Digital Magic (The Chronicles of Art Book 2) Page 12

  Bakari swiveled his gun, disorientated but willing to find a target never the less. The yowls of outrage from Leia rose above the sound of gunfire.

  “Watch out!” Ronan roared next to his ear. Suddenly Bakari found himself lifted clear of shelter and pushed into the next booth. His head spun as he crashed into the seats. Plenty of crew were enhanced, but he was no lightweight. To be able to do that so smoothly hinted at some impressive bioware.

  Where they had just been, there was a light rattle, followed by a thunderous boom that blurred his vision and made his head ring. The room shook. How in the hell had Ronan known that was coming?

  The two men pumped more rounds in the direction of their attackers, though on Bakari's part it was mostly guess work. He could barely see his gun, let alone his target. Ronan's weapon was pounding in a rapid fire. It was practically the only thing Bakari could hear.

  A pause, and a welcome one, as his ears finally began to settle down. Ronan shot him a smile. “Got someone," he whispered fiercely.

  But then a grim voice rose out of the smoke. “Panther, why don’t you just give yourself up—we can discuss this.”

  Bakari didn’t know what was going on here, yet he was absolutely sure that this lot didn’t have any interest in talking. He would have said as much, when a sound cut through the sudden stillness; Molly's young voice rising in a wail. The sound of a child crying for its mother.

  His teeth ground together. This was the worst bit about the sprawl. The so called collateral damage—innocent people caught in the crossfire. It happened all too often.

  “Let's get out of here,” he hissed to Ronan.

  “Wait.” Ronan tugged him back effortlessly, and just before a second rain of gunfire came. This time it was from the direction of the hallway. Reinforcements had arrived.

  While Bakari pumped his remaining rounds in the direction of the original attackers, Ronan concentrated on the newcomers. It wasn't going to last long. Whoever wanted them dead was not worried about manpower.

  How typical, to die in the sprawl he hated, Bakari thought to himself as he reloaded breathlessly. I don't want to die, a part of him said, not yet. Perhaps his second epiphany was today.

  Then, through all the smoke and yelling and fear, something changed. A sweet scent of jasmine enveloped the booth and Ronan's gun was suddenly silent. He must have been hit.

  Bakari turned to help him up and instead looked into the golden eyes of the largest black cat he'd ever seen. It was the briefest moment. His strangled breath hadn’t time to even escape his chest, yet as he looked into those ageless eyes he felt pierced through. He suddenly knew how small and young he was—how little he knew. But at the same instant he felt more alive and present than he had in years.

  And then the panther sprang away into the smoke. It was so beautiful, its muscles moving gracefully under its skin, barely disturbing the air with its passing. Bakari’s gun fell from his fingertips. It was inconceivable. Ronan was gone and there was only the cat. All his preconceived ideas of the world dropped away and he remembered only the childhood joy of magic revealed.

  All around, however, the world had not stopped. The smoke stilled and the screaming began.

  Then Ronan was at his side, gathering up the weapons where they had dropped, but not looking at him. “As you say, we’d better get out of here.”

  He followed him; through the heavy smoke, over the bodies of assailants and innocent Liners and out into the street. He trailed behind him wordlessly, watching and thinking but saying nothing until they had reached a nameless alley not far from the Point. They stood there staring at each other with all the comfort levels of two strange tomcats meeting for the first time.

  “What the hell are you?” Bakari finally spoke.

  A flash of odd violet light shone in Ronan's eye. “I think you already know the answer to that question.”

  “You'd be wrong.”

  “You might not know the name, but you surely had a clue when you asked me to steal the mask for you.”

  God, he'd thought he was being so clever, so mysterious; using Ronan for his own well-intentioned purposes and it seemed he'd known all along. Once again Bakari felt very young. He had no other option now. Without this man’s help he might as well go back to the Point and accept Infinity Rose's kind offer of a bullet. Except he wasn’t a man, was he? He’d seen the evidence today.

  “I just knew you were magic.”

  “Did you, now?” Ronan sighed and pressed his back against the cold wall. He couldn't look old but he certainly could manage weary. “You've bought yourself a lot of trouble just for a dream, my friend.”

  “But... you are—aren't you?”

  Bakari waited, so tense he could feel every twitch of his over-excited muscles. This was the moment in which he was sure the other would walk away, taking all their chances with him.

  Something apparently switched direction in Ronan. He jerked away from the wall and began smoothly reloading his weapon. “We never called it that, but I guess perhaps I used to be… once. Now I don't know what I am. I could be nothing at all.”

  “But the Mask,” Bakari said, “You felt it too—you can't say you didn't.”

  “I felt something,” he replied. “But I don't know what. That's why I came to the sprawl. These days, there are people more in tune with these sorts of things than I am. And now that note….”

  Those eyes suddenly ceased to be human. They widened, became darker and abruptly alien. “You're working with worrying types, Bakari. And now thanks to you, so am I.” He sounded very displeased, but at the same time resigned.

  He wasn't giving up, then. Bakari took a deep breath and a sigh of relief escaped.

  Ronan pushed his dark hair back brusquely and adjusted his holster under the leather coat. “Since we've both gone down this path, even if I didn't know it, we're pretty much stuck. Hope you’re prepared for the trouble you've made, Bakari. Or perhaps that should be, Pandora.”

  Bakari offered his hand and grinned with more confidence than he felt. “I bet she thought it was worthwhile, letting out those terrible things for a little hope, friend.”

  Ronan shook his head in acceptance, but took the offered hand in a firm clasp. “Things were getting boring anyway,” he said wryly.

  He spun around deeper into the labyrinth of alleyways, either supremely confident that the Liner would follow, or totally indifferent.

  Bakari reminded himself of that moment, that epiphany which had set him on this path. In those flames of memory he recalled the unknown predators that had begun all of this, and the precious life that had ended so that it could begin. It still didn’t seem enough, but it was all he could do to give her loss meaning. Holding his head high, Bakari followed after the man that might have been the only magic left in this sorry world. Mama would have been proud.

  The Folk were never swift in their demands, Aroha knew that. She’d read the books, studied the myths, so she knew how it was supposed to go. Cinderella had her time in the sun, and even Rapunzel had a little cheer—so it wasn’t like she was expecting lightning to strike that very afternoon.

  They all got back to Makara just fine. Simon was alright, having taken only a slight blow from the bot's concussion grenade, but from the sideways glances that Daniel was throwing her, Aroha was not sure that he completely believed his own explanation of their miraculous survival. The villagers were happy to accept that the bot had been faulty, blown its own power supply, but for anyone that had been there, it was different.

  Even Sally knew it, though she’d only seen the spectacular end results of the Folk intrusion. Hanging around Aroha, she’d come to accept a certain amount of weirdness. All she’d say to those who ran to greet them was that her friend had been very brave and the bot had exploded like a firework. She basked in their incredulity.

  Things settled down. Daniel sent Simon back to base in Wellington, but he stayed on. Aroha knew he was curious, but he covered it with the explanation that he might be neede
d in Makara.

  Nana was not such a pushover. Aroha had feared that, on the long trek home. While Nana seemed to be just as happy about the whole thing out on the street corner gossiping with all the others, as soon as she got Aroha inside, things were quite different.

  “You didn’t speak to Them, did you now? You couldn’t have done something so foolish!”

  It seemed the fact she’d run away in the first place had been overridden by other concerns. She could see there was something apart from anger in Nana’s eyes, and her fingers, where they rested on the kitchen bench, were tight and white.

  Aroha could feel tears clench in the back of her throat and tried to think of ways to stop them flooding out her eyes. She’d told her grandmother untruths before, but she sensed now was not the time to lie. “I did,” she managed to gasp out with a little hitch in her voice.

  Nana turned away, looking out the window at the smooth blue sky and the endless green of the forest. Aroha rocked on her feet; left to right, right to left, hoping for words—any words, to break the silence. Nana was usually not one to keep her thoughts to herself.

  “What have you done, my darling?” she finally said, though her back remained turned. “What have you brought to this place…”

  “Nan,” Aroha stuttered forward a few steps, but didn’t quite dare to touch her, “I couldn’t let them die… could I?”

  A sudden rush, and she was enveloped in her grandmother’s warm thin arms and the scent of lavender. “No, you couldn’t.”

  It was all right in that embrace—in it Aroha was totally loved. But unfortunately, she’d begun to see that in the real world these things were not necessarily so.

  Nana pushed her back, holding her at arm’s length. It was her face that was wet, “Don’t mind me—I’m just being silly. You did what you had to. Now go get your room tidied up.”

  It was Nana’s stalwart way of diverting her granddaughter’s mind; filling it with other things, mostly chores, but this time it wasn’t going to work.

  Aroha obeyed, trudging off to her room as instructed, but for days after she played that little scene over in her mind. Her special gifts were hardly ever discussed. Sally obviously knew something was different, but never mentioned it. Nana knew about those differences, but only ever spoke of them in passing. The inference was that they should be ignored at all costs. and were somehow bad.

  Aroha was confused. She found it hard to concentrate on day to day existence, and most of all, found it almost impossible to sleep. Every time her head met her pillow, she’d feel the Folk’s breath on the back of her neck and the feeling of dread would build up in her chest, making her wake with a start. She had to be quiet; the walls were thin and Nana’s bed was right up against the other side. The slightest noise and Aroha would have to explain herself.

  This happened every night for nearly a week, until at last the feeling solidified into something far more concrete and far more frightening.

  It had been a hard day, quiet but filled with dire portents. The sky was the colour of blood in the morning and the birds were silent in the trees. Aroha went around all day feeling like something was going to blow, with her neck itching and her nerves taunt. The warm wood cocoon of her little bedroom offered little relief after the day’s strangeness.

  Nana had propped open the window before shutting the door, and the breeze from off the mountains tickled Aroha’s skin. No sound came from the forest. Were they ready to demand the price from her? Or had she perhaps offended them in some way? The wind gave no hint, and Aroha descended into sleep to the memory of their singing, and of long pale fingers brushing her temple.

  The dreams, though, were not as sweet—a chaotic swirl of anger and sadness that threatened to drown any soul. The wounded earth was crying, reaching out unhappily for its lost self. In the myth of this land, the earth mother Papatuanuku had been wrenched away from her lover Rangi, the sky father, by their children, the gods of life. Aroha could hear the earth and the sky’s anguish—it was almost unbearable; cries of such terrible loss that could wound a soul.

  She awoke panting in the dark, not sure what had released her from the dreams' embrace. The wind from the hills had gone, replaced by a heavy stillness. Nothing, not even the old creaky house, made a sound. The blankets felt like lead and the air was too thick to breathe. Her chest was quiet, frozen in a between moment where life and death were both in equal amounts. Stuck in that amber moment, like one of those insects Nana had told her about, Aroha waited for the world to start again.

  It released her a moment before chaos. Her feet were on the floor, running, before her brain had even fully woken. She pelted out of her bedroom and along the darkened corridor, even as the earth began to heave. The house was now shivering to the accompaniment of china falling and cupboards rattling. The sheer strangeness of the unmoving suddenly given life was more than enough to make her heart race. But Aroha kept running; bumping against the walls, dodging falling pictures. She made it to the kitchen and tumbled through the door onto the rumbling ground, still wet with dew.

  The shrieks of alarmed villagers and the call of frightened sheep was the earth’s orchestra. The houses all groaned and the wire and picket fences rattled. The very world itself seemed to tilt.

  Aroha could feel the pain of the Mother as she buried her fingers in the wet soil; an immortal torment not meant for people to hear.

  Papatuanuku, she whispered. Great Mother, just as the Forest People had taught her. A low hum was in the back of her throat; a call to stillness, a reminder that Papa’s children needed her to be calm. Do not destroy us, Papatuanuku. And far away up the mountain she knew the long pale fingers of the Folk did the same, their silk soft voices repeating her call in their own mysterious language.

  The world was turning and spinning on this moment. Papatuanuku could rise up and shake them all from her, as a person might rid themselves of ants at a picnic. Aroha squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to see that image before her, instead trying tried to think how much the earth should love her children—even if they were spoilt and ignorant.

  But Papatuanuku listened; to the humming of the Forest People and to the whispering of one frightened daughter. The earth stilled her swaying and held her peace once more, though the pain within her had not eased at all.

  Nana found Aroha lying splayed on the cool earth, fingers grubby, salty tears drying on her cheeks. Wordlessly she gathered her up very easily, even though her granddaughter was no longer small. Nestled against her warmth, smelling the lavender and rose scent she always seemed to wear, Aroha came to herself again, melting back into a skin that had for a moment not really seemed to be her own.

  This was not normal. After all, Sally couldn’t see the people in the forest, couldn’t understand the shifting of the earth. She had it easy. Aroha half sighed and half sniffled, burrowing closer to Nana as she carried her back into the house. She’d not mentioned this to anyone—not a soul, and that was better. No one would look at her strangely; inherently, she knew her life depended on that. So she wrapped her arms around Nana and let her eyes drift shut.

  It was a reminder, a forceful one at that—she belonged to the Folk and their power. The earth herself needed something, and she was a wielder of power in this time when few even acknowledged it. The Folk wouldn’t forget her promise to them. The time of payment was now due—they had quite literally shaken her awake. With the sun, there would be a summoning and a price to pay.

  Still, those she loved were safe and, until morning at least, she remained just a child.

  8

  Ravenous

  When the cool spring evening finally wrapped itself around the village, the Seed awoke once more. It had not fed in days. Though the hunger burned, intelligence told it that the time was not right to hunt its enemies. For now it must seek other, less powerful prey. Luckily, this was their night and there would be opportunities to feast.

  A coal-eyed badger stirred in her den as it passed by. Its tread was so light that
not even the dead leaves rustled. The she-badger grunted fearfully while working herself deeper into her den.

  Circling the woods behind the Hall, the monster felt tentatively with its other senses and sampled the ether for its enemies. A sudden surge of power reached it, and it knew they were now drawing together. This is itself suited the purposes of its master, but there was a fine line to be drawn. While the enemies were needed, it would not do to alert them to its presence just yet.

  The pooka had almost caught sight of the Seed. If he had, there would have been a battle. His arrival was the greatest risk. It would have been good to eliminate him, but the time was not yet ripe.

  “Soon.” It hissed the promise to itself and the night drew colder.

  The sharp retort of a raven’s cry made the Seed hunker down into the earth once more. Fear washed over it, but it was simply a mortal bird startled from its sleep.

  The raven peered down out of its nighttime perch and they eyed each other warily. Macha, the Dark Goddess’ companion, would have been death for the Seed, alone and drained as it was. Luckily, this was not her.

  Rising up on its hind legs, it hissed venomously at the raven. Like all mortal things, it knew danger well enough. With a snap of its wings, it flew off to another perch. Satisfied, the Seed settled down once more to wait.

  Silver slices of moonlight broke through the trees and were chased by a few dark clouds. Hush had descended on the forest. The Seed lay very flat in the leaf litter; a bunch of tangled roots barely discernable in the shadows. No breath or sound gave its position away. It was the perfect ambush.

  From its position on the slight rise, the Seed could see all the way down into the curve of oaks which were its target. Velvet topped mushrooms had made their home here and were nestled around vague bulges in the earth.