Mists of Everness (The War of the Dreaming) (8 page)

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Authors: John C. Wright

BOOK: Mists of Everness (The War of the Dreaming)
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Raven had eaten the two cans of soup in the little kitchenette and the box of crackers the librarian kept there.
Miss MacCodam asked, “And what happened next? Did you become part of this vigilante hero’s secret organization?”
“No. His first order, even before I got into cab, was to seek out the Gold Ring of the Niflungar, and stop the hurricane. Magic ring. But to use it, you must forswear love. I cannot forswear love. But, yet …”
“People are dying in those storms, their homes destroyed, their lives destroyed. Some of them are losing loved ones, too.”
“Is what he said. We argued. I left.”
“How have you lived? You look so hungry …”
Raven drew himself up. “I would not steal. Even when it is so easy. Invisible men can steal anything. So I must starve, even with food in front of me. Sometimes I eat what restaurants throw away, or what people leave behind on their plates …”
“And what now?” asked Miss MacCodam.
“Now I am wrong. Now I must find magic ring. All I need to do is get hundred dollar bill, go to sleep, have dream about Franklin.”
She said, “That’s impossible. No one can have a dream about something just by wishing they could.”
“I think Galen could do this. I do not have his training. Maybe if I went to Everness; all dreams there are true. But how can man like me, without job, without life, find hundred dollar bill? If I steal, the mist will close over me, and no one see me ever again. Now I am willing to give up love, and I cannot.”
He put his head down on the kitchenette counter, infinitely weary, sad, hopeless. Miss MacCodam reached forward and stroked his tousled hair.
He jerked his head up, eyes staring blearily.
She pulled her hand back. Her face felt warm; she was blushing. “Uh. Is it stealing if I get you a bus ticket? The bus driver might not see you, of course, but if the ticket has already been bought, you’ll have a perfect right to be there.”
“Bus ticket? To where?”
“Everplace. Whatever you called it. I assume there is a Gate of Ivory and a Gate of Horn; that’s the way Virgil describes it in the
Aenead.
It’s in the U.S., isn’t it? On this planet? Good. Because they’re having a supersaver special for anywhere in the United States … .”
“Why?”
Miss MacCodam leaned forward. “I don’t think forswearing love means what you think it means. The ring you’re talking about, it’s the same as the ring in Wagner’s opera cycle, isn’t it? Well, if you remember from the
Götterdämmerung,
Sigfried is married to Brünnhilde, and later to Gunther’s sister, I can’t remember her name. Obviously, he didn’t foreswear love.”
“What? What do you talk about?”
“If it’s like what Campbell describes in his
Occidental Mythology,
then the ring is a symbol of self-image, a Jungian archetype. Like a signet ring, it symbolizes self-identity, and the fact that it’s gold, which the ancient alchemists took to be the metal of refined virtue …”
Raven held up his hand. “You are scholar. Learned woman. I see this now. I will follow your advice. What do you think I must forswear, if not love?”
“Passion. Reckless love.”
“You mean, the kind of love that makes man kill other man, a stranger, to save his wife?”
“I really don’t know,” she said, suddenly uncertain. “I’m only guessing …”
“No. You are scholar. I hear the wisdom in your words. Even if you are wrong, I have hope now. I am thinking, I can maybe use this ring without it destroys my life. I will take your bus to Everness. But why do you help me?”
She smiled. “Haven’t you ever helped anyone before? A big, strong man like you?”
“Sometimes.”
“Well, maybe little mousy librarians like to feel big and strong too, you know. Besides, I saw the thing in the photograph.”
Raven stood, and now he stood with his back straight. “Last question. How can I get a hundred dollars? You are not rich woman, no?”
She smiled again. “I’m richer than you know.” She pointed out the door toward the stacks of books. “Rich in priceless treasure. There is a book on how to spot counterfeiting in the 300 section with plates showing all types of bills. If you don’t need a real bill, just a picture, you can photocopy the proper pages out of that book. I’ll call the bus company …”
Raven stooped over the sink and washed the stains of dirt and tears from his face.
The Messenger of Darkness
“How long do we have to stay here, Hal? This is humiliating.”
“Be quiet, Mr. President. I’m not going to ask you again.” In the steel and concrete bunker two levels beneath the Pentagon, the carpet had been taken up from the center of the room and a pentagram in gold wire had been inscribed into the floor.
Surrounding this on three sides were computer banks on raised daises; on higher banks, behind them, stood radar screens, information terminals, telecommunications nexuses. The high ceiling was in shadow. Giant map screens hanging from overhead displayed, in green glowing lines and dots, weather patterns, troop positions, satellite telemetry, phone lines, highways, railheads.
On the fourth side, where two computer banks had been moved, stood an empty throne. One arm was carved with a red dragon, the other with a white; a Roman eagle stood on a pole behind the throne; over the seat was flung a bear skin, with skull and claws still attached.
On the fifth side, where the fire-control alert stations had been, was now an altar surrounded by candles. A dead lion cub lay on the altar stone, blood draining through channels in the stone into a silver chalice.
The president, three members of his cabinet, the White House chief of staff, and twelve high-ranking members of various bureaus, whose budgets and activities appeared on no public record, were there. Nine law clerks who wrote opinions for the Supreme Court were here, dressed in black robes.
In front of them, nearer the altar, was the man the president had called Hal. He was the chairman of the Federal Reserve Board, and over his blue pin-striped suit, he wore a cloak of white lamb’s wool.
Behind them, and nearer to the center of the room, were men in the uniforms of generals and admirals of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Strangely, these men’s faces were young, and they had the tense, calm look of security officers and bodyguards.
All these men were kneeling.
Between two urns, one of lilies and one of red roses, Azrael de Gray was behind the altar, dressed in resplendent robes of pigeon blue, dark blue, and black, with silver trim. Seven necklaces of seven precious metals hung from his epaulettes, all connected to the huge diamond he wore in the midst of a pentagram of magnetized steel in the center of his chest. His shoulderboards and puffy sleeves exaggerated his size. His tall, pointed hat was sewn with diamond chips in the shape of constellations; around the brim floated moons of various phase.
Azrael dipped an aspergillum into the chalice, and, with a flick of his wrist, sprinkled blood to the carpet, calling out in a great voice, “Phaleg! Bethor! Aratron! I call upon the Outer Gods, who are dimmer than great Morningstar, whom we call Hagith, Eophoros, and Phosphoros, though are allowed to mount the zenith, an honor denied to their master. By that master’s secret name, Bringer of Light, Teleos, come forth. I charge you; I compel you; I conjure you. Come forth from the mist, Aratron! Aratron! Aratron! Thrice called by your secret name, and I have brought the king’s blood for your sup!”
A column of darkness began to form in the middle of the gold pentagram, shot through with black flickers of a darker hue, as if a dark counterpart to lightning were dancing around the column of a tornado.
The president, still kneeling, palms clasped together, sneaked a glance over his shoulder at the manifestation, his eyes white with terror, his face beaded with sweat.
Hal, the chairman of the Federal Reserve, reached back and jerked on the president’s tie. “Eyes front!” he hissed.
The president jerked his eyes back toward the altar but shivered in the cold wind that began to blow through the chamber.
Some people coughed. One or two of the men in back, pretending to be praying, bent their noses forward toward their clasped hands and tried to pinch their nostrils with their fingertips.
Azrael raised the bloody chalice on high, head thrown back, garments whipped by cold and stinking winds, proud face illuminated by the strange lightnings radiating from the manifestation. With burning eyes he stared into the heart of the darkness.
In a darkened room not far away was a bank of television screens, each monitor showing the scene from different viewpoints and angles.
The top left monitor showed the tornado of darkness forming into the image of an iron-faced goddess, draped in black and armed with a flail of chains and shackles.
Van Dam put down his cigarette and toyed with a control on his chair arm. “Depth seems funny on that camera. Woman looks bigger than the room she’s standing in.”
Wentworth took a sip from his soda bottle. “Don’t worry about it. Must be supernatural. Are we getting a reading from microwave detectors?”
“Like you said, sir, all four detectors report the woman manifestation is farther away than the opposite wall, even the detectors facing each other. It’s impossible, but there it is.” Van Dam pulled a banknote out of his wallet and handed it to Wentworth.
“Impossible in three dimensions. Thanks.”
Van Dam took a puff on his cigarette. “Heard anything lately about the Coldgrave problem?”
“I tried to talk to Azrael about him. Coldgrave is useless at this point. Why do we need a handful of religious fanatics when we have practically the entire might of the U.S. military at our disposal? But Azrael wouldn’t hear of it. Maybe he still intends to make the man Pope, like he promised.” Wentworth shook his head in dismay. “We might have to eliminate Coldgrave. Blame his death on the missing Waylocks or the Russian fellow.”
“Are you so good at telling lies in your sleep, sir?”
Wentworth shrugged. “Well, it’s just an idea.”
Van Dam suddenly straightened up in his chair, biting through his cigarette, so that the burning tip fell across his chin to the floor. “Holy Jesus God! Ah—Uh—”
Wentworth nodded. “Azrael said she’d show up in a bad mood. That’s why we put the security men nearer to the pentagram, dressed up as top brass. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t kill Azrael at this point, but that she’d have to do something to someone to show she means business. Hm. Look at that. Azrael said she’d get two or three guys; and she took out two. He knows his business. Ah … you all right?”
“I don’t know, sir. All that blood. We used to do something like that to frogs we caught when I was a kid … . I …”
“Here; just put your head between your knees for a moment.”
“Okay. I’m Okay.”
“Poor Bob’s got splatter all over him.”
Wentworth took another sip from his soda. Then he said, “What language is that?”
“Babylonian. We should be getting a translation text over screen six in just a moment. Those CIA guys are pretty good at real-time translation. Wonder what’s keeping them.”
“Her accent?” said Wentworth.
“Maybe the roaring noise is interfering with the equipment. Say, what did you tell the National Zoo people about the lion cub?”
“National security. Accidentally killed in transit. What did you tell the Smithsonian people about the Hope diamond?”
“Terrorist threat. That we’ll swap back the real diamond once we catch the terrorists.”
“Mm. Good line.”
“Did Azrael actually need the biggest diamond in the world for his ritual here, sir?”
Wentworth shrugged. “I guess. Spirits are impressed by that sort of thing.”
“Hey. She flinched backward. What’s he got in his hand?”
“Moon rock from the Apollo shots. Guess the spirits are really impressed with that one, too.”
“Terrorist threat again, sir?”
“Naw. We just took it and reported it missing. Our man got caught, but by the time any hearing rolls around, it’ll be past the Ides of March. Speaking of which, are your men ready?”
“Sir, we can have major riots in all the target cities of any size you specify. Declare a national emergency and martial law within the hour. We already have the press editorials written calling on the president to assume emergency powers and the congressional mandate authorizing it was passed as an amendment to another piece of legislation. I’m just worried about the funding. Not all the rioters will do it just for loot.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll give you Hal’s special number. You phone him up; they’ll roll that amount of money off the printing presses. Doesn’t appear on budget, no congressional meddling, nothing.”
“Congress doesn’t know about it?”
“Anyone who doesn’t take bribes doesn’t have enough funds to run. Anyone who does, we can blackmail and shut them up. They all know about it.”
“What about the bomb?”
Wentworth put down his empty soda bottle. “I still say riots are enough. And even if they aren’t, let’s bomb an empty military base. Maybe the one that Peter Waylock just trashed. Any atmospheric ignition of a nuclear weapon will scare the pants off everyone in the world. The American people will let us issue universal identity cards, track everyone’s movements, search houses without warrants, and suspend habeus corpus if they think we’re looking for terrorists with a nuke.”
“And Azrael?”
“He told me once he talked a king into killing every single baby born on May Day in the whole kingdom, putting them all into a ship and drowning them all.”
“So? What does Azrael say?”
“Azrael says do Los Angeles.”
Both men were silent for a while.
“Some of my favorite film stars live there …” Van Dam started to say.
Wentworth pounded his fist on the chair controls. “Where’s my goddamned translation on screen six! I want to hear what they’re goddamned saying!”
“ … Step not again from the circle, I charge you and compel you, by this; behold, I hold in hand a stone from the floor of Heaven, which is nothing of Earth. All beneath the circle of the Moon I therefore put beneath my authority, for the Moon is in my hand. Even you, Great Princess, Noble Duchess, Great and Mighty Queen, here, in my place of power, must obey the ancient laws. I charge you speak your message in human words henceforward, in a fashion neither deadly nor dangerous to men, swiftly and without error.”
GHOSTS WEEP ABOVE THE CORPSES. THE MESSAGE HERE IS PLAIN, MORTAL MAN. THE DISPLEASURE OF GREAT MORNINGSTAR COMES LIKE A BEHEMOTH TO TRAMPLE YOU.
“Speak. Here is the adamantium stone, called Hope, which I wear within the figure of Solomon, and by it again I compel and conjure you.”
GREAT MORNINGSTAR REMINDS YOU OF YOUR VOWS AND REMINDS YOU OF THE PENALTIES AND CURSES YOU HAVE UTTERED TO CALL DOWN UPON YOURSELF IF THOSE VOWS ARE FORSWORN. GREAT MORNINGSTAR REQUIRES THAT YOU AT ONCE EMPLOY THE SILVER KEY TO OPEN THE GATES OF NIGHTMARE, AND ALLOW THE CITY OF IMPERISHABLE TOWERS OF PAIN, WHICH IS CALLED DIS, AND CALLED ALSO ACHERON, TO COME FORWARD INTO THE WORLD OF MEN.
GREAT MORNINGSTAR REMINDS YOU THAT A PLACE HAS BEEN PREPARED FOR YOU IN HIS KINGDOM, WHICH SHALL BE FILLED WITH AS MUCH PLEASURE OR PAIN AS GREAT MORNINGSTAR’S PLEASURE OR DISPLEASURE SHALL MEASURE.
“Ah! Peter knew … Aratron! By the Rivers of Hell
I charge you, by Phlegethon, by Cocytus, by Lethe, by Acheron, by Styx, bear the message to Great Morningstar, who is the lantern of the night, adding no word and taking none away, that the Silver Key is stolen but shall be swiftly recovered; and that, once the Silver Key is mine once more, the Gates of Horn and Ivory shall open, and a mighty army shall march through, conquering and to conquer; and that all Earth and the world beyond shall be ruled by him who holds the scepter of Morningstar.”
I AM CHARGED BY GREAT MORNINGSTAR, THAT, SHOULD YOU SAY SUCH A THING, TO REPLY; HOW IS IT THAT HE WHO STOLE THE SILVER KEY HAS NOW HAD IT STOLEN FROM HIM?
THE WOUND OF THAT KEY IN HIS HEART GREAT MORNINGSTAR STILL BEARS, AND WHAT PASSIONS, OTHERWISE UNKNOWN TO HIS PURE KIND, WHICH WERE UNLOCKED THERE, OF THEM HE REMINDS YOU, WHICH PASSIONS MAY TURN TO MALICE AND WRATH, WITH WHAT RESULTS YOU WELL KNOW. HE REMINDS YOU WHO FIRST SO WOUNDED HIM.
“Tell Morningstar that I recall each word of what we spoke to each other on the day the Unicorn was slain, and ask of him whether or not my promise made that day was kept? Require of him to reflect upon whether the passions and desires of a living man, which beat now within his breast, have not made him greater than the sterile and dutiful purity of angels, as I had promised?”
WHEN DARKNESS COVERS ALL, ONLY THEN SHALL OUR DOINGS BE HIDDEN FROM THE GAZE OF HEAVEN.
“What is your meaning? Do you accuse me of deception, spirit? I charge you by the four rivers of Paradise, Pison, Gihon, Euphrates, and Hiddekel, to answer clearly, presently, in a fashion neither dangerous nor uncomfortable to man, in speech.”
GREAT MORNINGSTAR WONDERS AT YOUR FAILURES. WHY HAVE NOT THE HOLY THINGS OF THIS LAND, ITS BISHOPS AND ARCHBISHOPS BEEN BROUGHT HERE TO THIS ALTAR? ONCE THE CHURCH OF THIS LAND IS WITHIN THE SHADOW OF THE SERAPHIM OF ACHERON, WITH THAT SINGLE SPELL, ALL THE DREAMS OF ALL THE FOLK OF THIS LAND BECOME OURS. WHY HAS THIS NOT BEEN ACCOMPLISHED?
“The folk of this land have no state church. There are many bishops of many churches, and their power over their flocks is no more than what those congregations freely and voluntarily bestow.”
HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?
“I do not know, Great and Mighty Queen, I suspect it was done to prevent just such a spell as we had intended. Nonetheless, the folk of this land fall swiftly under my spreading cloak. Each leader who bows to me puts the dreams of all his followers into my command.”
SHOULD THEIR KING TAKE UP THE SWORD, ALL THOSE DREAMS SHALL ONCE AGAIN BE FREE, WITH SUCH SWIFT EASE AS THE PARTING OF A COBWEB.
“They have no king, Great Spirit.”
NO KING? NO KING?
“Hence there is none with authority enough to oppose the spread of my dream-web.”
THIS VICTORY DOES NOT AMEND YOUR FAILURES. IF THE SILVER KEY FALLS INTO THE HAND OF OBERON, MANKIND SHALL BE TAKEN BACK INTO THE FIRST GARDENS OF YOUTH, TO LIVE WITHOUT WANT OR MISERY, SUSTAINED BY THE PERFECT BOUNTY OF THE FRUIT OF EARTH, TO LIVE IN PEACE EVERMORE.
“Say also that they shall live without liberty, without thought, without effort, victory, dignity, or pride.”
THESE WORDS MEAN NOTHING TO SUCH AS I AM.
“Spirit, answer me this: Is the Silver Key in any danger of falling into the hands of Oberon? Answer in a fashion not hurtful to men, I charge you by Leviathan, Typhon, Tiamat, Ladon, the dragons of the four quarters, who are not bound by fate.”
FOUR DRAGONS, FOUR QUESTIONS I ANSWER, PLUS A FIFTH FOR THE HONOR OF LORD MORNINGSTAR. LISTEN: THE SILVER KEY IS IN THE VALLEY OF NEVERDALE IN THE MOUNTAINS OF IRON NORTH OF ZIMIAMVIA, IN THE SECOND CIRCLE OF THE DREAM-LAND, IN THE QUADRANT OF THE AIR BENEATH THE CRESCENT MOON. IT IS IN THE REGION OF THE SEPHIROTH BINAH, CALLED ARCADIA, LAND OF THE YOUNG, THIRD OF THE TWELVE PLACES WHERE THE SEELIE COURT OF OBERON THE FAIRY-KING PAUSES IN ITS ROUNDS, TO FEAST. NO CREATURE SAVE THE WINGED MAY GO THERE.
“Who has the Key? Why can my amulet of North Star’s Blood not reach there?”
THE DAUGHTER OF TITANIA THE FAIRY-QUEEN HAS THE SILVER KEY. THE VALE OF NEVERDALE HAS MOUNTAIN WALLS SO HIGH THAT THE NORTH STAR IS BELOW THEIR PEAKS, AND THE LIVING CREATURE OF ARALIM, WHO LIVES IN THAT STAR, CANNOT BEHOLD HER.
“Who is this daughter, and why has she not rendered the Key to her father Oberon?”
AMONG MEN SHE IS CALLED GWENDOLYN MOTH VAROVITCH. OBERON IS NOT HER FATHER. THE FAIRY-QUEEN AND FAIRY-KING HAVE PARTED WAYS, FOR REASONS YOU UNDERSTAND BETTER THAN ANY OTHER MAN, SAVE THAT ONE WHO HAS TAKEN YOUR PLACE.
“Ah! No! How could she!”
IS THAT YOUR FIFTH QUESTION, NAMER OF NAMES? I NEED BUT ANSWER ONE QUESTION MORE.
“I wish to know the name of the bridegroom of Titania … . No. No, my vengeance must wait. Spirit! Tell me the true name of Gwendolyn Varovitch.”
YOU KNOW THE PRICE TO BE PAID FOR TRUE NAMES. KNOWLEDGE IS BORN IN PAIN.
“I will pay it. Speak!”
HER TRUE NAME IS LITTLE BIRD, FOR SO SHE IS CALLED BY HER BELOVED.

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