"Worlds Without End" - читать интересную книгу автора (Spector Caroline)

PART I

"Oh fuck, not another elf!"

– Hugo Dyson, during the reading of a manuscript by J.R.R. Tolkien

Across the frozen planes of time I've come. Through fires brighter than a thousand suns. Through darkness. Through the Void. Over the range of the universe I've come.

I've come for you, Aina.

To take you again into my sweet embrace and show you wonders from the darkness of your soul. Then I'll make you yearn for death while I rip open your mind and lay waste to everything you hold dear.

But all that will come later. For we have centu- ries, no, millennia to play our games. Come to me now and let me show you… let me show everything I have to offer.

Last night I dreamt again of Ysrthgrathe.

And when I awoke, the stench of death and cor- ruption still lingered in the air.

Through my bedroom window moonlight poured cold and blue. I rubbed my eyes, trying to convince myself that it had only been a dream. That the de- mons lurking in the shadowed comers were in my imagination. A conjuring of my mind only.

I shoved the covers away, letting the night air send gooseflesh across my arms and down my legs. Here by the sea on the northern coast of Scotland the weather stays chill and damp all year long. It had never bothered me before. But tonight, I felt the cold straight to my bones. All the better to keep me awake, I thought.

My feet shrank as they touched the cold bare floor. Grabbing my thick robe, I wrapped it tightly about me. It was made of real, heavy, woven cash- mere fabric, not that horrid synth stuff they sell nowadays.

I went downstairs and made myself some tea. It warmed my body, but I still felt chilled. I wanted to read, but I hated using the foul contraption Caimbeui had given me. The vidscreen gave me a headache and I could never bring myself to have cyberware implanted. Bodmod, cyberjunk, tickle- wires-whatever they're calling them this week.

Hadn't I done enough of that sort of thing to my- self in the past?

I shuddered as I thought about Ysrthgrathe.

Too soon, I thought. It's too soon.

But I knew it wasn't. The very thing I'd sought to prevent seemed to be happening. That is, if dreams could be trusted.

I dumped the tea into the sink and went and pulled a bottle of scotch from the pantry and splashed a hefty portion into a tumbler. It burned going down and brought tears to my eyes. I suppose the elves in Tir na n6g would be offended at my traitorous choice of beverage, but frag them. I hadn't been on speaking terms with either Tir for quite some time.

But what to do about the dreams?

Perhaps the shamans in NAN would be willing to listen. But then I remembered the dustup we'd had before the Great Ghost Dance. They hadn't been too happy to hear my predictions about the magical fall- out from all the blood they'd planned to spill.

Idiots. If only they'd listened. I suspected then that this would be the result. Like bees to honey, it would draw the creatures again. And we'd had no time to plan. To prepare. This time the monsters from the past would lay waste to the whole world.

Are you waiting/or me? Have you been waiting for me? Does your flesh crave my caress? Do you remember? Remember the centuries of pain and humiliation?

Do you know how I have missed you?

The sound of his voice echoed inside me.

I went to the thermostat and pushed it up. To hell with the regs about fuel waste, I thought. A century ago, Caimbeui had given me a Renoir. I liked to look at it when I felt like this. Afraid and lonely in the dark hours before dawn when the past spreads before me like a black spill of ink.

I flicked my hand and the illusionary wall I'd cre- ated long ago vanished. It was a simple enough spell, though in the past few centuries there'd been little enough magic to go around.

That was changing.

The last few years-a human life span-just a drop to me-had seen such a burst of magical en- ergy and growth. The Awakening, they called it on their ugly little trids. Oh, I know Dunkelzahn found this brave new world far too fascinating, but he'd 16

been dreaming for more than five thousand years. What would he know of it? He hadn't seen what the world had become.

I stepped into my room. The walls were win- dowless and covered in heavy oak paneling. Art- work and bookcases covered every available space, crammed full of everything I found precious. Centered on the north wall was the Renoir.

It was of a young woman and a little girl sitting on a balcony. The woman was wearing a brilliant red hat and she had a face of such sweetness that just looking at her almost hurt. I remembered when he'd painted it. A beautiful copy used to hang in the Chi- cago Art Institute, but I think it might have been de- stroyed during the riots in 2011.

So much beauty was lost then.

Here in my secret room I kept the relics of so many dead worlds. Of course dead worlds are all around us. They're just so much a part of our lives that we stop thinking about it. In London, five- hundred-year-old buildings snuggle next to glass columns built yesterday. Asphalt poured in nineteen- fifty is worn down by the wheels of a thousand rigs never dreamed of until five years ago. And the sweetmeats dance in nightclubs with rags on their backs sewn in sweatshops during the eighties. But that was just a momentary madness. A fad. A pass- ing whimsy of fashion.

The things I'd distract myself with at times like that.

And here too were memories from a place and time out of mind. A place as unreal to this world as any trideo fantasy. What possessed me to recreate what I could remember? That time was done. Over. Dust.

Right.

Then why were there pictures painted by artists far greater than I, depicting places described by me? Why had I done it? Why had I asked Francisco Lucientes to recreate those nightmare visions? What madness had I unlocked from his mind? For surely he saw them-saw the demons.

His painting leaned against the wall, face down. I reached out and turned it around. Curators from ev- ery museum of the world would kill to have this lost treasure. Could they have understood it came not from Goya's demented vision, but from mine?

It showed a forest of such expanse that it fled from the viewer's sight back into a ghostly oblivion. Standing in the foreground were two people: a male and a female. She was human, slight of build with a curious face. He was an elf, tall and lithe with dark hair and a small goatee. Growing from his body were thorns.

The skin was puckered where the thorns protruded from his flesh. They ran across his face and showed as stark points across the back of his hands. A thou- sand slashes rent his tunic, letting the thorns escape.

I reached out and almost touched their faces with my fingertips.

Tears were streaming down my cheeks as hot and warm on my face as the blood that once fed that great forest. Blood poured from the wounds of my people.

But that wasn't the worst of what had been in that time.

My own complicity. Could such acts of evil ever be forgiven? Or forgotten?

I tried to push these dark thoughts away. But the dream wouldn't let me go. Wouldn't let me forget. I'd let myself become distracted by worldly matters. I'd forgotten why I was here.

I swallowed the last of the scotch. A pleasant heat had settled into my limbs. Perhaps now I would be able to sleep. With a simple gesture the illusionary wall was once more in place. I went upstairs. After closing the drapes, I settled under the quilts and comforters. But I couldn't bring myself to turn off the light. A childish notion, but it gave me some comfort.

And small comfort was all I would have for a long time to come.

A vast forest stretches out before her. Green and lush. Beautiful and deadly. And there are secrets. Terrible secrets. She steps forward and feels that she is sinking into something. Looking down, she sees her foot being swallowed by a pool of blood.

Dreams, I thought, can't hurt you.

The day was dreary and overcast. They usually were here. It was well past noon before I managed to pull myself from bed. Despite the scotch and leaving the light on, I didn't manage to sleep until after the sun rose.

Normally, I would have downloaded the morning Times and printed it out while I made tea. But I felt restless and penned-in by the house. I threw on jeans, boots, and heavy sweater, then grabbed my leather jacket as I went outside. It was late October and already the wind was blowing colder from the north.

It took me a few minutes to climb down to the beach. During the night it had rained and the path was muddy. I slipped a little as I ran down it. The sharp tang of the air cleared my mind.

Dreams, only dreams.

But I suspected they weren't. I'd had premoni- tions like this before. Before the Great Ghost Dance in 1888. And again before the one in 2014. Before the first VITAS plague. Before the start of goblinization in 2021. Each time I'd seen what was to come and I couldn't stop it.

Oh I'd tried, but the others weren't willing to lis- ten. But they rarely thought about the consequences of anything that was happening. It has been that way for far too long. They've forgotten. Or didn't believe the danger was so close at hand.

I was so engrossed with my morbid thoughts that by the time I looked up, I'd gone onto my neigh- bor's property. He was a surly bastard and hated the fact that he had an elf for a neighbor. What was it he called me? Ah yes, a pointy-eared, pencil-necked, daisy-eating nigger. The last I assumed had to do with my skin color. It took every ounce of self- restraint I had not to slowly pull his tongue out his hoop the hard way.

But the Brits had an annoying habit of frowning upon murder. Especially when it involved a human and any sort of "meta" being. However, there were plenty of elves among the nobility in the UK, and I actually had good relationships with them. I hated to bum karma with them on someone who would be more annoyed by my continuing presence.

I turned and made my way back to the house. The fog had burned off finally and it was looking to be a rare sunny day. My security system let me back in with a cheery, "Good morning. It's October 20, 2056. The temperature is 9 Celsius outside…" It 21

rambled on and on, and once again I reminded my- self to have the thing removed. But I always forgot. So tomorrow it would be the same, "Good morning. It's October 21, 2056. The temperature is… blah blah blah."

As I pulled off my boots in the mud room, I found myself whistling an old tune. Well, maybe not whis- tling, more a tuneless wheeze.

Look on the bright side of life… dee, dah, dee dee deedilty dah.

I couldn't remember any more of the words. That used to drive Caimbeui crazy when we were to- gether. My inability to remember more than a few snatches of lyrics from any song. Sometimes I even got the words wrong. What was that called? Oh, yes, mondegreens.

The kitchen was warm and I set the kettle on to boil on the flat heating element. I went upstairs and started the water for a bath. Stripping out of my clothes, I grabbed my robe and wrapped it around me. The kettle had begun to whistle and I went downstairs to fix tea.

In a few moments I had a tray all set to take up- stairs. Sheer decadence to dispel the night fears. Tea and scones while taking a hot bath. Maybe later I'd read-from a real book with pages.

I'd just settled into the tub when the telecom beeped. Happens every time. As the machine picked up, I heard Caimbeul's voice.

"Aina, I know you're there," he said.

I gave a universal gesture for contempt and went back to drinking my tea. I hadn't heard word one from him in eight months. Frag him if he thought I was going to get out of a nice warm bath.

"Look," he said. "I'm en route to the UK. I should be landing in about an hour. Things have been happening. Things you need to know about. I have it all under control now, but we need to talk. I'll be up to Arran in about four hours."

I closed my eyes. The uneasiness that I'd almost dispelled was back. For Caimbeui to come here out of the blue meant something was up. Something big. The dreams came back to me. I shivered. The water had gone cold and I suddenly didn't like lying there naked and vulnerable.

Quickly, I finished washing my hair and got out of the tub. As I dressed, I tried not to dwell on Caimbeul's unexpected visit. Whatever the reason for it, I would know soon enough.

And I doubted the news would be good.

It is dark.

A blackness so thick and heavy it feels like a weight against her eyes. It is suffocating, this dark- ness. It feels as though she is being swallowed up by it. Being turned into it…

Caimbeui was late.

Though I wasn't surprised, I was annoyed. It wasn't as though I were looking forward to seeing him, but if you drop in on someone with "impor- tant" news, you'd bloody well better be on time.

I'd made tea with all the things Caimbeui liked. Scones, of course, with lemon curd. Those ridicu- lous little sandwiches with the crusts cut off, slices of cake, tarts. He had a sweet tooth. But now the sandwiches had gone hard and the cake was stale.

I'd switched from tea to sherry, then to scotch. And still no Caimbeui.

Finally, six hours after he'd said he'd arrive, I heard the crunch of tires across my gravel.

I waited until I saw him emerge alone from the car before opening the door. Even though I had se- curity sensors, you can't be too cautious.

"Prompt as usual, I see," I said

"Ah, Aina, still charming as ever," he replied. "No 'How are you? Why are you late?' You wound me."

I snorted.

"Please, spare me the usual dancing," I said. "It's cold out here. Come inside."

I turned and went into the house. Behind me I could hear him getting his bag and shutting the doors to the car.

"Lock the door and switch the system back on," I called over my shoulder.

He muttered something under his breath, but oddly enough he did as I asked. I went into the great room where I'd started a fire earlier that evening. Sometime between the sherry and the scotch.

"Did you leave that woman at home?" I asked.

"Yes," he said as he shrugged off his coat and tossed it on the couch. He flopped down into one of the wing chairs in front of the fire. I handed him a snifter of brandy and poured myself another scotch.

"I'm surprised. I'd've thought you'd bring her along to iron your shirts. Or something."

"Or something?" he asked. Coy, that one.

"Whatever it is you do with girls young enough to be your great-great-great-great-great-great-great- great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great- great-great-"

He held up his hands. "I get the picture."

"Oh, please, I don't want to hear about your peculiarities in that area."

"Do you care?" he asked. "What goes on between us is none of your business." 25

I turned away from him, stung by his remarks. Of course his life wasn't my concern. It hadn't been for centuries. But old habits die hard.

The silence stretched out between us. Once I en- joyed them. But now it felt awkward and tense. I longed for things to be as they once had, but it was far too late for that. As usual.

"I had a terrible time getting through UK cus- toms," he said at last.

"Were you carrying anything?" I asked as I turned and walked toward him. He gestured for me to sit across from him as though this were his house and not mine.

"No."

"Made any enemies in the UK lately?"

He smiled then. I was glad he wasn't wearing his makeup. That awful mask he'd adopted out of some perverse sense of humor. Wicked Caimbeul.

We chatted then about meaningless things. Things to distract us from the free-floating tensions of a failed romance and too many years of history.

The fire had begun to die down and we were both a little muzzy.

"So," I said. But it came out more like "show." "Why all the mystery about your visit?"

Part of me, foolishly, hoped that his surprise had to do with the sudden realization that he'd been mo- mentarily insane all those years ago when he'd left me.

"I beat them," he said, his voice dropping into a slightly drunken, conspiratorial tone. "You've been saying that NAN would bring them back with all that blood magic. And you were right, Aina."

I felt a cold finger touch my heart. Suddenly the alcohol warmth fled and I was wide-awake sober.

"What are you saying?" I tried to keep my voice from shaking, but I failed. He didn't notice, though.

"They tried to get back, but I stopped them," he said. "Ah, well, I did have some help. A group of shadowrunners I enlisted. We went and played our little games on the metaplanes. God, it was fantastic. I haven't felt so alive since-I don't know when. Can you imagine it? Just my wits against them.

"Oh, there was some business with them recently in Maui, but that was easy enough to handle."

He gave a pleased laugh. Full and rich. I hadn't heard that tone in his voice in so long I'd almost for- gotten he could sound that way. Had it been any- thing else to bring this joy about I would have been delighted, but all I wanted to do was shake him. Hard. Laughing and enjoying this… this catastro- phe.

It was just like him to think he'd finished them off. What hubris. What ego.

"… And then I told them the story about Thayla," he was saying. "And I sent them on a quest to find her voice."

"Did it work?"

"Of course it did," he said, indignantly. "What do you take me for? A dilettante? I know we've had our disagreements, but even you can see what a feat this is.

"What I see is your ego is out of bounds again. In your endless fascination with being involved in the machinations behind things, you've missed the point. As usual."

"You're jealous," he said.

"What?"

"You're jealous."

"Of what?" I was baffled at this sudden turn in the conversation.

"Of me. Of my power. You couldn't stand it when I surpassed your abilities."

"Don't be asinine."

"Oh, do you deny it?" he asked. He had a compet- itive, smirky expression on his face that I wanted to slap off.

"I won't even dignify that with an answer. The things which you pursue, Caimbeui, are vainglorious and, ultimately, irrelevant."

"That's something else you do," he said. "You al- ways call me Caimbeui. I haven't been called by that name in three hundred years."

"Very well. Harlequin," I said. "But this is all be- side the point. The point is you think the Horrors have returned and that you have beaten them single- handedly, don't you? Or at least once. I have no idea what actually happened in Maui because you always leave things out when it's not all about you."

He gave me an annoyed look.

"Very well, Aina," he said sullenly. "There was a group of kahunas using blood magic on Haleakala. They managed to open a portal-some of the Enemy even managed to get through. But they were stopped in time. They were sent back into the void. 28

"See, nothing to worry about."

"Let's see. First, you encounter them on the metaplanes. You manage to 'defeat' them there. Next, some of them manage to breach this plane. And you think they've been dealt with?

"Well, I've been having dreams lately and I think you're wrong. I think you failed."

He laughed.

"Aina has a dream and we're all supposed to tremble in our boots. Is that it?"

"I had forgotten this charming side to your per- sonality, Caimbeui. I've been right before."

"And you've been wrong."

"Not often."

He didn't have an answer for that.

"I thought you would be thrilled at this news," he said at last. "You're the only one who still under- stands what it was like. Back then. During the Scourge."

I shrugged. "There's always Alachia," I said. "And Ehran. Oh, but I forgot about your tiff with him. Surely they remember."

"Alachia sees it differently than we do. She al- ways has. And Ehran isn't worth a pimple on a troll's butt. As for the others-"

"Don't hold back, Caimbeui, how do you really feel?"

After giving me a nasty look, he went and refilled his glass.

"Bring me some water," I said.

In a moment, he placed a tumbler in my hand and settled himself opposite me again. Another long silence played out between us. The water was cool and washed the strong taste of the whiskey out of my mouth.

"Tell me what happened," I said at last. "The first time."

He didn't answer me for a moment. Then he spoke.

"They were constructing a bridge, of sorts, using the energy spike from the Ghost Dance as a locator. They are as foul as I remembered, Aina. No, perhaps worse, for it has been so long since I'd seen them that they'd begun to blur in my memory.

"I had to test the runners to be sure they had what it took to stand against the Enemy. For the most part they succeeded. One fell during the trials, but they accomplished what I set them to do. They retrieved the Voice, but didn't make it back to the bridge be- fore a man named Darke captured me. The bastard was working with the Enemy and had been follow- ing me across the metaplanes the whole time. And I'd thought I was tracking him.

"He was performing blood magic to corrupt the site. How many children were sacrificed I'll never know. But Thayla sang and the enemy fell back, and now we're safe."

I almost choked on my water.

"Wait a minute," I said. "That all ties up a little too neatly. Thayla may be able to keep them at bay, but who will protect her from people like Darke?"

"Oh, some of the runners stayed with her," he said casually.

"But you didn't volunteer for that duty," I said. 30

"Don't be ridiculous," he said. "I'm far too valu- able to be tied to one spot like that. Besides, as long as she's there, they can't get through."

"Not there, at any rate," I said. "And you're sure the creatures were driven back in Maui?"

"Of course," he said.

And how I wanted to believe him.

I stared into the fire. Long ago, according to our legends, Thayla's voice had driven the Horrors off. She had sacrificed herself for her people, like any great monarch would. Perhaps Caimbeui was right. Maybe he had accomplished it. Maybe he had driven them back. For now.

I relaxed a little. Maybe now there would be time to plan. To prepare. To warn those who needed to know.

The telecom beeped, startling me out of my thoughts.

"Who could be calling at this hour?" I wondered aloud.

"It might be for me," he said. "I left this number."

Oh, splendid, I thought. Just what I need, Caimbeul's little friends with my restricted number.

"Hello," I said into the old-fashioned videoless re- ceiver I'd had installed in this room.

There was a long pause, then a loud burst of static. I jerked back, dropping the receiver onto the floor.

"Aina," I heard. The sound filled the room. An impossibility. And, oh sweet mother, I knew that voice.

"Aina," it said. "I have come back. I have come for you."

Then the line went dead.

"What was that?" Caimbeui demanded.

The room was cold. Colder than the dead of win- ter. Colder than the grave. For I knew from long ex- perience that there were things worse than death.

"That," I said, my voice shaking, "was the past come back to haunt us. Harlequin. You didn't stop them from coming through on Maui, my dear. One of them is here. Now. And he's coming for me."

She is standing on a cliff overlooking the sea. The gulls dive for fish, crying with their broken voices. Below on the beach, a boy and girl play. They chase each other, leaving footprints in the sand that are washed away by the incoming tide.

The children's high-pitched voices float up to her, but she can't make out what they're saying. Then, as she watches, the sea turns red and bleeds onto the beach.

"Don't be ridiculous," Caimbeui said.

"Are you deaf?" I asked. "You were here. You heard it."

"A prank, perhaps," he said.

"That was no prank and you know it," I said. "I know 'that voice."

I turned away, running my hands over my arms to warm them. It had been so long. A time out of mind. Even so, I would never forget that sound. The sound of Ysrthgrathe's voice.

Like chalk on a blackboard. Like the whisper of a child. Like breaking glass. Like the dear departed. Whatever would be most effective.

A fine, cold sweat broke out on my back. No, I 33

thought, I'll not give way to that so fast. I clamped down on the panic. He'd be expecting that. No, I'd have to be careful and deliberate.

"It's only one," Caimbeui said. "We can deal with one."

"It's not just one," I said angrily. "Don't you re- member anything I told you then about him? I seem to recall that we did spend some time talking all those years ago. Or is your memory as convenient as it ever was?"

"I thought we agreed not to discuss that time," he said. "But you keep bringing it up."

"I'm not discussing that time. I'm asking you if you remember what I told you then about Ysrth- grathe."

"That's a roundabout way of doing it."

"Will you shut up and listen? Frag it, you are so oblivious to everything but yourself. Didn't you hear a word I said then? Oh, I give up."

I spun about and strode from the room. I had to get to my grimoire. There were preparations to be made.

When the last of my defenses was in place, I be- gan to relax a little. It concerned me that I might be making even more of a target of myself. Strong magic stuck out like a sore thumb these days. But it didn't really matter, he'd already found me.

Caimbeui knocked on the door to my study.

"Go away," I said.

"Don't be difficult, Aina," he said. "Let me in." 34

"No, no, dear Harlequin," I replied. "I don't wish to trouble you."

I heard him sigh. Loudly and dramatically so I would hear.

"Let me in," he said.

I walked over to the door and opened it.

"Oh, it's the great Harlequin come to pay a visit to the poor unenlightened masses. Oh, please show us your bountiful insight. We are honored by your presence. May we kiss your hem?"

"I was a bit… difficult," he began.

"No, you were an ass," I said.

"Very well, an ass. You always did get sarcastic when you were upset."

"How insightful of you," I said. "But you've got it a little wrong. I'm not upset. I'm scared. And if you had a bit of sense, you'd be frightened too."

He began to circle my study slowly, gently touch- ing the books, totems, scrolls, and other bits of ar- cana I'd carefully catalogued. Some was only theory, some was practical. I knew he had an im- pressive accumulation of his own, but I also knew that I had been at this longer.

"What's this?" he asked, pulling a thick tome from a shelf.

"That," I said as I walked over and plucked it from his hand arid stuck it back on its shelf, "is none of your concern. I'm certain you have five or six just like it at home."

An annoyed and interested expression crossed his face.

"I don't understand why you're so worried," he 35

said. "You've dealt with him in the past. As I recall, Vistrosh told me the most amazing story about how you vanquished him."

Rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands, I sighed.

"Did he tell what really happened?" I asked. "Or was it turned into some of kind of ridiculous tale? Let me see if I can recount his version: 'And then Aina threw her arms wide to the skies and caused a blast of heavenly fire to consume the monster. The creature gave one last wail of angry despair and van- ished into the void.' "

Caimbeui dropped into my heavy leather wing- back chair and put his feet up on my desk.

"Yes," he said. "It was something like that."

"Well, you know as well as I that that's not exactly how these things happen. Oh, certainly I managed to overcome Ysrthgrathe, but it wasn't the simple matter Vistrosh would have had you believe. It almost killed me and I sacrificed more than you can possibly imagine."

"Like your grimoire?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied. "I unmade myself. You remem- ber what I'd done. All those scars. The years and years of blood magic. Everything. I gave it all up to send him back. To imprison him. And now he's re- turned.

"Then I had so much power. Look at me now. What are you doing?"

He had picked up my grimoire and was leafing through it, making interested noises every few pages. I grabbed it from his hands, shocked at such a breach of etiquette.

"And I don't expect you to be any help," I said. "You're too damn selfish."

"The Enemy was stopped or we'd be dealing with more than one of them now. You're letting some- thing that happened millennia ago affect you now."

"Don't tell me the past has no hold over you, Caimbeui. We both know what a lie that is."

"This is precisely the reason I left you," he snapped. "You pick and pick and pick."

"That's right," I said. "I'm no Sally, or Susan, or whatever-her-name-is-this-decade who fawns over you like you were some sort of demi-god. Doesn't fragging a sycophant lose its appeal after a while?"

He pushed himself up from the table in an angry rush.

"This bickering isn't getting us anywhere," he said. "What are you planning to do?"

Hugging my grimoire close to my body, I walked to the window and pulled back the drapes. It had be- gun to rain, and every so often the craggy land was lit by lightning. Bare country, wild and untamed.

"I've put up some protections, but I'm not sure how effective they'll be. I wish… Well, I might as well wish for the sun to rise in the west. What's that old adage? 'If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.' "

Caimbeui came up behind me. I could see him re- flected in the window. A flash of lightning; the des- olate land outside. The darkness; Caimbeul's image in the glass.

"I think you should tell the others," he said.

"Why don't you tell them? Your relations with them have always been better than mine."

"Because, Aina, I'm not convinced. You are. You will be more effective. Tell them."

"Tell them what?" I asked. "That I've had dreams and there has been one very strange telecom call?"

"Don't dodge it," he replied. "They'll have to lis- ten to you. The ones who matter will know what it means."

I dropped the curtains and skirted around him. He was close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body.

"Why do you want me to do this?" I asked. "What have you got up your sleeve?"

He shrugged.

"I suppose your reaction has something to do with it," he said. "In all the time I've known you, I've never seen anything unnerve you so much as that call. Your hands are shaking even now. And when you heard that voice I thought you might faint. And, Aina, you're not the fainting type."

I smiled. I couldn't help it. He could still do that to me. Even in the worst moments, he had a knack for pulling it out of me.

"You're forgetting about Dunkelzahn and that an- cient business," I said. "I doubt they're likely to have forgiven me for that."

"Probably not," he replied. "But you must try."

"And where do you suggest I try first?" I asked. "Tir na n6g? Let's see… I have such close rela- tionships with the Elders there. Alachia in particular. 38

Yes, we've become the best of friends since that nasty business with the dragons. Oh, I'm sure she'll help my cause.

"And then there's Tir Tairngire. My relationship with Aithne is particularly strong. After Hebhel and Lily, I doubt he would piss on me were I on fire. Not that I blame him."

"That was a long time ago," he said. "There are more pressing issues than things and people dead and gone."

I made a slow circuit of my study. So many years of keeping track of the wisdom. Anticipating this time. Now that it was here, I was reluctant to act. No, afraid to act.

"Once, a long time ago, someone said to me that memory is all we have. Even as we speak, there is a slight lapse in time between what we hear and what we understand. All our experience is a kind of lag.

"Everything is memory, Caimbeul. Nothing has any meaning without it. 'He who cannot remember the past is condemned to repeat it.' See, even a hu- man philosopher understood it. And he blinked out in a heartbeat.

"Don't kid yourself, Caimbeul. The past is very much with us."

I closed my eyes and let the past wash over me like the sea rushing over the shore.

Three birds are sitting on a branch. They are about to soar into the blue sky when an arrow pierces the hearts of two of them.

The third bird flies away, frightened and lonely. She knows the hunter is after her. Will always be af- ter her.