Carousel Sun (31 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY

High Tide 8:25
P.M.

Sunset 8:26
P.M.
EDT

I reached the carousel, smoothie in hand, on the stroke of four, to find a line snaking from the operator’s station all the way back to Fun Country’s front gate. Vassily reported that he had been exactly this busy all day. Apparently, overwork agreed with him. He seemed almost happy, his face animated, and his eyes sparkling.

“It is beautiful.”

He actually smiled, waving at the carousel, a rider on every animal; random rays of sunshine caressing the brass and teasing glints from the mirrors.

“It is,” I agreed. “Very beautiful.”

His hands resting lightly on the controls, he turned his head to look at me.

“You are well?”

“I’m well,” I told him—not a complete fib. “It’s after four. How ’bout you go get your dinner and let me have some fun?”

He started and blinked, as if I’d derailed a serious train of thought.

“Yes,” he said after he’d caught up with himself again. “My shift is over and I will eat my dinner. Good-night, Kate Archer. Thanking you.”

“You’re welcome—now, git!”

He got.

I stepped up to the control board after putting the smoothie out of harm’s way on the floor, rang the bell twice to signal the end of the ride, and slid various levers gently downward.

The carousel spun slowly to a stop. Riders disembarked, and headed for the exit gate.

I turned to the first person in line, and gave her a smile. “Good afternoon. Two tickets, please.”

. . . and that was pretty much my next eight hours. The crowd started to thin around 11:30. At 11:50, the lights began to go out on Baxter Avenue. I took that as a sign, turned off the roof light, and shut the storm walls, locking myself inside the carousel’s enclosure.

Privacy thus assured, I did a complete inspection—physical and magical—of the carousel, its critters and keepings.

Everything was as it should be; I detected no secret stashes of
jikinap,
nor any rogue wards. The animals were as they should be; the prisoners were as
they
should be; the wards and spells associated with the Gate were intact. Even the damn’ rooster was looking good.

Mindful of my bad reaction earlier in the day, I stepped back and considered the state of myself. The headache had completely vanished, my stomach was steady, and my mind was clear. When I breathed in, all I tasted was salt, sand, hot grease, and sea rose.

It would appear that my unwilling prize had been assimilated.

A trill sounded from the depths of my pocket. I fished my cell out and flipped it open.

“Sorry I’m so long calling back, Kate,” Nancy Vois’ low, raspy voice told me.

“Not a problem. I just wanted to let you know that I came down to the carousel early this morning—and the door was open.”

There was a longish pause.

“I locked ’er up good ’n’ tight last night before I left,” Nancy said. After a much briefer pause, she added, cautiously, “Is everything . . . good?”

“A little mischief made; no lasting harm done.”

“That’s all right, then,” she said with a sigh. “You change the lock?”

“Haven’t yet. Will by tomorrow. I’ll leave the new key with Anna.”

“Right.”

“Thanks for calling back,” I said.

“No problem. You take care now.”

She hung up.

I looked up at the carousel as I slipped the phone back into my pocket.

Eight hours of honest labor had given my brain time to sort out what it was willing to believe and what it wasn’t willing to believe, leaving me with a list of what I was willing to call facts.

One, the dream I’d had in The Mango’s backroom? Wasn’t a dream; it had been an actual conversation with an Ozali of Varoth, the Land of Air and Sunshine. Considering that I’d consumed a good amount of his
jikinap
, such a conversation was completely in the realm of the possible.

Two, the Varothi threatened mayhem, unless I freed his lover.

Which—point three—I couldn’t do. I didn’t know who the prisoners were.
Gran
didn’t know who the prisoners were. The
prisoners
didn’t know who they were, because the Wise had taken their memories.

Four, the Varothi felt that a petition to the Wise would be useless. Happens I agreed with him there.

Five, his plea to myself having gained a negative result, he was going to try to free Jaron again.

I sighed, and wondered if
I
should call the Wise. I was loath to do it, for all the usual reasons. And, even if calling the Wise
was
the best course, a call tonight was unlikely to garner an instant response. I’m not precisely sure on what plane or land beyond time the Wise dwelt in—if they even lived together—but the mail delivery to wherever they were was wicked slow.

All of which meant that the Gate had to be warded like hell, right now, tonight.

I frowned at the unicorn, thinking.

The Gate was heavily warded and opening it in a nonexplosive sort of way required a very tricksy bit of magecraft. Screw up, and all that would be left of the carousel would be a smoking crater. Given what I’d found cooking here this morning, it seemed safe to assume that the possibility of an explosive outcome didn’t bother the Varothi.

Which meant that I was, right now, going to build the biggest, baddest, toughest ward possible, and then I was going to take advice on how to proceed on the larger questions of the Varothi, his lover, and the Wise.

Wards are easy, relatively speaking. Righteous wards that won’t buckle under a bulldozer just wanted a lot of power to fuel them. I thought about that, given the amount of power I’d seen burning here this morning, and flexed my fingers.

A medium heavy-duty ward with a reflector woven into it, I thought, so that anything tossed at it would bounce.

I could do that.

Tomorrow, early, I’d get with Mr. Ignat’ about building something more flexible. I also wanted to talk with Borgan, Nerazi, and Gran about the situation and the pros and cons of calling in the Wise.

Hell, it was late enough, I’d probably find Nerazi at her rock, if I cared to walk that way after I got done here.

First, though, I needed to get done here.

I straightened, centered myself, and called upon my power.

It flashed up my spine, burning, searing every cell, filling me with light so heavy I crashed to my knees. I gasped, gagging on peach-tainted air as thick as cream. Heart pounding, half-strangled, I thrust the power back to the base of my spine with the strength of pure panic, filled my lungs with salt-soaked air—

And the burning flare of
jikinap
came roaring back, knocking me flat to the floor, my mouth clogged with too-thick air.

Instinctively, I snatched for the land, but the land couldn’t help me, not with this.

Or—

I brought the land . . . close, and I whispered into its distressed, doggy ear:
I need help.

Every
trenvay
in Archers Beach would hear that message. Which begged the question of what they might
do
, that the Guardian herself could not.

In the meantime, the situation had gone from bad to worse. My lungs were burning; it felt like my
blood
was burning, while the weight of the light ground me into the floor.

If I didn’t do
some
thing, I was going to die. Right here.

Right now.

I gathered my fragmented will, dark spots swirling before my eyes, and
pushed
.

The punishing power retreated, just a little.

Just enough.

I could breathe.

One breath. Two.

Again, I gathered my will.

. . . and the door in the storm gate, that I had so carefully locked from the inside, blew open.

“Kate!”

A wave of blessedly cool water lifted me above the agony, my skin tingled with salt, and the air was fresh, bracing, and plentiful.

I slammed my will against the burning power. It gave, but not much. I hit it again, but it was like punching a rhinoceros; my puny efforts were only making it mad. A little tongue of flame tickled the center of my chest; my heart cramped; I lost my concentration, and the rogue power flared.

I think I screamed.

“Kate!”

I was . . . somewhere else. If I had a body, I couldn’t feel it. The only thing I could feel was Borgan, holding me—holding me in his strength, inside his power—and if I exploded, or ignited, would I poison the sea?

“No . . .” Somehow I struggled; felt Borgan’s grip tighten.

“Kate. Listen to me, now. Let it go.”

Well, there was a simple solution. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

Oh.

“Don’t know how.”

“Relax,” Borgan told me. “Open your will and just—don’t fight.
Do it now
.”

And he thrust me back into my body.

I couldn’t have screamed if I’d tried, though I surely wanted to. As for relaxing my will . . .

The best I could manage was to curl into a ball, there inside my burning body, and hide.

It seemed that the attack abated; that the enemy within me withdrew somewhat to survey this new situation. In that moment of withdrawal, I heard the land whimper, and I reached out to comfort—

A blast of heat blew up my spine, exiting through the top of my head, like a lightning strike in reverse. The shock wave knocked me out of my protective curl, and I felt a tug, as though my soul, loosened by torment, sought to follow the lightning.

I embraced the land, and breathed in. My soul hesitated . . . and settled back into place.

At which point, I do believe that I blacked out.

I opened my eyes and looked up into Borgan’s face, no more surprised to see him than to be lying against his chest, his arms supporting me.

“Timing,” I said, my voice hoarse, “is everything.”

“Lucky I came by,” he agreed with a lightness that was belied by his eyes. “What happened?”

“You saved my life.”

“Before that.”

“I was trying to seal the carousel so the Ozali who tried to blow the Gate open earlier today doesn’t get a second chance.”

It was ridiculously hard to lift my hand and curl my fingers ’round his braid. I managed it, though. Cool comfort spread through me, and I pressed my forehead against his chest, so he wouldn’t see the tears.

“Before
that
,” I said hoarsely, “I ate something I shouldn’t’ve and it was causing all kinds of hell.”

“It was that.” His arms tightened. “You’re good, now.”

“If only. Peggy saw me glowing, and I just used the land to broadcast the fact that, as a Guardian, I’m kind of a fuck-up.”

“What I heard you say,” Borgan said, “was,
I need help
. I might’ve decided not to come in past the lock if you hadn’t, and gone on home with my feelin’s hurt.”

I laughed, which made my chest hurt—and turned my head toward the shredded metal wall. Nobody could accuse Borgan of not being thorough.

A shadow hovered at the edge of the wreckage. I couldn’t quite see—but the land knew who it was.

“Gaby?” I said, knowing that she’d hear, despite my voice being so weak.

The shadow shifted, and she stepped through the hole in the wall, stopping just inside the enclosure.

“Heard a whisper, that the Guardian needed help,” she said, with dignity. “Others’re comin’, but I was closest.” She looked at Borgan, long and hard. “
He
ain’t the problem.”

“No, he’s not the problem.”

“What sort o’help, then, Guardian?”

I looked up into Borgan’s face.

“Got to seal the carousel.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Borgan said.

I shifted, meaning to stand up and let the man work—and realizing at that exact moment that there was no way my legs were going to hold me.

His arms tightened, not so much to keep me in place, I thought, but to prevent my falling.

“No need to go anywhere,” he murmured. “Won’t take a minute.”

I smelled salt, and a rich, effervescent tang—Borgan’s magical signature. His power rose around us, silky and cool; as unpretentious as the tide. Mist formed, alive with color, like sunlight seen through sea spray.

The mist expanded, rippling like spun-glass curtains, and draped itself ’round the carousel, peak to floor. I could see it still, but as if from a distance, filmy and not quite real behind the spray.

“That’ll hold ’er,” Borgan murmured, his power spiraling away, leaving us sitting dry and content on the gritty cement floor.

I looked over to Gaby, who’d been waiting, if not with patience, then at least without fuss. I thought I saw other shadows behind her, and outside the wall.

“If there’s those among you who can repair the door, and lock up for the night, that would be a welcome service,” I said.

Gaby tipped her head as if listening, then nodded.

“We can do that, Guardian. No cares.”

“Good,” I said, truly grateful. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Whereupon Borgan stood up, holding me in his arms as if I weighed exactly nothing, and was too fragile to go on my own two feet down the land of which I was Guardian . . .

. . . and I let him.