The Summoner's Sigil Page 5
“About her… I didn’t want to disturb your Uncle during his mourning period, but Miss Delia Lumberghast is dead.”
I wasn’t expecting that. She had been a good person, helping others through their time of grief. Of course, there was the occasional stalker who would hound her in order to contact a loved one repetitively, but she always gave as much as she could. But she might have taken on more work than was realistic in order to fund her drinking problem.
“How did she die?” I asked.
“It seems that foul play had its hand in it,” he replied.
“The reasons for her death were most likely derived from natural causes, versus murder. Everyone knew she had hardening of the liver for years now.”
Ghosts were simply people without electrons. When bodies died, a process occurred where the mitochondria in cells would go through a nuclear chain explosion, releasing electrons in a cataclysmic meltdown. Then when people’s spirits didn’t have this dimension’s electrons to keep them inside their body, they would pass through the dimensions until they reached the ghost realm. I’ve been told by accomplished Tomb Talkers that most spirits in the ghost realm really liked it there, and it could be difficult to persuade them to come back for a visit.
We stopped just inside the gate guarding our property. Soon we would be on the road to my house by the lake. I hated to admit it, but I was intrigued by the information he had told me thus far, even if I wasn’t going to help him.
So I pulled all the way around in order to face him and said, “I have not decided to join you in your cause, but you may continue to talk to me of this at our next stop. I so dislike trying to understand people during a good gallop.”
“Understood. I’ll stay a clip behind you, as I know neither the terrain nor the path to your Grandfather’s house.”
“It’s my house now.” I drew my heels in hard and then we were off towards the Red Forest.
Chapter 4
The Red Forest
Rule number nine: Never write sigils in the dark.
We rode over the hills and around the marshes for about two hours when we came to a watering hole next to an old mining shaft. My time with Wendy had seasoned me to a life of adventure, and now I wondered if I could ever settle down long enough in any one place to call it home. Grandfather was right about one thing, a Summoner’s life was best spent on the road less travelled. It was just that there were thousands of such roads in the Republic.
Mother had packed a picnic for us, which was further proof she was happier shoving us out of Rose Glen than having us remain in close proximity to her. We were just two fewer Users to accidentally embarrass her when the occasional neighbor came for a visit. She never minded Uncle Charles or Aunt Verna being Users, but their abilities were of the most mundane varieties.
Charles was a Hostler, but he could only speak to horses, mind to mind. Aunt Verna was a Textilest, so she could take fibers and connect them in numerous manners for a variety of purposes. Her eyesight had been better than anyone I had ever known. She could read a thread count quicker than a sharpshooter could raise a pistol in a gunfight.
Still, both were pretty low on the User spectrum, more like parlor tricks than anything, which was why Mother tolerated them. Aunt Verna’s skill was clearly an acceptable User skill for a female in her eyes, and Uncle Charles could calm any spooked horse on a hunt or during a competition. Both abilities proved useful to her.
After I spread out the blanket from the basket on a rock, I next set the sandwiches, pecans, and apples upon it. I fed one each to our horses. Mr. Townsend’s horse was tentative at first. I took a bite out of the apple and then fed the smaller piece to him. He licked it up, and once he tasted it, he took the rest of the apple and chomped it down in no time.
“Tenebris likes you,” Mr. Townshend said.
“He seems amiable enough.”
“He’s not to everyone.”
“How old is he?”
“Five.”
“He’s still so young. Has he had a bad experience?”
“No,” he replied definitively as he stroked his horse’s mane. He led him away from a particularly marshy patch, and then tied him off to a pine tree. “I wouldn’t think the water table would allow a mining facility here,” he commented.
“Where there is Loridium, they seem to find a way to get to it.”
“What is Loridium?” Calidum asked, between bites of eating a sandwich. Suddenly my little demon had developed a taste for human food. Perfect.
“It is a rare earth element that can make the unstable nuclei in certain radioactive elements stable. People can then use those elements in creating components for industrial use and scientific experimentation, but anything else is beyond me,” I replied.
“They also use it in contraptions that create mood stimulators, telescopes, and quanta whiteboxes,” Colin added. So the man liked his science, but so did half of the Republic.
“If you only freelance your services for dangerous assignments, what do you normally do?” I asked.
“I work in the Library of Congress.”
He had my complete attention now. “How exactly did you get picked to help in an assignment with demons?”
“Currently, we only suspect demons, or at the very least some sort of Summoner or Necromancer activity. We simply don’t know enough to determine exactly what is causing the outbreak.”
“Concerning that, shouldn’t they have set up a quarantine around the area in question, in case it is infectious?”
“I believe they have recently deployed a unit to do just that. In any case, it has not infected many… yet,” he hedged.
“What’s your real ability? Why are you really here in the bogs of Louisiana Mr. Librarian?”
“I’m a Terrologist.”
I stared at him. Terrologists were extremely rare. The only one I had ever known was Madam Whitehill, the former Chancellor of the Republic chapter of the Agora organization. It was one of the reasons why she was appointed to that position. Terrologists were able to see connections between people. How they related to one another, how they fit together. Some of them could see professional connections, others could see emotional ones, and still more could see potential or past connections between people. What could he see?
“And you have been officially classed as a class ten Summoner, but potentially, could become much more,” he said as he pointed to his own eye that mirrored my milky one. I frowned and grabbed one of the sandwiches.
“You better grab one of these, Mr. Townsend, if you want one. Calidum might finish off the whole basket while we are gabbing away.”
“You mean I can’t have the rest of them?” Calidum asked.
“No,” I replied as I pulled out one of the crawfish salad ones.
Mr. Townsend came over and grabbed one for himself before sitting down on the soggy ground.
“I wouldn’t sit down there if I were you. There are grass lice and vampire worms to contend with.” While the vampire worms did not suck blood, they did have a preference for spinal fluid.
He stood abruptly and dusted off his pants. Then he came over and sat next to me on the rock.
“Do you have an oiled cloak in your saddlebags Mr. Townsend?”
“I do. Mr. Halifast told me I might need one. He is the new head of the Internal Affairs Division.”
“Good, now go and put it on. You’ll also need a resplug for when we enter the Red Forest.” I took my cloak out to drape around myself.
“You never did answer my original question. Why is it called the Red Forest?”
“Despite the large quantity of people who have died there, the entire forest is covered in toxic red mold. When the horses ride through it, they will disturb it, making them throw off spores. If we were exposed long enough to it, it would kill us. You do have a resplug on you, don’t you?”
He slipped one out from under his shirt. It was situated on a roughneck leather necklace. Then he asked, “What about the horses?”
“Oh my, I’ve only seen pictures of these.” They had been used in the wars, especially the ones where hallucinogenic gases had been used, as if the Illusionists weren’t bad enough. In response, years of genetic breeding made most instances of horses needing a respirator obsolete, but this was not one of those times.
“Besides, through the Red Forest is the only way by land to reach the lake house,” I told him.
“I take it that the house is well protected.”
“Oh, there are still a great number of monsters that can invade it by water,” I told him. “Like draugs or loups.”
“Are you committed to living in such a dangerous place?” he asked.
“If you hadn’t noticed, I wasn’t exactly welcomed by my family. Besides, why don’t you tell me more about these demons that act more like a virus than a demon,” I replied. “That sounds far more interesting than talking about myself.”
He stared at me for a full minute, squinting his eyes, and then he finally said, “I will guard you if you want to try and contact him.”
“Who?”
“Your grandfather.”
I licked my lips, pursed them together, and cocked my head slightly before ultimately replying, “Calidum can guard me.”
“Silly man,” Calidum said, “Can’t you see she doesn’t want to talk about it with you.”
“I’ve been called dense on more than one occasion,” he said wryly, “But never silly.”
“He works in the Congressional Library Calidum. They don’t let fools run amok in that place,” I said. “Do they?”
He pushed the bronze nose bridge of his glasses up and said, “I suppose not.”
“And the President did pick you for this assignment. She must think highly of you,” I said flatly. It really was none of my concern, but I could feel my resolve weakening. I finished adjusting the mask on my mare and then went over to his stallion to put on its respirator apparatus.
“Do you want to do this or shall I?” I asked him.
“I’m not sure how it goes on his head, since there are a great many straps. Why don’t you do it? You’ll be quicker, and he’ll be less likely to fight it.”
As I was adjusting it, I said quietly, “You certainly don’t seem a fool to me.”
“What is Neverland like?”
“Unpleasant for the most part, but I am hopeful that it has been changed for the better, but only time will tell. How often have other assignments brought you out of your library?”
“This is my first time out of D.C.”
“They must keep you on a tight leash,” I said.
“You have no idea,” he said with more meaning than I thought the comment warranted.
“Is this mainly a recruitment assignment for you then?”
“I think not.” Tenebris began prancing and he said, “He doesn’t like the device on his face, let’s be on our way before he does decide to buck me.”
“Calidum,” I called over to the fire demon. Never being one to talk much, he jumped up on my shoulders and settled across them for the rest of the ride.
···•Ͽ Ѡ Ͼ•···
After we crossed the fifth hillock, the Red Forest came into view and we inserted our resplugs. There were always several false entrances that perpetually changed, so I rode my horse hard to the left, since that was where the only true entrance was supposed to be. A long time ago, before Grandfather had been born, one of our ancestors implanted a singing ring, so we wouldn’t have to use a gyrocompass to find the entrance’s true location.
Mr. Townshend pulled his horse next to me and asked, “What is that noise?”
I slowed my horse to a complete stop and listened. All I could hear was the wind whistling through the valleys and the shifting white noise of the breeze sifting through the forest’s foliage.
“I don’t hear anything.”
He frowned and said, “I must have been mistaken, my apologies. How much farther until we enter the forest?”
I squinted my normal eye, and tried to use the milky one to tell if we were close. My consciousness zipped through space and time, and instead of finding the singing ring, I saw a band of thieves hiding in the forest. When I came back to myself, I found myself in Mr. Townsend’s arms.
“How long have you been holding me on the ground?”
“Only a moment, so you don’t have to worry about the vampire lice and grass worms.”
I snickered and said, “It is vampire worms and grass lice, remember?”
He smiled a lopsided grin and said, “Yes, that.” Something told me that he had purposefully mixed them up to bring some levity to our situation. He stood up and brought me with him, which was no easy trick. Then he set me down, so I stood next to him.
“Did I fall off my horse?” I asked.
“You did and Calidum took off that way,” he replied as he pointed in a northerly direction that we also needed to go.
“That’s all right. I’m not worried about him,” I said as I brushed myself off. “Thanks for helping me.”
“It was fortunate that my horse was directly abreast to yours, or I wouldn’t have been able to grab you. What happened? Are you prone to passing out or having seizures?”
“No, I’m not. However, do you have a firearm on your person?” I asked him.
“I have a revolver in one of my saddlebags. Why do you ask?”
“Robbers have been known to hide out in these woods waiting for unwary travelers,” I lamely replied. He listened to my warning as he helped me back into my saddle.
“In that case, I probably won’t need it,” he said as he swung himself onto his own horse. What did he mean by that?
I watched his horse as it trotted towards the singing circle. I followed behind him until we finally reached the rings about ten minutes later. It was really a series of circles made mostly of Yttrium, which had been charged by Geomancers. The ten circles were turned in different directions so they could catch the wind. Regardless of the direction it might have been blowing, you could hear its soft whistling from half a mile away. Was that the noise he had been hearing, and if it was, how had he heard it from two miles away?
“I’ve only read about these. They are not very common, are they?”
“No, some say it is a lost art. Look over there, I can see the path,” I said while pointing to a narrow and sandy trail.
“So we shouldn’t worry about Calidum finding his way to us?”
“No,” I said quietly, but knowing him, he was probably scouting out a great vantage point to view the upcoming show.
Mr. Townsend smirked and then resumed his lead position into the woods. I said, “I don’t think you should go first.”
“Why ever not?” he asked, blatantly ignoring me by remaining in front of me. I retrieved my pistol from my bag.
“I have a bad feeling about today’s journey through the forest,” I said evasively. Then I asked, “Do you have a Westinghouse?” It was a ray gun of sorts that could spindle the electromagnetic pulses from the earth and concentrate them into a burst of electricity. Their only real downside was that the ray didn’t always go where you want it to, and it took minutes to recharge for a second chance.
“No, I don’t bother much with weapons. Not really trained for it.”
“Swords?”
“No,” he replied and then chuckled to himself.
The lake house was situated far enough away from the forest so none of the gaseous dust made it there, which was pivotal for the fish in the lake. I was counting on the store of dried and canned food in the root cellar to tide us over until I could arrange for a food delivery. What my mouth was really watering for was a fish fry, but that would be impossible today, but maybe for tomorrow.
I kept my gaze carefully on the surrounding forest. Only the upper canopy was unaffected by the mold, allowing the trees to continue their growth cycle.
The ground floor should have had an unobstructed view, but the spores were so thick today, it was like a perpetual fog bank. There was a reason why the Louisiana Territory hadn’t become a state yet. Clearing out this mess would cost a mint.
Suddenly a bolt arrow pierced my horse’s neck, and I was thrown off of her. I hit the ground with a hard thump and then the horse took off down the path. Mr. Townshend allowed it to pass him, and then he jumped off his steed.
After he smacked its hindquarters so it ran away from us too, heading down the path to the house, he told me, “Stay low. I’ll be back in a minute. Try not to get any worm bites while I’m gone.” Then he ran off to our left, where the direction of the bolt had been shot. I kept my gaze to the right, because chances were some of them were probably on that side as well.
I grabbed a stick from the underbrush and started to draw a circle beside me in the dirt. My plan was to summon a little bit of help from the sixth dimension. Before I could complete the summoning, another metallic bolt landed just outside my circle. To my left, I heard some cracking of wood followed by some grunting. To the right, I heard someone pulling back the hammer of a pistol just before hearing someone else say in a low, gruff voice, “Say do you think that it is Colin Townsend?”
Next, I saw Mr. Townshend running across the road in a blur to where I had heard the voice originate.
“Because if it is, his number’s up.” I next heard bullets being fired, but had no time or patience to use my eye, even though I was dying to know what was happening.
I took out my gun as I started chanting, and then Mr. Townshend was back again. Apparently, it was all over. Only a little bit of blood splattered the front of his shirt, but other than that, he didn’t even look winded. His glasses weren’t even crooked.
“It’s over now,” he told me.
“How many were there?”
“Three.”