Spirits in the Wires by Charles de Lint
The loa smiled. “See, the funny thing is, with all these spirits in the wires, the spiritworld’s starting to bleed into the Internet. I can see a time— and I’m talking months, not even years here—when it’s all going to be one big place.”
Robert shook his head. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Turn a blind eye if you want, but it’s already started.”
Robert looked away, past the bodies of the hellhounds still lying in the dirt, to where he could catch glimpses of the world beyond the mists that pressed up against the edges of the crossroads. He’d see a shantytown, then the mists would shift, open to show him a hillside grey with rain, shift again and there was a graveyard.
He turned back to the loa. “What is it you’re planning to ask me to do?”
“I just want to send a message,” the loa said. “Take down one or two of the bigger spirits setting up house. Let everybody know that contacts between the worlds should be going through me.”
“You’ve never had a monopoly on that sort of thing.”
“Maybe not. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with the world. Maybe we need a little bit of order put back into it.”
But Robert was shaking his head. “I’m not killing anybody—not for you, and especially not for my own gain.”
“You don’t even know the target.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Even when it was someone you were fixing to deal with anyway?”
Robert gave the loa a hard look. “What are you talking about?”
“The Wordwood spirit.”
“What makes you think I’m interested in him?”
The loa laughed. “What makes you think I don’t keep tabs on where you are and who you see? Oh, don’t get that look. I play fair. I’ve never set anybody on your trail. And I’m patient—I can wait till you die. But surely you didn’t think I wouldn’t pay any attention to the doings of my investment?”
“I’m still not killing anybody for you.”
The loa shrugged. “Did I use the word ‘kill’? Maybe I just want you to play the meanness out of him, like you did with the hellhounds. Send that spirit back to wherever he came from. All I need is to send a message. The Wordwood spirit doesn’t need to die for it to be understood.”
“Why’s he so important?”
“It’s not so much that he’s important,” the loa said. “He’s just so damn big.”
Robert shook his head.
“I don’t even need an answer,” the loa told him before he could speak. “You just think on what we’ve been talking about when you’re standing face to face with that spirit. Could be your need and mine will be the same. All I’m asking you to do is to consider it when the time comes.”
“I don’t know …”
The loa stood up, leaning on his cane.
“I’m not the bad guy,” he said. “People come to me and I’ve got no say in what they do with the help I give them.”
“I never said you were.”
The loa nodded. “Just so we’re clear on that. Remember, I didn’t come looking for you, back when.”
“I remember.”
The loa gave another nod. He tipped a bony finger to the brim of his hat and turned away. Faster than should have been possible with his slow gait, he disappeared into the mists.
Robert sat there for a long time before he finally got up himself. It was time he looked into what kind of trouble the others had gotten themselves into while he was gone, see if he could help out.
He paused by the hellhounds. The one who’d been calling himself Maman was starting to stir. Robert knelt beside him as the big man’s eyes fluttered open. He helped the hellhound sit up.
“Take it easy,” he said.
“Where … where am I?” Maman asked.
“At the crossroads,” Robert told him.
“But… how did I get here?”
Robert shrugged. “Don’t really know. I just came upon you and your friends, lying here in the dirt. Are you going to be okay?”
The big man lifted a hand to his head. “I can’t remember anything …”
Robert nodded. “How’s that feel?”
“It’s funny … it feels kind of good.”
One of the other men made a groaning sound.
“Maybe you should see to your friend,” Robert said.
When Maman turned to the other man, Robert stood up. He had stepped into the mists and disappeared by the time the big man looked back.
Christiana
That big eyelid lifts, the hidden gaze finds me, and it’s an impossible moment. It’s like a tree pulling up its roots to go walkabout. Like a mouth opening in a cliff face and speaking. Like a tidal wave rushing down the central concourse of a shopping mall on the commercial strip of some desert city. It already seems impossible enough that there could be the semblance of a man so immense—a giant statue, a land form in the shape of a sleeping man—but to know that he’s alive, that his attention can focus on you …
Saskia gasps inside my head. My own pulse jumps into overtime, but it’s not for the same reason that Saskia’s so shocked. I’m as amazed as she is that the giant man is alive and aware of us, but when that eye opens and his gaze meets mine, I also recognize him. Not who he is, but what he is.
The realization is almost overwhelming. My legs feel weak, knees like jelly. His gaze pulls me in, and I’m about to go falling into the strange and immense mind that lies behind the eye, when the lid slowly droops, closes once more.
I take a steadying breath. I still feel like I need to lean against something.
This is all wrong, I tell her.
That isn’t the Wordwood spirit.
I turn to the librarian. “That’s a pretty old spirit,” I say.
He nods. “And very powerful.”
No kidding.
“Is this how he always manifests?” I ask.
“Oh, no,” Librarius says. “As I told you before, until the virus struck, he was an invisible presence. He was everywhere.”
“And when the virus did strike?”
“First that body of water appeared, swallowing a few acres of the library. And then he came stumbling out of the water, dropping to the ground before he could get all the way up onto the shore. The impact when he struck was like a small earthquake. I was certain that the nearest bookcases were going to come tumbling down.”
I turn to look at the collapsed giant once more.
It’s a leviathan, I tell her.
I wish I had someone from the borderlands here to help me work this out. Mumbo or Maxie Rose. Or better yet, one of those scholars who would come to the parties at Hinterdale, clustered in gossiping coveys along the walls of the great ballroom in their black robes, arguing over obscure references that no one else would think of, and if they did, they wouldn’t care. But that’s exactly the kind of attention to detail I need right about now because I am so way out of my depth here.
No, no. The original leviathan are so much older, so much more incomprehensible than the word’s come to mean.
Think of how the world came into being.
The true version. How it was when Raven made the world.
&n
The leviathan gave Raven the means to make the world—pieces of… I’m not sure exactly what. Themselves, I guess. Or the places where they come from. Some kind of energy that can be shaped into anything.
Isuppose. But the leviathan don’t come from Heaven or Nirvana. They exist in some other place again. They’re pure spirit and they shouldn’t be here.
Yes, we call it that. And it is the place where people go when they dream, where spirits exist, but it’s still a corporeal place. The home of the leviathan is somewhere deeper still, beyond physical matter.
Something like that. More like something that lies sideways or above or below any world in which the physical can manifest.
As I’m talking, some of the conversations I’ve had with the Hinterdale scholars are coming back to me. It’s funny what you don’t realize you remember until the information comes slipping up on you in a situation such as this.
The point, I tell her, is that one of them shouldn’t be here.
I think of what Delian St. Cloud once told me when he and his brother Elwin were trying to explain the leviathan to me.
“If you should ever meet one,” Delian said, in that distinct voice of his, half the scholar, half the amused gadabout, “and believe me, that’s a thousand times less likely than Elwin acquiring a sudden penchant for women— you’ll know. You’ll just know.”
I remember thinking it was a cop-out at the time—that neither of them really knew—but I understand now. There aren’t words to describe what I met in this giant’s eyes. But before I can relate any of this to Saskia, I hear the whisper of movement behind me.
Turning, I see Librarius stepping up to us. Behind him Saskia’s body now lies on the floor beside one of those towering bookcases. Across the aisle from her is Jackson’s chair, also settled on the ground. Poor Jackson looks a mental mess, staring at the leviathan more goggle-eyed than ever. I feel bad that he’s got to go through all of this, tied up, on his own the way he is, but I can’t spare the time to babysit him at the moment. Not with the suspicion I see taking shape in Librarius’s eyes.
He tries to hide it, but I’m good at seeing through that sort of thing. Almost as good as I am at schooling my own features. I have such a good poker face that I can hardly ever get anyone together for a decent card game anymore.
“I learned something when the virus struck,” he says. “A trick if you will.”
I shake my head. “I’m not really interested. I’d rather know how you brought this spirit here.”
“I told you, he has always been here. It was only when the virus struck that he manifested into what he is now.”
“I don’t buy it.”
He shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter what you believe. The truth is I’ve decided that you’re not nearly as useful as I thought you might be. At least, not in your present condition.”
I guess the sudden appearance of a blue-gold aura should have been the tip-off, but it takes me a moment to realize that he’s starting up some spell. He begins to do something with his hands—the fingers twisting as he moves them through the air like some bad stage magician trying to distract you from what’s really going on. I start for him, ready to do some damage. I’ve gone all the way from being totally in awe of him to wanting to give him a good smack in the head. But I should have moved more quickly. He speaks a word in no language that I know and it’s like a lightning bolt strikes the top of my head.
I stand there vibrating, unable to move, every hair on my body standing on end, my eyes rolling back in my head. I feel like there’s a hand inside my chest, rummaging around, trying to grab my spirit and pull it out of my body.
And then I get it—what he meant about this trick he learned from the virus. He’s figured out how to remove the spirit without killing the body. I guess he watched how the virus short-circuited Saskia and drew only her body into this place.
But I can’t imagine what use he has for my body … unless …
Unless he needs one to get out of here. If he’s bound to this place, if he wants out…
And he does. I’m sure of it.
Saskia’s body wouldn’t work for him—originating as she did in the Wordwood—though I don’t doubt he tried to use hers first. Maybe that’s what that whole business with the glass coffin was all about. He must have been the prince that would give her the wake-up kiss, except she’d wake up with him inside her. The only reason he hadn’t gotten to her before was because of the virus. He had to deal with the virus first. And then, I guess, he found out that he couldn’t use her body.
But I’m different. I was born outside of the Wordwood and I didn’t change like everybody else did when I got pulled into the site. He’s probably thinking that I could be his ticket out.
There’s only one problem, but he doesn’t know it yet. There are two of us inside this body of mine.
But…
So while I continue to struggle with the spell that’s trying to rip me apart, she embraces it. There’s this moment of confusion inside my head, then the pressure eases on me. The spell grabs hold of her, retreating from my body, pulling her out with it.
Everything snaps back into focus, but I pretend the spell worked and slump gracelessly to the ground, trying to land so that I don’t get too hard a whack on my head. I shouldn’t have worried. Librarius actually has the decency to catch me before my head hits the ground. Guess he doesn’t want the goods damaged—not if he has to wear them.
He lowers me to the floor where I lie trying to figure out the best way to catch him off guard. I need a diversion and try to will Jackson to do something—anything—to attract his attention. But when the diversion comes, it’s from a completely unexpected source, though maybe I should have figured this would happen when Saskia was pulled free. My eyes are slits. Through my lashes I see Librarius turn when he hears Saskia stir. I’m thinking it’ll freak him, but it turns out he was expecting it.
“You see,” he says to her. “I’m not entirely cruel. If I was, I wouldn’t have provided your spirit with another place it can call home.”
I don’t know what Saskia’s doing. Is she sitting up, everything back to normal? Or is she disoriented, trying to get her bearings?
It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that she’s providing the diversion I need.
I open my eyes wide, then rise soundlessly to my feet once I see that the librarian’s back is to me. I guess this is where my boldness comes in handy. I don’t even stop to think, I move in close to him and kick him from behind, the toe of my boot going between his legs right into where it hurts.
And what do you know? He’s not a eunuch.
He doubles over and actually screams from the pain—not that I blame him. I kicked him hard, and I mean hard. But I’ll give him this. He’s not out for the count yet. Even hurting the way he is, that blue-gold aura of his starts to intensify. His fingers are still twitching. He’s trying to spit out a word.
Can’t let that happen.
I take down a nice heavy volume from the nearest shelf—an all-in-one volume of The Golden Bough, I note—and bash it against his head. It takes me three hits before he finally drops
“Are you okay?” I ask.
There’s no response except for a twitch of her lips. Her gaze tracks my voice, finds my face.
“You’re in there, right?” I ask. “And everything’s in working order?”
“G-give … me … a … minute …”
Her voice is raspy from disuse. I can tell that her vision’s still swimming.
“Take all the time you need,” I say.
I cross over to Jackson’s chair and start to work on the buckles of the straps holding him in place.
“How about you?” I ask as I work the straps free. “Think you can stand?”
“Don’t…know…”
He looks in bad shape, too, but I think he’s coming back around, the shock starting to wear off. I get the last of the straps undone and he sits there, massaging where they’d rubbed against his skin.
“Is he … is he dead?” he asks.
I don’t have to ask who.
“I don’t know,” I say.
I discover that the straps can be worked loose from the chair and I fuss with them until I’ve got all four free. I take them over to where Librarius is lying and set to work. I bind his wrists behind his back, then use another strap to bind his arms tight against his chest. The third goes around his legs. Tearing a piece of cloth from his shirt sleeve, I ball it up and stick it in his mouth, using the last strap to hold it in place.
“You think that can actually hold him?” Jackson asks.
I shrug. “Have you got a better idea? He seemed to need to move his hands and actually speak to get any magic done.”
“But you said he was a god.”
“No, I said he was a powerful spirit—like a god, but I was only using the word to give you some term of reference.”
“But even a powerful spirit…”
“I know, I know,” I tell him. “He’d still be way out of our league. But unless you can come up with something better, this is going to have to do.”
“Throw him in the lake,” Saskia says.
I turn to look at her. She seems all here now and back to normal— except for this sudden bloodthirsty turn of her mind. Maybe she’s been hanging around inside my head for too long.