The Summoning (15 page)

A whine from behind me, a struggle, an awkward shake, and Richard stood with one hand on a rock, and then straightened up. “What’s the matter?”

Wordlessly I turned and began picking my way down the trail, back the way we had come.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “What happened?”

“Scent marker,” I said quietly, as though the sound of my voice would change anything. As though the trail I had left wouldn’t be a banner proclaiming to anyone around where I was, where I had come from. Oh stupid stupid stupid stupid—

Gray Fox has been allied with our family for time out of mind. The fox kind are our heralds, our emissaries and, when needed, our scouts. And one of the fox kind, one that I knew, had left a scent marker on the trunk of the cedar tree not five days ago. I knew they would start their search for me in the wild country. I’d done everything I could think of to make that happen, and I’d gone to live in the city because there I would be harder to track. In the wild, once you’ve left a trail, it can be scented for months or even years in certain conditions. It’s useful to let your enemies think that you’re stupid. But now I had been stupid. Running up into wild country, where I was easily tagged—that had been stupid. Going back down our trail wasn’t going to help. He would know where I was today. It wouldn’t take them long to lay a net. And I knew they would come after me, they had to come after me. I’d always known that. I’m the daughter of the Moon Wolf. I carry the line in my blood.

CHAPTER TEN

“A
mber?” Richard asked, stumbling again behind me. “What’s wrong? Can I do anything?”

I stopped and turned. “I’m being sought. By my family. One of their—one of the folks they sent to find me has been here.”

“The gray fox?” he asked.

I’d forgotten that he, too, had been scenting as a wolf. I nodded. “Let’s get down off this trail. Then… I’ll figure something out,” I said numbly.

I sensed the people before I saw them, and because of the state I was in, I changed at once and turned to confront them. There were two figures standing on a ridge across the creek, watching us. I lifted my lip to them, even angrier at myself for having been caught out, for having changed without thinking, for having assumed they were foes. They were a couple of older women, and they were here a lot. There had been traces of them on the trail, in layers, going back a long time. And there were more traces of them here. I stared up at them. Harmless. Fine. Who cares what they thought they saw? I was about to head on down the trail when the taller, older woman squatted down, holding out her arms. Then the other woman did it as well. Then they both stood up.

“Come up here,” the first one called. “It’s all right.”

Okay. Crossing the creek, crossing their paths, would obscure my trail. I’d be offering something besides a straight line back to my car. I stood one more moment because I don’t come when I’m called. Then I trotted back down the path, until I found the branch to where they crossed the creek. There was a boulder there, with its flat side facing the trail. I’d passed it, running joyously up the trail, without noticing.

Three signs were carved in the granite in a triangle, connected by a painted design of Celtic knotwork. I stood up so I could look at them properly. I’d seen them before. Welcome. Friendship. Safety. A tangle of energy hung about the stone, the trace of small workings going back a long time. I looked up at the women, still waiting patiently. I changed again, took the cut-off down to the creek, and crossed it in a bound.

I trotted up the trail to the ridge. I heard Richard making his way up slowly behind me. I hadn’t told him to change, so he was picking his way over the slippery rocks, across the board these women used to cross the creek, and up the path behind me.

I changed again as I reached the ridge. The women’s eyes were startled, almost awed. Yeah, I like that. But they were smiling, and their hands were open.

“Ladies,” I said evenly. I stood just outside their wards that said, “There’s nothing here, you don’t see anything, there’s no cabin, nobody lives here,” tendrils of which wound down the creek, and up and down the trail. Here, I could see the snug little cabin set back from the ridge in a little clearing near a stand of cedars. A flattened, rock-lined space created a little yard overlooking the stream, and an impressive stack of firewood lay under the cabin’s eaves beside the back door. Smoke rose from a stovepipe in the roof.

Richard climbed up and stood beside me. He bowed slightly, his eyes wary.

The older woman had curls of sandy gray hair spilling down from her dark green wool cap. Her long, green coat fell to her soft leather boots. She was holding out her green-gloved hands, but did not try to take mine. “Welcome. Will you come in? I’m Marge. This is my friend Andy.”

Andy was smiling broadly. “Hi!” She was a little taller than me but heavy-set. She wore a red knit cap, probably from the same set of knitting needles, and a dark blue ski jacket over her jeans and hiking boots. She was practically hugging herself with excitement and astonishment. “Come right this way. We were about to serve the soup.”

“Will you eat with us?” Marge asked.

“Thank you,” I said formally. “We will be happy to. I’m called Amber. This is Richard.”

Marge nodded, indicated the way, but did not offer to touch us. Someone had taught her good manners.

The warmth of the cabin was imbued with smells of beef, of wine, and of baking bread. I started to salivate. It seemed like a long time since those sandwiches.

We stepped in to a large main room lined with bookshelves filled with dusty old books. Beside the door was a stand for hiking sticks and ski poles, and another for coats. Marge took off her coat, and Andy hung them both up. I didn’t take off my sweatshirt, Richard had his hands in his jacket pockets, and they didn’t ask for them.

The stove in the corner was burning nicely, and Marge laid in a few more logs to keep it going. A narrow staircase off the kitchen led to the rooms upstairs. Under it was a bathroom with a compost toilet.

One thing was out of place. I opened my mouth a little. “Who’s missing?” Another woman, young and active, had slept over on the couch the last several nights, and, yes, hers was the knitting basket by the smallest chair.

Marge and Andy glanced at each other. “My daughter,” Marge said, “Hannah. She went to gather kindling. She should be back soon.”

“She has the little dog?”

Marge nodded and Andy laughed. The dog’s scent was everywhere, and the size of it was evident from the small basket next to the stove. “Do you mind?” Marge asked.

“I don’t,” I told her. “She will.” I saw the thought dawn in Andy’s eyes, and said, “I won’t eat her.”

“Of course not!” Marge said, and Andy bustled off to the kitchen to dish up soup, while Marge offered us seats by the fire. I stood looking at her, waiting until she answered the question that was between us. She said, “My mother, Candace Wilmot, was a friend to one of the raven kind. We lived next door to a pair of them while I was growing up. She was able to be helpful sometimes.” She smiled. “So, the first thing I thought, when I saw two wolves running up the trail was, I’m seeing a pair of the legendary wolf kind.”

All right. That would do. I nodded and sat down, and Richard took a seat next to me. “That’s why you have the signs on the rock.”

“That’s right.” Marge handed each of us a mug of steaming coffee. Richard cupped his hands around his and bent to take in the aroma as he sipped. Marge sipped hers. I tried mine. It was not as bad as usual.

“We lived down the road in the village when I was young,” Marge said. “When my mother built this cabin, she made those signs on the rocks.”

“Did she teach you magic?”

Andy laughed as she came in from the kitchen with four bowls on a tray. “Magic? What do you mean?”

“There are a lot of workings on this mountain,” I said. “You’ve put some good wards around your cabin, and there’ve been workings by that stone.”

“Oh, that!” Andy handed me a deep bowl with a handle to hold it by, and a plate with a wedge of fresh bread and butter. “Is that magic? Chanting and singing and waving joss sticks?” I waited until Marge started on hers before I took a bite.

Until I left home, it never occurred to me that there were people who didn’t know how to lay wards or raise whatever power they could. In Los Angeles, not only did most people not know how to do it, a lot of them were oblivious to power once it was raised, even when they reacted to it. Everyone I knew, growing up, knew about these things. The wards on our valley, on the roads in and out, and the bridge to the east, were renewed at each solstice, and had been for over a century. I didn’t set any wards on my apartment. I’m all the ward the place needs, after all. And a ward is a beacon to those who know how to look for them; I was supposed to be lying low.

“When chanting and singing is done with intention and with power, it can be shaped into a ward, or even a spell, if there is power enough,” I explained. “Fire is a focus, in any form.”

“You’re kidding!” Andy looked over at Marge, smiling in delight.

“We came up here,” I told them, “because we heard down in the city that the Buddhists up here are chanting aversion and protection against the World Snake. It’s said the World Snake is coming and will take the city when she arrives.”

Andy stared at us, but Marge nodded. “I’ve heard that, yes.”

“The priory people aren’t working on saving the city,” Andy burst out. “They don’t care about the city. All they care about is their precious cave.”

I looked over at Richard. “We’ve been running up and down this mountain fended off by misdirection everywhere we go. We’ve ended up at the ski resort, on the wrong road, at a broken down house—”

Andy was laughing again. She stopped when I looked at her. “Yeah, that’s Roscoe. He’s paranoid.”

Marge explained. “Some years ago, the Buddhist Center for Peace got a new leader.”

“And that’s when it all went to hell,” Andy interposed.

“It’s because of the cave,” Marge explained, but Andy burst in again.

“There were these stories, about miners going into the cave and getting lost. It’s only about eighty feet long, so how can you get lost? But a couple of people from the priory spent the night in there, and after that—”

“Nothing happened,” Marge said. “I was there. Nothing happened.” I looked into her eyes and wondered why she was lying. Andy took up the story.

“One of them told some kind of story to Roscoe, and now he’s the leader. And now you’re allowed to join them for prayers, at certain times, but if you want higher knowledge, you have to pay, and there’s a hierarchy, and steps to the inner circle, and you have to swear oaths of secrecy, and the Roscoe-worshippers spend a lot of time sneaking around.”

“They’ve been laying the misdirection wards?” I asked.

“They don’t want anyone finding the cave,” Andy said. “Though there’s nothing there. Honestly.”

She wasn’t lying. She didn’t think there was. “They don’t want people finding the priory either,” I commented. “We never did.”

“You have to have an invitation, now,” Marge said. “It’s all very sad. Andy and I quit the group a couple of years ago.”

“So what is this World Snake?” Andy asked. “Some kind of monster?”

I looked at Richard, Richard looked at me, and Marge was the one who answered her. “It’s a mythical being, isn’t it? One of Loki’s sons, the serpent who spans the whole world?”

Richard asked, “Did you feel the earthquake in November?”

Marge and Andy grinned at each other. “One of the perks of living on a mountain,” Marge said. “We don’t get earthquakes up here.”

“The Worm is one of the original denizens of the Earth, Creator and Destroyer,” Richard said. “When she moves, the Earth trembles. When she feeds, cities are devoured. Or so they say.”

“So, why’s it coming here?” Andy asked.

Richard shrugged. “She doesn’t need a reason. She is a god.”

“And you and I are supposed to stop it?” I said. “We need to talk.”

Someone was coming, and the dog outside started up a tremendous racket. I grinned. I couldn’t help it. There’s nothing like a little dog screaming, “Oh my god, there’s a wolf in there!” at the top of her lungs, and nobody believing her.

“Mom! What’s wrong?” Hannah burst into the cabin in a swirl of freezing air and a flying brown poncho, carrying a big basket of kindling over her arm, while the little dog bounced up and down outside, barking and carrying on. “Oh,” said Hannah, when she saw the two of us. “Rose! Shut up! It’s all right.”

Richard stood up.

Marge said, “Honey, this is Amber and Richard. They got this far up the trail and got cold, and we asked them in for soup. This is my daughter Hannah.”

Hannah glanced at me, but she couldn’t seem to help staring at Richard. “Oh!” she said. She came over to Richard and held out her hand, smiling. “Hi! Rose, shut up! I’m sorry…”

They finally got the dog to come inside, and she went straight for me. I looked at her, and she went straight back again, so hard she fell over backwards. She bounced back and forth, barking all the time, and then dashed behind the couch where Marge was sitting. From there, she kept a close guard on me and uttered occasional growls.

“She’s never like this,” Hannah apologized. “I don’t know what’s come over her.”

The two women looked at either other, but neither offered to tell her what was going on.

Andy dished up soup for Hannah, and we got our bowls refilled and our bread replenished as well. The soup had beef, barley, tomato sauce, and carrots. It was really good, and the bread was warm and crusty. I wondered if Richard was taking notes. He certainly did justice to his share.

“We were telling Amber and Richard about the priory,” Marge said.

“Oh, uck,” was Hannah’s comment. “Those people! You’d think they’d invented religion. You know they wear their robes into the grocery store now? And they’re just visitors.”

When she finished eating, Hannah collected the dishes and took them into the kitchen. I asked Marge, “Are you working to deflect the World Snake? Allies are being sought, in the city.”

“I don’t give a damn what happens to the city,” Andy said.