Roger Zelazny - Donnerjack

“Yes.”

“You are certain that place was there before the creation of Virtu?”

“I swear.”

“As do I,” said the cleric, drifting over, blindfolded once again. “The place is not a site in Virtu—or not just.”

“Who then are Wolfer Martin D’Ambry and Lydia of New Jersey? I would swear that she, at least, is what she claimed to be. I have seen variations on that virt form hundreds of times before. It is quite the fashion and she spoke like a young thing.”

“I do not know,” the caoineag said, and the other ghosts shook their heads.

“I will go back tomorrow,” Ayradyss said, “better prepared. Perhaps when I know more I can bring John. That man seemed to know his name.”

“John D’Arcy Donnerjack is famous in certain circles,” the caoineag said, “but he would not be known by the average virt tourist.”

“No,” Ayradyss agreed, gnawing on one fingernail. “Voit, what time is it?”

“Five in the evening, mistress. The kitchen has dinner scheduled for half-past six.”

“I should go and clean up, then.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Voit, please query the databanks for a Wolfer Martin D’Ambry.”

“I shall.”

That night, Ayradyss dined with John. They talked of his work, of her explorations (though she kept her latest expedition to herself, uncertain how to explain until she knew more). While she and John were working a jigsaw puzzle (this one meant for the baby’s nursery), Voit discreetly reported to her that it could find no record of a Wolfer Martin D’Ambry.

The next day, Ayradyss, along with the caoineag (but without either the crusader or the cleric) descended again into the tunnels. Although the moon was now full and they could see the portal opening, some force blocked it. When they probed it, they glimpsed the shadowy guardian lurking just beyond the pale.

“The moon portal has been warded against us,” the wailing woman said. “The eldritch land refuses us entry. Such is not unknown.”

“So I recall your saying,” Ayradyss said, “but I find it odd that the land should resist our entry today after letting us in without even the guardian to hinder us just yesterday. Should we attempt to drive the guardian away with the Lady of the Gallery’s charm?”

“We could, but even if it worked, the charm would not eliminate the barrier.”

“You’re right. I guess we try again tomorrow, and if that does not work, we try again the next full moon.”

“As you wish.”

“You sound reluctant, Heather. Don’t you want to know?”

“Know?”

“What that place really is.”

“It is the eldritch lands, as it has always been. No newer name changes that.”

“Yes, but…”

“But, nothing, my dear Angel of the Forsaken Hope. Unless you wish to take my place far sooner than you planned, I should take great care.”

“Care?”

“The Lord of Deep Fields has free range in Virtu. Do you really wish to bring yourself to him? Your husband has indicated a desire to renege on his part of the bargain they made. What is to keep the Lord of the Lost from taking you hostage and so obtaining his payment?”

“You’re right. I had considered that possibility. I just have so many questions for those two.”

“I understand. So do I, but let us not throw caution to the winds.”

Ayradyss placed her hand upon her belly. Frowning, she turned her back on the dark rock wall, wondering as she did so if she had indeed seen the glint of the guardian’s watchful eye.

They walked the fields of Verite, leaving Castle Donnerjack far behind them.

“John, why have we come so far?” Ayradyss asked.

“To avoid my equipment, some of which may be used against me,” he replied.

“By whom?”

“Specifically, by someone who drove me into a rough deal.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Whatever memories you have of it must be very strange indeed.”

“They are. But I don’t understand what you mean about machines.”

“I am looking for a means of barring his collecting on our arrangement.”

“Impossible,” she said. “There is no way to exclude death from life.”

“Death, the phenomenon, no. Death, the personification—whatever he or it really is—maybe. I have some ideas for a field-effect. At first, I was just going to attempt to defend against hypothetical intrusions from the Great Stage. Now, though—I am going to regulate every bit of information that rides the electromagnetic spectrum into Castle Donnerjack. Monitor and record. I’ll build up a great list. Anything that’s uninvited gets scrambled. Simple. Then he won’t be able to seize our firstborn and run.”

“What if he uses an agent?”

“A physical one and well treat him the same as any other such. Something else, and I believe I’ll try static first. Then maybe a laser.”

“What if somebody really gets hurt?”

“It’s a big, cold, deep ocean out there.”

“I remember the music. I remember the Throne of Bones. And part of the walk back. When will you have the defenses in place?”

“The initial set is already there. But it needs considerable tuning. A few weeks more, say.”

“We have that and more before the baby is due. If the boy doesn’t come early.”

“Are you feeling well?”

“Very. And so is our son, if the amount of somersaulting he is doing is any indication.”

“You haven’t been exhausting yourself exploring, have you?”

“No, dear. I am careful.”

“Good. Shall we turn back now?”

“Let’s.”

The next month, there was no expedition at all. Ayradyss had come down with a flu of some sort that kept her in bed, her anxious husband and a med-unit watching over her. She recovered easily enough, but not in time to investigate the moon portal.

When next she and her ghostly escort descended into the cavern, she walked like a pregnant woman, leaning back from her increasing belly. Although she said nothing, she knew that if they failed in their quest this time, she would not attempt it again until after her son was born.

“The ward is gone,” the crusader ghost reported. He had insisted on taking point. Ayradyss had the impression the caoineag had shamed him into accompanying them and that his flight from Wolfer Martin D’Ambry still rankled.

“And the guardian?” Heather asked.

“I dinna ken.”

“Then we go forward,” Ayradyss said, “and deal with it if we see it.”

“Aye.”

The crusader gathered his chain, stepped through the portal and vanished. Heather went next, then Ayradyss, and finally, the cleric. This one reached to remove his blindfold as soon as they were through.

“Why can you do that here and not when you are in the castle?” Ayradyss asked.

“I am more afraid here,” the cleric answered simply. “Especially here. Oddly, in these lands the calendar is not the calendar of the fields that we know—for the full moon and the equinox always fall together…”

“At home the equinox is drawing near.”

“And here on the full moon during the equinox, the standing stones go to the river to drink.”

“We must take care,” the caoineag said. “I see no sign that the rocks are moving. Perhaps they must wait for moonrise.”

Or perhaps they are waiting to trap us , Ayradyss thought, but she did not voice her thoughts aloud.

For the land did not seem welcoming. The gorse buds were one of the few signs of the coming spring; mostly, the terrain was damp and grey. The sky was low and heavy, so dark with impending rain that they could not tell whether the hour was late or early. Except for helping each other to find the best path across the loose rocks, they did not speak as they made their way to the beach.