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Friday, July 7th, 1995 6:16 a.m.
A wave roared up on Simon's left. He turned towards it, hawked, and spit into the receding foam. Even at the beach, the air in this town made his mouth feel leathery and full of slime, especially when he woke in the morning. It was like breathing in a bathhouse, thick and oppressive. At least here, early by the sea, it was a cool, foggy thick that he breathed.
Simon thought with dismay about the small room he'd left behind. Strewn with books and papers, the contents of his rucksack scattered across the floor. Containers of half-eaten Chinese takeout sitting on chairs. The bed rumpled and in disarray; he often couldn't sleep at night, whether from the heat or the thought of dreamless slumber he couldn't say. Of course, the air conditioning in his room was broken, and he hadn't had any luck at trying to get the university maintenance people to come fix it... bastards. Perhaps he ought to think about getting a fan.
He looked out over the crashing waves, the vast trackless expanse of ocean to the west. It would be nice, he thought, a boat out there, sailing alone across the water, towards the South China Sea. Asia, Akashic Brothers; friends of Davies? It was a nice thought. Simon chuckled grimly. What would Resheph do? Swim? Well, he wasn't going anywhere for the moment anyway. Not until things were sorted out. He just wanted a while to walk by the beach and pretend he was alone.
Perhaps it was a futile pretense; up ahead, a figure appeared out of the mist, walking towards Simon. His guardian, trailing flesh on the sand? No, there were two, coming closer. A man and a woman. The first was lanky and tall, taller even than Simon, loose clothes around a skinny frame. The woman was much smaller. A lot of beads around her. Dreadlocks in blond hair, walking barefoot across the beach, long skirt the color of the summer sea, green and blue and green, trailing almost to the sand. Simon stopped, and they continued, straight towards him, leisurely pace.
The waves kept roaring up, filling Simon's ears, and there was a jingle. Roar - crash - jingle - hssssh foam back into the sea - jangle - jingle -roar... her anklets, shining from beneath the fringe of her skirt, clattering together as she and her companion walked across the hard-packed sand by the edge of the waves.
Simon tried to smile pleasantly as they came up. Their features sprang out at him from the morning haze, and there was a ripple of recognition; he had seen these two somewhere before. Where? A seagull's cry cut across his thoughts. It wasn't coming. They stopped in front of him; they knew him.The man raised a hand in greeting, his broad palm looming large at the end of a skinny arm.
"Hello, Brother." Simon looked from the almost oversized hand to the man's face: dark black skin, painted with bright colors. Not the red and white clay of Simon's homeland, but the colors of this continent, greens and yellows and blues on black. Still, it was like enough, even without the familiar dots and lines, that Simon was reminded of home. Pinky Tawalonimi, a tall lanky friend with oversize hands. Close-cropped kinky hair. The nose was different, but the solemn, friendly look, without a smile, was the same.
Australia... If I was still there -
The woman shifted her weight from one foot to the other, waiting. He had seen her wait like this before... nights ago, at the drum circle! These two were among the voices there, two of the thrumbling beats, Dreamspeakers of Santa Cruz. They had come to find him?
Simon gave them a puzzled look. "You are - what are you doing here?" It came out sounding rude; he didn't want to be rude, but ...
"We've come to find you." said the man who looked something like Pinky."My name is Lionel, and this is Keeshana. We're here to guard you. Ours is the Brother's Eye - and we see you. Our people - by that I mean your people too - all us Dreamspeakers have joined the Chorus and the Akashics- even the Herms. We have a plan."
A plan. He sounded almost hopeful; no longer the crushed anguish of the drum circle. Not a night where the drummers fled from a dreamless watcher -- they looked to a new morning now. War at dawn. Was that it?
"And I am part of that plan, I suppose?"
"Don't you know?" Lionel grinned, white teeth flashing against the pre-dawn light. "Man, you ARE the plan."
Simon sighed and looked out over the ocean. Already the fog was rolling back, dissipating into the morning air in anticipation of the sun. It would be very hot, very soon. He turned back to Lionel and Keeshana.
"Do you mind if we keep walking?" Simon lifted his head and pointed with his chin at the stretch of beach ahead of them. Lionel nodded his assent."Walking is good."
They walked side by side along the sand, the way the two Dreamspeakers had come, one of them on either side of Simon. The woman's anklets jangled again, rustling against each other with every step. Simon turned his head just a notch to the left and regarded her out of the corner of his eye. Something shone on her cheek; a patch of wetness, the remnants of a tear. Her eyes were red, he noted.
Keeshana blinked and glanced at Simon, seeing him watching her. Frowning just a bit, she wiped her cheeks clean, and looked away, down at the footprints they were retracing, her small bare feet leaving light marks alongside Lionel's boots and Simon's worn sneakers.
The two other Dreamspeakers matched Simon pace for pace, heading down the beach, saying nothing. He was moving a bit more quickly than he might otherwise, feeling uncomfortable. Every feature of the ocean-front landscape seemed to grab his attention, and he thought... Resheph is watching me. He had seen far too much of the hideous thing over the past few weeks, although it had never shown its face (if you could call that putrefacted maggot nest a face) while anyone besides Simon was around. So he doubted they would see it today. But still the thoughts came: behind the shaft of that pier. On the far side of the breakwater. Peering out from the drainage ditch. Watching, a rotting shepherd tending over the only lamb of the flock.
Simon looked over at Lionel and flashed a toothy grin. "I don't need guarding, you know. I've got my own private surveillance... all taken care of." He couldn't maintain the fake grin, and lapsed back into his usual somber stare.
Just beyond those dunes. Floating at the bottom of a tidepool.
Lionel returned his gaze. "That's not why we're here." The tall man bent his head down, looking grim. "Man, I'm sorry to tell you this--but we're here to make sure YOU don't do anything--to yourself. "
Waiting, just around the corner. Leering from a treetop. Coiled inside my heart.
Simon laughed, and Lionel's dark-skinned face wore a startled expression. Abruptly self-conscious, he grew quiet, and the three of them kept on walking.
Saturday, July 8th, 1995 4:54 p.m.
The inside of the sweat house was dark, musty, and smelled like the dirt and cedar walls were bleeding their essence into the thick air. It was also incredibly hot, but that went without saying. Trickles of perspiration made their way down the side of Simon's head, found their way around his sharp jawline, flowed into the valley between his neck and collar bone, and down his bare chest towards his equally naked groin. He looked over at Lionel, just as bare-skinned as he was. The lanky shaman was leaning peacefully against the outer wall, rubbing the grime off his limbs with a fragrant stick. He set the stick down and sighed, shoulders relaxing.
Simon was tense, despite the calming atmosphere of the lodge and the pleasant feeling of grinding dirt off of him with sweat and wood. He glanced around, eyes darting to the ceiling of the small building, where the steam roiled across the rough-hewn support beams. Bulky shadows, cast by the crackling fire in the central pit, slanted across the walls as the two other Dreamspeakers in the lodge moved to leave. An older couple, they seemed perfectly at ease as they got down on their hands and knees to crawl out of the low entrance. Perhaps they were in here relaxing from the day's work, he pondered. Or no--not the day's work, but the work of the war. He wouldn't be surprised if everyone here had been caught up in the fight against the witches. Simon shifted restlessly on the makeshift bench, and the halved log that formed the seat wobbled back and forth. Lionel opened his eyes, casting him a questioning look.
Simon opened his mouth, a half-formed thought on his lips. Lionel was smiling at something now, and Simon wasn't sure whether to be reassured or annoyed. Finally, he blinked and completed his thought. They were in the woods, in the mountains above the city, and though he wasn't sure exactly where they'd led him, he knew the Dreamspeakers' chantry was nearby. The air was alive with the smells of another reality, far removed from the grime of the streets. It was good to be out of the city, but what of the chantry? It was undoubtedly home to a number of the mages. The old couple. The young girl he had met, Moira? Albert Munez? He glanced to his side, then back at the wall, and spoke.
"Lionel... aren't you worried? You know, bringing me so close to the chantry? I could be a threat. Dangerous." He said it matter-of-factly; the matter had gone too far to be embarrassing. Lionel laid a strip of cloth on his damp shoulder and set a hand on one knee as he turned to face Simon.
"Well, Simon... the way I hear it, the thing that follows you is the same thing we fought in the mountains, but it isn't the same thing. A bit smaller, for one thing." He let out a short, weak chuckle. "The Herm says it's safe to bring you here, so here we bring you. Here at least we can help you--maybe we take away the chunk of hurt that's eating your insides, huh?"
Simon grinned as best he could. "Thanks." Although, he added silently to himself, it's not like I need anything else taken out of my insides. It's a big hole in there as it is. He blinked, and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "You know, since I didn't see much of you all since that night at the drum circle..." Simon paused, and a moment passed before he remembered, again, that Lionel's voice had been among the many interwoven drum beats in the glade that evening. "What I mean is, I thought you'd given up on me. Left me alone, kept away, just like everything else is." Lionel raised an eyebrow, and after a moment, Simon added, "It's not like it doesn't make sense. I mean--with the... well..."
Lionel shook his head, his long mouth turned up at one corner. "Hey, we don't like to see anything suffer the way you do. Even if the dogs do run away from you. Right? You ARE one of us, after all. We know that." He exhaled heavily, no mean feat in the humid, swirling steam that filled the lodge. "That night at the drum circle... we were scared, you know? We didn't know you, just showin' up out of nowhere like you did. That's okay--we don't have any strict rules like the Herms do, you and everyone else are free to wander like you please... but we weren't prepared for what happened. We lost a lot of good brothers and sisters just before that circle. Too many. I don't know if you knew that." He turned his head to face Simon directly, and Simon felt compelled to meet his calm gaze.
"We're both carrying loads of pain, seems like. Time to let it go, don't you think? Time to let go." Simon just nodded. What were you supposed to say to something like that? No, thanks. I like my pain where it is. He suppressed a smirk, feeling ashamed of his cynicism, and picked up his rubbing stick. He scraped it across his slick arms, and wondered how he'd managed to breath the soupy air in the sweat lodge for so long. It wasn't nearly as bad as lying out in the Australian desert with a big rock on your chest, but he had to admit he didn't find it all that great either. Sweat was pouring down his face and into his eyes. He tried to wipe it away, but the sting remained, making it hard to see. "So," he askedLionel, "what's next?"
Lionel grunted. "Ash wants to talk to you." As if on cue, there was a shuffling from the entrance as someone crawled through into the lodge. The two men turned to see who it was, but the short, unclothed form was definitely female. It was Keeshana, carrying new dried wood and peat to refuel the fire, and a bucket of water which sloshed as she stood upright. She smiled and nodded to Lionel and Simon, setting her load down near the firepit. Lionel stretched himself and got to his feet, wiping sweat from his brow with his cloth.
"I think I've had enough for today," the tall Dreamspeaker admitted. "Keeshana can take you to Ash when you're done." Simon raised an eyebrow, and hesitated, unsure of what to do. Lionel was already ducking into the narrow exit, and he was inclined to go with him. Enough sweat had poured out of him to leave him feeling like a side of dried meat. He stared down at his feet as Keeshana eased herself onto the bench beside him. That was another thing... he didn't particularly want to be alone in the lodge with her. There was something uncomfortable in the way she acted; she hadn't said more than a few words to him since they had met on the beach, just occasionally glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, and then looking away. It made Simon nervous, and sitting around naked in a sweatlodge with her wasn't exactly helping.
He made a small noise in his throat and started to get to his feet, but her voice stopped him. "Hey, stay with me a while." She spoke in a mellow, soft tone, and slightly deep. "I could use the company. Besides, you and I haven't had a chance to get to know one another." She smiled. "Yet."
Simon could only smile weakly back. He wasn't sure exactly what was going on... she had been wary at first, and then she had practically ignored him on the journey into the hills. But now she was smiling at him in a peculiar, almost inviting way. She raised her arms, stretching and inhaling the thick steam. Simon couldn't help but notice the firm curves of her body as she did so, but quickly turned his head away, embarrassed not only by the situation but by his reaction to it. It wasn't like he'd never seen a naked woman before. In the deserts of the Outback, nearly everyone went naked most of the time. But that was a different time, a different world. Since he'd been back, there had been other things on his mind. He hadn't seen such a... healthy... woman for quite a while. He could feel his cheeks burning.
"Oh, well... I've been in here nearly since the three of us first got here, and to tell you the truth, I'm getting kind of overheated." It was the best he could do for an excuse, but Keeshana nodded as if she understood. She got to her feet again, and picked up the bucket. Simon raised an eyebrow as she brought it over and sat down by his side, even closer this time, her lean, strong calf touching the curly hairs on his.She took a cloth from the bucket; Simon could see and smell the ground herbs swirling on the dark surface of the water. This isn't exactly what I had in mind, Simon thought. What the hell is going on?
Keeshana extended her hand, touching Simon's shoulder with the damp, cool cloth and rubbing it along the length of his arm. Simon tensed as she reached further, to his chest. Moving his arm back, he brushed his elbow against one of her breasts, and flinched, moving away and pushing Keeshana's arm off of his chest. This wasn't right, not when they'd just met. She just giggled, amused by his perplexed expression.
"You don't like me?" she asked. "I'm just trying to make you...comfortable. You don't think I'm trying to put any moves on you, do you?" She smiled a disarming smile, and Simon slowly shook his head, trying to look more relaxed and less like a cornered animal. He turned away from Keeshana and reached for his rubbing stick, but couldn't find it. Then he felt it on his back, being applied expertly by Keeshana's slender hands. He looked over and saw her smiling at him again. "Relax already!" she insisted, and put the stick down, beginning to knead his rigid shoulders with her fingers.
The touch of her young, supple fingers sent a shiver through Simon's torso. For the past few weeks, he had had practically no contact with the human world--much less anything like this. There had been the meetings with the various shadowy figures that played out their games here, and the ordinary monotony of businesslike, everyday interactions, but he had missed the human touch. Even in the Outback, where people were generally friendlier, he and his mentor had lived apart from society, on their own.Some of the villages they passed through were generous enough hosts to provide the shaman and his light-skinned apprentice with women to warm them at night, but Tanandalay had always laughed, claiming he was too old, and Simon had always been too reticent. After all, anthropologists weren't supposed to be sleeping with the people they were studying, and he doubted many of the girls fancied hooking up with with a pale stranger who had no kin. It had been a monastic existence in more ways than one.
He was lying on the bench now, face turned towards the wall. The memories darted through Simon's mind, his eyes closed as Keeshana rubbed his neck, back, and shoulders, working her way downwards. She was using some sort of cool, fragrant salve, and he felt more relaxed now than he had in a long time. What was she planning? Did she want to...? He could barely remember the last time he'd been with a woman; back when he was little more than a bright college student, earnestly lapping up knowledge during the days and living the wild life at Redroom or Klub Kulture at night. Keeshana was saying something. He made a questioning sound, and she repeated herself, continuing to work the salve into his back, where it created a soft, tingling sensation.
"Tell me, Simon..." she was whispering in his ear. Were her breasts pressing against his back? He couldn't tell. "Is it true that you and the demon are linked somehow?" The image of Resheph flashed before his lidded eyes and he tensed up. Keeshana chuckled, and chided him. "Now, now. You've got to relax. Maybe I should ask you about this some other time, eh? I'm sorry."
"No..." he mumbled, his shoulders relaxing again. "It's okay." It was natural for her to be curious, after all, wasn't it? There was the war to think about. Why was he being so nervous and secretive? He was with his Tradition, one of his sisters showing him a bit of human kindness, helping take his pain away. He muttered affirmatively. "Yeah. Mmmm. Yeah, that's right. I... I'm afraid so."
Keeshana pulled one of his shoulders up and managed to turn him over on his back. Simon was simply too relaxed and grateful to resist, and she began to work on his chest and stomach. "So..." she went on, "if you die, so does the demon--right?"
Simon's brow furrowed. A disturbing question, but one that he'd been thinking of himself. He thought about getting up so he could explain the situation to her better, but he was too tired. "No... not exactly. At least, not until it--well, it's complicated. They don't know much about it, but for now... no."
"Are you sure?" She had stopped rubbing, her hands cool spots against his slick chest. Through his relaxed haze, Simon thought he could hear a change in her tone. A hardness? Anger? It had not been there before.
"That thing killed my best friend, you know." Simon let out a breath, letting his arm drop off the bench towards the floor. Too many lost, too many hurt, too much pain and sorrow. "I... I am sorry to hear that."
"Don't be." She shifted on the edge of the bench. "Because I'm going to make sure it never happens again." It happened quickly, but Simon's eyes were already opening. Through the steam he saw her hand dip into the dark water of the bucket, pulling out a slim, curved knife whose blade reflected the shifting firelight. Water glistened along its edge and gathered into falling droplets at its tip as she moved it slowly towards his neck.
Simon's first instinct had been to push himself backwards and up off the bench, but his muscles failed him. There was a haze in his mind and a weakness in his limbs that went beyond lazy relaxation. The salve, he realized, something was in the salve. But why had her hands been unaffected? A life weaving? Then something far worse occurred to him."No!" he cried out. "Don't!" She brought the knife towards him in a low arc, her face dispassionate. Simon could tell from the cold look in her eyes that she thought he feared for himself; she was wrong. The blade glistened as it moved, Keeshana's lips pulling slightly back from her teeth.
There was a sudden sound, like an explosion in reverse, and a fierce gust of wind as the door in the entrance was torn off. The wind rushing out of the lodge took the fire with it, and they were left in darkness. Simon was still unable to move, but he could hear the woman moving nearby, groping on the floor for something. Then the smell came; the familiar charnel smell, but stronger than he had ever smelled it before, lurking beyond the dunes, hiding behind a corner. Simon screamed then, his pleading, begging cries filling the small, dank room. He was no longer fully aware of what was going on around him, but perhaps there were footsteps; a flash that might have been a burst of magic as Keeshana tried to defend herself; and then a higher, more terrified scream joined his own. It was a brief cry, and then the lodge was still and dark again. He was alone.
Saturday, July 8th, 1995 9:21 p.m.
Simon buttoned the top button on his shirt and shrugged on his coat. He hadn't come with much and wasn't leaving with much; he only had to check his pockets and he was ready to get out of here. He couldn't leave fast enough, not knowing how the Dreamspeakers would feel about what had happened in the sweat lodge, not knowing where Resheph was or what it was learning about the chantry here in the hills. He didn't know which way the town was but he didn't really care much; he'd just make his way away from here as fast as possible. No sense in cursing these folk any further.
Ash, a sturdy man with a weathered face and touches of grey at his temples, put a hand on Simon's shoulder as he turned to leave. Simon turned around, his face uncharacteristically stony.
"It wasn't your fault." The man's voice carried authority, plainly stating the facts. "You were not the one responsible for this death." Simon shook his head.
"I have brought death with me to your door, my friend. Your hospitality has turned sour, and it may have been wiser not to offer it to me at all. Perhaps we'll meet again, but for now I should be off." Ash frowned, and made a sharp motion to Lionel, who got to his feet as Simon swung the door of the meeting hall open. He picked up a satchel and made as if to follow the grim young man, but Simon swung around, his lanky bangs flopping in what might have been a comical way, if not for the deathly grave look on his face.
"You're not going anywhere. I'm going by myself. If any of you follow me..." He didn't want to think about it, and just shrugged. The meaning was clear enough. Simon turned again, not looking back as he swung the door shut.
Outside, the air was brisk, quite different from the oppressive heat of the city. His back and thighs were still numb from the drugged salve, but the tingling sensation was fading. Simon looked off to his left, then swung the rest of his thin frame to follow his gaze. Hopefully, this was the way to the city. He set off down the slope.
Thursday, July 27th, 1995 11:01 p.m.
The lighthouse overlooking the Santa Cruz coastline cast only a feeble glow into the growing night; it was clear out, with no fog for the beacon at the top of the quaint wooden tower to penetrate. Simon looked past it, along the beaches below, towards the Boardwalk and the speckled lights of the town, and wondered if he was early.
There was nobody here to keep him company yet, save for the statue of the surfer near where he sat. Examining the piece, Simon suddenly remembered that the building at the base of the lighthouse had a surfing museum in it, a quirky little collection of boards and trivia that he'd visited once, many years ago. Well, not that many, but it certainly seemed like it. Briefly, he regretted that the sun wasn't out; he would have liked to look around the museum if it had been open. An absurd prelude to my meeting with Affery and Davies, he thought. Unfortunately, it was night, and the museum was dark and empty, the faded photographs and diagrams of waves sitting by themselves in the stillness... and in the thick shadows, Resheph everywhere.
Not that he wasn't everywhere already; it was simply easier to ignore his pervasive presence when the sun was shining. At times, Simon could even pretend that he wasn't aware the lingering stench floating subtly through the air. For a while, he had even hoped that he'd get used to Resheph being around, but he just couldn't. The occasional glimpse of putrefying flesh, a decaying face peering at him from the other side of a window, never failed to make his stomach churn and his blood boil.
It was very dark, with no moon in the sky. Even the stars were faint, dulled by the glow of the habitations of man. The air was as thick as the darkness, warm and wet, shot through with the sounds of waves crashing against the cliffs below. The street was still empty, with no sign of life. The gulls and sea lions were unusually silent; on a warm summer evening one could often hear them crying out against the endless backdrop of the ocean, but not tonight. Simon twirled his flute in one hand, and thought about playing, an impulse that often crossed his mind when he was waiting for something. Waiting nervously. But he'd been playing a lot recently, in anticipation of this night. He only needed Lloyd Davies and Alexis Affery to appear: the soldier and the scholar, to guide him to his place in the drama that he hoped was entering its final act.
Thursday, July 27th, 1995 11:15 p.m.
Simon blinked as he heard footsteps approaching. He had only shut his eyes for a moment... or had he? He got to his feet, feeling the blood jerk sluggishly through his limbs. There were two men coming towards him; he recognized Affery, and the other one looked like one of the swordsmen. Timothy James? Or the other one?
Alexis Affery nodded deeply as they walked up, the trenchcoated figure behind him stony and silent. The hermetic mage turned and regarded someone at Simon's left. Simon turned, and was startled to find the weathered visage of Lloyd Davies looming out the darkness. The four men faced each other with grim expressions all around. Simon stifled the urge to giggle.
Taking another step forward, Affery nodded to Davies. "Proceed with your plan, Colonel." Simon looked over at the fourth man, squinting a bit. It was hard to tell, the colors of his aura swimming faintly in the night air, but he suspected this was the one called Christophe. "What's happened to your twin?" Simon asked. "Did you settle that... dispute?"
Christophe stared impassively back. Alexis' gaze turned to regard the swordsman as well, and the man simply shrugged, still saying nothing. The mage leaned forward and smirked faintly at Simon. "I've been trying to get him to tell me for days."
"Come on," Affery continued, "we need to go back to my house."
Simon looked around for Davies, but the older man had already vanished back into the night, off to carry out whatever part of tonight's plot was allotted to him. They walked back towards the street.
"What is the plan, anyway?" Feeling oddly languid, Simon strode to keep up with the other two. Alexis raised an eyebrow, and slowed his pace to glance abck at Simon. "It would be better if you didn't know."
Perturbed but unwilling to show it on his face, Simon simply shrugged. Was Affery afraid that the enemy could know Simon's thoughts? It did not matter. Tonight, he hoped... all he hoped... was that there would be a conclusion to this whole affair. They kept moving. Resheph, no doubt, was following as well.
Friday, July 28th, 1995 12:00 midnight
Simon followed Alexis into the backyard of the Hermetic's house. Where his veins had been sluggish before, they were restless now... they had been waiting around for nearly half an hour, doing nothing. A certain time, a certain place for this ritual, or so Simon guessed; Alexis would say nothing of the matter, although he was polite enough, and the strange swordsman was as unfriendly and silent as ever.
In the midst of the narrow, short-mown lawn was a square space of concrete, and in the middle of that was a large pentagram, wrought in lines and arcs of fine white powder. Dramatic, Simon thought, and well-crafted.
"Step into the Pentagram." Simon hesitated only a moment, then walked forward and did so. What else would he have expected? And, he could not help but thinking, what did he have to lose? This nightmare had gone from being a strange and horrific game, to something far more deadly and serious... and now it had come full circle, the end of a game again. He blinked, trying to stave off a feeling of light-headedness, and concentrated on the solemn lines of Alexis' face. "What is... all this for, if I may ask?"
Alexis chuckled softly. "I would have thought that even you Dreamspeakers would know that much about our rituals. I think they've been part of sleeper lore for decades, ever since one of the old masters revealed our existence to the outside world. The pentagram will protect you - for a time - not from mundane forces mind you, but certainly from the supernatural. It's a sort of temporary node - highly charged - very practical. Now, Simon, I need you to turn around. Face away from me and don't turn around."
Simon quirked an eyebrow. "Why? Or is that another part of the plan I mustn't know about?" Alexis shook his head, Simon wasn't sure at what.
"Just trust me and do what I say." It was halfway between a request and an order... another step down the gameboard. Candyland, he pondered, the absurd thought rising unbidden to the surface of his mind, is that what's at the end? And he turned around.
There was an herb garden by the far fence of Affery's back yard, and beyond that the fence itself, painted in weatherworn green. Above and further out, the roofs of other houses, and the cloudy night sky. The weather was as humid and onerous as ever. Simon cast his gaze back down, towards the tiny, still blades of grass and the elegant traces of white on the concrete expanse where he stood. He fidgeted, and his shadow did likewise, magnified by the long, low gaze of the sole lamp on the porch.
The light flickered, and another shadow moved, catching Simon's attention. It was Alexis, standing behind Simon and to one side. With an unusual clarity breezing through his mind, Simon watched Alexis' shadowy form reach into its coat pocket and take something out. He exhaled slightly; it was a gun, or the shadow of one... now pointed at his back. Was this the plan? They had taken his foolish advice after all, and were going to kill him? So much for the promises... the high-flown talk of coming out alive! There was a cold, numbing sensation twisting its way into his head.
But no... of course, it would never be that easy. There was Resheph to think of... Resheph, who would protect him. And Affery was bound to know that, and Davies as well. Their plan might well be more complex than simply shooting a young Dreamspeaker in the back... Simon, it seemed, was the only one who had no idea what was going on.
Thoughts continued to dart, passing by in less than a second... and there was a faint, charnel scent in the air. Did Affery smell it? No... Simon caught it easily, for it was far too familiar. He saw the shadow of a gun; Resheph, he felt certain, saw the shadow as well, whether through Simon's eyes or the putrefacted orbs of its decaying form he could not tell. What would it do...? At times he felt certain he knew, and at others it all became shadows and flickering light again, the barrel of a pistol melting into a blurry darkness on the grass.
One thing he knew, just as he knew it in the sweat lodge, where death had visited him before... the smell was getting stronger, and another guest would be arriving shortly.
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