Immortal (27 page)

Madóran hung back with me and Caeran. The curandero wore the stern expression I'd seen when I first met him.

“Stay together. If you separate, it will be easier for him to overcome you.”

I nodded, and Caeran thanked him. Madóran put a hand each on our shoulders, then headed for the library.

I looked at Caeran. “Here we go.”

He smiled and leaned forward to kiss my cheek.
All will be well.

We walked down the
portal
together and into the entryway. My arms had turned to gooseflesh from the cold and dread.

“Let me go out first,” Caeran said.

He opened the door and looked out, scanning the ground in front of the house. After a moment he turned to me and nodded.

He is there. To the northeast. Do not look that way.

I came out, gripping the metal handles of my wood bin. Caeran led the way toward the woodpile. I kept my gaze straight ahead but watched for any movement from my right.

We were almost to the woodpile when pain stabbed my head. I dropped my bin and fell to my knees, clutching my temples.

I heard sounds of running and struggle, but it was all muffled. Paralyzed by pain, I couldn't do a thing.

Shouting. More running. Suddenly the pain ceased. I looked up in time to see three ælven pass me and round the end of the woodpile, joining the others who were fast disappearing to the north.

Caeran lay beside me in the snow. For a heart-stopping moment I thought he was dead, then he groaned.

“Caeran!” I caught his face in my hands. “Are you hurt?”

He blinked up at me, squinting in pain. “Len.”

There was no blood that I could see, though Caeran looked deathly pale. I dragged him into my arms, weeping. “What did he do to you?”

“The same thing he did to you,” said Madóran behind me.

I turned my head to look at him. A breeze blew his dark hair across his face. He looked angry.

He knelt beside me and placed a hand on Caeran's brow. Caeran winced slightly, then relaxed. I held onto him, shivering.

“He used khi as a weapon,” Madóran said. “That is forbidden among our people.”

“He d-did that to me before,” I told him. “On campus.”

Madóran glanced at me. “You did not mention it.”

“I guess not. A lot's happened since then.”

He looked back at Caeran, the anger leaving his face. After a moment he stood.

“He will be all right. Come, we must go inside.”

Caeran's arms wrapped around me. I had no inclination to move, though I knew Madóran was right. I let go of Caeran, staggered to my feet, and offered to help him up.

He joined me and immediately caught me in a tight hug. He was looking better. He urged me toward the house.

“Wait.” I grabbed my wood bin, took it to the pile, and started throwing wood into it. “Least we can do is get some damn firewood,” I said through shuddering jaws.

After a moment Caeran joined me, quickly filling his bin. Madóran came to help, and when it was full he took my bin from me, insisting on carrying it inside.

We went into the front room, where I parked by the fire and shivered. Madóran stood peering out the nearest window, frowning, still holding the bin of firewood. He turned to Caeran.

“Keep watch. I will return shortly.”

He was gone even as Caeran nodded. Caeran added wood to the fire, pressed my hands and kissed my forehead, then took up watch at the window.

I was warming up, but the fear was kicking in, so I shivered even harder. I hoped the ælven hunters were staying in groups. Maybe Gehmanin would have trouble overpowering three or four at once. Nothing less seemed to stop him.

I felt sorry for Madóran, but the bastard needed to die.

I moved closer to the fire, rubbing my arms as they warmed up. So much for my half-formed hope of driving to Las Vegas today. There was no way they'd let me go, even with Caeran. Even if we crammed the car full of ælven, there'd be a real danger that Gehmanin would attack us. I knew it wasn't even worth asking.

Madóran returned with a tray of hot tea, bread, butter, and jam. He exchanged a glance with Caeran, who shook his head. Madóran poured tea into a mug and handed it to me.

“We need a different strategy. Gehmanin will not walk into an ambush again.”

“Why not?” I said. “If he can zap everybody with khi—”

“But he cannot. You did not know this, Len, but he had to focus in order to stop you with khi. He immobilized you fairly quickly, and that allowed him to direct his efforts toward Caeran. If there had been more of us—”

“He would not have approached at all,” Caeran said, coming to claim a mug of tea. “You are right, we need a different tack.”

They talked unenthusiastically about possible variations on the ambush while I stretched out on the banco and baked. My head was throbbing. I was feeling seriously bummed.

Before long the ælven returned, all in a clump. They'd stayed together, which was good. No one had been hurt this time. They clustered around the fire, a handful of auburn-haired hunters, disappointed that they'd lost Gehmanin.

“He went into the village,” Bironan said, frowning in annoyance. “We could not follow without drawing too much attention.”

Madóran nodded, as if he'd expected to hear something like this. “He will use every possible advantage, without concern for ethics or the safety of others.”

I frowned. Those “others” were human beings. My people. Was Gehmanin terrorizing someone in Guadalupita even now?

I remembered how he'd holed up in the library for a day. He must have gone to ground somewhere, but there weren't any big institutional buildings in the village. The closest thing was the Post Office.

The hair on the back of my neck prickled. I sat up.

“I think I know where he might be.”

Madóran looked up from pouring tea for the new arrivals. The others looked at me, too—some with skepticism, others with respect.

“He's got to get under cover during daylight, right?” I said. “He couldn't stay in the woods because you all were after him. So he's in some building. I think it might be the Post Office.”

Nathrin shook his head. “He could as easily have gone into a house. He might be feeding even now.”

Madóran frowned. “I do not think he would risk that. The discovery of a dead or dying human in this small village would draw attention he does not want.”

“He could be holding hostages,” Bironan said. “There would be no discovery until after he was gone.”

“But he has no immediate plans to leave.” Madóran emptied the last of the tea into a cup and handed it to Mirali. “Until he has what he wants, he will be careful to cause no disruption.”

“That's why I think he's in a public building, hiding out in a closet or something,” I said. “The only one Guadalupita has is the Post Office.”

“And the bar,” Caeran added.

I looked at him. “The bar! I'd forgotten about it. Holy c—cow, he could be spending every day in there!”

“They would not be open at this hour,” Madóran said.

“He could break in,” said Bironan.

“Or if he's been hanging out there, he might be able to talk his way in for a cup of coffee,” I said. “It makes sense. It's the perfect place for him to spend the day. As long as he bought enough booze, they'd be happy to have him.”

Nathrin looked from Bironan to Madóran. “So, do we seek him there?”

Caeran shook his head. “A fight in the village would not be wise for any of us.”

“True,” Madóran agreed. “I have come to like this home, and have no wish to leave it.”

Everyone was silent. Reminded of how much I owed Madóran, how generous he had been to all of us, I tried to think of an alternative to the ælven hunting down and killing Gehmanin.

“What if we sent him a message?”

Now almost all of them looked skeptical, except Caeran and Madóran. Madóran raised an eyebrow.

“To what end?”

I answered uncertainly. “Well, we could tell him to leave. That you wouldn't hunt him if he just left you alone and found some other territory.”

“No,” Caeran said. His sternness surprised me. He looked at me, eyes hard. “He has shown himself to have no ethics. There would be no way to guarantee that he would honor such a demand. Short of all of us staying together, never leaving this house except in groups, we would always be in danger.”

Well, that wouldn't work. I had my short little life to get on with, and Madóran would probably like to have his house back one of these days.

“What does he have to gain by staying here?” I said, annoyed. “He's got to know he hasn't got a chance against you guys.”

“Perhaps he is seeking healing,” said Nathrin slowly. He looked at Madóran. “We sought you out for that reason. He might have done the same.”

I bit my lip, and kept my gaze on the floor. Madóran would have to decide how much to tell the others.

“Yes, perhaps so,” he said after a long pause. “Alas, I cannot help him.”

“He may not know that.”

“Then I must tell him. I will go to the village.”

“No!” cried the others.

“I am known there. He would not dare attack me in front of so many.”

In the chaos that erupted, my gaze locked with Caeran's. We both knew that the alben would dare just about anything.

“What about a parley?” I shouted over the noise. The others fell quiet, staring at me. I hurried on. “Send him a message that he can come here at dusk, and you'll talk with him, and he won't be harmed unless he tries to harm one of us. One of you.”

“He will not honor bargains,” Caeran said.

“He might honor this one, if it's to his advantage. Never mind his ethics, would he trust you to keep your word?”

“Yes,” Lomen said, looking at me seriously. “It is part of the creed we live by, to be true to our word.”

“OK. So he'll believe you. He'll come here, and Madóran can explain that he can't help, and then …” I hadn't thought that far.

“Then he will leave,” said Bironan, ”and we will be bound to allow him, and we will have gained nothing.”

“No,” Madóran said quietly, “he may agree to leave us in peace. Let us try this. I will talk to him.”

He looked troubled, and I remembered him saying that Gehmanin would never give up. Madóran had crossed an ocean under extremely dangerous conditions to get away from him.

Shove that thought in the safe-deposit box. Wrap the whole thing in light.

I felt frustrated. My idea wasn't very good, but no one had suggested anything better. At worst, the net gain would be zero.

“How do we send him the message?” Nathrin asked.

Madóran stood, picking up the tray with the teapot. “I will telephone the bar. If he is not there, we must adjust our plan.”

I followed him out, and in the kitchen I grabbed the kettle and filled it. Madóran stood watching me.

“I'll fix more tea. Where's your phone?”

He didn't answer. I turned and saw him staring into distance, frowning in grief, the tray forgotten in his hands.

“I'm sorry,” I said, gently taking the tray from him. “Forget this, it was a crummy idea.”

He shook his head. “No, we must try. If I talk to him, he may accept—he may choose easier targets.”

“But he'll never quit,” I whispered. “He'll come back.”

Madóran closed his eyes. I put the tray on the counter and, shyly, touched his shoulder.

“You are right,” he said, his voice rough. “The only thing that will free me is his death. But I cannot kill him.”

“The others will.”

“I wish …” he looked up, his cheeks wet with tears. He gave a hopeless laugh. “I wish you had completed your studies, and we could offer him the hope of a cure.”

“Would that hope mean anything to him?”

“Yes, if it were real. But it is only a dream.”

“Maybe not. Can he be patient for a while? Would he agree to go away and come back in, say, ten years?”

Madóran stared at me, looking astounded. “I do not know,” he said slowly.

“Well, it's worth a try, right? So where's your phone?”

Wiping his face, he walked over to a nicho set into the wall, where a cell phone sat plugged into a charger at the feet of a wooden statuette—a santo, I realized. Too roughly carved to be Madóran's work. The birds in the figure's hands marked him as St. Francis. A gift from a grateful patient?

Madóran dialed, then spoke into the phone in Spanish. I caught the word “blanco.” He waited, then tensed and began speaking quietly in ælven. At last he paused briefly, said one more word, then hung up. He stood perfectly still for a moment, not even breathing that I could see, then looked up at me.