WandWchapter27

Obsessive Search (Magic the Gathering)---Draw a card. Madness (one Island----You may play this card for its madness count at the time you discard it from your hand.)

I moved off about noon or a little after, to try and catch Jalin on the fly. We needed to get my bike on-line, no damn mistake about it now. War was coming. And I was by-god almost looking forward to it, given what I'd learned today.

Smitty had given me one hell of a lot of info. I'd forgotten that being irritating wasn't her only talent. She was also a valid source of intelligence, the closest thing the Tribes had to a computer. Or maybe a library?

Not to mention Carson's first appearance; yeah, she'd been there for that, and her tale bypassed our Warchief's terse remarks by a country mile. It was a story that damn near warmed me to my bones, even as he was grumbling and blushing and basically wanting to kill his Shaman for her big damn mouth.

She'd settled into the one comfortable seat, gave me a more or less friendly smirk. "Me? Oh, yeah, I was a stripper, just like I told you, McIntyre. A little older than most, had to be inventive and a good dancer since I wasn't really, um-----"

"Attractive?" Carson added, a bit colder than me. He really did hate people barging into his tent. And he and Smitty had kinda a cool relationship anyway, from what I could tell.

She cracked up, and gave both of us an affectionate glance neither one of us deserved with comments like that. She really was mellow today. And though I might never be fool enough to say so to her face, I figured sex with Do'nar had done her some good.

"Both and neither," she admitted. "So there I was, dancing. And I was good, dammit. Dancing was the closest I ever came to believing in magic, because when I was really into the moves and the music----it FELT like magic. So much."

Her sharp brownish eyes had gone almost dreamy. I made a mental note to ask her to dance for me, when all the serious bullshit settled down. I'd always appreciated dancers, though my own talents in that area really sucked. I could move pretty gracefully as a guitarist, though, once the music drove me mad. Maybe we could do a number for the Riders; the thought made me laugh. I just hoped she did her moves to rock, not that jangle-your-last-nerve jazz crap. She looked more like a rocker girl to me, but you could never tell because most people try to hide what they really are.

"Well, for the reasons you pair of smart-asses mentioned, I had to be creative to keep my public's interest. I had a friend who knew electronics, he'd packed this clear plastic dildo I had with LED's and a battery pack. So I was grooving for the first time with a light-up dick, the crowd going wild. I closed my eyes, and----"

She hesitated, paused for so long that I had to fill in. "After your stomach quit feeling like you fell off a cliff, you opened your eyes and you were somewhere else?"

She had been. Right smack in the middle of a crowd of awe-struck Riders. I mean, this scrawny tattoo-covered half-nude woman suddenly appears outta nowhere, bumping and grinding and waving a glowing green phallic symbol. Obviously a messenger from the gods! And Smitty mighta been a flat-chested girl from New York but she wasn't a dummy by anyone's measure. Even with the obvious astonishment factor of being suddenly in another world, I doubt if it took her more than, oh, say three minutes to take full advantage of these gaping riders' nervous respect for a woman gripping some ogre's flashing twelve-incher.

Once I got my wind back from near-death at the image, Smitty continued, giving me a slightly dirty look. Well, hell, even Carson's mouth was twitching at the story and he had his face-of-stone on and everything. How could she blame me for flat-out laughing?

And during those six years, in my humble opinion, she'd done pretty fucking good. Although really----I thought she'd been here somewhat longer. We have 36 hours a day here, not 24. And the seasons last longer, screw up your time sense. Oh, I didn't think Smitty was old enough to be my mother by any means. But Earthside, I'd say she'd been here at least ten, fifteen years beyond what she was thinking.

She'd accepted that she was stuck in a new world for real, not just tripping. Grimly cold-turkied her drug addiction, since she had little choice in the matter. Oh, they have drugs here, but they're mainly an Eastern indulgence, and there's nothing similar to heroin at all. Dreamsugar is the closest they've got, but it eats only at your mind, your body gets healthier if anything. And once again, not a Rider vice. These boys drink like fish of course, but they're surprisingly wary of anything more potent or deadly.

So Smitty dealt. Learned the language, and then she began to have----well, visions was the way she put it. Started knowing things about the history of the land that she shouldn't have been aware of at all. Of course, none of it surprised the Riders. She was their Shaman. Brought to them from another world by the gods themselves.

But Smitty didn't fight the idea; instead she shrugged and went about living up to it. She got a respect from the people here that was totally lacking in New York even for the best of strippers. She kinda liked it. And like any woman---like any human being brought up in youth-centered America, I guess---after a year or two she couldn't help but notice the age thing.

So she settled in, made absolutely no effort to try and get back to Earth. To all intents and purposes, then, she became the Tribal Shaman for the Shadow Riders.

But she no more forgot that she was really a New York girl, anymore than I could leave my past in Berkeley behind me. My almost forty year old teacher past, in a society that kinda implies that when you pass thirty you are if not useless definitely less. Women get it more I think, but even us guys fall victim. I mean, rock and roll boy that I was, I was almost classically offended when I didn't automatically die at thirty.

Then I shrugged and prepared to become an old fart. A very lonely old fart, mind you full of strange memories and crazed dreams. I was ready, if not exactly eager, to give up at last. I would work nine to five, whack off to my dreams. Get close to no one and nothing, as per the 21st century safety manual.

I guess you remember his version of his entry into Khesh. Kinda like, 'oh yeah, they saw my tattoos, creamed themselves over it, and that was an in.' Not that big a problem.

The way she told it----and was Carson glaring at her!----she'd gotten word from a diffident warrior poking his head into her tent that they'd "captured a person". By now, she was so far away from Earth in her thoughts that she just snapped irritably, "Well? Why didn't you just torture the bastard to death as usual? Why are you bothering ME about it? Talk to Do'nar! He's the war-leader; I'm busy!"

Instead of fleeing the dreaded Shaman---who really was busy with nothing, I suspect, other than polishing her snake-heads---the poor warrior had hung there quivering. "My lady, I beg pardon! But this is something beyond the usual. To begin with, this naked and unarmed man dragged our lord Do'nar from the saddle to take his axe. Then used this axe to disable at least a dozen of our warriors. It was obvious he knew not the use of it, since he killed no one. But he was so fierce----"

"Took out Do'nar? And, ah, what do you mean "naked?" Smitty had cut in. Yeah, it was a few years from her New York days, I was pretty sure she'd had a sexual blast since arriving though she'd never admit it to me. But "naked" was still what really got her interest, I'll bet. Smitty can't fool me, she has the lech for good lookin' guys. Do'nar getting conked was just a side note.

Given that, I suspect her next question mighta been if this naked guy's dead body was the least bit cute. But the warrior went on, still too rattled to give her proper respect, more intent on telling his outrageous story and then getting the hell out.

"---in the same language as you spoke, when you came to us. Do'nar confirmed it; before struck from his horse, he pledged us not to kill this one, until you had seen him."

It was not so crazy a question. These guys were outrageous good mimics even if they didn't understand the language, and Smitty'd come to know that. And this boy imitated Carson perfectly.

"He said---screamed---my lady, it sounded mainly insulting, though I understand none of the words---" The boy grabbed a breath, wound up, and let fly with his imitation. And a pretty fine one it was.

"'You fucking bastards! Where is he? I'll kill you all, you fucking bastards! Keith!' He screamed this many times, before we took him down. But mainly, that last strange word----Keith----"

"His eyes," the poor messenger admitted. "Tribal runes; no one noticed until he was subdued. There were----are----tribal runes around his eyes. And they say a thing."

"Of course they do." Smitty was used to every fall of a leaf being taken as a godly message by this crew. "Like what, exactly." She was really just humoring him at this point.

Then he was dragging for air as Smitty grabbed him by what passed for a collar in these parts and shook him hard. "Why didn't you say that in the first place, you moron!" The girl mighta preferred murder mysteries in her Earthly life, but she'd run into some Arthurian stories too. And beyond that, she knew Tribal Legend better than she really wanted to.

She knew who this person was, that they'd captured. But she sure as hell hadn't expected the Dark Rider of the North, the High King of legend, to come from the same damn Earth that she did.

So she'd hustled to the arena, double-time. And there Carson was. Chained, as the guy had said. Not just cuffs, pretty much a body wrap of solid metal. And then hooked to the wall besides that; he'd impressed them that much. Beaten all to crap as the messenger had said. Pretty helpless, one would think.

Do'nar was standing above him, glaring down in bafflement. Had a knot on his head the size of a melon. "By Odin, no one has EVER knocked me off my horse, then grabbed my axe from me like I was a damn babe in arms and they were stealing my rattle! And the writing around his eyes, Lady---the foreign words he spoke----it's trouble, it's gods' trouble or I'm a toad in a tree!" And then he'd glanced at Smitty and barked in what he probably thought was a whisper, "Is he the Chosen One, d'ya think? The King to come?"

Do'nar mighta been awestruck. Smitty wasn't. She was pretty damn excited though, at the thought of another bit of fall-out from Earth. Maybe sheer homesickness did it, made her forget all caution. She knelt down in front of this fairly large guy, who was staring at the floor in what seemed like a daze. He was bloody, but not unconscious. But I guess she thought, well, he's chained.

He went berserk. Suddenly from a badly beaten prisoner with downcast eyes he was a force, a hellish demon. And the chains were shattering even as he leaped for her and screamed.

Remember I said he'd changed again since coming here? I mean, he was no seven foot two in Berkeley even after I screwed up my spell. A mere six and a half feet, no taller. Although that was more than plenty, goddamn it.

He'd tumbled into this place alone, just as I did. Oh, he'd had a knowledge that the gods he'd pledged to would want something of him and be collecting soon enough. But he'd assumed I'd be with him, part of the deal when it happened.

He'd arrived alone, and though he had more of a belief in the whys of his presence here than I did, for him it was bitter betrayal. I was supposed to be with him.

He'd fought back mainly in desperation when the Riders had swooped so arrogantly down on him, expecting easy pickings. And he'd raged out my name at them, yeah. Mainly because me was all he could think of at the moment. Hey, you think that's arrogant? Better believe I was calling his name out crazily, hundreds of miles to the South in the same land. Shit, I admit it, I was freaking sobbing his name out those first awful hours. Just my luck the wizard who needed to teach me magic was located so far away from the Tribes Carson was born to lead.

But the god-rage didn't truly possess Carse, until this dumb New York bitch started questioning him. In English. Which to him meant that she must know where I was.

I found the Wizard in me by long painful study with a crabby Gandalf-guy. All Carson had to do to access his Warrior was to get really, REALLY pissed at Smitty.

Listening to Smitty's story was strange for me, because I was hearing it with elf senses. As she told it out to me, be damned if I didn't see everything happening. Rolling across my eyeballs; perhaps not front and center as if I was watching a movie. More like she was bringing up memories I'd forgotten I had.

"Sooo," I said now, ignoring Carson's grim look. I was pretty sure he was mainly upset about Smitty revealing that he'd been bested by a mere two dozen tribal guys. To have it revealed that he'd screamed my name, felt pain for my loss---nah, not a thing that he'd ever try to deny, or be ashamed of either. "He went Incredible Hulk on you, huh? Damn sexy." I gave Carse my best seductive look, and it worked so well his expression of annoyance at Smitty turned to something else in a flat second. I was laughing as I fended him off. "I always assume you been working out when you're suddenly all buffed up----and I'm always wrong, you cheat every time! Nah, chill out, Carse----down boy! So why did Smitty survive the wrath, if you were so gung ho on finding me?"

I was mainly teasing here; was kinda surprised when he answered seriously. "Because she swore she would draw you to the Tribes as quickly as possible, and meanwhile teach me what was needed to fulfill my vow to Tyr. Though if you had not come, that vow would not have held me."

I swallowed. He looked very harsh, all of a sudden. Cold and hard; someone who would never forgive any mistake or weakness. He was like that, yeah. Towards himself, and I think towards everyone else in the known universe. Except maybe me? "Good save, Smitty," was all I could say. I was still half-way trying to keep from being rendered horizontal.

I stared at this skinny, half-smiling woman I was beginning to really like a lot. "What'd you do, shake some chicken bones and dance the hootchie-koo to make Carson think----" She continued to grin at me, and I rethought my line of bull. It could actually be a fact that I didn't know everything there was to know, at least here and now. "Wait a fuckin' minute. You mean you really did call me here?"

She gave me the exasperated New Yorker glare, plus two. "Why do YOU think you came here? Why do you think you were drawn to visit the Tribes? The nifty idea that they'd torture you to death pull you in? You are such a pinhead!"

I opened my mouth and closed it again. Smitty pretended to dust off the shoulder of her robe, looking smug. "You might have learned a tiny bit of magic since coming here, McIntyre, but us lesser mortals have talents too. And I was throwing out waves of come hither in your general direction for at least two years; just your thick stubborn skull didn't notice. Or maybe you had something else to do before you could come here. Maybe both. But I kept Carson updated. He knew I had a fix on you three weeks after he started to learn Tribal."

"Save it." The way Smitty said it made us both calm down. "Now you're gonna tell me what happened to you on Earth. The---what did you call it? Darkangel thing. What the hell is a Darkangel? It can't be much, since you say you guys kicked its ass."

She seemed serious enough to where I wanted to give her a decent answer. Damn if I knew how to do it. It was Carson who replied, even while gathering me so close on the flipping bed it gave me other ideas right away.

She swallowed, stared, and then to my utter amazement dropped to her knees and crawled backward to the very rear of our long and luxurious tent. I got the hell up and followed her, intending only to ask why. She surprised me with a blast of shamanly smoke that made me bend right over and sneeze my fool head off.

Smitty was in my arms. Bawling down my shirt front. It wasn't in her character at all. Carson, watching from a distance, wasn't looking the least bit sunny. But he didn't look like interfering either.

"Yeah. But you are so ahead of the game, Berkeley boy." A ghost of her old smile touched her lips; she smacked me lightly on the arm as she got to her feet again.. "Because it's hard to fight these guys, they are masters of persuasion and seduction. Can convince most people of---anything. But if you don't fight them, if you play along like most people do---"

"Not us!" I wasn't sure where the need came from to let her know we hadn't ever surrendered. I mean, our fight with the Darkangel had been years before. When Carson was so young and helplessand yet he'd fought from the beginning. Far beyond when I would have given up. And I, when I finally knew I was so much more totally useless to him than I wanted to be---

Strangely enough, she was staring only at me, not him. Though the Darkangel had been his father. Though I wouldn't have known anything about such a creature without him.

"If you don't fight back, if you work for them to make it easy---you become one in your turn. A Reaver. You slowly go insane, lose every bit of personality that makes you yourself---and then you become one of them."

She studied me with eyes that seemed suddenly darker, in her very white face. "That's why I was so scared. You'd be one hell of a Reaver, McIntyre. You could wipe out the whole fucking tribe with a thought!"

It hadn't worked anyway. It was the strongest spell he knew. It had overcome his mind in a raging foam of blackness; it was ten times the Darkness spell that had gotten him banished by the Rangers. And it hadn't even fucking worked!

It made no sense that he'd cast it in the first place; he'd been wanting the elf almost as much as he wanted the Nightwolf. Carson, as the elf-boy had called him. Gifting him and everyone else in the area with his lover's true name, thoughtless as the wind in a dry season.

He'd gone from desire to rage in an instant, struck hard. And the elf's face changed in expression at least, altered from that annoying superior amusement that just made him sick inside.

The elf had stared, and staggered. And for one knifeblade moment he thought he'd killed the bastard in front of everyone, and he didn't care. He mourned the loss of such beauty to the living world. He wished, on a wave of savage heat that surprised him, that he could have fucked the redhaired fool, grinding him into the dirt before ending him.

But the pain that filled him when he realized how the Nightwolf would be hurt by this death---oh, that pain was like nothing he had ever known. Even accompanied by the colder thought that after pain, the Wolf would need a replacement. Given the hot sweet warmth of his emotions, the fire of his sex drive. Oh, he would need a replacement very quickly!

Then the hatefulness of his thoughts slammed into him; he had actually choked on a bitter sob, before realizing that the silly ass of an elf hadn't died at all!

Instead, Asher was the one reeling and shaken. Carrying on a light conversation with Do'nar when truly he just felt like puking all over the warrior. A death spell thrown at the intensity of a magician of his rank was a potent thing with a wicked backlash, successful or not. In an awful daze he watched the stupid redhead stagger out of the arena, looking ill and bewildered, but far from lifeless.

Some strange thoughts had been going through him as he attended the council. I could truly help them. I could betray the Lady, I could help them. Help my Nightwolf. Perhaps I'm not a real Ranger, but there are things I know or can find. And I know her plans---I could betray her

The thought was like---it was strange. He felt like a sticky, crawling creature fighting to find a leaf. Struggling toward the sunlight he could feel but not see. But also trying to justify his journey with memories he owned from a predator's life.

It doesn't even matter if he knows what I do. I thought I needed him to---to love me, to be pleased with me. But it doesn't matter if he even knows. Only matters that I do it.

"Lord Kaine? By Thor's five balls, you look far from healthy! This news of war has unmanned us all. Gods, and there goes the wizard half-drunk, and the Warchief on his tail as usual! We will never get this council settled!"

Asher swallowed back a ghoulish chuckle. He really couldn't blame the man a bit, now could he? He actually felt an affection for the big, dumb fellow that was nearly frightening.

The Shaman Witch was giving him a look that could curdle milk; he made it a point to walk up to her, speak a few light words that eased her tense face considerably.

He moved back to the big, blustering warrior, and spoke softly. "I don't have the Rangers behind me. I told you that. Why don't you let me know how I can be of service otherwise?"