Radio Joe offered him a knowing nod. “It is said, ‘Wherever you may travel, wherever you may roam, the center of the circle will always be your home.’ "
“Ancient wisdom?” asked Dillon.
“John Lennon,” answered Radio Joe.
The old Hualapai added more wood to the fire, sending sparks streaming into the night. “Ten miles west of here, you’ll come to a place called High Pebble. He’ll be there at dawn, looking for you.” He handed Dillon a flashlight. “Here. The batteries died, but I suppose that won’t matter to you.”
Radio Joe had called that one right; as Dillon held the flashlight in his hands, the batteries began to charge. In a moment, it glowed a dim orange flicker that kept glowing brighter.
“What about you?” Dillon asked, but Radio Joe seemed unconcerned.
“I’ve retired to the canyon. Either they find me here, or they don’t. If they do, it doesn’t matter, because the worst of it is over for me.” Radio Joe gave Dillon his jacket. “Cold night,” he said.
Dillon took the jacket with a nod of thanks. “I’ll bring it back to you when it’s all over.”
Radio Joe pursed his age-worn lips. “Never make promises you may not live to keep.”
25. Canyon Of Spirits
High Pebble, when viewed from the canyon rim, did appear to be a tiny speck of rock, but up close, the boulder was so huge, its shadow could cover a small neighborhood. The spot was one of those magic tricks of nature—the elements having eroded the softer stone beneath it, leaving the boulder perfectly balanced atop a thin spike twenty stories high.
The Bringer, however, had no room in his heart for aesthetics. He cared nothing for the majesty of the place. To him, the Grand Canyon was no more than a ditch, and High Pebble was just another indication of how absurd this world of matter was.
The Bringer smiled. The old man had been true to his word, at least. From the base of High Pebble, Okoya could see the river as it wound mile after mile through the canyon. But when the light of dawn hit the canyon, Dillon was nowhere to be seen.
So intent was Okoya searching for signs of Dillon on the river before him, that he never sensed the presence coming up from behind.
“Looking for me?”
Startled, Okoya spun to see Dillon leaning up against the pillar of rock, as if he had appeared out of thin air. Okoya seethed, furious to be caught off-guard, but he quickly took control of the situation.
“Well,” Okoya beamed, his face stretched into a steely smile. “If it isn’t the river rat! Quite an impressive show you put on. I’d pay to see it again.”
“It won’t happen again,” said Dillon.
“No?” Okoya swaggered closer. “Obviously you have no clue of what’s happening to you, do you?”
Dillon kept silent. He merely stood his ground, impassive, as if none of it fazed him. This was not the state in which Okoya had expected to find Dillon. The boy was far too composed.
“Your powers have reached what you might call a ‘critical mass.’ " Okoya said. “The circle of your influence is exploding beyond your ability to control it. Rivers you touch flow toward higher ground, and the earth beneath your feet drags to life that which was dust. The world you see before you will turn upside down. But there is something that you can do . . .”
Okoya sensed Dillon’s resolve begin to collapse. “What?”
“Let me harness your power!” demanded Okoya. “The strength of my will is the only thing now that can keep it from raging wild.”
“And let you devour every soul on Earth? Let you destroy all there is to destroy?”
Okoya laughed, genuinely amused. “You seem to think there is something here worth preserving. But this world is nothing, and the people here are nothing. They’re fodder for greater beings, like me . . . and you.”
Okoya took a moment to let the words sink into Dillon’s slow human brain. He knew he was offering Dillon little more than a collar and leash, but he made it sound more like a crown and scepter—for the Bringer knew that slavery was a far more powerful thing when the slave was willing.
“And if I refuse?” asked Dillon.
“Then I’ll kill you.”
“The flood couldn’t kill me; what makes you think you can?”
“Do you think you’re immortal? Your power makes you difficult to kill, but not impossible. Anything from a blade through the heart to a well-placed bullet could do the job.” Then Okoya grinned wickedly. “And you know all about well-placed bullets, don’t you?”
Dillon’s fists clenched, probably wondering how the Bringer knew the circumstances of Deanna’s death. There were many things the Bringer had learned—and Deanna wasn’t Dillon’s only weakness.
“I can see you’re already willing to throw your life away, so I’ll make the stakes worth your while. If you refuse my enlightened leadership, I will kill you . . . and then I will devour the souls of everyone you brought back from the dead. I’ll seek out everyone whose life you suffered to mend”—Okoya suppressed his smile as he delivered his coup de grace—“and I’ll start with the boy you call Carter.”
Dillon’s eyes became feverishly angry. “You leave Carter out of this.”
Okoya began to enjoy this more and more. “He’d become like a younger brother to you, hadn’t he, that feral child rescued from the town you destroyed? He’ll be exceptionally easy to find.”
“Stay away from him!”
Okoya raised his hand to silence him. “I’m not finished. That’s what will happen if you refuse. However, if you accept, that’s an entirely different matter.” Okoya tossed his hair, becoming coy, almost feminine. “Let’s talk about Deanna.”
Dillon looked away, and Okoya could feel Dillon slowly wrapping around his finger.
“All your powers,” said Okoya, “and you can’t bring her back. You could give her life again, if you could reach her; but there are some places you can’t travel . . .But I can!”
Okoya waved his hand, hurling the power of his mind like a ball from his fingertips. The view before them began to ripple like a heat mirage, there was a blast in the air like a sonic boom, and the air pressure instantly changed. The whistle of the wind changed pitch, the rich smell of the Earth took on a bitter odor, and the red canyon light around them grew even redder than before. Beside them, Okoya had torn a hole to the Unworld, its jagged edges rippling with spatial distortion.
Okoya had chosen his point of entrance well, for there in the distance was the Palace of the Gods—just a few miles through the breach. Dillon stood before it, staring at the mountain palace, transfixed by the possibility.
“Either the death of everything you care about,” said Okoya, “or Deanna’s life—these are the things that rest in the balance. You choose.”
Dillon did not take his eyes away from the hole, and Okoya resisted the urge to kick him, just to get him moving.
“If I agree,” said Dillon, “you’ll stay away from Carter and anyone else whose life I’ve restored.”
“I will leave alone anyone you wish me to leave alone. Consider their souls a gift from me.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
Okoya chuckled. “Don’t you know me by now, Dillon? I serve my own interests—and it’s in my best interest to keep you happy.” Okoya slapped Dillon on the shoulder with a firm grip. “In fact, it’s best for me if you’re the happiest man on Earth.”
Wind drained from the red sands of the Unworld into the Grand Canyon, trying futilely to equalize the pressure between the two dimensions.
“You have a destiny, Dillon. You tried to fight it by denying your own followers, and still they were drawn to you. You tried to fight it by letting loose the flood, but still the event you tried to undermine only became greater. The pattern of your own future must be clear to you by now, Dillon. Let me help you embrace it.” Okoya could feel the moment Dillon surrendered: his shoulder went limp, his posture slackened, his breathing slowed.