A Wizard Abroad, New Millennium Edition (33 page)

“Hmf,” said the wizard in the leather jacket, as they came up abreast of him among some others. “Not the best of positions. Look at that.” He pointed down the valley. “All strung out like this, if anything should come at us from the sides, it’d break us in two. No, he’s doing the right thing, gathering us together. That way if anything happens—”

And then it did happen. The Fomori forces came down out of the trees again, from both sides and in great crowds, hitting the group of wizards in the middle. From where Nita and Kit stood, they could see the crowd being shoved together, in danger of being pinched apart into two groups that couldn’t help each other. The fighting broke out in earnest now; flashes of wizard-fire repeating back, a low sound of angry and startled cries beginning to ricochet up the valley. “Here we go,” said the young wizard, and he was gone, off down into the press.

Nita looked at Kit and said, “Should we hold off—wait till it gets at us?” And then of course it
was
at them, as another attacking force hit the group up on the hill from both sides, and everything went crazy.

Nita had a great deal of difficulty remembering the fighting later. The one thing she did remember, rather to her horror, was that she enjoyed it a great deal. It helped a lot, knowing you were on the right side; though several times she wondered, as a drow or one of those black tiger-horse-looking things came at her, whether they knew that they were on the wrong side, and whether it affected them much. It didn’t seem to. Everything turned into a wild confusion of waving arms and hands, shouting, being jostled and bumped. That was the worst of it, really; you could never tell what was going to bump into you, friend or enemy, and it kept you from reacting as quickly to enemies as you might—or else you accidentally hit a friend. Several times Nita was aware of not-so-accidentally elbowing other wizards, just in case they were something that was about to attack her; better to throw them a little off balance than to take the chance—and then of course you were embarrassed afterwards. She did it to Kit once, knocking him right over, and was mortified.

The other problem was the screaming. At the time it didn’t bother Nita particularly; later on she found herself wondering whether there was something to the claim that people got inured to violence by watching too much TV. Everything seemed remote, like something in the crowd scene from a movie. Nita remembered one moment with particular clarity, of seeing a drow come at her, and saying the spell that had not worked in Main Street in Bray, and seeing the spell then work entirely
too
well as the thing exploded in fragments and splinters of stone that bled hot, and splattered her with ichor that burnt like drops of lava. Her wizard’s shield took most of it, but a few drops got through, probably because she was distracted, and burnt right through her clothes to the skin.

She wasn’t able to keep track of what Kit was doing; but for those strange few minutes, she didn’t really care. She had her hands full. The screaming from all sides got louder, as beasts of the Fomor kind came at wizards to savage them, sometimes missing, sometimes succeeding. That was when it really came home to Nita that all of this was entirely too real. One wizard went by her staggering and white-faced with shock and blood loss, one arm so badly torn that it seemed to be just barely hanging by a string from his shoulder. Another wizard, a young woman in jeans and a sweatshirt, hurried to help, and carried him away. This was not a movie. People were getting killed here.

And what happens then?
Nita thought, in one lull when the fighting seemed to be happening somewhere else, and she had lost sight of Kit.
What happens if you die when you’re not in the real world? Where does your soul go? Does it know where to go when you die?
But it seemed unwise to push that issue too far.

After a long while, there came another lull. Nita looked down the hill and saw nothing but human wizards, milling around; there seemed to be no more drows, no more of the horse-things; just quiet. A lot of wizards, maybe ten percent of the whole group, had been hurt, and were sitting or lying down on the ground while others tended to them. She didn’t feel so wonderful herself; she sat down to rest on a log under the eaves of the forest, gasping for air.

After a while, Kit found her. His clothes were spattered with burn-holes, apparently from the drows’ hot lava-blood, and he was limping as he came toward her. Nita staggered to her feet at the sight of him; but he shook his head and waved at her. “No, it’s okay. I just turned it.”

“Well, c’mere, you can’t just walk on it like that, it’ll get worse. You won’t be able to run anywhere if you have to.”

He sat down on the log beside her. “Your specialty.”

She nodded; she had always had a knack for the fixing and healing spells for either animate or inanimate objects. Spells for the living always required blood, but there was no shortage of that; Nita had bashed herself pretty thoroughly against one drow that had caught hold of her, getting loose. Now the memory made her shiver: but at the time it had seemed simply an annoyance, and had made her angrier. She had blown that drow up while it was still holding her—

Nita shook her head and set to work. She spent five minutes or so working on Kit’s leg. It was a strained tendon, and she talked it out of the strain and gave it the equivalent of several days’ rest in several minutes. The spell seemed to come harder to her than usual, though, and at the end of it Nita was panting even harder than she had been from the sheer exertion of the battle. “It’s not right,” she said to Kit when she got her breath back. “It shouldn’t take that much energy.”

Kit was looking vaguely gloomy. “I think that’s the catch,” he said. “Wizardry works better here, but it takes more out of us—we can do less of it.” He shook his head. “We’d better get this over with fast. In a few hours we won’t be worth much.”

Nita was too nervous to sit there much longer: she got up and dusted herself off. “Have you seen my aunt?”

“She was down in front with Johnny, last I saw her. That was before the fighting started, though.”

“Tualha, you any good at finding people? There’s quite a crowd down there.”

“In this case it won’t be hard. I should look for Fragarach’s light, or the Cup’s.”

It was as good a hint as any. After about twenty minutes’ walking they found Aunt Annie, and Tualha had been right; she was with Doris Smyth, and it was the blue-green fire of the Cup that gave their presence away. Doris was working with one of the more seriously wounded people. Two of the larger and more muscular wizards were easing a young woman with a torn leg down into the Cup. She seemed no smaller than she should have been, and the Cup seemed no larger; but nevertheless the woman was lost from the waist down in that cool light, and a few moments later, when the other wizards helped her to her feet again, the leg was whole.

Doris was looking wobbly. “I’ll not be doing much more of this,” she said to Nita’s aunt. “The Cup’s able enough for it, but it’s just a tool; it can’t work by itself without someone to tell it what to do. And nor I nor anyone else will be able to keep doing this again and again—not here. Not today.” She looked over at Nita and Kit as if seeing them there for the first time, and her face was very distressed. “Away with you out of here,” she said, “you shouldn’t be seeing things like this at your age.” And she turned her attention away to another hurt wizard who was being brought over.

Nita looked over at Kit; his expression was wry, and a little sad. He motioned Nita over to one side, where her aunt was looking nearly as pale as Doris. “You okay, Aunt Annie?” Nita said, anxious.

Her aunt nodded. “What about you?”

Nita’s aunt was wearing an understandably preoccupied expression. She was looking off down the hillside, toward the place where Enniskerry would have been, and past it. “It’s awfully dark down there,” she said softly.

Nita looked down the slope, past where the valley fell away along either side of the thirteen-bend road. Down where Bray should have been, there was a wall of blackness so opaque as to seem nearly solid. It gave Nita a bad feeling just looking at it.

“Something’s on the other side of that,” Kit said. “And it’s watching us.”

Her aunt looked at Nita regretfully. “I’m beginning to wish I’d left you home.”

“You couldn’t have. I’d have found a way to come along, and you know it.”

Her aunt suddenly reached out and hugged her. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she said.

“Listen, I was going to ask you about that—”

“Anne,” Johnny said from one side. “Can I have a word?”

Feeling slightly embarrassed, Nita brushed herself off, and was a little amused to see her aunt doing the same thing. “Look,” Johnny said, “we can’t have another set-to like that. Too many people got killed.” It was then that Nita noticed the tears running down his face, incongruous when taken together with that his calm voice. “I think we’re going to have to play our aces a little early.”

Nita’s aunt hefted Fragarach. Or was it the sword itself that lifted eagerly in her hand? Nita had trouble telling. “If we use them too early,” her aunt said slowly, “we won’t have them for later. You’ve seen the way wizardry is behaving here.”

“That’s precisely the problem. First of all, these three Treasures were never much good against Balor the last time. And secondly, if we’re all killed or driven off by his creatures before we get to him—or if they delay us past the point where our wizardry, or even that of the Treasures, still works, then all of this will have been for nothing. I want you to use Fragarach on the next lot—because they’re out there waiting for us, under cover of those next two patches of woodland. If we get hit again after that, Doris will use the Cup. And I can use the Stone the same way, if there’s need.” He paused and looked at her. “Something wrong? You look pale.”

She shook her head. “Shaun,” she said, “I just don’t know if I can do this.”

“Not lack of power, surely.”

“Oh, no. It’s just—” She held Fragarach up. “Shaun, we speak so lightly of ‘re-ensouling’ these things. The trouble is, it
worked
. There’s a soul in this, and an intelligence and a will—one much older and stronger than mine, one that considers me mainly a form of transportation. Once I actually start to use it—” She laughed a little. “It’s a good question which is going to be the tool and which the user. I don’t know how much of me is going to be left afterwards; even now I can feel it pushing, pushing at my mind all the time. I don’t know if you get the same sense down your rapport with the Stone—it’s Earth, after all, and mostly passive. But if Air, the lightest and most malleable of the Elements, behaves this way—” She shook her head. “And what about Fire, then? I have some experience, some ability to resist. But what’s going to come of
that
poor child? What happens when the Power that comes with the Spear puts forth Its full force—?”

She mentioned no names. Johnny shook his head. “Anne,” he said, “we’d better just hope that it does; otherwise we’re lost. Meanwhile, can you do your part? If not, I’ll look around for someone else. But you do have the rapport.”

She looked at him. “I’ll manage,” she said.

Johnny headed off. “Get yourselves together,” he said to the wizards he passed. “We’re moving out, and the Fomori are going to come after us again.”

Nita’s aunt went after him. Nita watched her go, and stood thinking a moment about Ronan.
He doesn’t have her experience,
she thought.
But he has the power.

Not as much,
she heard Kit thinking.
Not as much as he might if he were younger...What’s this going to do to him?

She glanced over at Kit, unnerved. They tended not to accidentally hear each other thinking any more: but evidently this otherworld had more effects than on merely active wizardry.

And the shout went up from down the slope. Nita saw the mass of dark forms come charging down at the wizards, out of the trees again.

There were a few more moments of confusion, milling around, screams. Then Kit grabbed her arm, and pointed. Down the slope, she saw it, the upraised little line of red light that grew from a spark to a tongue of fire, and from a tongue to a lance of it that arrowed up into the threatening sky. The wind began to rise behind them, moaning softly, then louder, a chorus of voices in the trees, uncertain at first, then threatening themselves, long howls of rage; and the wind rose and rose, bending the trees down before it, whipping leaves and dirt through the air so that it became hard to see. The wizards staggered against the blast of it, but even as she fought to stay upright, Nita had a feeling that the wind was avoiding her, and the threat in it was for someone else—

She and Kit headed downhill, because that was the way the wind was pushing them; but the great mass of wizards were pushing down that way too, their cries mingling with the wind’s. The two fronts of Fomori that had struck them from either side were staggering back and away, further down the slope, blown that way, forced down by the raging wind that blew them over and over, that dropped trees on them and tossed logs from the wood after them like matchsticks. The Fomori were almost at the bottom of the hill now, into the little dell where Enniskerry village would have stood. There was no bridge over the Glencree River, in this world; they would have to ford it. The wizards and the relentless wind pushed them down into the dell—

The wind rose to a scream, then; and there were more sounds in it than screams. An odd sound of bells, that Nita recognized; and the sound of hooves, like glass ringing on metal. Nita looked up and saw what few mortals have seen and lived afterward: the
Sluagh Ron,
the Dark Ride of the Sidhe.