Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley
Gravelight (44 page)
It took Truth half an hour to shake off most of the effects of the sleeping pills, and she still couldn't really understand why Sinah had drugged her.
You pushed too hard, that's all. You're lucky it wasn't rat poison in the jam instead of Seconal.
“Where's my car, Dylan?” Her working tools were locked in the trunkânot the best place for them, but the best of the available alternatives. She'd have to get them out. She was going to need them.
“Out in front. Mrs. Merryman was down at the general store when I leftâshe's saying some pretty wild things.”
“She's saying that Old Miss Dellon's come back and sacrificed Seth to the Gate,” Truth said absently. “I'm afraid she did. And this time, it's my fault.” Her mind was elsewhere: on finding Sinah and making her do what she wanted, whatever the cost.
“You can't believe that,” Dylan said automatically.
Truth rounded on him in exasperation. “Of course I canâbecause it's
true!
Weren't you listening to Michael this morning? Or did you think what he did up there was all a dumbshow for the rubes? I wouldn't let him replace Quentin Blackburn's magick with hisâso the place becomes
my
responsibilityâand so does every death that happens there.”
true!
Weren't you listening to Michael this morning? Or did you think what he did up there was all a dumbshow for the rubes? I wouldn't let him replace Quentin Blackburn's magick with hisâso the place becomes
my
responsibilityâand so does every death that happens there.”
Dylan tried to look sympathetic, but what came across was only frustration. “So what are you going to do now?”
Truth suppressed another flare of anger. Dylan had rescued her. She owed him something for that. But oh, she grieved for what they could have been together!
“I need to go back up to the sanatorium. If Seth's still alive, that's where he is, anyway. Will you drive me?”
“Are you sure you're up for this? Truth, you're all in, and we know that place is dangerous.” Dylan, the treacherous voice of reason.
“It's dangerous,” Truth agreed wearily. “That's why I
have to go, Dylan. Because it's dangerous, and it's my job.”
have to go, Dylan. Because it's dangerous, and it's my job.”
“All right, then. Come on.”
“Stop!
Dylan!”
Truth croaked.
Dylan!”
Truth croaked.
“I see him.” Dylan slowed the car to a stop and rolled down the window. “Seth? Seth Merryman?”
The young man came to a stop, thrusting both hands behind him guiltily.
“I'm Dylan Palmer. I met you and your mother last week, remember?”
“I didn't break no dishes,” Seth said hastily.
Dylan forced a smile, though he wasn't as reassured by seeing Seth alive and well as he had expected to be.
“I know you didn't break anything,” Dylan told Seth soothingly. “But everyone's worried about you. Where've you been?”
“With a man,” Seth said evasively.
Beside him on the seat, Dylan felt Truth stir impatiently.
“What man, Seth?”
Seth giggled. “With the conjureman. He said he'd give me a whole twenty dollar if I'd carry stuff for him. I'm strongâI can carry,” he added proudly.
“Where?” Dylan said.
And Seth answered: “Up at the burned place.”
Dylan glanced at Truth. She opened the passenger door and got out, slinging her bag of working tools over her shoulder. “Come on, SethâDylan's going to drive you back to your family.”
“Truth!” Dylan said in an urgent under-voice.
“Drive him back, Dylan; I'm going to keep going. You can join me afterward. Or ⦠not,” she added, with a faint sorrow in her voice. “But you know where I'll be.”
He wanted to argue with herâHell, he wanted to
throttle
her. But what he did was smile at Seth as the boy got into the passenger seat.
throttle
her. But what he did was smile at Seth as the boy got into the passenger seat.
Up at the burned place with the conjureman, carrying things.
Dylan couldn't even begin to decode that. Maybe Truth knew. He watched her determinedly walking up the
road in the direction of the sanatorium for a long moment before he wrenched the wheel of the car savagely around, turning it back toward the general store.
Dylan couldn't even begin to decode that. Maybe Truth knew. He watched her determinedly walking up the
road in the direction of the sanatorium for a long moment before he wrenched the wheel of the car savagely around, turning it back toward the general store.
Drivingâand trying not to think about what Truth was doingâgave Dylan plenty of time to brood. He'd been a fan of Thorne Blackburn back when Truth had still been engaged in her postmortem parental feud. Thorne had never made any secret of his belief in his nonhuman parentageâbut then, most of Thorne's statements had been, by his own admission, lies told to inoculate his followers against blind belief. Dylan had never taken his claims seriously.
But Truth didâwhich meant she'd received something which passed, at least in her own mind, for proof. And, if Dylan were willing to trust the evidence of his senses, he'd seen her perform enough miracles in the last two years to constitute proofâof
somethingâ
for nearly anybody.
somethingâ
for nearly anybody.
The trouble was, Dylan
didn't
trust the evidence of his senses. Every ounce of training he had warned him not to do so.
“Your eyes can deceive youâdon't trust them,”
said the wizard in Star Wars, and even if it came out of a pop movie, it was still good advice. People trusting the evidence of their own eyes reported that Venus was a UFO and Elvis walked the earth today. There was nothing as untrustworthy as the human senses.
didn't
trust the evidence of his senses. Every ounce of training he had warned him not to do so.
“Your eyes can deceive youâdon't trust them,”
said the wizard in Star Wars, and even if it came out of a pop movie, it was still good advice. People trusting the evidence of their own eyes reported that Venus was a UFO and Elvis walked the earth today. There was nothing as untrustworthy as the human senses.
But they're all we have
, Dylan thought, wrenching his mind back to the present as he came in sight of the general store.
, Dylan thought, wrenching his mind back to the present as he came in sight of the general store.
It seemed as if she'd been walking forever. Like a sad ghost, Sinah wandered along trails that had become familiar over the months she'd spent here. She was not alone in her mind. She never had been, not from the day she'd been born, and even if the presences now weren't the minds of others, but only the scraps of ancestral memories and the more demanding presence of Athanais de Lyon, they were comforting in a weird way. Her own thoughtsâher own mindâwavered in and out like a weak radio signal, and they held no more answers than the thoughts of others did.
You should have killed her
, Athanais whispered, serpent-soft, in her mind.
, Athanais whispered, serpent-soft, in her mind.
“It wouldn't solve anything,” Sinah answered aloud. But surely the act would be an end in itselfâwhen she'd seen Truth finally pass out under the influence of the powdered pills she'd mixed with the jam, she'd felt a reflux of a purer joy than any she'd ever known, a pure delight in cruelty.
“No,” she said, this time answering unspoken urgings. That was not the person she wanted to be.
But what could she do?
Guard the GateâPay the
teindâ
Guard the Gate â¦
whispered the chorus of ancestral voices, but she could not guard it from the twentieth century, and in the quarter of a century since she'd been born, the twentieth century had finally arrived in Morton's Fork.
Guard the GateâPay the
teindâ
Guard the Gate â¦
whispered the chorus of ancestral voices, but she could not guard it from the twentieth century, and in the quarter of a century since she'd been born, the twentieth century had finally arrived in Morton's Fork.
Dr. Palmer and his team had come, for one thing, and now others would, too, just as Quentin Blackburn had eighty years before. Her great-great-grandmother Athanais had not stopped Quentin. She had only killed him, and with her own death, broken the bloodline so that her daughter received nothing but the obligation without knowledge.
Was that what had turned the fear of the locals first to anger, and, finally, to hate? That the Dellons no longer had the power to answer their pleas for help, though the sacrifices must go on? Sinah sat down on a fallen tree, for once indifferent to all the bugs that must be swarming beneath its rotting bark. It made so much sense. They hated the Dellons because the Wellspring had failed them. Since Athanais Dellon had died in 1917, the Wellspring only took, not gaveâthe sterile area around the sanatorium was proof of that. And the memories that clogged Sinah's mind were not true memories at allâonly the echoes of all of the bloodline who had gone to the Gate in their turn: her mother, her grandmother ⦠everyone that she could have loved.
And Wycherly?
No. He was far away from here by now. He'd gotten away. He was not going to be the bloodline's Great Sacrifice to the Wellspring.
Are you sure
? the voice of Athanais de Lyon asked with feline cruelty.
? the voice of Athanais de Lyon asked with feline cruelty.
And Sinah wasn't. All she was sure of was that she, Sinah Dellon, who'd had a charmed life and a charmed career, was going to be the last of the bloodline.
The one who failed once and for all time.
Despite the fact that in the world above it was still afternoon, by the time Wycherly made it to the bottom of the black staircase it was already night beside the Black Altar.
Wycherly moved forward cautiously toward the altar stone. If he fell holding the parcel he'd probably merely kill himself without doing any other damage. The flashlight didn't give him quite enough light to see his way, but for wholly mundane reasons. The taint that Wycherly had expected to face here had gone.
Disbelievingly, he put his left hand palm-flat on the altar top. He felt nothingâQuentin was gone.
It didn't really matter. Whatever monstrousness had infected Quentin Blackburn and kept him pinned here for generations had passed to Wycherly now. Quentin's book and Quentin's evil, and Wycherly to expiate the corruption as best he could.
Would blowing up the altar stone destroy ⦠whatever it was? He wasn't sure, but it was the best he could do. Shrugging off his confusion, Wycherly knelt beside the altar and opened the package, working awkwardly with only his left hand to rely on. The blasting caps lay in neat rows on their cardboard backing, and the fuse was an innocuous coil of string.
As he worked, he became conscious of the sound of running water. It was an annoying sound, making him think of deep black rivers and drowned women swimming through their depths. It threaded its way into his thoughts, breaking his concentration and forcing him to go back over the same motions over and over again.
Abruptly he was certain he knew where the sound came from. The cave, whose doorway he'd shied away from before,
must lead down to an underground river, not to a spring as he'd first thought. It was the only explanation. And now the river was rising for some reasonâhadn't there been a storm here a night or two ago?âand soon the water would come rushing out of the cave's mouth, sweeping him and all his work away.
must lead down to an underground river, not to a spring as he'd first thought. It was the only explanation. And now the river was rising for some reasonâhadn't there been a storm here a night or two ago?âand soon the water would come rushing out of the cave's mouth, sweeping him and all his work away.
Wycherly got to his feet, thinking vaguely of sandbags. The sound was so clear that he was surprised to see that the floor of the chamber was still dry, so maybe the water wasn't rising.
But why was it so loud?
Cautiously Wycherly got to his feet and began to move toward the opening in the rock wall beyond the altar. Slowly. As if he were stalking something.
She'd always been too impatient for her own good, Truth thought irritably, and today was the final proof. The bag over her shoulder was a dragging weight, and she wasn't entirely sure why she'd brought it with her. Habit, she supposed. The leftover toxins from her drugging weighed down her muscles, making every step an effort. Sweat trickled down her face and neck, making her clothing a soggy, chafing weight. She was probably going to fall on her face right here.
The sensible course of action would have been to go with Dylan to drop Seth back at his mother's house and then go on up to the sanatoriumâor even have Dylan drop her there first. But to be perfectly frank, she didn't trust Dylan not to come up with some new delaying actionâall perfectly reasonable, of course â¦
Stop it. Dylan isn't your enemy.
And at least Seth hadn't been the Gate's latest victim. Her honor was still clear. There was still time.
Truth gave up and stopped for a rest, pulling her shirttail out of her slacks to scrub her face dry. That was the troubleâthere were no villains here, only victims. Even Sinah who'd all-but-poisoned her, even Michael. Even Wycherly ⦠wherever he was.
And I hope that wherever it is, it's a long way from here. His sister's a psychic, and those things always run in familiesâalways! Whether he thinks he has any trace of talent or not, just his showing up at the Gate could trigger an event.
Truth tried to put those thoughts out of her mind. There was little she could do if he was there. He wasn't all that fond of her to begin withâTruth winced mentally as she recalled their last meetingâand it was unlikely he'd do anything she asked.
But would Sinah?
Oh, yes
, Truth promised herself, a wolfish grin pulling her mouth back in a lupine smile.
She fed me a Mickey Finn. I'm entitled to a bit of my own back for that. This time, she'll do what I want.
, Truth promised herself, a wolfish grin pulling her mouth back in a lupine smile.
She fed me a Mickey Finn. I'm entitled to a bit of my own back for that. This time, she'll do what I want.
By the time she reached the turnoff to the sanatorium it was twilight. Truth checked her watch: half an hour since she and Dylan had parted. It would have been only a matter of minutes for him to reach the general store again; if he were coming back at all, he would be here at any time.
She didn't know whether she wanted him to come back or not.
She stopped to rest again, gazing absently at the sanatorium gates. Her reactions were slowed with exhaustion; it took her a long moment to recognize what she was seeing.
Half of the sanatorium's iron gate had been ripped away.
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