean break down more, you broken son of a bitch. What¡¯s left of you? How the hell did we think we could do this?


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    Cyrus bit his lip, tore open the boxes, and assembled what he could. He was distantly aware of more shouting, heard the noise of a wall giving way as a truck horn blared, and glanced up in time to see the falling shadow of a watchtower pass by Please God let that be the one George is on and not Dad,


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    But he stopped, and stared up. And remembered Balangor¡¯s annoyed look, as they pestered him at the midway point. Remembered the prophecy. Had he been lying about that? No. No, he didn¡¯t think that the wizard had


    ¡°...Those of you who survive must enter Ringaldr¡¯s redoubt. When you confront the Dark Lord and he tempts you, the Chosen One shall resist temptation. The Chosen One will reveal their power and single-minded determination and end the Dark Lord, heralding his fall with a sound greater than thunder. That death shall be the beginning of the end of the Lion¡­¡±


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    He had just enough time to refocus, see them on all fours just past the perimeter of the walls, before a solid-wall of Black and Gold metal appeared before him, and the Dark Lord scooped him up, held a gauntlet cupped loosely around his head, and ran


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    It was hard to think, now. Rusty blinked, looked for Roz, couldn¡¯t find him. Where had he gone? He tried to remember¡­ and couldn¡¯t. Oh. That¡¯s right. My enchantments are all down.


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    Less of a¡­ dick?¡± The dark lord said. ¡°Perhaps. At the very least, we can send you home. This is not your battle. It shouldn¡¯t be anyone¡¯s battle but ours


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    We would not have asked you if your chakra was an issue. For we have the rune of share.¡± The Dark Lord bent down, and put a single gauntleted finger on Rusty¡¯s forehead. The metal was cool, and Rusty gasped as every cell in his body shook for a second. Just like how Cyrus described touching a live wire.


    GUARDIAN: LION¡¯S spell refreshes your chakra + 8


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    A noise like a sob caught his attention, and he turned away from the huddle in time to see Carmina staring at them, and the raw longing in her eyes made him look away. How long has she been here? How long has she been alone?


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    Rusty crossed his good arm up and reached out two fingers. I won¡¯t get dumb. Promise.


    The world slowed, as they reached about a thousand feet out from the pyramid. ¡°Caution.¡± rumbled the Lion. ¡°We have time,¡± he said, gesturing skyward, at the platform. ¡°They will strike at us from the structure as we approach. Stay behind me


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    Though Rusty didn¡¯t know it at the time, though he wouldn¡¯t find out the finer points of the ambush until much, much later, when he did he would appreciate the cunning of the Alliance of Light.


    The grach had long used the water to their advantage. The organisms within it were alien to the elves, and hindered their senses. It was one of the reasons that the grach hadn¡¯t been completely annhilated during the battles to date, that they could still hold their ground against the invaders.


    In contrast, the elves stayed out of the water as much as possible. And the satyrs knew that elven bows, made by traditional craftsmen with the strictest of rules, rituals, and ceremonies, did not have strings that could withstand submersion for any significant amount of time.


    And the Lion, with his power and experience, had such skill with assensing that even if they hadn¡¯t been running spells, he should have been able to sense their presence from the energy that powered their own variant of magic.


    But just like so many other times and events throughout elven history, the elves were only completely predictable until they weren¡¯t.


    They¡¯d been saving this trick ever since the grach had first pulled it on them. And while yes, elven bows were constructed in very particular ways that could not be altered without the equivalent of a religious revolution, the litanies said nothing about using a particular type of enchanted wax to seal the parts of the bows that were vulnerable to water. And while yes, they couldn¡¯t see or hear well at all underwater, they saw Reevian in his bright yellow robes well enough, especially when he spread his arms in the agreed-upon signal to strike. And while the Lion¡¯s senses were insanely good, he was currently a ways distant still, and dealing with the overwhelming brightness of the world door. With their own magic suppressed, they were invisible by comparison against the roaring furnace of chakra behind them.


    Even then, it was tight. Elves could go without air longer than humans, but not by more than ten minutes or so. They would have had to slide under the surface with a very thin margin of error¡­ but then, Balangor was observing from the sky, and had ample time to use his charms to signal Reevian, who would have told them when to hide.


    It almost worked, too. They almost got the drop on the Lion, who had expended no small amount of personal chakra over the last hour, and hadn¡¯t had any real time to recharge.


    But the elves failed to account for one thing.


    The water still clung to them, in the seconds after their ambush. And elves still have eyes, and eyelids, and the water was no less distorting to them than it had been while they were under it. In the space of the first volley, and the second, they had no time to blink it away.


    They were still ELVES, of course. Four satyrs fell in that first volley, and the Lion staggered back, his mane flared with defensive charms, as several bolts found him. More satyrs dropped at the second volley, but enough survived and scattered that the first and foremost goal of the ambush failed.


    But the children were untouched, and at this point, wary and on edge enough to drop down, Rusty into the water, Alice and Ken behind a hummock of earth. The satyrs scattered, and the Lion¡­


    The Lion ROARED.


    *****


    Cyrus gasped, felt moist air enter his lungs. It tasted¡­ green.


    Bartleby screamed, from behind him. Cyrus twisted, turned in time to stare right into the swirling mass of rainbow¡­ rainbow with a black spot in the center of it, almost like an eye.


    Fruity Sauron, he thought hysterically, and almost broke down laughing. Then he saw the blood, and the laughter was banished, as Bartleby screamed again, rolling around on the ground in a slowly-growing puddle as he clutched his leg right above the stump of where his foot had once been.


    ¡°No!¡± he staggered up, limped over, knelt down. As he did, he looked over, saw Catalina in the corner¡­ corner? Yes, they were in a stone room without a ceiling, overgrown with moss. There were windows and doorways, and Catalina was in the corner with Beth, tearing her dress and trying to stop Dad¡¯s bleeding.


    Stop the bleeding. Right. Tourniquet¡­ ¡°Hold still!¡± Cyrus said, as he undid his belt and cinched it around Bartleby¡¯s stump. The puddle was smaller than he¡¯d thought, he saw. They¡¯d gotten to it within that small window of time. A medic friend had explained it to him, once, that when you lost an extremity, the blood vessels around the cut would clench in shock for a little while. Not LONG, not usually, but long enough to save a life.


    ¡°It closed! Oh God it closed on me! We can¡¯t go back! It¡¯s shut!¡± Bartleby said, trying to grab on to Cyrus¡¯s arm, scrabbling at him with panic in his eyes. ¡°We¡¯re stuck in here with, with¡­¡±


    ¡°I like my odds!¡± somebody called from outside, and the windows along one wall flared white.


    A nuke? Cyrus thought, as he shielded his eyes¡­ but no, it wasn¡¯t bright enough, wasn¡¯t hot enough. And the flashes faded instantly, then flickered on and off. Weaker than the sunlight streaming through, they¡¯d only shown up because they were white against the green, Cyrus realized.


    More screams rose from outside¡­


    And then the stone floor shook, as all sound ceased.


    It was like being too near an artillery shell. It was pressure and pain and the knowledge that he was in a really, REALLY bad spot and his survival depended very much on luck and the next few minutes. And oh, did that bring back memories he really didn¡¯t want to remember.


    But it did bring back some tricks he¡¯d learned too, so he opened his mouth and covered his ears. If you covered your ears without opening your mouth, you left the sound nowhere to go, and the reverberations could seriously fuck up your hearing. And indeed, he felt his entire mouth quivering, from lips to uvula, and his teeth aching in their sockets. He was pretty sure a filling was working its way loose, it was that intense.


    Cyrus knew he¡¯d made it through when a low whine returned, rising, like a radio squeal without the static. There was pain, but he could hear again, even if everything was muffled. Shouting from outside, whimpering from Beth over in the corner, something that must have been the Lord¡¯s Prayer in Spanish from Catalina, and Bartleby¡¯s face full of fear as his eyes shone golden. Golden? Cyrus blinked, then looked down at the belt, saw the steady dribble of blood where it had slackened, and pulled it tight again. When he looked back, Bartleby¡¯s eyes were normal, jaw full of panic.


    ¡°How¡¯s Dad?¡± Cyrus called, and had to repeat it until Beth shouted back that it was bad.


    Can¡¯t stay here. Can¡¯t go back. Shit going on outside¡­ his eyes fell on the rifle that Dad had brought through the rainbow connection. Let¡¯s see what¡¯s making all that noise.


    ¡°Wait here,¡± he told them as he limped over and snagged the gun. He wasn¡¯t sure they heard, wasn¡¯t sure it mattered, really wasn¡¯t sure he had the energy left to do anything beyond die if there were bad guys outside, but sitting still and staying put wasn¡¯t working out, and he was probably the most expendable at this point. He¡¯d done his job and gotten them there. They didn¡¯t need him if things went bad¡­ well, if things got worse.


    It took Cyrus a second to figure out what he was seeing, once he was at the window.


    There were mossy stone steps leading down to a watery swamp, broken up by remnants of carved stone pillars and walls, and hummocks of earth. The flashes of light were coming from green guys, who were weaving between them a mere two hundred feet away, and using bows to fire ray-gun style beams.


    Further behind them, crouching behind a wall and standing up every few minutes to point and yell, was some fucker in gold-colored robes. And every time he pointed and yelled, the air in front of him sizzled with black flecks, like swarms of gnats pulling together then rolling outward. Wherever they rolled, the green algae in the water turned black.


    As to where they were going¡­ across the way, about five hundred feet off, bodies floated in the swamp. He couldn¡¯t make out the details, his eye was stressed and tired and overworked, but they had bows too, and furry pants. And behind a few clusters of rock, more guys fought back with their own bows, that didn¡¯t seem to shoot ray guns. They were all wearing viking helmets, or headbands with horns for some reason.


    Between them, a black-and-gold streak zipped around the battlefield, dodging beams of light and weaving narrowly between the gnat clouds. Occasionally it would pause, revealing a huge man in weird armor, who hurled shiny spears or arrows or something at the green guys and the golden-robed jerk. But he couldn¡¯t seem to get close enough to get a good shot, not with their cover.


    Above it all, coming in hot from the right side of the pyramid, some crude airplane was gliding toward the battle.


    And then a flash of muddy cloth caught his eyes. There were figures, small figures, sneaking around one of the rocks on the right side of the battle. For a giddy second he thought they were Tolkien¡¯s hobbits, thought that this was a book come to life, or the fever dream of a man who¡¯d died in a cult compound, shot to death by the righteously wicked sinners that were his neighbors¡­


    ¡­but then he saw one turn, and wave, and though he couldn¡¯t make out the face, he knew. He knew.


    ¡°Rusty!¡± he gasped.


    Rusty was alive!


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    Then a cloud of gnats swarmed his way, and Cyrus¡¯ eye opened wide, as Rusty and his friends fled, a bolt of light narrowly missing them as they went.


    Well. That made his choice easy. Cyrus sighted the rifle on the golden-robed jerk and fired.


    *****


    The only thing that saved Rusty and Ken and Alice was that they weren¡¯t the primary targets of the ambush. Rusty could tell by the way he lived through the first thirty seconds of the fight, swimming through the bloody water, brushing past the satyr corpses between himself and the nearest stone wall, then surfacing, gasping, to shake and shudder as he clung to the wet stone, relieved beyond relief to have a solid wall between himself and the elves.


    The Lion¡¯s roar had killed some of them, he¡¯d seen. Green bodies floating in the water, next to shattered stone pillars where the full fury of the sound had reverberated. But enough survived to send light downrange in a constant flickering rhythm. There were six¡­ eight? It was hard to tell, but they had numbers on the satyrs, who had scattered and were returning sporadic fire, but mostly seemed to just be concentrating on staying alive.


    Rusty had seen firsthand what one of the elves could do. Now, drained of magic and armed with only a knife, he was under no delusions about what would happen if one of them decided he needed to die.


    It would be easy, he thought, to hide there and shake. They wouldn¡¯t miss him. Then if the Lion won, he¡¯d be fine. And if the Lion lost, he could run, and¡­


    ¡­and then what?


    ¡°We can¡¯t run, can we?¡± he asked himself.


    ¡°Nope,¡± Roz said, simply. ¡°Where would we go? This is it, daddy-o.¡±


    He took a breath. Took another. There were worse ways to go than being burned through by a big old beam of light, he guessed. Pushing away images of Gunther¡¯s rotting face, he looked around until he saw Ken peeking out from behind a rock, and pointed left.


    It took a bit of convincing to get Ken following him, wild gestures and mouthed words, but finally Ken sighed and hunkered low as he ran after, his spear down and held low to his body. They picked up Alice after they made it to the second shattered wall, and she beckoned them over before they could try to run to the third.


    ¡°You get me within a hundred feet, I can throw rocks at them,¡± Alice told them. ¡°Been savin¡¯ all I can for something like this. I want to hit Reevian right in his stupid forehead.¡±


    ¡°Rocks are good,¡± Ken said, his voice tight, his teeth gritted. ¡°I guess I¡­ I can try to y¡¯know, pinch a couple of guys apart at the waist. Once we¡¯re¡­ closer. This is such a bad idea.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but it¡¯s the least worst idea right now,¡± Rusty said. ¡°Can¡¯t do nothing. Worse comes to it, we pull some shots off the Lion so he can win this.¡±


    ¡°Maybe, but¡ª oh sweet Jesus,¡± Ken said, straightening up and staring west.


    Rusty turned, and the smell of rotting vegetation hit him square in the face.


    A cloud of corruption, a destroying swarm of rot just like the one that had killed Gunther and almost taken them all out, was chasing the Lion around the battlefield. And just as the so-called dark lord was clear, Rusty caught a flash of yellow cloth as Reevian rose up from behind cover, and gestured. Within a second, the cloud accelerated, swerved, and was hot on the Lion¡¯s tail once more.


    Oddly, the sight heartened Rusty. This was tight enough that they could make a difference. They just needed to distract the wizard, and everything else would fall into place.


    Well, maybe. He glanced left, saw Balangor¡¯s carpet-platform-whatever coming on fast. He didn¡¯t know how many more fireballs they had to drop on things up there, but even one in the right place could win the fight.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± he whispered to the other two, waited for them to nod, then ran for all he was worth.


    It had been a very long and tiring day, but adrenaline was a hell of a chemical. Even so, his weariness affected his footing, and he stumbled as he ran.


    That saved his life. The elven beam that would have cored his skull from temple to temple only singed the hair on his scalp.


    ¡°Rusty!¡± Alice shrieked, and they dove behind the nearest monolith.


    Rusty stuck a hand out, pulled it back in as a beam flashed past, stuck his head out and immediately pulled it back as he gauged Reevian¡¯s distance. ¡°We¡¯re about three hundred feet from him,¡± he told Ken. ¡°I think we can do this.¡±


    ¡°I think we¡¯re fucked!¡± Ken said, pointing.


    Rusty turned to look where Ken was pointing¡­ and felt his heart drop.


    Visible above the rock, a small corruption cloud was floating their way. Fast.


    Rusty looked to the sides, and winced as light flashed past one after the other. If they broke cover, they died from the beams. If they stayed in place, or pulled back, they would rot to death.


    Rusty closed his eyes, searched for the answer¡­


    ¡­and there came a sound of thunder.


    Familiar thunder.


    ¡°That¡¯s Cy¡¯s rifle,¡± Rusty whispered, snapping his eyes open, and staring above the rock.


    It barked again, cracked twice more. The corruption cloud had stopped, and the light beams weren¡¯t tracing around the edges any more. ¡°That¡¯s his rifle!¡± Rusty yelled, and stuck his head out¡­


    ¡­just in time to see Reevian running away from the temple, trying to find some form of cover as the shots rang out again and again.


    *****


    Rusty would find out later, that every wizard who was fighting in this particular conflict wore charms to deal with missile weapons. No matter how good at magic you are, an arrow through the forehead tends to cramp your style a bit.


    In this case, Reevian had been using a charm forged by Terathon as his primary defense against such things. He made sure to keep it fully charged with chakra during the times he was away from the front, and today was no different. A charm like that was good against about thirty arrows from a human or satyr, or twenty from an elf or something else that could send arrows downrange with significant force. The more mass and velocity the charm had to alter, the harder it had to work, and the more energy it consumed.


    The first shot from Cyrus¡¯ garand rifle hit with enough force to drain almost a half of its charge. The charm triggered, and displaced the bullet that was about to hit Reevian to a trajectory that passed inches from him. And at the same time, as it had been forged to do so, it flared hot against the skin of Reevian¡¯s neck and let him know that someone had shot at him.


    Reevian ran for cover, and Cyrus missed the second shot. Having only a single eye was hell on a man¡¯s depth perception, and moving targets were rough, even at the short range of two-hundred, two-hundred and fifty feet or so.


    But the third shot hit his leg, and here the flaw of the charm revealed itself.


    The heat flare letting Reevian know that he¡¯d been struck was the same intensity regardless of the deadliness of the attack.


    So when Reevian felt that second flare, and managed to figure out that the attacker was at his back, he figured that he had plenty of charge left to deal with the sniper quickly, so he could finish off the Lion.


    He turned. He pointed in the general direction where he thought the shots had come, and he held a spell in his mind as he stared, searching for movement¡­


    ¡­Just as Cyrus finished aiming for the center of his mass, and put a round of thirty-aught-six through Reevian¡¯s sternum.


    *****


    ¡°Ha!¡± Cyrus grinned, as the gold-robed figure crumpled. Followed immediately by ¡°shit!¡± as the nearest green figures turned his way, and raised their bows.


    He ducked, as light blasted through the window, threw himself to the hard ground, and felt pain shoot up from his knees and belly. He¡¯d knocked the wind from himself, and he lost precious seconds gasping for air.


    Then came a different sound of thunder. Short, repeated bursts.


    Those are sonic booms, he realized. The plane?


    No, no, after a second he could confirm that it wasn¡¯t. He saw the plane loop around, and head off back the way it had come. Retreating.


    He took a few more breaths, as the time between the sonic booms stretched, lengthened. Then he planted the butt of the Garand against the ground, and struggled upward, using it as a crutch.


    Cyrus was in time to see the armored form backhand the last green man, sending him flying a good twenty feet away before the figure hit the stone and fell into the swamp, lifeless or unconscious. The figure looked up at him, its mask flaring in the light, and Cyrus gripped the window sill with one hand, tried to ready the rifle, just in case¡­


    ¡°CYRUS!¡± Rusty yelled. ¡°I LOVE YOU BROTHER!¡±


    And Cyrus dropped the rifle, grabbed the sill of the stone window with both hands, as he swayed, heart lifting as he stared at his little brother. He tried to speak, couldn¡¯t find the words for a second. Tried again, failed. Then yelled the first thing that popped into his mind. ¡°YOU ARE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE! THEY ARE GOING TO GROUND YOU FOR LIFE, RUSS!¡±


    Rusty was laughing, Cyrus was laughing, then Dad coughed, wetly, and Cyrus stopped laughing. He looked back, saw Bartleby gasping and blood leaking across the stones, saw Catalina working furiously on his thrashing father, and he felt like someone had jammed a live wire in his battered spine as he realized that this wasn¡¯t over, yet. ¡°RUSTY!¡± he hollered. ¡°TELL ME YOU¡¯VE GOT SOME MAGICAL HEALING SHIT! WE¡¯VE GOT TWO PEOPLE WHO¡¯LL DIE UNLESS YOU GOT SOMETHING!¡±


    Rusty and the two other kids started running across the swamp. Cyrus looked to Catalina, who shook her head. ¡°Minutes,¡± was her assessment.


    ¡°WE¡¯VE GOT MINUTES!¡± Cyrus yelled¡­


    ¡­and then the armored man was in the middle of the battlefield, as air cracked, kneeling over the golden-robed corpse. Studying a pair of small, glittering things that were unfurling from his corpse like spiky flowers. ¡°You have enough time, if one of you is brave,¡± the figure rumbled, and damned if his voice didn¡¯t sound like a nightmare. But his words were hopeful. ¡°Reevian held a rune of restoration,¡± the giant continued. ¡°We cannot absorb it. But one of you can.¡±


    Rusty immediately swerved toward it, but the figure held up a massive gauntlet. ¡°Not you. You have two. A third would cause you great imbalance, and take at least an hour to recover.¡±


    The kids behind Rusty glanced at each other, and Cyrus couldn¡¯t hear the words they said, but the lighter-skinned one ran over, and slammed his hand down on one of the shiny things. The boy screamed, and Cyrus shuddered to hear it.


    Then air boomed again, and a few seconds later metal boots thudded a rapid-fire rhythm on the stairs, as the giant arrived and loomed over all of the new arrivals in the chamber. Cyrus froze, staring up at it. Catalina gasped, but held her ground over Dad. Beth hid behind Bartleby¡­ and Bartleby closed his eyes, resigned.


    ¡°Speed is our purview,¡± said the figure, waving a gauntlet. ¡°Their deaths will be slowed until the child masters the rune. We have enough chakra left to do this much. Now, we must talk. We are called many things, but are most often known as The Lion. The massive figure stared down at Cyrus. ¡°Who are you and why are you here?

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    Done.¡± The Lion bowed his head, and stretched out a hand, as the five of them moved in front of the portal. Carmina and Catalina held hands, Cyrus readied the rifle, just in case he had to use it to clear the LZ. Bartleby and Dad supported each other, like a pair of old drunks staggering home. He¡¯s had practice with that, at least,


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    True, they had been worn down in the battle against the elves. But the Lion carried multiples of the charms that were proof against projectiles. They canceled the speed of projectiles as soon as they got within a foot of him, causing them to bounce harmlessly off his armor, as if they¡¯d been hurled by all the force a particularly petulant baby could muster. It was just common sense to carry those, when you were up against elves.


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    ¡­


    ¡°


    ¡°Make Lion forget how to do this.¡±


    Memory wipe Guardian: Lion!


    Committed chakra: 0/44


    Cost: 5.


    Remaining free chakra: 3/39


    ¡°


    Magic resistance detected... bypass?


    Additional cost ¨C 130 chakra


    ¡­


    Rune: Corruption has been integrated into your chakra network.


    Total usage: 10/51


    First Rune attuned. Chakra system awakened. Rune usage unlocked. Assensing unlocked. Consumption unlocked. Companion manifested.


    UNDERSTAND.


    ¡°


    ¡°

 Epilogue

    As prison hospitals went, it was pretty nice. Cyrus wasn¡¯t sure which hospital it was, but there were no windows, the doors were guarded by people in uniforms, and the smell of the place had a reek of desperation you only really got in places where people ended up if they were guilty or unlucky.


    Cyrus figured he was a little bit of both. Playing the events of the last few days while he lay in bed and uncommunicative doctors and nurses came and changed out his bandages, and checked his bruises, and adjusted his medication drips, Cyrus saw quite a few places where he could have done things better. Or at least, failed in a less severe way.


    Somewhere around what he thought was the third day, the door opened and an older man in a suit walked in. He had thinning gray hair, the sallow face and fingernails of a hardcore smoker, and enough crow¡¯s feet around his eyes to start his own aviary. Cyrus shifted his head to get his eye on him, watched the man nod, pull up a metal chair across the tile floor with a chalkboard-like screech, and take a seat next to his bedside.


    He was well-within reach of Cyrus¡¯s arm, and that lump in his jacket told Cyrus where he could grab, if things went to shit. But Cyrus was sure that wouldn¡¯t help him, or anyone else, in the long run.


    ¡°You¡¯re Cyrus Colfax,¡± the man said. ¡°I¡¯m Agent Solomon Gable. I¡¯m the former assistant director of the Denver branch of the FBI. You¡¯re¡­ what are you, now? Retired?¡±


    ¡°A dumbass, mostly,¡± Cyrus admitted.


    Agent Gable snorted, laughed. ¡°Cute, but I doubt that. Why don¡¯t you tell me what happened. I have the feeling it¡¯ll sound crazy, but do not let that stop you.¡± The mirth vanished. ¡°I want to hear it all. Even the crazy parts.¡±


    Cyrus licked his lips. He searched Agent Gable¡¯s face. He might as well have been trying to read Mt. Rushmore. Shit. Can¡¯t make things worse. And they¡¯ve probably talked to one of the others before me, so¡­


    ¡°So it all started when my brother went swimming, back in June¡­¡± Cyrus began.


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Agent Gable listened to the whole tale, consulting a notepad as he went, and jotting down more notes. But his eyes never left Cyrus¡¯ face.


    ¡°And then we stepped back into the compound. I hope your boys got some good shots,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°Because otherwise, I haven¡¯t got a shred of proof for any of this and I¡¯m probably spending the rest of my life in a padded room.¡±


    Agent Gable considered him for a long moment. Then he reached into the back of the notebook, and drew out three small squares.


    Photographs.


    Color photographs, and Cyrus gasped to see the rainbow whorls of the dimensional door open wide, and the four of them falling out of it.


    ¡°You¡¯re lucky,¡± Gable said. ¡°We had the cameras there to document the crime scene. Lucky too, that the Dallas branch brought a colorized one. Those are a bit pricey for commercial use, but we¡¯ve got the funding for it. That and more. You see, Mister Colfax, I believe you. Between these, between the stories that check out, and between the fact that I¡¯ve got a small Hispanic girl in custody who can literally turn invisible, I believe that you¡¯re telling the truth to me. So now I have a very important question for you.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Cyrus gasped, getting ahold of himself. ¡°And I¡¯ve got one for you. But you first.¡±


    ¡°That thing you made. Can you duplicate it? Can you make something to find more¡­ magic doors?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d better,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°Or I¡¯ll never see my brother again.¡±


    ¡°Good enough.¡± The pencil scratched on the notepad.


    And Cyrus mustered his courage. ¡°My turn. What the HELL was George doing, working for you? That asshole should¡¯ve never been anywhere near that kind of position!¡±


    Gable sighed, and looked away. ¡°We didn¡¯t know he was a freak at first. Then we made the call to quietly push him out, instead of biting the bullet and risking damage to the Bureau. Hell, freaks are useful, sometimes. The things Hoover gets up to¡­ ah, forget I said that. Anyway, the shit George did is on me. If I¡¯d known he was capable of doing this much damage¡­¡± the agent stood, wincing as his knees unbent, and paced, hands behind his back. ¡°The best I can do is try to move forward and work with you, and get you your brother back. And recover the other Americans that these foreign agents have been snatching. So let¡¯s talk about that, instead of a dead man. You¡¯re certain George died?¡±


    ¡°The last thing I saw was him catching arrows like an outfielder going after fly balls.¡±


    ¡°Good. Hopefully that¡¯s the last I ever have to hear about George Gordon Liddy. Now, let¡¯s talk about what I want you to do for us, and what we can do for you¡­¡±

 Shameless Plug

    Good afternoon! Welcome to the shameless plug part of this whole show.


    COPS is turning out exactly the way I''d intended it to be. Well, mostly. This story got a little more grim than expected, and it took longer for Cyrus to figure out the whole interdimensional thing. To be fair, he''s up against deep and powerful magic. Second-hand 1940s surplus vacuum tubes and paper-wrapped wires are always going to struggle against that stuff.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Either way, I''ve got a plethora of ideas for the road ahead, and a vested interest in seeing Rusty pull through this journey.


    To that end, the first volume is now on sale in the Amazon Kindle store. If you enjoyed reading this story, please consider supporting it by purchasing the ebook! The link is below. I''ve changed a few things, small details... (Bartleby survives!) but it''s essentially the one on here.


    It''ll also be up on other online marketplaces in a bit, but for now Amazon''s the first place to get it. Enjoy, and I look forward to starting Volume 2 as soon as I finish up a few other bits of logistical work...

 Picking Up the Pieces

    CHAPTER 2-1: PICKING UP THE PIECES


    "Cat, what do we have?" Cyrus asked, as he finished twisting the wires around the contacts.


    "About ten minutes before we have to head out to see your parents," Catalina said, as she glanced between the clipboard and the needles, jumping back and forth under their glass casings. Catalina was a fairly tall woman, with straight black hair and a face that was a bit too long for the rest of her head. That and her slender build made her look stretched out, a bit of a beanpole. Cyrus didn''t mind that. She was a few years his senior, too, at the ripe old age of twenty-eight, and Cyrus minded that less and less with every day that passed.


    But time wasn''t on their side, and every day that passed, was another reminder that they had to crack the current problem. And if he didn''t get answers on those numbers, then they wouldn''t be making any progress today.


    "My parents can wait. Been waitin'' on them enough, lately," Cyrus said, putting down the screwdriver and mopping his face, squinching his eye shut to keep the sweat out of it. He''d left the other eye in Korea, along with entirely too much of his skin and sanity. There wasn''t a day that went by that his skin grafts didn''t itch him badly, and today was no exception. He shook a bit as what felt like a stream of ants pattered along his left leg. Once Cyrus felt composed enough, he glanced back to her. "Gonna need those numbers, por favor."


    She rolled her eyes and rattled off the numbers on the dials, and he scribbled them on the paper next to the device. Once she was done he eyeballed them, made some final adjustments on the contacts, then nodded. "Okay. Fire her up."


    Catalina hadn''t known much about operating electronics when they''d started this, but she''d learned quickly. She learned almost everything quickly. She was smart in a way that Cyrus could respect; but then, most teachers were, and that was what she''d been doing stateside ever since she fled Guatemala.


    That was good. If she hadn''t been smart, then Cyrus'' current employers wouldn''t have allowed her the freedoms she had. And Cyrus found as each day went by, that she made life infinitely easier for him.


    She pulled on the heavy gloves, closed her eyes, and threw the switch.


    Instantly, the inside of the old shack filled with the heavy scent of ozone, and sparks flew as the wires filled with enough electricity to stun a bull. Cyrus flipped switch after switch on the device before him, a thick tube mounted on supports that were soldered into the nearby support beams and studded with lights that lit up one by one, red ones first, then yellow, and finally as he flipped the last switch, all to green.


    Then, and only then, did Cyrus uncover the viewer and put his eye to the glass of the small, round eyepiece.


    The world was grainy and gray, and the only thing that the viewer showed him, was the other side of the shed, with its closed door.


    "Shit," Cyrus said, and squeezed his eye shut. "Shit!"


    "Nothing?"


    "Nothing," Cyrus felt his head throb. He looked back at Catalina, lips pulled tight over his teeth. "It has to be the transistors. That''s the only thing I can think of. That''s the only significant difference."


    "Oh mierde." She frowned back at him. "You know what this means."


    "Yeah. So¡­ let''s shut her down and get on the road."


    "Now you want to visit your family?"


    "It''s easier than spending the rest of the day in a meeting to explain that we''re going to need to do a complete rebuild. He won''t be happy about that."


    "Well, you''re right about that," came a voice from behind them, and Cyrus about jumped out of his skin. He turned, leaning heavily on the device, and saw a familiar figure had come in through the back door, while they were busy with the test.


    Agent Solomon Gable was an older man in his sixties, with a bit of a paunch over a once-fit body. He wore both his years and his fine suit well, his short-trimmed gray hair slicked back with brylcreem, and piercing, faded blue eyes that could hold a man''s gaze like a hawk paralyzing a mouse. Right now he was wearing a beige trenchcoat over his suit. It was stained with dust from the early-evening winds across the scree, breath steaming a bit in the chill of a Texas December.


    "If you have problems, give me the short of it now, so I can prepare to spend a day getting yelled at by the bean counters." Solomon shook out a cigarette, crumpled the empty pack, and lit it with a bronze lighter. "Don''t worry about me getting upset. What you''re doing is literally magic. I didn''t expect this to be easy."


    Cyrus nodded, slowly. Gable had done his damnedest to emphasize that he was a good boss. But he was still government, and Cyrus had been fucked over a few too many times to give his trust freely.


    Still, he''d kept his word so far. So Cyrus gave it to him straight. "We''re going to need vacuum tubes. And a few other parts. It''s¡­ there''s some quality to them that the transistors don''t have. I can get you a parts list tomorrow, after I get back from home. I''d need to go there anyway, the mailing receipts for the parts are in the strongbox in what''s left of my workshop, and I want to make sure it matches my notes."


    "Can you get it to me tonight, after the visit''s done?" Gable asked, taking a puff as he thought, his eyes flicking back and forth, seeing variables that Cyrus could only get at. The older man seemed to finish his internal calculations, and puffed out smoke through his nostrils before explaining. "I hate to cut your last goodbyes short, but the more time I have to prepare, the less I''ll get my ears bashed over this. And we''ve got a couple of sharks nosing around, trying to horn in on the action. If we put too many feet wrong, they''ll try to get a slice of the pie."


    Cyrus opened his mouth to say that sure, he didn''t need a lot of time with his family, but Catalina got there first.


    "You ask a lot of him already," she said, putting her hands on her hips, and glaring at Solomon Gable. "This is the last time he will see his brothers and sisters for God knows how long? And you can''t even give him the rest of the day? You know how many hours he''s been working here, for you?"


    Cyrus shut his mouth.


    Agent Solomon Gable raised an eyebrow, and looked down at his cigarette. "Actually, I do. And I wouldn''t ask it if it wasn''t important."


    "If all you need are the receipts, I can run those back. You can bring your notes, Cyrus, and I''ll help you do the check after the young ones are in bed. But if you don''t spend time with them now, then what happens if¡­" she bit her lip, and fell silent.


    "Cat. It''s all right." Cyrus said, picking up his cane. "That''s actually a good idea. I''m pretty sure my notes are solid so it shouldn''t take long. And there''s not much more I can tell you, Solomon¡­ this is the fifth test with this configuration, and everything else lines up. It''s got to be the materials."


    Solomon considered, then nodded. "All right. Good luck with your family. And tell your Dad to stay dry. Once everything is sorted, I''ll want him in here tomorrow, bright and early. Your¡­ sister''s been getting antsy. The sooner he gets here, the less I have to worry about her. Good luck, and do what you have to. I''ll see you shortly, miss Morales."


    "Hasta luego, senor Gable," she nodded back, and the agent took his leave.


    Cyrus focused on finishing his lab notes, and Catalina shut down the device, making sure to cover it up properly with the tarps. Then they left the shed, shutting the door behind them, inserting each of their keys into the dual locks, and turning them simultaneously. That done, Cyrus nodded to the two solemn-looking uniformed guards to either side of the doorway, before walking out into the central part of the compound.


    Over half a year ago, this particular patch of land had belonged to Shawn Cooper. It was mostly a sandy spit of nothing up against a pretty deep gorge. The soil was rough and rocky, the water was so deep below that the wells struggled at the best of times, and it was far from any kind of infrastructure.


    All this suited Shawn just fine. He was his father''s only son, and once the old man shoved off the mortal coil he''d sold most of his family''s property in the town that his ancestors had founded, and used the profits to buy a few trailer trucks full of scrap metal and old machinery, and spent years assembling a junk-filled fortress in the wastes, complete with watch towers, wall, and its own generators. The time that Shawn Cooper didn''t spend building he spent preaching the gospel, though his ideas of gospel were radically different than just about any church that Cyrus knew, to put it politely.


    While Cyrus had been growing up and tagging along with his father on the occasional trip into town, Shawn had become a familiar sight in Cooperston, yelling about how World War Two had been a sign that the end was coming soon, and how God would end the world in nuclear fire and cleanse the wicked. The solution to avoiding fiery judgment, according to Shawn, was to accept Jesus as god and Shawn as his prophet, and come live with him in the compound that he''d declared to be Heaven''s Door.


    Some folks had gone with him, but many had come back, or moved on from there, telling stories about endless hard work for no pay, constant harsh sermons from Shawn, and increasingly strict and petty rules that made little sense.


    But though Cyrus hadn''t noticed it at the time, most of the ones that moved on were men. And as he got older, he started to get the notion that Shawn was treating the women that ended up in his "care" a little differently.


    After he got back from the war, a quiet talk with his father about Shawn Cooper confirmed that yeah, they weren''t going to let any of his sisters go anywhere near the son of a bitch. The whole town was in agreement with that at that point, but Shawn still had enough money and good old boys in power who knew his daddy that there wasn''t much that could be done. Just another Texas tragedy, and if an occasional somber woman with a bruised face came into town now and again to buy diapers and baby formula, well¡­ maybe God would sort it out. Thoughts and prayers, and praise Jesus on Sundays and turn the other cheek. The unbruised one, so your neighbors didn''t feel as guilty.


    For Shawn, it had probably been a pretty good life, out on his own personal village full of his wives and bastard children.


    But all that had changed when the wizards came to Texas.


    Shawn was gone, as were his wives and children and anyone else he might''ve had under his thumb. Now only his compound remained¡­ and that was undergoing renovations, as well.


    The bulk of the compound had been a few weathered cabins of sheet metal and scrap wood, surrounded by a barbed wire and sheet metal fence, with a few clacking windmills and worn electrical cables tracing pathos in the dirt to a central shack that housed the generators. Most of the fence was still there, but it had been expanded upon in all directions, creeping up the dirt drive towards the main road back to town. Much of the wall had been torn down and replaced by concrete cinder blocks, mortared into place by migrant laborers who didn''t speak a lick of English, didn''t know why there were guards watching them closely while they worked, and didn''t ask questions. And around the walled off courtyard of the original compound, quonset huts were erected like children''s couch forts.


    It wasn''t Old Man Cooper''s compound anymore. Now it was Site 713.


    And it was the only hope that Cy had of repairing his broken family again.


    But that was for later; right now, he had to keep the cracks from widening further.


    "I''ll drive," said Catalina, as they reached the parking area, and Cyrus pulled out the keys for the Ford that he''d filled out six pages of paperwork to be allowed to borrow.


    "You sure?"


    "I need the practice," she said. "Besides, I will be back here anyway, with the receipts, yes?"


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    Cyrus couldn''t argue with that. And his legs were aching from hovering over the device all day, trying to get it to work the way it should. He clambered into the passenger side, as Catalina tucked her skirt and settled into the driver''s seat.


    And neither of them noticed as the truck bed rocked slightly, as if something unseen had clambered into the truck bed. Each assumed that the other was the reason for the slight bouncing.


    Neither of them suspected that an invisible entity had decided to go on a ride with them.


    It was a long drive back. Site 713 was on the other side of Cooperston from the Colfax farm, and there wasn''t much in between. Cyrus and Catalina couldn''t take the main roads back through town, not after the¡­ difficulties¡­ they''d had with the townies, almost two months ago. Though Cyrus was pretty sure things were quieting down on that front, he still didn''t trust everyone involved to let them get through without trouble.


    So that meant they spent a lot of time on dusty back roads, as the sun slipped down below the horizon in the rear view mirror, and the scrublands went from a bit chilly to colder than a witch''s heart at night. Catalina''s full attention was on the road, with that anxious focus that only new drivers could really suffer through, so Cyrus had free reign to twiddle the knobs on the radio. And as President Eisenhower gushed about how that Deim fellow over in Vietnam was a true ally to America and pulling his weight by fighting off commies in southeast asia, and Elvis crooned his way through a Blue Christmas, Cyrus let himself sag back into the seat more and more. He was tired, he realized, and hungry. Catalina had bullied him into eating a sandwich in the mess hall they''d erected outside the site''s courtyard earlier in the day, he remembered. Ham? Yeah, ham and swiss. But he''d had nothing since then, save for a few sips of brackish water. Every minute had been devoted to working on the device.


    Just thinking about it must have triggered something, because his stomach gurgled noisily. Catalina snorted. "We''ll be there soon enough. Your mother won''t let you go to bed without dinner."


    "I''m pretty sure it''s against our¡­ against her religion," Cyrus said. He hadn''t had much use for churches before the local congregation had tried to ventilate him with thirty-aught-six bullets.


    "On this we agree. Perhaps not much else, but this is agreeable." Catalina''s smile flashed white teeth in the mirror. She was Catholic, Cy had gathered. Most of the migrants were. That was just another reason that the local yokels had come gunning for them, recently.


    That and a whole complicated mess involving a drug runner, that Cyrus had the sinking feeling wouldn''t be done anytime soon.


    Elvis finished his Blue Christmas, and Frankie Sinatra and Bing Crosby started crooning a duet. Cyrus settled back into the seat a little further, felt his eyelids droop. It wasn''t a bad night, even if they''d hit setbacks. He had a way forward, a friend who had his back, and the people he was working with respected him. Given hard work and patience, they''d be able to handle anything, even the bastards who had broken his family.


    "I''m sunk," Dad told him, leaning mournfully against the railing of the back porch. "She doesn''t trust me any more. Doesn''t respect me. There''s no way forward for us." Steven Colfax heaved a sigh that seemed to almost double the breadth of his thin frame, as he let out his breath to drift up and steam against the starlight. "Worst part of it is, I can''t blame her. I screwed¡­ no, I fucked up long ago, and the bill''s come due."


    Cyrus looked away.


    There hadn''t been any dinner ready at the Colfax residence.


    There hadn''t been any Judith Colfax waiting to hug them goodbye.


    There hadn''t been any of his brothers or sisters remaining, to see one last time.


    No, Judith Colfax''s mother had arrived early, and Mom had gathered the rest of the family up while his father slumbered late into the day, and they''d piled into the old school bus that grandma had rented and left without a word. Heading north, to Oklahoma, and grandpa''s house.


    They''d found Steven Colfax on the back porch, crying. Carmina had taken one look and gone into the kitchen, to fix something with whatever food had been left behind, and left Cyrus to try to pull his father back together.


    Problem was, this was a mess that Cyrus wasn''t sure he could fix.


    Still, Colfaxes were a stubborn breed, and he had to try.


    "She didn''t leave any kind of note or letter?"


    "No. We''d pretty much said everything that could be said over the last couple weeks," dad said, staring out across the back yard, towards the glittering ribbon of the creek. "I¡­ don''t tell that spook you''re working for, but I broke my promise and told her. Everything."


    Cyrus inhaled a shocked breath. That was¡­ bad. Potentially.


    "Don''t worry. She didn''t believe me. You''ve been working some late nights, sleeping at that camp, so you weren''t around to hear her hollering at me. I''ll admit I might have hollered back a time or two. Wasn''t a good thing to do in front of the kids. But I''m pretty sure she just thought that whole mess we got into was a drunk hallucination."


    "Yeah. Been hard not being able to tell them." Cyrus confessed. "Especially about Beth."


    Dad looked away, his lips twisting. "She''s alive. She''s with Rusty. He''ll take care of her."


    "Yeah, but she doesn''t know that. Or if you told her, she doesn''t believe it." Beth was Cyrus'' little sister. She''d been incredibly brave, and tried to help them rescue their missing brother. But things had not gone to plan, and hopefully they could get her out of the mess they''d gotten her into.


    But that wasn''t everything, and Cyrus'' eye bored into dad, as the senior Colfax looked back, then away again. Finally dad muttered a curse that would have gotten him even deeper into mom''s bad books, and met his son''s gaze. "Yes. I came clean about Carmina, too. That was the final nail in the coffin, I reckon."


    Cyrus almost punched him.


    Instead, he closed his eye and gripped the railing so tightly the edge of the sun-dried wood cracked a bit. And he breathed deeply until he could look at his father without murder on his mind.


    The window above the porch creaked a bit. Catalina was listening in. The thought calmed him a bit, let him measure his words carefully. Dad didn''t seem to realize they had an audience.


    But the anger was still there. So he did what he always did when he got pissed off and couldn''t blow off steam, and he tried to analyze things. Tried to get more information, so he could understand the situation. "Tell me about her. Tell me about why I got a bast¡ª a  half-sister." You son-of-a-bitch, he added in his head.


    Dad looked away again. "I need a drink."


    "You ain''t getting one." Cyrus said, pulling his hand away from the railing, feeling splinters gouging his palm as he went. He might have been leaving blood, and he didn''t care. "Talk."


    "I was younger. Dumber. You know how we used to hire migrants to help with the crops?"


    "I know." Cyrus vaguely remembered those days. They''d stopped without explanation almost a decade ago.


    "There was a man, Jorge. Good fellow. We got along. Used to talk politics and laugh at how silly it all was. He''d eat dinner with us. And he''d bring his wife around. Helena.was her name. Then one day, Jorge stopped showing up."


    Cyrus squinted. He seemed to vaguely recall them¡­ maybe? There had been a few of the fieldhands that had shared the Colfax table. You could get away with that this far out of town, having dinner with the migrants. Anyone who tried doing that too close to Cooperston risked a midnight visit by angry guys wearing sheets and hoods. "I don''t remember them, sorry," he told his father.


    "No reason you should. They were good people, but¡­ I messed it up. I was worried for Jorge, so I went over to Bunktown one afternoon. And I found Helena in tears. Jorge had been jumped by some rowdies on the way back from another job. The folks who found him got him to Dallas, got him hospitalized. But it was pretty bad, and she didn''t have the money to visit him or pay the bills. So I helped."


    "You loaned them money?"


    "A little. Her friends at Bunktown pitched in, too. But mainly I drove her there and back again so she could visit her husband. And¡­ one thing led to another." Dad closed his eyes. "I was weak. She was lonely and scared. I could make excuses, but¡­ I knew it was a sin. I didn''t care. At the time it felt right. I rationalized it by telling myself that if it wasn''t me, she''d just find comfort in someone else''s arms, and why not me then? Stupid. Arrogant. I shouldn''t have done it."


    More creaking from the upstairs, as Catalina took a few steps back from the window. Cyrus looked up, looked back to Dad, but his father hadn''t seemed to notice. He was lost in his own reverie.


    "How long was this going on?"


    "Not long. A few¡­ weeks. Jorge died in the hospital. She remarried not long after. We both agreed it had been a mistake. But a few months later, she started showing."


    "God damn it." Cyrus clenched a fist, immediately regretting it. Those splinters were deep.


    "It gets worse. You might want to sock me after this, and I''ll understand. Just warn me beforehand."


    "Just¡­ keep going." Cyrus shut his eye again.


    Dad sighed. "By then I''d told Judith about my weakness. And oh, she was mad. She went down to Bunktown and gave Helena an earful. And things got rough between us for a while. They never quite fixed up after that. So when I found out that Helena was expecting, and it was probably mine, I just¡­ neglected to tell your mother about it. Safer that way. Hell, maybe it wasn''t mine."


    "But she was."


    "Yup." Dad ran a hand through his thinning hair. "And when Helena and her husband hit hard times, I started helping them. And¡­ she had it rough. Thanks to Judith''s tirade at the camp, everyone knew she was a gringo''s kid. She knew from early on. I tried to visit¡­ hell, a lot of those times you all thought I was at the bar blowing money away, I was actually over there, giving what money I could, and reminding her she had nothing to be ashamed of. But as the years passed, and the drought got worse, I had to stay away more and more. Eventually I stopped going. Safer for everyone that way."


    "How convenient for you," Cyrus said.


    "I messed up. But the kid¡­ she''s innocent," his father said, turning to glare at him. "I don''t want you taking any of that out on her, not for a moment. You got that?"


    "Wouldn''t dream of it. She''s a good kid," Cyrus said. "I''m glad we got her back. You, though¡­ I''m not going to sock you." Mind you, some of that''s because I got splinters so deep in there I can taste oak in the back of my throat, he thought sourly. "But I ain''t going to forgive you for putting that Helena lady through this. I''m guessing she and her husband probably had to leave fast when Bunktown burned."


    "I don''t know. Probably. I¡­ they would have thought Carmina was gone long before then. I don''t reckon they''d have much else tying them here. They''re probably not coming back."


    The window slammed shut upstairs, and Dad glanced up. "What?"


    "Nevermind, that''s just Catalina. Come on." Cyrus said. "Let''s go see what she made us for dinner. She must be finished if she''s got time to eavesdrop."


    Catalina wasn''t finished. When they came back through the house, Catalina was in the kitchen halfway through boiling potatoes.


    "Then who was upstairs?"  His dad looked to Cyrus, eyes flicking back and forth with alarm.


    "Better question," Cyrus said, whispering to him. "Who IS upstairs?" They''d shut the back door behind them, and he hadn''t heard it open. "Stay here


    Cyrus was always armed, now. That was one of the conditions he''d agreed to, when he started working with Solomon Gable, and he agreed with it. Every time he went off the compound, a shiny Colt 1911 came with him. He slid the safety off as he took the stairs, walking as quietly as he could.


    Halfway up there, he put the safety back on.


    Someone was crying. Someone small, who was obviously trying and failing to muffle their tears.


    And there in one of the rooms that his sisters had up until recently packed like peas in a pod, sitting on the bare and worn mattress of a bed that his mom had probably stripped of sheets during her exodus, was a small, twelve-year-old figure that he recognized instantly. It was the worst possible person to have been listening through that window.


    My fucking luck, Cyrus groused to himself. Then he sighed, and spoke. "Hola, Carmina."


    "I was a mistake."


    "You¡­ no. No you weren''t," Cyrus said, sitting down on the mattress next to her, and stretching out an arm. "C''mere."


    She hugged him, straining to wrap her arms around his barrel-chested torso, and sobbed snot and tears into his shirt. He folded his arm around her, and let her go. Catalina would give him hell about the laundry later, but that was a tomorrow sort of problem. "What are you doing here, anyway?" he asked her.


    "I, I, I¡­" she sniffed. "I wanted to see my brothers and sisters before they left. I¡­ well I snuck out. I used my rune."


    "Solomon''s going to flip his wig," Cyrus said. "Surprised he ain''t here already."


    No sooner had he said that, then the phone rang downstairs. "Well, shit. Tell him she''s here! It''s fine. We''ll bring her back after we''re done."


    "What?" Catalina shouted back.


    Carmina took the opportunity to blow her nose on Cyrus'' sleeve, and he rolled his eye. "You''ll understand!" he called back, then looked down at his half-sister. "Hey. It''s fine. I''ll introduce you later. Yeah, dad botched it, but mom¡­ well, she just needs some time to cool off. And look. She didn''t leave because of you. She left because dad lied to her. And covered it up for years. This is nothing against you."


    He didn''t add that his mom had given him an angry earful about losing Beth. About how his mad quest to save his brother had only managed to lose another sibling forever. Cyrus couldn''t face the guilt on that, not now, not in case it happened to be true. He didn''t want to start crying, either.


    Eventually, Carmina cried herself out, a little."It doesn''t matter if your mother blames me or not," She whispered. "Now I have nobody. My parents are gone and they''re never coming back. My real father thinks I''m a mistake. My brothers and sisters, I never knew them, and¡­"


    "You do know them. You met two of them. And you met ME." Cyrus hugged her tighter, and used his free hand to give her a noogie. She squeaked in surprise, and punched his back. "You might come to regret that!" he noogied her skull harder, and she giggled, snorting through the tears.


    He let up, let her go, and she stared at him, lost and hopeful and sad all warring on her face. "I don''t have a choice, do I?"


    "On what? You always got choices," he told her, examining his wrecked sleeve.


    "I have to go back. We have to go back."


    Downstairs Cyrus could vaguely make out Catalina''s voice, probably telling Gable that no, his most convincing piece of evidence in this whole mess was still accounted for. "We''ve come too far not to go back. Not to try," Cyrus said. "Rusty''s still trapped, and Beth is with him." Hopefully, if they''re not dead already, the devil whispered in the back of his mind.


    "And they''re back there." Her voice dripped with anger, sorrow leaving, draining like blood from a wound. "I want to kill them. I want to kill all the wizards."


    "Don''t worry none on that score," Cyrus said, feeling his lips pull back against his teeth. "And now? It was already personal, but now it''s about survival. I ain''t getting my family back, until they''re gone. We both will. I''ll bring Beth and Rusty home, and Mom''ll be so glad to see ''em that she''ll come back with open arms. And Gable will be so happy to end this, that he''ll use all the G-men he''s got to track down your folks."


    She smiled then, and hugged him once more, but he couldn''t help but wonder as he hugged her back and ruffled her hair. Would Gable be happy, just ending this threat? Was that what he was after? The jury was still out on that. They were getting a lot of support here, which had to cost money. In his experience, the government didn''t dole out money just to be altruistic. There was something else going on, he was sure of it. Just needed a little more time to watch, and listen, and pick up what those cats were putting down.


    But that was for later. For now he hugged his mistaken, unexpected sister, and when she nodded off, he shifted her to his shoulder and brought her downstairs for dinner.


    Whatever Gable planned, whatever mistakes dad had made, whatever those fucking wizards were doing, none of it mattered in the end. He had one goal now, and his family was on the line.


    He had to open the way to the other world. And he had to do it fast, because if he took too long, he didn''t know if his little brother and little sister could hold out.

 The Lions Bargain

    Rusty dreamed of home.


    He dreamed of rain soaking the Texas hardpan, of his mother humming as she cooked dinner with the drought-ending patter of the drops hitting the earth outside. He dreamed of his father tuning in to the Dallas Eagles game, and laughing with Ray Ray and his other brothers whenever they got a home run.


    Rusty dreamed of his sisters, giggling and gossiping as they prepared for school in the morning, dreamed of putting down the milk bucket to wave to them as they filed out to wait for the bus in the pre-dawn light.


    Rusty dreamed of Cyrus but not as he was now, battered and torn and missing an eye from the war that had chewed him up and literally burned him alive. He dreamed of Cyrus grinning down at him in his crib, playing airplane with him while he laughed, lifting Rusty high into the air and running while Rusty stretched out his arms and made jet noises as best as his four-year-old mouth would let him.


    And Rusty dreamed of the wizard.


    He had met many in his journey through this green and war-torn world, five in total. But the first one he¡¯d met, Terathon, was the one he dreamed about. The tall man all in brown, with piercing eyes and a sardonic smile through a long, gray beard. Rusty dreamed of Terathon extending his hand and an invitation by the creek, so long ago. And no matter how Rusty tried to take control of the dream, to turn away and run from the mage who had so misused him, it never ended well.


    Always, the dreams turned to nightmares. Sometimes Terathon would speak words of power, and explode Rusty¡¯s already-fleeing brothers into piles of screaming guts. Other times, Terathon would catch him, and pull him through rippling rainbow madness into green and verdant hell. Sometimes dream logic would take over, and Terathon would laugh long and distorted and deep, while Rusty struggled to run, his footsteps slowing and stretching as if he was moving through mud.


    There was no way to tell how long the dreams went on, flickering off and on like the stories his brother had told him of enemy contact on the wire. Trying to creep inside his mind like the North Koreans had tried to creep into their firebases, and Rusty had no barbed wire in his brain to stop the invading dreams.


    But there was one small mercy, at least.


    Rusty no longer had the enchantments he¡¯d first cast in this world; the enchantments to give himself a perfect memory and total recall. Rusty didn¡¯t remember all the details of the nightmares that plagued him.


    So when he started the long journey of pulling himself out of unconsciousness, only a few images stuck with him. Like Terathon teleporting behind him over and over again, and stabbing him in the back with his knife. Or Terathon grabbing his right arm with a hand full of bees, and making it swell into a red, lumpy mass. Or Terathon throwing Gunther¡¯s corpse in front of him, as Gunther twitched and writhed and rotted in real time, maggots exploding out of his eyes and mouth and nose like someone had turned on the maggot faucet in his head.


    And then, it was done. Light replaced darkness, as Rusty blinked his eyes open, and stared upwards at cracked and mossy stone. He had come through the dreams reasonably intact.


    When Rusty tried to move, though, he found that he couldn¡¯t say the same for the rest of his body.


    His muscles ached, and trying to stretch his arms was a huge mistake. A burning pain in his lower back made him shriek, and when he tried to roll over and grab at whatever molten chunk of lead was burning his way through his spine, his right arm gave out, tearing the bandages slightly. His face sunk into the moss, and¡­


    Moss?


    He inhaled green scent, coughed, regretted it more as the ache in his back throbbed, and almost blacked out from the agony.


    But¡­ at this point, Rusty and pain were old friends. He¡¯d seen more of it in the last few weeks then he had in his previous twelve years back on Earth.


    Slowly the memories crept back to him. And with them, came something else.


    ¡°Oh good, you¡¯re awake!¡± said a familiar voice next to his head.


    No. Not a familiar voice. A familiar¡¯s voice.


    When Rusty had claimed his first rune, it had unlocked a familiar. Roz, who took the form of a little Roswell alien. Roz only existed in his head, and claimed to be a part of his brain that the rune had given free will and the ability to think for itself. Everyone who got a rune got a familiar, and theoretically learned how to control their rune with the familiar¡¯s help.


    ¡°Roz,¡± Rusty croaked. ¡°What happened? Is my back okay?¡±


    ¡°So I missed a good chunk of it myself, because when you¡¯re out I¡¯m out, but¡­ good news and bad.¡±


    ¡°Good?¡±


    The little alien came into view, black unblinking eyes in a gray, smooth-skinned face. He leaned over Rusty¡¯s head, looked down and patted his cheek. ¡°The good news is that you¡¯ve still got ONE kidney.¡±


    ¡°What? Why¡­¡± Feet were echoing on stone in the distance, hurrying closer. ¡°Wha¡¯ happen my kidney?¡± he slurred through clenched teeth. The pain was receding a bit, but slowly.


    ¡°Long story short, you used too much magic, boss. The rune drew more from your body¡¯s life force. Gave yourself some gray hair, made your right arm muscles bulge up and burst the skin, and turned one of your kidneys into soup.¡±


    That sounded horrible, but the mention of soup made Rusty¡¯s mouth water. His stomach felt empty. He shoved it aside, found dim memories stirring again. Yes. He¡¯d used the spell to save everyone. Everyone except Gunther, and he closed his eyes as he remembered the German boy¡¯s horrible death. He¡¯d saved the others, though. And the Lion, too.


    The Lion¡­


    ¡°Um. That¡¯s¡­ something to talk about later,¡± Roz said, gesturing in the direction the footsteps were arriving from. ¡°We¡¯ve got company!¡±


    Rusty moved his head carefully, closing his eyes and resting his cheek on the cool moss. He opened them in time to see a curtain billowing in a stone doorway, and a small, green-robed boy sweeping it out of the way.


    ¡°Ken!¡± Rusty tried to shout, but coughed as his throat dried up at the wrong time, and oooh, there went the back again.


    ¡°Rusty! Shit, don¡¯t move.¡± Ken was short. Ken was half-chinese. Ken was from California, which was pretty cool.


    And Ken had healing powers now, Rusty remembered. He¡¯d claimed a rune of restoration from a wizard¡¯s corpse.


    ¡°It hurts,¡± Rusty said. In the distance he heard more quick footsteps, getting closer.


    But Ken was more concerned with explaining what had gone down. ¡°Yeah, we couldn¡¯t just heal your kidney. It was bad, cat. The amount it would¡¯ve taken from your body to recover it would have killed you for sure. So they cut it out while you were unconscious, and I healed just enough to keep you alive and get you on the mend. On the plus side, your arm shrank down so¡­ score one for the home team?¡±


    ¡°Good. Thank you,¡± Rusty said. ¡°Can you heal it more?¡±


    ¡°Not till you recover more fat and flesh. We had to feed you broth while you were out, couldn¡¯t do much to keep you from losing weight that the spell would take to restore your lost flesh. But.. according to our new friends, you might be able to do something for yourself. If you¡¯re¡­ Uh.¡± Ken bit his lip, and brushed his spiky black hair back, nervously. ¡°Are you still Rusty?¡±


    ¡°What? What kind of question is that?¡± Rusty asked¡­


    ¡­and a thing that looked like a bundle of roots shaped into a vaguely feline form, a thing that wore a round mask of worn metal carved with vaguely cat-like features, strolled out from behind the curtain and sat, ¡°tail¡± twitching, staring at Rusty.


    ¡°Be cautious in your answer, child,¡± it rumbled, in a voice that was entirely too deep for its size.


    ¡°Oh yeah, I should have mentioned THEM,¡± Roz stage whispered, pointing a thumb back at the monstrosity.


    And honestly, it would have been a horrifying moment, if the creature wasn¡¯t the size of a house cat.


    A blink, and Rusty remembered. Remembered the great armored figure, the dark lord he¡¯d been told over and over again that he and the others had to kill. The dark lord that they¡¯d allied with, when the wizards betrayed them. And then, when some chucklehead with a gun had blown that dark lord away, the dark lord had betrayed Rusty and tried to take him over.


    But Rusty had declined.


    ¡°They believe that the rebirth worked. They may slay you if you disprove their assumption,¡± said the Lion.


    While this was going on, Ken was studying his face. ¡°Well heck. It did work, didn¡¯t it? Are you the Lion? Sir?¡±


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    ¡°Kind of¡­¡± Rusty said. ¡°It¡¯s complicated. I¡ª¡±


    ¡°We!¡± Insisted the Lion.


    ¡°We¡¯re still working it out. It¡¯s¡­ fine?¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh,¡± Ken said, neutrally. Then he turned to look, as the distant running feet became nearby running feet, and soon became another figure bursting through the curtained doorway.


    He got a flash of blue and white check pattern, had less than a second to think Oh hey, that looks like one of my sister¡¯s dresses, before Beth was hugging him and crying.


    Ow! Oh ow. He bit down hard, felt his teeth grind, and tried to shift her so she wasn¡¯t putting pressure on his spine. That was¡­ ow.


    ¡°Beth,¡± he croaked.


    His sister smelled like sweat and berries and bread, and her hair was tied back and held with spikes like golf tees that poked at him as he tried to shift and keep his eyes from getting gouged. It took her a while to stop crying, and he just let her get it out of her system. He kind of wanted to as well, but Rusty had been taught early on that boys don¡¯t cry where other people could see them. So he snuffled a bit, and blinked as the hot pressure grew behind his eyes, but he managed to keep a little dignity. And if his cheeks were a little wet after, well, those were obviously HER tears. Yeah. That was the ticket.


    She stared at him from a few inches away, her nose snubby just as he remembered it, and her face thinner in a way he didn¡¯t remember. ¡°Are you still you? They said you¡¯d be the Lion now, but you¡¯d still be Rusty, sort of! You have to be Rusty! Mom¡¯s gonna kill you if you¡¯re not Rusty!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s complicated. Yeah, I¡¯m me, but he¡¯s me too. We¡¯re a we.¡±


    Beth glared at him, and grabbed his ears.


    ¡°Ow!¡± Rusty tried to disentangle himself, whined a little as the spot formerly known as his right kidney throbbed.


    ¡°You listen up mister Lion, you better treat Rusty right! Or I¡¯ll¡­ it¡¯s going to be bad!¡±


    Off behind him, Rusty could hear the sound of the Lion snorting. Not in a mean way, but just amused.


    ¡°I like her,¡± Roz said. ¡°Are your other sisters cool? Please say yes.¡±


    ¡°I imagine so,¡± said the Lion. ¡°Tell her that I would not dream to mistreat the scion of such a fierce family.¡±


    ¡°He says he¡¯ll be cool. He won¡¯t start anything with me.¡± Rusty put up his hand, and squeezed her shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s all right.¡±


    She put her hand over his, and her face sagged. The cheeks reddened even more, the tears on them oozing down as new ones threatened to blossom. ¡°Okay. We still have to get home. The satyrs, they say that, well I mean¡­¡± she took a deep breath. ¡° Ran Tan the Meril Janniseva Dok did.¡±


    It took a second for Rusty¡¯s muddled memory to click the pieces back together. ¡°The satyr girl?¡± he blurted.


    ¡°There¡¯s a couple of those,¡± Ken said, off to the side of thing. ¡°And boys, too. There¡¯s like six or seven big families working for him, but they call them something else. Um¡­¡±


    ¡°Bandelos,¡± Beth said. ¡°She¡¯s from the Muir Bandelos. They¡¯re like families but anyone can join or leave. You don¡¯t have to be a satyr either, but most of them are. Except that there are tests and trials and things and she says I¡¯m too soft. Not that I want to leave my family!¡± Beth added, hastily. ¡°I just, I mean¡ª¡±


    ¡°She thinks one of the satyr boys is cute,¡± Ken said, grinning widely.


    He stopped grinning and ran for his life, as she came after him, squeaking in outrage with her fists swinging. Rusty heard the Lion chuckling now, in that deep, weird voice. Roz was cracking up too, and Rusty joined them, even if it hurt a little. His back was easing up, some. The laughter seemed to help more than it hurt.


    It helped more than that. How long had it been since he¡¯d had a good laugh? Stuck in this nightmare world, trained to kill a stranger he didn¡¯t know¡­ looking back on it all, he¡¯d had precious rare moments to just relax, much less anything to amuse him.


    This was good. And in that moment Rusty had never loved his sister more.


    But he knew the moment couldn¡¯t last, and in the meantime there was much to do. Rusty was already missing a few of the hard-won advantages that had saved his keister during his stay on this alien world. And he thought it would be a simple enough thing to get them back.


    ¡°You¡¯re not wrong,¡± the Lion told him. ¡°But when you start casting spells, you will have many people drawn to you. My allies¡­ your allies too, now, are doubtless waiting for my resurrection, and watching for signs that we are active. They will assense your use of magic and come to discuss the way forward. And if we show weakness or hesitation, then it shall go poorly for everyone here.¡±


    ¡°So we can¡¯t cast spells?¡± Roz asked. ¡°What¡¯s he supposed to do? Besides, these two haven¡¯t exactly been quiet. Someone¡¯s gonna come sooner or later.¡±


    ¡°We must talk, privately and swiftly,¡± the Lion said, padding around into Rusty¡¯s field of vision. There were window-like holes in the mossy stone of the side wall, and in the greenish light that filtered in, the Lion¡¯s mask shone bronze. ¡°I must tell you what you need to pretend to be me until we can have a longer discussion. Can you tell your friends to leave you alone for a little while?¡±


    Rusty thought it over.


    The Lion had seemed like actually a pretty swell guy, up until the moment he¡¯d tried to possess Rusty. He was pretty clearly a monster. But the satyrs were working for him, and Ken and Beth might be in trouble if the satyrs knew what was really going on. And there were the grach, and evidently they weren¡¯t that bad or something, but Rusty didn¡¯t know what was going on there¡­ yeah. Rusty decided that yeah, for now he¡¯d play along.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± the Lion said.


    ¡°Oh yeah, if you haven¡¯t figured it out yet, he can read your thoughts like I can,¡± Roz said. ¡°I think it won¡¯t hurt if you send them away, just uh, think up an excuse or something. Like you have to poop! That should work! Nobody likes seeing other people poop!¡±


    The lion turned his mask toward Roz. ¡°I envy you your naivete.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Never mind. Are you decided, Rusty?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Rusty said out loud, realized he¡¯d meant to think it.


    ¡°That is why it needs to be private,¡± the Lion said. ¡°In your state, it¡¯s hard to keep thoughts and words separate.¡±


    ¡°Rusty?¡± Beth said, leaving off from the industrial-strength noogie she was giving Ken. ¡°Are you okay? Do you need something?¡±


    ¡°I think I need to sleep.¡± Rusty eyed both the Lion, and Roz, who¡¯d padded over to join him. ¡°I¡¯m seeing double.¡±


    ¡°Sorry man. We¡¯ll give you some space, and stop bashing your ears.¡± Ken got up and dusted himself off. ¡°Maybe line up some proper grub, too. Sound good?¡±


    ¡°Sounds good,¡± Rusty said.


    He took the opportunity to look around the room. The pain in his back had faded to a dull roar, enough to let him shift slightly and move his head.


    Moss-covered slabs filled a rectangular room. The walls were bare stone, and trails of vines traced music-like scores along them. Windows, hexagonal-cut into the stone revealed walls that were many feet thick, and a view of the greenish sunlight that seeped in from an overcast sky.


    Rusty thought he knew where he was. When last he¡¯d been awake, they¡¯d found the Lion occupying a crumbling ruin, a place of cut stone slabs somewhere between a castle and a tower. He remembered that because of that ¡°Two Towers¡± book he¡¯d read with Cyrus, back during those long evenings in his brother¡¯s workshop, keeping Cyrus entertained while he worked endlessly on his scope.


    ¡°This ruin is the gate,¡± the Lion said. ¡°If it falls to the Unicorn¡¯s forces, then this world is lost.¡±


    ¡°I thought that place at the pyramid was the gate?¡± Roz hopped up to sit next to Rusty as he spoke.


    ¡°No. It is a thin place. They opened a world door there.¡±


    Rusty bit his lip as the place his kidney had been throbbed. ¡°I don¡¯t know how long I¡¯m going to be awake,¡± he confessed. He¡¯d lied to Ken and Beth, but now maybe it wasn¡¯t a lie. Though he¡¯d just woken up, he had no energy left. And while maybe he wouldn¡¯t sleep, not really, he thought he might not be that useful if this went on too long.


    ¡°Then let us make this short,¡± the Lion said. ¡°I do not have to tell you everything now. And in fact I shall not tell you everything, in the event that you fall, and your secrets are torn from you. You do not need to know everything; only enough to convince my allies that the transferral has happened without issue. The rest can be imparted later, when we come to more equitable terms.¡±


    ¡°Why should I trust you?¡± Rusty blurted out. ¡°You tried to take me over!¡±


    ¡°I had to. My only other potential vessel was already stepping through the portal. I would not have finished in time, and¡­ that one dreaded me. I would not inflict myself upon him, lest he fall to despair.¡±


    ¡°You sure didn¡¯t have a problem inflicting yourself on Rusty,¡± Roz said. ¡°Now it¡¯s crowded in here! You¡¯re really big, you know that? Where am I supposed to put my record collection now?¡±


    ¡°Record collection?¡± Rusty asked.


    Immediately, Roz snapped his little stubby fingers, and a jukebox materialized next to him. Roz pulled a nickel out of thin air, and put it in, and the arm lifted and slid a vinyl platter onto the turntable. The first few notes warbled out, and Rusty shook his head, ignoring the pain. ¡°No! No no no, that¡¯ll be stuck in my head for days. No Rock Around the Clock, please.¡±


    ¡°Fine. Sinatra it is then.¡± Roz fiddled with the buttons¡­ up until the point the Lion started stalking his way, then he backed off, fast.


    ¡°Child. Focus, I beg you,¡± the Lion said, staring up at him, amber eyes glinting in the beams of sunlight that cut through the mossy room. ¡°Remember this, if nothing else. Our allies in this realm are fourfold: The satyrs who followed our banner after the betrayal of the elves. The grach, whose home this is, freed from their sorcerers through struggle in ancient days. The duskwraiths, who cannot exist if the gates are opened. And one more¡­ you will not have to worry about her, for a time. She holds the eastern way, and we need her there. But eventually I will tell you of her, for she will be the most likely to see through our ruse.¡±


    ¡°What ruse? You¡¯re still here, right? You¡¯ll be telling me what I need to know. It¡¯s not like I killed you, or anything,¡± Rusty said. Or did to you what you were going to do to me, he thought, but decided not to say it.


    But he couldn¡¯t hide his thoughts from the Lion. The creature looked away, and Rusty thought its root-face body hunkered down in shame, just for a moment. Then it straightened up again. ¡°Be that as it may, they will expect you to know what I know. And it will take time to communicate such things to you. Moreover, our allies will be watching for spellcraft, since you have brought stormfolk in as allies.¡± It nodded over to where Ken and Beth were sitting and talking, through the blanket. ¡°They will be suspicious. So you may not use your rune of memory to alter their thoughts, if you make a mistake.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t anyway!¡± Rusty said, hotly. ¡°Not without a good reason, I mean. Not unless they were jerks.¡± he added, a bit more quietly as the conversation outside stopped.


    A new voice rose, low and deep. Not as deep as the Lion¡¯s, who had abandoned its relaxed stance and was tensed, tail flicking. ¡°That is Omen, of Raster. He is the speaker for their Bandelo. He should not be here, not yet. Something has gone wrong!¡±


    No sooner had he finished, when the curtain parted, and a tall figure moved through, crouching so that its horns would not tangle. It was over seven feet, and had the body of a weight-lifter, with a barrel chest covered with scars, and a furry lower half supported by thick, backwards-jointed goat legs. His hooves clattered on the floor as he approached, and the long cloak which was his only clothing rattled with bone and brass charms. He had long eyebrows which twitched as he looked down on Rusty, and a pointed, curvy chin that moved like a puppet Rusty had seen once, as he spoke.


    ¡°Great One. You must rise. The elves march, and the western flank shall crumble unless we rally it. If you cannot join the fight, then we are lost.¡±

 Gee, Rats!

    ¡°Now, Georgie!¡± shouted the dead rat.


    With a wild yell, George whipped his hands out from under the bed, and grabbed ahold of the commie¡¯s legs. He pulled, as the slim figure tried to step back, and toppled them to the ground. There was a clunk and a thunk as their mask-covered head rebounded off the edge of the fireplace, and they lay there twitching, in no shape to fight back.


    George made sure anyway, scrambling out from under the fur-covered bed and seizing the nearest fireplace log. Two, three, five times he brought the heavy chunk of wood down on his captor, until blood seeped out the eyeholes of their mask and the twitching stopped.


    Next to them, a tray of what looked like oatmeal (doubtless poisoned!) congealed on the floor among the shards of the bowl that held it.


    ¡°That¡¯ll teach you, COMRADE,¡± George said, as the adrenaline slowed and oh boy, that log he was swinging around was heavy. Especially since he was sick. Less sick than he¡¯d been when he woke up in this prison, but still not at a hundred percent.


    They¡¯d almost fooled him. Almost.


    George wasn¡¯t quite sure what was going on here. One minute he¡¯d been fighting off a whole town full of Russian agents who were posing as Texas rednecks, (rednecks? Ha!) who were desperately trying to kill a genius patriot veteran inventor, the next moment he was running for¡ª he was making a strategic withdrawal after being wounded, and following the inventor through a swirling mass of rainbow light.


    But the light had winked out midway through, leaving him some place dark, and cold. There had been stars, maybe, and he had struggled to hold his breath until he realized he wasn¡¯t breathing.


    Then he¡¯d screamed a lot.


    Looking back on it, he knew that a lesser man, a foolish man would see that as a sign of cowardice. But after judging himself to be merely misremembering the situation, George thought that no, perhaps he¡¯d been more clever than that. Obviously he was trying to attract the attention of the inventor, to let him know that he needed out of whatever strange device he¡¯d been drawn into.


    And he had been right to scream! It had worked! The light had reappeared, and he¡¯d managed to find a way to move forward and exit into someplace new.


    Things had happened very fast after that, and he¡¯d had to put down some big sonuvabitch who was obviously holding the inventor hostage. But they¡¯d winked out just as he shotgunned the unknown enemy right in his helmeted face.


    Then he¡¯d gotten shot full of a lot of arrows, fallen through a window, found himself near a corpse with a shiny crystal on it, and tried to break it off so he could end his life himself, rather than give those goat monsters the satisfaction of killing him.


    That was when things had gotten weird. There was a dead rat in his head, talking to him, telling him weird stuff about runes and how he was in danger. Telling him that he couldn¡¯t trust any of the strangers who had hauled him out of the swampy mess that definitely wasn¡¯t Texas, and bound his wounds at their camp.


    They¡¯d almost fooled him. He¡¯d woken in this stone castle¡­thing¡­ in a cozy bed, with fresh bandages, a servant who brought him food whenever he asked and tended the room¡¯s lone fireplace, and time to heal.


    It had all been very convincing.


    But that door was locked.


    And the servant wore a mask made of actual gold.


    George didn¡¯t know where he was, or who had him, but that mask was real gold. George had grown up around enough wealthy people to know what it looked and felt like, and just how much it was worth. And that much gold, on a servant? That much gold could buy a building in Washington DC! A good one!


    The only people who would do such a thing were people who didn¡¯t value gold.


    And the only people who didn¡¯t value gold had to be Communists!


    George had landed right in a nest of the vipers! They were clearly wanting to interrogate him for his secrets.


    He¡¯d toyed with the idea of clamming up, and only giving them his name, rank, and serial number, but the dead rat had talked him into something a little more¡­ active.


    And so George stripped the corpse of its mask and robes, used the water in the nearby washbasin to clean the blood away, and did his best to fit himself into the new disguise.


    *****


    ¡°Oh that¡¯s too high! We¡¯ll die!¡± whispered the rat, as George stared out of the window, and down, far down past the clouds. It was half a mile if it was an inch, and sure, the tower was studded with balconies like an artichoke stalk with fruit, but they were too far apart and too unevenly spread to hop down without breaking his everything.


    The mask almost slipped from his head as he stared, and it took a few precious moments of fumbling to catch it before the straps completely untied, and get back inside to re-tie the damn thing. The creature he¡¯d killed had been small, and its brown and purple and orange colored tunic and baggy trousers were way too tight on him. George wasn¡¯t a broad fellow; he kept in shape, and recovering from being shot had cost him some pounds, but the clothes just weren¡¯t his size. And there just wasn¡¯t enough ribbon to keep the mask secure.


    But it worked.


    He¡¯d passed by several other creatures as he went, their golden-beaked masks twins to his own, and they hadn¡¯t given him a single sideways look. Just padded silently along in their booties that he¡¯d had to rip to fit on his feet, carrying pots of food and mops and rolls of cloth and other things he couldn¡¯t stare at without blowing his cover. Nothing worth swiping, even if the food DID smell good.


    One time he¡¯d seen a taller figure in the distance, someone in robes moving between rooms and he¡¯d immediately turned around and gone down a side corridor.


    He¡¯d seen what was under the mask; the things he was fooling weren¡¯t human. But he didn¡¯t expect his disguise to work too great against actual people.


    ¡°The windows would have been easy, if this place was smaller,¡± he told the rat without looking directly at it. Looking at it made him remember how it smelled, and he didn¡¯t need that right now.


    ¡°But it¡¯s not. It¡¯s a huge place, George,¡± the rat said, practically breathing in his ear. George shuddered, but it continued happily. ¡°We¡¯re going to have to kill so many commies to get out of here!¡±


    ¡°That might work for one or two, but we¡¯re wounded. If we come across a group, it¡¯ll be bad.¡± Talking to the rat helped him sort out his thoughts, at least. He just wished it would stop trying to shift itself into his field of view.


    It shifted again, and he whipped his head away from that flash of brownish fur and reddish viscera. ¡°You can kill anyone you need, George,¡± the rat breathed. ¡°You have magic now! You can make them die!¡±


    ¡°This nonsense again?¡± George whispered, as he retraced his steps back to the staircase he¡¯d found, the one he¡¯d decided to leave alone until he finished checking the floor. ¡°You keep trying to sell me on this pipe dream, buddy, and I don¡¯t chase that particular dragon.¡±


    ¡°All you have to do is make the words, George,¡± the rat whispered in his other ear. ¡°Make the words and let the magic do the rest¡­¡±


    ¡°Nuts to that. Now shut up and help me keep an eye out,¡± he told it as he started down the stairs. ¡°God knows what¡¯s down here.¡±


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    *****


    Stairs, mostly. That was what was down there. That and about a dozen more unfinished floors. George checked a few rooms as he went, finding relatively little. There were a number of rooms set up like the one he¡¯d been held captive in, and a couple of heavier, locked doors that didn¡¯t open to the spoked key he¡¯d taken off his jailor, but George didn¡¯t have time to poke around in every nook and cranny. He had to escape before his absence was noticed!


    That said, he couldn¡¯t push himself too much. He¡¯d recovered fairly well from his nearly-lethal wounds, for which he¡¯d surely receive multiple purple heart medals once he¡¯d get back home, but it had done a number on his stamina. So when he came to a floor of the tower that actually had a somewhat-finished look, he found a bedroom and holed up in it, pushing the bed in front of the door and bracing it against the fireplace with a couple of sturdy chairs.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have time to sleep, George!¡± said the dead rat, holding its paws to its snout in horror.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to sleep. I¡¯m just going to lie on the bed a bit. Calm down.¡±


    ¡°Now you¡¯re closing your eyes!¡±


    ¡°Well there¡¯s too much light in here. Relax. I know what I¡¯m doing.¡±


    ¡°Then stop yawning!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not¡ª¡± George wanted to tell him he had it under control, but he was yawning too hard.


    They¡¯d made good time. He¡¯d just get a quick nap. They could surely spare half an hour or so.


    Wham!


    The bed frame shook, and George snapped awake. Muffled voices rose from outside, and the door shuddered in its frame, as whoever was out there tried to push it open again.


    George had no idea how long he¡¯d been out, but he didn¡¯t feel rested. That didn¡¯t matter though. He left the mask lying where he¡¯d taken it off, and rushed to the window.


    Wham! Krik¡­


    He looked back to see the chair on the rightmost side splintering, just a bit. He bared his teeth. ¡°Trapped like a rat!¡±


    ¡°Excuse you!¡± the dead rat said, but George grabbed the bars in the window and pulled himself up, arms wobbling, to stare through it. There was a balcony out there, not too far down. But the bars were solid. He dropped down, pulled on the metal, hissed as the rough edges bit into his hands.


    ¡°Use your magic, George! Use it and we can get away!¡±


    Louder yelling from outside, a different voice speaking some language he couldn¡¯t understand. Russian, no doubt!


    ¡°Focus! Rot the bars! Just like I told you!¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t rot metal! You can only rust it, and I don¡¯t have RUST, now do I? I have corruption!¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t work like that¡­¡± the rat said, and George chopped his hand, angrily. ¡°I¡¯m the magical guy here, not you! Now shut up and let me work!¡± he yelled as the chair broke, and the door pushed the bed in a bit. A beefy arm reached through, felt around and checked the bed. Tried to budge it, but from the angle it was working George knew that was futile.


    George focused on the words he needed. Three little words, that¡¯s all it would take.


    All he had to do was imagine them in front of his eyes. Just visualize them, and lean into the pulling feeling. That was how it worked, according to the dead rat. That was it, that was all.


    And it was damn near impossible.


    George tried, but his thoughts scattered as he watched the arm withdraw, and the door shook back and forth, slamming the bed against the remaining chair, as it crackled and broke. He tried, as the wood crumpled, and the door burst open, revealing four very angry people in black metal armor, wearing white cloth over it. One was a woman and that surprised him, but she looked as angry as the rest and the sword in her hands looked very sharp.


    George held up his hands and closed his eyes. He heard one of them laugh, and boots ring on the stone as one approached and grabbed the back of his tunic, roughly.


    And the dead rat, that fucking deceased rodent, had things to say about it. ¡°They¡¯re going to win, George! They¡¯re going to torture you! You just couldn¡¯t do it, you weren¡¯t good enough, and now they¡¯re going to rip your guts out and you¡¯ll be like MEEEEeeee¡­ oh no, Georgie! Oh no!¡±


    That did it.


    George was a man who¡¯d spent his whole life knowing that people thought he was a fuck up. George hated that. And hate let him overcome his fear.


    With cold clarity, shielding his face as they threw him to the floor, George found the focus to imagine the words in front of his face, rolling by like a ticker tape in his mind.


    ¡°Rot them all,¡± he whispered.


    Black letters flashed as he did so, and the whole world wobbled as a feeling similar to the longest, strongest piss he¡¯d ever taken flowed out of him, not from his cock but from almost every part of his body.


    And that¡¯s when the screaming started. Screaming that ended with metal hitting the ground, gurgling, and whimpering.


    ¡°Yes! Yes! You did it, I was worried Georgie, but you did it! You saved us!¡± the rat chittered in glee.


    ¡°Shut. Up.¡± George said, opening his eyes and staring at the floor. It hurt to rise¡­ any energy he¡¯d regained from the short rest was gone now. Those words had said he¡¯d gone through about half of some weird foreign word¡ª


    ¡°Chakra,¡± the rat whispered.


    ¡°Shut up,¡± George said, as he stood, blinking and wobbling. ¡°Stop reading my mind. That¡¯s private!¡±


    ¡°But I¡¯m IN your mind¡ª¡± the rat said, then fell silent as it looked through his eyes, and saw the corpses.


    Well, what was left of them. They were more like puddles of red and green around skeletons. One of their chests deflated as George watched, the metal sinking to the ground, and the cloth slowly soaking through with blood and pus. More red and green seeped through the cobblestones of the hall, trickling toward him as he watched it and tried to keep from vomiting. The SMELL, good God¡­


    ¡°Maybe don¡¯t let that touch us,¡± the rat said, delicately picking up its disemboweled guts like a lady picking up her skirts, and walking backwards away from it.


    George nodded drunkenly, turned¡­


    ¡­and stopped.


    There was a man at the end of the hall. Brown-robed, tall, bearded, and staring at him with piercing eyes. He carried a fancy walking stick in one hand, and brought it up to point at George almost like a rifle.


    ¡°Oh no,¡± the rat whispered. ¡°Rot him, quickly!¡±


    ¡°That was impressive,¡± the man said, eyes locked on George. ¡°You ARE the chosen one after all. But do not try such things on me, or I will burn you with a word.¡±


    ¡°George Liddy,¡± George said, holding up his hands slowly, slowly. ¡°Special Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Serial Number, uh, five four two one four.¡± That last part was actually a lie. He couldn¡¯t remember his serial number.


    The man took a step forward. ¡°Has your familiar taught you to assense, yet?¡±


    ¡°Name, rank, and serial number, pal. That¡¯s all I¡¯ll tell you.¡± George kept his hands up, and took a long blink. How had he gotten those words to come up, again?


    When George open his eyes again, the man was uncomfortably near, and George took a step back.


    The man stopped. ¡°Assense me. And you will see that I¡¯m more than a match for your raw spells.¡±


    George glared at him. This close, the man was pretty old. And yeah, he had a walking stick, but George was pretty sure it wouldn¡¯t help him once he was inside the guy¡¯s reach. That said, he acted pretty sure of himself. Maybe he should assense him, or whatever it was called.


    ¡°It¡¯s a trick, Georgie! Don¡¯t do it!¡± the dead rat whispered, and that decided George. He wasn¡¯t about to let the rat tell him what to do twice! Fuck that disgusting rodent!


    ¡°All right, but no tricks,¡± he told the stranger.


    ¡°No tricks,¡± the stranger said.


    George closed his eyes and tried to remember how to do the assensing thing.


    And the stranger promptly beat him unconscious.


    *****


    George woke to a throbbing pain in his head, tied to a chair, with a circle of bathrobed weirdos standing around him. He glared at the man in brown, who looked back at him, solemnly.


    ¡°I said no tricks!¡± George muttered. That old bastard had CHEATED.


    ¡°You said no tricks,¡± the stranger smiled. ¡°You didn¡¯t say no staves.¡±


    ¡°Enough foolishness, said the man in red robes, stepping into the circle of light around George. The others bowed to him, and stepped back.


    ¡°I am Zarkimorr. You live by my whim; remember this¡ª¡±


    ¡°Wrong!¡± George said.


    The old man glared at him and snarled, ¡°You dare?¡± He raised hands rippling with some sort of lightshow, but George managed to stay unimpressed.


    ¡°I¡¯m alive,¡± George said, and though his head throbbed whenever he moved it, he looked down at the ropes around him. ¡°You need me for something. You wouldn¡¯t have gone through this trouble to keep me alive if you didn¡¯t. So, COMRADES, what¡¯s your plan here? If you want me to betray my oath, know that I¡¯m not afraid to die for my country. Are you?¡±


    The old man choked, and stepped forward, drawing an arm back¡­


    ¡­and the woman on the fringe of it laughed. She was attractive, even if her hair was dyed in some outlandish way that indicated she was a hussy. ¡°Zarkimorr. We¡¯ve become used to dealing with children. Remember the King¡¯s command.¡±


    ¡°Oh, wait, kings?¡± George said, straightening up. ¡°Shoot, I thought you were filthy reds! So you¡¯re British, then? Or one of their colonies?¡±


    The old man stopped glaring at the woman, and looked at him with confusion.


    The man in brown stepped up, smiling. George didn¡¯t buy it, he remembered how the guy had sucker punched him. With a stick. But George found that he did like what he was selling, as the stranger spoke.


    ¡°Clearly, we have misjudged you, chosen one. You would bring honor and glory to your home nation? Would you lead armies against foes who would seek to corrupt and conquer your realm?¡±


    ¡°Buddy, that¡¯s what I was born to do,¡± George said. ¡°Why don¡¯t you get me out of these ropes, fill me in on your problem, and we¡¯ll talk about what I can do for your king¡­¡±

 Reorganization

    Cyrus hated surprises.


    The moment he pulled through the gate of Site 719, and went through the usual process of stepping out and letting the guards search his truck, he could tell something was off. Friendly greetings to the guards he recognized were met with nervous nods, and sidelong glances.


    But he¡¯d learned early on in the service that when you started getting this kind of treatment, you didn¡¯t ask questions. You just went along and played dumb, and braced for impact. And nine times out of ten, whatever your mates were worried about wasn¡¯t as bad as they thought it would be.


    A few minutes later, after he¡¯d parked and walked over to the unexpectedly open gate into the central compound, and witnessed the suited men hauling boxes out of the electrical shed, he realized that no, this was gonna be that one time in ten where losing his shit was not only expected, but justified.


    ¡°What the hell?¡± Cyrus yelled, stumping forward and leaning on his cane all the way up. The nerves in his legs had been itching all night, and the pain and sleep loss let him hit the right note between grumpiness and rage. ¡°What the hell are you doing?¡±


    As he got closer, the bad feeling in his gut grew to a cold certainty. He saw that one of the boxes was open, just a bit, and the wiring peeking out was very, very familiar. ¡°Jesus H Christ! What the fuck! You tore it up?¡±


    The suits put down their boxes and put up their hands, moving between him and the truck. ¡°Mister Colfax? Please don¡¯t do anything rash. The Director¡¯s signed off on this¡ª¡±


    ¡°Signed off on WHAT? The vacuum tubes are supposed to be here any day now, and nobody¡¯s supposed to touch a damned thing until¡ª¡±


    The lights inside the shack flickered. Something snapped, and smoke billowed out, as coughing echoed through the doorway. The suits drew smoothly, flanked the doorway, all except for one who rushed toward Cyrus, arms wide and keeping between him and the door. He needn¡¯t have bothered. Cyrus was already diving for cover behind the flatbed truck, and the only thought going through his mind was oh shit, they came through the portal.


    ¡°Sir?¡± One of the suits called through the door. ¡°Green five?¡±


    Cyrus almost shouted ¡°Yellow six.¡± That was the week¡¯s pass phrase. That was what he was supposed to respond with, if a guard called the first part of the challenge through the door. But he was out here, and they knew that, so why¡­


    ¡°Yellow belly? Yellow¡­¡± someone inside coughed, then continued. ¡°Some yellow number, I don¡¯t remember!¡± It was a peevish voice, a young man¡¯s voice with an east coast accent. Jersey? New York?


    But it seemed to do the trick. The lead suit holstered his pistol, risked a peek in, then held his hand palm down and made grabbing motions. The other suits lowered their guns. And a figure came through the smoke, coughing, and blinking through a pair of oversized goggles.


    He was tall, maybe six feet, and built like a beanpole. Bright red suspenders were the only mark of color against a soot-stained white shirt with rolled up sleeves, and black suit trousers that were stained with Texas dust. He had a scraggly black goatee that matched his wild mop of black hair, and a thin mustache that Cyrus¡¯ grand-dad would have called a pussy tickler. And despite the muck and dust that covered him from head to toe, he was grinning and showing almost horse-like big white teeth as he declared, ¡°The anomaly is still active!¡±


    ¡°What? Of course it is!¡± Cyrus frowned. ¡°Nothing¡¯s happened to change that¡­ right?¡±


    ¡°Oh something happened, all right!¡± the stranger beamed, and gestured back at the smoke. ¡°But it¡¯s fine, I put out the fire! And well, it¡¯s true, I estimated there was about a nine percent chance that my test would have grounded the anomaly permanently, but that¡¯s a small price to pay for the readings that I got¡ª¡±


    Cyrus punched him straight in his smug face.


    *****


    Seventeen minutes later, sitting in the quonset hut that served as the director¡¯s office, Solomon Gable finished listening to the guard¡¯s account and shook his head, lighting up a cigarette with a weariness that seemed almost bone-deep. ¡°All right. Mister Fuller. You first.¡±


    The stranger, who was holding an ice pack against his swollen and bruised cheek, tried to speak without slurring. ¡°Well, I¡¯d just finished disassembling and packing the device, and running preliminary tests, when a materials failure necessitated the evacuation of the anomaly¡¯s containment area. I found this man outside, and reassured him of my success, and he hit me! Then he kept on hitting me! I was assaulted!¡±


    ¡°Preliminary tests,¡± Solomon Gable said. ¡°I don¡¯t recall authorizing those. Just the prototype disassembly.¡±


    Cyrus felt his heart skip a beat. The sense of betrayal settled in, and Solomon must have seen it on his face, for the older man sighed smoke, and waved a hand at him, as if to say I¡¯ll explain. Settle down.


    It went against his grain, but Cyrus settled. He felt the hot anger in him start to turn into cold malice, but he held it back. Gable had done right by him so far. There had to be an explanation.


    While all this went through Cyrus¡¯ head, the stranger was babbling. ¡°Well, these were¡­ I submitted my theories before I arrived, I just assumed they hadn¡¯t been rubber stamped yet¡­ just a formality really, nothing too invasive, the basis of my plan requires those results, you see, and¡­¡±


    ¡°And you were worried I might say ¡®no,¡¯¡± Solomon said.


    The stranger shut up and glanced away, put his ice pack back to his blackened cheek.


    He was pretty young, Cyrus realized. Couldn¡¯t be more than twenty-two, maybe twenty-three.


    ¡°Your turn, mister Colfax. Why did you punch your new lab assistant?¡±


    ¡°Mister Colf¡ª you¡¯re my team leader? YOU?¡± The stranger¡ª the kid, blurted.


    ¡°Shut up,¡± Solomon said, without any particular heat, but with that command edge in his tone. The kid shut up.


    ¡°I punched him because he was playin¡¯ games with my family¡¯s lives,¡± Cyrus said. It was the simple truth. ¡°He said the things he tried had a chance of closing the portal. Hell, it might have done already, we¡¯ve got no way to check it¡ª¡±


    The young man opened his mouth again, shut it when they both looked at him. Cyrus continued. ¡°Anyways, that¡¯s why. Fellow had come in, chopped up my life¡¯s work, and pretty much gambled with my brother¡¯s and my sister¡¯s lives.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± the kid blinked.


    Gable took a long pull of the cigarette, then rubbed his temple with his free hand. ¡°All this because he got in earlier than expected. All right. All right, look. Bristol Fuller, meet Cyrus Colfax. Cyrus Colfax, meet your assistant.¡±


    ¡°I already have an assistant. She¡¯s just busy today,¡± Cyrus said, as evenly as he could muster.


    ¡°Yes, and she¡¯s not a trained electrical engineer. Mister Fuller here IS.¡±


    ¡°Graduated from the Massachussets Institute of Technology,¡± Bristol beamed, offering his hand¡­ then pulling it back, as Cyrus looked down at it coldly, then back up at him. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ not sure what I did wrong. Well no, I¡­ might have jumped the gun a little, I guess. But what¡¯s this about your family?¡±


    Cyrus took a long breath, remembering one of Dad¡¯s old sayings. Never assume malice, when stupidity¡¯s a possibility. Instead of answering him, he turned back to Solomon. ¡°He hasn¡¯t been briefed yet?¡±


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°He hasn¡¯t been briefed yet. We sent him the technical information he needed to start working. I wanted him boning up on it before he arrived, so he could get straight to work. After the briefing. And a chance to talk with you.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Cyrus shut his eye, breathed away more tension. Then he weighed his options, and looked back to the kid¡ª to Bristol. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I hit you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry myself. I didn¡¯t know your family was involved in this,¡± Bristol looked down, stuck out a gloved hand again.


    This time Cyrus shook it. Briefly. The kid had a weak grip, and Cyrus miiiiight have taken a little joy in watching him wince when Cyrus squeezed a little.


    ¡°This doesn¡¯t mean either of you are off the hook,¡± Solomon interrupted them. ¡°Colfax, if you take a swing at one of my people again I¡¯ll toss you in the cells to cool down. We have cells now. Don¡¯t give me a reason to test them out ahead of schedule.¡±


    Cyrus nodded.


    Solomon turned his attention back to Bristol. ¡°Mister Fuller. Are you familiar with a place called Leavenworth?¡±


    ¡°Er, no.¡±


    ¡°Well, from this point on, if you do anything, ANYTHING with the anomaly without running it past me first, you¡¯re going to become VERY familiar with Leavenworth.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a military prison,¡± Cyrus whispered out of the side of his mouth.


    Bristol turned pale.


    ¡°Good. I see we understand each other now.¡±


    ¡°Almost,¡± Cyrus said, undeterred by the scowl that Solomon shot his way. ¡°Why is my prototype boxed up in a truck?¡±


    Solomon sighed again. ¡°Because things have gotten more complicated. I¡¯m going to need you in the field for a bit.¡±


    ¡°The field? We don¡¯t have a way through yet,¡± Cyrus frowned. ¡°Unless this guy¡¯s done something I don¡¯t know about?¡±


    ¡°Through where, exactly?¡± Bristol asked.


    Solomon considered him. ¡°Now that I think of it, why don¡¯t you go take a walk for a bit. Swing by the first aid tent, get that looked at.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure it¡¯s fine, just a bruise¡­¡±


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t a request.¡±


    ¡°Oh. I ah, I see. Yes¡­ sir?¡±


    ¡°Come back in about ten minutes. I¡¯ll brief you properly.¡±


    Bristol brightened up, nodded and hissed with pain, grabbing his bruised cheek. Seeming to gather what dignity he could, he left.


    ¡°Field work,¡± Cyrus said, scrutinizing Solomon. ¡°Have we got a lead on another door?¡±


    ¡°No. What we have is a mess,¡± Gable stubbed out the remains of his cigarette, grinding it into a dark glass ashtray. ¡°I¡¯ve got those vacuum tubes you wanted incoming, but they come with strings attached. We¡¯ve got a spook sniffing around.¡±


    Spook. That word had a few connotations in the rural south, but Cyrus knew that Solomon Gable wasn¡¯t using it as a slur. In this case, the word meant ¡°secret agent.¡± Gable was talking about a spy. Someone from an alphabet agency.


    ¡°CIA?¡± Cyrus asked.


    Solomon nodded. ¡°We¡¯re going to have to turn over your friend.¡±


    Shit, Cyrus thought. There was no point in asking WHICH friend.


    ¡°If this CIA guy hands him back to MI6, we¡¯ll never see him again,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°We¡¯ll lose one of our best assets for dealing with this whole thing.¡±


    ¡°Maybe. I¡¯m not sure they¡¯ll hand him over immediately. Probably try to pick his brain, first.¡± Like we¡¯re doing, Cyrus added mentally, as Solomon paused. The older man continued, after clearing his throat. ¡°The thing I¡¯m most afraid of is the CIA trying to take more than they should. Which is one reason I had your prototype packed up. You¡¯ll be taking it with you.¡±


    ¡°Taking it with me where, exactly?¡± Cyrus narrowed his eye.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s simple,¡± Solomon said, reaching into his heavy metal desk and pulling out a handful of manila folders. ¡°The more we¡¯ve got in place and ready to go, the less he can try to claim jurisdiction over. So I¡¯m going to send you out to run some errands for me, while Bristol handles the technical side of things for a while. But before you go, there¡¯s one thing you need to do before we lose an opportunity¡­¡±


    *****


    Bartleby¡¯s smile was wide, if close-lipped. ¡°Welcome, old boy. I was wondering when they would let you stop by for tea.¡±


    ¡°Tea?¡± Cyrus looked around the inside of the quonset hut that had been Bartleby¡¯s prison for the last two months. It was more luxurious than he¡¯d expected, with a decent-sized bed, a camping stove, and a few freestanding pieces of furniture. A pile of books occupied a small nightstand, and a freestanding lamp shed a warm glow over the area.


    That wasn¡¯t the only warm thing, even if a pair of lazily twirling fans were working overtime to cycle the air through the vents. There was nothing between the hut and the sun, and even in late December it was a touch uncomfortable.


    ¡°Yes, tea,¡± Bartleby said as he stood and stretched his thin, lanky frame. ¡°If I¡¯d known you were coming I would have put the kettle on. They let me have one for¡­ mmm¡­ good behavior. Still could get a pot started if you like. Not too late, I suppose.¡±


    Bartleby was an older man, who had to be near or past sixty. He had thinning iron-gray hair that stuck out frizzy and loose. Normally he pomaded it, but Cyrus expected that he hadn¡¯t earned any of THAT for good behavior.


    To be honest, Cyrus was surprised that the Director had permitted Bartleby this much. For all his dapper, mild-looking elderly British gentleman appearance, Bartleby was a secret agent with a long history of dangerous operations. That had been how Cyrus had met him, out in the boonies of North Korea working on a joint venture with the Army.


    ¡°Being honest, I dunno if I got time for a good cup,¡± Cyrus confessed, leaning on his cane. ¡°Things are moving in a way I didn¡¯t expect.¡±


    ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t know how much I can tell you,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°But we got the device about settled. They got an egghead from up east to rebuild it the way it needs to be rebuilt, while I go tend to some other stuff.¡±


    ¡°I rather expected something like this. Once you gave them the schematics, you were never going to stay as the chief engineer for long. Now you¡¯re a deniable, expendable asset to them. You do know that, yes?¡± Bartleby¡¯s smile didn¡¯t waver, as he leaned against one of the supports.


    ¡°Yeah, I know. They got me by the short and curlies. But they¡¯re being polite about it, at least. And we¡¯re both getting what we want out of it¡­ for now.¡±


    ¡°They shouldn¡¯t waste you, they¡¯d be fools to do so. And Gable¡¯s anything but a fool.¡± Bartleby¡¯s eyes flicked back and forth as he talked, tasted the words as he said them. ¡°You can do things off the books for them. I¡¯m assuming he didn¡¯t give you highly detailed orders? Didn¡¯t ask how you were going to handle business?¡±


    ¡°He didn¡¯t. I¡¯m going recruiting.¡± Cyrus nodded back to the briefcase he¡¯d left at the door, next to the guards who were very definitely listening in. ¡°Got a bunch of personnel files who might be good for the next part, and he told me to pull in any old¡­ friends, that I thought might work out well for this.¡±


    Bartleby closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. ¡°You¡¯re going to try to breach.¡±


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Ain¡¯t an option. Beth and Rusty are stuck over there.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re with the Lion now. They¡¯re gone. Perhaps not immediately, but eventually¡ª¡± Bartleby¡¯s mouth snapped shut, and he flicked his eyes toward the guards, unwilling to give away details. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Cyrus. I wish I could tell you differently. It would be a lie at best.¡±


    ¡°And I got to tell you I¡¯m going back. AFTER a squad clears the way. You want to help me? You¡¯re really sorry? Tell me about the Lion. Tell me what we¡¯re really dealing with, here.¡± Cyrus leaned forward, shifting his bulk as he dug the cane into the floor boards. ¡°I have family at stake! What are we up against, here?¡±


    Bartleby looked past him, at the guards, and shook his head.


    Cyrus tried to stare him down with his single eye, but there was only sorrow in Bartleby¡¯s gaze. This ain¡¯t working, Cyrus realized. Solomon had told him not to reveal anything, but he saw that he¡¯d have to change tactics if he wanted to get anything out of Bartleby before the man got snatched away and probably thrown in some British equivalent of Leavenworth.


    Cyrus glanced back at the guards, stepped closer to Bartleby, and lowered his voice. ¡°They¡¯re going to have to give you up soon.¡±


    ¡°Not unexpected,¡± Bartleby said, running a hand through his hair. ¡°I always knew I was only a transient guest, here. It will be good to go home, even if there shall be some horribly uncomfortable discussions ahead.¡±


    ¡°I ain¡¯t sure you¡¯ll be going back there is the problem. It ain¡¯t your boys coming for you,¡± Cyrus said, dancing carefully along the truth of what Gable had told him.


    He felt bad about manipulating Bartleby.


    But as he saw the agent¡¯s face go tight, and the smile disappear, he knew he was making progress. ¡°The Agency?¡± Bartleby asked, in a low, low voice.


    Cyrus didn¡¯t reply, just flicked his eyes back toward the guards, who were pointedly looking away. He looked back, pointed to his eye, and held up five fingers. Five fingers for five eyes. That was the name of the CIA/MI6 cooperative agreement.


    But the CIA didn¡¯t always play by those rules.


    Bartleby sat down on the bed. ¡°Bugger.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no time for this. Not any of this.¡± Bartleby grimaced. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°As much as you can tell us about the Lion.¡±


    Bartleby looked away. ¡°You know I''m going to lie to you.¡±


    ¡°We''ve reached the point where that''s preferable to silence. And...¡± Cyrus bit his lip.


    ¡°If you lie to me too much, or in the wrong way, I''m a dead man. You know that. And I''m hoping that you give a shit about that enough that we''ll get some use out of your lies.¡±


    ¡°Blackmail, in a way. But not unexpected.¡± Bartleby mopped his face with one sleeve. ¡°It''s a miserable life, you know. Espionage. No glamour to it. Just lies, broken promises, and the weakness of men.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Cyrus said, taking out a notebook and pushing it forward. ¡°Been dealing with that all my life. What''s one more?¡±

 Funeral for a Dark Lord

    The satyrs had brought the Lion¡¯s corpse back with them,at some point.


    It wasn¡¯t the first time Rusty had seen a corpse. He¡¯d been working on a farm since he had been out of diapers, and every farmer¡¯s child learned early on that animals were only temporary friends. And the process of turning those friends into food was gruesome, but necessary.


    It wasn¡¯t even the first time that he¡¯d seen the corpse of a person. His time in Elythia had not been kind.


    But this was different.


    They¡¯d put him in the center of the ruined stone fortress, where the light from the high, oddly-cut window holes shone down in beams to illuminate the most shadowed heart of the structure. His people had placed metal and glass and bits of shiny, reflective materials all throughout the oddly narrow room, more like a vertical mineshaft than a hall. As a result, the sun¡¯s rays were channeled and redirected into a maze of light, culminating in a bright halo that encircled the altar-like bier that the Lion¡¯s corpse rested upon.


    He lay upon flowers, Rusty noticed as his escort¡¯s hoofbeats echoed through the chamber, and his friends followed a few paces behind. Big, red flowers that weren¡¯t too dissimilar from the shade of fresh blood.


    ¡°Why hasn¡¯t he rotted? It¡¯s been a week,¡± Rusty heard Ken whisper behind him. He looked up to Omen of Raster, saw the satyr¡¯s ear twitch and the visible eye narrow a bit. But the satyr said nothing.


    ¡°I do not rot because they preserved my previous vessel¡¯s husk,¡± the Lion said, pacing unseen by all others in Rusty¡¯s peripheral vision. ¡°And fear not. Omen used a translation charm to speak with you. He is not wasting its charge upon understanding the others at the minute.¡±


    Rusty opened his mouth, shut it again. He had to think, had to remember that. ¡°What happens now?¡±


    ¡°An intense amount of pain, I fear. You must absorb at least one of the runes that we had collected. You should survive. It may even speed your recovery from the surgery.¡±


    Rusty¡¯s back throbbed and burned, as the Lion spoke, as if it had heard him and remembered oh yeah, I need to torment this kid.


    Grimly, Rusty considered his choices.


    The Lion¡¯s armored body was a good nine or ten feet tall, and armored in mismatched, scavenged plates of metal. The form beneath was misshapen, and malformed, but fortunately most of that wasn¡¯t visible under the armor¡­ well, the visor had been shredded from where that weirdo had blown a hole in his head with a double-barreled shotgun, but some satyr or grach had put a cloth over the remnants of his face. So that helped.


    The runes helped even more.


    They were impossible to miss¡­ jagged spires of crystal that seemingly grew out of the Lion¡¯s body, ranging from a few inches to half a foot long, looking like a mix between stalagmites and clusters of sea urchins. They shone in glittering hues, a dance of mismatched colors against the battered bronze of the Lion¡¯s armored corpse.


    ¡°Start by stripping the charms from my mane, and look solemn while you do it.¡± the Lion said. ¡°Take your time about this task, and gather your nerve. The next part will be difficult beyond measure.¡±


    With a ¡®pop,¡¯ Roz appeared next to the Lion, his hands on his hips. ¡°Why don¡¯t we talk about that next part, buddy? We don¡¯t even know if we want to help you yet.¡±


    ¡°If you do not, then the Unicorn¡¯s minions will come for you. And you will be slain, and I with you. This version of myself, anyway.¡±


    ¡°This version?¡± Rusty slowed down a step. Immediately the satyrs gathered around the chamber looked to him, and shifted on their hooves. Rusty shook his head, and hurried forward again. I have to act like everything¡¯s normal.


    The Lion answered his question. ¡°I fight many wars on many worlds. At least, I did. I have not been able to speak with any of my other branches for some time. The Unicorn is winning.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Roz said, folding his arms and hovering as he kept pace, floating and frowning. ¡°So what¡¯s the next part that¡¯s supposed to be so difficult?¡±


    ¡°You will have to absorb the rune of speed.¡± The Lion flickered, and appeared next to its old body, tail pointing at the red crystal that had buckled and broken through the center of his chestpate, warping the metal where it had burst free. ¡°Without it, you cannot fight the elves. They will kill you the second you take the field.¡±


    Rusty reached the corpse. Omen of Raster bowed over his hand, and stepped back.


    ¡°I guess we paying our respects,¡± Rusty heard Alice whisper to Ken.


    ¡°You are. I¡­ we¡¯re retrieving what is ours,¡± Rusty said. It seemed like the appropriate thing to say. And he moved around to where the Lion¡¯s hair poked out from under the cloth that covered his ruined head.


    This close, the corpse stunk. The Lion¡¯s former host had reeked before he died, and death hadn¡¯t done anything to improve that. The flowers helped a bit, masking the worst of it with a smell that was somewhere between strawberries and cough drops, but it took Rusty a few seconds to get control of his stomach. Gingerly, he reached to the small knife that was lying on the stone slab, and started cutting the bone and metal tokens out of the corpse¡¯s hair.


    ¡°Okay. We¡¯re doing the thing. And you say we need to absorb the speed rune?¡± Roz sat on the altar, and kicked his legs as he glared at the Lion.


    ¡°Yes. And you must do it without screaming.¡±


    Rusty¡¯s breath hitched in his throat. ¡°I¡¯m not so sure I can do that,¡± he thought to the magical creatures in his head.


    Runes were magical crystals. When a person jammed them into their flesh, the crystal melted into them, linking up with their brain and giving them powers. But it hurt. Even beyond the fact that you basically had to stab yourself with a crystal knife, the runes Rusty had absorbed had made every bit of his body feel like fire ants were chomping their way through every nerve he had. The first rune had been torture, and the second rune had made the first one feel like a tickle fight with his little brothers.


    And from what the Lion had implied earlier, the pain got worse with every rune added.


    ¡°I know, it is much to ask,¡± the Lion said, slumping down and turning its many-eyed head to the floor. ¡°But they will expect you to absorb the rune without showing too much weakness, because this is the ritual that I have established in the past.¡±The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Well how¡¯d you do it?¡± Roz asked. ¡°What¡¯s the trick, daddy-o?¡±


    ¡°The trick is that I had fully merged with each previous host. I shielded them from the pain their own bodies inflicted. But you stole the memory of how to do this, when you cast your spell upon me,¡± the Lion said, looking up to Rusty. ¡°We are only a partial merge. I cannot take your pain for you. Even if you would permit it, I do not remember how!¡±


    Rusty¡¯s hands trembled, as he took a breath. He steadied himself by laying the charms upon each other, clinking metal to metal, and clacking bone on bone. They bore intricate symbols, engraved and stained in languages he couldn¡¯t read. He¡¯d have to fix that, he knew. His rune of memory would let him gain false memories of learning alien languages, but he didn¡¯t have time to mess with that right now. He had to figure out how to get through what he was pretty sure was the worst ordeal he¡¯d face in this whole mess, and he had to figure that out in the next couple of minutes. There weren¡¯t that many charms in the Lion¡¯s mane. He couldn¡¯t stall forever.


    ¡°What if I gave you back the memories of how to do that?¡± Rusty asked the Lion.


    ¡°No!¡± Roz said. ¡°I mean bad idea. This cat isn¡¯t our friend. Letting him take over any part of our body risks him grabbing all the marbles. And speaking as a marble, I don¡¯t wanna get grabbed.¡±


    ¡°Honesty bids me say that you should not,¡± the Lion said.


    ¡°Wait, what?¡± Roz squinted at the cat, hands on hips. ¡°What are you playing at?¡±


    ¡°Even were the memories to be returned, I do not know that I could suppress your pain without bonding with you fully. I just don¡¯t remember enough to know the details of how it works. And regardless, you do not wish to bond with me fully. Until and unless you change your mind on that, I cannot directly aid you with this, or many of the other tasks required to keep us alive.¡±


    ¡°Okay, you¡¯re being square with us and I appreciate that,¡± Rusty said, removing the fourth to last charm. ¡°You¡¯re right, I¡¯m not gonna let you get any more of me than you¡¯ve got. So how do we fix this? I¡¯ve got two runes to work with right now, maybe we could figure something out?¡±


    ¡°Memory and hole,¡± Roz said, rubbing where his chin would be if he weren¡¯t a little gray alien. ¡°Maybe you could erase the memories of the pain as it happened?¡±


    ¡°That would tend to the memories of it, but not the pain itself.¡± The Lion said.


    ¡°Maybe I could make a hole between the parts of me that feel pain and the parts that let me know pain is there?¡± Rusty said.


    The Lion didn¡¯t like that idea at all. ¡°No! You would kill yourself, or worse, if you started putting holes in your nervous system. You could even render yourself unable to heal the condition, or unable to use your runes. The reason the runes hurt is because your body and brain are forcibly adapted to interface with them. Severing that link is¡­ unwise, at best.¡±


    ¡°Ooooh!¡± Roz said, brightening up. ¡°We could try that on a bad guy some time!¡±


    ¡°Get your heads together, guys,¡± Rusty said, removing the second to last charm. ¡°Running out of time for new ideas. Help me out?¡±


    Roz and the Lion started tossing ideas out, but nothing really clicked. Not until Rusty¡¯s was undoing the last charm, and some of the Lion¡¯s words caught Rusty¡¯s attention. ¡°Say that again?¡±


    ¡°I said that by setting this tradition I brought this upon us,¡± the Lion sighed. ¡°By refusing to show pain, as a sign of respect to my fallen companions, I have possibly set the seeds for our downfall. And I regret that.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s showing pain,¡± Rusty thought. ¡°That¡¯s it! I just have to not show the pain!¡±


    And with the last charm in his hand, and no time left, he closed his eyes and cast the spell. ¡°Make my body forget how to show signs of pain.¡±


    Conceal physical symptoms to painful stimuli!


    Committed chakra: 3/198


    Cost: 1 chakra


    Remaining free chakra: 194/198


    Rusty¡¯s eyes shot open wide, and he almost yelled. Not because of the spell, because all he felt from that was a mild tingling across his body. But because the number on his chakra pool was utterly ludicrous. He¡¯d been what, at forty-something last time he¡¯d checked?


    Roz was unseen to the satyrs, and didn¡¯t have to hold back. ¡°One hundred and ninety-eight? What the heck? How did we even¡­ oh. Oh wait.¡± his eyes shifted to the Lion.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the Lion said. ¡°I have some control over where my departing chakra goes. You absorbed the majority of my essence when I activated your link. Unfortunately your chakra network was too underdeveloped to absorb all of it, but you benefit from my fall.¡±


    Well heck, now there was no reason NOT to double up a bit. He cast his second enchantment, while he slowly, carefully stacked the charm with the others. ¡°Eliminate my memories of pain a fraction of a second after I feel it,¡± he thought and willed it into existence, concentrating on visualizing the grayish words in the darkness behind his eyelids.


    Selective Near-instantaneous memory editing upon self!


    Committed chakra: 04/198


    Trauma reducer granted!


    Cost: 3 Chakra


    Remaining free Chakra: 191/198


    ¡°A little expensive,¡± Roz murmured.


    ¡°It affects his entire nervous system, it should be,¡± the Lion murmured. ¡°But this memory rune is quite flexible and useful for subtle workings upon the self. Interesting¡­ ah! Before I forget. Rusty, do not leave this in place for longer than you must. It will do terrible things to your development and nerves if you do so. The body has many small processes that will fail in time if no new pain is registered.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Rusty said, staring at the yellow spike in the center of the Lion¡¯s chest. ¡°I guess it¡¯s time to do this thing?¡±


    He took a second to look up, then. And he saw that they¡¯d gained quite an audience. Up along the shaft that ran through the center of the fortress, on the little ledges and openings to the upper floors that lined the sides of it, figures stood. Grach and satyrs watched in silence. It was almost like being in church, except he was the preacher.


    There was a weird sense of stage fright. But the Lion broke in before it went too long.


    ¡°Your leg, I¡¯m thinking. About midway down the calf.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Rusty almost vocalized that, but closed his mouth before he could break the surrounding feeling of sanctity.


    ¡°You¡¯ll need to balance out your chakra network. It¡­ ah, it would take too long to explain! If the runes are implanted at specific points, then you will live longer. Put it into the muscles of your calf, midway to your foot. It doesn¡¯t matter which calf.¡±


    ¡°Roz?¡± Rusty thought.


    ¡°Um¡­ Maybe? I don¡¯t know? The runes don¡¯t have a guide for this part of things.¡±


    Lord knew he was in enough hot water already, a longer lifespan could only help things. Before he could lose his courage, Rusty reached out to the rune, settled his hand around it until he was sure the ridges wouldn¡¯t break his skin, and broke the crystal.


    There was a high-pitched crack. It came away easier than he thought it would, and he stumbled back.


    ¡°They¡¯ll blame that on the awkwardness of a new body, particularly a child¡¯s. Now, quickly! The rune won¡¯t last long. Speed is its namesake and its drawback!¡±


    The Lion wasn¡¯t lying. The rune shard was melting away like an ice cube under tap water.


    Rusty sat down on the ground, hiked his robe up a little, and buried the point of the shard into the side of his right calf.


    Oh.


    Oh wow.


    Oh BOY was this bad.


    ¡°It¡¯s all right to sit there,¡± the Lion said, his voice strained. It was hard to hear him over Roz screaming his head off. ¡°They expect it to take some time. Not more than a few hours.¡±


    Rusty closed his eyes. Hours.


    Perhaps the trauma filter helped. Perhaps it didn¡¯t.


    But after the satyrs cleared away, seemingly satisfied. After the grach hooted their approval, and left to¡­ celebrate? After all of that, he heard the pattering of feet behind him, and though it hurt more, though it fanned the flames of the bonfire currently consuming every nerve in his body, Rusty shifted to see Ken and Alice approaching him, almost timidly.


    ¡°Rusty?¡± Alice asked, her voice echoing in the grand hall. ¡°Are you all right?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Rusty said.

 The Hierophant and Judgment

    The fan boat roared through the bayou, as Cyrus slapped mosquitoes away from his neck. It was December, but that didn¡¯t mean much to Louisiana mosquitoes. At least the humidity was down a little, so he wasn¡¯t completely drowning in sweat.


    After a few moments of reviewing the dossiers that Gable had dropped in his lap, Cyrus had decided to go with Henri Guiscane first. The man was a trauma medic who had distinguished himself in a M.A.S.H unit in ¡®54. The entire unit had come under shelling, and he¡¯d stayed behind to tend to the patients that couldn¡¯t be moved.


    By all rights, he should have gotten a medal for that. But Henri had a problem that the Army couldn¡¯t overlook, not at the time. Henri was a little too black for them.


    Henri hadn¡¯t raised a fuss about it, but several of his colleagues had. The Army had decided to solve the problem and quiet the issue by forcing Henri into early retirement. But they¡¯d at least also pulled a few strings to let him get through medical school, and become a full-fledged Doctor. That was no minor task, and the man had managed to knock out the parts he was missing in his education in two years, flat.


    Which Cyrus also approved of. You never wanted to trust the gratitude of the services, not for long periods of time. Best bet was to grab what you could get from them, and move on.


    The dossier had Henri down as running a small practice in the rougher parts of New Orleans, but Cyrus had found the place closed when he finally found a taxi driver willing to take him to that neighborhood. Some asking around, and a few lies about Henri saving his life during the war, had gotten him pointed to the swamps west of town, and a little flyspeck of a settlement that wasn¡¯t on any official maps.


    The place was called ¡°Beulahville,¡± and the man driving the fanboat had been paid well to get Cyrus out there and back again.


    Something was off, though. Cyrus¡¯ gut was telling him that there was something wrong with this whole picture. Not for the first time, he regretted coming here unarmed. But he hadn¡¯t dared bring a gun on the plane, and driving here would have been agony on his broken body. He might have been able to scrounge up one in New Orleans, but the fat stack of bills that Gable had included with the dossiers would only go so far, and plane tickets were expensive.


    Fortunately, swamp boat rides weren¡¯t. Cyrus forked over three bucks gladly, when the pilot dropped him off at an old dock at the edge of a crumbling old plantation house, and pointed west.


    ¡°¡®Bout a t¡¯ree minute walk,¡± the old fellow said, smiling up at him with a brilliant, if somewhat unevenly-toothed smile. ¡°Gators don¡¯t like the cold much, but don¡¯t go near no logs. Follow the path. You see the old cabins soon ¡®nuff.¡±


    Cyrus dug out his cane, promised to be back within the hour, and headed out to the clearest spot he could see between the trees.


    He heard the argument well before he saw the cabins. Most of it didn¡¯t make sense, though. There was a man¡¯s voice and a woman¡¯s voice, and the language was either French or something like Creole. Cyrus did catch the name ¡°Henri!¡± a few times, usually at the end of the woman¡¯s sentences. Usually said in a tone he was well familiar with, when his mom was scolding his dad.


    The cabins were in a clearing surrounding a hill, spaced out relatively easily. Some sort of vine-choked platform sat atop the hill, broken stumps of wood showing where poles had been mounted, long ago. The cabins were up on stilts, and were pretty well-worn, well lived in. They¡¯d been decorated with gator hides, mounted fish heads, nets, and oars. A few had other random items, such as old dinner plates or license plates. One had a bicycle frame mounted on the wall at an angle, with the horn near the door and sticking out where a visitor could honk it.


    And as Cyrus moved into the space between the nearest two cabins to the path, a long, low whistle sounded three times from the nearest cabin, and immediately the argument stopped.


    In the silence, Cyrus heard a sound that made his heart miss a beat.


    The metallic clicking of several guns being cocked.


    ¡°I¡¯m awful sorry to intrude,¡± Cyrus said into the silence, knowing that he had maybe a few seconds, if he said the wrong thing. ¡°I¡¯m here to talk to Henri Guiscare. Just talk. That¡¯s all. Then I¡¯ll go back to Mister Perot, and he¡¯ll take me back to New Orleans. Where my friends are waiting for me.¡±


    That last part was a lie. There was no one waiting for Cyrus back in New Orleans. But if someone was thinking to murder him and ditch the corpse out here, then this might make them think twice.


    He could hear movement in the cabins around him, low conversation on the air, sharp and tight. Someone whispered.


    ¡°Oh for lawd¡¯s sakes!¡± The arguing man¡¯s voice boomed out. ¡°I¡¯m Henri. Come on out around where I can see you. Come ¡®round to the furthest cabin back, and no funny business.¡±


    ¡°None planned. I got a cane, need it to walk,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°Sorry for all this fuss. Didn¡¯t know I was¡­ I¡¯m not sure what¡¯s goin¡¯ on, here.¡±


    He moved as he spoke, leaning heavier than he needed to on the cane. It had been a pretty good day for the pain, he hadn¡¯t had to touch his medicine yet. But as he felt his heart beat, and the adrenaline rolling just under the surface, telling him just how many people must have sightlines on him from inside the darkened windows of those cabins, he knew that the pain would probably come later. Any stress at all, and it¡¯d be back around like an old friend trying to mooch dinner.


    The farthest cabin from the path was small, well-kept, with vases of flowers lining a cramped porch. The curtains on the windows were white and wispy, lit from behind with flickering lantern flames, and it had actual glass instead of tar paper. That said, the old wood creaked as he mounted the stairs, and the walls were just as patched and discolored from the replacement of rotting wood over the decades.


    The door swung open as soon as he mounted the porch, and Cyrus found a shotgun barrel in his face. He froze. ¡°That¡¯s uh, not necessary,¡± he said, slowly.


    ¡°That remains to be seen,¡± Henri Guiscare said. ¡°Annabelle, you reco¡¯nize this fellow?¡±


    ¡°Ain¡¯t nobody I seen ¡®fore,¡± said the feminine voice who¡¯d been arguing with Henri.


    When Cyrus refocused his eye, he saw a curvy lady behind Henry. Padded in all the right places, wearing a floral print dress and a wrap around braided hair. Her face was smooth, quite attractive, but the scowl on it told Cyrus that even if he were in the market this was no time to be haggling. Cyrus looked back to Henri.


    Henri wore a simple brown suit, jacket off, with a sweat-stained white shirt and bolo tie. The man was a few inches shorter than Cyrus, with coffee and cream colored skin, and his body had the kind of soft to it that Cyrus had seen in many soldiers who¡¯d come back from the war and discovered that they could eat good food on the reg again, and there were no drill sergeants to punish them for taking a slice of cake or two. His hair was grayer than his age would suggest, and his face lined with the sort of worry you didn¡¯t get from sitting around and eating good food on the reg. But it was his eyes that drew Cyrus. Sad, warm, and¡­ fearful? But Cyrus got the notion that Henri wasn¡¯t afraid of him.


    And with that, Cyrus relaxed. ¡°You don¡¯t know me, Doctor Guiscare. Your wife doesn¡¯t either.¡±


    The woman snorted. Henri laughed, and lowered the shotgun. ¡°She¡¯s my sister,¡± he said, smiling with bright teeth, some of them winking silver. ¡°And the fact you don¡¯t know that means you¡¯re all right, and I¡¯m sorry for putin¡¯ a scare into you. Come on in. Have some coffee. Maybe a few beignets? They¡¯re yesterdays, but they still good.¡±


    ¡°Okay. What¡¯s a beignet?¡± Cyrus asked, feeling the adrenaline drain away, feeling himself smile back, feeling the pain grumble that it wouldn¡¯t get to visit long. ¡°I assume you eat¡¯em?¡±


    Beignets turned out to be fried balls of dough that had been rolled in powdered sugar to the point that if you tried to chew one whole, then you nearly suffocated from the puffs of sweetness that stuck to your windpipes. At least, that¡¯s what happened to Cyrus, and it banished the scowl on Susan Guiscare¡¯s face as she shared a laugh with her brother.


    ¡°So, mister Colfax,¡± Henri said after introductions were done  and the coffee was helping ensure the sugar went the right way down Cyrus¡¯ throat. ¡°If you ain¡¯t here on worrisome business, then what may I ask brings you to my¡­ to our doorstep?¡±


    Cyrus had given a fair amount of thought on what to say next. ¡°I¡¯m here unofficially, representing a government agency. We¡¯re recruiting people to go to a dangerous place, to save some children from kidnappers. We are going to need a Doctor for the team. And you¡¯re the best.¡±


    Henri¡¯s eyes widened while Cyrus spoke, and he shared a look with Susan. She seemed just as surprised as he looked.


    ¡°And this has nothing at all to do with the trouble we got going on right now?¡± Henri asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t even know what kind of trouble it is has you hiding out in this swamp. But if you want this job, you might have to tell me about it,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°Could be we could make it go away. But I¡¯d need details, first.¡±


    Another long look, between brother and sister. A few murmured words, in a language that Cyrus didn¡¯t get, then Susan nodded.


    Henri Guiscard cleared his throat. ¡°Well. To be as simple and decent as I can, there¡¯s a young fellow with a rich father, who thinks that Susan should be in his bed.¡±


    ¡°That will never happen!¡± Susan said, folding her arms. ¡°He would not marry me if he could. And I wouldn¡¯t have him, even if he wanted to do things proper like.¡±


    ¡°Rich enough to cause you trouble? You¡¯re a respected Doctor. An army veteran.¡±


    ¡°And his daddy¡¯s rich enough the Mayor of Nawlins calls him sir.¡± Henri said. ¡°This young buck¡¯s left a trail of bastard children and abandoned women behind him. So Susan¡¯s back here for a while. ¡®Til things quiet down, anyways.¡±


    ¡°They won¡¯t. His bitch fiancee gon¡¯ see to that,¡± Susan grumbled.


    ¡°There¡¯s a woman in the mix? He¡¯s not a bachelor?¡± Cyrus felt disgusted. Yeah, this sort of thing happened all the time¡­ hell, his own father had gone astray¡­ but to openly cheat on a woman who was going to be your wife? That took a special sort of scum.


    ¡°One of those arranged marriages that ain¡¯t supposed to happen in the land of the free. Two rich families comin¡¯ together. Thing is, HER daddy is high up in the local Klan. And Susan caused ¡®nuff fuss that she¡¯s sendin¡¯ goons after her. Bunch of layabout white boys with nothin¡¯ better to do.¡±


    ¡°One, two, I could take care of myself,¡± Susan grumbled. ¡°But they pack a sedan full. Don¡¯t need to guess how that gon¡¯ end.¡±


    Cyrus nodded. ¡°Give me names. I¡¯ll make some phone calls, see if we can make this go away.¡±


    ¡°Just like that?¡± Henri¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if it¡¯ll be easy,¡± Cyrus admitted. ¡°But rich men usually have some skeletons in the closet. And the group I work for is pretty good at digging up skeletons.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t bluffing on that. The replacement sheriff who¡¯d taken the last guy¡¯s place back in Cooperston had made threatening noises about Cyrus¡¯ role in the burning of Bunktown, and the murder of Buxley. Mr. Gable had made one phone call to the bureau, one phone call to the Mayor, and all that potential legal trouble had gone away.


    Henri chewed the inside of his cheek, as he studied Cyrus. ¡°They send you because you a veteran, too?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°But I¡¯d be lying if I said it wasn¡¯t a consideration. My boss has played square with me. He¡¯ll deal square with you. And he¡¯s NOT Army.¡±


    ¡°That kind of agency, then¡­¡± Henri leaned back. ¡°This dangerous place, how dangerous we talking?¡±


    ¡°Henri¡­¡± Susan put her hand on her brother¡¯s knee. He swiped it off, irritated.


    ¡°What else we got goin¡¯ on, woman? Might as well hear him out. Beats having to wait ¡®till Forrest gives up and fixes on some other poor woman.¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°It¡¯s gonna be dangerous as hell, won¡¯t lie. No place you¡¯ll find on any map. Getting there and back again is going to be risky. The upside is we¡¯ll be better armed than the bad guys. The downside is that they¡¯ll have some weird stuff to throw at us. I can¡¯t explain it without getting into classified intel.¡± Cyrus sighed. ¡°But your job is going to be fixing anyone who goes down, and saving lives.¡±


    ¡°Same as it ever was,¡± Henri nodded, eyes distant. ¡°You say it¡¯s to rescue kids?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. My brother and sister are there. But there¡¯s a few more, at least.¡± Cyrus shut his eye. ¡°We can¡¯t move against the bad guys until they¡¯re safe.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m in. But first you make this problem go away.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m in too,¡± Susan said, then raised a hand as Henri stood up. ¡°Don¡¯t you start! I¡¯m goin¡¯ have to get out of town for a while, even if this goes away. You know that!¡±


    ¡°I ain¡¯t lettin¡¯ you go to some jungle or South American death camp or wherever! You know what Mom would DO to me?¡±


    There followed a tirade of angry language, and Cyrus waited for the right moment to clear his throat. Both of the Guiscare siblings glared at him, and he raised his hands to show peaceful intent. ¡°If it helps, we¡¯ve got a staging point in Texas. There¡¯s housing there. She¡¯d be surrounded by armed guards. It¡¯d take a stupid man indeed to bring trouble there, out all the way from Louisiana.¡±


    There was a little more argument, but it seemed mainly like a formality on Henri¡¯s part. And when Cyrus left there, he left with a few names.


    It was hard to miss the Sedan following him back to his hotel. It was packed full of goons. That said, they didn¡¯t leave the car when he went inside, and once up in his room overlooking the street, he saw them waiting patiently across the street, sans one who had probably run back to report to his employer. Cyrus figured he had maybe an hour, but he wrestled the desk in front of the door to his room anyway.


    Gable picked up the phone on the third ring, and Cyrus gave him the skinny. And Cyrus felt a lot of tension evaporate, when Gable heard the names and laughed, and laughed, and laughed. Then he promised to make some phone calls, and between them, they hashed out a plan.


    Half an hour later, Cyrus watched the low-slung frame of a police car roll up down the street, and park. The guys in the sedan instantly turned to stare.


    Once Cyrus was sure they were fixated on the new arrivals, he unbarred the door and headed downstairs. The sedan goons didn¡¯t notice him until he was a few feet from their car, and the nearest one flinched, as he raised his cane and rapped it against the window.


    They stared at him, confused and irritated. Cyrus made little rolling motions with his free hand, until they got the notion and rolled the window down.


    ¡°Your boss is either Beaumont Carson or Whitford Chomely,¡± Cyrus said, watching the men look at each other. They were young, in their twenties or thirties, save for the driver, who was fifty and had a hell of a harder life than his passengers. That one had his hand under the dash, and Cyrus focused his eye on him.


    In the reflection of the mirror, as they stared sullenly at him, he saw a policeman emerge from the patrol car and work his way up the street, twirling a nightstick.


    Cyrus continued. ¡°Both of those men were part of a conspiracy that plotted to overthrow FDR and replace him with a dictator. But Major General Smedley wasn¡¯t so keen on that idea. It got hushed up.¡±


    Blank looks from the young men, but he saw the driver¡¯s eyes widen, then narrow. Cyrus grinned, and continued. ¡°I¡¯ve been sent to tell you that you¡¯re done with the Guiscares. If your employer decides that he is NOT done with the Guiscares, then his part in the plot will be the talk of papers nationwide within a week. I wonder how the marriage will go THEN? Go and ask him that. We¡¯re done here.¡±


    The driver slowly drew his hand back from the dash, and nodded¡­


    ¡­but one of the young men had enough. He likely didn¡¯t know the stakes, just knew they¡¯d come here to work violence, and this uppity fool needed a taste of brass knuckles. He threw open the door, started to step out¡­


    And the police officer bashed in the door¡¯s window.


    The man screamed and dove back in the car, and the driver took off, tires squealing.


    The police officer nodded to Cyrus. ¡°My eyes are givin¡¯ me trouble today, sir. Can¡¯t say I see you well. I expect you don¡¯t see me too well either.¡±


    ¡°Must be something in the air. Think I¡¯ll check out early and move on.¡±


    ¡°Might be best, sir. You have a blessed day.¡±


    Another phone call to a certain fan boat owner got a message delivered. ¡°Go. Go now to the address we discussed.¡±


    From what Cyrus had seen of Henri, he wasn¡¯t too worried about Henri and Susan getting to Texas. The man was resourceful, his sister was brave, and they were smart enough to grab a Green¡¯s road atlas and get rolling. And while the cops of New Orleans couldn¡¯t be trusted in the long run, they¡¯d just gotten paid well enough to look the other way for a day or two.


    Cyrus checked out and headed to the airport in a good mood, that lasted until he was sitting in the terminal, reading through his next chosen dossier.


    This one would be a little trickier.


    *****


    Cyrus had only ever seen San Francisco in passing. This time was no different. He¡¯d caught sleep on the plane ride over, and given the hilliness of the place, there was no real reason to go sight-seeing. A phone call back to Gable got him a visitor¡¯s ticket on the boat he needed to be on, and within a few hours he was taking the ferry across the bay, to Alcatraz Federal Penitentiary.


    The security was as tight as he expected, and he had to leave his cane at the first stop along the way. But the wary eyed screws were unexpectedly kind enough to provide a folding wheel chair, and a burly guard to push it. This time Cyrus needed the chair; sleeping during the long flight had cramped up his legs pretty fiercely, and walking on them afterwards had only irritated the muscles more.


    The prison they called ¡°The Rock,¡± became a blur. Doors that opened with buzzing, long corridors full of cells, with stony-faced men watching in rows. There were more hallways roped off than he expected. At his curious glance, craning his neck to get a better angle at the third one he cut around, his wheelchair wrangler was kind enough to supply an explanation. ¡°Last earthquake did some damage. Uncle Sam¡¯s still trying to figure out if it¡¯s worth it to fix it all.¡±


    The man he came to see was in solitary, and that involved riding a cargo elevator down into the base of the crag. The tunnels down here were lit with wire-caged lanterns set into the wall, cables running between them. The cell doors were reinforced, riveted metal here, with closed viewing slits. Another guard joined him, as they moved down the corridors.


    ¡°I¡¯ll need to talk to him in person,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°It¡¯s going to be difficult doing that through a viewing slit.¡±


    The newly arrived guard pursed his lips. ¡°I can open the door so you can see each other, but there¡¯s a chance he might try to come at you. That¡¯s going to get messy. We can take him, but maybe not before he messes you up, pal.¡±


    ¡°You think he¡¯ll do that?¡± Cyrus asked.


    ¡°Not likely, but there¡¯s always a chance. The folks in here ain¡¯t here because they¡¯re bad at playing pinochle.¡±


    Cyrus nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll take my chances. Ah¡­ none of you are on his list, are you?¡±


    The glance that the two shared spoke volumes. ¡°No,¡± one said, tightly. ¡°We¡¯re not.¡±


    ¡°Figured he might put people on there accidentally, that¡¯s all,¡± Cyrus said.


    Still, the tension didn¡¯t ease until they pulled up in front of one cell on the corner. The guard who had been pushing Cyrus rapped on the door with his nightstick, then slid the viewing panel open. ¡°Bart. Got somebody to talk to you face to face. He¡¯s good folks. Don¡¯t go causing trouble or it¡¯ll go bad for you.¡±


    ¡°Well, this is sure a surprise. Sure, I¡¯m decent. Pop the door and let¡¯s palaver.¡±


    It was a mild voice, on the high end for a man. The Minnesota accent didn¡¯t do it any favors, either. It certainly didn¡¯t broadcast this man¡¯s reputation.


    One guard took up position next to the door with his nightstick at the ready. The other opened the door and stepped back, then pushed Cyrus¡¯ chair in front of the cell. And Cyrus got his first look at Barty Mossjaeger.


    Barty was a slender blonde man, wearing prison stripes. He had a pair of thick-rimmed glasses on his smiling, hawk-nosed face, and wispy hair that he¡¯d tied back into a short pony tail. He was in his early thirties, but Cyrus only knew it by his dossier, and his face was unlined by any sort of worry.


    It was, however, lined by a massive scar that ate up a good patch of his lower forehead, carved across his eyes, and highlighted the fact that one eye was green, and the other was black. The shrapnel that had torn through his head had left him viewing the world through mismatched orbs, ones that studied Cyrus with an empty, unworried gaze.


    Barty Mossjaeger, Lieutenant Mossjaeger, had been a tough son of a bitch, by all accounts. Fast, deadly, well thought of by his fellow Rangers. Then some North Korean had put a grenade in exactly the wrong place to drop Barty¡­ but not enough of a spot to finish him. Against the odds, a MASH unit like the one that Henri Guiscare had been in had managed to save Barty, at the cost of leaving the shrapnel in, permanently.


    But when Barty had finally woken up from the coma, he was a different man.


    People didn¡¯t realize just HOW different, until the murders started. And they certainly didn¡¯t connect the disappearances to good ol¡¯ Barty Mossjaeger, who had come back from the war a little weird.


    Barty Mossjaeger was a psychopath, now. He¡¯d lost most of who he had been when that shrapnel had made a nest in his frontal lobe. What was left over was¡­ something not quite human. Not entirely.


    ¡°I¡¯ve read your files,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°So that¡¯ll save us some time. You like killing bad people.¡±


    Barty tilted his head. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°No?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s necessary to kill bad people. So I do it. I don¡¯t like or dislike it. It just needs doing, you know.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I do know, kind of.¡± Cyrus shrugged. ¡°I went to war to stop the bad folks. But you went to kill them, and there¡¯s a difference there. And that¡¯s all right. Lot of folks I knew enlisted to do that¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Barty interrupted. ¡°I went to war to prove to my Dad I wasn¡¯t queer.¡±


    Cyrus blinked, and coughed. He heard the guards chuckle behind him.


    ¡°Sure was a lot of fights, oh gosh yes, back in Basic,¡± Barty said, smiling wider. ¡°When you¡¯re small like me with a funny voice, people make some assumptions. But then we got in the field and it didn¡¯t matter, and I went for my tabs, and that more or less settled it. And I realized that Dad was just an asshole. Like a lot of guys were. Doesn¡¯t mean they¡¯re bad, just dumb and mean. But anyway, the murdering part didn¡¯t come along until later.¡±


    ¡°So you admit what you were doing was murder?¡±


    ¡°You betcha. But they all had it coming. I took my time and checked ¡®em out, once someone got on my radar. Never put anyone in the ground who didn¡¯t deserve it.¡±


    ¡°That man out in St. Paul who got his daughters pregnant,¡± Cyrus said, hating that he was having to even in a sideways manner have to defend this guy by proxy, even if it was more of a devil¡¯s advocate¡­ ¡°That man in St. Paul had been caught and sentenced.¡±


    ¡°Yep. And it was too light. There was no reason he shouldn¡¯t have gotten the chair. So he got me, instead. And I was working on looking over the judge for that case when they caught me. I¡¯m still a little sad I never got to finish that, but I needed to see his bank accounts to make sure and I¡¯m sure not a safe cracker.¡±


    The guards chuckled.


    Cyrus closed his eye.


    This was why it was hard. Not because Barty Mossjaeger had issues to resolve, like Henri Guiscare had.


    It was difficult because Barty was dangerous.


    This man was completely sane, completely fearless of the law, and a cold-blooded murderer. And if Cyrus asked him to help, and he accepted, then he¡¯d be turning him loose to kill more people. And probably some people that Cyrus didn¡¯t want dead.


    Cyrus had spent most of his life in Texas. Many of his neighbors were people that Barty Mossjaeger would have quietly grinned and gone to work on, whittling down the list.


    And as far as the assholes that had Rusty and Beth, well¡­


    ¡°Answer me this,¡± Rusty said, into the silence, opening his eye to see Barty leaned forward, scrutinizing him carefully. ¡°If it was a choice between saving kids and killing the worst people in the world, what would you do?¡±


    ¡°Gee willikers. This isn¡¯t a trick question, like is one of those kids going to grow up to be Hitler? This is a serious question?¡±


    ¡°He better not grow up to be a Hitler, or I¡¯ll tan his hide. No. It¡¯s deadly serious.¡±


    Barty rubbed his chin, and his eyes flicked back and forth as he considered. ¡°Well, I figured out the best use for what was left of my life was getting rid of bad people. I could lie and say I was doing it for the kids but really it just felt right. But if I didn¡¯t save kids when I had the chance that¡¯d make me a pretty bad person, I figure. Well, worse, anyway.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t think you¡¯re a good person?¡± Cyrus asked.


    ¡°Me? Oh heck no! When I realized just how messed up I was, I thought about finishing the job!¡± Barty made finger guns, and mimed popping himself in the temples. ¡°But it sure would have been rude to do that after the docs put me back together. ¡°And I figured I could spend my time hunting down worse. I really doubt the world¡¯s gonna run out of bad men before I die. Heck, might be soon. There¡¯s talk I could get the death penalty from the last few murders.¡±


    The only reason Barty hadn¡¯t made headlines nationwide was because he HAD left plenty of details around from his research, Cyrus knew. The judge who first got his case hadn¡¯t wanted to turn the man into any kind of role model, or give him any sort of sympathy.


    After spending a few minutes in the presence of Barty, Cyrus was pretty sure the judge had made the right call. Barty just wasn¡¯t right. The more Cyrus watched him smile, the more he looked into those empty eyes, the more he knew he was in the presence of something that wasn¡¯t human anymore. Something that had died on the operating table, and something ELSE had come back, instead.


    And damn it all, Cyrus had to work with what he had.


    I¡¯m going to hell for this, he thought, as he took a deep breath.


    ¡°The organization I represent needs you to kill some very bad people to save some children. The children are the priority. You¡¯ll still be serving your sentence while you¡¯re working with us, but any executions that come down the pike, well, they¡¯ll get a stay. Maybe the governor¡¯s pardon if it becomes necessary. You¡¯ll be working with a team, and regardless of how bad you think any of them are, if you go after one of them you¡¯ll die next. This operation will be off the books, you won¡¯t be able to talk about it. No one will believe you if you do, anyway. There¡¯s a good chance you die in the field, the opposition is fierce. Odds of success are slim. Do you understand me so far?¡±


    ¡°Well shoot, you¡¯re threatening me with a good time, here! When do we leave?¡±


    The rest was perfunctory, and wrapped up in a matter of minutes. The rest of the logistics would be handled by a phone call back to Site 719, set in motion by Gable¡¯s administrative staff. They¡¯d trade phone calls with the appropriate authorities, mail letters, the wheels of bureaucracy would grind and Barty Mossjaeger would be transported to an ¡°alternate holding site,¡± due to ¡°possible threats to his life.¡±


    Sadly, his flight was on the morrow, so Cyrus found a cheap hotel back in ¡®Frisco and settled in for a night¡¯s rest and a chance to figure out the next steps.


    He got neither, as he tossed and turned and worried, and spent the whole night reflecting on what he¡¯d done.


    Cyrus could not shake the feeling that he¡¯d fucked up in some big, integral way by bringing Mossjaeger on board. And he just knew that he¡¯d live to see it come back to bite him in the ass.

 New Magics

    ¡°


    Selective near-instantaneous memory editing upon self!


    Committed chakra: 32/198


    Nightmare Remover Granted!


    Cost 1


    Remaining free chakra: 33/198


    ¡°


    ¡°


    Don¡¯t have to answer specifically to fill my friends in,


    ¡°


    ¡°


    ¡°


    ¡°


    The Grach halted next to a doorway that, unlike many others inside the fortress, had actual doors. They looked new, made of bronze, and looked heavy.


    ¡°


    The two turtle-like humanoids took hold of each handle and pulled. It wasn¡¯t easy; Rusty marked how they braced themselves, and the play of muscles in their ludicrously thick arms. And indeed, when the doors opened up, he saw they were inches thick of solid metal.


    But all that ceased to matter, as the satyr who was busy sorting out various items in the middle of the room looked up, did a double-take, and leaped to her hooves.


    ¡°


    ¡°


    ¡°


    Fortunately, he¡¯d restored his total recall, and flawless memory moments ago. ¡°¡ªTan the Merill Jannesiva Dok! I¡­ we. We could hug you!¡±


    She threw up one hand in the universal symbol of stay the hell back, growled and started to pull her knife with the other, but both were interrupted by the squealing form of Rusty¡¯s sister charging past him, and practically tackling the satyr into a hug.


    Ran shot him look that said this was nowhere near done, and embraced Beth right back. Then she let go, pointedly turned her back on Rusty, and walked across the chamber, arm around Beth¡¯s shoulders, as Beth filled her in on everything that she¡¯d evidently missed that day.


    ¡°


    ¡°


    ¡°


    This room was the armory of the fort. Weapons, armor, and magical things were kept here. And since the Lion was needed on the Western front, Rusty would get his pick of any equipment he pleased to help him on his journey. As would his friends and sister, who absolutely refused to let him go alone.


    The room looked rather more barren than he¡¯d imagined in his mind¡¯s eye, really. Fairly empty stone shelves and opened chests and crates held a few items here and there, breaking up the bare stretches of space. Some bundles of arrows, a few unstrung bows. Long spears hanging next to empty brackets, a few salvaged swords that had the mark of the Unicorn filed off. There was armor on stands, but most of it was tattered, patched, bloodstained, or all of the above.


    But the plinths held the magical items. Charms in cases, and right in the center¡­


    Runes. Familiar looking ones. These were the crystals that had been growing out of the Lion¡¯s corpse, back in the main hall. He recalled the satyr, Omen, taking his leave and directing a few Grach to haul the Lion¡¯s corpse away. He guessed they must have separated the runes from the dead flesh somehow. Or did they? Each crystal was growing out of a small clay pot now, and morbidly he wondered if some remnant of the Lion¡¯s body had been carved out to feed the crystals.


    The Lion opened his mouth.


    I¡¯d rather not know,


    The Lion shut his mouth.


    ¡°


    ¡°


    ¡°


    ¡°


    The satyr girl stuck a hand in Rusty¡¯s face. ¡°Lay guilt upon this juvenile, then! He¡¯s the individual who hexed my thinking engine in the interests of expedient linguistical shenaniganry!¡± She lifted her finger, and stuck her tongue out at Rusty. ¡°Then I found my posterior in an exceptional mountain of trouble for NOT archerering him when I was afforded the opportunity. But THEN it turned out to be acceptable because he is the host to the Lion. So you can see the conundrums of complication that he has vexed upon mine horns.¡±


    Rusty had tuned out, realized he was fading a bit. But thanks to total recall, he could sort of stay on track. ¡°I¡¯m supposed to decide who gets what runes?¡± he asked.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    ¡°


    ¡°


    Ran squinted at him. ¡°Absent is the royal ¡®we¡¯? Curious.¡±


    ¡°


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    Beth glared at him. ¡°Rusty Carl Colfax! I didn¡¯t come here to NOT save you! You need all the help you can get, and if you get killed here I¡¯m not going to go back and tell Mom and Dad AND Cyrus that I could have saved you with magic but you wouldn¡¯t LET ME HAVE ANY!¡± By now she was shaking her finger in his face.


    Rusty looked to the others, helpless.


    Ran was grinning. Ken was stepping back, his hands held up. Alice was grinning.


    ¡°


    ¡°


    Rusty wondered. He¡¯d done what he could to mitigate the pain of the third.


    ¡°


    ¡°


    She frowned. ¡°Arrangements?¡±


    ¡°


    ¡°


    ¡°


    The Lion moved around the runes, pointing with the muzzle-like part of his face. ¡°That dull brown one is ¡®apathy.¡¯ This sparkling, translucent rune is ¡®viable.¡¯ The multicolored rune is ¡®butterfly.¡¯ The steel-colored one here, is ¡®obstacle.¡¯ The white one is ¡®circle.¡¯ And the bright glowing golden rune is ¡®flash.¡¯


    ¡°


    ¡°


    The other penny dropped. ¡°You had six runes?¡± Rusty said, amazed. Given how the pain had ramped up with each successive one¡­


    ¡°


    Rusty had wondered why the Lion¡¯s humanoid body had been so misshapen, so large. The guy was practically an ogre out of the old myths and legends. ¡°Okay. I don¡¯t think we¡¯ll be giving anyone butterfly,¡± Rusty said, moving the pot with that rune out of the way.


    ¡°


    ¡°


    ¡°


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    ¡°


    The children looked over the runes. Rusty named each one, and Alice was the first to speak up. ¡°I¡¯m thinkin¡¯ ¡®obstacle¡¯ would go well with ¡®gravel.¡¯¡±


    ¡°


    ¡°


    ¡°


    ¡°


    ¡°


    ¡°


    Rusty passed it on. ¡°This is the viable that means capable of life and growth.¡±


    ¡°


    ¡°


    ¡°


    ¡°


    ¡°


    Beth kicked him, Ken yelped, and Ran laughed. But he took the crystal, regardless.


    ¡°


    He hoped she did. That hope died as she shook her head, and leaned down to squint at the remaining runes.


    ¡°


    ¡°


    ¡°


    The Lion stirred, and gave a warning that Rusty passed on in his own words. ¡°You can do that, but it gets real expensive without another rune involved. REAL expensive. So be careful, and get some practice on the trip to the west. Also he says you should probably get this one in your chest, not in your heart but close to it. Because you might only get one rune, so it¡¯s good to put it centrally. It¡¯s easier on your body that way.¡±


    ¡°


    ¡°


    She squinted harder, then nodded, and looked away. Not before he saw worry in her eyes, though. Rusty hugged her close, and after a second she patted his lower back until he let go.


    ¡°


    ¡°


    It was the ¡®butterfly¡¯ pot.


    ¡°


    The others laughed, as he picked it up. He was practically falling asleep on his feet, and hungry beyond reason.


    One quick farewell to Ran, and a nod to the waiting Grach later, and he was on his way back up into the lodging part of the fortress.


    They all had a long trip coming, but that would be tomorrow.


    Time enough tonight for his friends to suffer for power.

 Rocky Mountain Slide

    Colorado took some getting used to.


    The air was thin in Denver, and the moment he got off the plane it made Cyrus feel exhausted. Fortunately he was able to charter a driver, and snooze along the way. It was about a four hour trip through the mountains, and by the time he woke up, cramped and aching in the back seat, they had arrived at their destination.


    The second he got out of the car, he knew he¡¯d made a mistake. It was the end of December, and Aspen was fucking freezing.


    Ten minutes later, after retreating into the nearest Woolworth¡¯s and buying a heavy jacket, he warmed up at the counter with a decent cup of coffee. For twenty-five cents, it had better be decent, he thought crankily, but was smart enough to keep that to himself.


    The town wasn¡¯t much to look at. A few streets, a couple of blocks of buildings nestled between the peaks, with snow thick and crisp and far too deep slathered over everything. It was an old mining town, and in a saner world, it would have been emptied out and left behind for the polar bears or whatever the hell it was that thrived around here.


    But then a fancy businessman had looked at Aspen Mountain and decided ¡°What if we made people pay to throw themselves down this with only a couple of pieces of wood between them and a slow, cold death in the snow?¡±


    Now he owned the mountain, and Cyrus saw signs of new construction all over town, and what looked to be a ski lift busily hauling little metal capsules up to a fancy-looking lodge.


    It almost made him want to go in for a closer look. The spectacle was intriguing¡­


    Then wind howled outside, and Cyrus watched the cars wobble on the wire, shaking back and forth. No, no he decided that he was fine right where he was. For now, at least.


    It wouldn¡¯t last, though. He had someone to find, and it was a small enough town he figured he could do it in a day or two.


    He HOPED he could do it in a day or two. This place was far too cold for his blood.


    So after he finished the coffee, and slid a quarter across the table he hesitated, then slid two more to follow it.


    The clerk, wearing a soda jerk¡¯s hat, apron and bow tie, squinting at the world through thick, battered glasses, raised an eyebrow. He was an older fellow, and he took the coins with a gap-toothed smile. ¡°That¡¯s right kind of you, friend. You here to, uh¡­¡± he stopped when he saw the cane leaning against the stool. He¡¯d missed that before, obviously.


    ¡°No, I ain¡¯t here to ski,¡± Cyrus said without heat. ¡°I¡¯m looking for a fellow. No trouble, just looking to talk with him about some work.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s this feller¡¯s name?¡± The clerk smiled.


    He stopped smiling and started frowning when Cyrus told him the name.


    Then he told Cyrus why he was frowning, and by the end of the story, Cyrus was frowning, too.


    It took a few dollars, and a phone call from the clerk to arrange a ride to where Cyrus needed to go. And Cyrus enjoyed absolutely none of the trip up the old mine trail, out to where the crumbled remains of the prospector¡¯s shacks and the company housing lay in snow-covered heaps, a steady progression of demolished buildings telling the story of history being wiped away for new construction. Eventually wrecked shacks gave way to whole shacks and cabins, hewn from pine, and each and every one of them sporting a bright yellow sign warning that they were condemned and to keep away.


    All but the last.


    They were high up the mountain now, deep in the pines, and the wind wailed like a screaming mother going through her first birth. The last cabin they came to was in better repair than the others, with a fence of barbed wire squared around it, and sheet metal bolted to the walls. The part of Cyrus that knew a little bit about engineering wondered how much damage that did to the wood underneath, with the temperature shifting as it did around here. The frozen metal would expand and contract, and wear on the wood.


    Then he looked at the windows of the cabin, and knew that long-term problems definitely weren¡¯t the main concern for its owner.


    ¡°This is as far as I go,¡± the clerk¡¯s cousin said, rubbing the back of his head where the cap didn¡¯t cover. ¡°I¡¯ll wait a few in case he don¡¯t want to talk with you.¡±


    ¡°Much appreciated,¡± Cyrus said, and flipped the hood up on his own coat. Then he opened the door and slid out into the snow. Out towards the gates of that cabin that had reinforced firing slits for windows.


    There was a feeling you got, when you were being watched. When someone had eyes on you, there was a pressure, almost. Like God was looking through every single set of eyes in the world, and through your immortal soul you had a connection enough to know when you were being scrutinized by another soul. At least, that was what PFC Bennet had said one drunken night in Seoul. At the time, Cyrus had thought it deep, had thought PFC Bennet wise beyond his years. But then the guy had charged an enemy strongpoint with a bayonet, and ended up with more holes in him than whole parts, so his wisdom, perhaps, had been a bit overrated.


    Cyrus didn¡¯t feel too wise at the minute, opening up the gate, struggling with the heavy metal latch, hearing it clack and clunk against the old wood. It creaked open, and the wind almost shoved it into him. He wrestled with both it and his cane, fell over once, then managed to get inside and shut it behind him.


    He kept his eyes on the cabin as he moved forward, one hand raised, the other trying to find purchase with the cane.


    And when the rifle poked through one of the slits, he stopped, feeling the wind cut through him, knowing that his life was on a knife¡¯s edge here.


    ¡°Greg Holden!¡± he called out. ¡°I just want to talk!¡±


    A spit of snow kicked up at his feet, as a gunshot rolled through the mountains. But Cyrus felt himself relaxing. So often he was on pins and needles at home, in the quiet, waiting for the shit to hit the fan. Now? Now it had. At this range, the gunman couldn¡¯t miss. Especially not THIS gunman, if the files Cyrus had read were at all accurate. No,  the fact that Cyrus was still standing, the fact the guy had shot the ground, that meant that Holden didn¡¯t want to kill him.


    Yet.


    Let¡¯s keep it that way, Cyrus thought. ¡°Benny Clackson down at the Woolworth¡¯s told me about your troubles. I¡¯m not part of that! I¡¯m here about something else!¡±


    There was a long pause. Smoke drifted silently up from the rifle. Cyrus kept his hand raised, tried to ignore the fact that he was freezing his ankles off in deep snow.


    The rifle tilted, withdrew. ¡°You ain¡¯t here about the mail. That gets dropped off on Tuesdays.¡±


    That was a deep voice. Deep but low, and Cyrus had to strain to hear it over the wind. ¡°This isn¡¯t about the mail. I¡¯m here to offer you a job. But I can¡¯t stay out here and yell at you.¡± It was the truth. His lungs had been mostly spared from the fire that broiled half of him, but he¡¯d still inhaled enough smoke that cold air hurt. And the cold, thin air of Denver was already itching at his throat, threatening to send him into a coughing fit. ¡°I got a little cooked in Korea, and not in the good way,¡± he admitted. ¡°Please, can I just come in out of the cold?¡±


    ¡°You were in the service?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°Army.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s your series?¡± The voice was flat. This was a test.


    ¡°Eighty-eight Mike!¡± Cyrus called, coughing at the end of it. ¡°I drove deuces wherever they told me to!¡±


    Silence again. Then the door opened. ¡°Come on in,¡± said the figure lost in the shadows behind, carefully NOT standing silhouetted in the light of the flickering fire beyond. ¡°Get a wiggle on. They¡¯re likely watchin¡¯ you right now.¡±


    *****


    Greg Holden was a huge bear of a man. He was three hundred if he was a day, and while a good chunk of that was wrapped up in a great gut that bespoke a man who¡¯d never quite adjusted to being back in civilization, he was tall enough and sturdy enough to bear his bulk with ease. Clad in faded flannels, with a stocking cap on his head and a beard that covered the miniscule amount of flesh that on other people would be called a neck, Cyrus knew there was no real softness to the man. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Not on the outside, at least. But those eyes told a different story about what was on the inside. They were filled with concern as he bustled around the front room of the three-room cabin, pulling an MRE out of a box that was identical to the twelve empty ones next to it, and putting a kettle on to boil. ¡°I feel bad about making you stand on that leg,¡± Greg Holden said, as Cyrus tried to find the perfect spot by the fire. This was the tricky part, trying to chase the cold away without aggravating the grafts with the sudden heat. They were threatening to cramp up, too, and Cyrus massaged them as best he could through the layers. Holden continued. ¡°If I¡¯d known you weren¡¯t with Pfeifer, I would have let you in lickety split.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all right. If I were in your situation, I wouldn¡¯t have taken the risk,¡± Cyrus said, accepting the MRE on a chipped depression glass plate. He took a token bite of something that had probably once qualified as chicken, and continued. ¡°Have they really taken shots at you? Clackson wasn¡¯t sure about that part, said he¡¯d heard it as a rumor.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Holden said, sprawling out in a faded, stitch-popped armchair across from Cyrus, and peeling a can of beer out of a six pack, ¡°someone sure did. And I don¡¯t reckon I got no other enemies ¡®round these parts who would aside from the feller whom I¡¯m inconveniencing.¡± He grimaced. ¡°Ain¡¯t sure I even qualify as an enemy. More of a bump in the road.¡±


    Cyrus nodded. ¡°Can I hear it from your own lips? Just to make sure I got things straight, before I figure out if we can employ you?¡±


    Holden nodded. ¡°Sure. Reckon you came all this way. I owe you that, gotta make up for my bad manners somehow. But I tell you, odds are I¡¯m probably gonna turn you down, Sir.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me sir, I work for a living,¡± Cyrus muttered, and the two shared a grin at the old joke.


    Greg¡¯s smile faded, as his eyes flicked left, recalling the past. He hunched forward, one hand rubbing the worn cloth of the armchair as he began to speak, voice low and deep and steady against the crackling of the pine-fed fire.


    ¡°My grandpa came here, back when Aspen was a mining town. Good work, pullin¡¯ the silver out of the mountains. Honest work. Got him a wife, built him a cabin. Just in time, too. Ever hear of the Sherman Silver Act?¡±


    ¡°That was a mite before my time. I think it was¡­ eighteen ninety something?¡± Cyrus pushed his glasses up on his nose. The lens that wasn¡¯t blacked out was fogging up a bit.


    ¡°Eighteen-ninety on the nose,¡± Greg sighed. ¡°Before my time, too, but Grandpa wouldn¡¯t shut up about it. For good reason. They passed the act, Aspen turned into the silver mining capital of Colorado. Grandpa rented out the land they weren¡¯t using, made money hand over fist as the mining companies brought people in by the truckload. Then, four years later, Congress decides to repeal the Sherman act. Damn near killed this town. And Grandpa and Grandma. See, he¡¯d been investing his money in more land. And when the prices for silver dropped¡­ well.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Cyrus took a pull of his beer. Greg matched it, gazing into the fire. ¡°There was still mining, of course,¡± he said. ¡°So the Holdens got along pretty well. But goin¡¯ from rolling in money to havin¡¯ to get by year by year, then month by month, and finally down to week by week¡­¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Cyrus said, staring into the fire. His family was living that now.


    Well. They had been. Now Mom was gone, Dad was probably going to hit the bottle so hard he¡¯d imprint a Jim Beam label into his forehead, and Rusty and Beth were¡ª


    ¡ªCyrus pulled himself out of the funk, and smiled, sadly. ¡°That¡¯s why it¡¯s the American Dream. You can catch it, but you can¡¯t hold onto it forever.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. But it was Daddy who put the bug in my ear, I reckon.¡± Greg looked back, with his own sad smile. ¡°It was important to him, that we had SOMETHING at the end of all of this. Even as we had to sell properties back to the bank bit by bit. Because as long as you got something to work with, you can turn it ¡®round with a little luck. He passed back in ¡®54. That¡¯s why I got out, actually. No one else to take care of the last little bit we have.¡± He thumped one hand against the armchair.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Cy said.


    ¡°I ain¡¯t. He was a mean drunk. Used to hit me and Mom and Becky.¡± Greg blew air between his lips, made his cheeks wobble. ¡°Thing is, I ain¡¯t sure he was wrong about this part of things, at least.¡±


    Cyrus watched the flames. ¡°But that¡¯s not why you¡¯re here.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Greg said. ¡°Some time back, a couple of rich tycoons came to town. Decided to make it a ski resort town. And they hired a feller named Pfeifer, to help them with that dream. Real polite feller, when I talked with him. Offered me a good chunk of change for this land. Said it was the last holdout property on Buttermilk Mountain.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re honoring your dad¡¯s wishes,¡± Cyrus said.


    Greg snorted, killed the beer, and crunched the can in his hand. Cyrus raised his eyebrows. That was a steel can, and Holden hadn¡¯t seemed to put any effort into it.


    ¡°Naw,¡± Holden said. ¡°If it were just about Dad¡¯s wishes, I would have sold. I got no one to hand this property down to, and Becky¡¯s in California, her husband¡¯s making bank growing oranges. She doesn¡¯t care, nothing but bad memories here for her. No, the problem is¡­¡± his face glowered over his beard, ¡°...I ain¡¯t so sure Dad¡¯s death was natural. And I don¡¯t like it when bad guys win.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t hard to connect the dots. ¡°You think Pfeifer killed him?¡±


    Holden shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know if he ordered it. Hell, Dad made enough enemies it could be someone with a grudge lookin¡¯ to take the father¡¯s sins out on the son. But it¡¯s pretty convenient that there¡¯s two very rich men and one very rich woman involved, in this here situation. And it¡¯s REALLY a coincidence that two of the hotels in town got Pinkertons renting rooms in them a few days before I nearly caught a bullet out in the back forty.¡±


    ¡°Pinkertons!¡± Cyrus¡¯ eye went wide. Pinkertons were bad news. That particular group of freelance police had a history, when it came to helping very rich people deal with troublesome poor folks. A pretty bloody one, in parts.


    Then he stopped, as he thought. ¡°Pinkertons,¡± he said, with the start of a wicked grin. ¡°Okay. This ain¡¯t a problem.¡±


    ¡°Not a problem?¡± Greg was surprised. ¡°You walk out that door, I can¡¯t guarantee you won¡¯t eat a thirty-ought-six Leadville surprise.¡±


    ¡°All I need to do¡¯s get to a phone,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°The folks I represent can call off the Pinkertons like bad dogs who have slipped their leash.¡±


    ¡°If I come work for you,¡± Holden said, squinting at Cyrus.


    ¡°Well, technically you¡¯d be workin¡¯ with me. The guy in charge is a big fish, government wise. That¡¯s all I can say.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the job? No, wait,¡± Holden said. ¡°There¡¯s only one reason you¡¯d need me.¡± He shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m okay with it. Don¡¯t have a problem putting lead in bad people. But¡­ you¡¯d need me to go somewhere else to do it, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Cyrus said, seeing where he was going. ¡°No way around that.¡±


    Holden raised his hands, put them down. ¡°Thing is¡­ if I leave, then they¡¯ve got me. Pfeifer and his friends got the city council in their pockets. If I leave, even for a week, then I¡¯m pretty sure they¡¯d find a reason to seize the land, and then they win.¡±


    Cyrus grimaced. He knew where Holden was coming from. And the man was level-headed, too, that made him more likeable. It would be easy for him to blame his problems on the tycoons that were remaking Aspen, but he knew he didn¡¯t have proof, and he wasn¡¯t trying to go after them or make noise and throw possible slander around. Hell, if it had been Barty Mossjaeger here in this situation, Cyrus knew the slopes would be red with blood. And that¡¯s one reason he wanted Greg Holden on the team so bad, to reign in the literal psychopath he¡¯d put on the mission.


    But¡­


    Cyrus played his last card. ¡°Look, I can¡¯t explain fully, but time¡¯s not as much as an issue. The mission¡¯s months away from moving forward, we got a time before we need you. Let me get back and make some calls, and get my boss to muddy the waters. Maybe we can get them to back down. I know we can get the Pinkertons out of here, at the very least.¡±


    Holden sighed, and patted Cyrus¡¯ arm. ¡°You¡¯re all right, Colfax. But I got to see this through. So long as this cabin stands, I need to stand by her, or¡ª¡±


    Thunder boomed up the mountain.


    ¡°Thunder in December? In the Rockies?¡± Cyrus asked.


    Holden stared back at him, wide eyed. ¡°That¡¯s not thunder!¡±


    The cabin vibrated. The thunder built and rose, rolling.


    ¡°That was TNT!¡± Gregory Holden said, rising and running to the back room. ¡°Get to the car!¡±


    Cyrus struggled to his feet and opened the door in time to see the car speeding away. Then he looked back up the mountain, and wished he hadn¡¯t.


    Because the mountain was coming down to meet him. Rapidly.


    ¡°Get out of the doorway! Come with me!¡± Holden half-tackled, half lifted him, threw him over his shoulder fireman style, and ran. Cyrus squeaked in surprise. He was NOT a light man, but Holden, strong already, was a man possessed.


    And under his arm, he held a battered sled, its slightly bent rungs tied with wires.


    ¡°What¡­¡± Cyrus managed to gasp out, as Holden ran toward the cliff. ¡°What¡¯s the¡­¡±


    ¡°You said you were a driver?¡± Holden said, plopping both sled and Cyrus down at the edge of a very, very, VERY steep slope, as the avalanche roared and built and shook the mountainside.


    ¡°Yes¡­¡± Cyrus said, staring at the old sled, that definitely looked too small for one large fellow and the giant that was Holden.


    ¡°Drive!¡± Holden threw him onto the sled, squatted as best he could behind Cyrus, and used his legs to kick them down over the edge, onto the slope.


    Later on, Cyrus would revisit this many, many times over in his dreams. The old sled creaking and straining and losing bits as it went, the guide ropes barely holding together in his hands as he desperately tugged and tried to steer the thing, and the rising scream that drowned out the avalanche coming from his mouth the whole way as he dodged pines, rocks, and fleeing deer.


    He would dream of how the falling wave of snow and ice and stone caught up to them, and through some miracle confluence of physics and ludicrously painful effort, they managed to crest the wave and get thrown the last few dozen feet, clear of a rocky gorge that ate the rest of the falling slurry and into a vast, soft snow drift.


    But at the moment, all Cyrus knew was dark, aching coldness, and the flush of adrenaline that let him dig his way out. He was laughing now, roaring as he ripped snow from his beard, and Greg Holden was laughing with him, hugging him as they rocked back and forth and watched the rocks tumble and come to a stop, a mere few bodylengths away.


    ¡°So,¡± he said, when the joy of survival had faded, and the long, painful trudge back around the edge of the mountain to the road back into town began. ¡°You were gonna stay here so long as that cabin was standing, huh?¡±


    Greg Holden chewed his beard, as he thought. Cyrus let him go. When a man used to his own company got a think on, it was best to let them do it and not push too much or chatter.


    Holden sighed, paused his limping walk, and stared back up the slope. The entire mining road had been wiped away, and all the cabins with it. Cruel and unusual geography had rearranged itself, and nothing of man¡¯s work remained.


    ¡°Still don¡¯t set right, letting the bad guys win,¡± Greg said, wistfully. ¡°Whoever they might be.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Cyrus said, knowing that Holden¡¯s answer had pretty much been an affirmative. ¡°Maybe things didn¡¯t work out here, but I can guarantee you that if you come with me now a whole bunch of other bad guys are gonna have a really bad day¡­¡±

 Boats and Blasphemy

    The boat moved through the swamp like one of the Treestriders barely visible in the distance, with the grach working in tandem and bringing their long poles down like the legs of a scurrying insect. Acting on advice from the Lion, Rusty had put speed enchantments on the four who were propelling the flat-bottomed watercraft. It was fun to watch them go for the first hour, but his attention soon wandered.


    ¡°You should get some sleep while you can,¡± Alice told him, from the leaf-covered canopy of the barge¡¯s cabin. It didn¡¯t have a door, but the wooden box of its frame offered some shelter from the green sun, and the others had been resting inside. Rusty shook his head, but smiled at Alice.


    He couldn¡¯t blame them for sleeping. A good chunk of their nights had been spent recovering from the ordeals of their new runes. His gaze wandered over to Beth, and then he looked away, guilty. His sister had been hurt because he was here. Because she wanted to help him.


    ¡°I never wanted children involved in this,¡± the Lion rumbled, from where he was sprawled out on the deck, housecat style.


    ¡°Then you shouldn¡¯t have tried to eat my brain,¡± Rusty thought at him.


    ¡°I had another option, but it literally left this world a second before I could use it. You and the others were my only choice.¡± The Lion looked away. ¡°But I am not proud of it. I admit, I did it only for my own selfish survival.¡±


    ¡°Tried to do it,¡± Rusty amended. ¡°I stopped you.¡±


    ¡°No, I did it. I believe, from what memories you left me, that we would have ended up like this in a similar situation, only I would be able to take direct control when necessary. Now I have no control, but remain as your advisor. And¡­ I find some relief, in this.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not sore?¡±


    ¡°Sore?¡±


    ¡°Angry.¡±


    ¡°Ah. I see. No, I am not. Every time I move from one bonding to another, I know that I am dooming another to a lifetime of struggle at best, and an inevitable, ugly death at the worst. It was different once, but the stakes are too high, now.¡±


    Someone poked his back, and Rusty almost jumped out of the boat. He turned to see Ken leaning against the wall of the makeshift cabin. ¡°You¡¯re talking with him, aren¡¯t you?¡± Ken asked.


    Rusty nodded. He side-eyed the grach, and Ken shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t think they understand us, not like the satyrs could. So why don¡¯t we talk about what¡¯s really going on?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not wrong,¡± the Lion said. ¡°The satyrs might use charms. The grach will not. You may speak without fear of being overheard by our allies.¡±


    The satyrs were spread out along the riverbanks, moving fast, scouting ahead, and keeping what escort they could. They were busy, and Ken and the Lion had a point. If ever they had a time to talk freely without fear of eavesdroppers, it would be now.


    Rusty went into the cabin, and as the others looked to him, eyes shining in the shadows, something within him crumbled. ¡°So I don¡¯t really know what I¡¯m doing,¡± he said, and then oh, the tears were coming, and he tried to stop because boys don¡¯t cry, but Alice and Beth and even Ken were hugging him as he sobbed, biting his own arm to keep it as muffled as he could.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to get everyone killed,¡± he confessed, as he said the thing he feared the most. And then he was quiet for a while, as they held him and whispered, and eventually the fear passed and left only tired behind.


    ¡°We¡¯re all pretty much playing it by ear, daddy-o,¡± Ken said, after a few minutes of calm. ¡°This isn¡¯t like any of the books, and it¡¯s dangerous as hel¡ª as heck,¡± he said, glancing at the two girls. ¡°I¡¯d be more worried if you insisted you DID know what you were doing.¡±


    ¡°That would mean that the Lion ate your brain,¡± Beth said. ¡°And he¡¯d better not!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t eat brains!¡± The Lion grumbled. ¡°It¡¯s a symbiotic relationship!¡±


    ¡°He says it¡¯s symbiotic,¡± Rusty said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what that word means. But you tell that oversized fleabag I¡¯ve got my eye on him.¡±


    ¡°He can hear you,¡± Rusty said.


    ¡°Good.¡± Beth folded her arms and set her jaw.


    ¡°¡®Bout that,¡± Alice said, letting go of him and leaning in, ¡°Where did he even come from? Way they been talking ¡®bout him¡­ the satyrs, I mean, they say he always been here. Since the world was made, and all.¡±


    Rusty translated as the Lion spoke.


    ¡°It is possible that I was made before this world existed in its current state,¡± the Lion said. ¡°Time is different between¡­ worlds, you call them. It is a good enough term, that. I only know that the ruins the grach revealed to us are from the First War.¡±


    ¡°The war between the angels and the fallen?¡± Alice¡¯s eyes were wide and white and bright in the shadowed light of the cabin.


    ¡°Ah, you speak of your religion. The man Rusty¡¯s brother brought before me knew of this, and I discussed this with him after we came to an accord, so many months ago. Child, if your god exists I have not met them. They may exist. There are many worlds, and some are definitely made things, but others look like they simply¡­ happened. I have by no means seen all of them.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Alice said. ¡°God IS real, you just ain¡¯t seen him yet.¡±


    Rusty looked to Ken, and Ken shrugged. He rolled his eyes a little, as if to say this isn¡¯t something we should be worried about right now, but if it makes her feel better okay.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Rusty was glad to have his memory enchantments back. It made it easier to understand what people were thinking by their movements and reactions. It was a little side perk he¡¯d discovered with the spell, and he had a feeling it would come in handy for the battle ahead.


    Beth wasn¡¯t even looking at Ken, but she seemed to pick up on the general mood. God could wait, but the kids couldn¡¯t. ¡°You said somebody made you. Who?¡±


    ¡°I know this, and I do not know this,¡± the Lion said. ¡°Both are true. This is confusing, I know. Let me explain.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you lost me there,¡± Ken said. ¡°Please do.¡±


    ¡°I was not built to have infinite memory. The nature of my existence means I must carry what I need from host to host, and their brains are limited by their physical nature. It is possible that the Makers secured the details of their existence from me, to protect themselves. Or it is possible that over the aeons, I have discarded it as unnecessary to my mission. Whatever they were, they are either fallen to an unrecognizable state or gone beyond recovery. All that remains are the runes that they have seeded across the worlds.¡±


    ¡°What did they tell you to do?¡± Beth asked.


    ¡°They told us to ensure that everyone played fairly. We enforced the rules of the game.¡±


    ¡°There was a game?¡± Rusty asked, then repeated the Lion¡¯s last reply for everyone¡¯s benefit.


    ¡°There IS a game,¡± the Lion said, and for the first time a tinge of anger rolled into his voice. ¡°And the Unicorn¡¯s people are CHEATING.¡±


    ¡°What uh, what kind of game are we talking about, here?¡± Ken asked. ¡°I¡¯m guessing it¡¯s not pinochle.¡±


    ¡°WE are the game,¡± the Lion said. ¡°We are the last of the unbound great beasts. We are the last remaining unconquered challenge for the Zodiac Hunters. The game is to hunt us, one copy of each of us. Then may the bearer ascend to the realm of the makers, and claim their prize.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re supposed to die?¡± Beth blurted out.


    ¡°And die well. But we were given the means to continue on past death. To retain memories, and reform in another body.¡± The Lion sighed. ¡°And if they had played by the rules, we would not be here today, far from my home.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t your home?¡± Alice asked.


    ¡°This damp swamp? Most certainly not,¡± the Lion snorted. ¡°Mine was a realm of tall grasses, and warm sun. Of plentiful prey, and trees that had their roots in the air, and their tops below ground. A place of cool caves, when the suns gathered in their triat and baked the earth below to rare moments of discomfort. A place where I could lay my enemy¡¯s bones in rows, and be known and feared and¡­ respected..¡± Rusty recited the last bit hesitantly. The Lion¡¯s rumbling had gotten deeper throughout this recital, and the last couple of sentences sounded downright sinister.


    ¡°How are they cheating?¡± Rusty asked out loud.


    ¡°The runes are being misused,¡± the Lion grumbled. ¡°The power of the runes was meant to allow the wielders to stand a chance against US, not to be turned upon innocents, to oppress and enslave them. The Unicorn did that. He built an empire to help him destroy us. And worse than that!


    ¡°The realms of the great beasts were meant to be sacrosanct, so that many wielders could visit freely, and try their skill. Instead, they were conquered, and guarded by the forces of the Unicorn. Oh, others tried before then, but we stopped them. We could not stop the Unicorn¡¯s slaves.¡± The Lion¡¯s faces, all of them, drooped. ¡°I alone escaped the chain of binding. My brethren exist in their own conquered realms now, slaughtered over and over, facing armies instead of heroes, rebirthing over and over, only to die again as the Unicorn raises his archmages up through the ranks of the Zodiac. They gain power undeserved, as rune wielders who slew us many times walk unworthy inheritors through an EASY KILL.¡±


    Rusty saw Beth and Ken and Alice looking at him, horrified, as he spoke.


    ¡°I alone escaped their¡­ slaughterhouse plans,¡± the Lion said. ¡°And along the way I split myself into many, fragmenting my powers among several hosts. To the fragment that is myself, was given the care of the ¡°speed¡± rune. So long as the Unicorn does not hold it, then even if all other shards have fallen, my body will not reform in my realm. I will not become a¡­ mine, for them.¡±


    ¡°How long has this been going on?¡± Beth whispered.


    ¡°Centuries,¡± the Lion said. ¡°Almost a millenia. Given the time differences between the Makers¡¯ realm circles and your own, it would be since before your people had anything like civilization.¡±


    ¡°You poor thing,¡± Beth said, and hugged Rusty. Rusty awkwardly hugged back, blinked his eyes. NO they weren¡¯t hot again. He¡¯d just cried himself out, darn it.


    He kept telling himself that.


    ¡°So how do the satyrs and grach and duskwraiths figure in all this?¡± Ken asked.


    ¡°I knew I would need allies,¡± The Lion said. ¡°I found those who strove against the Kingdom of the Unicorn, and made common cause. I cannot tell you of the wars, battles, and skirmishes fought. Even listing them would take more nights than we have left in our journey. I cannot tell you how many have been lost, how many have paid the price. Entire worlds gone, entire species destroyed.¡± The Lion¡¯s voice fell, and Rusty whispered the last few sentences, the sadness of the elder thing¡¯s voice bleeding into his own.


    ¡°Okay. I¡¯m guessing the grach live here,¡± Ken said. ¡°Why don¡¯t they use the runes to fight back?¡±


    ¡°I spoke of the First War,¡± The Lion said, shaking off a little melancholy at the change of subject. ¡°Once the grach were stormfolk, like yourself. Like the Makers. And like your species, the one you call ¡®human,¡¯ soon enough, several of the grach wizards decided to turn their new powers to subjugating and conquering their own people rather than playing the game. But the grach are not as skilled with deceit. Enough saw what they were doing, and decided they did not wish to live in oppression early enough to band together and stop the conquering wizards. Though it took time and much, much sacrifice, they did. And then they took the legendary rune that this world guards, and placed it into the chest of their greatest hero. And he worked the greatest spell ever to strike this realm, sacrificing his life to do so.¡±


    The kids were leaning forward, staring at Rusty. It was a little unnerving, and he kept glancing to the Lion.


    ¡°Well?¡± Rusty asked, out loud. ¡°What was that spell?¡±


    ¡°His rune was the rune of ¡®Change.¡¯ He changed the Grach, forever. No grach would ever be able to bond with a rune ever again, nor use a talisman, or even imbibe a runic elixir. The spell shook the firmament of the world, and his body turned to dust in an instant, for though he had absorbed much chakra from slaying so many wizards, the amount required to work such a spell is too great for any living being. Well¡­ perhaps not the Unicorn. Perhaps.¡±


    ¡°What IS the Unicorn?¡± Alice asked. ¡°He wasn¡¯t a great beast like you, was he?¡±


    ¡°No. He is worse than that.¡±


    Rusty waited. Ken poked him, after a long minute. ¡°Well?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not saying,¡± Rusty said. ¡°What gives?¡±


    ¡°I am uncertain if I should speak of it,¡± the Lion said. ¡°Given some of your distress on earlier subjects.¡±


    Rusty relayed that. Ken threw his hands up. ¡°You want us to trust you, right? You want us to help? Then square with us, here! Dish, daddy-o!¡±


    ¡°I¡­ do not understand¡­ no. That is a lie.¡± The Lion sighed. ¡°I understand the sentiment. Very well. Young Alice, do you recall when I told you that in my travels, I had never encountered a god, not one that you spoke of?¡±


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s what you said,¡± Alice said, warily.


    ¡°Well neither had the Kingdom of the Unicorn. And they did not like this. So they resolved to fix this situation.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re trying to use the runes to find God?¡± Alice asked, sharing an excited look with Beth.


    ¡°No. They are trying to make one.¡±


    ¡°The Unicorn is God?¡± Beth burst out, a little loudly. Rusty quieted her, as the Lion¡¯s next words hung heavily in his ears.


    ¡°The Unicorn is not a god. Yet.¡±

 Terminus

    This time, George kept his eyes closed when he walked between worlds. It helped, a little. There was still that feeling of nothing, of being nothing, but it was shorter and he could ignore it by humming the Horst Wessel song as loudly as he could. There was no tyrannical father here to whip him for singing Nazi Germany¡¯s national anthem, no one to tell him what to do!


    Of course,that wasn¡¯t entirely true. When the song was over and done, he peered over at the blue-robed guy who had come with him. That guy was his ticket back. He couldn¡¯t kill him, if it came down to it. Well, George had no doubt he COULD, he¡¯d spent the entirety of the trip down the tower gazing at the back of the guy¡¯s skull and marking every opportunity that he¡¯d passed on to tackle him down stairs, or take the dinner knife they¡¯d given him and get a killing cut in, and came to twenty-one opportunities all told. But George had learned with great reluctance that just because you COULD do something didn¡¯t mean you SHOULD. Not now. Not until it was safe.


    ¡°Behold!¡± the blue guy said. What was his name? Banker? The wizard spread his arms, and gestured vaguely around. ¡°Behold the Terminus!¡±


    George counted murder opportunity twenty-two, and turned, slowly, taking it in.


    Okay, he¡¯d been prepared to be unimpressed. Yeah, the big glowy tree with the pointy eared green guys (and girls, and THAT had gotten his mind chewing on some possibilities,) had been a sight. But inside it was smaller than he¡¯d thought, barely five stories high in the hollow.


    Terminus was huge.


    They were on a smooth stone platform about the size of Yankee Stadium¡¯s field, and it was only one of about twenty that stretched out in the distance, separated by hundreds of yards of empty air. They were arrayed at various heights, supported by great stone pillars carved with horned horses, winged people, and armored guys brandishing weapons in all directions. Each platform had a wire lattice above it, stretching up towards a vaguely minaret shape. For a second he was reminded of the Kremlin¡¯s domes, and he bared his teeth. Were they secret commies after all?


    Then with a flash, a crash, and a bang, lightning bounded out of the swirling black clouds high above, struck one of the wire lattices on a far platform, and darted down the sides and away, illuminating wiring all down the pillar until it was lost in the depths of the slightly less black clouds about eighty feet below.


    Completing the turn, George stared at the stone ring behind them. There were turtle-like heads carved into it, next to dead and rotting turtle-like heads on iron spikes. The blood ran down gutters, and he caught a whiff of really foul decay. He had an inkling that if they weren¡¯t so high up, and the winds weren¡¯t constant, then it¡¯d probably stink pretty bad, here.


    He glanced back to Banker¡­ Banger? And he saw the man assembling what looked like a kite. Another one was tucked under his arm.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    He didn¡¯t expect a direct answer. They didn¡¯t like giving those. And George rolled his eyes, as his question was met with a history lesson.


    But he listened anyway, because looking around the platform, it didn¡¯t look like there was anywhere to go that wasn¡¯t a long drop into the clouds. Unless the size of it was hiding a ladder off the side, he needed Brandon to show him the way.


    That was irritating. George didn¡¯t like relying on other people for directions. It wasn¡¯t manly.


    Oblivious to George¡¯s irritation, the man went on.


    ¡°Elythia is not yet conquered. As such, the King¡¯s law prevents the platform from being lowered without good reason. After all, the first defense against enemy incursion is gravity. This is why I was sent to guide you.¡± Banquo pushed a kite into his hands. ¡°Hold it above you, hang on with all your might, and jump off precisely where I jump off.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± George blinked. He¡¯d caught the last few words of that. ¡°Wait, we¡¯re jumping down? Into THAT?¡± he waved at the clouds below them.


    ¡°Unless you have a better way,¡± Bologna smirked. He turned and started walking toward the nearest edge, maybe a hundred feet away.


    ¡°What if I fall? What if it doesn¡¯t work?¡± George hurried after, feeling fear rise in his gut.


    ¡°Then I suppose you were not the Chosen One after all.¡± Bester sneered back, then suddenly turned and ran, raising his kite above his head, and leaping off the edge.


    George watched him go, swallowing hard.


    All his life, he¡¯d hated feeling afraid.


    It had been his motivator from the first day he could remember having memories. The point he stopped being a toddler, and started being a kid.


    Then he got a little older, and learned that fear was shameful. But no matter what he did, he couldn¡¯t stop feeling it. And he hated it.


    So George did what he always did, and ran headlong at the thing that scared him, trying to beat it.


    It wasn¡¯t courage. He knew it wasn¡¯t courage. Courage was when you didn¡¯t care, when you were manly and tough, and you didn¡¯t feel fear.


    No, he did it because either he¡¯d win and not be afraid anymore, or the thing he was afraid of would kill him and he wouldn¡¯t be afraid because he was in heaven.


    Then there was no more platform under his feet, and George clung to the kite as he fell into the clouds.


    The clouds passed quickly, as George fought to keep from screaming. He wasn¡¯t sure how fast he was falling¡ª


    ¡ªand then he was out under them, and oh, okay, THAT was a city.


    Was Terminus the name of the platform area they¡¯d arrived on or the city itself? He didn¡¯t know, and he wasn¡¯t about to appear ignorant the next time he got a chance to talk with the blue guy. And he was pretty sure there WOULD be another chance now, because the city was approaching slower than it should be. The kite was doing its job, and he had plenty of time to take in the sights.


    That was good. There was a lot to look at. Even if his arms were starting to ache a bit.


    About a dozen big towers, easily the size of New York skyscrapers, rose almost to touch the lower layer of clouds. Each one was a different style. One looked almost baked from terracotta, with spiraling layers that reminded him of the Tower of Babel illustration in his kid¡¯s bible reader from school.


    Another was black, obsidian black and square, with white spikes clustered on its vertical surfaces. It was the plainest of them, but it was bristling with ramparts and platforms that he was pretty sure would let defenders shoot down easily at anything below them. It would be a nightmare to take without decent weapons and maybe a few truckloads of explosives.


    There was a yellow one that shone with gold, opulent and laid out like he imagined a proper wizard¡¯s tower looking, all impossible spires and pointy turrets. It was thinner at the base than the zenith, and he was pretty sure it would have been impossible to build and keep standing without magical help.


    These three and more, all whirled past as he craned his neck, trying not to shift the course of the kite too much.


    And then, once he got lower, he saw what lay at the base of the towers.


    It was huts, mostly.


    Huts and shoddy houses and tents, slapped together with junk of all shapes and sizes. Wood and cloth and bits of carved, broken stone. Metal and what looked like giant bones, and more exotic things in a few cases.


    The towers stretched up high, and the encampments around them huddled in their shadows, some surrounded by crude stone walls, but most open and sprawling.


    That said, none of them touched. The towers weren¡¯t far apart, a few miles at most, but unlike the connected cities and suburbs that George had seen out of plane windows, these seemed to actively avoid points of connection. A few had paths and roads carved into the brown-black mud, but all of them veered away at the point of connection. It was almost like there was an invisible border around each tower and its associated land.


    Still, if there was, it wasn¡¯t inviolate. He saw a few wagons and the tiny specks of people trudging across the plain in a few spots, obviously moving from one area to another. There was some trade, at least.


    Fewer people than he expected for a place this big, though.


    And then he saw it, twisting around and gazing at the center of everything.


    The stone pillars that held up the platforms came down, looking like great, stone totem poles with all the carvings. And they made a ring around a big fortress, that had a bunch of smaller towers rising in rings toward a central column.


    It reminded him of a tree stump. This one was ringed with spikes, similar to the black and white tower, but each spike was conical and jutting sideways rather than vertically.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    His former co-workers would have joked about dicks. But George had been raised properly. Besides, they were narrower at the end than at the base, so his co-workers would have been wrong, like usual. At least he¡¯d been spared the annoyance of having to set them right!


    It was about this point he realized that he¡¯d lost sight of Bonky. Or Baccarat? What was his name? Either way, the guy had been a blue speck below him, up until the point he started turning around to look at things. But now that he looked down, he saw that his motions had taken the kite off course a bit, and he was close enough to the ground now, that he was having real trouble reacquiring his guide against the cobbles and buildings and walls of the central keep. There were a lot of random colors and textures, and George¡¯s eyesight wasn¡¯t as good as it used to be.


    But this was obviously all Bosco¡¯s fault! The bastard had set him up; George had no doubt of this.


    Were the rest of the wizards in on the plot? George had known they couldn¡¯t be trusted. He¡¯d have to land, lose his clothing, blend in with the rest of the people down below, and find a way to lower the platform. Brando had been a fool to mention that in front of him! Now that George knew it was possible, he was confident he could make it happen. He just had to find the right people to threaten, or maybe he could acquire some weapons first. Or perhaps he¡¯d be better off immediately going to ground, and hiding until the people who were no doubt waiting to ambush him finished searching for him¡­


    All of George¡¯s nascent plans were dashed as he aimed toward a mostly-empty square between two moderately-populated streets, and saw a familiar blue-robed form strolling unhurriedly towards his landing zone. For a second George contemplated dropping on him, but his arms were throbbing and aching, and he wasn¡¯t sure if he dared risk shifting the kite to try and ambush the guy.


    ¡°You win again, Brutus,¡± George muttered to himself.


    ¡°What was that?¡± the blue guy asked, frowning at him, with that ridiculous goatee twitching and pointing his way.


    George didn¡¯t answer. He hit the ground, almost fell, and jogged until his momentum was gone. It only took a couple of dozen steps. He let the kite go, and had the satisfaction of watching Bumpo chase after it. Well worth the dirty look he got after the guy retrieved his little toy.


    ¡°I said, you got a pretty city here,¡± George told him.


    ¡°It is the center of all universes,¡± the wizard smirked. Then the smile faded. ¡°Though your world does have a few larger, which is curious. I do not know how your primitive peoples managed that without any magic at all.¡±


    ¡°Good old American ingenuity and hard work!¡± George declared, happily.


    ¡°Of course,¡± the wizard said, losing interest and turning away. He beckoned, absently. ¡°Come, then.


    George tucked his hands in his pockets, and followed along. He still didn¡¯t like wearing the robes because they were too much like dresses, and dresses were for girls, but at least they had pockets in them. These people weren¡¯t all primitive idiots. Just mostly. Still, he figured he¡¯d leave bringing democracy to them until he was back home and giving his full report to the President and Congress and J. Edgar Hoover personally.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be a hero, Georgie!¡± the dead rat whined. ¡°They¡¯ll give you so many medals! They¡¯ll rip your shirts up they¡¯ll be so heavy, Georgie!¡± it said, as it kept pace alongside them on the streets. They were passing a few people, now that they were out of the square, so George waited to reply to it until they had a brief lull in the bystanders.


    ¡°Okay, rat. They tell me you¡¯re part of my brain now so I guess we¡¯re stuck working together.¡±


    ¡°But Georgie, I¡¯ve been telling you that for days now¡ª¡±


    ¡°Yes, but what reason did I have to trust you? Look at you! You¡¯re disgusting! Why would I get such a pathetic and disgusting familiar?¡±


    ¡°Georgie, I didn¡¯t choose this form. Something in you chose¡ª¡±


    ¡°No I didn¡¯t!¡± George yelled. A few people down the street looked down at him. The blue wizard, who he¡¯d decided was called Balancer, didn¡¯t bother looking back. None of the wizards seemed really surprised by him talking with his familiar any more.


    But George was a little embarrassed by the onlookers staring at him. Enough of them looked freakish that it bothered him, because they were looking at him like HE was the freak. He wasn¡¯t. No matter what anyone said. ¡°I didn¡¯t choose your form,¡± George told his familiar. ¡°Stop lying.¡±


    The dead rat looked away. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I could lie to you, Georgie.¡±


    ¡°And call me George!¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re not George. You¡¯re Georgie. Deep in your heart, you¡¯ll always be Georgie. And you know that¡¯s true.¡±


    George went to kick the rat, and it disappeared. Bastard! he thought. Maybe there was a way to get that thing out of his head. He¡¯d eaten the last dead rat that had given him grief. And yeah, that had been a mistake, given how sick he¡¯d gotten afterward, but this rat was making him sick anyway. It¡¯d be worth it.


    Balancer continued, oblivious, and when Georgie stopped plotting ways to munch on his own brain and actually bothered to look around, he saw that they¡¯d moved through the alleys and side streets, and were about to join onto a main thoroughfare. And okay, now this was starting to get impressive.


    The street was divided by a long, rectangular crevice into darkness. As he watched, slabs of stone moved through the crevice and occasionally zipping in the open space between the walkways. Items and occasionally people sat on the stones, bound in by ropes and chains, but they were moving at a pretty good clip so there wasn¡¯t much time to study them.


    To either side of the crevice, above the main part of the divided street, were walkways that joined together in the center. Balancer was heading to one of the many staircases that climbed up to the upper walkway. The people who made up a steady stream of foot traffic gave him a wide berth. Less so for George, forcing him to dodge and weave around oncoming pedestrians. In the end, he had to put some speed on to keep up with the wizard.


    The upper walkway was much more sparsely occupied. And everyone up here was wearing a badge of some sort. None spared him more than a glance. He eyed them as they went, marking up each of the differences without being TOO obvious about it. Here, one woman with her hair up in braids and a metal shirt had holes in her lips that teeth poked through. Another giant of a woman was ashen gray, with burning red and black eyes. One hunched, small man hurrying by with an arm full of scrolls had a spare set of joints between his elbows and his hands.


    And as they went, the oncoming traffic soon started outnumbering the people going the way Balancer was leading them.


    Ten minutes into the walk, they were just approaching the inner ring of the city, and George was starting to feel it. ¡°Hey!¡± he called, putting on a burst of speed to catch up with the blue wizard. ¡°Why didn¡¯t we fly over this part? It¡¯s taking forever.¡±


    Balancer looked at him like he¡¯d suggested the moon was made out of cabbages. ¡°We would die. None arrive to the House of the Unicorn, save on foot, with open hands, and words of praise.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯d die? Is this more magic stuff?¡±


    ¡°Magic, yes. And also quite a lot of archers ready to shoot any who attempt flight to bypass the outer wards.¡±


    ¡°Ah. Controlled airspace. I hear you, pal.¡±


    ¡°Of course you hear me, I am speaking to¡ª¡± Balancer cut himself off, and looked away briefly, goatee waggling as his face quivered. ¡°You must keep your words civil while in there. Do not castigate your familiar. Do not speak foolishly. Make sure you words mean what you mean to say! Understand and obey!¡±


    George felt rage rise in him, hot and hateful. Who is this asshole to try to tell ME what to do? For a brief second, he thought of pushing the man off the walkway, seeing if he could splatter him with one of those superfast stone slabs going past.


    But only for a second. Then he remembered the guy could fly. George simply nodded, and fell back behind him. Nobody¡¯s my boss unless I make them my boss. And I just have to play along, see how tough this King really is, he reminded himself. Once I help them fight off those commie turtle hordes, might be I could take that crown. Just gotta keep the guys up top happy until everything comes up George.


    The palace was a collection of spires, rising impossibly up. As tall as the towers outside, but thinner and pointier. Grim-faced guards in crimson and purple armor stood with swords at their sides, arms folded, surveying everyone who passed through the eight-story tall gates. There weren¡¯t many people coming in; those that did had golden unicorn badges, just like the one that George was wearing.


    Balancer did NOT have a unicorn badge. The blue wizard tapped a patch on his robe that looked like some sort of bird, as the guards approached. Three of them peeled off and walked around him, one waving a wooden stick over him as he spoke. George reached for the translation charm in his pocket, the one that the wizards had given him, but stopped when two of them looked his way, sharply.


    ¡°Easy, fellas,¡± George said in his best John Wayne drawl. ¡°I¡¯m on your side.¡±


    They didn¡¯t look impressed, and rattled off primitive talk at Balancer. He squawked back. They must have liked what they heard, because the guy with the stick backed off, nodding, and the others stepped back, literally waving them through the gate.


    The courtyard was pretty enough, if you liked gardens. It reminded George of slides he¡¯d seen of some place in Holland, with tulips and paths and stuff like that. The inner keep, surprisingly, wasn''t as tall as the towers. It was a single sheet of crimson, shiny stone, formed into the shape of a three-story building. Stone pillars ringed it. Eleven had animal heads carved into them, bowing toward the building.


    ¡°Compose yourself,¡± the wizard said, heading toward the central keep. ¡°You are about to be in the presence of the King.¡±


    George followed, but couldn¡¯t get the contrast out of his mind. Compared to the spires that ringed it, and the city outside, it was¡­ well, pretty basic. Not as impressive as George expected. ¡°I expected him to be up a little higher,¡± George said, glancing up at the spires, as they walked in the shadows of the giant stone towers.


    ¡°We cannot move him until it is done,¡± Balancer said.


    ¡°Until what is done?¡±


    ¡°See for yourself,¡± the wizard gestured at the opening crimson and purple-veined doors, and the two heavily armored, masked guards who uncrossed spears as they drew closer, and parted to let them in. ¡°From here you go alone. Good luck.¡±


    George glanced at him, sidelong. Then he walked past the guards, and into the darkness.


    *****


    It actually didn¡¯t take long, though to George it was an eternity.


    And when he emerged into the sunlight again, he was shaking.


    Balangor, that was the wizard¡¯s name, he remembered it now. Fear brought clarity.


    Balangor looked upon him, smiling. It wasn¡¯t a cruel smile. George thought there was sympathy there. But in that moment, he hated Balangor, hated him worse than anyone he¡¯d ever hated, for bringing them there. For just walking him to¡­ THAT, like a goat to the slaughter.


    ¡°And now you see,¡± Balangor whispered.


    ¡°How?¡± George asked.


    Balangor blinked, ¡°what do you mean?¡±


    ¡°How is he still alive?¡± George¡¯s voice cracked as he spoke.


    Balangor looked at the guards behind him, and motioned George to follow. Only once they were away, did he speak. ¡°He will not be forever. But he is taking a very long and very painful time dying. A very long and painful time indeed.¡±


    George stared at the back of the wizard¡¯s skull, as he followed him away from the thing he had seen sitting on the throne. The thing that should not be.


    And though he hated Balangor, he pushed it away. He had bigger worries, as his fear began to ebb, and the gears in George¡¯s mind started to turn.


    There was no seizing that throne. Not at THAT cost.


    George needed to get back home, tell the President, and convince him to burn this entire city to ash with nuclear fire.

 Last Flight

    It was pretty chilly in New Mexico, but it was a good kind of chilly. It was a dry kind of chilly, without a hint of snow anywhere in the air. And that was all Cyrus could have hoped for.


    Also it was much closer to Texas. Much grief as his home gave him, it was still home. It felt good to call Catalina a few hours ago, from the airport phone booth. Though if he was being honest with himself, most of that good had come from hearing Catalina¡¯s voice again. He¡¯d missed her more than he thought he would. That might take some hard considering, once he was done with this and back in his hotel room. It might be time to make a decision on something he¡¯d been avoiding thinking about.


    That said, he¡¯d needed to talk to her about this last guy. And the answers she¡¯d given on how to approach this had been hesitant, almost wary. There was a story there, and hopefully the guy could clear it up.


    Santa Fe was old. Someone had told him once it was the oldest city in the USA, and he believed it. A lot of it was modern now, but the trip through the city center showed a lot of older buildings, most of¡¯em at least partially Spanish looking. Lots of construction around, lots of stucco on the main streets. The place looked to be doing its best to try and stand out from the rest of the cities he¡¯d seen.


    Cyrus wasn¡¯t sure why. And he didn¡¯t have time to give it much thought.


    The place he was looking for was on the outskirts of town. He tipped the taxi driver well to wait for him at a nearby diner, and walked the remaining quarter of a mile down a street full of bungalow style houses, with lawns full of car parts and random junk and little plastic windmills that blew in the nonstop wind, and made clacking noises that reminded him of a horse walking on stone. He could feel eyes watching him from the twitching curtains on either side of the street, but nobody came out to harass him, or ask him his business. Part of that might just be the cold; now that he was out of the main part of the city, and away from the tall buildings that cut it, the wind was merciless.


    Still not as bad as Aspen, though.


    His legs were aching by the time he found the right house. They¡¯d been aching since he took an unexpected sled ride down a mountain. So when he knocked on the door and the man inside didn¡¯t point a gun at him, shoot him, or otherwise involve some variety of ballistic device into the conversation and just said ¡°Come on in,¡± Cyrus felt a wave of relief that almost bordered on delirious joy.


    ¡°Howdy,¡± Cyrus said, as he looked up and down the short hall, and saw cluttered stacks of aviation magazines, old model kits, and framed photos. A couple of doorways lined each side, and an ancient radiator knocked and hissed, piping heat into the air and making Cyrus¡¯ life so much easier.


    ¡°Through here,¡± came the voice again, through the close left doorway. ¡°Can¡¯t say I recognize your voice, friend. Have you come to kill me?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a hell of a question,¡± Cyrus said.


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t a no.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not planning to kill you, no. Please don¡¯t make me,¡± Cyrus bluffed.


    The voice chuckled. Definitely a male voice, though higher pitched than most. ¡°Then you better come on in. And hey, Merry Christmas. We¡¯re almost there, you know.¡±


    Cyrus planted his cane carefully and peered through the doorway. Then he relaxed, and walked in, easing down on the sofa in what looked to be a small living room.


    The man across from him was wheelchair bound. His arms were thin and trembling. The room had a faint smell of ammonia and medicine, that stink of the unwell who couldn¡¯t always keep themselves clean at all times. He had a wild blonde mustache, unkempt, and stubble all up and down his neck where some attempt at patchy shaving had taken place. He did have a well-trimmed crewcut, though. And a happy smile as he looked Cyrus over from head to toe.


    ¡°Charles Waller, I assume?¡± Cyrus asked.


    ¡°Chuck.¡± The man grinned, showing a mouthful of dentures. ¡°Want some eggnog? I can get it from the kitchen right quick. Well, not right quick. Takes me a little time to get around these days.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s mighty tempting, but I reckon I¡¯ll pass,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°Got off a flight an hour ago. Takes a while for my stomach to settle after that.¡±


    ¡°Aw, I¡¯m sorry. There¡¯s nothing better than being up there, watchin¡¯ the world go by.¡± Chuck got misty-eyed. ¡°Couldn¡¯t have done that if I had air sickness. Wouldn¡¯t have gotten in the sky, if it weren¡¯t for the Air Force.¡±


    ¡°You made Captain pretty quick, going by what your service record said.¡± Cyrus had only glanced at the plaques outside, but no small amount of them had medals, and certificates of achievement.


    ¡°Lost it all just as quick, too.¡± Chuck¡¯s smile faded. ¡°Bernice lied about me. I never laid a finger on her. Or did anything like what she said I did to Josie.¡±


    ¡°Josie¡­ Josanna. Your daughter, right?¡± Cyrus remembered. And he also remembered the other things about this file. So he was glad that Chuck here was denying it, and really, really hoped that he was on the level. Because those charges and the reason for that court martial were why Cyrus had left this interview for last. And why he¡¯d refused eggnog.


    ¡°Josie¡¯s my daughter.¡± Chuck smiled, but it faded. ¡°Well, not any more, technically. She¡¯s her momma¡¯s. Last I heard Bernice had dropped her off with her mother, so she could go off to Chicago with that feller I caught her knocking boots with. Did he make the file?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± Cyrus said.


    ¡°Not really much to tell, there. Just some random fellow who was in my bed when I wasn¡¯t. I don¡¯t hold a grudge against him, but I admit I¡¯m a little sore about the lady who I thought was my one and only. But when I kicked him out and yelled at her, she went to the neighbors and told them I¡¯d hit her. And the Air Force can¡¯t have one of its Captains going around beating their wives, so it was¡­ suggested¡­ that I retire early.¡±


    ¡°If things fell out like the way you¡¯re implying, I don¡¯t blame you for that.¡±


    ¡°For that.¡± Chuck said, giving him a look, seeming to sharpen and gain focus. Bomber¡¯s focus, pilot¡¯s focus. Cyrus felt himself being considered again. ¡°You were enlisted?¡±


    ¡°I worked for a living.¡± Cyrus offered a faint smile. ¡°Still do. Just not for the Army.¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯re here about Guatemala. And the stuff we did there.¡±


    Cyrus found himself remembering Catalina¡¯s hushed voice in his ear, the phone receiver cool and chilly against his earlobe. ¡°Be careful. I¡¯m not sure what story they want to tell about it, up here. Best to watch your words.¡±


    ¡°Guatemala¡¯s a part of it,¡± Cyrus admitted. ¡°But the main part is I¡¯m here to offer you a job.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going back,¡± Chuck blurted out. ¡°I can¡¯t go back there. Not after what we did.¡±


    ¡°To Guatemala? No, the job¡¯s nowhere near there. Maybe just as dangerous, though.¡±


    Chuck snorted. ¡°Wasn¡¯t dangerous a bit. To me, anyway. Only reason I crashed is because the engine shorted out on me. It was a shitty little prop job we got from some nose candy mafia down around there. I had to check it out myself, and I thought it looked fine, but I was a pilot first and a mechanic second, and I should have gotten a second opinion on it instead of going drinking with the boys. But given the spooks we were working with, I didn¡¯t want to run the risk that they¡¯d get intel I didn¡¯t passed on, and get told not to tell me. It was¡­ we didn¡¯t trust each other, down there.¡±


    ¡°The file¡¯s a little light on details about Guatemala,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°I know a lady who escaped from there. She won¡¯t talk about it much. All I know is that it got bad.¡±


    ¡°Bad. Yeah.¡± Chuck¡¯s lips twisted. ¡°Most of it¡¯s in my book. But I don¡¯t reckon I¡¯ll live to see it, so I can sum things up for you a little. If you¡¯re game.¡±


    Cyrus looked around at the tiny room, the snug little house. At the peeling wallpaper, and the layer of dust over most surfaces. He could nail it down now, the feeling he¡¯d gotten since he saw the stacks of magazines that filled half the hall. This was a man who was waiting to die, and doing the bare minimum to keep comfortable and entertained until he went.


    On the one hand, that made him good for the mission. Sort of. On the other hand, he might not have the motivation to keep going until it was done. Cyrus hated being manipulative, but he told himself that Chuck seemed to need a confessor right now, and if he said something that Cyrus could use to make him care about Rusty and the other kids, well, okay. They weren¡¯t exactly drowning in a surplus of candidates for the breach team. Every body could make a difference.


    And he WAS a little curious about why Catalina was quiet about this part of her life.


    ¡°Go on, shoot,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°I¡¯m here for another few hours. Got nowhere else to be.¡±


    ¡°So back around the time Korea started for us, nineteen fifty or so, this guy Arbenz won an election down in Guatemala. He had Russian ties. And he started taking the country down a Communist way. And eventually he got powerful enough he started seizing land held by US interests, gearing up to go full red, and being Russia¡¯s pawn in this hemisphere. That was what we were told. I think some papers did a story on it at the time, this was¡­ yeah, it was fifty-four. February, when a man came around to offer me a job. A man like you. Well¡­ nicer dressed. He smiled more. Definitely never served.¡±


    ¡°I can grin if you want to,¡± Cyrus offered.


    ¡°Nah. It¡¯s all right.¡± Chuck sighed. ¡°I didn¡¯t have many prospects at the time. I¡¯d been drinking and dreading Valentine¡¯s day alone. And I¡¯d gotten into a dust-up with a fellow at church, so I wasn¡¯t welcome there for a spell. I figured a few months abroad fighting commies would set me straight. Boy was I wrong¡­


    ¡°Anyway. By March it was all settled, and we shipped over. Pretty place, Guatemala. We were bivouacked out in the boonies, me and the other pilots. Bunch of greenhorns, mostly. Me and Pat were the only ones who had over twenty hours of flight time. Some had washed out of the air force. Pat had been retired, he¡¯d been flying planes before there WAS an air force. He¡¯d done his time against the Krauts, back in the forties, and against the Japs back when they were screwing China over. He had the best stories. Everyone else was a kid. And I wasn¡¯t much more than a kid myself, but still¡­ ah, I¡¯m getting off track.


    ¡°It was Pat who clued me in that this was a CIA operation. Probably down from the President himself. We were going to nip another commie takeover in the bud. Shut them down before they got going, and distracted us from settling stuff in Korea. So we trained with the planes we got, and I showed the greenhorns the ropes. We had a few knock themselves out of the program, some literally. One poor kid died. They told us they¡¯d send him back stateside for a funeral, and at the time I bought that. Now I wonder¡­¡±Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°The Army made us all sorts of promises too,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°But they didn¡¯t lie to me when I was out on spook business. They flat out told me that if I died out there, I¡¯d be MIA. They¡¯d compensate my family, make sure the money was straight, but they¡¯d have to lie to their face.¡±


    Chuck sighed again. ¡°The older I get the more I realize that it¡¯s all down to people, you know? There¡¯s no institution that¡¯s better or worse than the people that make it up. It all comes down to who¡¯s sitting in the cockpit and steering the flight you¡¯re on. You gotta hope that they¡¯re on the level, or if they¡¯re not, you punch out and try for someone better as soon as you can. And I should have punched out. Because the CIA was nowhere on the level on this one.¡±


    ¡°So how¡¯d they fuck you over? Pardon my french.¡±


    Chuck laughed. ¡°Air force is still armed forces, even if you army fuckos try to talk shit. French is a-okay here. You¡¯re all right. What was your name again? Shoot, I don¡¯t think I asked.¡±


    ¡°Cyrus,¡± he said, and offered his hand. Chuck shook it, smiling. But then the smile faded.


    ¡°From here, the story gets worse,¡± Chuck told him. ¡°Honestly I should give you the manuscript and let you see how it goes. But¡­¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Cyrus got it. This was like being on the other side of a confessional. ¡°Go on.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t even supposed to fly out there,¡± Chuck said, eyes sliding left as he looked back into his memory, sorting things out. ¡°But one of the greenhorns got stinking drunk the night before we got called up. We didn¡¯t exactly know when go-time would be. And I got called in to fly, while this kid named Ted was on the bombs.¡± Chuck laughed. ¡°Hand-tossed bombs, like Pancho Villa, you know? I know some of the other teams had better planes. Modern stuff. We weren¡¯t anywhere near that. We were to handle the outskirts, the secret communist training camps and the armories they had ready to go when the revolution hit. But all the serious resistance was going to be dealing with the cities and larger towns, so we¡¯d have a clean sweep of it. There weren¡¯t¡­ there weren¡¯t supposed to be any civilians.¡±


    Cyrus began to get a notion of where this was going. He kept quiet.


    It was a minute or two before Chuck got going again.


    ¡°They¡¯d send us out at night, when we started. Two times we flew out, hitting where they told us to hit. Third time¡­ third time wasn¡¯t the charm. The engine stalled. We went down. Ted died. I broke my back. I woke up in a doctor¡¯s office, out in the boonies, with a ward full of people crying and dying all around me. People I¡¯d bombed.¡±


    Cyrus licked his lips. ¡°Were they communists? Rebels?¡±


    ¡°Not one. Not a fucking one.¡± Chuck closed his eyes. ¡°We¡¯d used up the crate of bombs by then. They didn¡¯t know we were the ones who¡¯d done it. They assumed the asesinos had shot us down.¡± Chuck opened his eyes, and the ghosts in them made Cyrus look away. ¡°Do you know,¡± Chuck continued, ¡°I got chosen for that mission partially because I¡¯d taken a few years of Spanish, back in school? And I wish I hadn¡¯t. I wish I¡¯d been ignorant. Because we hadn¡¯t been bombing commies at all. They were farmers, subsistence farmers whose only crimes had been going in to settle land the government had given them so they wouldn¡¯t starve to death. We¡¯d been blowing up houses and barns and churches. We¡¯d been blowing up churches,¡± Chuck said, and the loathing in his voice was raw and ugly.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t know,¡± Cyrus said.


    ¡°Between you, me, and Jesus, that¡¯s the only reason I didn¡¯t eat a shotgun the first chance I had,¡± Chuck said, grimly. ¡°I knew I had to find out why. And I knew I had to tell people. And maybe¡­ maybe something had gone wrong. Maybe this was all some horrible accident. So I waited, and I pretended not to speak Spanish, and I healed. And I couldn¡¯t walk, but I tried to keep myself together. It was hard. It was painful, and I thought I might die anyway sometimes. But I listened, and I learned, and I got a picture of what was happening. And it was worse than I¡¯d thought.¡±


    ¡°Tell me.¡±


    ¡°It was all over some fucking bananas.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°We went in there to topple a guy called Arbenz. Arbenz might or might not have been a commie sympathizer, but that¡¯s not what got him killed. See, the guy before him, a fellow called Arevalo, he had sold a US fruit company a lot of land down there. And he¡¯d taken land he wasn¡¯t supposed to take. He¡¯d taken the best farming land, and when Arbenz got elected, part of the reason he did was because people were starving. It had been pretty bad. He didn¡¯t sell people on a red dream, he sold them on being able to feed their kids. And after a few years, he took back the land that United¡ª that the fruit company hadn¡¯t used. He even paid them for it. They sued, and it was a whole thing, but the fruit company wasn¡¯t happy. And that¡¯s when the CIA called us in.¡±


    ¡°Oh shit.¡± Cyrus could see why this guy wasn¡¯t too happy about being lied to. Yeah, you expected that with the services and with big government agencies, but bombing churches over a COMPANY? That was pretty bullshit.


    ¡°We were bombing people who had moved onto the land, so when the¡­ the company moved back in, they wouldn¡¯t have to deal with as many squatters.¡± Chuck looked down. ¡°It was worse in the city, worse in the towns. Arbenz didn¡¯t go down without a fight. But with the CIA backing the rebels that took him down, and with planes in the sky when he didn¡¯t have any¡­ well.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Cyrus said. He¡¯d seen firsthand what air support did for a war.


    ¡°Two weeks I was there, give or take. And the actual fight didn¡¯t last long. But that¡¯s when the death squads started their work.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Cyrus was pretty sure he hadn¡¯t heard that right.


    ¡°Arbenz had been popular. The rebels decided they had to make sure they rooted out resistance before it started. They¡¯d grab people, take them off to be questioned. Tortured. Sometimes killed. Sometimes their bodies would be returned, sometimes not. I heard accounts from down the hall, from new guys coming into the ward who¡¯d been tortured. And not always guys. Women. Children.¡± Chuck closed his eyes.


    This was it. This was the in. Cyrus knew he could use this, get Chuck seeing things his way. Get him on the job. There would never be a better time. This would be offering the man absolution, and right now, as he was, he¡¯d take it.


    Cyrus thought about it, in that space of seconds as Chuck looked away, and tears rolled down his cheeks. He thought about it.


    And he knew he¡¯d never be able to live with himself if he did that, if he exploited this poor son of a bitch when he was at his weakest.


    So he waited, and tried not to think about how much they needed a pilot for the breach team. And how he didn¡¯t know how long Rusty and Beth could last without him.


    Chuck gathered himself. ¡°The death squads are how they found me, I think,¡± he said. ¡°Someone must have told them there was a gringo out this way in the hospital. We had some troops officially there by then. Peacekeepers, stuff like that. One of my handlers showed up with a couple of privates, and gave me this whole spiel about how I¡¯d done right to keep my mouth shut, that commie spies were everywhere.


    ¡°Not a single moment, while I was recovering, did anyone say a damn thing about communism. Not one damned thing! They talked about surviving this. They wondered where they would live now. They wondered what they were going to eat. They wondered how they¡¯d find jobs, and afford medicine. They wondered if they¡¯d be grabbed and raped or murdered or worse. They didn¡¯t¡­ these weren¡¯t communists. They were just refugees, now. And I¡¯d help make them refugees in their own fucking country.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Cyrus said. It had been different in Korea. This was way worse. ¡°No wonder they lied to you.¡±


    ¡°I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut, until I got back stateside with a fat check for my troubles. Bought a place here, and started typing. And a year ago, I finished. I wrote a book about it. And I started shopping it around to publishers.¡±


    ¡°No shit?¡± Cyrus blinked. He¡¯d tried writing one himself, once. It hadn¡¯t gone so well, writing had been harder than he¡¯d thought. ¡°When¡¯s it coming out?¡±


    ¡°It was supposed to be published in October. Then I got a call from the publisher. They dropped it. And told me that I should probably never try to sell it again, or talk to anyone about it. And two weeks after that, I started noticing people watching my house.¡±


    A few days ago, Cyrus would have rolled his eye at the notion. But then someone had tried to dynamite an avalanche onto him in Colorado. Sometimes paranoia was justified. ¡°Who do you think they are?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Both the CIA and United Fr¡ª the Fruit company, I mean, both of them have something to lose. We weren¡¯t supposed to talk about our operation. I figured I¡¯d get in a lot of trouble for publishing this, maybe even end up dead, but I figured that would happen after it came out. Now¡­¡± Chuck stared into his eye. ¡°Now I see they were on the ball for something like this. And I don¡¯t think anyone is going to know the full story. And I hate that. I hate that worse than anything. I think¡­ I think I¡¯m going to Hell, Cyrus. And I deserve it.¡±


    The tears were back, and Cyrus put a hand on Chuck¡¯s shoulder. The guy grabbed it with one of his own and sobbed, tears soaking into his beard. It made Cyrus a little uncomfy, but he pushed it aside. He¡¯d been told repeatedly growing up that boys shouldn¡¯t cry, it was unmanly, but sometimes you HAD to. And if some old bastards thought that it was unmanly, then fuck¡¯em. They weren¡¯t the ones who had to deal with all this shit! They were usually the ones who CAUSED the shit.


    He waited until Chuck finally let go of his hand, pulled out a towel and mopped his face. Only then, once he was sure Chuck was through, did he decide he could talk now without being the worst kind of heel.


    ¡°I know someone who can help,¡± he said. And he knew he had some serious arguments ahead, that Gable might not want to stick his neck out that far for this guy, but it was the right thing to do. And they NEEDED a pilot. ¡°And this job¡¯s about saving kids. I can vouch for it personally. You won¡¯t need to drop bombs on innocents, won¡¯t need to drop bombs on anyone. We just need aerial reconnaissance, and transport for a commando team.¡±


    Chuck stared at him, hope warring with suspicion in his eyes. ¡°Who¡¯s it against? How do I know you¡¯re on the level?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t say who it¡¯s against. And you don¡¯t have to buy it from me. You can come and see what we¡¯re all about, and if you think we¡¯re not, then you can go back home. This one¡¯s voluntary. But, uh¡­ no books. I have family on the line, here. No books. Got it?¡±


    Chuck stared at him, through him, those bomber¡¯s eyes weighing him on unseen scales. ¡°One book,¡± he decided. ¡°You get the truth of what happened down there to someone who¡¯ll publish it, and get them to pull the trigger. And I¡¯ll do your job, if you¡¯re truthful about this.¡±


    Cyrus gnawed his cheek. ¡°I can¡¯t guarantee that. I¡¯d¡­ shit, I¡¯d have to ask it up the chain. Will you at least come down and see our operation? Hear what we need done? At the very least, you¡¯ll be in the middle of the most well-guarded spot in the southwest. Ain¡¯t no fruit company going to spy on you there, I can guarantee that.¡±


    Chuck considered him again, and his eyes softened. ¡°You¡¯re for real. All right mister Cyrus. Let me get my things. Including the manuscript.¡±


    Cyrus blinked. ¡°You don¡¯t want a day or two to wrap things up? I mean, I could arrange this when we get to the airport, probably, but¡­¡±


    Chuck shrugged. ¡°It¡¯ll be here when I get back, or it won¡¯t. Rent¡¯s paid up for the next few months, and my neighbors like me. I trust them to make sure nobody burns the place down. And if I don¡¯t return, well¡­ I¡¯ll have bigger things to worry about in front of St. Peter, so the matter¡¯s moot.¡±


    ¡°All right,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°I¡¯ll help you pack.¡±


    It didn¡¯t take long. Though Cyrus hadn¡¯t come here planning to push a wheelchair back to the diner, and his legs ached the first few minutes in. He had to one-hand carry one of the suitcases too, and the way his lower back started throbbing after the first ten minutes, he knew that it¡¯d be a long and painful flight back.


    This was why he didn¡¯t see the green-eyed man until it was too late.


    They were getting back into the outskirts around downtown, just a couple blocks away from the diner, where Cyrus could see the taxi parked and waiting, when one of the passers-by staggered, and dropped a Christmas tree. It hit the ground with a BANG, and it was loud, far too loud.


    The tree hadn¡¯t made the noise. But there was something else in the man¡¯s hand.


    Cyrus stared at the shooter, caught a glimpse of bright green eyes staring over a red and white peppermint scarf and a hat pulled low, before the man scooped the tree up and ran down an alley.


    But there was smoke in the air, that smell of cordite and powder, and then there was a gurgle. And Cyrus looked down, to see Chuck staring back up at him, neck twisting in agony as he clutched at his chest. Clutched at the red, spreading stain against his blue coat.


    ¡°Shit!¡± Cyrus let go of the suitcase, and hurried around. The other people on the street were looking around, looking his way, but he didn¡¯t care.


    Chuck gurgled and clutched at him.


    ¡°Medic!¡± Cyrus yelled. ¡°Shit, I mean Doctor! DOCTOR! Someone call a Doctor!¡±


    Chuck gurgled and stretched out a hand. Cyrus tried to take it, but Chuck swiped it away, and pointed.


    Cyrus looked, and saw pages in the wind. The suitcase, he remembered, and he looked over to where he¡¯d dropped it. He saw that it had broken open. He saw clothes spilled out on the sidewalk. And page after page, being torn away by the cold Santa Fe wind and scattered out into the night.


    Chuck gave once last gurgle, and Cyrus sat down on his ass, as sirens started in the distance, and the dead pilot¡¯s only hope for redemption was blown away forever.

 Never Get Off the Boat

    Rusty woke to confusion, that soon fled in the greenish light of morning. That¡¯s right, they¡¯d planned deep into the night, with the Lion supplying details of what they could expect, and what was expected of them. It hadn¡¯t been much¡­ the elder beast in Rusty¡¯s head wanted to get a look for himself before he speculated on the state of things. All they knew was that the elves were pushing the defenders back.


    ¡°How¡¯s my chakra looking?¡± he thought at Roz, as the alien strolled into view.


    ¡°You¡¯re down about twenty, give or take. No great shakes right now, but if things are as hairy as your satyrs say they are, you might wanna be careful.¡±


    The children had decided that they needed to be able to understand and speak to the satys and the grach. Back when they were out of danger at the ruins, they had gotten by because the satyrs had translation spells, and in Rusty¡¯s case, the Lion could translate. But in a war zone, relying on that might get somebody hurt. Rusty had listened well when his brother had told them how many times he¡¯d nearly been killed because the Army had thought they were bad guys, and bombed or sent people to put them in the ground, and how it was only some fast explanations over the radio or just plain yelling that saved them. Friendly fire, wasn¡¯t.


    So Rusty had given everyone false memories of learning the satyr and grach languages, himself included. That had been¡­ disconcerting. They tried out their new knowledge with some discussion afterward, and Rusty found that he¡¯d gotten the best grasp of it, probably because of his memory enchantments.


    Satyr was kind of fun to speak. You had to roll your tongue around some words in a way that made them sound exotic. Ken said it was kind of close to Italian, and he should know, he¡¯d lived in the biggest City of any of them. Grach was harder. There weren¡¯t as many words, but you had to almost belch some of them. Alice and Beth had started laughing hysterically as the kids tried to fake burps at each other, and that was about the time they decided to get some sleep. It turned out that fake memories could give you a real headache, or at least make you feel groggy, so the sleep had been very much needed.


    And it had been good. Rusty wandered over to the screen-covered back part of the boat, peed in the pot that was tucked back there, and carefully lifted the flap before he dumped the pot into the water. He¡¯d been told many times to do it as quickly as possible, to avoid catching elven arrows. Rusty didn¡¯t know if there were any elves around yet, but it was better to play it safe.


    ¡°You have the proper mindset,¡± the Lion remarked from behind him.


    ¡°Please tell me you didn¡¯t watch me pee,¡± Rusty said, turning red and doing up the last few ties on his leggings.


    ¡°I have witnessed the death of worlds. I have seen innocents die by the thousands. I have seen cities crumble under the weight of spells that gnawed away their solidity and left only wraiths behind. But no, Rusty, the horror of your act of urination was such that I had to look away.¡±


    ¡°No need to be making fun of me,¡± Rusty said. ¡°It¡¯s just I was raised modest is all.¡±


    ¡°And I was raised to be a Lion. We generally do not care if someone urinates. So long as they refrain from doing so in our marked territory, at any rate.¡±


    ¡°Just don¡¯t watch me when I¡¯m naked, okay?¡± Rusty asked.


    ¡°I am not actually standing where I can see you. I am in your head. I only see what you¡ª never mind. I apologize.¡± The Lion disappeared, but his voice still sounded from where he¡¯d been. ¡°Is this better?¡±


    ¡°Yes, actually.¡± Rusty glanced back toward the cabin, where the rest of his human friends were sleeping. To either side of the cabin, satyrs worked tirelessly, poleing the boat along. A flash of motion caught his eye on the bank, and he saw Ran staring back at him from under a hooded cloak that matched the color of the nearby leaves. She nodded, then was gone as suddenly as she¡¯d appeared.


    A horn sounded ahead.


    ¡°We are close,¡± the Lion spoke. ¡°But we have time. And I have put some thought into this. You have room within your chakra for possibly one or two more enchantments, and given your runes, I think a composite spell between your memory and speed runes would be particularly effective.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s a composite spell?¡± Rusty asked.


    ¡°What is a¡­ did the wizards not teach you of this?¡±


    ¡°They didn¡¯t even teach us about charms,¡± Rusty said, poking the metal and wood tabs hanging from twine around his neck. Granted, there hadn¡¯t been much to teach, there. Charms were tokens infused with chakra and enchanted with a single spell. They slowly lost chakra over time, and if you wore too many they started interfering with each other. But you could use them to activate spells you didn¡¯t have, or run enchantments that you didn¡¯t have to spend chakra on. The downside was that there wasn¡¯t much warning before they stopped working. You could assense them, but it wasn¡¯t like the runes, where the words in your head told you how you were doing on chakra.


    All that aside, it didn¡¯t surprise Rusty that there were things about magic the wizards hadn¡¯t taught them. It made sense any way you looked at it. Wizards in books were really careful about keeping secrets, even from their friends. And also, the wizards that Rusty had the misfortune to end up with were definitely not his friends. They¡¯d taught him just enough to be a minor threat or distraction to the Lion and turned him loose. They didn¡¯t care if he lived or died.


    ¡°Mmm.¡± The Lion rumbled. ¡°We have time enough for one more quick lesson. And this, I think, can help you. A composite spell is one that uses multiple runes in its construction. It draws upon the power of both runes, and if both suit the task of what you are attempting to do, then it draws less chakra to cast. Which is very useful, when one comes to the realm of enchantments.¡±


    ¡°So it¡¯s cheaper?¡±


    ¡°Cheap¡­ yes, that is a term. No less powerful. But less costly.¡±


    ¡°Okay. That¡¯s pretty simple,¡± Rusty thought. ¡°So why would I need one of those?¡±


    ¡°You do not need it, but we do not have the luxury of time to wait for you to develop a skill naturally. Nor would giving yourself memories work, I suspect. Muscle memory is different from regular memory. At best you would gain a slight advantage and injure yourself horribly.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a pretty long answer but you still ain¡¯t answered what you want me to do.¡±


    ¡°I want you to cast a spell that increases your rate of learning physical actions. So that when you dodge, or parry, or strike, your muscles and instincts will take less time to respond. It will not be useful immediately, but the more you train or fight, the sooner you will be able to do so effectively.¡±


    ¡°We did get trained how to fight,¡± Rusty said, his memory flashing back to those brutal, painful days with their taskmaster, Jand. She had been literally the worst woman Rusty had ever met and he never wanted to see her again.


    ¡°Are you then a highly skilled fighter?¡± The Lion asked.


    ¡°Well, no.¡± Jand had been clear on that fight. The best they could hope for was to not immediately die until one of their allies took care of their foe.


    ¡°Look at it this way,¡± The Lion offered. ¡°Quite a number of people will definitely be trying to kill us from this point onward. Of that I am certain. Our survival is questionable, but if we DO survive, then would you like to use the experience gained from them to stymie more powerful foes in the future?¡±


    Rusty mulled through it. ¡°So they¡¯re going to try to kill us anyway.¡±


    ¡°Correct.¡±


    ¡°So we might as well get something out of it?¡±


    ¡°Also correct.¡±


    ¡°Roz?¡± Rusty asked. ¡°What do you think?¡±Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°I¡¯m kind of interested to try some new kind of magic. And hey, if the enchantment doesn¡¯t work out we can just drop it anyway.¡±


    It was hard to argue with that. So as his friends yawned and stirred and got dressed inside the boat¡¯s cabin, Rusty closed his eyes and went to work.


    ¡°Half of the words must be the color of one rune, and half the the words must match the color of the other rune,¡± the Lion warned.


    ¡°This is hard,¡± Rusty said, finding the words he wanted, but holding them to two different colors was a difficulty he hadn¡¯t planned for.


    But by now, he had gotten pretty good at visualization.


    Granted self Fast Study for physical actions!


    Committed Chakra: 33 of 198


    Cost: 5 Chakra


    Remaining free Chakra: 160


    Rusty opened his eyes, to find Alice staring back at him. ¡°You all right there?¡±


    He nodded back. ¡°I think so.¡± Behind her, the Satyrs were stowing the poles. He didn¡¯t know why, there was a long stretch of empty river ahead¡­


    ¡­and then it wasn¡¯t empty.


    ¡°Welcome back to the hidden redoubt, Lion,¡± said one of the satyrs as the air around them turned cold for a few seconds, and a fortress made of wood and thatch snapped into existence dead ahead, so close that Alice and Ken and Beth squeaked and grabbed at the sides of the boat.


    ¡°How?¡± Rusty asked.


    The Lion answered, and Rusty passed the answer on. ¡°The Duskwraiths did this. There¡¯s like a solid wall of them around this area. They turned their outsides to make a picture of what the area would look like without the fortress in it.¡±


    ¡°Was that why it was cold all of a sudden?¡± Beth asked.


    Rusty stared as the Lion answered, then shrugged. It wasn¡¯t the strangest thing he¡¯d run into on Elythia. ¡°Yeah. They¡¯re only partly here. They¡¯re like made mostly of gas or something that sits in two different worlds¡­ uh, it¡¯s complicated.¡±


    ¡°Oh! It¡¯s like Lovecraft stuff?¡± Beth asked.


    ¡°Excuse me?¡± Alice stared. ¡°That¡¯s hardly decent!¡±


    ¡°No, the writer. You know him, right, Rusty? We, uh, borrowed the books from you and Cyrus.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah, him.¡± Rusty¡¯s total recall reminded him why he¡¯d never gotten into Lovecraft. The words that guy used were really hard at the age he was reading them, and when Cyrus read it to him, Lovecraft stories got scary, fast. ¡°He creeped me out.¡±


    ¡°A lot of it was pretty creepy. But there was this one story I liked, about dream lands. This is kind of like a dream land,¡± Beth said, looking around as the boat sailed down the flower-bedecked river, drawing close to the docks of the misshapen wooden fort. ¡°Because there¡¯s nightmares here too, but with luck and a friendly cat or two, we¡¯ll get out okay.¡±


    ¡°Haven¡¯t seen one of those yet,¡± Rusty said.


    The Lion cleared his throat.


    ¡°Did I stutter?¡± Rusty glared at him. ¡°You were doing fine up until you hopped into my brain. You still got a ways to go to get that friendly cat title back, Mister.¡±


    ¡°Lion!¡± From the open door of the fort, a shadowy figure beckoned, its horns broad and antlered unlike the other satyrs, its silver beard gleaming in the setting green sun. He whistled as he spoke, whistled so much he kept doing it between words. ¡°Please, come inside quickly! They have been pushing in the north, and we¡­ believe¡­ that¡­¡±


    His words slowed. The whistle stopped.


    ¡°MOVE!¡± roared the Lion, and shocked, Rusty stumbled back.


    The man spoke normally again, but this time without whistling, and his words were drowned out as something THWACKED into the planks of the boat. Right where Rusty had been standing.


    More whistling now, and the man was yelling, and the other satyrs were running, all save one that collapsed into the water with an arrow sticking out of his skull.


    The whistling had been the first volley of arrows, Rusty realized.


    ¡°Elves! They¡¯re inside the perimeter!¡± One of the satyrs screamed.


    Rusty¡¯s neck was hot, something burning against it, and Rusty ran off the boat, onto the dock as he realized what had happened. One of his defensive charms had saved his life. One of the speed ones, probably, given what had happened.


    He had time to think of this, because three more times during the run, the world slowed to a crawl, the sounds around him stretching and going inaudible for a second or two until he fled out of danger.


    The Lion had explained it to him. These were the backup charms, the ones that sped him up the second a projectile got within a foot of striking him. He had three charms that did this. And judging by the slow, searing pain against his chest, at least one of them was burning out fast.


    The elder satyr stepped aside as Rusty got in the doorway, and turned around¡­


    ¡­eyes widening, as he saw Beth frozen, sitting on the ground, staring in horror at the arrow sticking out of her belly.


    ¡°They will target you!¡± The Lion told him. ¡°Enhance your speed and draw their fire!¡±


    But Rusty was frozen, unable to move. The arrows fell one after another. Some satyrs to the side were moving out, trying to get eyes on the archers to return fire, he knew distantly. The others were running, Ken through the door first, Alice afterward, hands over her head and shaking. Their own charms had seen them through.


    If I don¡¯t go out there Beth is dead, Rusty thought.


    ¡°She is safe momentarily because they are using her as bait, but yes, cast your spell and go now!¡± the Lion urged.


    Rusty squeezed his eyes shut, and cast the simplest spell he could think of. Even then it took a few tries to get the letters right.


    ¡°Go faster!¡± he whispered.


    Granted self speed boost!


    Committed Chakra: 38 of 198


    Cost: 20


    Remaining free Chakra: 140


    Sound slowed. The whistle of arrows faded. Beth¡¯s scream stretched out, losing pitch as it went. The yells and calls of the satyrs outside stretched and deepened.


    And Rusty ran out onto the dock. The arrows were moving still, in slow motion. He grabbed Beth and pulled, feeling himself grow warmer as he did so. She was heavy, but the couple of weeks in the new world had given him a little more muscle, and adrenaline and a lifetime of farm work did the rest. It was frustrating and he couldn¡¯t go fast, and he had to walk carefully around the slowly moving arrows, but he got her to the doorway.


    Then he glared north. From what he could tell, from how they were stuck in the docks, they were all coming from that direction.


    ¡°The water will be slippery, but you can run across it at this speed. Close your eyes so you do not burn them!¡±


    Rusty shut his eyes and ran, and he saw why the Lion had warned him so. The very air tried to hold him back, battered against him like a thousand sparks as he ran as fast as he could. The water underfoot WAS a little slippery, was like running on a trampoline, but he hopped as he went and kept his center of gravity tilted forward, arms back to try and get a little balance.


    He did stumble when he hit the far shore, and opened his eyes in time to see the ground slowly coming up. He slapped it with his hands, almost cried out at the flare of heat that burned at his skin, and slowed a little as he staggered back up into a standing position.


    Already, more arrows were seeking him, whispering between the trees like angry, suicidal birds. Now that he was across the river he zig-zagged, moving closer, moving past the corpses of two grach who were down with arrows in their eyes, scooping up one of their axes as they went.


    He found the elf up in a tree, standing in slow motion from his crouch, drawing a sword from a sheath as it dropped the bow and a handful of arrows. The bow fell like a feather to the ground, as Rusty threw the axe two handed with all his might.


    That was a mistake. The second the axe left Rusty¡¯s hands it slowed down to about the elf¡¯s speed. And elves were fast and nimble.


    The elf backflipped over it and off the branch¡­


    ¡­and Rusty plucked an arrow from the air, ran behind the elf, and drove it into the back of his neck.


    ¡°Get back!¡± the Lion yelled, and Rusty blinked, and stepped back just in time as the elf twisted in midair and slashed at his torso. The blade parted his robe, and came within a whisper of opening his belly.


    Rusty fell to his knees, and watched the elf die.


    An Adult Elf has died within your chakral radius!


    Consuming chakra...


    You have increased your chakra by 4.


    Committed chakra: 33 of 182


    Remaining free chakra: 144


    The Lion shouted at him, tried to tell him to get up and check for others, but Rusty couldn¡¯t. He watched the first living thing he¡¯d ever killed die.


    Speed boost requires chakra to sustain!


    Committed Chakra: 33 of 182


    Cost: 20 Chakra


    Sustain boost? Y/N?


    ¡°No,¡± Rusty said. The Lion was telling him that if there was another elf he was dead, but he couldn¡¯t listen. He watched the green-skinned, fair-faced creature twitch and die, and knew he would remember this forever.


    It was almost a relief when he vomited.


    Once his stomach was clear, he rose and looked back to the docks. It was a pretty good view from here, even if it was about a quarter of a mile off.


    The Lion rumbled. ¡°He silently slew the sentries and waited for our arrival. Cunning. And troublesome. Those kills were fresh.¡±


    ¡°Beth!¡± Rusty remembered, as he mopped his mouth with one stinging hand. ¡°Ow. What¡­¡±


    His skin was reddened and raw, like he¡¯d been drying his hands with sand paper. Now that the nausea was fading and the adrenaline was washing down, his entire body ached and tingled.


    ¡°Friction is troublesome when you¡¯re operating at the speeds you were. Walk back, do not run. We will see about getting us proper armor later¡ª¡±


    ¡°I need to get back fast! Beth might be¡ª¡±


    ¡°Your friend has the restoration rune. She will be fine.¡±


    Rusty tried to tell himself that, as he trudged back.


    But his perfect memory kept going back to how she had stared at the arrow in her guts.


    No. No, she wouldn¡¯t be fine ever again. She would remember that until the day she died.


    He knew the horror of it would stay with her forever.

 Problem Between Device and Chair

    They were waiting for him when he walked out of the terminal. Not holding signs or anything, but the suits and the black sedan behind them told Cyrus all he needed to know, even before they started beelining for him.


    He rolled his eye and tightened his grip on his luggage, waited for the nearest one to get within a few feet and whispered, ¡°Could you be any more obvious about this?¡±


    ¡°Mister Colfax? Come with us, please.¡±


    Yeah, there were definitely some double takes and sidelong glances from the passers-by. Cyrus shook his head, shoved his suitcase into the surprised man¡¯s arms, and followed them to the car.


    The suits held the door for him, put his suitcase in the trunk, but didn¡¯t enter with him. Cyrus gave them a wondering stare, but they merely shut the door on him. Only when he turned to the driver, did he understand.


    ¡°Buckle up,¡± said Solomon Gable. ¡°We¡¯ve got a long drive and the roads out here are shit.¡±


    Cyrus¡¯ boss started up the car, and pulled away from the terminal. It didn¡¯t take long to thread into midday Dallas traffic, but it was a couple more minutes before he spoke again.


    ¡°Tell me what went wrong with the pilot,¡± Gable asked.


    ¡°There was more to his story than was in the dossier,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°Long story short, a couple of years back he bombed a bunch of communist rebels on CIA orders. Then he found out they weren¡¯t commies and the CIA had lied so a fruit company could keep their costs down. He tried to write a book about it, and I¡¯m guessing the spooks or the company had someone watching him. I thought he was just being paranoid. I was wrong. When I tried to help him move, some hit man put a slug in his chest from close range.¡±


    Gable breathed hard through his nose. ¡°That Guatemalan bullshit. Stupid. It¡¯ll be in the papers soon enough anyway. What a damn waste. You sure it was a hit man? Not some amateur hired off the street?¡±


    ¡°He did it smart and I didn¡¯t see him until he¡¯d done it,¡± Cyrus said, repeating what he¡¯d told the Santa Fe cops over and over again. ¡°Had his face all wrapped up too. Between the hat and scarf, nothing showing but green eyes. Blazing green eyes. He was gone before I could realize what happened, but I¡¯ll never forget those eyes.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t tell the police about the Guatemalan bullshit.¡± It wasn¡¯t a question.


    ¡°No. I knew better than to mention CIA. Just that the guy thought he had enemies, and I hadn¡¯t taken his fears seriously.¡± Cyrus squeezed his eye shut. ¡°It helped that it was the truth. The police still tried to grill me pretty hard, even after I dropped your name and number. But I just kept repeating the basics. I¡¯d been sent by you to hire him for a private flight. He¡¯d wanted to go immediately because he thought some people were after him. Some stranger had shot him on the way back to the airport, so I guess he was right.¡±


    ¡°Was there anything you could have done differently?¡± Gable asked.


    ¡°Not really,¡± Cyrus admitted. He¡¯d had a long time to think about it, in the cell they¡¯d tucked him in overnight. ¡°He didn¡¯t even have a phone, so we couldn¡¯t call a new taxi. Couldn¡¯t go to the neighbors houses, because he didn¡¯t want them dragged into this mess. He was the one who insisted on going immediately. And green eyes? He was good. I¡¯ve gotten soft since Korea, but not that soft. I clocked him coming and wrote him off as another passerby. Normally someone who¡¯s getting ready to pull the trigger and cancel a human check and has time to think about it tenses up. They make it into a big thing. This guy was a killer. He either didn¡¯t think it was a big deal, or he was good enough to pretend it wasn¡¯t a big deal. A man like that¡­ no, he was a professional.¡±


    ¡°Like that one psychopath you cleared. Mossjaeger.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll say this. Mossjaeger¡¯s trouble on paper, but I never saw him in action. So I can¡¯t compare the two.¡±


    ¡°Can we use him?¡± Cyrus asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I sent you to determine. But I agree with your initial assessment. And I¡¯m no longer in a position to second-guess you.¡±


    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± Cyrus asked. Something in Gable¡¯s voice rang alarm bells.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been demoted. As soon as you get back to Site 719, you¡¯ll meet your new director. I¡¯m merely the assistant director now. Emphasis on assistant.¡±


    ¡°Well, shit. What happened?¡±


    ¡°On paper, the President has decided that the CIA has jurisdiction over this, due to the incidents taking place on foreign soil. Off paper, the guy they sent, Smith, is looking to make a name for himself. And he thinks this is the way to do it.¡±


    Cyrus chewed his lip. He¡¯d spent a good part of his tour dealing with spooks in one form or another, from the various alphabet agencies. He was still an outsider when it came to a lot of this bullshit, but he felt informed enough to risk questions.


    ¡°Hoover¡¯s letting the CIA steal a march on the FBI?¡±


    ¡°On paper we¡¯re not FBI. Off paper, I¡¯ve been told he¡¯s furious. There¡¯s some capital being traded up in the upper echelons right now. But the problem is, I¡¯m not sure he believes that we¡¯re on the level. Wizards? Magic? It¡¯s a hard sell. If we didn¡¯t have a young girl in custody who can turn invisible at will, then I wouldn¡¯t believe it myself.¡± Gable dug out a cigarette, passed a lighter back to Cyrus. Cyrus lit him one, while Gable kept his other hand on the wheel and eyes forward. A few puffs later, he continued. ¡°The truth is, this situation happens a lot. A weird situation comes up, the parent agency puts together a task force to handle it, then the other agencies start waving their dicks around trying to assert authority over the task force. Because that means more funding, more clout, and that translates to bigger dicks.¡±


    Cyrus rubbed his face. ¡°Well, shit.¡±


    ¡°Shit, yes. I was trying to get things moving too far along for an easy power grab, but reopening the breach took longer than expected. No fault of yours.¡± Gable gave him a sympathetic glance in the rearview mirror. ¡°Next to this, rocket science is easy. That¡¯s what Mr. Fuller tells me, anyway.¡±


    ¡°Have we¡­¡± Cyrus hesitated. ¡°Did we get it open again?¡±


    Gable¡¯s gaze slid out of the mirror, back to the road. ¡°That¡¯s what our new director wants to speak with you about.¡±


    *****


    The desk was bigger than Gable¡¯s had been.


    No government surplus this, the guy had probably had it shipped in and assembled in the room, because there was no way to get it through the door that Cyrus could see. It was a huge mahogany monstrosity that almost went from wall to wall, and Cyrus took some comfort in studying the ample gut of Director Smith, and comparing and contrasting it to the relatively smaller gap between the sides of the desk. It was a pretty near thing. He half-wondered if the man had to crawl over it to get out.


    He had plenty of time to study Director Smith. The man had been letting him sit in silence for a few minutes, merely reading through a pile of papers, one by one.


    Cyrus could live with that. He¡¯d been put through worse by better.


    Smith¡¯s hands were soft, his belly large under his tailored suit. He was one of those guys who had aged early, had a relatively unlined face under a head that was fast losing blonde hair to male pattern baldness. Clean shaven, as almost every spook Cyrus had met had been. And pursed lips that thinned every time he glanced from the papers to Cyrus and back again.


    Cyrus waited, hands in his lap, face as neutral as he could make it.


    ¡°You¡¯ve had one hell of a vacation,¡± Smith said finally, his voice mellow and deep. He slid over the paper he was studying; Cyrus¡¯s photo from the police station, a clean view of him holding up the plaque they¡¯d made him raise and grimacing at the camera.


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t exactly a vacation,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°Sir.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me sir, Mr. Colfax. I work for a living.¡±


    Cyrus doubted that statement entirely. And it irked him when civilians made this particular joke. This one was reserved for sergeants, and others who had to put up with the mixed bags of nuts that were PFCs.


    ¡°All right,¡± he said, as levelly as he could. ¡°So why did you want to speak to me, Mister Smith?¡±


    ¡°I wanted to ask you what you were playing at.¡± Smith¡¯s genial smile faded. ¡°Because that¡¯s the answer I¡¯m coming to, when I ask the right questions.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not playing at anything,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°I want my family back. I¡¯ve been helping the project the best I can. What kind of questions are you asking that indicate I¡¯m not on the level?¡±


    ¡°You ever read John Carter of Mars?¡±


    ¡°Burroughs. Yeah, I liked Tarzan better. Still, we lost a hell of a writer back in ¡®50, when he went.¡±


    ¡°Focus. Spare me the biography.¡± Smith snapped his fingers repeatedly, like he was scolding a kid. Cyrus fought to keep his face neutral, hoped he succeeded. Smith continued, probably without noticing. ¡°Given the overwhelming testimony, given the alien artifacts that mexican kid hauled back, given her¡­ unique talent¡­ I¡¯m inclined to believe that you DID in fact visit another world. Venus, maybe, I couldn¡¯t begin to tell you which one. What I¡¯m questioning, is why we can¡¯t get BACK there.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯ve been working on!¡± Cyrus snapped. ¡°Well, up until I got tapped to recruit the Breach Team.¡±


    ¡°Yes. I¡¯ve already discussed that topic at length with my assistant director. I don¡¯t entirely agree with his reasoning, but what¡¯s done is done, and you managed to get three out of four right with that one at least.¡±


    Cyrus bit his tongue.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°I am wondering why we have a machine that¡¯s SUPPOSED to open up a door to another world that does not in fact DO THAT. And the answer I keep coming to is that you are STALLING.¡±


    Cyrus blinked. ¡°I¡¯m not.¡±


    Smith slammed his hands on the desk, half rose. ¡°No? Because that¡¯s the only reason I can see! Two months almost, two months you¡¯ve had to remake your device, and what do we have to show for it? Two months you¡¯ve been drawing a government salary and paying to keep your damned failed farm afloat? Is that it? Are you afraid we¡¯re going to ditch you the second it¡¯s built? You milking Uncle Sam for all he¡¯s got? Because I call that stalling. I call that playing us. And I don¡¯t like the cards you¡¯re trying to bluff on, Mister Colfax.¡±


    Cyrus nearly threw a punch.


    Nearly.


    Instead, he inhaled, held it as long as he could. Exhaled, and waited for the red to seep out of the edges of his vision.


    ¡°Take me to the machine,¡± he said instead.


    ¡°So you don¡¯t even deny it?¡±


    He wanted to say that there was no point. That he¡¯d dealt with plenty of idiots like Smith, and there was no leading them away from a conclusion once they¡¯d reached it, even a damnfool one like this. That Smith was coming across as one of those guys who would never admit he was at fault so long as there was someone down rank to blame it on.


    Instead, he said, ¡°When a car doesn¡¯t run right, you pop the hood and look. Let¡¯s go pop the hood.¡±


    He watched Smith¡¯s eyes flick back and forth, then narrow. ¡°I expect results, Mister Colfax.¡±


    ¡°That makes two of us.¡± Cyrus rose, feeling his legs flare with pain. He steadied the cane, leaned on it as he walked toward the door. ¡°You still got the prototype at the anomaly?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t give you permission to leave,¡± Smith snarled.


    Cyrus tried to hold his tongue, but there were limits. ¡°That¡¯s funny. You were giving me the impression you didn¡¯t like stalling.¡±


    Silence from behind him.Silence broken by a sound he¡¯d never heard before, but knew instantly. That had to be teeth grinding.


    Yeah, I shouldn¡¯t have opened my mouth, Cyrus knew.


    ¡°It¡¯s in the machine shed next to the anomaly, Mister Colfax,¡± Smith said, his voice icy cold. ¡°And for your sake, I hope you can get it working.¡±


    *****


    ¡°You¡¯re back!¡± Bristol Fuller said as Cyrus stumped into the newly-erected shed. ¡°I¡¯m glad. That new Director¡¯s got a stick up his ass¡­ about¡­¡±


    Judging by the way Bristol¡¯s skin went pale and his eyes were fixed on a point over Cyrus¡¯s shoulder, he guessed that Smith had just walked in right after him.


    ¡°Show me what you built,¡± he said, eyes fixing on a familiar, tube-like shape mounted on a tripod. ¡°Get the casing off, let¡¯s have a look.¡±


    ¡°Right away!¡± Bristol said, scurrying toward the new prototype. ¡°It¡­ still doesn¡¯t work. Yet. I told you the vacuum tubes were a mistake. Didn¡¯t I? Either way, there¡¯s no difference.¡±


    ¡°Vacuum tubes?¡± Smith asked.


    Cyrus glanced back, saw that Smith had acquired two burly looking guards on his way here. He figured they¡¯d be escorting him off site if this didn¡¯t work. Probably not too gently, either. ¡°Vacuum tubes,¡± Cyrus confirmed. ¡°Now a days you have transistors, but when I started work on the original machine, the one that worked, I had to use vacuum tubes. Couldn¡¯t afford transistors. Surplus tubes were cheaper.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s a vacuum tube¡ª never mind. Get on with it,¡± Smith snapped.


    Cyrus shared a look with Bristol. It was the same kind of look everyone who¡¯s served knows intimately, even if the kid was coming at it from a different angle. It was a ¡°Can you believe this guy is in charge?¡± look, and Cyrus found himself liking Bristol a little more.


    ¡°You got those plans I gave you?¡± Cyrus asked.


    ¡°Over there, the copies are tacked to the board,¡± Bristol said.


    ¡°Copies,¡± Cyrus said, but he took them down as Bristol got to work with the socket wrench, working the screws out and the casing off. He studied them¡­


    ¡­and knew what had gone wrong.


    He also knew that with the mood Smith was in, he couldn¡¯t say what had gone wrong. Or else Fuller would take the brunt of the blast. Smith was just dumb enough to make an example of the kid, to try and scare Cyrus. It was a classic dick-waving move, and Smith had overcompensation written all over his sweating face.


    The plans had been changed. Notes were written on them, and corrections. The kid HAD modified things. And he wasn¡¯t smart enough to lie if Cyrus asked him that question.


    So instead of asking about the modifications, Cyrus asked ¡°Check the power source, while you go. That¡¯s the first thing. Director Smith, have you seen how we¡¯ve done the cabling? It should work just fine, but maybe you see something we don¡¯t. Bristol, tell him how much draw we need, here.¡±


    And while he said that, Cyrus took a pen from a pile of nearby clutter, and scrawled over some of the notes.


    He gave Bristol a little time to talk before slipping the pen into his pocket and turning around. Sure enough, Smith had a glazed look on his face, and the two guards were shifting as Bristol¡¯s flood of tech babble overwhelmed them. Nobody was giving him any sort of stinkeye for the quick editing.


    Cyrus stumped over to the prototype, looking it over. For the most part, the kid had followed directions. But he hadn¡¯t been able to resist the urge to tinker. ¡°Power¡¯s off, yeah?¡± he asked. It was more of a rhetorical question than anything else, he¡¯d feel it if it was on.


    ¡°Well, yes, but the problem¡¯s not the power¡ª hey!¡±


    Bristol tried to grab Cyrus¡¯s hands, as Cyrus pulled two wires loose, and swapped them.


    ¡°The plans must have got muddled when they got copied,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°Look at them. Got some of the wiring wrong.¡± He handed the papers over.


    Bristol frowned. ¡°No, I distinctly remember this join. It was nonsensical. It actually HURT power draw. I had to¡­ correct¡­¡± he trailed off as he glanced down at the plans, and saw where Cyrus had written ¡°Shut up and agree with me if you want to stay hired.¡±


    ¡°Oh. You mean this part, where things are a bit blurry?¡± Bristol finished, weakly.


    ¡°Yeah. Honest mistake, looks like,¡± Cyrus said, grabbing a screwdriver and getting to work. ¡°Director, you might want to get clear. We¡¯ll need to fire her up to test her. You want to get your guys to carry her back into the Anomaly¡¯s room?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯d die if we tried,¡± Smith said, his voice still cold.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°The previous director¡¯s security was, to put it mildly, sloppy. Leaving vital machinery next to an unsecured entry point? Having crucial personnel work on it where they could be ambushed at any time? Idiotic. The place is a death trap. We¡¯ll have to disable them temporarily, for a proper test, and I want my head of security there for it. So you go on and take your time with Mister Fuller, and make sure that you¡¯re GOOD and READY. This is your one chance, for both of you. Don¡¯t fuck it up.¡±


    Smith turned and left without another word. The guards looked from him to them, then hurried to catch up with him.


    ¡°You know,¡± Cyrus said, when he was reasonably sure that Smith was out of earshot, ¡°When he yawns I reckon I can see the top of that stick up his ass.¡±


    ¡°Never mind that, what the hell are you doing?¡± Bristol whispered, pointing from him to the device. ¡°That¡­ that wire swap does nothing. Worse than nothing! It decreases the efficiency by twenty percent, at least! And if it overheats, then you¡¯ll destroy at least three tubes!¡±


    ¡°I believe you,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°But this is how it works.¡±


    ¡°But it shouldn¡¯t work! It doesn¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°It will. You did a bang up job with the rest of it.¡±


    ¡°But a ground like this goes against everything I was ever taught!¡±


    Cyrus put his hand on the kid¡¯s shoulder, and leaned in. ¡°And there¡¯s the problem. You were taught. I wasn¡¯t. I had to learn by doing, and yeah, some of it¡¯s probably wrong.¡±


    ¡°You admit it? Then why¡­¡± Bristol¡¯s hands were twitching. Cyrus could see it was taking every bit of the young man¡¯s willpower to NOT swap the wires back. ¡°Why are we doing this the wrong way?¡± Bristol whispered.


    ¡°You¡¯re doing it the right way if this was an engineering sort of problem,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°But it¡¯s not. It¡¯s a magic sort of problem. And it doesn¡¯t follow the same rules. If it has any rules to begin with.¡±


    ¡°But¡­ everything has rules,¡± Bristol¡¯s eyes were wet. Shit, was the kid going to cry? ¡°Everything HAS to have rules,¡± he said, sounding like someone had just run over his dog.


    ¡°This does too. We just don¡¯t know them yet,¡± Cyrus said. He didn¡¯t know if it was the truth, but it was what Bristol needed to hear right now.


    ¡°For both our sakes I hope you¡¯re right.¡± Bristol said at last, turning away and pulling out a handkerchief.


    ¡°Me too,¡± Cyrus whispered, as Bristol pretended to wipe away sweat that was most certainly tears.


    *****


    The developing fluid stunk, but it worked. And as the shadowy shapes faded in on the film, Cyrus¡¯ eye widened.


    ¡°Color?¡± he asked Bristol.


    ¡°We¡¯re using a state of the art camera,¡± Bristol said.


    Cyrus whistled. ¡°I¡¯m just glad it works the same,¡± he said, putting the still damp print in front of Director Smith. ¡°This is it. This is the anomaly.¡±


    Smith picked it up, pursed his lips. ¡°This isn¡¯t a trick of the light?¡±


    ¡°No sir,¡± Cyrus said, pointing at the rainbow-like blob of colors, that stretched out tendrils like a jellyfish or octopus, like some deep sea creature caught in the darkest part of the ocean. ¡°This is what I saw through the original sight. Bristol¡¯s done a good job. Just got some wires crossed is all.¡±


    ¡°So how do we get through?¡± Smith asked. ¡°Is there another button on it you can push?¡±


    Cyrus shook his head, opened his mouth, but Bristol spoke first. ¡°Actually, that¡¯s where my testing might be of use. The limited amount the Dir¡ª the previous Director let me do confirmed that a sufficient ground in the right place will alter the anomaly slightly. But I couldn¡¯t see what I was working with, before, and now I see why I couldn¡¯t get the same result twice.¡± He pointed back at the rack, where the five consecutive photos were developing, color slowly fading in. ¡°It¡¯s the arms. The thing MOVES. I was able to catch a few of them with blind luck, but, well¡­ it was like shooting in the dark. Now that I can see what I¡¯m doing, I am certain that proper testing will trigger the anomaly.¡±


    ¡°Is he telling the truth?¡± Smith asked Cyrus.


    Cyrus studied Smith. The tension had eased out of the man, and he knew why. Cyrus had just given him results that he could report up the chain as progress. It was a pretty good victory. The government didn¡¯t mind delays as much as it did work stopping. Progress was almost as good as completion, to petty bureaucrats.


    And that meant Cyrus didn¡¯t have to blow smoke up his ass. Which was good, he didn¡¯t like playing these sorts of games even when he didn¡¯t have family on the line.


    ¡°He¡¯s telling the truth as he knows it,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°Fact is we¡¯re dealing with, well, magic. Or science different enough from our own that it might as well be magic. We¡¯re workin¡¯ in the dark here. But I got through once by accident, reckon if we keep poking at it, we can do it again on purpose.¡±


    Smith had started nodding midway through, not really listening to the words, more of the tone. ¡°Good,¡± he said. ¡°Go report in with my Head of Security. Get the keys to the containment room, and get a full briefing on the traps. I want both of you working on opening the gate full time, and I don¡¯t want you breathing cyanide because you forgot to shut the pressure plates off before you went in.¡±


    ¡°Cyanide?¡± Cyrus blinked.


    ¡°Wizards are human. I¡¯m assuming they breathe. Well, anything that steps wrong in that room won¡¯t, after a couple of breaths.¡± Smith¡¯s smile was smug. ¡°Go talk with Palmer. Second quonset hut to the right, when you¡¯re heading toward the gate.¡±


    Cyrus nodded, gathered his cane, and headed wordlessly to the door. Bristol hurried after him.


    Once they were out into the main courtyard, Cyrus cleared his throat. ¡°Palmer. Anything I need to know about him? Smith was an unpleasant surprise. I¡¯d hate to have another today.¡±


    ¡°Well, er¡­ not really. He came in just after you left, and got the team working on the anomaly¡¯s shed. You saw the results, it¡¯s completely different inside. It DID set testing back a bit, but that¡¯s fine, because it took a while for the parts to come in. He¡¯s always shut down the traps himself first, though, I haven¡¯t¡­ they didn¡¯t trust me to do it, I suppose.¡± Bristol shrugged. ¡°Though it could just be that he had to leave a few days ago. Some family emergency or another. Said he had a plane to catch. And THAT was even more of delay. He just arrived back yesterday, that¡¯s when the last test failed.¡±


    ¡°All right,¡± Cyrus said. ¡°But he¡¯s on the level? No stick up his ass?¡±


    ¡°No, he¡¯s actually quite pleasant. Very relaxed. Nothing seems to rattle him. Quite even-tempered, always.¡±


    ¡°Well that¡¯s good,¡± Cyrus said, lowering his voice as they came to the last hut on the right. ¡°Hopefully we get along.¡± He knocked on the door.


    ¡°Come on in!¡± was the reply.


    Cyrus got a step within the door, looked up, and froze.


    ¡°You all right, friend?¡± the slender, black-haired man in the swivel chair said, turning to look at him.


    And oh, didn¡¯t he have a pair of blazing green eyes.


    Very familiar blazing green eyes.

 The North Gate

    ¡°Speak to us of our foes, that we might know where to aid,¡± Rusty intoned, trying to give the line the gravitas that the Lion wanted. He had told Rusty on the walk back that Clerigg of Jahomalay was one of the wisest of the satyr leaders, and the most likely to notice something wrong if Rusty did a bad job of pretending to be letting the Lion speak.


    Either Rusty did a good job or Clerigg was too busy and frantic to be paranoid, because the antler-horned satyr barely let him finish before launching into a frenzy of words and exaggerated, sweeping gestures, clawed hands waving in various directions and fingers twisting while he described just how thoroughly everyone was screwed.


    ¡°They harry us, Lion. We get no rest. The stormers have fallen back but the elves are here, and I know not how. This is nowhere near  their greenroot. I know not how they are coming all the way out here, and we did not build our defenses against elves.¡±


    Rusty nodded. The Lion started to explain, but he saw how Clerigg was looking at him, and knew he didn¡¯t have time to wait for his friendly feline parasite to finish. ¡°We have brought allies to help us, but they are unfamiliar with why many things are the way they are.¡± He said, pointing to Ken and Alice, who were peering through the curtain at the medical shack across the way, where Beth was getting worked on. ¡°Do us the service of answering their questions, as I¡ª as we think upon your words.¡±


    The hardest part was getting the confidence right. The Lion was an elder being, something that had been around so long that it could easily speak with absolute certainty when it had that. Rusty wasn¡¯t an elder anything, but he thought his performance went pretty well.


    And thankfully, Ken didn¡¯t disappoint. No sooner had the Satyr waved a hand in something that was probably an ¡°okay, I¡¯ll do that,¡± gesture, then Rusty¡¯s best friend in this whole world spoke up. ¡°Okay, so let¡¯s ask something simple here, daddy-o. What¡¯s a greenroot?¡±


    Ken spoke pretty good satyr. They¡¯d had a little time to practice on the boat. ¡°Daddy-o,¡± clearly threw Clerigg for a loop, but he took it in stride and talked around it.


    But Rusty went back to listening to the Lion¡¯s explanation instead. His mental passenger had fewer grand gestures. He was a bit less distracting.


    ¡°The elves are not born, as your folk are,¡± the Lion said. ¡°When an elf¡¯s body ages or is reduced to uselessness by injury or disease, they return to the greenroot, and give themselves to it. They wither to a husk in its embrace, and new elves bud from the cocoon of refuse left behind. But the elven memories are kept in the greenroot, and those that the root deems worthy of passing on are given to the elves who fall from the vines when ripe. It is immortality of a sort. Much like my own.¡±


    ¡°So the elves are kind of like plant people?¡± Rusty asked.


    ¡°It would be more accurate to say they are fungus people, but yes, that explains them well enough. Now, the thing to know is that they bring the greenroot with them through spores that fall from their persons, but it is not enough to do so. It does not take root in the soil of other worlds without a lot of help and aid from the elves, and they must tend it in an unbroken path, and maintain it until the greenroot has been in place long enough to overwhelm the other plant life and spread on its own.¡±


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s like kudzu!¡± Alice said, as Clerigg got to roughly that point in his own explanation. ¡°That¡¯s bad.¡±


    ¡°It is also confusing,¡± the Lion said to Rusty. ¡°For it is not enough that the elves are born from the root. They must return to it to rest, and regularly. It limits their use in the battles, as they lose energy and slow when they are too long from their root. And this is far, quite far from the world tree.¡±


    ¡°The one who shot Beth sure wasn¡¯t slow,¡± Rusty murmured, then hastily rearranged his face into what he hoped was a neutral expression when Clerigg squinted over at him.


    ¡°Well done,¡± Rusty nodded at Clerigg. ¡°We believe they understand. And you are certain there is no greenroot path here?¡±


    ¡°We know well the signs, Lion,¡± Clerigg said, spreading his hands. ¡°There is none, at least within two days of us. At least, there was not the last time we could send scouting parties out. Now we are trapped here, while their stormer allies fortify and ready for the push that will break us.¡±


    ¡°We could do some assensing,¡± Alice offered. ¡°Uh, the Lion could too, I guess. Y¡¯all can¡¯t do that, so maybe they left some magical clues around that we could find?¡±


    ¡°The problem is one of visibility,¡± Clerigg said. ¡°We would need to get you to a higher vantage point, and that would risk revealing you to the elven snipers. It is a good idea, but it needs more than that. Lion, Ban Frakis has told me of your child who can hide. Is she here? She could perhaps do that safely.¡±


    The Lion had already started speaking as Clerigg spoke, and Rusty shook his head, then drew his hand aside, palm down, in the traditional satyr gesture that translated into ¡°I wish it was not so, but no,¡± as he answered. ¡°She is not here. For now we cannot use her, she is doing something important elsewhere and we cannot call her back,¡± Rusty told him. ¡°But we have another option before we try that one. Send out a band to collect the corpse of the elf we slew, and return him here. We shall see what his memories reveal.¡±


    ¡°How are we to do that?¡± Clerigg asked. ¡°He is dead.¡±


    ¡°Through stolen magic, old friend,¡± Rusty said, repeating the Lion¡¯s words and trying to offer the most sincere smile he could.


    Perhaps it was enough. Perhaps it passed muster. Either way, Clerigg went off to see the matter done.


    Rusty sighed, and rubbed his face. ¡°I hope they bought that,¡± he whispered to his friends. ¡°This is harder than it looks.¡±


    Beth squinted at him. ¡°How ARE we going to get the elf¡¯s memories?¡±


    ¡°So I¡¯ve read a dead kid¡¯s mind before,¡± Rusty said, trying not to be hurt at the way her jaw dropped in disgust and surprise. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ not good. When they die their brain, uh, rots. This one¡¯s¡­ fresh? Maybe the memories will be clearer. But we should be able to see something. I mean, I should. I¡¯m not sure how to show you what I see unless I alter yours¡­¡±


    ¡°Clerigg was hesitant,¡± the Lion said. ¡°I do not know if that is because your performance was insufficient, or he is unused to seeing me in a child¡¯s skin. It would be better if you could show him the memories¡­ though asking him to put aside his charms defending against that would not reduce his suspicion further. The satyrs do not trust magic of the mind. There is a very good reason for that, and it is why they are no longer allied with the elves.¡±


    ¡°Shoot.¡± Rusty whispered. When the other kids looked to him, he explained what the Lion had said.


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s easy,¡± Ken said. ¡°We can set up a regular cinema show, here. All we have to do is combine our magic a little¡­¡±


    *****


    The elven corpse sat in the middle of the floor, and Beth finished the circle of ashes, putting the charred stick to one side. She took a deep breath, and looked down at the face of the thing that had almost killed her, stared at it for a long while.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Rusty wondered what she was thinking. He knew she¡¯d tell him if he asked, but he was afraid of what she¡¯d tell him. And Clerigg and a few more satyrs and grach were just over THERE, and he wasn¡¯t sure if they¡¯d get more suspicious if he started crying.


    Which he thought he might, if Beth blamed him. He thought he might, and he pushed his thoughts away from that before the tears could come.


    But Beth stepped back.


    Ken moved in next, stepping carefully over the circle. He knelt beside the corpse, put his hands on its head. ¡°Undo any decay to this guy¡¯s memories,¡± he whispered. Then he rose, stepped back. ¡°Now, Beth.¡±


    ¡°Let this circle display the effects of any spells cast within it,¡± Beth said, her eyes shut. ¡°Ohhh¡­ hang on¡­ there. There we go. That worked.¡±


    It had almost a ritualized feel to it, the whole thing. So when Rusty rose, and all eyes followed him, he chose his words carefully. He didn¡¯t NEED to say them, not after so much practice with his spellwork, but he did anyway.


    ¡°Show us this elf¡¯s memories of returning to his last resting place,¡± Rusty said, and willed the spell into being.


    Replay situational memories from elven corpse!


    Committed Chakra: 38 of 202


    Cost: 1


    WARNING: Magical resistance! Cost to bypass: 15!


    Bypass Y/N?


    ¡°Yes,¡± Rusty thought.


    Resistance bypassed!


    Remaining available Chakra: 177


    A hazy mist fizzled into existence, filling the circle. It was a view of the jungle, passing by rapidly. At one point it paused, as a distant booming grunts filled the air, and the grach across the circle perked up. One started rumbling words, but the nearest satyr shushed them, eyes glued to the illusory memories.


    The elf¡¯s field of vision shifted left, and he caught a glimpse of another elf¡­ this one was highlighted, shining golden in the light. Some sort of magical effect? Or was it how elves saw other elves? Rusty couldn¡¯t say.


    Then, after a pause, the viewpoint shifted back and Rusty saw them accelerate, the trees flashing by faster. At one point the elves crossed a river and one of the satyrs got excited. She started to say something, then stopped as Clerigg held up a two fingers with a thrusting motion.


    Finally, the elves came to a clearing, moving around the roots of a tree the size of an office building. They came to a hollow, moved in¡­


    ¡­and the air shimmered, and was replaced with a familiar rainbow light.


    ¡°They have a portal,¡± Clerigg whispered, as the elf shut his eyes. ¡°There ISN¡¯T any Greenroot HERE. They are going to another world! But¡­ how?¡±


    ¡°They should not have been able to breach, here! Not without one of the ancient ruins¡­ unless¡­¡± the Lion mused, pacing around the chamber, visible only to Rusty¡¯s eyes. ¡°Unless they didn¡¯t open it from HERE.¡±


    ¡°Shh!¡± Rusty thought at him, as the elf opened its eyes again.


    ¡°Oh!¡± Alice gasped, as the thing¡¯s eyes adjusted to an entirely different sort of sunlight.


    A familiar sort of sunlight, shining off of very familiar snow, drifting around very familiar trees.


    ¡°Those bastards are sneaking around in OUR world!¡± Ken gasped.


    ¡°But where?¡± Beth asked.


    ¡°Shhh!¡± Alice said. ¡°Look for clues, sights and sounds!¡±


    They watched, as the elf and his buddy moved through the trees. Watched as it paused at a snow-covered road, hid in the brush as a snowplow moved through.


    Watched as they followed after the plow¡­


    ¡­and past a green sign.


    ¡°Crystal Falls! That says Crystal Falls!¡± Ken whooped.


    ¡°Shush!¡± The other kids said in unison.


    The elves broke from the road, after about a dozen driveways or other turn-offs. It looked like they were pretty far out into the woods. They¡¯d passed a dozen old fields, farmer¡¯s fields that were fallow and empty. Rusty knew the sight well. The last few houses they¡¯d passed hadn¡¯t had Christmas lights, or lights at all, and the snow covered their windows like armor. Abandoned? Very likely.


    He watched as the elves broke through the woods to a fancy looking cabin, with a deck over a lake. It was lit up even in the daytime, the electric lights casting reflections over the snow and frozen ice on the water below. The elves slipped around to the side, opened a door and walked in.


    The first room looked normal. A small library, with stacks of books, and comfy looking chairs. A lit fireplace crackled with a wood-stoked fire. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing strange.


    That changed the second the elves moved into the kitchen beyond, then walked downstairs.


    Once, it had been a cellar.


    Now it was like a greenhouse gone berserk.


    Lichen covered the floor, layering it in thick tiles. Vines and flowers ran down the walls and across the ceiling, only a few patches of bare earthen walls remaining. And those patches had fleshy-looking white lumps growing out of them. They ranged from cherry-sized to fist sized, and they MOVED, waving thick, green hairs like caterpillars questing for food.


    And most disturbingly of all, the vines circled and wrapped around people.


    Elves. About half a dozen, hung from the walls in vine-wrapped cocoons.


    No sooner had the onlookers seen this, than the memory ended, and the mist dissipated from the circle, leaving the elven corpse behind.


    Immediately the grach across the way who had first hooted, spoke. ¡°The call we made yesterday, we heard again today. This one was near the fight at the broken leaf crossing when they heard that.¡±


    ¡°And that was the creek to the northwest,¡± the satyr woman said. ¡°I could find that crossing, I know it!¡±


    ¡°That was our world,¡± Alice said. ¡°They have taken over a house in our world to hide in!¡±


    ¡°Time runs faster there,¡± Beth said. ¡°They¡¯re sleeping and recharging and coming back without much time lost HERE.¡±


    ¡°You know that great beast they feared?¡± Clerigg asked, with interest. ¡°They hid from it. It is rare that elves hide from beasts, can we use that?¡±


    ¡°Beast?¡± Ken asked. ¡°What beast?¡±


    ¡°The thing with the flashing eyes, and the great growling. It was hunting through the snow, searching for food. Or marking its territory, the snow was melting behind it.¡± Clerigg wrinkled his nose. ¡°That must have been quite a lot of urine.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s talking about the snowplow,¡± Rusty spoke as he realized. ¡°Uh, Clerigg, that was a¡­ can you explain it please, Ken?¡±


    ¡°Gotcha, daddy-o,¡± Ken said, and took over trying to explain machinery, and public works, and other fun subjects.


    ¡°But where is Crystal Falls?¡± Beth asked. ¡°Can you cast it again? We can look for clues, maybe. I wish the elf had looked at the snowplow¡¯s license plates. They might have said.¡±


    ¡°They might have,¡± Rusty said slowly, closing his eyes. ¡°But I¡¯m more interested in the books on that library table. It was pretty well lit in there, and¡­ Ha!¡± he said, as his magically-assisted perfect memory zeroed in on the side of a well-used phone book. ¡°I have it!¡±


    ¡°...so that¡¯s salt it¡¯s dropping behind it, not pee,¡± Ken finished.


    ¡°You spend salt so freely?¡± Clerigg¡¯s eyes were huge. ¡°Truly, your world is blessed with it! It is usually quite rare, in the realms we walk.¡±


    ¡°Well it¡¯s not rare in Michigan, at least,¡± Rusty grinned.¡±Iron County, Michigan, to be precise.¡±


    The kids paused.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of it, I¡¯m sorry,¡± Alice said.


    ¡°It must have been the wizards that made this portal,¡± Rusty said, speaking for the Lion. ¡°They had already carved their way into your world. They found a place to anchor it for the elves, and carved the exit. We know not whence elven realm they are pulling reinforcements from, but they have set up a small greenroot there. This is¡­troublesome.¡±


    ¡°Not enough that we got wizards snatching kids, we got elves invading,¡± Ken muttered. ¡°Oh, this is bad.¡±


    ¡°It IS bad,¡± Clerigg said. ¡°If they can do this once, they can do it again! Our lines will become meaningless. We will be swarmed from all directions!¡±


    ¡°Not so, old friend,¡± Rusty spoke for the Lion. ¡°If this were easy to do, they would have done it already. This is either a test, or something hinders them from invading in this manner. We need more information.¡±


    Clerigg nodded. ¡°I agree. But above that, we must shut it down, and fast. I see now, the Stormers are waiting for the elves to weaken us before they move in. if we close this worldgate off, then we can yet save this position.¡±


    ¡°We can,¡± Rusty said, realization burning in his mind, as he dared to speak for himself. ¡°But we can do more than that.¡±


    He looked at his sister. Watched her rubbing her leg, where a fresh scar traced across her chubby calf. Watched her look up at him, and remembered how she had looked on the deck, screaming.


    And Rusty knew what he had to do. He forced his eyes away from Beth, and spoke.


    ¡°We can send someone back to get help!¡±

 Gathering Allies

    ¡°So how¡¯s Dad?¡±


    ¡°Drunk. Asleep.¡± Catalina blew a raspberry in exasperation. ¡°It was not good. When he got a little in him, he started making noises about going to the bar. I told him over and over again that was a bad idea. He did not like that so much.¡±


    Cyrus rubbed his eye. ¡°That IS a bad idea. Benjy Custer ain¡¯t gonna forget about Bunktown any time soon. And I know the folk around here. They don¡¯t just hold grudges, they latch on to them like ticks on cattle. Dad goes out, God knows what they¡¯ll do.¡±


    ¡°Nothing good.¡± Catalina leaned back in the living room easy chair, and put her feet up. ¡°Could you?¡±


    Cyrus nodded amiably, and helped her get her shoes off. Now that Bristol was officially on the books as Cyrus¡¯ assistant, Catalina had been reassigned to delivering messages and running errands around the camp. It was a waste, he thought. She had picked up the basics of electronics pretty well, over the last couple of months. Sure, she didn¡¯t have Bristol¡¯s knowledge or even Cyrus¡¯s self-taught skills, but she had a keen mind, a teacher¡¯s mind, and letting her stick around for the experiments would have guaranteed they had an experienced educator to pass the knowledge on to others.


    But Cyrus¡¯ new boss didn¡¯t seem to care about that, nor was he approachable enough that Cyrus felt comfortable bringing it up to the guy. Smith was focused on getting results and every new day seemed to motivate the man to push them harder.


    If Cyrus had to venture a guess, he¡¯d say that the FBI was fighting pretty hard to get control of the project back from the CIA. He¡¯d seen this before, when upper brass had competed for especially rewarding operations. Officers would jockey and claw to get a good operation, something to put their name onto to move their career toward those little golden stars.


    Cyrus was of two minds about this.


    On one hand, the fighting usually meant that the people actually doing the goddamn operation got shafted. They weren¡¯t just under pressure to complete the op, but to do it perfectly, or at the very least, without any fuck-ups. And sometimes, when things got especially toxic, this meant they risked getting shafted as far as support, and personnel, and materiel went as squabbling officers pulled strings and rank and called in favors to try and make sure their competition got a failed operation tied to their name.


    On the other hand, it meant that things would get done fast.


    Which suited Cyrus just fine, because they were already through December. Last night had been the last day of nineteen fifty-seven, and Rusty and Beth were still through the proverbial looking glass. The fact that there was some time dilation going on there settled his nerves some, but he knew better than to take magic for granted. The time flow might be fucked now, yes, but who¡¯s to say some wizard couldn¡¯t un-fuck it?


    ¡°No, the sooner we¡¯re back in that other world, the better,¡± Cyrus grumbled.


    ¡°Hm?¡± Catalina opened an eye.


    He told her his thoughts on the matter, and she listened, then shook her head. ¡°We can not charge in foolishly.¡±


    ¡°We? Good luck convincing our new boss to let you on the team.¡± Cyrus said. Though to tell the truth, he wasn¡¯t upset that she¡¯d be staying home. That place was dangerous, and he already had too many people he cared about stuck there.


    ¡°No, not me. What use would I be, there?¡± She frowned. ¡°I meant we, as in¡­ we.¡± she gestured around in the cardinal directions. ¡°The team. We cannot be hasty, because once whoever we send goes in, they are there for a long time as far as everyone else here is concerned. What is it, a week here for every day that passes there, or something like that?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. All I have to go on is the time Rusty told me he was over there, and I wasn¡¯t exactly listening too close at the time. Bartleby was supposed to tell us this sort of stuff, but¡­¡± he waved his hand.


    ¡°I do not think he is in the camp any more,¡± Carmina said.


    ¡°He was supposed to write up notes before the CIA took him,¡± Cyrus grimaced. ¡°Obviously I can¡¯t ask Smith about that. And I don¡¯t know what position I¡¯d put Gable in if I pestered him about it. Better to keep mum on that stuff for now.¡±


    ¡°Anyway, this is why we cannot be incautious,¡± Catalina poked him. ¡°Whoever goes across they are there for a long time to us, if nothing goes wrong. So they must take everyone and everything they might need over there. And you said they had a pilot?¡±


    ¡°I was supposed to try and recruit one. But¡­¡± he changed the subject, as the gunshot echoed in his mind, and a good man died in the snow. ¡°...now that I think about it, that portal¡¯s nowhere big enough for a plane. Maybe an ultralight, but you¡¯d have to disassemble it here and reassemble it there. I don¡¯t know how long it takes to reassemble one of those little single-seaters, but I¡¯d wager it¡¯s at least a few hours if you¡¯re doing it safely.¡±


    ¡°So if a few hours is, say, two to three, then that is fourteen to twenty-one hours to us, over here. At least a day we will hear nothing from the breaching team. Then time to fly around and look, and whatever else they are doing on top of that.¡± Catalina shook her head. ¡°Patience is the hardest thing to learn. But in this Smith is not being foolish, for he seems to be pushing hard, but also taking his time to prepare. You should, too.¡±


    ¡°Prepare what? He¡¯s got me workin¡¯ like a horse, getting that other machine going. Once that¡¯s done, there¡¯s nothing for me to do except mind the one on our side of the breach when we finally assault.¡±


    Catalina looked at him, looked down to where he was resting his hand on her calf. He realized he had left it there, after taking her shoes off for her. He cleared his throat, and moved back to the sofa, sitting down.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say I minded that,¡± Catalina said, softly.


    Cyrus looked back to her, stunned. ¡°What?¡±


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°I said, they¡¯re not going to have you minding that one.¡± she said, flushing and looking away.


    That was definitely not what she said, and Cyrus felt a warmth spreading through him. And a tightness in a spot she¡¯d definitely notice, so he cleared his throat and crossed his legs, resting his arms strategically. He definitely needed to think on what he¡¯d heard. Later. ¡°Well, uh, what else would I be doing?¡± he asked.


    ¡°They¡¯re not sending Bristol across,¡± she said. ¡°They¡¯re going to send you to operate the other machine.¡±


    ¡°Me? I¡¯m crippled.¡± he gestured over at the cane leaning in the corner, waved at his face. ¡°I¡¯m not fit for duty.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps not in the army, no. But this is not the army, is it? They do not have to follow the rules that the army does. And what did you do the last time you went across?¡±


    Cyrus remembered the green smell in his nose, the green light in his eye. Remembered the way the golden man had gone limp and met the mud as the rifle barked and kicked in his arms. ¡°I killed a wizard.¡±


    ¡°I was going to say, you won and got back alive. It is not your fault that the others remained.¡±


    Cyrus grimaced. She was looking at him again, and there was a heat in her eyes. Concern, and¡­ something more. It was intriguing, and it pulled his mind from the memories he¡¯d replayed over and over again, when he was trying to sleep at night. He shifted again, trying to save his modesty. ¡°They might send me over,¡± he allotted. ¡°Not least because I¡¯m expendable. Now that he¡¯s got a working design, AND been convinced not to¡­ optimize¡­ it, Bristol¡¯s better off some place where he¡¯s got a working lab to try and figure out WHY it works.¡±


    ¡°And he could not have done what you did, over there. I do not think he has ever fired a gun in his life. I do not think he has ever been in a situation where he needed to worry about his life,¡± Carmina said, her eyes not leaving his face. She reached behind her head, started taking her hair pins out, one by one. ¡°No. It is you they will send. Not because you are expendable. But because you are used to this. With you, they will succeed.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a chance we don¡¯t,¡± Cyrus said, his voice husky as he watched her ebon plume of hair come down from its bob, spill out like seaweed blown and rippling in a warm ocean wind. ¡°There¡¯s a chance nobody comes back,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°I know.¡± she said, as she rose, and stretched out her hand. ¡°This is why I have decided. Come with me.¡±


    Cyrus could have asked where they were going, but it would have been a damnfool question. Abandoning modesty, he rose and took her hand, as she led him upstairs.


    Modesty read the room and took the rest of the night off.


    *****


    Later, much later, (which was a surprise for Cyrus, since it had been quite a long time since he¡¯d enjoyed this particular sort of exercise and he hadn¡¯t expected to last long,) they cuddled together, that glorious sweep of hair tickling his face and her warm body curled up before his as he hugged her from behind. The moment stretched on as the glow spread through them both, and as much as he hated thinking and chasing away such a comfortable moment, his mind worked on the problems before him and reached conclusions he hadn¡¯t considered.


    ¡°There¡¯s no reason to build a second one,¡± Cyrus murmured into the back of Catalina¡¯s neck.


    ¡°Mmm?¡±


    ¡°The second machine. We¡¯ve got enough vacuum tubes. It wouldn¡¯t have been too much work to modify the prototype. The one that Bristol packed up, and Gable sent off. Why didn¡¯t Smith have it brought back, and refitted? That would have taken a day or two, at most.¡±


    ¡°Mmm.¡±


    ¡°Unless¡­¡± Cyrus paused. ¡°Unless Smith doesn¡¯t KNOW about the first prototype.¡±


    ¡°Mmhm?¡±


    ¡°Which seems weird. I don¡¯t expect Bristol to be strong enough to keep secrets from him. And Bristol packed it up¡­ but it¡¯s possible Gable put it in a place he can¡¯t get to. Or that it got reported as damaged in transit, or scrapped, or something like that. No, the more I think about it, the more Gable¡¯s got to have done some sort of shenanigans with it. Nothing that he¡¯d have to lie about, but¡­ I¡¯ve seen enough logistics SNAFUs and quartermaster shenanigans, I think that¡¯s what he did. It¡¯s a hole card. It¡¯s his ace up his sleeve against Smith.¡±


    ¡°Cyrus.¡±


    ¡°So this means that Gable¡¯s still in the game, even if Smith does have him counting paper clips in a back room. And there¡¯s no reason for him to be doing this, unless he thinks he¡¯s got a chance of winning. Thinks there¡¯s a chance the FBI can get back to being top dog on this project.¡±


    ¡°Cyrus.¡±


    ¡°I need to talk with him,¡± Cyrus said, the decision firming up in his mind. ¡°Used to be I didn¡¯t care who was in charge of this so long as I got Rusty and Beth back, but Smith¡¯s brought a stone-cold killer on, and I can¡¯t trust him not to put a bullet in my brain the first time I become a liability. No, I need to work with Gable and figure out a way ahead or else¡ª¡±


    Catalina rolled over and kissed him.


    When he came up for air, he saw her eyes gleaming in the cold moonlight from the window. ¡°If you¡¯re going to keep me up, I will return the favor and keep YOU up.¡± she whispered, as her hand slid low under the covers.


    He didn¡¯t last quite as long this time.


    But it was still a good time for both of them.


    *****


    Later.


    ¡°It¡¯ll have to be during lunch. I¡¯ll try to get to him then, when the shift changes¡ª¡±


    ¡°Cyrus! Oh por el amor de las tuzas con sobrepeso, will you just go to SLEEP?¡±


    *****


    The next day, Cyrus put his plan into motion. It was easier than he thought, even if his muscles were a bit sore from an unexpected night of activity. He just showed up right before lunchtime, and told the cook, ¡°The assistant director wanted me to drop his meal off today, he¡¯ll be working through lunch. Can you do me a solid and give me his usual? He didn¡¯t tell me an order.¡±


    After that, it didn¡¯t take long to find Gable. Site 719 was still pretty small, so Cyrus just went where he hadn¡¯t been before, asking the guards until one pointed him to an old barn in the back of the property. It had a pretty good view of the gorge, and Cyrus leaned on his cane as he juggled the hot plate and knocked on the door, and tried to ignore the sheer drop only a few feet away.


    The barn door slid open, and Gable stared down at him. Beyond, Cyrus could see one flickering lightbulb illuminating crumbling wood, matted hay, a banged-up office chair, and a single metal desk that had been deposited in the center of the room next to a small mountain of paperwork that spilled out of about a dozen assorted crates and stuffed file cabinets.


    ¡°At least they cleaned out the manure,¡± Cyrus said.


    ¡°They didn¡¯t. But it was old and hardened and clumpy, and I swept it into the chasm,¡± Gable said, as he took the covered plate. ¡°Come in before you go chasing after it.¡±


    Cyrus gratefully clambered up the groaning steps, and Gable was gracious enough to let him rest his aching legs in the office chair.


    ¡°Safe to talk here?¡± Cyrus whispered, as Gable pulled the cloth off the plate, and dug out a mess kit.


    ¡°Hm? Ah.¡± Gable flicked a look up the lightbulb, and back. ¡°You had a good walk here. Good.¡± The old man shook his head.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t bad. So, did you have time to catch the game last night?¡± Cyrus said, as he reached over to a blank steno pad, and started writing.


    ¡°Can¡¯t say that I did,¡± Gable said, nodding and offering a wry smile. He pulled another pad out of the desk, and a pencil out of a can. ¡°Why don¡¯t you fill me in, while I eat this lunch that you were kind enough to bring over¡­¡±

 Into the Unknown

    The rain was slick on the trees, warm like tears as it sprinkled down from above. Rusty blinked, wearily as they started out into it, with the Grach out on point and the satyrs bringing up the rear. They were moving out far earlier than they¡¯d originally planned to, but according to Clerigg, they couldn¡¯t pass up this chance. The rain would conceal them from the elves, a little.


    Their hearing was just a little too sensitive; even a gentle rain hindered them. And against elves, one needed every advantage one could get.


    Just ahead and to the left of Rusty, Ran Tan the Merill Janniseva Dok paced through the brush, moving with an easy silence that he knew he couldn¡¯t muster, not if he trained for years. But he tried anyway, and the rain was forgiving of minor mistakes.


    A little to the left, Beth did her best to sneak, too. She was smaller and a little lighter, and had an easier time of it. But he winced every time her frayed shoes came down on a tangle of brush, or kicked a small rock.


    Behind him, stretching out their formation into the shape of a loose circle, Alice and Ken slunk along, eyes sharp and mouths shut. Listening.


    So far they¡¯d done pretty well, moving in formation. Even if it did slow everyone down a lot, it was important to keep the rough shape of a circle going.


    This was the only practice they were going to get, and it was going to matter a LOT, once they were in serious danger.


    His thoughts were interrupted, as the Lion cleared his throat. Rusty stopped and looked up to see that Ran had lifted her hand, calling for a stop.


    They stopped. They waited. Finally, Ran nodded, raindrops flying from her horns, as she moved forward, pulling aside a long patch of reed-like plants to reveal water, not far beyond. She pointed at it, tapped her eyelid with one finger as the rest of them caught up. They hadn¡¯t discussed this sign in particular, but it was pretty easy to spot.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Ken murmured. ¡°That¡¯s got to be the river, all right. From here on out it gets dicier.¡±


    ¡°Beth,¡± Rusty whispered, trying to be just loud enough to be heard over the pattering of rain. ¡°It¡¯s time.¡±


    His sister nodded, and dug into the small satchel that the satyrs had given her. She came up with a length of rope, and worked on the twine ties. Rusty forced himself not to push her, but the moments seemed to stretch on as her fingers fumbled with the rapidly-wetting twine.


    Around them, the grach crawled low out of the bushes, slipping into the water. He saw the silhouettes of satyrs slipping through the trees, disappearing behind the brush. All but Ran, who lay down on the ground and crawled through the mud as adeptly as the grach had. Rusty watched her for a bit, then looked away, blushing. She didn¡¯t have panties or anything under that skirt. Yeah, it was pretty much all fur from the waist down, but still, it seemed rude. He half expected the Lion to say something about how he was being dumb, but the elder being was too busy prowling around the clearing. Listening with his ears. Watching with his eyes. Moving to directions he wanted Rusty to look in.


    ¡°There,¡± Beth whispered, and tugged the rope free, moving around and handing it to each of them in turn. Rusty swallowed as he took it, and looked back toward the river.


    Ran¡¯s arm came up, and waved. Once. Twice. That was the signal, and Rusty started forward, with the rest of the group following, holding the rope.


    The river was larger than he expected, swollen with rain. For a second, Rusty remembered the creek at home, remembered going swimming with his brothers. He remembered the wizard Terathon appearing before him, telling him the first lie. And nothing had ever been the same, since.


    ¡°Not the time,¡± Roz murmured.


    Rusty pushed it from his mind and focused on getting down the bank without slipping. He managed; they all did, then Ran joined them, standing up to grab one side of the rope and lead the way into the river.


    Say this, at least the river was shallow for its size. It only came up to his sternum. Beth was struggling a bit, but the others were managing. Rusty and Ken did their best to anchor the rope, giving the girls something to brace against.


    This was the most dangerous part. And they had to do it without magic, because assensing didn¡¯t care about rain. If they crossed with magic active, beyond the internal enchantments that Rusty was running, then they trusting to luck that the elves didn¡¯t have a scout watching this patch of river. And Rusty didn¡¯t like trusting to luck, it really hadn¡¯t done too well for him overall.


    But Clerigg thought this ford was too far north for the elves to spare a watcher.


    And evidently Clerigg was right, because they managed to slog through to the other bank without getting arrowed.


    The second they hit the bank, Rusty nodded to Beth. ¡°Do it,¡± he whispered.


    Beth was shivering. Rusty wasn¡¯t sure why¡­ the water wasn¡¯t that cold. He¡¯d taken baths that were colder. Then he saw her face, and oh, he had to look away.


    She hadn¡¯t been through what they had gone through. She hadn¡¯t been put through the training, hadn¡¯t been told over and over again she was the Chosen One. She hadn¡¯t been¡­ well, groomed, to go out and go on quests over the fate of the world and stuff like that.


    She was fifteen and she had never planned to be here for long in the first place, and she was scared.


    Yeah, Rusty was younger than her and he was handling it fine, but she hadn¡¯t gone through what he had.


    So he stepped in, and hugged her. She squeaked in surprise, and hugged back. He felt her shiver, and whispered, ¡°You got mud on your face.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re an ass,¡± she told him, and shoved him away. But she wasn¡¯t on the verge of crying anymore. And there was a little gratitude in her eyes.


    ¡°Cht!¡± Ran hissed at them, and Rusty waved back, tightened the rope in his hand as he took his point on the circle.


    Beth took a breath, grabbed each end of the rope in either hand, shut her eyes, and mouthed the words of the spell. And though Rusty didn¡¯t hear it, he knew what she was saying, had helped her rehearse the words back in the fort.


    Make arrows miss everyone inside this rope circle.


    There was no feeling of the spell taking hold, but then why would there be? They weren¡¯t arrows, and the spell only affected arrows.


    Beth opened her eyes to see all of them looking at her expectantly. She fumbled with the rope, gave a thumbs up.


    Ran nodded back, gave her a grin, and led the way down the river. And all around them, with the grach under the water and concealed, and the satyrs using what charms and skill they could to hide, the war party proceeded south down the riverbank.


    *****


    The biggest gamble was Beth¡¯s anti-arrow spell.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    The Lion had a lot of experience with spells. Even if a lot of his memories were elsewhere, he could give them a rough, ballpark figure of about how much chakra a particular effect would cost, so long as it was an effect he¡¯d used or seen used before. And in the case of a circle that would protect everyone within it from arrows, he had told them that it would be fairly cheap. About three or four for the size they had in mind. That wasn¡¯t a problem for Beth¡¯s chakra pool.


    The real trick would come when the arrows started falling. Those would start eating into her chakra pool, so long as she sustained it. Every arrow that the spell caused to miss would eat up a fraction of a chakra point. The faster and harder to turn in midair, the bigger the fraction.


    Neither of those two factors were a problem. And using rope to define the circle would actually save a little chakra in the initial casting, as well as make it plain to the kids when they were safe and when they weren¡¯t.


    No, the big problem came from the fact that they would have to move the circle.


    Because the circle was a type of enchantment called a ward, it preferred to remain stationary. The Lion tried to explain why altering a world¡¯s fundamental physics was much easier when you were only affecting a set area, and how the forces that enforced the physics tended to ¡°push back,¡± more when that area was mobile, but the explanation was way above Rusty¡¯s pay grade. And the other kids were confused as heck, so Rusty didn¡¯t feel too bad that he didn¡¯t get it.


    But the long and short of it was that a moving circle would gradually eat away at Beth¡¯s chakra pool. Yeah, she¡¯d be regenerating some of it as they went from just being alive and her body naturally renewing its chakra, but the constant draw would outpace it. The Lion had done some math and figured out that for a circle of the area they were intending, they¡¯d have maybe about three hours before it ran her out of juice. Heck, even getting near that point meant that it would be almost useless when they ran into trouble.


    All that had factored into the plan.


    After they¡¯d finished the math part, they¡¯d gone to Clerigg and replayed the memories a couple of times in front of his best rangers. The satyrs had more or less sorted out the area the hidden gate had to be in, though they didn¡¯t know it specifically. And they figured that the group could get there within two hours. The problem was that they¡¯d have to start from the place that the elves had forded the river bank to be certain of finding the tree the gate was in. And that area was probably watched or patrolled pretty regularly. It was on the edge of the elven lines¡­ well, sort of. The elves didn¡¯t really have proper ¡°lines.¡± They just had areas that they controlled, and if the satyrs went into them, bad things happened. And after bad things happened, the elves moved the ¡°lines,¡± forward.


    So they¡¯d have to go far north up the areas the grach controlled, then cross at a ford that was probably unguarded, and come down the elven side of things as quietly as they could for as long as they could. And in the meantime, the satyrs and grach that could maybe identify the crossing point that they needed would see it, then let them know it was time to head inland. Once they did that, they¡¯d keep going until they found the tree.


    The tree would be guarded¡ª of that there was no doubt.


    Judging by how Clerigg had explained the elven means of controlling their zones, the way there would be relatively clear if they were sneaky enough. Unless they were unlucky enough to run into a patrol coming the other way.


    The entire trip, estimating for short legs and the group¡¯s requirement to stay sneaky, would probably take two hours. If nothing went wrong.


    But of course, that didn¡¯t happen.


    They weren¡¯t unlucky enough to run into a patrol coming the other way, but they sure as hell weren¡¯t ready for the patrol that was on its way back.


    *****


    The first sign that they were under attack came when a sudden breeze whipped Rusty¡¯s hair to the side.


    The second sign was a mighty THOK, as an arrow quivered in a tree directly ahead of them.


    ¡°Run!¡± Roared the Lion.


    Rusty opened his mouth ¡°They¡¯re behind¡ª¡±


    This time he saw the arrow, saw the black streak that flicked past him at the last second. He didn¡¯t turn in time to see where it went, but the rope tugged hard against him, and he barely kept his feet as he scrambled and realized that Ran Tan the Meril Janniseva Dok was booking it, and dragging the rest of them with her.


    Beth squeaked as she DID fall, and for a second Rusty¡¯s heart leaped into his throat, but Alice scooped her up as she passed by and got her hand in hand running in the center of the circle. Well, loose circle. It was getting distorted, now that they were moving and Rusty sure hoped it was circular enough to keep the magic going.


    Evidently it was, because they managed to get to cover without being ventilated. They put a very large tree between themselves and the direction the arrows were coming, while Rusty took a deep breath, and looked right to see the Lion a few feet from his face, crouched on a low hanging branch and staring down at him.


    ¡°You know what we must do,¡± the Lion rumbled.


    Back the way he came, he heard the snap of bowstrings, and calls as the Satyrs returned fire. One of them screamed, screamed loudly and long before being cut off with a gurgle.


    Rusty shut his eyes, as arrows whistled and whacked into trees, and yeah, he knew what he had to do. And he hated it.


    A few words and his imagination got the spell working, and the whining of the arrows stretched out and dulled. And as the words flickered through his vision, telling him how much of his personal strength he¡¯d expended, Rusty pulled out his knife and went hunting, now that he was moving at super speed.


    They were pretty far back, back through the trees and out of immediate sight, so Rusty circled and tried to close in¡­


    ¡­and gasped as one of his charms burned hot against his chest as the shadows in front of him went funny.


    ¡°To the side!¡± the Lion shouted, and Rusty threw himself to the left and rolled, looking back to see one of those blasts of pure light snap into place where he¡¯d been standing a microsecond ago.


    This was a thing elves could do, he knew. Their magic wasn¡¯t like human magic, but they had some kind of trick that let them fire arrows that turned into golden laser beams.


    ¡°That came from behind!¡± the Lion said, as Rusty scrambled on his hands and knees, outrunning the beam just barely, managing to roll into cover. He kipped up to his feet again, glanced around the finger of rock he¡¯d managed to end up next to, and nearly caught a faceful of laser light.


    ¡°Yeah, they came around the side, too!¡± Rusty said, looking around wildly. There was a satyr, crouched in a bush. There was a horned corpse in a puddle of blood, arrows all up and down it. And there¡­ there was a trail of singed vegetation where the light beam had swept around and chased Rusty.


    ¡°Okay, let¡¯s go get the flankers,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°Beware,¡± the Lion said. ¡°They are hunting for US.¡±


    Rusty felt a bit of relief at that.


    ¡°What?¡± the Lion was startled.


    ¡°If they¡¯re hunting us, then I don¡¯t have to worry as much about my friends.¡± Rusty grinned at the Lion.


    Then he was off.


    He managed to get one, reaping two chakra from its death, but the others fell back. The satyrs were pressing their assault as well, seemed to take heart as he blurred past them, drops of elven blood falling and slowing to almost complete stillness in midair as they got far enough away from him for regular physics to take over again.


    Rusty tried not to think about the way that elf had died. How it had looked into his eyes right at the last second.


    It¡­ hadn¡¯t been any easier, but he didn¡¯t have time to throw up again. Didn¡¯t have time to cry.


    But they were trying to kill his friends, kill his sister, and this was what he had to do.


    The satyrs accounted for one, managing to bring it down as it was trying to get up into the branches, taking advantage of a rotten one snapping under its foot and shooting it as it struggled to rise from the ground. Rusty swerved back around then, swinging wide and heading back to where his friends had taken shelter¡­


    ¡­and smiling, as he saw a mound of gravel surrounding the tree they¡¯d ended up behind.


    He almost caught an arrow in the face, as he ran up the side, peered down, and saw Ran swinging a bow around in his direction. He waved his hands frantically and she jerked the bow aside, as the arrow hit the gravel and buried itself a foot into the loose rock, sending stone shards flying.


    Rusty slid down the berm, and canceled his speed boost. ¡°They¡¯re gone,¡± he told them. ¡°We need to hurry, but I think we can do¡­ this¡­¡± his voice trailed off, as he saw Alice and Ken crouching down next to Beth. ¡°What happened?¡± Rusty burst out, seeing her lying there, as the other two kids fanned her.


    ¡°Easy,¡± Ken said, glancing back at him. ¡°She deflected too many arrows is all. Ran herself out of chakra.¡±


    ¡°Budgie says I¡¯ll be okay,¡± Beth said, her voice so low that Rusty could barely hear it. ¡°I stopped when I hit zero. I¡¯m just¡­ really tired.¡±


    She had that wobble in her voice that usually meant she was fibbing. But Rusty didn¡¯t dwell on it, couldn¡¯t dwell on it right now.


    ¡°It does portend ill for your primary plan,¡± Ran said, peering cautiously above the gravel, and shooting hand gestures that were presumably for the satyrs outside. ¡°Now the elves are cognizant of our presence, and we have misplaced our protective bubble of arrow avaunting. How shall we venture forward to our goal?¡±


    Rusty took a breath, and let it out as he considered.


    And he knew the answer, the only answer that he could give that would guarantee that the people who were depending on him would survive the next few hours.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go alone.¡±

 Voluntold

    A cold rain fell on Site 719. It was a rare visitor, one Cyrus hadn¡¯t seen at this time of year for nearly a decade. True, seven years of that had been drought, but that had broken, and evidently the weather was catching up on its long absence.


    Rain pattered on the roof of the quonset hut, dripped through the seams and collected in buckets. The wind howled outside, screaming on its way around Dead Horse Canyon. And every time the light bulbs flickered, Cyrus half-expected them to go out entirely.


    Mind you, if that happened, he reckoned they¡¯d still be able to see easy enough. Even without the orange light of the camp stove in the corner, most of the people around the table were smoking, and their tobacco fumes rose to curl around the curved ceiling of the hut, dancing and swirling like ghosts at play.


    Cyrus glanced over to Carmina, caught her looking at him, nervousness plain on her face. He offered his half-sister an arm, and she gripped it so hard he had to bite back a curse. Right on the graft. Oh well, I¡¯ve done worse to myself, he thought as he looked back around the table.


    Director Smith was leaning back, hands folded on his gut. He considered the men across the way with a carefully neutral expression. Cyrus had seen something like this before, in officers who were being called on by folks of higher rank, but not in their chain of command. If Cyrus was on the money, Smith would be trying to project confidence and cooperation, but not obsequiousness.


    Assistant Director Gable was at his right hand, leaning over the table a bit, one elbow on and the other hand on his lap. He wasn¡¯t quite glaring at the visitors, but he was definitely projecting suspicion, and caution.  Cyrus had the notion he was overselling it more than it was warranted, but it contrasted nicely with Smith¡¯s laid-back appearance. Together they made something of a united front. Which Cyrus knew was bullshit, given how Smith had swooped in and taken over, but the three men across the table didn¡¯t know that.


    And then there was Palmer. Palmer sat at Smith¡¯s left, hands folded in his lap. And his gaze hadn¡¯t left Carmina since they¡¯d shown up at the meeting. Alone among the suits at the table, he wasn¡¯t smoking. And those green eyes rarely blinked, fixed on Cyrus¡¯ half-sister like a cat with its prey.


    Cyrus didn¡¯t want to take his eye off Palmer, but managed to drag his gaze over to the visitors.


    Three men sat there, two in black suits, and one in gray.


    One was lean and mean-looking, close-cropped brown hair and scars around his jaw that bespoke some really, really lucky positioning when it came to an explosion. Cyrus figured he¡¯d been to Korea and done his share for Uncle Sam. He sat almost matching Gable, one elbow on the table and the other hand nursing a cigarette that flared orange under hard eyes as he drew and blew smoke in steady puffs.


    The man to his right was softer, had the look of a well-fed Dad. Somewhere north of forty, with a genial smile and muscle gone to flab. Not completely, but he definitely seemed like the least deadly man in the room.


    But it was the man to the left of the scarred guy that was in charge, here. He hadn¡¯t had to say a word, hadn¡¯t bothered to introduce himself, and he¡¯d kept a pleasant smile fixed on his face from the moment he walked in and shook all their hands. He might not be a killer, might never have ordered another man dead like Cyrus was sure Smith had done, but this man¡¯s confidence and the reactions of everyone else here told him that the life or death of the project was at stake, and this man¡¯s will would be done.


    He was an older man, clean-shaven with graying hair slicked back with Brylcreem, wearing a neat tie under a faded but well-maintained suit jacket. He had lines around his eyes that almost formed symmetrical rows, and blackened teeth with a few missing. There was nothing to separate him from the many, many other suits Cyrus had crossed paths with during his time in the service, men his CO had told him to accompany and assist, without giving any sort of details or explanation.


    And honestly, who this man was didn¡¯t matter.


    It was who he represented, WHAT he represented, that mattered.


    And now, as this gray suited soul finished leafing through the file, replaced the papers, and cleared his throat, Cyrus found himself holding his breath.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to waste time belaboring the obvious,¡± Gray Suit said, fishing in his pocket and drawing out a pack of Lucky Strikes. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be here if this were a hoax. So I¡¯ll spare you all of tha-aa-aaa-at.¡± He drawled the last word, dragged it out.


    Across the way, Smith merely nodded and offered a brief smile.


    He lost it soon enough as Gray Suit continued. ¡°What I AM failing to see, however, is something to offset the funding requirements. Which are, quite frankly¡­ruuuuinous.¡±


    Cyrus caught the brief shift, as Smith tapped out his ash in the green ashtray on his end of the table. The first time he¡¯d done it, rather than flicking it onto the carpeted floor.


    A few seconds later, Gable scowled and leaned even further in. ¡°Don¡¯t give us that bullshit. This is access to another world. You don¡¯t think we can¡¯t get our investment back a thousandfold? You¡¯ll have companies lining up and begging for contracts to cross over and reap the bounty. Oil? Metals? Hell, trees the size of skyscrapers? They¡¯ll be drooling for the chance!¡±


    ¡°Mmm.¡± Gray Suit took a puff, and his eyes didn¡¯t leave Smith¡¯s. ¡°Eventually, yes. When all this can be safely declassified. But that is¡­ a waaaaayyys off. In the short term, we have to keep this under¡­ wraaaaaps. Which means funding from ways that are not¡­ accessible¡­ to loose-lipped congressmen. And that¡¯s¡­ mmm¡­ hard to hiiiiide.¡±


    ¡°There will be an initial buy-in,¡± Smith said. ¡°You don¡¯t play at a table this large, if you can¡¯t afford the ante. But I don¡¯t think we can afford NOT to ante, here.¡±


    ¡°So you admit this is a gamble!¡± Scarred Jaw said, thumping the table and making Carmina and Cyrus jump a bit. ¡°You want us to foot the bill for what, some random adventure into fantasy land to tame unicorns and kill dragons and shit? What¡¯s the point? Besides, we just got done with a war, and if we send our boys in to die now for some place that we don¡¯t even have a treaty with and America doesn¡¯t give a shit about, public opinion will eat us alive when the secret leaks out. Not IF. But WHEN.¡±


    Gable opened his mouth again¡­ then shut it, as Smith nudged him with his elbow. Smith straightened up, leaned on his elbows and made a bridge of his hands, before settling his chin on his fingers. ¡°It¡¯s a gamble, yes. But if we don¡¯t take it, then someone else WILL. And that¡¯s what we can¡¯t afford.¡±


    ¡°I see where you¡¯re going with this, and I¡¯m calling bullshit. Don¡¯t you try to play that commie card here!¡± Scarred Jaw thumped the table harder. ¡°Not after that shit Mccarthy pulled. It¡¯s a new era, you don¡¯t just go yelling about the reds and get blank checks anymore. They¡¯re clueless about any of this stuff. The British confirmed that.¡±


    ¡°Kirlian.¡± The word slipped out of Cyrus¡¯ mouth before he realized that he had spoken it aloud. And oh, the looks the two sides gave to him, when they realized that oh yeah, he was here, and what the hell was he doing interrupting a perfectly good dramatic tirade?


    But he knew he was in it now, and the only way through this shit sandwich was through, so he got ready to chew. Cyrus cleared his throat and spoke again. ¡°It¡¯s in the notes from my first debriefing. Bart¡­ uh, asset twelve,¡± he said, as Gable shot him a warning look, ¡°Asset twelve told me that the Russians had someone working on a similar device to mine. Someone named Kirlian, I don¡¯t remember his first name.¡±


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    ¡°So when we¡¯re saying that the communists are involved here, regardless of the current higher up views on the matter, we¡¯re not exaggerating,¡± Smith said, smiling.


    ¡°The Brits said they weren¡¯t,¡± Scarred Jaw frowned, but his eyes flicked back and forth, as he did some mental math.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Smith said. ¡°They did SAY that.¡±


    Silence for a moment.


    ¡°Regardless, the British aaaaaare involved,¡± Gray Suit said. ¡°But from what I¡¯ve read, they¡¯ve been somewhat involved for decades, and kept this secret remarkably well. And as to what the Soviets may or may not be doing, we can verify that at our¡­ leisure, now that we have a name.¡± he looked to Cyrus, considered him. ¡°Thank you for that information, by the way. We will follow up on thaaaat.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Gable said, seemingly calmer than he had been moments ago. ¡°But there¡¯s a closing window of opportunity, now. The British know we know. Which means that eventually the Russians will know we know. And that will push someone to act. These¡­ people, these ones that you call wizards,¡± he shot Carmina a quick glance. ¡°They¡¯re not just grabbing from the US. They¡¯ve got access to portals all over the world, if the Lion told you the truth. And we can¡¯t secure them all unless we come at it from the other side.¡±


    Gray Suit nodded, just a bit. Scarred Jaw shot him a look, and frowned, but backed off with his arms crossed over his chest. ¡°You raise a valid point, buuuuttt¡­¡± he looked over to Cyrus. ¡°You¡¯re the science advisor, can we even do thaaaat?¡±


    Cyrus cleared his throat to buy himself time. He looked to Smith and Gable, but they gave him no hint of what to do or say.


    Hell, I¡¯m bad at bullshit anyway.


    ¡°We don¡¯t know yet,¡± Cyrus said, giving it to them straight. ¡°We¡¯ve only found one portal¡ª uh, Anomaly, I mean.¡±


    ¡°I thought your report said there were multiple sites,¡± Scarred Jaw said, squinting at him. ¡°That you used them to triangulate this one.¡±


    ¡°I did. But it¡¯s, uh, different. This one¡¯s still accessible. I think that¡¯s because there¡¯s a device on the other side with the er, magic, still going. The other sites, they¡¯ve got¡­ well, we¡¯re not sure what they are, because we can¡¯t study them on the other side, but we can¡¯t seem to open them. This one we can. And we need to go take a look at the other locations on the other side before we can say why that¡¯s so.¡±


    ¡°The bottom line is that we need time to study them,¡± Smith said. ¡°If we don¡¯t and the Russians, or British, or whoever else picks up this ball that we drop and runs with it, then we¡¯ll end up with a portal gap.¡±


    Gray Suit leaned back and considered. Finally he stubbed out his cigarette, and spoke again. ¡°Even if this is so, this still doesn¡¯t address the issue of funding. In the long-term, yes, we can sell the benefits to our, hm, frieeeends in private industry, but in the short term¡­ mmm¡­¡±


    ¡°There is a possible income stream for the short term,¡± Smith offered. ¡°Though I don¡¯t think it¡¯s prudent to spell it out in its entirety. Are you briefed on Midnight Climax?¡±


    Gray Suit went entirely still.


    ¡°I am,¡± he said, his voice losing its drawl entirely. ¡°Choose your next words very carefully.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just saying,¡± Smith said, ¡°that depending on where and how the portal generation works, we have an opportunity to bypass some very problematic borders, particularly for very important packages. And on top of that, we have an asset that can literally become invisible. Our previous problems with¡­ logistics¡­ will become a non-issue by tying this project¡¯s process into that initiative.¡±


    Gray Suit stubbed his cigarette out, eyes never leaving Smith¡¯s face. Studying him. Judging him.


    Then Gray Suit smiled. Just a bit. ¡°Nooooooooowww we¡¯re talking.¡±


    The tension eased from the room. Scarred Jaw sat back, Gable nodded and lit up another cigarette, and Smith let a smile cross his face. A smile that faltered, as Gray Suit raised a finger.


    ¡°But before we get down to brass tacks, I¡¯ll need to see the hhmmm¡­ prooooof. With my own eyes. It¡¯s not that I disbelieve you, you understand, but¡­ I¡¯ll need to be able to say I witnessed it personalllllllyyyy.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Smith said. ¡°Please hide, Carmina.¡±


    All eyes turned to her, and she squirmed. ¡°Okay. Let me focus.¡±


    Cyrus didn¡¯t watch her. He watched the suits instead, knowing that they were fixed on his half-sister. That he could maybe get a read without being called out for it.


    He wasn¡¯t disappointed.


    As he saw his sister flicker and disappear out of the corner of his eye, he accounted each reaction. Shock, followed by wary calculation from Scarred Jaw. Wonder and satisfaction from Gray Suit. Smugnes from Smith. Nothing from Gable, who¡¯d seen this already.


    Palmer¡­


    Palmer was watching the space she¡¯d been in like a child who¡¯d just been told Santa would turn up real soon. Palmer¡¯s smile was fixed, but those eyes¡­


    Those were a predator¡¯s eyes. Not for kiddy fiddling, or anything like that.


    Palmer wanted what she had.


    Again, Cyrus heard the cough of what had to have been a silenced pistol. Again, he remembered Chuck choking in his chair, with Cyrus helpless to do anything as the pilot¡¯s last chance at redemption blew away in the breeze, one page at a time.


    He was pretty certain he knew why Palmer wanted that power.


    And not for the first time, he feared for his newly-found kin.


    There were more questions after that. They had her invisibly pick up objects and wave them around. She answered a few questions, but it was clear that the visitors had read the reports; and soon enough she was dismissed. Visible again, she fled gratefully, clearly happy to be out of that room full of men with dubious motives.


    A lot of the remaining discussion went over Cyrus¡¯ head. They were using acronyms he wasn¡¯t privy to, and discussing funding codes. He started to get antsy, rubbing his arms and trying to get the crawling feeling out of his nerves, trying to head off an oncoming attack. He was far from his medication, and he couldn¡¯t afford to be dopey today.


    Just as he was starting to wonder why they had called him in here in the first place, Smith looked his way.


    ¡°Mr. Colfax. Will you be needing any additional material support before we send you across?¡±


    Cyrus almost asked ¡°across to where,¡± but for once his mind outran his mouth. Catalina¡¯s words came back to him, and yeah, she¡¯d been right as usual, hadn¡¯t she?


    And thanks to her raising the point, he¡¯d had time to consider this and didn¡¯t have to fart around and give the visitors an excuse to doubt his competency.


    ¡°Bristol¡¯s about got the second device ready to go. It¡¯s more compact, so as long as it gets through final testing, it¡¯ll be man-portable. The generator¡¯s going to be a pain in the ass, but it¡¯s a better solution than batteries, gives us a few shots in case something goes wrong. No, I think we¡¯re good unless you¡¯re anticipating something I¡¯m not.¡±


    Smith looked at him blankly for a second, then smiled. ¡°Ah. Of course. Let¡¯s discuss after the meeting concludes.¡±


    Uh-oh. That had a feel to it. Cyrus ran the conversation back through his mind, trying to figure out where he¡¯d screwed up. Nothing came immediately to mind, though.


    Half an hour later, as the meeting wound down and Gable was walking the visitors out, Smith beckoned him over. Cyrus rose, and slid in next to the director. Palmer held the chair for him, which didn¡¯t set Cyrus¡¯ mind any easier, but he slid in without a word and tried to ignore the killer at his back.


    ¡°It occurred to me a moment after I asked you, that I¡¯d never told you of my final decision,¡± Smith started, stubbing his last cigarette out. ¡°I apologize for the confusion.¡±


    ¡°Your final decision?¡± Cyrus rubbed his leg. His skin was crawling again, the nerves reacting to the stress and the smoke that filled the air.


    ¡°Yes. You¡¯ll be going across with the breach team. We need you on the point of the spear.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t say I wasn¡¯t expecting that,¡± Cyrus nodded. ¡°So where¡¯s the confusion?¡±


    ¡°The confusion comes with your role. When I asked you what you needed in the way of material support, I wasn¡¯t asking for just the technical needs. I was asking about your team¡¯s needs.¡±


    ¡°My team¡¯s needs. Why would I need to know my team¡¯s¡­¡± a horrible thought crossed Cyrus¡¯ mind. ¡°That¡¯s the sort of thing that the team leader would need to know.¡±


    Smith¡¯s smile grew.


    ¡°Jesus,¡± Cyrus shut his eye. ¡°You¡¯re making me the leader.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got it in one, Mister Colfax,¡± Smith said, sounding pleased. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that with the last-minute hustle and bustle to prepare for this meeting, I forgot to notify you of my choice. And that¡¯s on me.¡±


    That was on him.


    But Cyrus knew that everything  else was now on him.


    He took a breath, let it out. ¡°I never wanted this.¡±


    Smith nodded. ¡°Well Mister Colfax, I¡¯m afraid we are well past the point where that matters¡­¡±

 Through the Looking Glass?

    Ken moved in a heartbeat, and Rusty gasped in surprise and pain as the shorter boy grabbed Rusty¡¯s ear and pulled Rusty down to his level. ¡°No you absolutely aren¡¯t!¡± Ken said. ¡°You are not going alone because that¡¯s just plain dumb!¡±


    ¡°Not¡ª I mean I¡¯m going FIRST, not by MYSELF! Just let me go and clear them out!¡± Rusty pleaded, pushing against Ken¡¯s shoulder, trying to get loose without getting his ear ripped off.


    Alice put her hands on her hips and leaned forward. ¡°You ain¡¯t gonna do nothing ¡®cept get killed if you do that! We don¡¯t know how many elves they got! We don¡¯t know what kind of magic they got set up! You ain¡¯t the white knight here Rusty, this ain¡¯t the stories! You go chagrin¡¯ in stupid, you gon¡¯ get dead! And then where are we gonna be?¡±


    ¡°Rusty¡­¡± the Lion chimed in. ¡°You cannot let them handle you like this. Not in front of the satyr.¡±


    ¡°What am I supposed to do, stab them?¡± Rusty asked.


    And for a horrifying second, the Lion considered it. He could tell that thing in his skull was considering it.


    ¡°Just tell Ken he¡¯s right. Because he is,¡± Roz consoled. ¡°You ARE being stupid.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Rusty said. ¡°You¡¯re right. Let go, okay? I won¡¯t¡­ I won¡¯t go in alone.¡±


    Ken slowly let go of his ear, squinting at him. Rusty straightened up and rubbed it, heard the patter of swift movement through the trees. Beth tensed, but Ran put her hand on his sister¡¯s arm. ¡°Tis only our coterie,¡± she said. ¡°Elves would not enunciate sonic disturbances. We would already be deceased.¡±


    That didn¡¯t seem to ease Beth¡¯s mind.


    Rusty straightened up, and composed himself while he considered. Peering over the barrier, he saw the horned silhouettes of satyrs moving in, watching outward as they closed around Rusty and the kids. One had a fresh wound on her arm, and she was wrapping it with a bandage as she moved. Another was carrying a male satyr, who was choking and pawing at an arrow in his chest. Rusty stared in horror as the satyr carrying his friend stopped him from pulling the arrow out two, three times.


    ¡°Shi¡ª shoot!¡± Ken said, and crawled over the gravel barricade, before running over. ¡°Put him down, I¡¯ll heal him. Get ready to take the arrow out when I wave, okay?¡±


    What do I do if I can¡¯t go in alone? Rusty thought to the Lion. What should I do, here?


    ¡°Troublesome,¡± the Lion said. ¡°You have not my experience with this situation. It has been long since I have not been able to take care of matters myself, through speed and might and magic. Let me think.¡±


    ¡°Well you¡¯ve got about ten seconds,¡± Rusty said, seeing the satyr patrol leader¡­ Rinthas Delran? Yes, that was the name. Perfect memory was good for this sort of thing. Rinthas was heading his way, looking somber.


    Rusty had been worried that Rinthas would ask him for orders, but the satyr did no such thing. Instead, he delivered bad news.


    ¡°They came upon us from behind. We only saw it in time because they went through the grach, first. Our surviving allies have scattered, and I cannot blame them.¡±


    ¡°This is good,¡± the Lion said. ¡°The grach will be noisy, getting back to the river. If we push ahead now and our stealth is sufficient, then we may be able to use them as a distraction and reach the tree before the elves realize their mistake.¡±


    You¡¯d leave them to die? Rusty thought.


    ¡°Yes,¡± the Lion said. ¡°If there are not enough elves to pursue the grach, then they will safely return to the fort. If there are enough elves to pursue the grach, then we will only see more satyrs dead or wounded saving them, and the mission shall fail. The elves will bear word into the portal and bring reinforcements that we cannot repel if we give them time.¡±


    Rusty realized that Rinthas was looking at him. Waiting. It had only been a second, but still, Rusty had to keep pretending the Lion was in charge. And the Lion was rarely indecisive.


    ¡°We go on,¡± he said, in his best Lion tones. ¡°Straight to the tree. Pull in tight, be as sneaky as we can.¡±


    ¡°Stealth over speed,¡± the satyr nodded. ¡°I  do not think the circle can be maintained if we do that. It is too visible.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m low anyways,¡± Beth said. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­ I think it could stop one more arrow. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°Oh honey you did fine,¡± Alice hugged her. ¡°Been thinkin¡¯ anyway. Let me take it from here. No circles, but I got something might could work.¡±


    Beth hugged back.


    Rusty felt relief. He couldn¡¯t take it if Beth cried now. This was too much, and his stomach was roiling with anxiety as it was, the morning¡¯s not-oatmeal churning in his guts. He looked over to Ken, saw him leading the now-healed satyr back to rest against a tree.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go then,¡± Rusty said through a dry mouth.


    The remaining satyrs who didn¡¯t have recently-healed lungs pulled in around them, and led the way. Alice did something, probably with her new Obstacle rune, and Rusty hoped it was minor enough magic that no watchers could assense it through the thick canopy.


    The way was quiet, though they ran into a big problem soon enough.


    They couldn¡¯t find the tree.


    Rusty had watched the memories from the dead elf multiple times, replaying them in his mind with his total recall. It should be around here, they were definitely in the right neighborhood, but¡­


    ¡°It¡¯s magic,¡± Ken whispered. ¡°They¡¯re using something to hide it. But if we assense when we¡¯re so close, they¡¯ll see us, sure as shooting.¡±


    This made up Rusty¡¯s mind. ¡°Okay. Now I¡¯m going to scout ahead. No, don¡¯t look at me like that. You guys will be right here, and I¡¯m not going that far. I¡¯ll get to a good spot, activate my superspeed so they don¡¯t murder me, and look for magic. That¡¯ll draw them off, keep them from looking at you. Then you all can move in and get them when they come after me.¡±


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    Alice gnawed her lip, shared a worried look with Ken. Beth shook her head, curls bouncing.


    But it was Ran who spoke up. ¡°I will assay forth accompanying your personage. You shall require notice sent to Rinthas Delran, to notify yonder coterie of the timing of your stratagem. In that part, I acquiesce.¡±


    It took a second for Rusty to untangle the words. Without eidetic memory he was pretty sure he wouldn¡¯t have gotten more than the bare gist of it. But he saw that Ran¡¯s suggestion seemed to mollify Ken, and he really couldn¡¯t afford arguments right now, so he nodded and gestured off in what he hoped was the most likely direction to the tree.


    They were pretty far out into the woods, when Ran laid a hand on his shoulder. Rusty froze, looked around. Was she warning him of something?


    Then she leaned in, and he felt her hair tickle his neck, as she whispered into his ear. ¡°You are not the Lion.¡±


    ¡°Oh shoot! The jig¡¯s up!¡± Roz said, speaking up for the first time.


    ¡°This is troublesome,¡± the Lion said. ¡°Now you must make a choi¡ª¡±


    ¡°Somehow you have remained yourself, Rusty, and stolen that iniquitous bastard¡¯s power. Good for you! Just try not to reveal your poltroonery before the elders.¡± Ran said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. ¡°They do not care that monstrous ninnyhammer counted us as expendable. Fie upon his patoot!¡± Ran gave his shoulder a squeeze, and backed up. ¡°For the record, I merely ascertained it worth declaring so there is no confusion afterthought.¡±


    The Lion fell silent, jaw hanging open.


    Roz laughed. ¡°Wow! They don¡¯t love you as much as you thought they did, huh?¡±


    ¡°After all I have done¡­¡± The Lion paced back and forth, the faces that made up its body frowning.


    ¡°Later,¡± Rusty whispered. He looked back to Ran, gave her a nod. Then he looked around the small clearing they¡¯d come to.


    There were two of them now, so this was going to be expensive, but there was no way he was giving himself the protection of super speed without sharing.


    Granted self and one ally speed boost!


    Committed Chakra: 38 of 204


    Cost: 40


    Remaining free Chakra: 124


    And then, in the second the spell took hold, Rusty assensed the forest before him.


    He saw it immediately, saw that it was all around them, a vast construct of glowing purple traceries that threaded through the ground and traced through the foliage. It wound up the trees¡ª not all of them, but enough that they cast a flickering halo on the few spots of sky visible through the canopy.


    ¡°Oh wow,¡± Rusty breathed, and turned to Ran¡­


    ¡­just in time to see something like a cross between a spear and a tree root stabbing up out of the ground, aiming straight for the back of her head.


    ¡°Ran! Move!¡± Rusty pointed right and took his own advice.


    The speed spell was all that saved her, as she bolted, hooves thudding on the ground and the air resisting and heating the two children as they fled.


    ¡°It¡¯s a wose!¡± Ran shouted as they dodged another rising tendril. ¡°This is why there are no elves guarding it! The tree itself is guardian enough!¡±


    Rusty could see it now, through the trees. High up on one of the larger trees, the bark had been stripped and cut in layers, cut so that it resembled a feminine face.


    Rusty stared at the sight a second too long, and that almost cost him. The Wose was fast, elf fast, and vines dropped from the canopy above to lash down at them. Fortunately he was mostly looking up already and saw it coming, grabbing Ran¡¯s hand and diving to the side. They picked up running again, circling around the tree as the face seemed to flicker and shift in the green sunlight.


    As they went, Ran grabbed one of her charms and Rusty saw her lips moving. He caught a few words, but she was speaking too quietly and the rushing of the wind filled his ears. They couldn¡¯t stop, the Wose seemed to have full control of the purple parts of the forest around them. And no matter where they ran, the thing always had a vein of roots hidden underground to strike upwards, or a snaggle of vines somewhere above to lash downwards.


    It was a literally thorny predicament. They couldn¡¯t stay within sight of the thing without getting attacked, and Rusty knew he needed sight to work any real magic upon the thing. But if they left its area, they wouldn¡¯t be able to see it, given the thickness of the jungle. And Ran had notified the others, so now they¡¯d be using assensing to cut through the Wose¡¯s weird misdirection magic.


    I have to stay here and keep distracting it, and trust them to get by without me, Rusty decided.


    And then Ran fell.


    It hadn¡¯t even been a low-lashing vine, they were watching out for those. They¡¯d just been moving across a wide creek, and she¡¯d put a hoof wrong on some mossy stones.


    In microseconds, as she struggled to stand in the slow-motion spray of water and the uncertain footing of the creek, Rusty saw tendrils rip out of the ground and stab toward her, so many thorny roots¡­


    ¡°NO!¡± Rusty said, and squeezed his eyes shut, casting a desperate spell.


    ¡°Cut them up with holes!¡±


    Create holes in 7 Adult Wood Wose tendrils


    Committed Chakra: 38 of 204


    Cost: 21


    WARNING: Magical resistance! Cost to bypass 62!


    Bypass Y/N?


    ¡°Sixty-two!¡± Roz squeaked. ¡°Jesus! Rusty, are you sure¡ª¡±


    Rusty was already thinking yes.


    Magical resistance bypassed!


    Remaining free Chakra: 41


    Rusty staggered and sat down, hard, as he felt something like an enormous belch, only it was from his whole body except from his mouth. The chakra left him, crackling through the air with an almost audible sound, and as Ran ducked and covered her face, the stabbing tendrils snapped one after another, large holes riddling the woodsy roots.


    They missed, mostly. Ran cried out as one that was only barely off course slashed her bare shoulder, spraying droplets of blood that slowed as they got a foot from her speed-boosted body.


    ¡°You are through its magical resistance!¡± The Lion bellowed. ¡°Quickly! Kill the wose with a spell!¡±


    But Rusty couldn¡¯t think about that. He was already moving, helping Ran up and out of the moss-covered rocks even as the next wave of tendrils ripped up and lashed out.


    She was limping now, one of her fetlocks slick with blood where one must have got her foot under the water. There was no time for a spell, not if he wanted Ran to survive.


    As he thought that, the Lion flickered, and appeared directly before him, gazing into his eyes.


    There was no time for a spell. Unless he dropped Ran and used her as the distraction.


    He thought about it as he went. God help him, he thought about it.


    Then he shoved it out of his head and focused on keeping them alive. They couldn¡¯t dodge roots forever, he knew this. So he headed back for where the others should be, found them already gone, and kept running to the edge of the purple mess. The tendrils grew far and fewer apart¡­


    ¡­and then he was out, turning to look back, panting hard as he watched the tendrils withdraw. The Wose¡¯s face was out of view; there was nothing to be done. He waited and watched, hoping against hope.


    And then he sighed, as familiar silhouettes burst out of the trees to the right. A few tendrils ripped out of the ground in surprise, but too late, far too late. Rusty smiled as the last few satyrs and kids hurried up to him.


    Then the smile faded. The satyrs were there, no losses as far as he could tell. Ken was there too. Beth was there. But Alice was gone.


    Rusty swallowed, and let the speed fade, dreading the question he knew he had to ask.


    Ken must have seen the look in his eyes, because he cut Rusty off. ¡°She¡¯s alive!¡± he said. ¡°She went through. She was the only one we could get through. She¡¯s in our world. She made it home.¡±


    Rusty knew he should feel happy about that.


    But as his eyes strayed back to his exhausted little sister, all he could think about was the missed opportunity to save her.

 The Game Plan

    Cyrus hated being in charge.


    Honestly, it wasn¡¯t something he ever thought he¡¯d have to worry about. He was a son of a relatively poor farmer with no particular political allies or strings to pull and no money to spare, so enlisting as an officer had never been in the cards.


    He¡¯d gone in happily as a private, made corporal quickly, and gotten a promotion to sergeant when he got tapped to escort secret agents somewhere west of Pyongyang. That was as far as he¡¯d expected to get, and he was fine with that. Going further up the enlisted daisy chain would have meant that he¡¯d eventually have been put in charge of actual people.


    Cyrus had dreaded that notion, not because he was worried he couldn¡¯t do it or was afraid of being incompetent; Cyrus knew he learned fast and did pretty well under pressure. He dreaded the idea of being in charge because that meant you had to deal with people. And be responsible for people. And convince people to do things. And get on their asses when they didn¡¯t do those things. And vaguely hope that they could be trusted to managed themselves to do the sorts of things they were supposed to be doing that were beyond your control. And clean up their messes when they did not, in fact, do what they were supposed to.


    No, Cyrus had known far too many people to want to be in charge of things. Hell, he¡¯d spent his entire life being a people himself and he had done his fair share at being a problem for his leaders, he admitted that.


    But as every poor kid learns on Christmas morning, you don¡¯t always get what you want.


    ¡°Sometimes it¡¯s socks in every box,¡± Cyrus muttered.


    ¡°Sorry?¡± Henri Guiscard asked.


    ¡°Nothing. Just thinking out loud.¡± He gave his glasses one final wipe and looked around the table at the team.


    His team, now.


    Henri Guiscard sat to his right. He was the only black face in the room. Henri didn¡¯t seem much concerned about that, didn¡¯t seem concerned at all. He¡¯d donned basic fatigues that were struggling to cover his post-service plumpness, with a medic¡¯s armband white and red on his left arm. He had his spectacles on and was jotting down notes in a small journal as he finished perusing the handouts.


    The suit, Palmer, sat on Cyrus¡¯s other side with his hands folded in front of him, green eyes flicking around the room as he took everyone¡¯s measure. But his gaze always seemed to come back to the small figure across from him.


    Barty Mossjaeger returned Palmer¡¯s surveillance with a cheerful grin whenever the spook¡¯s eyes lingered too long. He was on his second plate of breakfast, was Barty, and he¡¯d read as he ate and taken no notes. He wore fatigues as well, a ranger¡¯s tabs displayed proudly.


    Sitting off to one side of the table, off by himself, the mountain of a man that was Greg Holden eyed the handouts like they were a bad contract. He wasn¡¯t bothering to hide the skepticism that made his forehead wrinkle every time he looked at Cyrus. He wasn¡¯t wearing fatigues; just plain jeans and a turtleneck.


    Patrick Harvey wasn¡¯t wearing fatigues either. Just a plain yellow button up with brown slacks. He was the one who had been at the negotiating table when Scarred Jaw and the unknown CIA suit had approved the operation. He¡¯d read the handouts and written notes directly on the papers.


    Scarred Jaw had shown up himself, in air force blues with four men in fatigues behind him. They were young, serious, and definitely a little intimidated. Privates with one corporal among them, looking at their ranks. Cyrus would have bet good money this was their first covert operation, and damn, this one was a doozy to start on.


    Scarred Jaw¡¯s nametag read ¡°Phillips.¡± The others had patches, but Cyrus hadn¡¯t given them more than a glance. They were clearly under Scarred Jaw¡¯s¡ª Phillips¡¯ command. Cyrus would learn their names later.


    The last member of his team sat behind him, shifting nervously. His half-sister, Carmina. Their own personal Frodo Baggins, in something that could barely be called a Fellowship.


    Henri finally put down the notes, clicked his pen, and looked to Cyrus. Shit. I¡¯m out of time, Cyrus realized. So he took a deep breath and did his best.


    ¡°All right,¡± he began. ¡°Two months ago we discovered hostile forces scouting our area for what we believe to be the prelude to an invasion. They¡¯re using some sort of technology that for all intents and purposes is magic. They¡¯ve been kidnapping local children and empowering them to use them as soldiers in order to fulfill one of their prophecies.¡± Cyrus looked around as he spoke, trying to imitate the better officers he¡¯d served under by making eye contact. ¡°Any questions so far?¡±


    Nobody had any. No real surprise there, he wasn¡¯t saying anything the handouts don¡¯t cover. So after a short pause, he got into the real meat of it.


    ¡°We have secured one of the entryways they have been using to enter this region. We have developed a device that will unseal it and allow transport into their territory. At oh-six-hundred tomorrow we will assemble at the entryway and cross over, taking vital supplies with us. Once through, we will secure the landing zone, fortify it, scout the area and attempt to make contact with forces in opposition to the enemy. That is the mission. The floor is now open to questions.¡±


    One of the new arrivals¡ª his nametag said ¡°Potts,¡± spoke up. ¡°Sir, where exactly are we going?¡±


    He was new. That was a bad question to ask in this sort of op. But Cyrus answered it anyway, because he needed to reinforce the point. ¡°The enemy believes it to be an alien world. Until we get proof otherwise, we should assume that it is.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not joking,¡± Greg Holden said, losing the squint and staring in flat-out amazement. ¡°Holy shit¡­¡±


    That caused a murmur in the back ranks. Phillips shot them a murderous look, and the sound subsided.


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    ¡°Got a question forya sir,¡± Barty piped up. ¡°Who are the enemy and what¡¯ve they got to throw at us?¡±


    Cyrus nodded. He¡¯d been expecting this and talked it over with Carmina beforehand. She was the expert here, so he nudged her, and she stepped up to the table.


    ¡°There¡¯s only about a few hundred of them,¡± she began, her voice quavering to start, then firming up as she got into the rhythm of speaking to strangers. ¡°There¡¯s five¡­ four now. Four wizards that run things. They can use magic. It can do just about anything, but they usually have to see you to do stuff to you, and the more they do, the more tired they get. Eventually they run out of power and have to recharge it by resting.¡± She looked away and took a deep breath. ¡°They have¡­ the rest of them are soldiers. But they don¡¯t have guns or tanks or anything. They¡¯ve got swords and crossbows and spears and knight armor and stuff. They¡¯re not as well-defended as the wizards, but they have these things called charms that let them ignore a few stabs, so you almost have to get right in where the armor doesn¡¯t cover, and¡ª¡± she mimed a few shanking motions.


    That was too much for one of the privates.


    ¡°Okay, hold on there,¡± the largest of them said, interrupting Carmina¡¯s speech. ¡°Alien world, sure, okay. Wizards and shit? Whatever, anyone Uncle Sam wants me to serve up a bullet I¡¯ll happily punch their clock. But you¡¯re trying to tell me this teeny little girl killed¡ª¡±


    The private stopped talking.


    He had to.


    In a flash, Carmina had jumped up on the table and was pointing a finger at his throat, her hand a few inches away from the suddenly-dimpled skin, that was oozing blood.


    Just a couple of drops, slowly oozing sideways in defiance of physics.


    Carmina drew her hand back, and tilted it up. And Cyrus and the rest of the room watched, wide-eyed, as the blood traveled down the edge of an invisible knife, revealing it one red inch at a time.


    ¡°I killed three men,¡± Carmina whispered, staring past the private. ¡°Or maybe some were women, I don¡¯t know. They let women be soldiers, there. I might have killed four more, but I didn¡¯t have time to watch them die. I didn¡¯t want to. We were too busy anyway. I killed them when I was invisible, or I pretended to be dead once to lure a man in and stabbed him with an invisible knife just¡­ like¡­ this one.¡±


    Her voice was breaking as she spoke. The room was dead silent.


    Almost dead silent. Palmer was breathing pretty heavy over to Cyrus¡¯ left, and Cyrus had a feeling that if he looked down he¡¯d see just how excited the guy was about the idea of invisible knives.


    The silence lingered on for a few more seconds. The big guy who¡¯d tried to call bullshit on Carmina touched his neck, and stared at the smear of blood on his fingertips. His face squirmed as he obviously tried to do the math.


    Henri Guiscare rose, and dug a roll of bandages out of his pocket, along with tape. ¡°Oh for god¡¯s sake man, hold still.¡±


    As he bandaged the big guy, Barty Mossjaeger spoke up. ¡°So you¡¯ll be workin¡¯ with us, Little Miss? That¡¯s good news and we¡¯re happy to have you! Don¡¯t you worry none, you won¡¯t have to stab nobody no more. We¡¯ll take care of the fighting and all that, you betcha!¡±


    ¡°Damn shame you had to in the first place,¡± Greg Holden leaned forward. ¡°I¡¯m guessing you were one of those kidnapped children? Well we¡¯re going to fix that.¡±


    ¡°Carmina Colfax will be operating as a non-combatant specialist,¡± Cyrus said, realizing as she shot him a surprised and touched look that he¡¯d given her his last name. ¡°She¡¯ll be helping to conceal our breach into the other world, and providing counter-wizard support. But before we get sidetracked, there are more assets on the enemy side. Carmina, please tell them about the elves.¡±


    Cyrus saw the sidelong looks between Holden and Guiscare. Those looks lost some incredulity as Carmina spoke again.


    ¡°They¡¯re not like Santa¡¯s elves or other made-up stuff. They look like green people, but on the inside they¡¯re plants. They bleed sap and they only eat sunlight and drink water. And they¡¯re deadly. I don¡¯t know how many elves are helping the wizards, but if you even see one it¡¯s a bad time. They¡¯re not stronger than we are, but they¡¯re really fast, they hide really well, and they¡¯re really good shots with their bows. They see in the dark too, but it¡¯s better to fight them then because they go a little slower when there¡¯s no sun. Or it¡¯s good to fight them underground, but they don¡¯t go there. Most caves are flooded in Elythia.¡± Carmina took a deep breath. ¡°The satyrs know more about the elves. They used to share a world, I heard them say once.¡±


    ¡°Satyrs,¡± Phillips said. ¡°What are those?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re people with horns and hooves. They work for the Lion. So do the grach. The grach are like walking turtle people. I never learned their language, but they seemed nice. I met some of their kids once, when I helped them escape after the wizards won a battle and pushed the lines forward. One of the kids gave me a necklace.¡±


    Her smile was honest and innocent. It was almost heartbreaking to see it, then look down to the bloody, no longer invisible knife in her hand.


    ¡°Aliens. Fine.¡± Phillips turned to Cyrus. ¡°Do we have a map of the landing zone?¡±


    Holy shit, we don¡¯t, Cyrus realized. It was an obvious thing to have and it had slipped his mind entirely. The worst part of it was that he was the guy in charge. He didn¡¯t have anyone else to blame.


    Fortunately, there was a chalkboard over on the side of the quonset hut.


    ¡°We can put one together, but the immediate area is pretty simple,¡± Cyrus deflected. ¡°Carmina, do you know the area? I only saw one floor of that ruin, and the swamps around it.¡± He rose, ignored the sparks of pain all up and down his legs from sitting too long, and started sketching on the board.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know the area that well,¡± Carmina shook her head. ¡°After we ran away from the wizards the Lion kept me and Irene¡­ kept me in the North to keep us out of the worst of it. But elves killed¡ª um. After Irene was gone, I was pulled back. The ruin was always behind the wizards¡¯ lines.¡±


    Cyrus finished sketching. ¡°Right. So we¡¯ve got an old stone building here. The gate opens up on the main floor, which is about thirty feet above the swamp¡­¡± He described the ruins around it and the distance to the treeline as best he could, while the others in the room studied it intently. He didn¡¯t blame them. Their lives might literally depend on it.


    After a while, Phillips grunted and leaned back. To the side, Henri Guiscare finished patching up Tomlin, the big private who had called Carmina out. She¡¯d evidently steered clear of stabbing anything serious, but the wound was a bleeder.


    Cyrus waited a moment, then tackled the hardest part.


    ¡°There¡¯s one more thing that we¡¯ll have to work around. Time runs differently between here and there. It varies, but for every minute that passes on that world, seven or eight minutes pass on this one.¡±


    ¡°Say again, sir?¡± Potts asked.


    ¡°Time runs slower there. If we spend a day in there, a week passes out here, more or less. Carmina says it didn¡¯t used to be this way, but the time shifted somehow. Wizards might have done it.¡±


    ¡°How the hell is that even possible?¡± Phillips snapped.


    Cyrus spread his hands. ¡°Magic.¡±


    They didn¡¯t like that answer much, and he could see it on their faces as the briefing wound down, and the questions and answers turned to the less troubling parts of the plan.


    But once it was done and he dismissed them to prepare, Cyrus saw the looks on their faces as they filed out.


    The privates were young and stupid. They didn¡¯t care, and were focused on the mission in front of them. Barty Mossjaeger was cheerful and grinning and unreadable.


    But the dime had dropped for everyone else. If something went wrong, and they ended up stuck there for too long, everyone they loved and cared about would be dead and gone.

 For Better or Wose

    ¡°What in the hell was that thing?¡± Ken asked, as soon as the satyrs stopped moving and gave the all-clear.


    ¡°A wood wose,¡± Rinthas grimaced. ¡°We did not know they had one here. This is bad.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t answer my question,¡± Ken said. He was shaking, and Beth helped him sit down as his adrenaline faded.


    Rusty was feeling it too, and as he slumped down next to his best friend and his sister, he translated the Lion¡¯s words. ¡°When the elves wish to create a guardian of exceptional power for an area, they choose one of their own and entomb them within the soil. They are enchanted with elvish magic, many rituals before they are laid to rest. In time, the roots of a nearby tree are drawn to the elf¡¯s dying flesh. They are consumed as they perish, and what is left of their essence¡­ Possesses the tree. Yes, that is a good word for it.¡±


    ¡°Oh my God,¡± Beth whispered.


    Rusty couldn¡¯t blame her. That sounded absolutely horrific. But he found himself asking, ¡°You said this happens over time. How much time?¡±


    The Lion hesitated. It paced back and forth, with movement that Rusty had come to associate with serious thought on the elder being¡¯s part.


    ¡°It takes a month at the very least. And that is for a young one,¡± the Lion muttered. ¡°For one of power equal to that one over there, of that resistance, it would have taken at least half of one of your years. But how was this not discovered? Woses are mad things, that try to strike down all non-elves that enter their domain. And this is not that far from the lines¡­¡±


    Rusty squeezed his eyes shut, as he translated. He was shaking now, and it was harder to think straight. ¡°How did Alice even get through?¡± he whispered.


    Ran Tan the Meril Jannesiva Dok answered. ¡°She applied arcane measures. For a nonce, her manipulations rendered the path to yonder aperture impermeable to tuberly barrage.¡±


    ¡°She obsctacled the roots with her new rune and ran like a bunny with a coyote behind,¡± Beth added. ¡°I think that¡¯s what I heard her say when she was casting the spell.¡±


    Rusty looked to Rinthas. He was crouched down, eyes wide and looking for trouble. The other satyrs had faded back into the trees, keeping a perimeter. Which was smart, because they WERE behind enemy lines.


    But not that far, Rusty realized. ¡°Rinthas, you all didn¡¯t see the wose the last time you patrolled through here?¡±


    ¡°That was before my time here, Lion,¡± Rinthas shook his head. ¡°But we were patrolling around here a month ago, and there are no reports of a wose. And we are not fools! A small one might have been hidden or missed. One that size? No, no.¡±


    ¡°Unless¡­¡± Ken hesitated. ¡°Trees in bags.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Beth asked.


    ¡°My family runs a shop. We¡¯ve got a small gardening section, mostly because Mom loves doing that stuff. Every spring we get saplings in bags to transplant into places. It¡¯s easier than trying to grow them from seeds. Could they have done something like that here? Grown the wose in our world, and transplanted them here?¡±


    The Lion went still. ¡°They would have had to take a tree from Elythia, and used the power of the greenroot to sustain it in your realm, for it would not grow in your soil otherwise. Doing that would kill much of the greenroot. So much of it would rot away to mold¡­¡±


    Rusty relayed that, then added to it. ¡°It¡¯s not impossible. That¡¯s what they probably did. They¡¯re using the time difference against you guys¡ª uh, I mean, us.¡±


    Ran shot him a warning glance, but Rinthas didn¡¯t seem to notice the slip of the tongue.


    ¡°This is bad, Lion,¡± Rinthas said, eyes flicking back and forth as worry lines wrinkled over his forehead. ¡°If they can fast grow woses, they can take territory and hold it without risking men or elves. How can we fight this? Should we go back and report this to the bandelo?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Rusty decided. ¡°If we give them time, one of the elves that escaped will get through the portal and warn the elves at the farmhouse. Heck, they might be doing that now. If we come back in a couple of hours they¡¯ll have a bunch of elves ready to ambush us. We have to kill the wose and take care of the patrol somehow, and we have to do it now.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± Ran burst out. ¡°Even with your velocity, the arboreal menace still nearly deceased our buttocks!¡±


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    Rinthas casually backhanded her horns, and Ran staggered back a little, fell on her butt when her bad leg gave out. Beth startled at the sudden violence.


    ¡°Keep your voice low,¡± Rinthas murmured. ¡°Elves may be about. Shout again and gain another name.¡±


    Ran went pale and nodded, rubbing her skull nervously.


    ¡°She has a point,¡± Rusty said, slowly. ¡°I¡­ we cannot simply run up and stab it. It¡¯s a tree. Even if ah, we climbed it and stabbed the head area, we¡¯d be unable to dodge its attacks on the way up. Or down. And my¡­ our speed spell is expensive. Oh! That¡¯s something else,¡± Rusty said as thinking of the spell cost triggered his total recall. ¡°The thing has insane magic resistance. We got through it once, but it would explode you guys if you tried and I don¡¯t have the chakra to do it again.¡±


    ¡°So you can¡¯t simply deposit a hole into yonder petulant perennial? Pity,¡± Ran said. Quietly.


    ¡°That¡¯s right. One of your runes is ¡®hole,¡¯¡± Ken said, rubbing his chin. ¡°I don¡¯t think mine are helpful here, but there¡¯s got to be something¡­¡±


    Beth raised her hand. Rusty almost laughed to see it. ¡°You can talk,¡± he told her kindly, instead.


    ¡°Um,¡± she hesitated. ¡°What about erosion? We learned about that in class this year. Maybe¡­¡±


    ¡°Go on,¡± Ken said, eyes widening.


    ¡°I mean¡­ I started going down to the riverbank after you disappeared, Rusty. This was when the rain got going pretty hard, and there was this one bush by the edge that slipped further and further down as the water washed the soil away.¡±


    Ken¡¯s eyes were wide open now. ¡°I only saw it for a little bit, but that was a really big, really heavy-looking tree, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°It was,¡± Rusty said, replaying the scene in his mind. ¡°And y¡¯know, those roots were awfully strong, but they weren¡¯t that long. Not compared to the size of it.¡±


    ¡°If you got some water in there, in a trench, like¡­ maybe?¡± Beth started.


    ¡°Lion?¡± Rusty asked, in his mind. ¡°I¡¯m guessing the wose can swing the branches some and move the roots around, but does it have anything to use to protect its head? From stuff above it, I mean?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the Lion purred. ¡°Usually we must tame flying beasts and charge at woses to slay them with pick and flame. A perilous task, for often the elves defend its vulnerable head with deadly arrows. And while it seems likely that there are no elves here at present, we do not have any flying beasts. But I see you smile. Why? What do you plan?¡±


    Rusty grinned, and told everyone the plan.


    They all grinned back.


    *****


    The thing that had been an elf once didn¡¯t feel satisfaction, not exactly. It didn¡¯t feel much at all, anymore. Snipped from the greenroot and forced to adapt not one, but two sets of alien soil, the only emotion it felt much these days was a dull annoyance at the discomfort of having to strain for nutrients in this damp, green realm.


    But when intruders had trod upon the forest floor, and the thing they called a wose had been woken from fitful slumber to strike down the unworthy to lash and grab and rip and tear, it had felt the closest it could to joy. It had been made to guard, and it was guarding!


    It was fully awake now, eagerly manifesting its face at the peak of the trunk, forming it first in one direction, then switching to another. It looked as far out as it could, for it did not feel anyone treading above its roots.


    That as why it didn¡¯t see the hole that snapped into existence right next to its trunk until it started to shift and tilt.


    Panicked, the wose moved its face to that side of the trunk, looking down and seeing the long, twenty-foot  wide sinkhole that had opened up next to it. Water swirled in the bottom of it, surging in from below and ate away at the dirt, and the horrified wose felt itself tilting faster, as its suddenly-exposed roots on that side started snapping. They were unable to bear the weight of the wose¡¯s body without the soil to brace against.


    Terrified, or as terrified as the wose could be with the facsimile of remembered emotions that it had to work with, it made a very large mistake.


    The wose shifted the roots from its sides over to lace around the hole, pushing against gravity with tireless, vegetable force.


    It might have worked. It slowed, then stopped, wooden face flickering in and out with anxiety, watching the slowed trickle of dirt falling into the water below. Given a little time, it might have been able to balance the root structure out through the dirt, and compact and shift it to fill the hole in.


    Given time, it might have.


    It never got the time.


    The second hole snapped into existence just ahead of the first one, and oh, that was it.


    The wose didn¡¯t scream. It couldn¡¯t.


    It had no lungs to gather air, as it fell and its branches on that side snapped and broke against the ground beyond the holes.


    Its mouth was for show, a mocking remembrance that could not cry out, as the satyrs rushed in with hastily-made torches and set the sun-dried foliage around its suddenly vulnerable head aflame.


    And it had no tongue to shape words to beg forgiveness, as it felt its flailing roots rip and tear and constrict, spasming out of control and ripping the artifact, the very gate it had been placed to guard, into pieces.


    It died then, as the energies of the ruptured gate pulsed through it, though it took some time for the rest of its body to stop moving.


    Its attackers didn¡¯t even notice.


    *****


    Exhausted, down to his last dregs of chakra, Rusty lay on the ground and stared at the smoke rising into the sky. He was thirty chakra richer for the death of that wose, but he had spent so much that he was still sore from it.


    After a time, Rinthas trotted up and peered down at him.


    ¡°The gate is unusable. Buried or destroyed,¡± Rinthas stated. ¡°What now, Lion?¡±


    ¡°Now we go back and report,¡± Rusty said. ¡°And we hope Alice does the same.¡±

 Into the Breach

    The warm air hit Cyrus¡¯ face like a sledgehammer, and the sudden rush of moisture almost brought on a coughing fit. He struggled to lock it down, stumbled a bit and almost fell¡­


    ¡­then he felt hands tug at the straps of his oversized backpack, and he let himself


    be half-walked, half-dragged out of the way. The ground was slippery underfoot, moss thick and bearing standard-issue bootprints. Cyrus set his feet carefully to keep from slipping.


    ¡°There,¡± Phillips said. ¡°You¡¯re clear, Colfax. Puke if you have to, nobody¡¯s around.¡±


    Cyrus let himself cough then, leaning on the nearby green-spotted wall, blasting out lungs full of Texas winter and drawing in gasping breaths of Elysia.


    ¡°That¡¯s right, your file said you had breathing problems,¡± Palmer muttered right in his ear.


    Cyrus froze as he realized who the OTHER set of hands on his shoulder was. He sucked in a little more air, then turned to look at Phillips for reassurance. No such luck, though. The officer was moving away, heading down the line of the chamber, crouching under the high windows.


    With no other option, Cyrus put on his best poker face and looked to Palmer. ¡°Help me get the pack off,¡± he rasped, almost feeling the wetness of this world slide down his throat.


    ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m here. Hold still.¡±


    Between the two of them, they got the pack off Cyrus¡¯ back and settled it onto the ground. ¡°Easy,¡± Cyrus told him as they got it down the last few inches. ¡°Without this we¡¯re stuck if it all goes to shit.¡±


    He was exaggerating, but not by much.


    The first time Cyrus had opened the world gate, he¡¯d lucked into the method, even though he hadn¡¯t realized it at the time. After seeing the undulating tendrils through his prototype scope, he¡¯d used the device itself to make a circuit between them. At the time, he¡¯d thought it had worked because the scope was mostly metal.


    It turned out it was more complicated than that.


    Once Cyrus and Bristol had gotten the current scope working properly, they¡¯d tested various metal objects, used different combinations. Nothing had worked, at first. And they couldn¡¯t risk sacrificing the only scope they had. The portal tended to fry half the objects they tried.


    But only half. Some merely slid through the tendrils without finding purchase, and hit the ground.


    Why only half? That had been the clue that cracked open the actual key. With Carmina¡¯s help, they had narrowed down just why certain things got crispy.


    That was when Bristol had come through. Cyrus had only activated the portal through luck. Bristol used science, and skill.


    For all that Cyrus had grown up surrounded by a culture that scorned ¡°book learning,¡± and valued common sense over fancy pants degrees, the older he got the more he realized that sometimes there just wasn¡¯t a substitute for knowledge.


    And the fruits of that endeavor were in the pack right in front of him. Two forearm-length aluminum rods, woven with steel wire and studded with transistors. A light dusting of radium painted over with clear sealing glue glowed in the shadows, as Cyrus drew them out from the neatly packed tangle of heavy scope ports.


    ¡°They¡¯re beautiful,¡± Carmina whispered over his shoulder, and Cyrus almost fell over. He managed to rebalance himself and glare at his half-sister.


    ¡°Thought I told you not to go invisible and sneak up on me out here.¡±


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    ¡°I didn¡¯t. Not my fault I¡¯m quiet and you didn¡¯t notice.¡± She reached out. ¡°Give me one.¡±


    Cyrus kept eye contact. ¡°You sure on this?¡±


    ¡°Bristol says the math and the tests check out.¡±


    ¡°That was a yes or no question. Didn¡¯t hear a yes.¡±


    She rolled her eyes and snatched one of the rods from him. Cyrus straightened out of his squat in time to turn and watch her march straight up to the portal¡¯s base, and wave it through the air. ¡°You SHALL pass!¡± she said as she posed.


    ¡°Been stealing my books again.¡± Cyrus grumbled as he watched the rainbow light flare and coalesce.


    But it was good to feel the tension ease from his back as his sister failed to burst into flames. It would have been a shitty way to lose one of the only kin he had left.


    The rainbow glory of the portal flickered, and Patrick Bateman stumbled through a second later, arms loaded down with sacks. Palmer moved up to steady him, but the pilot shook his head and passed over his cargo, one canvas bag at a time. ¡°I¡¯m fine. I can handle G-shifts and pressure drops, I can handle this.¡±


    As the last of the gear was sorted and settled, Bateman looked around in wonder. ¡°Holy shit. You weren¡¯t crazy after all.¡±


    ¡°This thing is getting hot,¡± Carmina said. Her voice quavered a bit. ¡°Can I¡­¡±


    ¡°Yeah, we¡¯re good,¡± Cyrus said, and his sister immediately backed up and put what they¡¯d dubbed the ¡®gate key¡¯ onto the mossy ground. ¡°Bristol said this might happen. Shoot, I was supposed to track that. Um¡­¡± he strolled back through his recollection. ¡°You had it open¡­ half a minute?¡±


    ¡°About forty-five seconds,¡± Palmer said, as he checked and sorted the bags, adding them to a pile of stuff that the team had brought through.


    Cyrus reached into a BDU pocket, drew out a spare notebook, and jotted it down. ¡°Right. I¡¯ll check the gate key when it cools down some. Uh,¡± God DAMN, he hated being in charge, ¡°Carmina, how¡¯s your¡­ concealment? How¡¯s that thing going?¡±


    Carmina smiled. ¡°Good. It¡¯s hiding the sight and sound of anyone inside the ruin from anyone outside the ruin. It cost a lot to cast but only poquito¡­ only a little bit to keep going because it only acts up when someone is there to be affected. It only activated once. I think someone passed by. Probably an elf, they have rangers.¡±


    ¡°Well so do we,¡± Cyrus smiled. He touseled her hair and she squeaked and pulled away.


    Cyrus picked his way down the gallery of the ruin¡¯s main room, doing his best to stay out of the windows.


    It took a moment or five to find Phillips, crouched down and talking with Guiscare. Not far away, one of the privates peered out the nearest window, scanning the swamp beyond with binoculars.


    ¡°What¡¯s the sitch, sir? Ah, Major?¡± Shit, old habits were coming back. He had to watch that.


    ¡°Colfax,¡± Phillips glanced back. ¡°All quiet. Specialists Mossjaeger and Holden are scouting the treeline. PFC Potts had a bad reaction upon breaching. Doctor Guiscare treated him for nausea, and he¡¯s recovering in a secured room now. The others are monitoring the perimeter.¡±


    ¡°A secured room?¡± Cyrus blinked.


    Phillips pointed to what Cyrus had initially taken as a patch of shadow. ¡°Recessed stairs, the tunnel turns at the bottom. There¡¯s a twenty by twenty round chamber. No other way in or out.¡±


    ¡°Perfect,¡± Cyrus shot a glance toward the window. ¡°That¡¯s our HQ. Help me get the scope parts down there.¡±


    Five minutes later, Cyrus was sitting on a squishy mud floor and getting to work.


    The initial thought behind the gate keys was that ideally, one could just get them in the general area of the breach and wave the key around to trigger it. A couple of fried keys attached to (thankfully,) grounded waldoes had nixed that idea. The breach was like a jellyfish, with multiple wiggly tendrils of energy that was KINDA like electricity but not really. You had to connect two, and only two of the tendrils.


    The good thing was once you did that, the other tendrils pulled away. You just had to slide it in like a tension bar popping tumblers.


    Carmina could do it easily, that had just been proven. Her assensing trick could let her see what she was doing.


    But the grim reality was that they had to account for the possibility of losing Carmina.


    The newest iteration of the scope was man-portable. Technically the other one was too, but this was less fragile, far less back-breaking.


    Cyrus raised the bazooka-like thing to his head, put his eye to the viewport. He attached the wires to the car battery, slotted it into place, and cycled the scope on. It activated, and the shadowy little room flickered into view, though the electric lantern holding down the edge of the tarp was putting out some pretty nasty light distortion.


    He panned it around, and caught the pale, freckled face of PFC Potts, slumped against the wall and staring at him in fascination.


    ¡°Sir? What is that? Some kind of weapon?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Cyrus said, powering it down and thinking of just why it was needed. ¡°Just a tool I hope we never have to use.¡±

 Pyrrhic Victories

    George sat right up in bed the moment his door slammed open. He blinked tired eyes until Balangor''s haggard face swam into view.


    ¡°Ready yourself,¡± the blue-robed wizard snarled. ¡°Our helots are hard-pressed in the East. We must go to fix their mistakes.¡±


    ¡°Finally!¡± The dead rat danced a little jig, its dangling intestines wiggling grotesquely. ¡°Now we can escape!¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± George thought at it, feeling anger rise up. Now that the rat had suggested escape, it HAD to be a bad idea. ¡°Why do you always ruin things for me?¡±


    The rat stared at him with unmoving eyes. At least it had stopped dancing now, so that was good. ¡°Georgie, I AM you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Shut. Up.¡± George thought. But aloud, he simply said, ¡°I understand. I¡¯ll dress and be out shortly.¡±


    It was a long climb up the tower stairs, but it seemed to grow easier every time they made the trip. Part of it had to be that godawful boring oatmeal slop. It was the only thing he was allowed to eat, and George was sure he¡¯d lost at least ten pounds as a result.


    He wasn¡¯t sure WHY they were holding off on giving him the good food, and he hadn¡¯t had the chance to ask.


    But the point was moot. Though George¡¯s stomach felt like it was gnawing at his spine, he had to see this through.


    After all, this was a valuable chance to gain intel on both the wizards and whoever their mysterious enemies might be.


    That said, it was a chance that George almost blew.


    When they reached the bare top of the tower, Balangor waved a hand to something that looked like a Huckleberry Finn style raft with a couple of sleeping bags attached, and said, ¡°get in.¡±


    ¡°No thanks, I just woke up.¡±


    ¡°It is not for sleep, though you can if you wish. It will make the flight go faster.¡± Balangor said as he stepped onto the raft-like platform and studied several symbols carved into the structure.


    ¡°Flight?¡± George said, looking from the platform to the wizard. ¡°This thing flies? Why didn¡¯t we take it to that Terminus place?¡±


    ¡°I told you already, flying too close to the palace would be death,¡± Balangor said, settling onto the platform and arranging his legs into grooves that ended in footholds. ¡°Now get in the pouch or stay sitting but we have to go NOW.¡±


    This was a vital chance to do aerial reconnaissance! And though he had never done that before, he knew that he would be a master at memorizing geography from aerial views. ¡°I think I¡¯ll decline the bag,¡± he decided, climbing aboard eagerly.


    Four minutes later, he realized his mistake and tried to clamber into the sleeping bag mid-flight and almost fell to his death.


    ¡°Stay down!¡± was what George thought Balangor was saying, but it was difficult to hear over the wind. The cold, cold wind that felt like it was ripping at his exposed skin. It¡¯d be a miracle if he got out of this without frostbite.


    His plan to try and memorize aerial landmarks was thoroughly kaput. They were above the clouds, and all he could see was green light. No, George had¡­ he had obviously screwed up¡­ well, mistakes had been made. By someone. Who had failed to warn George about this possibility.


    George glared at the dead rat. ¡°You fink. Once I figure out a way to punish you for this, you¡¯re gonna get it.¡±


    The dead rat just sat with its hind legs and guts dangling over the side and shook its head. An obvious admission of guilt!


    It was a long and cold flight. George kept himself warm by remembering every slight and insult and wrong that everyone had ever given him, and imagined the many and myriad ways he¡¯d get his revenge.


    But finally, Balangor waved a hand to him and pointed downward.


    George got the message and hung on to the platform as tight as he could.


    The clouds broke, the green light growing more and more muted as they descended. A stretch of swamp yawned below, green and brown¡­ and black, with a wooden palisade in what was obviously a burned-out circle bigger than a football stadium.


    There were people down there, both on the palisade and scurrying between tents and huts. Several of them looked to be rapidly shifting supplies out of the way and collapsing tents, probably so Balangor could land.


    ¡°They¡¯re not good at this,¡± he told the dead rat, forgetting his prior ire.


    ¡°Oh?¡± The rat asked.


    ¡°They should have had a proper landing strip. And the camp¡¯s laid out poorly. The perimeter¡¯s a joke. Sure, all they¡¯ve got to worry about is bows and arrows and such, but the palisade¡¯s not even high enough for those. The Romans would decimate any legion that did this crappy a job. The Nazi SS would do even worse.¡±


    The Nazi SS were George¡¯s measuring stick for a lot of cool things. It wasn¡¯t HIS fault that the rest of the world couldn¡¯t see that they had been top-notch specimens of humanity.


    Balangor circled until the way was clear, then brought the platform down into an easy landing. Only then did George unhook his clenched hands from their holds and stand up all the way. And whoops, uh-oh, that was a bad idea, everything ached now. He bit his lip and tried not to fall over, as numbness was replaced by pain.


    George snuck a glance at the wizard, to see if he was reeling as well. But if Balangor was feeling the same, he gave no sign of it. The magical bastard just pointed and barked out orders, and the soldiers obeyed. Orders that George could understand, thanks to the translator charm they¡¯d given him. But the orders were all pretty basic stuff, not much useful as intel or secrets. ¡°You, move my skelran under a tent. You, get us food. You, find us quarters to rest and bathe in. You, tell your commander to be ready to brief us after we have bathed and eaten. Do this now!¡±


    George had been hoping for some good intel, but it was pretty obvious that anything useful would be in the briefing later. So instead of trying to eavesdrop, he stared at the soldiers.


    And holy shit, three of the ones he could see were female!


    Maybe¡­ maybe they were nurses? Or cooks? But no, they wore the same black-and-white uniform as the rest of the troops. Their armor was the same as the men, if a little bigger in the chest area. (Okay, a lot bigger in the case of one of them. He checked several times when she wasn¡¯t looking, solely to make sure that his report would be accurate, of course.)


    And all were armed just as the men were. No, his current allies were obviously forcing women to be soldiers.


    ¡°No wonder they¡¯re desperate,¡± George told the rat, forgetting to think and saying it aloud instead. ¡°They¡¯re relying on GIRLS. Of course they¡¯re on the back foot.¡±


    He got some confused looks for that. Balangor threw his hands up. ¡°You, apprentice. Silence! Follow me to our lodgings and speak then if you have something to say.¡±


    George DID have something to say! He was the chosen one, who was this sonuvabitch to call him out in public like this?


    ¡°George,¡± the dead rat hissed. ¡°This is like Sturmond and the coffee spill. We¡¯ll get him good later, oh yes we will.¡±


    It took a monumental effort of will to shut up, but the rat was right. Balangor was building up a hell of a tab. George would just add this blatant  disrespect to the balance already due. And eventually, he¡¯d find the right moment to collect what he was owed. With his fists!


    ¡°And stop smiling, you look like an idiot!¡± Balangor snapped.


    ¡°Yessir,¡± George muttered, adding a groin stomp to the tab.


    That said, the next hour was pretty good. They got a tent with a few cushions thrown in, two large bowls of that oatmeal stuff, and a wooden tub with relatively clean water. Balangor looked confused when George refused to bathe with him, but didn¡¯t press the issue.


    And just after George had bathed and finished putting his robe back on, the tent flap opened and a bald soldier entered and knelt. This guy was another of those ash gray skinned, red-eyed mooks. They tended to be big, and George took some pleasure in seeing him kneel.


    ¡°Great ones,¡± the soldier rumbled. ¡°You have bathed and eaten and I am here to brief you as ordered.¡±


    ¡°Then do so,¡± Balangor said, folding his arms.


    ¡°We are holding, but barely. The canyons of Q¡¯arsh are filled with unnatural fog. The caves beyond shift and change, and the few times we have fought through, either the grach repulse us or the scouts we send in never return. We are down to less than three-hundred helots. We beg your direction.¡±


    ¡°What of the Warden?¡± Balangor asked. ¡°Has she been sighted again since the last report?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the Commander swallowed, hard. ¡°But we hear her. When the scouts disappear, when the fog creeps forward and helots disappear, we hear her moving past us. We hear the screams and the tearing, and we find what is left of¡ª¡±


    ¡°Enough,¡± Balangor said, rubbing his finger and thumb into his beard. ¡°Would you call the Warden¡­ the giant¡¯s shadow that kills unseen?¡±


    George froze. He¡¯d heard that before. His mind flashed back to Terminus, to that room that smelled like old blood, and sounded like a chorus of mad locusts whispering secret after secret¡­ the room where they thing they called the Unicorn sat unmoving¡­


    George closed his eyes, squeezed them tight.


    But the commander didn¡¯t know what was wrong.


    ¡°Yes, great one,¡± he bowed from his sitting position. ¡°She is not the only thing we face, but she is the greatest of¡ª¡±


    ¡°Silence,¡± Balangor commanded. He consulted a bundle of scrolls, nodded, and stared at George. ¡°The chosen one shall lead twenty helots below to face the giant¡¯s shadow that kills unseen. He shall win at great cost.¡±


    George blinked. ¡°Are you casting a spell? That¡¯s a pretty long one to do.¡±


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    But a low squeak from the Commander¡¯s direction drew their gazes. The bald man¡¯s red eyes held wonder, as he stretched out a hand. ¡°Great one! Please, we are so far from the Unicorn¡¯s light! My faith has been withering, as the dead pile up. Please let me look upon his words with my own¡ª¡±


    Snap.


    Squelch.


    The commander convulsed, coughing blood.


    ¡°Weakling.¡± Balangor scowled.


    George watched as the Commander tore open his armor, watched as the blood poured out from the three ivory spears that had burst out of the floor and pierced him from backside to ribcage.


    The tent flaps peeled open at the Commander¡¯s death gurgle, and pale-faced helots stared at the sight, then slowly sheathed their swords and knelt.


    ¡°Good,¡± Balangor said. ¡°Find the second and tell him he is first now. Take my apprentice with you, let him pick twenty helots for a mission below. Obey his orders.¡±


    And with that, he put the bundle of scrolls into a nearby brazier. They flared up and started blackening immediately.


    ¡°Hey!¡± George said, standing up. ¡°What if we need those later?¡±


    ¡°You will not.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know that.¡± George said, and for a second, just for a SECOND, he thought might have gone too far. For a second he thought he was next in line for an elephant trunk enema, set to join the impaled, still-kneeling corpse bleeding all over the cushions.


    But the moment passed, as Balangor rolled his eyes. ¡°Do not assume you know how this works. And that is all I will say here and now.¡±


    ¡°Then where and when do I get to hear it?¡± George balled his hands into fists. With the thumbs inside, of course, to add just that extra oomph to a blow. He¡¯d yet to test this technique, but he was sure it would work well.


    ¡°Kill the Warden and return alive, and we will speak,¡± Balangor said. ¡°Unless you think you are incapable.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± George said, puffing his chest out. ¡°You heard the great one,¡± he said to the kneeling helots who were staring at his fists with what had to be awe so great that it looked like utter confusion. ¡°Lead the way.¡±


    George was still a little tired from the trip, but he was far too wound up to sleep, And, once the new Commander had lined up the men, (Specifically the men, George had ordered there to be no weak girl soldiers here!) for his perusal, he wasted no time in picking the finest twenty soldiers he could find for his first ever command position.


    Then he spent half an hour teaching them the basics: the American salute, the Roman salute, and the words to both the Star Spangled Banner and the Horst Wessel Song. And once he was sure they were ready for their victory parade, he led them into the fog, singing at the top of their lungs.


    *****


    After they were well, well out of earshot the newly-promoted Commander turned to his newly-promoted Second. ¡°Why did he pick only males? He had at least five Agaths he could have taken. A single Agath could have slaughtered half his squad in seconds!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m more confused as to why he only chose Morkers and Viseri,¡± his second said, shaking her head. ¡°Perhaps because they were the palest among us? Maybe he thinks their skin will hide them better in the fog?¡±


    That seemed a very silly notion, so they dismissed it immediately.


    That man was a Great One, and touched by the Unicorn¡¯s infallible prophecy.


    Of COURSE he knew what he was doing. No matter how idiotic it looked to the unenlightened.


    *****


    She heard them coming.


    That was a surprise in of itself.


    Oh, not that she heard them, of course. She had been made with quite sensitive ears, so sensitive that her creator had to put in multiple nictating membranes to shield them when things got too loud.


    And beyond that, she could hear things that others could not. She could hear the things that her creator had called runes, hear them as they rattled around the nerves and blood and marrow of their hapless hosts. Dust crystallizing inside living dust, shouting its name over and over again, trying to be born into the world anew.


    She was the opposite of a midwife in this process. And she had been made to do her task very, very well. Her creator had come to regret that, at the end.


    At least, at the time, she had thought that the end. But the little ones, the innocents, had come begging and she had awakened from her long slumber to find invaders on her world.


    Worse, they were trying for the Tower! Not even the old tyrants had been that foolish!


    So she set to work again, making strange alliances and killing the runebearers.


    Trying to, anyway. After the first death, they settled for keeping her busy with their servitors.


    But now they were trying THIS? Marching directly into her breath, singing, with one of her favorite prey leading them in?


    No, she thought to herself, trusting wrongly to her millenia and a half¡¯s experience as an apex predator. No, this was some kind of trap. She would wait and study them before she acted.


    Besides, all that noise they were making would bring the tarquals down on them shortly enough. Maybe that would render this whole business moot.


    *****


    Ten minutes, five dead, and several wounded helots later the last of the three lizard-things was slain. George sat on the ground holding his right hand and trying not to cry from the pain. When one of the monsters had lunged for him, he¡¯d punched it in the snout as hard as he could. It has saved his life, but his thumb, cradled inside the fist, had snapped like dry kindling. Fear and shame built up inside him, fear that he¡¯d let his troops down.


    But thinking of kindling gave him an idea.


    He knew how to kill fear!


    Turning his gaze upon the shaking remnants of his command, he swallowed his pain and bellowed, ¡°Do you fear them?¡±


    They looked at him, blinking and confused. A few nodded.


    George¡¯s eyes fell on the dead rat.


    Yes.


    This was the way.


    ¡°Then eat them!¡±


    Fear turned to general confusion. A few stammered, and one tried to explain why this was a very, very bad idea.


    George marched straight up to that one. ¡°When I was a child a monster scared me!¡±


    ¡°Heeeeeeey,¡± the dead rat whined.


    But George ignored it, kept the momentum going. ¡°So I cooked that monster! And I ate it! The fear left me! And it will leave you too. Now prepare our feast, all of you!¡±


    And only after they were good and busy, did George sneak off into the mist and have a good cry, as he tried to splint and bandage his broken thumb.


    *****


    The Creature the little ones called the Warden drew closer, half-surprised, half-suspicious.


    Surely they weren¡¯t going to eat TARQUALS? Were they truly THAT stupid?


    Mind you, it was stupid for them to eat the flesh of any living creature here, and most of the plants would be bad for them to eat, too. They simply weren¡¯t from this world, and most living things were toxic to them at worst, or inert at best. If they hadn¡¯t found a way to process sweethusk, the war would have probably been over by now.


    But all this was moot because for whatever reason, they were about to eat tarquals.


    This the warden HAD to see. So she crept closer, and because the runebearer was so loud and wouldn¡¯t shut up, she made her second mistake, and muffled her hearing even more.


    *****


    The meat was delicious. George took a few bites, and left the bulk of it to his men. Oddly enough, they weren¡¯t hungry, so George polished off a bit more, then shrugged and tore into some ribs.


    Horrified, they watched him eat it.


    And then the first one collapsed.


    *****


    There are quite a lot of very good reasons not to eat creatures you happen to kill while visiting alien worlds. (Even if they are trying to eat you.)


    The helots all knew this, even if they didn¡¯t know the exact reason why it was bad, or much about biology in general besides the very practical and observable applications of their own and their foes. They just knew that doing this sort of thing usually meant a slow and painful death. Usually.


    The problem was that they also knew that defying direct orders from any wizard or superior was always a fast and painful death. Always.


    So they ate just enough to be polite, and waited and hoped. And hells, at the rate the wizard was eating, he¡¯d probably die first.


    *****


    The Warden blinked her seven remaining eyes in slow amusement. It knew exactly what was going on. And though it was not a creature to gain joy from suffering, this was too much karmic justice to NOT be amused, at least on the principle of the thing.


    The problem didn¡¯t lie with the tarqual meat. The problem lay with the parasites within the meat.


    The parasites which usually got into the tarqual¡¯s system when the tarqual consumed worms that crawled up out of crevasses that led to the hottest parts of the world.


    And these fools had thought to kill the parasites with FIRE?


    Those parasites would be all the livelier now that they¡¯d been exposed to heat. Burrowing into the nearest nerves they could find, looking for the brain.


    It was a pretty bad way to go. Normally the Warden might be moved to mercy, and kill them quickly to end their suffering. But again, they had brought this entirely upon themselves. And they WERE her enemies.


    She¡¯d learned that lesson early on; never interrupt your opponent when they¡¯re making a mistake.


    *****


    ¡°Georgie!¡± The rat shrieked. ¡°Georgie! Something¡¯s wrong! They¡¯re sick! They¡¯re dying! And oh, oh, Georgie we ate it too! We ate it TOO!¡±


    George stared, eyes bulging in fear, at the three fallen soldiers convulsing and twitching and screaming. A few more were staggering, some were lying down and shaking.


    A few were just sitting and staring at him. Their eyes were hollow and accusing mirrors, and George scrambled, up, dropping the rack of ribs he¡¯d been gnawing.


    He watched as they quivered, even the sitting ones, and more and more slumped over, their screams filling the air.


    And to George¡¯s horror, he felt a weird tingling, sharp little pains moving slowly upward from his belly.


    It wasn¡¯t bad yet.


    But looking across at the dying, he had no illusions about how the next few minutes were going to go.


    ¡°Do something, Georgie!¡± the rat squealed. ¡°I don¡¯t wanna die!¡±


    George sat down again. He would die if he did nothing.


    Only magic could save him.


    But the only magic rune he had to work with was corruption. How can I use that? George wondered.


    Then it came to him.


    George cupped his now burning gut with his good hand, screwed his eyes shut, and concentrated.


    *****


    Oh, the runebound was trying to pull magic? It was a bit late for that, the Warden thought. But just in case he had something to save his life, the Warden decided to get ready to ruin his day. And so she made her third mistake, and moved through the mist until she was behind him, with a pair of scythelike arms raised high¡­


    *****


    The first spell nearly killed George. Well, faster, anyway.


    ¡°Corrupt my diseases to death,¡± George whispered.


    And immediately the pain turned from a rising burning sensation to a spreading acid wash of torment that had him writhing on the ground as every potentially hostile micro-organism in his body fell to goo and rot, and ruptured.


    Say this for George, though.


    Say that he was pretty good at managing pain.


    Thrashing as his very nerves were filled with a toxic goop, he still managed to visualize one last spell.


    ¡°Cleanse me!¡± he commanded, and bubbling purple goop fountained out of every orifice.


    *****


    There were limits, even for the Warden. She backed away into the fog, shuddering and wiping her claws clean on some nearby moss patches.


    Behind her, the runebearer was finally silent, probably dead. The ones he had brought were mostly silent now, so she opened her ears again¡­


    ¡­and realized just how she had fucked up.


    Her ears, those wonderful and delicate ears that let her sense the magic of the runes, heard it now. The music was strongest on her claws, whispering and chiming and dying.


    But she heard it WITHIN her as well. And there it was finding purchase and growing.


    The runebearer had infected himself deliberately, changed the disease, and like a fool she had let him lure her in to infect her.


    The Warden fled, then.


    There was a chance, a way to perhaps survive this, but every second counted.


    *****


    Back in the canyon, George was unaware of this. Unaware of everything, really. He had finally, mercifully gone unconscious.


    And as the twitching, dying remnants of his first and only command expired around him, George breathed a bit easier as their chakra leaked into his own.