“But?” I prompt.
“Mr. Goldman,” says the Asian gentleman, “we have had a number of people approach Enid during his sojourns with an interest in using his talent. Ultimately, they wish to seek advantage from it over their unfortunate fellows. Machines such as we once relied on for services no longer work. There is only one means of replacing them that does not require arcane talent.”
“Human machines,” I murmur. The ambient temperature in the room drops a few degrees and I shiver.
He is nodding at my reaction. “In a word, slaves. So you see, there are people in our new world who have a need, and others who will attempt to fill it. Commercialism, Mr. Goldman, at its most despicable. Out there, human beings are once again becoming a commodity. I think you will understand how some would find Enid’s talent attractive in that context.”
“I do understand. And I understand that your mission is to protect all of this. I don’t know what I can do to convince you that my friends and I are no threat. Look, um, maybe if I tell you what we know about the Change and the Storm, you’ll understand our mission.”
They exchange glances, then all eyes go to Mary. She nods.
“There was a government project code-named ‘the Source.’ I don’t pretend to understand the physics behind it, but I do know that it went pretty horribly wrong. We … met one of the scientists who’d worked on that project. He’d been changed by the disaster-not like anyone we’d ever seen. Not like anyone we’ve seen since. We suspect that when the project went south, something terrible was born. You call it the Storm; I call it the Megillah; I’ve heard it called other things. It’s powerful. It’s sentient. It sees. It senses. It hungers.”
Even at a distance, you can feel the power of it.
“And for some reason it’s most hungry for flares, people who were twisted like Magritte was. Like my friend’s little sister, Tina. She was twelve when the Storm took her. Look, I don’t want to sound like, um, like Mr. Sob-story, but since you seem to be in a position to decide my fate, I think you should know the kind of person Cal Griffin is. He’s been taking care of Tina since their mom died and their dad ran out on them. Well, not quite in that order, but it’s a complicated story. The point is, he’s spent most of his adult life protecting her. But he couldn’t protect her from the Change or from the Storm.” I glance at my musician friend, where he leans against the door frame. “Cal wasn’t as lucky as Enid, or maybe the legal profession just doesn’t lend itself to sorcery, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop what happened to her. It was like Magritte said, a-a tornado just sucked her away from him. Since then, we’ve been on a sort of quest-Cal, Colleen, Doc, and me. Cal is determined to find Tina and free her and the other flares the Source has taken. More than that, he intends to find some way of defeating the Source.”
A ripple of surprise circles the room.
Mary watches the reaction of her fellows closely then turns to me. “And you and your friends accompany him. Why?”
I pause to consider this. “Before the Change, I lived on the street. People stepped on me, over me, and around me on a daily basis. Most of them took me as just another crazy. While insanity is a great defense against all sorts of abuse, I … I admit I slip in and out of reality more easily than the average guy. Cal always treated me like a man, even on my bad days. Sometimes he even treated me like a friend. So when he says we can find the Source and do something about it, I believe him.”
“Why?” Mary asks.
How to describe Cal’s possession by this mad vision that we four merely human beings can confront and conquer the unknown? That we must do it. “Because he believes,” I say at last.
The Native American fellow, who appears to be in his early fifties, leans forward, eyes intense. “This Doc you mentioned, he’s a real doctor? A medical doctor?”
Duh. I should have my head examined.
I nod eagerly. “Yes. Yes, he is. He was a surgeon in Russia, but he knows a great deal about general medicine, and he’s absorbed bookloads about herbal remedies. He’s had to.”
I neglect to tell them that before the Change, Doc was peddling hot dogs on Manhattan street corners.
Mary says, “I know what you’re thinking, Delmar, but I’m not sure we can afford to let ourselves be seduced by need.”
I’m not much of a seducer, but it doesn’t hurt to try. “If you need a doctor, Doc Lysenko will be only too happy to assist. He can train nurses, medics. He might even be able to recruit some doctors from Grave Creek.”
Mary draws a deep breath as if I am taxing her patience mightily. “Mr. Goldman…”
“Goldie.” I give her my most winsome and lopsided smile. It even worked on my mom… when I was ten.
She grimaces. “Goldie. We are charged with protecting these people and with adding to their number. Right now, I can’t send anyone out through that portal because your friends are camped right in front of it. From what you’ve told me about Cal Griffin, I suspect he’s not likely to leave without you.”
She’s right. Stunning thought. Being left and leaving, I realize, had become rather a lifestyle for me.
“We could bring them in,” says Delmar.
“And then what?” asks the Asian gentleman. “It doesn’t sound as if they intend to stay.”
“We could stay long enough to help with your medical needs.”
“We need a doctor, Mary,” says a black woman with tight, graying cornrows. “Even a temporary doc would help.”
“We need more than that, Letty.” Mary looks at me. “Well, Mr. Goldman, you’ve given us a lot to think about. Enid, why don’t you and Magritte show Goldie around while we try to come to consensus here?”
We stroll outside-or at least Enid and I stroll; Magritte swims the air between us like a sea wraith. I congratulate myself that I’m no longer a prisoner. Now I’m a tourist.
I peer into the forest as we make our way down the hill in front of the Lodge. It seems to go on forever, blurring to a misty green in the deepest reaches. A thin haze rises up from the far treetops and forms a shining bowl overhead. In a trick of the eye, the sky looks more golden than blue. The temperature is almost balmy.
They give me the cook’s tour. I see vegetable gardens, windmills, a water tower that catches rain and flows it out to the cabins and vegetable patches. The Lodge and some of the larger outbuildings are on wells. There’s a waterwheel, too, snuggled up against a deep channel cut from a fast-running stream. It’s nearly complete. It will be a working mill, Enid tells me, used to grind wheat, corn, and various seeds and nuts into flour.
“That’s something else we gotta go outside for,” says Magritte. “We haven’t been here long enough to harvest much.”
“Mary said she wasn’t sure why it was cut off from the outside. Any theories?”
“I sure as hell don’t get it,” says Enid. “That’s more up Maggie’s alley. She’s got a kind of sense about these things. It’s got something to do with the old tribal magic, I think. That it, Mags?”
“Mags” nods. In the sunlight she looks like an archangel, sans plumage. Her hair is pale flame and her skin gleams like opal. She makes me hurt inside.
“There was Wyandotte Indians around here,” she says. “They used the caverns to protect them from the Delawares. Sort of a hideout. There’s an old Indian Council Chamber and some other places they used to have ceremonies. Power’s real strong down there. Real strong. Some folks even say they seen ’em. Or their ghosts, I guess. Especially in the old Council Chamber.”
Some folks. “Have you seen them?”
She hesitates, then nods. “So’s Kevin Elk Sings. His daddy, Delmar, was a chief, and his mama was a medicine woman, so he sorta comes by it natural. I don’t know why I see ’em. Maybe because I’m like this.”