Sunshaker's War (36 page)

David started to speak to him, to whisper that all was well, that help had come, but only produced a discordant squeak. Something about that infuriated him. He bared his teeth in anger, started to attack the other 'possum for lack of a better target, then stopped himself.

Had he been human, he would have blushed. He was still a beast. Almost without realizing it, he had let the 'possum mind take him, had once more nearly sublimated his intellect completely to bestial instinct.

He nudged Calvin with his pink nose, reached a paw under himself to grasp the scale that still hung from his throat and scratched across the floor. A quick squeeze, and he felt pain as the change came upon him, and an instant later had regained his own form. He winced, blinking dizzily as the world spun and twisted around him and brought him at last back to his full five-foot-seven. A final spasm, a quick breath, and he released the scale. A glance at his hand showed it already healing, and then for the first time he truly looked at his Faery friend.

Fionchadd was not a pretty sight, not any longer; for the wasted form on the bed was a too-cruel caricature of his former elegance. Now there was only gauntness, bruises, lines and scars that should not be there—and dirt and foulness. Chains led from the boy's slender arms and legs to the floor, the flesh beneath the barely padded shackles raw and faintly smoking from proximity to the iron that ate away at it, even as the Faery constitution sought to restore it again. And the dagger—that awful dagger! He knocked it roughly aside. The whole thing reminded him far too much of another friend a year before: Alec dying from the poison of the uktena. Fionchadd moaned gently, but David forced himself to ignore him. It was time for the matter at hand, and please, God, let it succeed.

The chains first, and it was time to rip the duct tape off the compact bolt-cutters Sandy had assured him would nip right through solid high-chrome steel, never mind djinn-forged iron.

A second quick glance around, just to be sure.
Damn!
The 'possum residue was making him muddle-headed. Another survey, noting absently that Calvin was still fumbling with his scale—but sparing him no more thought except perhaps a twinge of irritation; this was no time to be fiddling around.

The door: yeah, that was it: best to barricade the door just in case. A second later he realized there was not one thing in the room to wedge it with—not one thing to keep it from opening. And it was locked on the other side, and probably warded as well. Blind good luck that they'd come the way they had, though if the tower were warded, there was still a good chance some sort of intruder alert might have gone off already. Lord only knew they'd made enough noise downstairs, and that didn't even count the monster out in the ocean. No telling
what
it'd do—or say, if it was sentient.

Still, there was no helping it; he'd just have to chance leaving it unwedged. Maybe he could thwack the guards with the bolt cutters if it came to that.

“David?” Green eyes slitted open, then abruptly opened wider.
“David!”

“You got it, Lizard-man,” he whispered. “We've come to get you outta here.”

“We…?”

“Me and Calvin.”

“C…Calvin?” Fionchadd craned his head, scanning the room, suddenly much more alert now that he was suddenly presented with hope.

“Yeah—if he ever changes back.”

Fionchadd's eyes closed again. He felt back onto the bed. “Hurts, David,
hurts
.”

“I
know, guy,” David replied softly, as he attacked the bonds, trying hard not to brush against already tortured Faery flesh. Finno could endure it, he knew, could rebuild eventually from almost anything—but he didn't want him to have to.

And then the one thing David had most dreaded: sounds outside: heavy feet on the floor: running.

And he wasn't finished, hadn't freed his friend yet—and what was keeping Calvin…?

“Calvin?”
he called in a hoarse whisper. “Come on, Fargo, cut the crap.”

He searched the room, finally found his accomplice—still in 'possum shape, happily batting his uktena scale across the floor like an extremely ugly cat, his pack and its precious cargo apparently having been abandoned. David started toward him, but Calvin hissed at him—and then a terrible thought struck him.

Calvin was stuck. Not only hadn't he changed back, he
couldn't
change back. In spite of David's warnings, the beast had claimed him.

And there was no more time.

Only one chance—one slim chance, if he only could manage it. There was a brazier burning nearby, probably to take the worst of the chill off the room, though he imagined it had other applications as well, if the burns that pocked Fionchadd's flesh were any indication. If he could just find Calvin's pack, it was barely possible. Yeah, there it was, over in the corner. He grasped it quickly, emptied out three uktena scales, and flipped the flap back closed.

Sounds on the threshold now, the lock being worked.

Calvin? Where had that damned 'possum got to? Oh there—by the head of the bed. Enough time wasted, and none left for hesitation. David seized him by the scruff of the neck, grabbed his scale from the floor and their packs as well, wincing as the 'possum tried to bite him. Finno now—one chance. He tugged on the iron links, but they would not move, abandoned caution and yanked at the chains, felt one of them grate but not break. Only one other option, then: He grabbed the brazier, poured the coals on the floor, thrust in the three scales, and—as smoke and flame erupted from them as if they'd been made of magnesium—cried out as loudly as he could, “Alec, Liz—God in Heaven, please be there.”

And then, as the familiar agony enfolded him, he clutched Calvin to his chest, grabbed Fionchadd's smoking wrist, and hoped his plan would succeed.

Heat, like superheated steam, like evaporation… For an instant his only thought was the pain of the transition between the Worlds, but it was not so severe this time, nor so long in duration. In fact—

Abruptly he was tumbling to the soft, warm earth of Calvin's make-do Power Wheel.

“Jesus,” he gasped, as Alec and Liz reached toward him, and it took until then to dawn on him that he had succeeded, at least in part: Calvin was still with him, though in 'possum shape. And wonder of wonders, he'd actually managed to bring Finno through as well—without his chains. He heaved a sigh of relief and sank down on the grass, oblivious to his state of undress: “We made it,” he laughed, almost hysterically. “I don't believe it: we
made
it! I was so afraid I was gonna have to swim again—”

“Must have been the gate,” Alec mused softly, as he handed David a bundle of clothes. “That would have been the simplest way between the Worlds, so when you burned the scale, it brought you here. We saw you earlier, but couldn't help—saw the monster, but had no idea what was going on inside the tower, since Liz couldn't scry 'cause she had to help keep the gate open.”

David suddenly froze in the act of slipping on his cutoffs. “The gate—oh my God, Alec—the gate! We've gotta close it!”

He whirled around, saw the arc of fire that still burned in the pink light of Georgia sunrise. And through it saw half a dozen shapes take wing from the top of the tower: enormous eagles. But each one, David knew, bore the mind and soul of a Faery warrior. And they were gliding straight toward them.

PART III

DELUGE

Chapter XIX: Panic City

(Stone Mountain
,
Georgia—Monday, June 16—morning)

“Close the friggin'
gate!”
David shouted, his eyes ablaze. A glance over his friends' heads showed him the flame-edged hole, six black eagles coming in fast.

“How…?” Alec began, then: “But where's
Calvin
?”

“There,” David gasped, pointing to the 'possum that had slipped his grip as soon as he'd tumbled to earth in the clearing and was now calmly nosing around the ice chest. Alec's eyes grew wide, and David noticed then that they were clouded with pain. His mouth was grim. Liz was already tending to Fionchadd, who was unconscious again. But David's concern was momentarily elsewhere.

“The gate, Alec! What did Calvin say about the gate?”

“Nothing!”
Alec shot back miserably, staring at the eagles that had now covered half the distance from the tower.

“You're
sure
?”

A
nod.

David glanced one last time at the birds—and acted. He shouldered past his best friend and flung himself on the ground before the glimmering hole in space, afraid to stand for fear he might be sucked in again.

Come to us,
a voice whispered in his head.
You cannot defy us.

There was no more time. The window into the Otherworld had its origin in the ulunsuti that still blazed atop the remnants of the heap of twigs, its lower third embedded in glowing embers. David grabbed it—felt fiery agony burn into his hands like the king of all electric shocks as he jerked the crystal from its bed and hurled it aside.

Alec dived for it, caught it as it rolled, thrust it unthinking into the ice chest where a little water yet remained, then set about re-securing it in its pouch and jar.

David held his breath—the gate was still there, fading at last but not gone; and the Faery warriors had almost reached them now; he could see their vast wings filling half the circle.

Abruptly Liz grabbed the thermos that still lay at the edge of the Power Wheel. A deft twist of wrist unscrewed it and she emptied its contents into the soil.

“Liz! What…?”

“It's what Calvin said,” she shouted. “The gate'll stand as long as there's warmth in the blood. Maybe he meant
all
the blood.”

There was time for only the quickest reconnoiter. A glimpse of the fading gate showed the eagles impossibly close. David lunged sideways to scoop Calvin-'possum from the glob of venison gristle he'd been nibbling and thrust him at a startled Liz. “Here, we'll worry 'bout changin' him back later. We gotta move!”

Liz took the struggling animal, clutched him close to her chest in spite of his protests, while David grabbed for the closest knapsacks. “He still got a scale 'round his neck?” he asked quickly.

Liz checked with her fingers, nodded.

David leapt over to where Alec was frantically tugging on his clothes beside the still-unconscious Faery.

“He's still out of it!” Alec cried. “We can't…”

“We've
got
to. Come on, I'll help you.”

“But where…?”

David shrugged helplessly. “Anywhere there's people. Those things won't dare show themselves, if we can just get back to Calvin's place. They can't enter a dwelling unasked either.”

“You hope!”

“It's all I got. Now let's
move
!”

David reached down, took hold of Fionchadd under an arm, lifted until Alec could work in under the other side. As one they stood, started across the clearing at an awkward half-jog, while Liz ran on ahead with Calvin and her knapsack. David was grateful for exactly one thing: Fionchadd's ordeal had evidently cost him a lot of weight, for he was unexpectedly easy to tote along. Occasionally he'd come to himself, too, and stumble a few steps, but then the weight would come back onto their shoulders again, and David would know he was gone once more.

Almost to the woods now, and David looked back: the World gate was still there, though rapidly disappearing. But it didn't matter anymore, because even as he stared, an eagle burst through the rift. Another followed, then a third.

Into the woods then, onto the trail, and he prayed the huge raptors would not follow them there. Against his will he found himself recalling another pursuit: Ailill in eagle shape chasing him through the woods near Lookout Rock. Nuada had saved him then, in the guise of a huge white swan. But this time there could be no Nuada. And he didn't even have his runestaff.

And what was to keep his pursuers from changing to some other form?

A cry from Liz meant that she'd stumbled. The irate “Dammit! Ouch!” that followed doubtless meant that Calvin-'possum had done something he shouldn't.

“Watch it,” Alec hollered, as a branch snapped back into them. David dodged sideways, dragging Fionchadd with him, almost out of Alec's grip. Four steps to recovery, and they stumbled on. Fortunately, Fionchadd seemed to be coming to a bit more now; David could feel his muscles twitching.

No sign of the eagles, but he thought he heard vast wings flapping—hard to tell though, over the sound of Liz crashing on ahead, of their own hurried breathing, of Finno's occasional grunts and moans.

On and on—and Fionchadd tore free and staggered with them. Liz was nearly out of sight, and David hoped desperately that she, at least, would get away. Maybe she could bring help, though God only knew what kind.