Chapter 6
1005 Words
But Quint didn’t answer right away, only continued removing the wheel from his bike.
At last he said, “You had the same dream as I did. So, if you’re asking me—not only ‘no,’ but ‘hell, no.’” He used his screwdriver to lift the lip of the tire, then took hold of the inner tube. “Because something is coming, you said so yourself. And I got a feeling it’s not going to go well for us if we don’t get to the Garden of Oz before it does.” He pulled out the tube and discarded it. “Leastways that’s how I interpreted it.”
Miles looked up from the map, which they’d spread out on the road, raised an eyebrow. “You think they’re connected. That the dream and our destination are one in the same.”
Quint removed the new tube from its box and began fitting it around the wheel. “They’re both gardens; I mean, it stands to reason. More, I think it’s all connected to the Talon somehow and that it’s our job to get it to L.A.; get it there and, I don’t know, maybe take it to the center of that, that labia-thing you were talking about.”
“Labyrinth,” said Miles. “It’s a labyrinth.”
“Yeah, that.”
Miles and Jesse just looked at each other, then back to the map, even as I stood behind them and did likewise, casting no shadow.
“We could take Bodega Avenue at Petaluma, but then we’d have to backtrack all the way through here, all this farm country,” He ran his finger along the map, along its sectors and grids, for it was itself a labyrinth. “I’m afraid Quint’s right, we’d lose too much time.” He looked at the sky and that moving, churning Borealis. “And time is something we don’t have. He’s right about that, too.”
“Miles ... look,”
There was an iridescent glow and I circled around to see what it was. It was the talisman—shining like a light; burning like a green fire. Nor could I help but notice that it was the exact same hue as the sky.
The girl scanned their surroundings, suddenly mindful, suddenly alert. “But what does it mean? There’s nothing in sight.”
“I think it means that we need to get a move on and get to San Francisco, at least. Quint?”
And we all looked at him, at Quint. Or at least they did because I’d become so transfixed by his wheel, which he’d put back onto the bike and spun. By that whirling, flashing disk, like a rapidly rotating spiral. By that chrome circle, which shined like the Round Table of old.
––––––––
It was like a scene from Camelot, or Excalibur, complete with a round table with a polished top—which reflected the polished armor of the men seated around it—and a stunning view of Lake Coeur d"Alene, which glittered in the sun. There was even a grand balcony from which to view it; a balcony I haunted like an ashen specter as the men below debated furiously and King Galaren—who was a young king, a newly-ascended and inexperienced king, called for order.
“Enough, I say! Enough! Everyone has spoken save the one we need to hear from the most. Mercurius, I call on you to address the court.”
And then a hush fell over the room as the one man not in armor; a severely underweight, wizened little man in a brown robe and—I swear to God—pointy hat, stood and scanned the assembly.
“Yes—well. I, ah, may it please the court that, ah, I have come prepared to do so. And let me just say that your spirited debate has, ah, reminded us of what a round table is all about, which is that there is no head, only equals. Now, then: As to my opinion on the matter at hand. Well. Let me just start by saying that—will all due respect to Sirs Michael of the Fire and Serle of the Blade, and to you, Lady Emeline, I mean no offense, truly—let me start by saying that all our efforts thus far regarding the vision and its meaning have been—in my opinion—not just wrong, but dangerously wrong, and that if we continue to view it as some riddle to be solved and not the summons it rightly is, we risk losing everything we have worked so hard for and sought to—”
“They summon us to our deaths!”
“If summons it be, let us disregard it ...”
“It’s a trap, set by them. They want us to finish ourselves off.”
“To walk right into the darkness!”
“Nay, nay, let him speak,” said the king, gesturing with his ringed fingers.
“Very well,” said Mercurius, “They—the Sky Walkers, the very architects of the Flashback, they want us to walk into the darkness, as you say. I don’t doubt it. But they and the vision are two different matters. As for the latter, we don’t yet know its source or indeed what it’s trying to tell us; only that it may be saying one of two things: Walk into the darkness—or answer the summons to prevent a darkness. Whichever way you interpret it, one thing is clear: the darkness is coming. It is even now gathering like a storm. And we—as a people, as a kingdom, as shining Ambergard on the Lake!—are going to have to decide just what it is we intend to do about it.”
“Why, we should do nothing, of course. There is no storm here; the skies are clear!”
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