Roger Zelazny - Donnerjack

The bracelet said softly, “I did not know that you would learn to cross over so easily, or that I would not be there to protect you.”

“Maybe so, but after taking you, Death provided that protection.” Jay squared his shoulders. “Do you assist me in this, or will you try to prevent me?”

Ayradyss touched his face with her fingers. “I have no power to prevent, only to advise. Although I would prefer that you do not go, I promise you that when you return to Castle Donnerjack I will be here to assist you.”

The bracelet took longer to answer. Gradually, however, the violet glow subsided.

“I cannot prevent you without forcing you to take an action that would only make it more difficult to achieve what you would do in any case. Therefore, I shall not protest further.”

“Will you advise?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Jay turned to Dubhe. “Are you coming with me, or would you like me to try and draw you back into the Verite?”

Dubhe shrugged and cackled with a trace of the cheerful villainy that he had lost when he had fled Death into Verite.

“Sure I’ll go with you, Jay. It beats hiding under your bed and looking for the moire.”

“Good.” Jay turned and began to walk up the hillside. “I’ll let Dack know that I’m off on a virt jaunt and make the crossover from the Great Stage. I’d prefer not to draw this site to Death’s attention.”

They walked up the hillside and through the cluster of standing stones. Although the solstice was nowhere near, the stones trembled, responding to a force as powerful as that of nature or of myth.

High upon Meru, Skyga hummed. Listening to the sound, it seemed to the anxious Seaga that the hum had developed a lilt, a tremolo triumphant. He glanced over at Earthma, but she was withdrawn in meditation and he was reluctant to give anything away to the hummer by petitioning for her attention.

Biting into his lower lip with ill-concealed petulance, he let himself flow out into his various avatars:

A clerk organizing data in a virt stock market branch (where the stocks and bonds were represented as apples and pears of varying colors) blinked as for a moment the data all made perfect sense. He saw the trends involved in various shifts in the world economy and, had he been able to recall that insight, he could have made his fortune with a few small purchases. The insight vanished, however, and he continued sorting improbably colored fruit into various bins.

Reese Jordan, sitting soaking his feet in Caltrice’s favorite pool, felt a minnow nibbling at his toes. For a moment, he was a boy again— young and carefree. Then the feeling vanished, reminding him that once again his mortal form in the Center for latropathic Diseases in Verite was about to undergo some esoteric procedure. Even though the assistance of the Donnerjack Institute had added almost twenty years to his already extended life, he felt an ache of fury and frustration that this time he might finally shuffle off this mortal coil. The thought entered his mind that he would do anything, anything at all, for the promise of extending his life.

Ben Kwinan slouched against a wall within a chambered nautilus, reporting the latest developments in the Elishite situation. Deep within his mind was hidden the thought that perhaps he had chosen his ally unwisely. Seaga seemed nervous and contentious.

The white picket fence around a cottage on a cold, rocky shore bore the sign: “Do Not Disturb.” A pigeon, glancing in the window, saw a man with a scar running from the top of his head to the sole of his left foot busily making adjustments on a machine of platinum and crystal.

In the morgue for the New York Times and its affiliates a wind, damp and smelling of the sea, swept through the files, nagging certain stories and arranging them in a peculiar order. A ragged vibration, rather like a sigh, shook the virt chamber, then the wind withdrew, taking with it knowledge and leaving behind only a faint tang of salt to announce its visit.

Ancestral voices proclaiming war.

In a special grove within Markon’s realm, Virginia Tallent spoke into the air about what she had seen during that day’s wanderings and the air spoke to her, giving her answers.

“I passed through the jungle—you know the one…”

“Yes, Nazrat’s site.”

“And I passed a band of the apelike rogue proges who reside there.”

“Dangerous types. Did you keep to cover?”

“Yes, and observed them from there. Markon, I could have sworn that they were drilling!”

“Drilling? As for oil?”

“No, marching and practicing with weapons—machetes mostly, but there were some armed with firearms. Their leader was a great brute with greying fur and what I could have sworn was a shriveled human head hung around his neck.”

“That would be Sayjak. He is the Boss of Bosses of their people. His influence and legend have spread outside of Nazrat’s site.”

“He did not seem like a boss of anything. Several times he passed quite close to me and his eyes were dull and unfocused, yet his tribe members were clearly terrified of him. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

“Long ago.”

“In those times you told me about—the times of the Master, the Engineer, and the Guide? The times when the genü loci warred among each other and the gods were made?”

“That is so, Virginia. Apparently, Sayjak has become the minion of some deity, of a being more powerful than a genius loci . No wonder his people are terrified of him.”

Virginia looked shyly at the ground, traced a figure in the dirt with the tip of her finger.

“I have never asked before, Markon, but are genü loci gods?”

“Within our realms, we are something like that, Virginia. Some of us are more powerful than others, have a greater understanding of our sites and their limitations.”

“Like you are more powerful than Kordalis.”

“Precisely.” Markon sighed and the leaves of the trees rippled. “But we cannot depart our sites, while those who are termed deities can travel throughout Virtu. Yet, only the greatest of the deities are more powerful than a genius loci within its own territory. Thus, in the battles of yore, the deities treated with us as with sovereign nations, negotiating for passage, supplies, and sometimes for troops.”

“And sometimes you warred with your neighbors.”

“That is so.”

“Markon, have you made any treaties with those who have petitioned you?”

“Not yet.”

“And if your neighbors make such treaties, might one or more of them attack you?”

“Yes, the ancient boundaries have held partly because we grew weary of conflict and partly because each of us held what we could control. The deities, however, can grant power to those who serve them—enhance their programming. A neighbor so enhanced might endeavor to defeat me. An alliance between two or more—especially if I had no allies of my own—most certainly would do so.”

“Markon, you must make some alliances!”

“Virginia, I plan to do so, but I must choose carefully if I am to keep the war from here and thus keep you safe. My greatest desire is to protect you, my fragile love.”

She smiled. “I appreciate your offer, but I don’t wish to endanger you by having you consider my safety. I know the isolated places in Virtu. I will go to one and hide. Then I will return to you when the battles are over.”

“The wars may take years. They may not begin for years. When will you hide? Even the wildest sites have their genius loci . Where will you hide that you cannot be taken hostage against me? I love you, woman, and would do anything to gain your safety.”