Drinking Midnight Wine (37 page)

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Authors: Simon R. Green

BOOK: Drinking Midnight Wine
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She let go of Toby’s arm, took a deep breath, and strode forward into the thick, pulsing fog. Toby and Jimmy quickly followed her in.
Gayle barely managed a dozen steps into the dead wood before she staggered to a halt, unsteady on her feet and gasping as though she couldn’t get her breath. Toby moved in quickly beside her, and she grabbed his arm with both hands, leaning heavily on him for support. She was trembling all over now, and her face was pale and beaded with sweat. Jimmy drew his hammer Mjolnir and looked fiercely about him for some sign of a threat, but there was nothing. Toby murmured soothingly to Gayle and tried to get her to take deep breaths. She laughed shakily.
“God, I feel bad. Sick. I don’t belong here. I remember . . . this place, before it died.” She stopped to swallow hard, and shook her head as though to clear it. “It was a long time ago. Just a pleasant little wood, then. A warm and shadowed copse for young lovers to walk in. Until Hob came, and did the terrible thing that cursed the land and made this place forever Blackacre. A cold scar on the body of the world, never to heal, never to regenerate, never to know life again.”
“Why did he do it? Why would Hob want to do something like that?” Toby was more interested in distracting Gayle from her obvious distress than anything else, but even as he spoke he realized he needed to know the answer, if he was ever to understand why Hob was the way he was.
“He did it to show that he could,” said Gayle. “To stamp his mark on the world, his brand. So that no matter what we or anyone else did, there would always be one place that was forever his, always apart, always hurting. Just like him.”
Toby glared about him into the thick fog. Blackacre was horribly silent. The dark, dead trees loomed around him, shadows in the shimmering blue-green curtains of mist. He hardly needed his flashlight anymore. The fog’s own glow was like burning marsh gas, or spoiled moonlight. Gayle signaled that they should move on, and Jimmy quickly took the point. He knew where the farmhouse was, though he’d never been there before. Apparently he made it his business to know things like that. Gayle and Toby followed after the thunder godling, sticking close so as not to lose him in the treacherous fog. The ground beneath their feet was soft and unpleasantly yielding. Toby looked down and saw that they were treading through a thick layer of ash. He looked back over his shoulder, but they’d already come far enough that he could no longer see the boundary, lost as it was in the fog. There were only the dead trees and the ashes at his feet, and the fog, thick enough to blur the surrounding world and muffle the few sounds he and his companions made. It felt to Toby now as though he was walking at the bottom of the sea. He kept a careful lookout for sharks.
Strangely, it was even hotter inside the fog than out. The heat seemed to come from everywhere at once, as though they’d stepped into an oven. The air was thick, full of the corrupt stench of the wood, and the sweltering heat was almost overpowering. Toby’s shirt was soaked with sweat, and more ran down his face to drip off his chin. Gayle was leaning ever more heavily on him now, her face shiny with sweat and her eyes half closed, but she didn’t complain. Jimmy did, but had enough sense to keep it mostly to himself, grumbling constantly in a growl of Old Norse. Norse gods were built to endure cold, not heat. Toby switched off his flashlight and put it away, so he could have both hands free to support Gayle.
“I shouldn’t be able to see this,” she said suddenly. “Any of it. I have a blind spot where death is concerned. But Blackacre is as vivid to me now as any nightmare I ever had. This is Hob’s doing—his place, his rules. He wants me to see his work, be impressed by his power and his evil. He’s very insecure, in some ways. Comes from his being an only son, dominated by his father, abandoned by his mother ... We should have done more for him. In a way, all of this could be laid at my door.”
“Stop that,” said Jimmy immediately, not looking round. “Hob made himself what he is, and took great delight in it. He is the Serpent’s Son, and you could no more have changed his nature than you could make the world turn backwards.”
“Well . . .”
“And if you’re about to say what I think you’re about to say, I don’t want to hear it. Just let me get him within range of my hammer, and I’ll change his nature for him. I’ll give the top of his head such a bash he’ll end up having to hear out of his arse.”
“Is it just me,” said Toby, “or does this fog have a distinctly
oily
feel? I can feel it, crawling on my skin. It’s like walking through wet curtains.”
“The fog is alive,” Gayle said tiredly. “It’s an extension of Hob’s will. Just by passing through the mists and disturbing them, we’re telling Hob someone is coming. Though he shouldn’t be able to tell who, as yet. My nature shields us from him. But there will be other defenses, as we draw nearer to the old farmhouse, even apart from the dead guards.”
Toby looked quickly about him, but the thick fog threw back his gaze. He hadn’t spotted any of the dead standing guard yet, but still he had a strong feeling that he was being watched. It also worried him that he hadn’t seen any of the Mice yet, or heard them. He couldn’t stand the thought that he might have brought them here to their capture, or injury . . . or death. They were, essentially, innocent creatures. Toby felt isolated, and horribly helpless. There could be any number of threats or enemies out there in the wood, in the fog; and he wouldn’t know anything about them until they were right on top of him.
“Angel’s the one I want,” said Jimmy, not at all for the first time. He’d been going on about her all the way up the long slope to Blackacre, and for some time before. Apparently he’d taken his defeat at the railway station the previous night very hard. His pride had been hurt, and he wasn’t used to that. “You just leave Angel to me. I’ll take her down this time, you’ll see. We’re both in Mysterie now, where my powers are at their peak. I will show her the true rage and power of a Norse god in his glory, and she will kneel to me.”
Toby had heard all this before, and a great deal more like it, and was getting bloody tired of the whole subject. He glared at Jimmy’s broad back.
“You know, I have a major slap with your name on it, in my pocket. Now keep the noise down, so we can at least hear if something nasty is coming our way.”
Jimmy didn’t even deign to look back, but he did shut up, for a while. Toby was grateful for small mercies. He was becoming increasingly worried about Gayle. She was trembling violently all the time now, and leaning on him so that he was almost carrying her. Toby was secretly pleased and flattered that she should have chosen to depend on him rather than on her old flame, the great hero Jimmy Thunder. He knew this was small of him, but . . .
And then the dead came lumbering forward out of the fog, chasing after scattering Mice. Jimmy, Toby and Gayle stood very still, and the dead guards ignored them, fixated on the taunting Mice that kept just ahead of them, and generally ran rings around them. The Mice shot back and forth between the dead trees, throwing up clouds of ashes with their pounding paws, the disturbed fog billowing around them. The dead guards didn’t have a chance, or a clue. They stumbled after whichever Mouse came nearest, reaching out with slow dead hands after furry bodies that were already long gone.
More and more of the dead appeared, drawn from their stations, bumping into each other, or into trees, or being tripped up or bowled over by the darting Mice. Soon there wouldn’t be a single dead man left to stand between Toby, Gayle and Jimmy and the Hob’s lair. The Mice were having a grand old time. As longtime hippies, firmly committed to peace and nonviolence, they couldn’t and wouldn’t fight directly, or lend their paws to open destruction, but this . . . this was just playing. Another triumph for the mousy pranksters.
“One of your more inspired ideas, Toby,” said Jimmy, smiling despite himself. “With so many Mice dashing around like mad things, any signals Hob might get from the fog will be hopelessly confused. He won’t know what’s happening until we’re right on top of him.”
One of the Mice stopped suddenly before Toby, eyes wide and breathing hard. It was Dreamy.
“I remembered!” she said, trembling distractedly. “I dreamed about this, I did. About all of us here, in this place, at this time. Great things will happen here, and bad things. Someone dies, screaming in the night.”
And then she was off again, running through the dead trees, chasing and being chased, tormenting and distracting the dead guards. Toby looked at Gayle and Jimmy.
“Her dreams aren’t reliable,” said Gayle. “The other Mice said so.”
“Stands to reason someone’s going to die here,” Jimmy said gruffly. “Either Hob and Angel, or one of us. No way we can all hope to walk away from this alive. I knew that going in.”
“No one’s ever been able to kill the Hob,” said Gayle, her eyes fixed on Toby’s. “Even the Walking Man couldn’t finish Hob off. And Angel is an unknown factor. She was created in Heaven’s forges, and even in her new, lesser form, she is mighty indeed. The best we can hope for is to make both of them back down, dismantle whatever operation the Serpent had them set in motion. And no, Toby, I don’t know how we’re going to do that yet. But we have to be here. We have to face them, in the center of their power. I can feel it, even without taking my aspect upon me. You, Toby, of all of us, have to be here. You will be the focal point, upon which everything else turns.”
“Don’t rely on me to save the day,” said Toby, looking away from Gayle. “I’m not the kind of person you can rely on. I haven’t got a clue what I’ll do when I finally come face-to-face with Hob, except probably wet myself. Look, I’ve already died once today. I should be exempt from further unpleasantness in that area.”
“What do you want,” said Jimmy, “a note from your mother?”
 
Luna and Leo, two very different shape-shifters, approached the Blackacre boundary, not knowing that from another side, another group was doing the same thing at the same time. Luna was still disturbed though, sensing the presence of other powers, and kept looking distractedly about her. Leo didn’t really notice; as usual he was entirely taken up with his own concerns. In fact, he was still thinking wistfully about the chances of doing a runner and legging it for the nearest horizon. But . . . he knew there was nowhere he could run where Luna couldn’t see, and find him, and punish him in all kinds of inventive and unpleasant ways. His nature and hers meant that they were forever linked. So he sighed and growled and shook his shaggy head, sniffing unhappily at the eerie blue-green fog smothering the dead trees before him. It smelled unhealthy.
“This is new,” he said finally. “Wasn’t here the last time I came through. Hob must have set it up, after I evaded all his other security measures. We walk into that stuff, we might as well send Hob a singing telegram saying we’re coming.”
“I want him to know we’re coming,” said Luna. “I want him to know I’m coming, and to worry. I have a great deal to say to my errant son.”
Leo looked at her uneasily. All his instincts were yelling at him to get the hell away from the unnatural fog and what it contained; but right then, Luna was scarier than anything he might encounter in Blackacre. Her voice was horribly cold and angry, and her eyes were blue chips of ice—goddess’s eyes. Having a direction and a purpose had served to focus her again, even in Mysterie, and of course she was much stronger in the moonlight. She was dressed all in white furs now, the pure silver pelts still spotted with the dark blood of the furs’ previous occupants. Her face was thinner, almost gaunt, her close-cropped hair shining silver like her furs, her mouth a thin scarlet line. Her appearance had changed several times on the long trek through the town and out, but her mind was fixed and relatively sane. Leo just hoped fervently that she would know what to do when she finally came face-to-face with her discarded son, the Hob. There was more to Luna, now—a presence and a power, even though she had yet to take her aspect upon her. She was waking up, after centuries of sleep, and beginning to remember who and what she was, and could be. Leo did his best not to bring himself to her attention except when necessary.
“He’s in there,” Luna said abruptly, staring into the thick fog as though she could see right through it—and perhaps she could, at that. “He knows company’s coming, but he doesn’t know who. He’s curious, but he isn’t scared. Yet. And . . . there are other presences abroad in the night, heading into Blackacre with retribution on their minds. Events are approaching a climax. There will be blood and suffering—oh, yes, and death and reckonings long postponed. You must listen when I tell you these things, Leo. The life you save might be your own.”
“Wonderful,” said Leo. “I’m so lucky to have you here to point these things out to me. How do you want to do this?”
“We will walk into the wood, and keep walking until we reach Hob’s redoubt.And if anything gets in our way, I will walk right over it.”
“I have a strong suspicion it’s not going to be quite that easy,” said Leo, carefully. “Apart from this fog, there are all kinds of other defenses in the wood, set up specifically to keep out people like us.”
“There are no people like us.”
“Yes, well, be that as it undoubtedly is, the fact remains that there is a small army of the risen dead standing guard in there, with orders to make offal out of unannounced visitors, quite apart from a whole bunch of free-floating defensive spells, all ready to trigger if anyone gets too close to them. Shaped curses, malignant hexes, demolition charms; all the usual black-magic crap designed to really mess up your day. I only avoided them on my last little incursion because of my dual heritage, and you can bet Hob will have reprogrammed them by now to take that into account.”

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