Bradley, Marion Zimmer - Shadowgate 04 (32 page)

 
          
The
Mystery Schoolbus had started life as an ordinary yellow school bus, before it
had somehow wound up in Thorne's hands. He'd gutted the bus, converting it to a
combination of a motor home and a rolling church, and it had become a Bay Area
landmark in the months since its acquisition. The outside of the bus was now
covered in a mural-cum-collage that was in a constant state of flux. Today the
sunlight glinted brightly off of a shower of glitter stars painted across the
dark-blue backdrop of the front right fender. Colin could see Pilgrim running
around among the adults, waving a bubble wand. He was covered in multihued body
paint and not much else, and had feathers braided into his long black hair.

 
          
Colin
and Claire headed in that direction. Katherine was standing off to one side,
balancing her daughter on her hip.

 
          
"How's
Truth?" Claire asked, stopping to admire the baby.

 
          
Truth
Jourdemayne was three months old now, the lace cap and terrycloth romper she
wore oddly conventional when contrasted with her mother's tie-dyed overalls and
T-shirt.

 
          
"She's
growing so fast," Katherine said. "The last time Caro was here she
couldn't believe how big she'd gotten. I'm so lucky to have her."

 
          
Caroline
was Katherine's twin sister. She'd been at the
Voice of Truth
the first
night Colin and Claire had gone there, but she was not a member of Thorne's
group. She had a degree in library science and worked at a library back East.

 
          
"Do
you know where Thorne is, Katherine?" Colin asked. Maybe Thorne, in the
midst of his own success, would agree at least to stop baiting Simon and let
the quarrel die of its own accord.

 
          
"He's
got to be somewhere around here," Katherine said, frowning thoughtfully.
"He's been working on a new ritual ever since the tide turned at the
equinox. He calls it Opening the Way. He was going to try part of it out
today."

 
          
Just
like Thorne, to test in public what most magicians would try out in strict
privacy.

 
          
"He
might be back behind the bus," Katherine suggested.

 
          
"We'll
try there," Claire said.

 
          
Thorne
was, in fact, behind the bus. He was standing on a battered foot-locker,
photographing the festival with another in a series of the battered cameras
that accompanied him everywhere he went. He was wearing faded jeans and worn
sandals, and several strands of love beads gleamed against his bare chest.
Jonathan Ashwell
—
similarly dressed
—
was standing beside him.

 
          
Both
men grinned when they saw them.

 
          
"Claire!
And Colin
—
how's the ghost business these days?"

 
          
"As
ever," Colin said.

 
          
"Gotta
go," Jonathan said, ducking his head. He was still self-conscious around
Colin on the rare occasions when they met, as if he suspected Colin might still
be angry about his departure from
Berkeley
. "Nice seeing you,
Professor. Claire."

 
          
"And
what about you?" Claire said, when Jonathan had gone.
"Ed Sullivan?
I watched it the night Debbie said to, but I didn't see you."

 
          
"You
should have been in the studio audience, baby." Thorne grinned at her.
"I'm doing the
Dating Game
next week: 'Bachelor Number One: when
immanetizing the eschaton, do you prefer to use (a) Love under Will (b) Vatican
City or (c) a nuclear warhead?'"

 
          
Claire
snorted. "They'll probably throw out the tape from that, too."

 
          
"I
wouldn't be surprised," Thorne said. "It's so much fun to jerk the
pigs' chains, I wonder why anyone ever does anything else?" He stepped
down off the trunk. "C'mon over here. I want to get a picture of you two.
A commemorative."

 
          
He
led Colin and Claire a few yards away from the bus, so that he could position
them against a stand of trees.

 
          
"The
end of the month I'm taking off on a gig that nobody can censor," Thorne
went on, as he adjusted the focus. "Anstey may have queered my pitch here,
but I still think that solidarity is going to save us. Nothing is stronger than
magick! And nothing can stand in the face of magick!"

 
          
As
he spoke, Thorne clicked and wound the camera, snapping several pictures.

 
          
"There,"
he said with satisfaction. "You have now entered immortality."

 
          
"What
kind of solidarity are you planning?" Colin asked warily. He hoped he
didn't sound as dubious as he felt.

 
          
"I'm
going to become a god," Thorne said happily. "And get everyone to
worship me. There's no reason the Great Work of Transformation needs to be
limited to the subtle body
—
that's just Old Aeon crap. The Universal Mystery Tour will
bring the Great Work to the attention of more people than ever before. I will
transform that fame into money and power and use them to reshape the
world."

 
          
"Thorne
—
" Colin began, but
Thorne's mercurial attention had been summoned elsewhere. "Hey! There's
Irene! Gotta go!" He slung the camera around his neck and took off at a
run.

 
          
Colin
sighed sharply.

 
          
"Why
does he always have to do his best to sound like a raving lunatic?" Claire
asked plaintively. "I talked to Johnny Ashwell last week
—
the Universal Mystery Tour
is just a couple of rock bands going on tour, and they've asked Thorne to come
along. There isn't anything in that about . . . gods."

           
"Nobody ever got television
coverage by being reasonable, moderate, and serious," Colin said.
"And Thorne seems to be in the entertainment business, for better or for
worse. I'd give a great deal to know what Ed Sullivan made of him."

 
          
"Well,
we know what he made of the
Ed Sullivan Show,"
Claire said succinctly.
"Hash."

 
          
"I'm
going to go look for him," Colin decided, almost against his better
judgment. He still wanted to talk to Thorne; if
—
as he'd implied
—
he was giving up on his plan
to unite the Magickal Lodges and Bay Area New Age groups in political activism,
perhaps Colin could persuade Thorne to settle with Simon as well. And if Thorne
would drop his "sacred clown" persona for a few moments, perhaps
Colin could even explain to him why unity among the forces of the Light now was
so important.

 
          
But
Thorne seemed to possess an amazing ability not to be found, no matter how
hard Colin looked for him. Meanwhile, the stage where the presentations
—
including Thome's
—
would take place was being
decorated with bunting, papier-mache masks, and posters, including some that
said "Speed Kills!" with a skull above crossed hypodermics. Brightly
colored banners
—
pink, yellow, purple, acid green
—
with hand-painted designs
billowed gently in the cool breeze at all four corners of the stage. The whole
spectacle had the bright unreality of an illustration from a book of fairy
tales.

 
          
But
the world in which it existed was grimly real.

 
          
Where
was Thorne? He couldn't simply have vanished. For one thing, he needed to get
into costume
—
Colin would not grant him the dignity of calling what
Thorne wore ritual robes
—
but Colin feared that if he waited until Thorne returned to
the bus there would not be enough time to talk to him, and Thorne was much too
excited after a ritual for there to be any possibility of a conversation then.

 
          
While
Colin had been searching, one of the bands performing at Thorne's
"Be-In"
—
the name painted on the drumset was "Narzain Kui"
—
took the stage. Colin had
been heading for the bus, but when Narzain Kui began to play, the crowd closed
in around the stage, drawn like iron filings to a powerful magnet. Their mass
trapped Colin where he was, and he ground his teeth in frustration.

 
          
The
raw noise of their first number hit him like a wall of water, but after a
moment or so Colin discovered that he could actually make out the words.

 
          
They
made a promise they don't understand Now they've gone to a strange foreign land
Pick up your gun and follow the band And find yourself killing for killers
—

 
          
The
song was apparently well-known to the audience; they responded to it as if it
were an anthem, and Colin felt a tingling on his skin as the energy level
around him soared. The lead guitarist responded with a break that howled like
feedback before the band headed into the second verse.

           
Killing for killers
—
it isn't your fight Come
rage against the dying of the light
—

 
          
Colin
had the sense of an inexorable, powerful beast, only half-aware, but simmering with
righteous rage.
"Wading through blood
—
do you know what is right
—
" It was as if the
children around him believed that music could substitute for political
activism
—
and God help the country if they ever realized differently.

 
          
When
you find yourself killing for killers
—

 
          
At
the end of the second verse the band headed into an extended bridge, and Thorne
climbed up on the stage, moving carefully because of his costume. Colin was
momentarily nonplussed, jarred from the music's violent spell.

 
          
Thorne
was wearing the robes of an Adept; the robes he had been entitled to as a
member of the Inner Order. If that had been all, matters would have been bad
enough, but he'd made some additions to his costume. Over his shoulders he wore
a sort of fur capelet
—
Colin thought it might be wolf fur
—
and on his head he wore an
antler crown with the sun-disk set in the middle. He'd doused himself liberally
with glitter, and it shook loose from the costume in a constant gentle
sprinkling. Now that his expressed desire to work together with the other
Magickal Orders in the Bay Area had been defeated by his own flamboyance, Colin
had hoped that Thorne would modify his behavior.

 
          
No
such luck.

 
          
The
bridge ended. The lead guitarist gestured toward a second microphone, grinning,
and now Thorne was singing, too.

 
          
Dying light makes it darker every
day
—

 
          
If
Thorne had wanted to alienate any of the occultists who'd remained sympathetic
to his cause, he was off to a great start.

 
          
Get down on your knees remember
how to pray
—

 
          
"Good
heavens," Claire said, rising up on tiptoe to shout in Colin's ear.
"What's he got up as?"

 
          
Just
follow orders that old-fashioned way
—

 
          
Colin
didn't wonder how she'd found him; Claire had that knack. "Something he
has no right to be, ever again," Colin answered, raising his voice as well
to be heard over the band.