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Chapter 19
Lowe swept into her office suite just long enough to scan several files into her computer familiar, Whitford barely keeping up with her. “Elizabeth?” The squirrel yeoman had been with her almost from the day of the Event, and was currently seconded to the NSA from the Navy as her secretary. “Cancel all but my most urgent appointments, and transfer those to the MCC. And drop Sterling an email, give her a heads-up that we're probably going to be going on another little trip pretty soon. Probably around the end of the week.”
“Where to this time, Doc?”
“Not sure yet. Most likely either Nisyros or Ba-Yabel, but it'll depend on what I find out over the next couple days.”
“Got it. Presidential Briefings?”
“Let Stengall handle that the rest of the week. Tell him to keep the President up to date on the Pakistan-India rumblings, just in case.”
“That leaves your meeting with the Saharan Ambassador on Thursday and the weekly department head session.”
“Leave them on the schedule for now. I'll let you know if I need to move them.”
“On it, boss. Good... luck.” The last word was spoken in an otherwise unoccupied room. “Wow. Haven't seen her this frantic -ever-.”
* * * *
She started with the river. There weren't many in Syria, after all, and the ones in ISIL-controlled regions made a short enough list to inspect personally, using nothing more esoteric than Google Earth. It wasn't the Euphrates, but she found a village that matched her mental image of the battle along one of its larger tributaries. “And there it is, John. The Khabour River, and the town of Al-Suwar.”
He looked over her shoulder at the computer screen, and nodded. “Yeah. Looks like one, too.”
Lowe took a moment to suppress a chuckle, then glared at him. “Behave, or I'll tell them to send -you- there to make contact.”
“Hah. You're bluffing. You know better than I do that would be a disaster on about five different levels. We need a baseline human who speaks the language and knows their culture. A Muslim himself by preference, but that leaves the problem of finding one who will deal with us.”
“I can think of seven built-in disasters if you go there, to be honest, right off the top of my head. Haroun can probably assist us with finding someone appropriate. But now that I know where to look, I'm going to spend a couple of days at the MCC finding the right person and figuring out how to make the initial contact. And I'd probably better bring in the Europeans. Undine at the very least.”
“Yeah, you'd better let them know. All of them. If we can't stop it at one end, maybe they can stop it at the other. No guarantee that they won't divert to Madrid or Paris if they can't get to Rome.”
* * * *
Once the European powers had been notified, either directly through their Immortal liaisons or indirectly by Walkure and the German government, Lowe turned her attention back to Al Suwar. The militia chieftain was easy enough to locate once she had the village, and she spent much of his day tagging along via scrying mirror. <So. Sayeed bin Mufasa Kharam, Captain of the Al Suwar militia. What makes you so important? How does your demise lead to ISIL finishing a nuclear weapon? You know nothing of one, it seems. You are a decent enough man, and you are hardly educated in such things.> She left the connection open as his day ended, the difference in time zones making it only barely afternoon for her. She listened with only half her attention as he talked with his wife over his evening meal while she caught up on her duties and ate a quick lunch at her desk. She perked her ears up as his mealtime ended.
“Imam Basir and the others will be here again tonight, Devrah. The Imam told me that he particularly liked your date pastries the last time.”
She sighed. “I only have a few left. You need to warn me sooner for these things, husband.”
“It came up suddenly. Young Haidar saw the snake-demon again this morning, and showed me the track after his militia training this afternoon. Set out what we have, and I shall make sure he gets the first choice.”
She nodded. “Demons and war and all manner of evil things happen in these days, my husband. I am glad that you are here to keep us safe, but I still wish you did not have to.”
He nodded. “It will be as Allah wills it.”
Lowe sighed as she listened. <Fatalism. No wonder they never get anywhere. In'sh'allah, in'sh'allah. Might as well be manana, only it doesn't have as much urgency. Still, they do seem to be at least a bit concerned. Wonder what this snake-demon is that they're talking about? Could be anything from a snake-changeling to a naga to another Immortal, I suppose. Maybe they'll get more detailed when they have the more formal meeting.>
* * * *
Half an hour after Sayeed's guests had arrived, she was still waiting for the meeting to start. <At least I've learned everyone's name, so I can contact them by the mirrors if I decide I have to. Although with this crowd, it'd probably be counterproductive. So Sayeed's the militia chieftain and Mazin is his exec, the local cleric Basir, the official mayor Omar... and this young fellow, Isam, who would seem to be their local tech-boy. Who the Imam treats with more respect than the mayor, interestingly...>
Finally, Basir turned to business. “And what have you learned about the snake-woman since the last time we met, Sayeed?”
“She has again gone to the river. Haidar saw her again this morning, and reported the tracks. This is twice at least she has been nearby but done nothing, not to us nor to the livestock. Of course, being a snake, perhaps she doesn't have to eat very often.”
“And her lair?”
“Somewhere in the hills to the north. We knew that much already, and have not learned anything new about it. No, I -really- asked to meet again because I have received another message from the Islamic Council. They are not worried about the Kurds, and do not consider the snake to be a matter of serious concern – I am not sure they believe she exists. They repeat their demand for fighters to be sent to the front against Assad's forces. And they are telling me to call for volunteers to fight for the Glory of Allah.”
Isam nodded. “They are running out of funds. Neither the Russians nor the Turks are willing to sell their oil, and the fields are mostly out of production due to bombing even if they would. They can still cause damage to us if they decide that we need to be punished, though. We need allies...”
* * * *
A quarter of the way around the world, Lowe smiled at Whitford. “This business is so much easier when you can watch the other side discussing their problems in real time.”
“I'm sure it also helps if you can understand what they're saying.”
She nodded. “True. They're talking about ISIL demanding new recruits, and not wanting to pay them. Confirms some things I've gotten through other channels. And there is some kind of snake-Changeling lairing up to the north of their little town. Probably got chased out of her home after the Event. If I have time, I'll try to look her up as well.” She paused to focus on the conversation, and smiled. “Ah, good news. They know they're in trouble, and they are looking for help. They'll even accept it from us, more or less openly if they have to.” She started jotting down notes. “They're short of heavy weapons... no armor of course, but they couldn't use it if they had it. Running a tank or an APC requires training, and a technical mindset. Remember all the trouble we first had trying to train Saudi units on the M1A1?”
Whitford sniffed. “We were both in grade school at the time, Jandi.”
“Okay then, have you ever looked it up? Getting them to do maintenance cycles was an exercise in pure frustration for the advisers. 'The tanks will work when we need them, or not, as Allah decides.' Suggesting that doing the maintenance would help Allah decide in their -favor- was pretty much considered blasphemous.”
“So... 'the Lord helps those who help themselves' is not part of their mindset?”
“Nope. Carries through everything, and always has. The most effective troops that the Ottoman Empire ever had were the Christian Janissaries – who -did- have that mindset.” She turned her attention back to her mirrors. “Ah. They definitely want our assistance, if only in terms of supplies. They're talking about ways to get in touch with us. I'm thinking that Isam will find a message in his in-box when he gets home. And I need to see if Shadow is checked out on the Hercules. She'd be perfect for getting a plane-load of stuff in there without attracting attention.”
* * * *
Sayeed was just dropping off to sleep when someone started knocking on his front door. He whispered “Stay here” to his wife and grabbed his pistol and some clothes before going to see what was happening.
The pounding stopped, as whoever it was heard him enter his front room. “Sayeed? It's Isam. I must talk to you immediately!”
Sayeed relaxed a bit at the familiar voice, and unlocked the door, although he didn't lower his pistol until he saw that it was indeed the computer tech, and that he was alone. “Now? What can have happened so soon? It's not even two hours since our meeting.”
Isam's voice was shaken. “The Americans must truly be wizards, Sayeed. When I got home there was a message waiting for you. For us all, really, but...”
Sayeed nodded as the tech paused. “And what did it say?”
“I printed it and brought it along. Sayeed, they -knew- what we said at our meeting, our exact words!”
To: Militia Captain Sayeed Kharam
From: An American Friend
We have a saying, that the enemy of my enemy may be my friend. It seems we have a mutual enemy in the ones who pervert the teachings of the Prophet for their own gain. As you said earlier this evening, 'They are not worried about the Kurds, and do not consider the snake to be a matter of serious concern – I am not sure they believe she exists. They repeat their demand for fighters to be sent to the front against Assad's forces.'
These people are the enemies of the West as well as of the truth of Islam, and just as we know what you said at your meeting, we know that they intend to attack us with nuclear weapons should they acquire them. We intend to stop them from doing so, and we wish to assist you as part of that process. As a gesture of good will, we will deliver a shipment of rifles, grenades, mortars, and ammunition to the highway just north of Al-Suwar in three nights – you need merely pick them up once day has arrived.
We hope to hear from you once we have established our ability to assist you, with any additional material you may need. In the meantime, we will search out your snake-demon and either remove her from your area or assist you in dealing with her. You may reply to this address at any time.
Sayeed looked at him. “This is not some joke, I hope? -You- certainly know what was said at the meeting, Isam.”
“If it is a joke, it is not mine, Captain. I know very well that this is not a joking matter.” He pointed to the time-stamp at the top of the document. “It was sent before the meeting was -over-, while I was still with you. Whoever sent it might as well have attended it with us.”
“Hmmm. Then there are three possibilities. It is genuine, it is a joke by someone, or it is a feint by our enemies. We will prepare for an attack, but post some scouts on the north road to watch for this promised delivery. But best not to raise false hopes. Tell no one – particularly not the mayor. I will inform the Imam myself. But the morning will be soon enough. Good night, Isam.”
* * * *
<The nicest thing about getting your own plane is that you don't have to spend a couple hours getting to New Orleans first.> While the G-V was not really rough-field capable, it could land on fields much shorter than an airliner could manage, which meant that her ride could land at a nearby private field. She paused at the top of the boarding stairs. “Storm? I didn't realize you were going to be here.”
The lynx grinned. “That seems fair. I didn't realize -you- were coming along until after I got on board at Roanoke. It makes sense, though. If this Captain MacDowell is having issues with old memories, you ought to be able to do something.”
The mouse nodded. “I should think so, yes.”
The steward had already pulled up the stairs and sealed the door, and the cockpit intercom came up with a crackle. “If you'll all fasten your seat belts, we'll be taking off again momentarily. Next stop, Sacramento.”
Storm yawned. “I'm going to take a nap.” She grinned at the mouse. “-You- stay out of my head.”
“Hadn't planned on any eavesdropping, Storm.” She pulled a laptop computer out of its travel bag. “I have work to do, anyway. Pleasant dreams...”
Storm gave her a suspicious look, but put her seat back and closed her eyes as the plane reached its cruising altitude.
* * * *
He remembered being Captain MacDowell, but it seemed unimportant at the moment – his current avatar was asleep, in any event. One of his ancient... not adversaries, exactly, but rivals, certainly... was moving rapidly into his territory, almost directly towards him. A warning, to start...
* * * *
The Gulfstream was passing Santa Fe when the bat frowned at her instruments and at the sky ahead, then opened the intercom. “Storm, you're not playing games with the weather, are you?”
Dreamweaver answered. “She's napping, Captain. What seems to be the problem?”
“Well, if it's not her, then someone -else- is doing something. We've got a weather alert directly ahead of us, a line of thunderstorms forming against all the predictions. There wasn't even a cold front there ten minutes ago.”
The mouse's accent shifted toward the Cajun patois of her childhood as she focused on the situation. “Thass not a good thin', Cap'n Shadow. You want I should wake her up? Promised not to mess wid her dreamin'.”
“If she's dreaming up this storm, you need to wake her. And if she's not, we need her awake to counter whoever is. You'd better, I think.”
Dreamweaver brought up the cabin lights and prodded the lynx, who mrrowled softly in her sleep and shifted her position without opening her eyes. “Cap'n? She doesn't want to wake up.”
“Keep trying. And if you have to go into her dreams to do it, do so. You can blame it on me later. Pilot in command, y'know...” She released the intercom and spoke to her copilot, a fellow nocturnal Changeling. “Keep your eyes open, Commander. I've seen what Storm can do – watch for lightning, incipient funnels, anything nasty. And get me the course for Albuquerque if we have to divert south.”
The flying squirrel nodded. “Aye-aye, ma'am.”
* * * *
She could sense the other weather-witch ahead of her now, the normally slow shifts of mass and energy focused and directed by a Power. Not Thor this time; she had met with the old Aesir recently and reached an agreement. This was someone else, and meddling with the weather in her own domain. She reached out with her own Power and twisted, breaking up the developing front into chaotic randomness.
* * * *
The Gulfstream banked sharply left, climbing to dodge the worst of the sudden turbulence as lightning began to flicker to the northwest. The clouds blotted out the stars in that direction, but the gathering storm was already collapsing, the thunderhead shrinking as the updrafts feeding it were diverted by conflicting manipulations. The opposing weather-magics created violent surges in random directions, and one tendril reached out toward the Gulfstream. A sudden downdraft in the chaos put the aircraft into free fall for an eternal eight seconds, and then Sterling draggd the control yoke back into a three-gravity loop to pull out of the dive and recover altitude. The copilot hit the seat belt warning and watched the engine gauges as the bat struggled with the controls. “What was -that-, Captain? I've never flown through anything like it.”
“I suspect that someone doesn't like us, and Storm is fighting back. Let's grab altitude while we can, We're probably going to get a lot more clear-air turbulence and wind shear as they duke it out. And you know what they say...”
The squirrel grinned. “Nothing more useless than altitude above you, time behind you, and fuel in the truck?”
“Got it one, Rocky.”
Commander Ward sighed. “Ma'am... Please don't call me Rocky.” He frowned as tattered clouds to the right of the plane suddenly swirled upwards. “Upward vertical windshear to starboard, Captain.”
The bat reefed the jet into a bank to port. “Got it. Thanks.”
* * * *
Dreamweaver yelped in dismay as she floated free of her seat. She grabbed the armrests to hold herself in place, moments before she was smashed down into it by triple her weight. She glared at the seat belt light as it blinked on a moment later. “No kiddin', cochon. Ain't no way I'm movin' outta dis chair if you're gonna fling us all over de sky.” She glanced over at the lynx, who still had her eyes closed. “Either she's still asleep t'rough all dis, or she's already concentratin' on fightin' back.” She paused for a moment before closing her own eyes to enter the Dreaming herself. “Mebbe both.”
The Dreaming spread out before her mind's eye, sparks of sleeping minds scattered thinly on the ground below dwarfed by the beacon of the lynx beside her. “Sorry 'bout dis, Storm. Shadow insists.” She dove into the light...
… and emerged in mid-air, in a space where two titans battled. With the skill of years of adapting herself to the chaotic realm of dreams, she summoned wings to her own avatar almost without thinking, and took stock of the combatants.
Storm was an amorphous giant here in the Dreaming, her self-image wavering between lynx and cervine and occasionally other forms. Her opponent was an avian, six-limbed with both arms and wings, an eagle of some sort but with lightning crackling along his wings and markings that did not match anything she recognized. Bolts of lightning, howling winds, sleet, rain and more were being hurled back and forth as the titans battled, and she had to shield herself from the energies being hurled around – being invisible to them wasn't all that much help. “An' dis is leakin' into de real world. Gotta wake 'em up, an' fast...”
* * * *
Lightning flashed, closer to the jet than before. “Captain, you may want to go dark. This storm seems to be aiming at us.”
“I've been -trying-. It's not working. Might be our passenger. If she's playing with weather, it's probably a beacon to another one like her.”
Ward narrowed his eyes. “Funnel at one o'clock, ma'am.”
“Hang on.” The bat sent a brief prayer heavenward. <Don't let what they're doing interfere with this, Lord....>
* * * *
Ward had only been flying as Shadow's copilot for a month, and hadn't experienced one of her teleports before. He'd -seen- her do it, but that wasn't the same thing at all as being -part- of it, he discovered. From the outside, she vanished in a swirl of black mist and vanished into whatever shadows were present. From the inside... it was rather like what he'd always thought a Star Trek transporter would be like. The surroundings faded, just slowly enough to watch it happening, and then there was an undefined but thankfully brief period of sensory deprivation before things faded back in with a nasty jolt as the moving aircraft encountered suddenly different wind conditions. “Where are we, ma'am?”
“Twenty-two miles south-southeast. Best I could do.” The bat looked exhausted, and was gulping air like she'd just run a marathon. Apparently it wasn't easy to move an entire aircraft. “Get our location from GPS and give me that course for Albuquerque.” In the distance, lightning flared and lit the sky, the storm they had just left intensifying with a terrifying rapidity.
* * * *
In the Dreaming, there was no moment of fading or sensory deprivation – after all, no one there was perceiving mundane reality in the first place. Marie smiled to herself as the two titans paused, flailing around with the forces at their command as if they suddenly couldn't see each other. She shifted her link from Storm to the eagle and broke out of her self-imposed concealment, her bat-winged mouse avatar suddenly even larger than the battling giants. “Time for you to wake up, Storm. Try to stay quiet and let Shadow hide us.” With that, she Pushed, and the elk-lynx-raven popped out of the Dreaming and back to the waking world.
The eagle glared as she appeared to his perceptions. “Who are you, and what have you done with the Stormchild?”
“I am Dreamweaver, de Lady of Comfort - an' Nightmares. Dis is -my- Realm, weathermonger, and you had best behave.” The eagle screamed a challenge and lightning struck at her form – but the bolts simply dissipated before they touched her. “Dat is not behavin', bird-boy. Don ' make me kick you outta here permanent. I can kill you dat way, an' it ain't a pretty way to go.” With a wave of her hand, the skyscape vanished.
The eagle and the mouse were seated in a bayou cabin, the sounds of a summer night in the swamps coming in through the small open window. A fire in the hearth warmed a gently steaming cauldron, and the mouse gestured to the cups waiting on the rough-hewn table between them. “Tea?”
The eagle jumped to his feet and spread his wings, spilling his cup as he knocked over his chair. He cast around the room, suddenly realizing that there wasn't a door – and his attempt to blast the window wide enough to escape through simply wasn't happening. The mouse chuckled calmly. “You radder have coffee, den?”
The eagle became still as the rational part of his mind caught up to him. “A dream walker.” He slowly turned to face her.
“Sure t’ing. Dis is de Dreamtime. -I- run t'ings here. You still kickin' up a beaucoup brawl in de mountains o' New Mexico, but nuttin' gwine happen here 'less I want it to. Now how about you sit down an' tell me why you be tryin' to mess wid de nice lynx.”
His stillness did nothing to hide his anger. “These are -my- lands, and the people here are under my protection. The Stormchild has entered my domain without permission. Why does she come here?”
The mouse pointed and let her eyes flare red for a moment. “Sit.” The eagle found himself seated again, with a cup of coffee waiting on the table beside him. “Dese are not your lands, bird-boy. Haven't been for a while now. All part of de United States, an' not anyone needin' your permission to move aroun'. “
“That is irrelevant. Your nations are nothing but lines on a map, its charters nothing but scratchings on parchment. I have seen countless rise and fall. And through it all, I remain. By virtue of my persistence, I claim these lands as my own. And I will defend them against -any- intruder.”
“You t'inkin' you in charge? Git outta bed.” She paused, the Cajun idiom jogging her own memories. “Git... heh.” She laughed outright, to the eagle's annoyance. “O' course. Dat's it, innit? You -is- MacDowell. But he's asleep an' you took over, din'tchu? You de memories dat keep floatin' up and confusin' him when he's awake.”
“We will be one before long. He is but my vessel.” The eagle leaned in his chair towards her, his eyes brimming with malice. “-I- am the Thunderbird. Defy me at your peril, witch.”
Dreamweaver's eyes narrowed. “Okay, dis time I mean it. Git. Outta. Bed. I'ze gonna wake you up, an' de Captain, he gonna remember dis conversation. No more dreamin' fo' -you- tonight. We see you in de mornin'.” She Pushed, and was alone in her cabin. “Gotta talk to de Eldest 'bout dis. Wunner if dere's any more o' dese ol' memory-personalities floatin' 'round.” And then she was gone as well, and the cabin dissolved into the inchoate energies of the Dreaming.
* * * *
Dreamweaver opened her eyes to find Storm and the aircraft's steward bending over her. “She's awake, Shadow.”
“Good. Looks like the lightning has finally stopped. Ask her if it's safe to continue or if we need to ground at Albuquerque.”
The mouse sniffed. “Course I'm awake. Marie gots ol' T'underbird straightened out fo' now, so no mo' problems goin' to Sacramento. You an' he ol' rivals, Storm, or is he jus' paranoid?”
The lynx sat back down. “More distant colleagues. The last time we were both alive, our paths did not cross.” She relaxed, and accepted a cup of coffee from the steward. “Whatever you did, though, it seems to be working. The storm went crazy when you woke me up, but we were well away from it, and now it's dying out, going back to natural.”
“Cap'n MacDowell wasn't de problem. But T'underbird's ridin' him just like de Stormchild's ridin' you, Nancy. Took him by surprise, but he'll be awake now until tomorrow night, so we gots de day to get him sorted out at least a bit.”
“Stormchild isn't 'riding' me, Dreamweaver. We're partners.”
“But MacDowell an' Thunderbird ain't partners yet, an’ he don’t talk like he –wants- ta be. Dat's what we'z gotta fix, beaucoup fast.” She shook herself, realizing that she was still speaking in her childhood Cajun patois. “So get some sleep while we still can. Gonna be busy once we land.”
Lowe swept into her office suite just long enough to scan several files into her computer familiar, Whitford barely keeping up with her. “Elizabeth?” The squirrel yeoman had been with her almost from the day of the Event, and was currently seconded to the NSA from the Navy as her secretary. “Cancel all but my most urgent appointments, and transfer those to the MCC. And drop Sterling an email, give her a heads-up that we're probably going to be going on another little trip pretty soon. Probably around the end of the week.”
“Where to this time, Doc?”
“Not sure yet. Most likely either Nisyros or Ba-Yabel, but it'll depend on what I find out over the next couple days.”
“Got it. Presidential Briefings?”
“Let Stengall handle that the rest of the week. Tell him to keep the President up to date on the Pakistan-India rumblings, just in case.”
“That leaves your meeting with the Saharan Ambassador on Thursday and the weekly department head session.”
“Leave them on the schedule for now. I'll let you know if I need to move them.”
“On it, boss. Good... luck.” The last word was spoken in an otherwise unoccupied room. “Wow. Haven't seen her this frantic -ever-.”
* * * *
She started with the river. There weren't many in Syria, after all, and the ones in ISIL-controlled regions made a short enough list to inspect personally, using nothing more esoteric than Google Earth. It wasn't the Euphrates, but she found a village that matched her mental image of the battle along one of its larger tributaries. “And there it is, John. The Khabour River, and the town of Al-Suwar.”
He looked over her shoulder at the computer screen, and nodded. “Yeah. Looks like one, too.”
Lowe took a moment to suppress a chuckle, then glared at him. “Behave, or I'll tell them to send -you- there to make contact.”
“Hah. You're bluffing. You know better than I do that would be a disaster on about five different levels. We need a baseline human who speaks the language and knows their culture. A Muslim himself by preference, but that leaves the problem of finding one who will deal with us.”
“I can think of seven built-in disasters if you go there, to be honest, right off the top of my head. Haroun can probably assist us with finding someone appropriate. But now that I know where to look, I'm going to spend a couple of days at the MCC finding the right person and figuring out how to make the initial contact. And I'd probably better bring in the Europeans. Undine at the very least.”
“Yeah, you'd better let them know. All of them. If we can't stop it at one end, maybe they can stop it at the other. No guarantee that they won't divert to Madrid or Paris if they can't get to Rome.”
* * * *
Once the European powers had been notified, either directly through their Immortal liaisons or indirectly by Walkure and the German government, Lowe turned her attention back to Al Suwar. The militia chieftain was easy enough to locate once she had the village, and she spent much of his day tagging along via scrying mirror. <So. Sayeed bin Mufasa Kharam, Captain of the Al Suwar militia. What makes you so important? How does your demise lead to ISIL finishing a nuclear weapon? You know nothing of one, it seems. You are a decent enough man, and you are hardly educated in such things.> She left the connection open as his day ended, the difference in time zones making it only barely afternoon for her. She listened with only half her attention as he talked with his wife over his evening meal while she caught up on her duties and ate a quick lunch at her desk. She perked her ears up as his mealtime ended.
“Imam Basir and the others will be here again tonight, Devrah. The Imam told me that he particularly liked your date pastries the last time.”
She sighed. “I only have a few left. You need to warn me sooner for these things, husband.”
“It came up suddenly. Young Haidar saw the snake-demon again this morning, and showed me the track after his militia training this afternoon. Set out what we have, and I shall make sure he gets the first choice.”
She nodded. “Demons and war and all manner of evil things happen in these days, my husband. I am glad that you are here to keep us safe, but I still wish you did not have to.”
He nodded. “It will be as Allah wills it.”
Lowe sighed as she listened. <Fatalism. No wonder they never get anywhere. In'sh'allah, in'sh'allah. Might as well be manana, only it doesn't have as much urgency. Still, they do seem to be at least a bit concerned. Wonder what this snake-demon is that they're talking about? Could be anything from a snake-changeling to a naga to another Immortal, I suppose. Maybe they'll get more detailed when they have the more formal meeting.>
* * * *
Half an hour after Sayeed's guests had arrived, she was still waiting for the meeting to start. <At least I've learned everyone's name, so I can contact them by the mirrors if I decide I have to. Although with this crowd, it'd probably be counterproductive. So Sayeed's the militia chieftain and Mazin is his exec, the local cleric Basir, the official mayor Omar... and this young fellow, Isam, who would seem to be their local tech-boy. Who the Imam treats with more respect than the mayor, interestingly...>
Finally, Basir turned to business. “And what have you learned about the snake-woman since the last time we met, Sayeed?”
“She has again gone to the river. Haidar saw her again this morning, and reported the tracks. This is twice at least she has been nearby but done nothing, not to us nor to the livestock. Of course, being a snake, perhaps she doesn't have to eat very often.”
“And her lair?”
“Somewhere in the hills to the north. We knew that much already, and have not learned anything new about it. No, I -really- asked to meet again because I have received another message from the Islamic Council. They are not worried about the Kurds, and do not consider the snake to be a matter of serious concern – I am not sure they believe she exists. They repeat their demand for fighters to be sent to the front against Assad's forces. And they are telling me to call for volunteers to fight for the Glory of Allah.”
Isam nodded. “They are running out of funds. Neither the Russians nor the Turks are willing to sell their oil, and the fields are mostly out of production due to bombing even if they would. They can still cause damage to us if they decide that we need to be punished, though. We need allies...”
* * * *
A quarter of the way around the world, Lowe smiled at Whitford. “This business is so much easier when you can watch the other side discussing their problems in real time.”
“I'm sure it also helps if you can understand what they're saying.”
She nodded. “True. They're talking about ISIL demanding new recruits, and not wanting to pay them. Confirms some things I've gotten through other channels. And there is some kind of snake-Changeling lairing up to the north of their little town. Probably got chased out of her home after the Event. If I have time, I'll try to look her up as well.” She paused to focus on the conversation, and smiled. “Ah, good news. They know they're in trouble, and they are looking for help. They'll even accept it from us, more or less openly if they have to.” She started jotting down notes. “They're short of heavy weapons... no armor of course, but they couldn't use it if they had it. Running a tank or an APC requires training, and a technical mindset. Remember all the trouble we first had trying to train Saudi units on the M1A1?”
Whitford sniffed. “We were both in grade school at the time, Jandi.”
“Okay then, have you ever looked it up? Getting them to do maintenance cycles was an exercise in pure frustration for the advisers. 'The tanks will work when we need them, or not, as Allah decides.' Suggesting that doing the maintenance would help Allah decide in their -favor- was pretty much considered blasphemous.”
“So... 'the Lord helps those who help themselves' is not part of their mindset?”
“Nope. Carries through everything, and always has. The most effective troops that the Ottoman Empire ever had were the Christian Janissaries – who -did- have that mindset.” She turned her attention back to her mirrors. “Ah. They definitely want our assistance, if only in terms of supplies. They're talking about ways to get in touch with us. I'm thinking that Isam will find a message in his in-box when he gets home. And I need to see if Shadow is checked out on the Hercules. She'd be perfect for getting a plane-load of stuff in there without attracting attention.”
* * * *
Sayeed was just dropping off to sleep when someone started knocking on his front door. He whispered “Stay here” to his wife and grabbed his pistol and some clothes before going to see what was happening.
The pounding stopped, as whoever it was heard him enter his front room. “Sayeed? It's Isam. I must talk to you immediately!”
Sayeed relaxed a bit at the familiar voice, and unlocked the door, although he didn't lower his pistol until he saw that it was indeed the computer tech, and that he was alone. “Now? What can have happened so soon? It's not even two hours since our meeting.”
Isam's voice was shaken. “The Americans must truly be wizards, Sayeed. When I got home there was a message waiting for you. For us all, really, but...”
Sayeed nodded as the tech paused. “And what did it say?”
“I printed it and brought it along. Sayeed, they -knew- what we said at our meeting, our exact words!”
To: Militia Captain Sayeed Kharam
From: An American Friend
We have a saying, that the enemy of my enemy may be my friend. It seems we have a mutual enemy in the ones who pervert the teachings of the Prophet for their own gain. As you said earlier this evening, 'They are not worried about the Kurds, and do not consider the snake to be a matter of serious concern – I am not sure they believe she exists. They repeat their demand for fighters to be sent to the front against Assad's forces.'
These people are the enemies of the West as well as of the truth of Islam, and just as we know what you said at your meeting, we know that they intend to attack us with nuclear weapons should they acquire them. We intend to stop them from doing so, and we wish to assist you as part of that process. As a gesture of good will, we will deliver a shipment of rifles, grenades, mortars, and ammunition to the highway just north of Al-Suwar in three nights – you need merely pick them up once day has arrived.
We hope to hear from you once we have established our ability to assist you, with any additional material you may need. In the meantime, we will search out your snake-demon and either remove her from your area or assist you in dealing with her. You may reply to this address at any time.
Sayeed looked at him. “This is not some joke, I hope? -You- certainly know what was said at the meeting, Isam.”
“If it is a joke, it is not mine, Captain. I know very well that this is not a joking matter.” He pointed to the time-stamp at the top of the document. “It was sent before the meeting was -over-, while I was still with you. Whoever sent it might as well have attended it with us.”
“Hmmm. Then there are three possibilities. It is genuine, it is a joke by someone, or it is a feint by our enemies. We will prepare for an attack, but post some scouts on the north road to watch for this promised delivery. But best not to raise false hopes. Tell no one – particularly not the mayor. I will inform the Imam myself. But the morning will be soon enough. Good night, Isam.”
* * * *
<The nicest thing about getting your own plane is that you don't have to spend a couple hours getting to New Orleans first.> While the G-V was not really rough-field capable, it could land on fields much shorter than an airliner could manage, which meant that her ride could land at a nearby private field. She paused at the top of the boarding stairs. “Storm? I didn't realize you were going to be here.”
The lynx grinned. “That seems fair. I didn't realize -you- were coming along until after I got on board at Roanoke. It makes sense, though. If this Captain MacDowell is having issues with old memories, you ought to be able to do something.”
The mouse nodded. “I should think so, yes.”
The steward had already pulled up the stairs and sealed the door, and the cockpit intercom came up with a crackle. “If you'll all fasten your seat belts, we'll be taking off again momentarily. Next stop, Sacramento.”
Storm yawned. “I'm going to take a nap.” She grinned at the mouse. “-You- stay out of my head.”
“Hadn't planned on any eavesdropping, Storm.” She pulled a laptop computer out of its travel bag. “I have work to do, anyway. Pleasant dreams...”
Storm gave her a suspicious look, but put her seat back and closed her eyes as the plane reached its cruising altitude.
* * * *
He remembered being Captain MacDowell, but it seemed unimportant at the moment – his current avatar was asleep, in any event. One of his ancient... not adversaries, exactly, but rivals, certainly... was moving rapidly into his territory, almost directly towards him. A warning, to start...
* * * *
The Gulfstream was passing Santa Fe when the bat frowned at her instruments and at the sky ahead, then opened the intercom. “Storm, you're not playing games with the weather, are you?”
Dreamweaver answered. “She's napping, Captain. What seems to be the problem?”
“Well, if it's not her, then someone -else- is doing something. We've got a weather alert directly ahead of us, a line of thunderstorms forming against all the predictions. There wasn't even a cold front there ten minutes ago.”
The mouse's accent shifted toward the Cajun patois of her childhood as she focused on the situation. “Thass not a good thin', Cap'n Shadow. You want I should wake her up? Promised not to mess wid her dreamin'.”
“If she's dreaming up this storm, you need to wake her. And if she's not, we need her awake to counter whoever is. You'd better, I think.”
Dreamweaver brought up the cabin lights and prodded the lynx, who mrrowled softly in her sleep and shifted her position without opening her eyes. “Cap'n? She doesn't want to wake up.”
“Keep trying. And if you have to go into her dreams to do it, do so. You can blame it on me later. Pilot in command, y'know...” She released the intercom and spoke to her copilot, a fellow nocturnal Changeling. “Keep your eyes open, Commander. I've seen what Storm can do – watch for lightning, incipient funnels, anything nasty. And get me the course for Albuquerque if we have to divert south.”
The flying squirrel nodded. “Aye-aye, ma'am.”
* * * *
She could sense the other weather-witch ahead of her now, the normally slow shifts of mass and energy focused and directed by a Power. Not Thor this time; she had met with the old Aesir recently and reached an agreement. This was someone else, and meddling with the weather in her own domain. She reached out with her own Power and twisted, breaking up the developing front into chaotic randomness.
* * * *
The Gulfstream banked sharply left, climbing to dodge the worst of the sudden turbulence as lightning began to flicker to the northwest. The clouds blotted out the stars in that direction, but the gathering storm was already collapsing, the thunderhead shrinking as the updrafts feeding it were diverted by conflicting manipulations. The opposing weather-magics created violent surges in random directions, and one tendril reached out toward the Gulfstream. A sudden downdraft in the chaos put the aircraft into free fall for an eternal eight seconds, and then Sterling draggd the control yoke back into a three-gravity loop to pull out of the dive and recover altitude. The copilot hit the seat belt warning and watched the engine gauges as the bat struggled with the controls. “What was -that-, Captain? I've never flown through anything like it.”
“I suspect that someone doesn't like us, and Storm is fighting back. Let's grab altitude while we can, We're probably going to get a lot more clear-air turbulence and wind shear as they duke it out. And you know what they say...”
The squirrel grinned. “Nothing more useless than altitude above you, time behind you, and fuel in the truck?”
“Got it one, Rocky.”
Commander Ward sighed. “Ma'am... Please don't call me Rocky.” He frowned as tattered clouds to the right of the plane suddenly swirled upwards. “Upward vertical windshear to starboard, Captain.”
The bat reefed the jet into a bank to port. “Got it. Thanks.”
* * * *
Dreamweaver yelped in dismay as she floated free of her seat. She grabbed the armrests to hold herself in place, moments before she was smashed down into it by triple her weight. She glared at the seat belt light as it blinked on a moment later. “No kiddin', cochon. Ain't no way I'm movin' outta dis chair if you're gonna fling us all over de sky.” She glanced over at the lynx, who still had her eyes closed. “Either she's still asleep t'rough all dis, or she's already concentratin' on fightin' back.” She paused for a moment before closing her own eyes to enter the Dreaming herself. “Mebbe both.”
The Dreaming spread out before her mind's eye, sparks of sleeping minds scattered thinly on the ground below dwarfed by the beacon of the lynx beside her. “Sorry 'bout dis, Storm. Shadow insists.” She dove into the light...
… and emerged in mid-air, in a space where two titans battled. With the skill of years of adapting herself to the chaotic realm of dreams, she summoned wings to her own avatar almost without thinking, and took stock of the combatants.
Storm was an amorphous giant here in the Dreaming, her self-image wavering between lynx and cervine and occasionally other forms. Her opponent was an avian, six-limbed with both arms and wings, an eagle of some sort but with lightning crackling along his wings and markings that did not match anything she recognized. Bolts of lightning, howling winds, sleet, rain and more were being hurled back and forth as the titans battled, and she had to shield herself from the energies being hurled around – being invisible to them wasn't all that much help. “An' dis is leakin' into de real world. Gotta wake 'em up, an' fast...”
* * * *
Lightning flashed, closer to the jet than before. “Captain, you may want to go dark. This storm seems to be aiming at us.”
“I've been -trying-. It's not working. Might be our passenger. If she's playing with weather, it's probably a beacon to another one like her.”
Ward narrowed his eyes. “Funnel at one o'clock, ma'am.”
“Hang on.” The bat sent a brief prayer heavenward. <Don't let what they're doing interfere with this, Lord....>
* * * *
Ward had only been flying as Shadow's copilot for a month, and hadn't experienced one of her teleports before. He'd -seen- her do it, but that wasn't the same thing at all as being -part- of it, he discovered. From the outside, she vanished in a swirl of black mist and vanished into whatever shadows were present. From the inside... it was rather like what he'd always thought a Star Trek transporter would be like. The surroundings faded, just slowly enough to watch it happening, and then there was an undefined but thankfully brief period of sensory deprivation before things faded back in with a nasty jolt as the moving aircraft encountered suddenly different wind conditions. “Where are we, ma'am?”
“Twenty-two miles south-southeast. Best I could do.” The bat looked exhausted, and was gulping air like she'd just run a marathon. Apparently it wasn't easy to move an entire aircraft. “Get our location from GPS and give me that course for Albuquerque.” In the distance, lightning flared and lit the sky, the storm they had just left intensifying with a terrifying rapidity.
* * * *
In the Dreaming, there was no moment of fading or sensory deprivation – after all, no one there was perceiving mundane reality in the first place. Marie smiled to herself as the two titans paused, flailing around with the forces at their command as if they suddenly couldn't see each other. She shifted her link from Storm to the eagle and broke out of her self-imposed concealment, her bat-winged mouse avatar suddenly even larger than the battling giants. “Time for you to wake up, Storm. Try to stay quiet and let Shadow hide us.” With that, she Pushed, and the elk-lynx-raven popped out of the Dreaming and back to the waking world.
The eagle glared as she appeared to his perceptions. “Who are you, and what have you done with the Stormchild?”
“I am Dreamweaver, de Lady of Comfort - an' Nightmares. Dis is -my- Realm, weathermonger, and you had best behave.” The eagle screamed a challenge and lightning struck at her form – but the bolts simply dissipated before they touched her. “Dat is not behavin', bird-boy. Don ' make me kick you outta here permanent. I can kill you dat way, an' it ain't a pretty way to go.” With a wave of her hand, the skyscape vanished.
The eagle and the mouse were seated in a bayou cabin, the sounds of a summer night in the swamps coming in through the small open window. A fire in the hearth warmed a gently steaming cauldron, and the mouse gestured to the cups waiting on the rough-hewn table between them. “Tea?”
The eagle jumped to his feet and spread his wings, spilling his cup as he knocked over his chair. He cast around the room, suddenly realizing that there wasn't a door – and his attempt to blast the window wide enough to escape through simply wasn't happening. The mouse chuckled calmly. “You radder have coffee, den?”
The eagle became still as the rational part of his mind caught up to him. “A dream walker.” He slowly turned to face her.
“Sure t’ing. Dis is de Dreamtime. -I- run t'ings here. You still kickin' up a beaucoup brawl in de mountains o' New Mexico, but nuttin' gwine happen here 'less I want it to. Now how about you sit down an' tell me why you be tryin' to mess wid de nice lynx.”
His stillness did nothing to hide his anger. “These are -my- lands, and the people here are under my protection. The Stormchild has entered my domain without permission. Why does she come here?”
The mouse pointed and let her eyes flare red for a moment. “Sit.” The eagle found himself seated again, with a cup of coffee waiting on the table beside him. “Dese are not your lands, bird-boy. Haven't been for a while now. All part of de United States, an' not anyone needin' your permission to move aroun'. “
“That is irrelevant. Your nations are nothing but lines on a map, its charters nothing but scratchings on parchment. I have seen countless rise and fall. And through it all, I remain. By virtue of my persistence, I claim these lands as my own. And I will defend them against -any- intruder.”
“You t'inkin' you in charge? Git outta bed.” She paused, the Cajun idiom jogging her own memories. “Git... heh.” She laughed outright, to the eagle's annoyance. “O' course. Dat's it, innit? You -is- MacDowell. But he's asleep an' you took over, din'tchu? You de memories dat keep floatin' up and confusin' him when he's awake.”
“We will be one before long. He is but my vessel.” The eagle leaned in his chair towards her, his eyes brimming with malice. “-I- am the Thunderbird. Defy me at your peril, witch.”
Dreamweaver's eyes narrowed. “Okay, dis time I mean it. Git. Outta. Bed. I'ze gonna wake you up, an' de Captain, he gonna remember dis conversation. No more dreamin' fo' -you- tonight. We see you in de mornin'.” She Pushed, and was alone in her cabin. “Gotta talk to de Eldest 'bout dis. Wunner if dere's any more o' dese ol' memory-personalities floatin' 'round.” And then she was gone as well, and the cabin dissolved into the inchoate energies of the Dreaming.
* * * *
Dreamweaver opened her eyes to find Storm and the aircraft's steward bending over her. “She's awake, Shadow.”
“Good. Looks like the lightning has finally stopped. Ask her if it's safe to continue or if we need to ground at Albuquerque.”
The mouse sniffed. “Course I'm awake. Marie gots ol' T'underbird straightened out fo' now, so no mo' problems goin' to Sacramento. You an' he ol' rivals, Storm, or is he jus' paranoid?”
The lynx sat back down. “More distant colleagues. The last time we were both alive, our paths did not cross.” She relaxed, and accepted a cup of coffee from the steward. “Whatever you did, though, it seems to be working. The storm went crazy when you woke me up, but we were well away from it, and now it's dying out, going back to natural.”
“Cap'n MacDowell wasn't de problem. But T'underbird's ridin' him just like de Stormchild's ridin' you, Nancy. Took him by surprise, but he'll be awake now until tomorrow night, so we gots de day to get him sorted out at least a bit.”
“Stormchild isn't 'riding' me, Dreamweaver. We're partners.”
“But MacDowell an' Thunderbird ain't partners yet, an’ he don’t talk like he –wants- ta be. Dat's what we'z gotta fix, beaucoup fast.” She shook herself, realizing that she was still speaking in her childhood Cajun patois. “So get some sleep while we still can. Gonna be busy once we land.”
Category Story / All
Species Unspecified / Any
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File Size 66.7 kB
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