Bradley, Marion Zimmer - Shadowgate 04 (33 page)

 
          
And
find yourself killing for killers
—

           
Narzain Kui hammered into the end of
the song; by now most of the audience was singing
—
or chanting
—
along with them.

 
          
Killing
for killers
—
It doesn't stop there Killing for killers
—
The war's everywhere Killing
for killers
—
-Just do what is right Or find yourself killing for killers
—

 
          
The
audience was cheering by the time the song was over; Thorne hugged the lead
guitarist and the cheers got louder. The band remained on stage as Thorne
waited for things to quiet down a little. When they did, he lifted his
microphone from its stand and whipped the cord back and forth.

 
          
"Hey-y-y-y,
Epopts and Illuminati," Thorne crooned. "Who wants to change the
world?"

 
          
"We
do!"
the audience screamed back. The drummer hit a lick and there was
a feedback squeal.

 
          
Thorne
took the energy from the music and built on it, goading the crowd into a frenzy
that Colin was afraid would turn them into a mindless mob. Was that what he had
in mind
—
was
that the wellspring his rituals came from?

 
          
In
the cheering all around him, Colin now heard the howling of the Beast.

 
          
"Look,
Colin
—
isn't
that Simon Anstey?" Claire said suddenly, a worried tone in her voice.

 
          
Colin
tore his gaze away from the stage and saw Simon. He felt a faint pang of relief
—
whatever Simon was here for,
it would abort the monstrous birth that Thorne was engineering.

 
          
Simon
was dressed in a dark business suit, and looked even more out of place here
than Colin or Claire. He was pushing his way determinedly through the crowd
toward Thorne, and there were two
U.S.
marshals with him.

 
          
Thorne
had seen him, too. He lowered his arms reluctantly and tried to take control of
the situation.

 
          
"Well,
look who's here. It's Simon Anstey, well-known concert pianist and arbiter of
truth. Come down here to give all us hippies music lessons, Simon?"

 
          
The
keyed-up crowd laughed, parting reluctantly for Simon as he moved toward the
stage. Colin and Claire were shoved backward by those making room for him; both
of them could feel the incipient violence in the bodies around them.

 
          
"This
is one time that you aren't going to get what you want by ignoring everyone
else,
Blackburn
! You and your scraggly
hippies can just pack up and get out of here," Simon shouted.

 
          
"I've
got a permit," Thorne drawled in his most irritating voice. He mugged for
the crowd, and they laughed.

 
          
Simon
sneered. "Well,
I've
got a restraining order. You're a public nuisance,
Blackburn
, and I'm shutting you down."

           
Simon stood in front of the stage,
waving the document. He threw it at Thorne's feet. Thorne looked stunned, as if
he had not expected this.

 
          
"What
do you want, Anstey?" he finally asked.

 
          
"I've
come to expose you for what you are,
Blackburn
—
a fraud! A clown! An insult
to the very teachings you claim to impart!" Simon shouted.

 
          
"Well,
then
—
by
all means do it!" Thorne said into the microphone in front of him. His
amplified voice boomed out from the speakers at the sides of the stage. He
stepped back, tossing the microphone down to Simon.

 
          
Simon
had the sense
—
or showmanship equal to Thorne's
—
not to use it; that would
have brought the whole affair down to the level of two stand-up comics trying
to upstage one another. He tossed the microphone back onto the stage; it hit
with a thump and an electronic howl. One of the members of the band jumped to
yank the microphone jack out of the amplifier.

 
          
"Give
up and go home,
Blackburn
—
nobody wants you here,"
Simon said. "Personally, I'm sick and tired of you parading your ego and
your ridiculous claims to power! Aren't there enough frauds in the world
preying on the helpless? The sad part is that anyone believes you and your con
game," Simon said.

 
          
Thorne
turned away from Simon to face out over the audience.

 
          
"If
you want a con game, Anstey, for my money it's this Path that you
—
and Colin MacLaren
—
" Thorne added, looking
directly toward where Colin stood in the crowd "
—
and all the rest of you
black-robed white light monks keep trying to push on anyone looking for
answers. Your Path is a con game, Simon
Magus,
a delusion put up by
generations of old men in white nightgowns to keep their adherents from trying
to make a difference in the real world! And it ends here!" Thorne shouted,
flinging his arms out in a theatrical gesture.

 
          
There
were some shouts of agreement, but most of the audience stirred uneasily.
Without the microphone, all of them couldn't hear what was happening on stage,
and the presence of the marshals made them uneasy. Colin could feel the violence
in the air like the promise of a storm.

 
          
"Well,
the only difference your followers make is to your bank account,
Blackburn
!" Simon snarled.
"They give you everything they have, and what do they
get
for it?
Nothing!"

 
          
"At
least they get the chance to judge for themselves," Thorne shot back.
"All you want is for them to follow you instead of me
—
isn't the concert hall
applause enough anymore?"

 
          
"All
right, Mr. Blackburn. You're going to have to come along with us," one of
the marshals said, stepping up onto the stage.

 
          
Colin
could see by the expression on Simon's face that he hadn't meant things to go
quite this far. "I've got to stop this before Thorne starts a riot,"
Colin said to Claire. He began pushing his way closer toward the stage.

 
          
The
crowd, roused to the edge of hysteria by Thorne only moments before, was
becoming increasingly agitated by the disruption, and there were growing
catcalls directed at Simon.

 
          
"Judge
for themselves? That's rich!" Simon shouted. "What can they judge when
all you're giving them is lies and tricks and empty promises?
I'm
not
the one telling people that I'm the son of a god!"

 
          
"Looks
like you think actions speak louder than words," Thorne cooed mockingly
into another microphone.

 
          
Laughter.

 
          
Thorne
backed away from the marshal who was climbing up on the stage. By now Colin had
reached the edge of the platform, and was working his way around to the steps.

 
          
"Yes,"
said Simon doggedly from below, "I do. If you've got the godlike powers
you claim,
Blackburn
, why not make the
restraining order go away? Turn me into a frog? Something?"

 
          
The
day that had been so bright only moments ago was dimming, clouding over as
clouds came boiling in off the San Gabriel Mountains to shroud the day in dim
light that looked as if it had been filtered through soft cheesecloth.

 
          
"I
try never to improve on Nature's handiwork," Thorne snapped. The marshal
reached him, and there was a brief struggle as Thorne tried to shake him off.
The man pulled out his cuffs. Colin climbed up on stage and headed toward him.
In another moment the crowd would rush the stage, and people would get hurt.

 
          
"There's
no need for this," Colin said quietly to the officer. "If this is a
legitimate restraining order, I'm sure Mr. Blackburn will comply."

 
          
"Et
tu,
Colin?" Thorne said, staring at Colin over the marshal's shoulder.
The marshal stepped back without cuffing Thorne.

 
          
"Don't
start trying to overawe me; I've had a classical education, too," Colin
said sharply. He was more irritated
—
and yes, frightened
—
than he'd thought by
Thorne's parading of the robes he no longer had the right to wear and his easy
appropriation of the energy of the mob.

 
          
"Simon,
what did you think you were accomplishing here?" Colin demanded, turning
away and looking down at Simon Anstey.

 
          
"I'm
tired of watching this
mountebank
ruin everything Alison and I are
working for!" Simon shot back, climbing up on the stage as well. "How
can parapsychology be accepted as a legitimate field of research while he's
turning the occult into a sideshow?"

 
          
"It
is
a sideshow," Thorne said quietly, stepping away from the
marshal. "That's the point."

 
          
"No,"
said Colin, abruptly goaded beyond endurance. "It's what each of us makes
it. You could have made it into something good, something fine
—
you could have been the
gateway through which new seekers could approach the Ancient Mysteries
—
"

 
          
"Ancient
boondoggle!" Thorne shouted, lunging toward the front of the stage again.
His horned crown was wildly askew, and Thorne wrenched it off and flung it out
into the crowd. "Give in
—
give up
—
submit
—
Forget it! Mankind has the power of the gods, and it's
time it was used to do more than spin prayer wheels
—
"

           
"Either shut your face and pack
it in or you're going out of here in cuffs. Mike! Get these people
moving!" the marshal on stage barked.

 
          
Thorne
shrugged, seeming to surrender all at once. He started to pull off his robes.
Thorne looked at Colin.

 
          
"You
attack everything I believe in," Colin said, answering the unspoken plea,
"and then expect to trade on the very qualities you despise the moment you
get into trouble. I can't help you this time, Thorne."

 
          
"Go
on, then," Thorne said. "Go on back to your precious, safe, tame,
white light. Only you're wrong about it being a Path
—
it's a dead end. Come on,
boys and girls," Thorne called to the audience, holding out his hands for
their attention. "Today the pigs win
—
tomorrow we win. Let's all
go quietly; they're scared enough of us as it is."

 
          
It
was only later that Colin realized why Claire's Gift had sent her to the festival
that day. She had not come for Thorne Blackburn. She'd come for him.

JUNE  1967

 
          
THORNE
AND COLIN SAW VERY LITTLE OF EACH OTHER AFTER THAT DAY. IT was as if Thorne had
given up on Colin and decided he was no longer worth his time
—
and in practical terms,
their paths had diverged to the point that Colin could no longer overlook the
things Thorne was advocating.

 
          
A
few weeks after the fight in the park, Simon got at least part of his wish.
Thorne left on the Universal Mystery Tour
—
a six-week extravaganza of
peace, rock and roll, and magick
—
both stage illusionism and the truer sort. After that,
Thorne was truly a national celebrity, as that time understood the word
—
and so, being Thorne, he
decided to disappear almost completely from public life. He'd managed
—
somehow
—
to amass a sizeable personal
fortune, and used part of it to purchase an estate in upstate
New York
called Shadow's Gate.

 
          
After
that June day in the park, I never saw Thorne Blackburn alive again. But before
I received word of his death, I was to experience a far more personal
bereavement. . . .