Chapter 18 Arguing Wolves
Arguing Wolves
Being in the presence of a Dreamer was always profoundly humbling, but this was another novelty in Nigel’s experience—she simply refused to admit her own suffering, clinging to a variety of grim endurance equal to that of a cornered, combat-weary Son.
She also cast longing little looks at their guns when she thought him unaware, clearly kept track of road signs and directions, and placed herself precisely where she should as if trained in the fine art of not interfering with a soldier or bodyguard’s work.
Nigel thought it quite likely the curly-headed martinet was responsible for that particular habit, and hoped the man’s shade was resting comfortably.
It was vanishingly unlikely any of her companions had survived the campground attack, but discussing the matter with a lirai in this state would be wildly unproductive.
Glassy-eyed and silent, she stared at yet another substandard motel room as if she couldn’t quite recognize what such a space was designed for.
Edward immediately moved to secure the window and organize gear upon the twin bed; no doubt he wanted to change into something other than rags as soon as her comfort was seen to.
So did Nigel, but she responded better to his overtures than Edward’s. The Elder gained only a flinch or monosyllable at best, while for once a Father’s chill, distant formality seemed to almost comfort a sensitive soul.
“Can you eat?” He took the risk of repeating the offer once more, though she’d already refused more food and any analgesic from the ancient bottle of ibuprofen found in their most recent transport, no doubt shifted from a previous vehicle by a thoughtful owner. “It might help.”
A mournful shake of her honey-streaked head. Cass shivered, hugging herself hard, fingers biting into her upper arms. She was fit to bruise herself even more, he thought, and wished he could pry her hands loose, sit her down, relieve some of the awful suffering etched on her wan, pretty face.
“It’s fine,” she repeated. “We could keep going, you know. I don’t mind.”
Just like a Dreamer. Even untrained, the mettle showed. “You need rest.”
“I guess.” She moved with somnambulant slowness for the bathroom, closing the door after glancing at him as if suspecting an objection. Water plashed, and though she sought to be quiet, enhanced hearing could clearly catch a muffled sob.
“Sir.” Edward turned from the gear temporarily piled on a brown plaid coverlet, shoulders stiff and mouth a thin line. He was the very picture of determination to perform an unpleasant duty. “I have to ask, what are you doing?”
“She’s about to collapse.” Physically, and otherwise.
“Every hour we spend on this side of the Divide is a liability.” The Elder’s hands were stiff at his sides; in any uniform, his thumbs would rest precisely along a seam.
Now, of course, they dangled near ribbonlike slices in heavy denim, cuts jagged at the ends—the mark of unclean claws. “You know it as much as I do.”
“If there were a viable alternative to the present course, my Elder, I am confident we would have thought of it by now.” Nigel’s conscience did not twinge, he found—at least, not much. Naturally traveling as swiftly as possible was the ideal, but causing her yet more distress…
No. He did not want that, at all.
“We have to at least seal her.” Edward was pale, blond hair a bird’s nest—probably from raking with his fingers in an excess of frustration, or as close to that operation as a Son would permit. “She doesn’t even have to be conscious. It’s for the best.”
Nigel did not precisely disagree. He contented himself with a mild question. “Is it?”
“He wants her badly,” the Elder pressed, and it was after all his duty to do so. The sound of running water continued, and the marvelous forgiving warmth of a lirai’s aura drenched them both. “If we have to separate—”
“Sealing her now carries different risks, Edward. Would you like to explain the process to her, and the necessity? Or is that my task?” There was an uncharacteristic note of censure in his tone, Nigel discovered.
Perhaps it was even anger? He couldn’t tell.
And that was dangerous. The situation was deeply unsettling; so were his own reactions. He suspected he was not thinking clearly, yet both Sons were unquestionably well within a Dreamer’s grace.
The god’s whispers were muted, more overt attacks kept at bay.
True immunity was merely a variety of sorcerous intent during a few moments of extremely intimate physical contact, nothing at all when compared to the benefits—not so long ago, Sons engaged in near-mortal combat to earn admittance to a lirai’s bed for the precious rite.
The songs of the awarded prize inevitably contained a lament from lirai forced to grant it, uncomfortably like dirges. There was a word for assaulting the unwilling, hardly pretty yet entirely accurate, and it well behooved a man to remember as much.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you want to keep her all to…
” Edward stopped, compressed his lips into a thin line, and shook his head.
The curtains, also brown though not quite plaid, stirred on an unphysical breeze.
After a few moments the cold prickling of rage filling the room drained, bit by bit. “I’m sorry, Father.”
“No need to apologize, Elder. This is… an extraordinary situation.” The unpleasantness of the accusation was in direct proportion to a grain of terrible truth; Nigel was absolutely not considering current events dispassionately enough.
At all.
“We still should.” Edward’s voice dropped to an almost-whisper, since the water had finally shut off. They had only a few moments to hash this out—though not, Nigel suspected, for good. “She’ll be safer, too.”
“That is true.” And yet Nigel arrived at the same place, once more.
The argument unreeled verbally instead of from its worn, circular track inside his head.
“Yet she is not a potential but a full Dreamer, and somehow utterly untrained. We know what the act of sealing entails and may explain until we’re blue, but will she listen?
It will absolutely traumatize her further.
At some point she may very well break from reality.
If she retreats into catatonia—or into the Dreaming Lands—not even another lirai might be able to bring her out, especially if significant time passes between the event and our arrival at a proper temple.
Then there is the act itself, and that…” He realized the words had grown sharp, were certainly not a whisper, and the silence around them had changed.
Not by much, but enough. The sense of listening came from behind the bathroom door, and he could sense her, one hand on the knob, straining to hear. The mental image was clear and sharp, undeniable.
All color had drained from Edward’s face; the lad was quite ashen. “You’re right,” he said, perhaps a trifle too loudly. “I… you’re right, sir.”
I wish I were not. Selfish as it undoubtedly was, he longed to commit an irrevocable act. If she were not so fragile, so bloody alluring, it would be easier.
Or would it? Though her presence barred the Mad God’s whispering from his skull, Nigel couldn’t even be certain of his own motivations. A Father required clarity, not only on his own account but for the Elder and Younger depending on him.
He possessed only his conscience—and was that not a jest as well? To reach his age and status, a Son must do unspeakable things, not only to the unclean but to civilians caught in crossfire, and to the brothers who had succumbed to the god’s wheedling.
The comfort of finding a black, bleak act he would not perform was a luxury. One they might after all not be able to afford if the situation spun further out of control.
Which ended at the same destination, no matter which route he considered. They had little choice but to continue as they had begun. “Steady on, my Elder.” He tried to sound certain, as a Father should. “We’ll do as we must.”
Edward nodded. He did not appear relieved, which was wise as there was precious little relief to be found in their current predicament. Yet the tension largely vanished, and a few moments later Cass peered through the flimsy door, wide-eyed as a child.
Little girl lost, her only protection a pair of arguing wolves.
“All’s well,” he continued, hoping to give at least an impression of calm reassurance. “Come out, my lady Cass, and lie down. We’ll leave just before dawn.”
Unless something else happens. Nigel was fairly sure his expression wasn’t saying as much, but it didn’t need to.
Hers spoke loudly enough for all three of them.
* * *
Nigel had spent many a long night on watch, but never while listening to a lirai’s steady breathing.
Perhaps sheer exhaustion had finally taken its toll; she barely moved after stretching out gingerly upon the hastily cleared bed.
Edward settled on the floor, back propped against the footboard, elbows draped loosely at his knees as the television’s blue glow played over his bowed, hurriedly combed head.
Slipping between trance and true sleep, he could nevertheless be ready for battle in less than a heartbeat.
Planted in one of the twin fusty, deeply inadequate chairs—also plaid, though of a vomitous yellow shade with red flecks—Nigel stood guard over both, and between his own spells of light cleansing-trance, he continued brooding upon their route.
There was a new active temple in Cheyenne; now that the Mad God’s servants weren’t being fed the locations of vulnerable potentials, the Sons’ grip upon the eastern seaboard remained assured and that upon prairie and plains had firmed.
The problem lay in threading the mountains with surety instead of merely flinging themselves at the wall, hoping to break through. Just after sunset Nigel arrived at a conclusion; by midnight he had tested it in every conceivable fashion and found no alternative.
Eventually he rose, pacing soundlessly just inside the door, nerves drawn tight enough to snap. His lirai moved under the covers—she still slept in her trainers, and despite the numerous small holes and rips in her T-shirt had refused a change into fresh clothing.
He had not insisted. At least the Sons were now well-clad, full-up on ammunition, and Nigel’s sword was a reassuring weight against his back. His thumb found the underside of his signet, rubbing meditatively. The stone remained quiescent.
It was a fetter, a reminder of responsibility. Not a lens, like an oneiros.
One after another, the minutes fled. She grew more restless, murmuring into the thin, lumpen pillow.
Shimmering cities ordinary humans built during nightly treks across sleep’s mutable, dangerous country were evanescent.
In those spaces, only the Dreamers’ efforts endured.
Every plane and invisible land lay open to those chosen few—though they avoided the oubliette of the Nightmare Lands by sheer instinct, veering away from the hard chancre where an ancient evil was locked.
Edward stirred as dawn approached, fingers twitching before his hands circled at the wrists, then his shoulders rolled. He flowed upright with silent grace, glancing at his Father.
Looking for direction.
Nigel nodded. Once the burden of command settled it never lightened, cutting deeper with every day, every fight, every succeeding year.
Elder and Younger came to their Fathers for absolution, confessing tortuous doubts and the god’s terrible soul-destroying blandishments; those who had accepted the responsibility were to visit each other for the same service.
But here, there was no-one to turn to. It was the most final, terrible lesson of being a Son: In the end, a man was always alone.
“Anything?” Edward murmured. Nigel shook his head. They had fought together for so long, though, it was nearly inevitable for the Elder to guess his worries. “You’ve got an idea.”
“More like a realization,” Nigel said.
To his credit, the younger man did not leap to conclusions. “About what?”
Nigel’s lirai was stirring as well. A shapeless mutter died in her throat; she sat up, eyes wide and wild, clutching the thin coverlet to her chest. A spike of exquisite feeling was her aura instinctively reaching for her protectors, and it meant nothing—she had no doubt done the same for her previous companions, even if they were incapable of feeling the blessing.
“It’s all right,” Nigel reassured, hoping both would believe him. “Before we leave here, my lady Cass, there’s something you can help us with.”