Walking Dead

CHAPTER 19

I was sitting with my arms looped around my knees, head lowered, when the light came back. It looked like a position of defeat, but I was thinking more in terms of least amount of energy expended. Being vewy vewy quiet while I waited for a god to drop in and perform a rescue seemed like the optimum choice. Besides, though I’d gotten a good night’s sleep, there was something almost soothing about total sensory deprivation. As long as it didn’t kill me, I kind of didn’t mind drifting in it for a while.

Energy came rushing back with the light, making me feel like I’d drunk three cups of my beloved amaretto-flavored coffee. I popped to my feet, totally invigorated, and discovered I stood on a little island of earth that was completely separated from the world around it. I mean totally: it, and therefore I, was floating a few inches above the ground. It, and therefore I, wobbled precariously when I leaped to my feet, and I spread my arms to keep from falling. “Holy shit! What’d you do?”

“I cut you away from this world as much as I removed you from your own.” My clod of earth thumped back down into place, and Cernunnos sank to the ground with it. He looked exhausted. As a god, he was ageless, but time had marked his face, drawing deep lines through sharp features. Even the stars in his hair seemed dimmer, making him grayer than ash, and the green fire in his eyes was dull, hardly even embers. “There was no other way to free you from your parasite.”

My skin tingled with enthusiasm that my thoughts didn’t share, power running at full tilt. I’d burned Matilda up, maybe, but that only meant she wasn’t draining me dry. Without her using my fuel, I felt over-primed, suddenly sharp and alive and edgy. “What happened to you?”

“A deeper magic than yours lent that creature the false hope of life, little shaman. You sustained it, fed it, but your mortal depth, rich as it may be, could never have given birth to it.” Cernunnos lifted his head as though it bore the full weight of his crown of horns. “I rule the Hunt, Siobhán Walkingstick. Death is my domain, and once, before the boy was born, I may have thought myself its master. I have learned better, and had never seen that which could force death to bend its knee.”

I whispered, “But you’re a god. What’s greater than that? What happened, Cernunnos? You look…” I trailed off, then let myself choose a weak word, one that came nowhere near the truth of how he looked: “You look tired.”

All around me, Tir na nOg reflected the state of its god. The mists were heavier, and green-leafed trees had turned to brown. The air smelled of dust and rotting earth, like a graveyard. I dropped to my knees and buried my fingers in the cracked dirt, much as I’d done very recently in my own garden, and wondered, half seriously, if this whole world was Cernunnos’s garden.

“Stripping your power from your black rider bared its genesis to me.” A glint of humor brightened his eyes, if only briefly. “Some things not even gods are meant to see, little shaman. Be glad it was I who cut you away from all the worlds, for if you’d tried it yourself, you would soon be buried here, in the soft damp earth of Tir na nOg.”

“But the ground is dry.” That seemed terribly important somehow, the bits of dirt that crumbled under the pressure from my fingers. This world’s peace was in its misty shadows and whispering trees. The vitality shouldn’t drain out of it like water through a sieve. “What did you see? The cauldron?”

“Its maker,” Cernunnos said, “its master.” He curled up on the yellowing grass, tucking his head around more like a deer than a man, as though seeking comfort and warmth from his own body. “The boy will take the lead in the Hunt, Siobhán Walkingstick, and it will, as ever, need its thirteenth to ride with it. Join them now, little shaman, thy life for mine.”

I lowered my head, fingers knotting deeper in the earth. My first journeys into the astral plane had brought me through a wonderland of color and spirit, from snowy, white blossoming trees to pathways cutting through mountains. There had been a cave off to my left, always off to my left, as though it was connected to my heart, and within that cave was a presence. I didn’t know who or what he was, only that he was infinitely powerful, and that he regarded me as an amusing trinket to be dealt with in some indeterminate future. His very existence compelled me to seek him out, though the first time I’d crossed through there I’d been just barely smart enough not to. The second time, my dead mother had utterly kicked my pansy ass to prevent me from going to him.

A banshee had named it the Master, right before I’d ripped its shrieky banshee head off. Since then, I’d barely encountered him in my astral travels, and nothing I’d faced had mentioned it. Not until now, anyway. Cernunnos hadn’t made the word master a title like the banshee had, but it resonated through me like a plucked bowstring.

Something had made the cauldron, once upon a time. Something strong enough to kill a god, and the banshee’s master was a thing of death magic, feeding on blood and fear. It fit. It fit very well, and it filled me with rage that surpassed crimson and spilled to silver-blue and white.

“I’m sorry, my lord master of the Hunt.” My own voice sounded bewilderingly distant and hollow, as if it had been filtered through light and come out the other side stronger for its journey. “I’m sorry, but that’s just not going to happen. Tell me something. This thing you saw. Where was it?”

For the second time I wished I knew the god’s true name. The land was almost dead now, blackened and raw. All the trees were shadows of themselves, and the Hunt itself, dogs and Riders and rooks, stood amongst the thin stick forms, waiting on a changing of the guard. “Cernunnos, answer me!”

He caught a slow breath, the kind that spoke of unwelcome wakenings, then murmured, “Buried. Buried behind a wall of stone, and still a glance was enough to strip me down to this. I’m weary, little shaman. Let me rest.”

I dug my fingernails into the ground until dirt pushed back, making the quick hurt, and grated, “Not on my watch.”

All that lovely fresh revitalized power pulsed out of me in a heartbeat burst of oil-slick color. Once, then again, and again, every thump inside my chest pressing life back into dying soil. I didn’t know how big this world was, if it disappeared into the mist a few yards away and melted into nothing, or if it hung between the stars like another earth. I could never pour enough into a planet to ensure its survival, so I didn’t let myself think about it. My heartbeats started coming slower after a while, but the grass around my fingers grew deep, and the earth softened again.

I might very well have killed myself trying to rescue a world, if exhaustion hadn’t put me to sleep first.

I woke up with a blade of grass tickling the inside of my nose and the green-eyed god of the Hunt standing above me with an expression of bemusement. “A patch,” he said, while I tried twitching my nose enough to dislodge the grass and go back to sleep. “A patch of earth, this courtyard and nothing more, but vitality begets vitality, shaman. Tir na nOg is healing, and from perhaps more than the maker’s pull.”

I said, “Yay me,” without really hearing him, and pulled the offending blade of grass out of the ground, throwing it away before rolling on my stomach. A new piece of grass stuck itself in my nose. I whimpered and rolled over further, rubbing my face like a tired baby. Cernunnos kept looking at me with bemusement. I could feel it. After a while what he’d said started to sink home, and I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to sort it out. “You mean it worked. You’re okay now.”

“I am,” Cernunnos said dryly, “as you say, ‘okay.’ And the mists are parting, shaman. The time to ride approaches.”

I’d gotten an upgrade. I was no longer a little shaman. Bully for me. Grown-up or not, I sat up still feeling like a sullen three-year-old, and scrubbed my hands through my hair. “Time to ride where? Oh. My world.”

Cernunnos nodded. “All Hallow’s Eve approaches, and we have souls to collect.”

“Well, I can’t go with you. I’ve got to…well, I mean, I guess I have to go with you to get home, but I can’t ride with you. I have to, like—” I waved a hand “—save the world.”

It had to be a godly knack, the ability to do something as mundane as offer a hand up and make the entire gesture ironic. Cernunnos did just that, pulling me to my feet. The bone crown was finally beginning to distort his temples, and I forgot about whining in favor of smiling at the oncoming change. “You really are getting better.”

“I am, and I owe thee a—”

I put my fingers over his mouth. “Stop that. The theeing and thouing. You’re right. It gets right under my skin.” And in a good way, but I didn’t want to say that out loud. “Stick with being normal. As normal as you can be, anyway.”

His lips curved under my touch and he took my hand away, folding my fingers over his own. “As you wish. I owe you a debt of thanks, a greater debt than can be easily repaid.” He examined my hand over his, then lifted his gaze again with a flick of his ashy eyebrows. “You made a choice in riding with us to this place.”

I’d already managed to forget that. Now, reminded, I pulled back, but the god held my hand more tightly. “That choice is unmade, for what you’ve done here. It will come again at the end of all your days, but you have no bargain to settle with me. Your soul is your own, gwyld, and I leave no marks on it.”

“Oh.” I managed to keep my feet, but I also managed, in one two-letter word, to stagger with relief. Amusement lit Cernunnos’s eyes, and I dragged a crooked nervous smile up. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” He passed me back my belongings—including the rapier—and tipped his head. The Hunt drifted out of the mists, once more at full strength and beauty. “Now, Siobhán Walkingstick, shall we ride?”

I’d ridden with the Hunt quite a few times by now, what with dashing here and there and back again to Tir na nOg and Babylon, and being chased down highways, which may not have strictly been riding with them, but which I counted for effect’s sake. Name dropper and drama queen, that was me: Oh, I’d say someday, all light and insignificant-like. Oh, Cernunnos and the Wild Hunt? I rode with them, back in the day. And then I’d give a brittle laugh to show what I thought of my careless youth, and how I was better and wiser now than I’d been when I’d done such foolish things. No one would believe me, of course; I wouldn’t even believe myself, but by that time I’d be far too late to live fast, die young and leave a good-looking corpse.

It was just barely possible I’d been watching too many rockumentaries on MTV. I needed to get out more. Anyway, none of that mattered, because I couldn’t imagine sipping bitter dredges at the memory of this thing lost. If I ever looked back on that last ride with Cernunnos with anything other than exhilaration, the truth was, I was already dead and just hadn’t noticed yet.

The goddamn sky split open under our horses’ hooves. There was nothing for their feet to impact against, but I felt every step like a bolt through my body, the air itself breaking and rumbling under the Hunt’s weight. Wind tore tears from my eyes and froze in icy streaks along my temples. Speed flattened my hair against my head, and my ears, my face, my teeth ached with cold. I wore a grin I recognized from the inside, even though I’d only ever seen it from the outside. Drummers in rock bands got that grin: musicians given over completely to abandon and the beat and the spirit-bursting excess of joy that came from finding the edge of life and leaning way the hell over to see what was on the other side.

My throat ached from howls of joy, and I could barely hear myself in the cacophony. Everyone and everything around me let loose the same cries; hounds, Riders and rooks alike, warbling raw calls mixed with long baying tones and the deeper shouts of men. The same feral grins split everyone’s faces, from the lord of the Hunt to the bearded king and the blond archer. As the youngest, as the Rider of the pale mare, I was meant to have the lead, but we jostled and crashed against one another, a mob of enthusiasm all trying to reach my world and three months of freedom first. There was a solemn duty to be done during those months, yes, but in the moment, that was unimportant. For now, it was about the first breath of earthy air, the first glimpse of a sky studded with familiar starlight. It was chaos made manifest, that factor of the universe which could never be predicted, and it was, without any question, how the Hunt was meant to make the journey from their world to mine.

We burst through the cloud cover, thundering down toward the cemetery from which Cernunnos had taken me. For an instant I saw it as an immortal might, patches of green grass and gray granite memorializing the dead. It was both fascinating and meaningless to one who wouldn’t die: gods might understand ritual, but the connotation of permanent loss gave it all an unfathomable air.

Suzanne Quinley and the boy Rider sat together on a stone bench, two distant points of life bound together by blood. Matilda no longer haunted them, nor could I see any sign of her in the graveyard; Cernunnos had delivered on his promise.

The boy stood as we roared down toward them. Suzanne followed suit more slowly, and for all that I was certain my vision wasn’t clear enough to see it, I still saw the boy offer her a sympathetic smile. He murmured something I didn’t catch under the pounding hooves, then turned away and locked gazes with me.

I bent low over the mare’s mane, thrusting my arm out as we approached the two children. With absolute flawless grace and even more perfect timing, the boy reached for me in turn.

Our arms slammed together, fingers gripping with every ounce of strength we had available. I clenched my stomach and heaved, guiding the boy onto the mare’s back behind me. In very nearly the same motion, I dove off her other side, flinging myself under racing hooves and paws.

The Hunt angled skyward and careened over me, never breaking stride. I rolled through dirt and grass and came up against a gravestone, hooting with laughter. Suzy tore over to me, attention ricocheting between me and the disappearing Hunt. “That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen!”

“That was the coolest thing I’ve ever done!” I scrambled to my feet, feeling like a superhero and in search of a handsome man to kiss. There weren’t any around, so I snatched Suzy up and swung her around in circles until I stumbled from dizziness. Her legs tangled with mine at the sudden cessation of momentum, and we went down in a heap of elbows and knees and laughter.

“You were gone forever!” She whacked my shoulder and rolled away, gasping at the sky. “They’re already gone!”

“I don’t think they’re constrained by details like the conservation of mass and energy.” I dropped my elbow over my eyes, still grinning, then peeled it away again. “How long was I gone? The sun hasn’t gone down—” I pushed up, looking for the horizon. Distant clouds were turning gold, harbinger of a perfect Halloween sunset of red and orange. “Oh, hell.” Gaiety fled, I fumbled my phone out of my jeans pocket and punched in Billy’s number. I hated cell phones, but I’d hate having to race through Seattle at rush hour to bear bad news even more.

“Yeah, Joanie, what is it? Where are you?”

“I’m at the Crown Hill Cemetery. You think you can pull off the impossible in the next half hour?”

“You’re at…” I could hear all the questions he wanted to ask and discarded as not strictly relevant just then. “Depends on the impossible. What do you need?”

“Can you call up Sonny’s friend Patrick and ask him to get some local priests to go around and bless the water in the lawn-sprinkler systems in all the graveyards in town? Before sunset? And get them all turned on,” I added, in case it wasn’t obvious.

Billy sounded like his tongue was having a throw-down with his brain over what ought to be said first. “You want the city’s irrigation system filled with holy water?” won.

I said, “Yes,” then, worried, continued, “I mean, it works that way, right? You don’t have to, like, cart in holy water from Jerusalem to mix with the rest of the water or anything, do you? It can just be blessed and be good to go, can’t it?”

Billy’s tongue was still trying to strangle him. I wished my phone had video capability so I could see what that looked like. It sure sounded awful. “Look, I’ve got this other thing to deal with, and I’m seriously not the person to coordinate a citywide holy-water brigade. You saw that black muck in the air. Even if I’m totally wrong about the cauldron disturbing the dead, getting rid of it has to be good. If I’m right, washing it away before sunset is critical. I really need you to do this.”

I also really didn’t want a man whose wife was about to give birth out chasing a death cauldron with me, but I didn’t think that was an argument that would go over well with my partner, so I left it alone. Billy spent about five more seconds choking on his tongue before saying, “What other thing?”

“The cauldron,” I said evasively. Mentioning premonitions of my death seemed like a bad idea. “If you cover the sprinkler thing, I can deal with the cauldron.” I sounded very confident. I hoped I was right.

“As soon as I’ve got this sprinkler thing under way I’m calling back and you’re telling me where to meet up. I mean it, Joanne. You’re not facing this alone.”

“You’re a big damn hero, Billy Holliday. I’ll talk to you soon.” I hung up, all too aware I hadn’t asked him how his interview with Sandburg had gone, but unwilling to draw the conversation out and maybe let slip that I was on a deadly timetable. For a couple of seconds I looked around, feeling a bit wild-eyed and hoping I’d find a priest or a holy hand grenade lying around waiting to be used.

Instead, I found Daniel Doherty standing at the cemetery gates, a hand to his forehead like he was staving off an ache, and a frown between his eyebrows that said he couldn’t have seen what he’d just seen, but he hadn’t yet figured out how to explain it away. I squared my shoulders, looking for a story that would suit him, and headed over to feed it to him.

Right then, the sun’s shadow slipped away from the cemetery, and the zombies rose up.