Again, the cigarette was unfiltered, and a little shorter than those of which he had seen pictures. He didn’t personally know anyone with a nicotine prescription, but one could still find a bootlegger here or there smuggling Oaxacan tobacco. Rumor had it that a few outlaw “Smokies” still grew the precious leaf up in Oregon, in patches disguised as marijuana fields.
They lit, and exhaled. Once again the smoke streamed up toward the roof, but this time it congealed above Eviane’s head as well as Snow Goose’s. A glowing image formed.
Martin the Arctic Fox was kneeling before a foam-plastic crate. They could hear him chanting, and though they could not understand, it was clear what he was doing. For several seconds they watched him negotiating with the Inua of a score of cans of corned beef. Then his head jerked up and his leathery face crinkled in delight.
“Snow Goose! You still live?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Have you made any progress? How many of the strangers still survive?”
“We’ve only lost one,” Snow Goose said, “and Eviane is still with us as my tornrait. Daddy, we have warred with the sins on Sedna’s scalp and defeated them, but they must still be combed away.”
“You didn’t stay to-?”
“No, Daddy, we’re warriors, not barbers! Our people may need help to attack the Cabal. Will you take care of Sedna? It’s really your job.”
“Yes, I must dress her hair while others fight,” Martin said glumly. “Carry on, daughter. Well done.” He faded.
Snow Goose rubbed her palms together briskly. “Well. That’s that.”
The tension in the air slackened. Johnny Welsh coughed politely. “I don’t want to interrupt the reunion, but my stomach is about to sue me for nonsupport. Do you think we could get some food?”
There was a sharp popping sound, like a vacuum tube imploding. Suddenly, another vision misted the air.
It wasn’t of malevolent Cabal members, though. It was a beautiful woman whose long, straight black hair fanned out in an ethereal halo.
Sedna. She smiled on them through full lips. “My children,” she said, and each word had, not the bubbling sound he would have expected, but a lush, hushed woman’s voice.
“You have freed me from my bondage. You have justified my faith in you. Though you were of another culture, you are joined in a dance with us. Though you unknowingly sinned, you have repented-what is in your hearts will determine your fates.
“The Cabal awaits you. You have freed me, but they have gained great power, and still hold the Raven in thrall. They will be all the more dangerous now that they know you are strong enough to thwart them. You must be careful.
“Somewhere out over the ice is the next challenge, your penultimate test.”
Sedna’s face wavered, and in its place there appeared a strange vista. It seemed to be a mountainous island. No, not a mountain. What Max had seen as a natural formation was an endless network of slabs of ice set against one another at crazed, impossible angles.
Kevin shook his head in disbelief; but Max was more disturbed by Eviane’s gasp of recognition. Her eyes were fixed, staring. He took her hand: it was rigid.
“Here is your challenge,” Sedna said. “There will be dangers both physical and psychic. My own energy is taken with healing. I can give you one gift. I can return to life one who has suffered in your service, one who died, and even through death served you.
“Rise, Eviane.”
A nimbus of pale light played around Eviane. Her mouth opened in a surprised “0.” The other Adventurers stared. Eviane began to shake. Then the light faded, and Eviane stared at her hands in amazement.
Max prodded her with a sturdy forefinger. “Yep. All meat. No filling.”
Sedna’s full lips smiled warmly. “Rise, living woman. Restored to your compatriots, restored to life, still you have seen beyond the veil of death. The power of foresight is yours, now and forever. Rise, Eviane, restored to hope, to love. Rise.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Gotcha!”
Max ducked, too late. The snowball hit him in the side of the head, exploding in a burst of fluff.
“Point!” one of the two judges called. The judges were unusual. They looked like snowmen: more the Frosty than the Abominable variety. Complete with carrot noses and black top hats, the two odd creatures had appeared at the beginning of the evening break, and led the Gamers on a whistling march to a mountain concealing a network of ice caves. Inside the cave was a suspiciously warm spring, and a banquet of fresh fruit, vegetables, hot breads, and lean proteins.
After the meal most of the Adventurers had been coaxed back into the bracing cold for a little game.
With the glowing sky above them, the vast expanse of arctic plain surrounding them, and the specter of tomorrow’s destruction before them, the Gamers had adopted very much of a “Tomorrow we die” air, and engaged in the greatest snow war of all time.
Johnny Welsh wouldn’t play; he didn’t like things hitting him in the face. Orson wouldn’t play; it just didn’t sound like fun. Max no longer found that surprising, but it still bothered him. Those two watched from the sidelines, looking obscenely comfortable.
There were two trenches twenty feet apart, with low parapets of snow. Max, Eviane, and Trianna manned the battlements. Behind them crouched Hebert and Kevin. Together they composed the Reds, a gang of desperados if ever there was one.
They sucked frigid air, dizzy with exhaustion. A few minutes earlier they had repulsed an all-out assault by the Blues.
They had Charlene on defense, and although she had to stop every few minutes to massage her knees, she was actually quite good. She couldn’t run anymore, but dogged practice had given her fair control of a snowball, and indecently high speed. Her first attempts were hilarious; her reflexes didn’t know which way gravity went.
Kevin threw himself into the game with maniac zeal which was already beginning to flag. He had no reserves at all.
The Blues were headed by Hippogryph. Max had experienced firsthand the full brunt of the man’s tactical brilliance (“The Cabal!” Hippogryph screamed. When Kevin turned his head to look, pop.)
— and his courage: hiding behind a shrieking Charlene, approaching under a white flag to strike swiftly and devastatingly. Max decided that he didn’t like the man. The only reasonable course was assassination.
“Kevin?”
Kevin was winded, and flushed from where a snowball had brushed the end of his nose, followed a moment later by a dinosaur-killer that exploded on his parka. The skinny computer-warrior wasn’t going to be much use much longer.
The situation was grim.
“We have to lure that son of a bitch out,” Max said.
“How?” Pant pant. “Got any ideas?” Pant.
“Well, he already used the white flag, so that’s no good. What about single combat?”
“What?”
“I remember reading about a form of Eskimo single combat. I could challenge him. If it looked like I was losing, you could bomb him.”
“Why do you think he’d go for that? You’re bigger than he is.”
Max grinned. “Yeah-but I think he’s Dream Park Security. if he is, he’s well trained. He won’t be intimidated by size.”
Eviane nodded. “Sounds good.” Her face clouded for a moment. “Are you sure we have guards posted? I like playing-”
“We’re on break-” Kevin started.
Max shut him down with a wave. Stay in character. “I’ve got Johnny and Orson keeping an eye out for the Cabal. We need the relaxation.”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure.” Eviane seemed vague.
“So what’s got you so worried?”
“I feel blind. I still get glimpses of the future, Max, from back when I was dead. But I don’t remember any of this.”
Trianna and Kevin tried not to roll their eyes too obtrusively.
The two snowmen referees looked somewhat like fluffy white Gumbies. One waddled over to the Red team’s walls and intoned, “The score is twenty-four to twenty-four. The rules allow for an extension of the play period, or you can go for sudden death.”