Shaman Rises

Chapter Eighteen

It took almost two hours to get the two miles to the Seattle Center, but the traffic—both vehicle and human—had cleared out by the time we arrived. The only people around were cops. Morrison handed Annie to Gary—they’d been trading off with her and my drum, after a brief argument about Coyote being perfectly able-bodied. “Able-bodied,” Gary had growled as he took his wife, “an’ one of two of us who can see somethin’ magic coming down the line. You and Jo gotta keep your hands free.”

I didn’t like that, after the flutter of consciousness, Annie had gone back under again. I kept stealing glimpses at her with the Sight, wondering if it would tell me that she was awake and faking it until the moment was right to strike. Her aura was mostly flat and black, with only the occasional spark of Cernunnos-green in it. After a while I began to suspect it was Annie keeping herself unconscious while the leanansidhe struggled to waken their shared body. I became convinced she wasn’t faking it, anyway, because it was really hard for a conscious person to maintain the boneless floppy-bodyness of unconsciousness.

I also didn’t like that Suzy hadn’t reappeared. Every step of the way I expected her to explode out of the pavement. By the time we got to the Seattle Center and Morrison was ordering wet, grumpy cops to set up a perimeter, I was paranoid enough to shatter if somebody touched me.

That was probably a good mental space for me to be in, as far as the Master was concerned. With that thought in mind, I tried hard to shake the paranoia while we assessed the damage and tried to figure out where best to set up for our anticipated fight.

The buildings had taken a fair amount of damage from the still-rolling earthquakes. The Needle hadn’t yet begun to cant, but the Science Center had huge cracks in its walls, one large enough to step through. The International Fountain, off to the east, had broken in half, leaving water to rush wildly upward before falling to flood the grounds. Lawn and concrete were broken into chunks, surrounded by ankle-deep mud. My leather coat dragged through the muck without getting dirty. My feet didn’t fare so well.

Wind came from every which way, bringing the scent of burning buildings from the city. The downpour, which I’d largely kept off us with my shields, seemed like it should be enough to put fires out. I had the uncomfortable feeling it was instead encouraging them. I did not, at the moment, feel the laws of physics could be trusted. Seattle was under magical attack, and I had on occasion defied those laws myself with magic.

Part of me wanted to climb the Needle and have a look at the city. The rest of me thought if I did that I’d either go into a conniption or lose the will to fight, neither of which would be helpful right now.

Morrison came back from talking to a thin-shouldered cop whose poncho did nothing to increase the width of his shoulders. The cop sneered after Morrison, whose face was set when he returned to me. “The only thing keeping these officers from taking their anger out on civilians is that the civilians have been moved off-site. I know that man, Lieutenant Hardy. I asked what was driving his anger and he couldn’t answer. Hardy’s a good man, Walker. He works with troubled teens. You can’t do that successfully if you don’t know exactly what triggers your own high emotions and how to defuse them before it gets that far. Would we be in the same condition if you weren’t shielding us from this...fallout?”

“Probably.”

Morrison folded his fist in front of his mouth, then released it. It looked for all the world like he was capturing a question and releasing it unspoken. I lifted an eyebrow and he shook his head. “I want to ask you to shield everyone. Protect the city. But you can’t, and I know it. Are we going to lose Seattle, Walker?”

“No. There are bastions of sanity, where the adepts we sent home have set up circles. Schools, churches, community centers. They’re fighting back, and they’ll be there to pick up the pieces when it’s over.” I sounded more certain than I felt. The truth was that the pervasive rain and low dark clouds blocked even my Sight after a few blocks, so I could really only hope I was right. This, however, seemed like an excellent time for some reassuring lies. I needed them as much as Morrison did. But then a bout of honesty took me and I admitted, “It’s gotten worse a lot faster than I thought it would. And this is only what we can see. I don’t know how bad it’s getting outside of Seattle. This is the epicenter.”

“The eye of the storm.” Morrison waited for my nod. “The eye is where the calm is, Walker.”

“I know. But since all we’ve got to communicate with is shortwave radio, all we can know about is what’s right here. The rest of it we’re going to have to fix later.”

“What if we can’t?”

“I choose not to accept that as a possibility.”

To my surprise, Morrison chuckled. “You’re pathological, Walker.” Then he drew me into his arms and we held on to each other for a minute, taking comfort where we could.

I pulled away reluctantly. “All right, this won’t get it done. Let’s set up a power circle and...” I trailed off, looking up at the Needle. “I think I have a really bad idea. Do you think we could use that thing as a lightning rod?”

Morrison followed my gaze, then eyed me. “Walker, are you suggesting we try to draw all this dark power to Seattle’s most recognizable landmark?”

“Yep.” It was an awful idea. I didn’t know if it would work. I didn’t know how it could work. For one thing, drawing a power circle around the Space Needle would be a work of art, because there were different levels, parking lots, exhibition centers, amusement parks, museums and conference halls in the way. Furthermore, most of those had been knocked around in some fashion, making them considerably more difficult to navigate than usual.

“Wouldn’t that be—” Morrison was clearly searching for a word that could convey the exceedingly high levels of doom inherent in the idea. “Wouldn’t that be very bad for the Needle?” he finally asked, with the air of a man accepting that language strong enough to encompass the potential disaster would only sound hyperbolic.

“I expect so. On the other hand, it might be a great deal better for, say, the entire Pacific Rim than the current situation.”

“Can you be sure of that?”

“Of course not.”

Morrison pursed his lips, looking at the Needle again. “So that’s the plan, then.”

I smiled. “Yes. Yes, it is. Okay. Gary? Coyote?” I shouted their names and Gary got up from the broken fountain where he cradled Annie. Morrison went to get my drum and Coyote came around a corner a minute or two later, looking less rattled than he had in a while. “What were you doing,” I demanded of him, “eating your Wheaties?”

“Something like that. Checking out the grounds. They’re a mess.”

“I know. And we have to build a power circle around them, anyway.” I explained the plan, trying to ignore the dubious looks Gary and Coyote exchanged. “There are four of us, one for each cardinal point, so we—”

Gary’s bushy eyebrows went up and he hefted Annie a few inches, like she was a question.

“I’ll keep her with me. I’m best equipped for that. Morrison, I want you opposite me in the north. Coyote and Gary can take east and west. I don’t know how we’re going to manage to line up exactly, with this big of a circle and with us not being able to see each other, but we’re going to have to make do. Morrison, I want you and Gary to walk around together. Coyote can go the other way. Crap, how are we going to signal that we’re in the right places? You can send up a spark of aura,” I said to Coyote. “You two—well, you do your best to think about being ready. Maybe I’ll be able to see your auras.”

Coyote squinted. “Jo, separating us like that is just asking for trouble. Why don’t we go up and use the restaurant as our circle? It’s the right shape, and we’ll be close enough to one another to provide some backup.”

“Because I kind of thought being in the lightning rod might be a bad idea, you know? Also, do you really want to be five hundred feet off the ground if the Needle fries and goes to pieces?” My vehemence was born of the fear he was right, that the Center grounds were just too big to build a power circle around.

“I really don’t,” he admitted, “but are you saying you couldn’t keep us safe if the Needle came down? I told you, Jo, you were unassailable back there when the buildings fell. After all that nagging, your shields are finally flawless.”

I said, “Nothing’s flawless,” but I returned the rueful smile he offered. “Fine, then, but if we survive I expect you to take full credit because you did nag me endlessly about the shields.”

Coyote lifted his voice slightly, not that there was anybody beyond the five of us within hearing range. “I’d like everyone to note that Joanne has just given me permission to take credit for saving the world if we get out of this alive.”

“I’m practically sure that’s not what I said....”

Laughter drowned out my objection, and I didn’t mind at all. We traipsed into the building, Coyote pushing the elevator button without much hope. A small cheer went up when the doors actually opened, though Morrison said, “Do not take an elevator in case of emergency,” under his breath.

I patted his shoulder as the elevator began to rise. “Don’t worry. I’m practically certain we won’t be coming down in it.”

“That doesn’t make me feel at all better, Walker.”

Since the elevator was working, I was less astonished that the restaurant on top was still rotating. In fact, it looked bizarrely normal. Empty, but normal: nothing had been destroyed or even shaken out of place. Silverware and glasses still remained on the tables, which sat neatly in place. If I kept my focus very near, on items in the restaurant itself, I could almost ignore the black clouds hanging so low outside that it seemed we were actually within them. I could almost ignore that—despite the clouds—it was easier to see farther from here than anywhere else in Seattle. I could almost ignore the signs of destruction in my city.

Almost, but not quite. We all stood in the elevator door for a long moment, trying not to see what lay beyond the windows, but then I shook myself and stalked forward. I had to see, as if it would remind me what I was fighting for. As if I needed the reminder.

The Alaskan Way Viaduct and everything along and under it had disappeared, leaving smoke and rubble in its place. No more Pike Place Market, no more Pioneer Square. I swayed, staring at the reminder of how much of Seattle was built up. It had only been a couple of weeks since I’d been crawling through Seattle Underground. My stomach twisted at the thought of the homeless men and women who lived down there, people who had had probably no chance at all to get out. I wondered what had happened to Rita.

I let the Sight filter on bit by bit, afraid I would be overwhelmed if I turned it on all at once. The rain turned black, increasingly laced with dark magic, and it wasn’t just rising from Thunderbird Falls anymore. The whole city was feeding it, death and fear and bleak opportunism giving the Master’s proxies strength.

There were pinpoints of light, and sometimes whole bubbles of it, where Seattle’s adepts—whatever sort of magic-users they might be—had gathered to offer sanctuary. There were other places that glowed with a different light, and I thought those might be spiritual centers, fighting against the dark with prayer. They were heroes, choosing to stand against evil. I admired them.

And I feared for them. They were surrounded by a sea of anger, fear, despair, loss, all the dark things that not only drove humanity, but fed my ancient enemy. “The Devourer,” Gary said all of a sudden, and I flinched. “S’what Horns called him. The Devourer. S’what he’s doing, too, isn’t it? He’s eating Seattle.”

“He’s feeding himself with Seattle.” The difference in phrasing seemed important, but I nodded either way, then forced myself to step away from the windows. Watching wasn’t going to help.

“Okay.” I wasn’t really talking to my gang, but they all came to attention anyway. “I’m going to do two circles. A big one around the perimeter and a smaller widdershins one inside that. Not right in the center, but I think that won’t matter. It’s not like I can line up the points to the compass anyway, with the restaurant turning in circles. Sit tight. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“You want us to take points?” Gary looked like he needed something to do, but I shook my head.

“Not yet. In the smaller circle, yeah.” I went around the restaurant anti-rotation so I wouldn’t get confused when I did the smaller circle in reverse. It didn’t really move that fast, something like one rotation an hour, so I could and did pause and acknowledge the cardinal points when I reached them. Maybe doing that would hold them in place even if our location changed relative to them. When I got back to the boys they’d taken up a back-to-back, shoulder-to-shoulder stance, keeping eyes out in all directions. My drum was on a table and Morrison was holding Annie again, though Coyote kept glancing at them like he was ready to swoop in and save the damsel if necessary. I nodded at the floor. “You can put her down now. I’ll build the circle around her.”

“Is that wise?”

“I guess we’ll find out. No, it is. I’ve got to protect her as much as anything else. I want her inside both circles. If I do this right, the smaller one will keep things out while the big one keeps them in. It’ll be a ring trap. I hope.”

Morrison knelt without further argument. I pointed Coyote and Gary to opposite sides of the circle. Gary took up his position with the confidence of long familiarity and the need to do something. Coyote bounced on his toes like an impatient five-year-old, watching me for his cue. Morrison stood and backed away from Annie a few steps, and I backed up with my arms outstretched, gesturing for the others to do the same. When we stood with touching fingertips, I nodded and dropped my arms.

Other shamans could probably do the next part without feeling silly. I still couldn’t. I had to clear my throat and shuffle in place a little bit to get myself started. “Raven. Rattler. Renee.” The alliteration had seemed a lot cooler when I didn’t have to say it out loud in front of people, but my spirit animals didn’t seem to mind that a blush climbed my cheeks and made the little scratch on the right one itch. I felt them come to me—Raven perched on one shoulder, Renee on the other, and Rattler winding around my waist like a living belt. Even Raven’s usual humor was subdued: he felt as serious and focused as I’ve ever known him to be. Rattler, who tended toward sarcasm rather than silliness, held his forked tongue on this occasion and poor beleaguered Renee, my newly acquired walking stick who had no evident sense of humor, sat and waited with the patience of a creature for whom forever was a quantifiable and considered window of time.

“Coyote.”

Coyote startled like I’d pulled his hair. I gave him a lopsided grin. “No, not you. Coyote.”

He mouthed, “Oh,” and nodded. I didn’t really know if Coyote was one of his spirit animals, but it seemed unlikely he’d carry the moniker without a direct connection to the big guy. I held Gary’s gaze a moment. “Tortoise.”

To my complete surprise he inclined his head, but said, “Don’t forget Raven, doll,” as a snow-white corvid appeared on his shoulder.

My jaw fell open. My mother had been friends with a white raven I’d called Wings, but he had been a truly ancient spirit friend, his whiteness earned through age. The bird on Gary’s shoulder seemed younger somehow, and wore his brilliant color like it was a battle scar. My raven offered one quiet and dignified klok! to his compatriot, who spread his wings a little in acknowledgment. Then he hopped carefully to Gary’s other shoulder, and as he did, I saw a familiar hint of the tortoise shell that had protected Gary in the past.

I was dying to know when Gary had picked up a raven companion, but it was obviously going to have to wait. I cranked my mouth shut again, scrambled for dignity and said, “Right. Raven, too,” before squinching my face apologetically at Morrison. “Wolf.”

Morrison looked dour but didn’t object. I grinned, then looked down at Annie. I didn’t want to leave any stone unturned. We needed every bit of help we could get, even if the subject was compromised. “Stag,” I whispered, “and cheetah. Help me, please. All of you, help me if you can. A thing is coming to kill this world, and we’re all that stands between it and success. Anything you can give me, I’ll accept. I awaken the outer circle.”

Power lanced from me, setting silver-blue fire to the restaurant’s perimeter. “Keep it in,” I whispered. “All the power we bring here, all the darkness, please, I ask you to keep it within this circle.”

Half a dozen spirit animals, creatures of light and line and magic, leaped away, racing to keep the border I’d ignited. Cheetah chased Stag, who jumped straight upward in the middle of the race. Cheetah rushed beneath him, unable to stop in time, and when Stag landed, it was to chase Cheetah instead. A white raven flapped above them, cawing hilarity that matched a wolf’s long amused howl. A tortoise crept along steadily, ignoring the others’ antics, his solid slow presence anchoring their activity.

No. Not half a dozen. Only five. Coyote had kept his spirit animal close. Five without, four within. One for each of the rotating compass’s points. I didn’t have time to smile at him for the thought. “I awaken the inner circle. Keep it out. This is our sanctuary, our safe place in the storm. Darkness cannot cross here; nothing can that I do not allow. Recognize those I do allow: my heart.” Now I smiled at Morrison, then at Gary. “My soul.” Finally, to Coyote, I said, “My guide,” and sent power into our small circle, enclosing us in white-hot magic.

Coyote said, “At last,” and pummeled me with Raven Mocker wings.