Trumps of Doom (29 page)

“You’re trying to trick me.
 
You want to shut me down.”

“You’re making things worse with all these power displays,” I said. “I’m coming in now and-“

“No!”

A heavy gust of wind blew out of the circle and struck against me: I was staggered by it.
 
I saw my sleeve turn brown, then orange.
 
It began to fray even as I watched.

“What are you doing? I have to talk to you, explain-”

“Not here! Not now! Never!”

I was hurled back against Luke, who caught me, dropping to one knee as he did so.
 
An arctic blast assailed us and icy crystals danced before my eyes.
 
Bright colors began to flash then, half blinding me.

“Stop!” I cried, but nothing did.

The ground seemed to tilt beneath us and suddenly there was no ground.

It did not feel as if we were falling, however.
 
It seemed rather as if we hung suspended in the midst of a blizzard of light.

“Stop!” I called out once again, but the words were swept away.

The circle of light vanished, as if retreating down a long tunnel.
 
I realized, however, through the sensory overload, that it was Luke and I who were receding from the light, that we had already been blasted a great enough distance to drive us halfway through the hill.
 
But there was nothing solid in any direction about us.

A faint buzzing sound began.
 
It grew into a humming, then a dull roar.
 
In the distance, I seemed to see a tiny steam locomotive negotiating a mountainside at an impossible angle, then an upside-down waterfall, a skyline beneath green waters.
 
A park bench passed us quickly, a blue-skinned woman seated upon it, clutching at it, a horrified expression on her face.

I dug frantically within my pocket, knowing we might be destroyed at any moment.

“What,” Luke screamed into my ear, his grip now almost dislocating my arm, “is it?”

“Shadow-storm!” I cried back.
 
“Hang on!” I added unnecessarily.

A bat-like creature was blown into my face, was gone an instant later, leading a wet slash upon my right cheek.
 
Something struck against my left foot.

An inverted mountain range flowed past us, buckling and rippling.
 
The roaring increased in volume.
 
The light seemed to pulse by us now, in wide bands of color, touching us with a near-physical force.
 
Heat lamps and wind chimes...

I heard Luke cry out as if he had been struck, but I was unable to turn to his aid.
 
We traversed a region of lightning-like flashes where my hair stood on end and my skin tingled.

I gripped the packet of cards within my pocket and withdrew it.
 
At this point we were beginning to spin and I was afraid they would be torn from my hand.
 
I held them tightly, fearing to sort through them, keeping them close to my body.
 
I drew them upward slowly, carefully.
 
Whichever one lay on top would have to be our exit.

Dark bubbles formed and broke about us, discharging noxious fumes.

I saw, as I raised my hand, that my skin was gray in appearance, sparkling with fluorescent swirls.
 
Luke’s hand upon my arm looked cadaverous, and when I glanced back at him a grinning death’s head met my gaze.

I looked away, turned my attention back to the cards.
 
It was hard to focus my vision, through the grayness, through a peculiar distancing effect.
 
But it finally came clear: It was the grassy spit of land I had regarded-how long ago? - quiet waters about it, the edge of something- crystalline and bright jutting into view off toward the right.

I held it within my attention.
 
Sounds from beyond my shoulder indicated that Luke was trying to address me, but I could not distinguish his words.
 
I continued to regard the Trump and it grew clearer.
 
But slowly, slowly something struck me hard, below the right side of my rib cage.
 
I forced myself to ignore it and continued to concentrate.

At last the scene on the card seemed to move toward me, to grow larger.
 
There was a familiar sense of coldness to it now as the scene engulfed me and I it.
 
An almost elegiac feeling of stillness hung over that little lake.

I fell forward into the grass, my heart pounding, my side throbbing.
 
I was gasping, and the subjective sense of worlds rushing by me was still present, like the afterimages of highways upon closing one’s eyes at the end of a long day’s drive.

Smelling sweet water, I passed out.

I was vaguely aware of being dragged, carried, then helped, stumbling along.
 
‘There followed a spell of full unconsciousness, shading over into sleep and dreaming . .
 
.
 
.I walked the streets of a ruined Amber beneath a lowering sky.
 
A crippled angel with a fiery sword stalked the heights above me, slashing.
 
Wherever its blade fell, smoke, dust, and flame rose up.
 
Its halo was my Ghostwheel, pouring forth mighty winds ridden by abominations that streamed past the angel’s face like a dark, living veil, working disorder and ruin wherever they fell.
 
The palace was half collapsed, and there were gibbets nearby where my relatives hung, twisting in the gusts.
 
I’d a blade in one hand and Frakir dangled from the other.
 
I was climbing now, going up to meet and do battle with the bright-dark nemesis.
 
An awful feeling lay upon me as I mounted my rocky way, as if my imminent failure was a thing foregone.
 
Even so, I decided, the creature was going to leave here with wounds to lick.

It took note of me as I drew near, turning in my direction.
 
Its face was still hidden as it raised its weapon.
 
I rushed forward, regretting only that I had not had time to envenom my blade.
 
I spun twice as I went in, feinting, to strike somewhere in the vicinity of its left knee.

There followed a flash of light and I was falling, falling, bits of flame descending about me, like a burning blizzard.
 
I fell so for what seemed an age and a half, coming to rest at last upon my back atop a large stone table marked out like a sundial, its stylus barely missing impaling mewhich seemed crazy even in a dream.
 
There were no sundials in the Courts of Chaos, for there is no sun there.
 
I was located at the edge of a courtyard beside a high, dark tower, and I found myself unable to move, let alone rise.
 
Above me, my mother, Dara, stood upon a low balcony in her natural form, looking down at me in her awful power and beauty.

“Mother!” I cried.
 
“Free me!”

“I have sent one to help you,” she answered.

“And what of Amber?”

“I do not know.”

“And my father?”

“Speak not to me of the dead.”

The stylus turned slowly; positioned itself above my throat; began a gradual but steady descent.

“Help me!” I cried.
 
“Hurry!”

“Where are you?” she called out, head turning, eyes daring.
 
“Where have you gone?”

“I’m still here!” I yelled.

“Where are you?”

I felt the stylus touch the side of my neck-The vision broke and fell apart.

My shoulders were propped against something unyielding, my legs were stretched out before me.
 
Someone had just squeezed my shoulder, the hand brushing against my neck.

“Merle, you okay? Want a drink?” a familiar voice was, asking.

I took a deep breath and sighed it out.
 
I blinked several times.
 
The light was blue, the world a field of lines and angles.
 
A dipper of water appeared before my mouth.

“Here.” It was Luke’s voice.

I drank it all.

“Want another?”

“Yes.”

“Just a minute.”

I felt his weight shift, heard his footsteps recede.
 
I regarded the diffusely illuminated wall six or seven feet before me.

I ran my hand along the floor.
 
It seemed to be of the same material.

Shortly, Luke returned, smiling, and passed me the dipper.
 
I drained it and handed it back.

“Want more?” he asked.

“No.
 
Where are we?”

“In a cave - a big, pretty place.”

“Where’d you get the water?”

“In a side cavern, up that way.” He gestured.
 
“Several barrels of it in there.
 
Also lots of food.
 
Want something to eat?”

“Not yet.
 
Are you okay?”

“Kind of beat,” he replied, “but intact.
 
You don’t seem to have any broken bones, and that cut on your face has stopped bleeding.”

“That’s something, anyway,” I said.

I climbed slowly to my feet; the final strands of dreams withdrawing slowly as I rose.
 
I saw then that Luke had turned and was walking away.
 
I followed him for several paces before I thought to inquire, “Where are you going?”

“In there,” he answered, pointing with the dipper.

I followed him through an opening in the wall and into a cold cavern about the size of my old apartment’s living room.
 
Four large wooden barrels stood along the wall to my left, and Luke proceeded to hang the dipper upon the upper edge of the nearest.
 
Against the far wall were great stacks of cartons and piles of sacks.

“Canned goods,” he announced.
 
“Fruit; vegetables, ham, salmon, biscuits, sweets.
 
Several cases of wine.
 
A Coleman stove.
 
Plenty of sterno.
 
Even a bottle or two of cognac.”

He turned and brushed quickly past me, headed on up the hall again.

“Now where?” I asked.

But he was moving fast and did not reply.
 
I had to hurry to catch up.

We passed several branches and openings before he halted at another, nodding.

“Latrine in there.
 
Just a hole with some boards over it.
 
Good idea to keep it covered, I’d say.”

“What the hell is this?” I asked.

He raised his hand.
 
“It will all become clear in a minute.
 
This way.”

He swung around a sapphire corner and vanished.
 
Almost completely disoriented, I moved in that direction.
 
After several turns and one cutback, I felt totally lost.
 
Luke was nowhere in sight.

I halted and listened.
 
Not a sound except for my own breathing.

“Luke! Where are you?” I called.

“Up here,” he answered.

The voice seemed to be coming from overhead and somewhere off to my right.
 
I ducked beneath a low arch and came into a bright blue chamber of the same crystalline substance as the rest of the place.
 
I saw a sleeping bag and a pillow in one comer.
 
Light streamed in from a small opening about eight feet overhead.

“Luke?” I asked again.

“Here,” came his reply.

I moved to position myself beneath the hole, squinting against the brightness as I stared upward.
 
Finally, I shaded my eyes.
 
Luke’s head and shoulders was lined above me, his hair a crown of coppery flame in what could be the light of early morning or of evening.
 
He was smiling again.

“That, I take it, is the way out,” I said.

“For me,” he answered.

“What do you mean?”

There followed a grating noise and the view was partly occluded by the edge of a large boulder.

“What are you doing?”

“Moving this stone into a position where I can block the opening quickly,” he replied, “and stick in a few wedges afterward.”

“Why?”

“There are sufficient tiny openings for air so that you shan’t suffocate,” he went on.

“Great.
 
Why am I here, anyway?”

“Let’s not get existential just now,” he said.
 
“This isn’t a philosophy seminar.”

“Luke! Damn it! What’s going on?”

“It should be obvious that I’m making you a prisoner,” he said.
 
“The blue crystal, by the way, will block any Trump sendings and negate your magical abilities that rely on things beyond the walls.
 
I need you alive and fangless for now, in a place where I can get to you in a hurry.”