“And so it is we turn to you, Baba Yaga,” Gwrtheyrn said in formal tones. His voice took on the cadence of one about to invoke the Old Rites: magic and tradition that bound as tightly as any chains.
Beka glanced wildly around the beach, as though some miracle might come dashing through the fog to carry her off, out of the danger of obligations she might not be able to fulfill. But none was forthcoming.
Boudicca laid one long-fingered hand over Gwrtheyrn’s, and their heavy gazes filled with the magnitude of their request. The temperature on the beach seemed to drop, and Beka shivered.
“We ask, Baba Yaga, that you undertake the task of discovering the cause of this mysterious illness that afflicts our lands and our peoples, and if it is possible, cure it. Find a way for us to return to our homes before it is too late and the air dwellers discover us.”
The Queen’s mellifluous voice rang with the power behind her words. It was a Baba Yaga’s job to maintain the balance of the elements, if she could. In this day and age, that was nearly impossible, but if someone who knew enough to ask requested a Baba’s help, and made the correct bargains, tradition insisted the task be undertaken.
As if hearing her thoughts, the King added, “We promise you three boons, should you accomplish this difficult undertaking. A boon for you, a boon for a friend, and a boon for a stranger, should you find one such in need of our aid. These things we promise.”
Boudicca repeated after him, “These things we promise.” And then they said it together, “These things we promise. And so the bargain is made. And so shall it be done.”
A chime rang through the air, as clear as though the stars above had all rung like bells in unison. Beka felt the magic tremble down from her head to her toes, touching her essence and wrapping the invisible strands of destiny around her with a silken inevitability.
“I will do my best,” she answered them, bowing again. And was glad they could not hear the tiny voice, far down inside, that said, But will your best be good enough? Or will you fail all these people, dooming their races to death?
* * *
CHARLIE KELLY WATCHED from the edge of the road as his driver backed the anonymous white van oh-so-carefully down to the decrepit-looking dock. It wouldn’t do to have an accident with the current cargo aboard. Charlie wasn’t exactly holding his breath as the tires ground their methodical way down to the abandoned cannery, but he didn’t breathe deeply again until the van came to a gentle halt.
The moon overhead cast a welcome light over the Stygian darkness; no doubt the reason why his contact had insisted they meet tonight. Charlie hated all this cloak and dagger crap, but under the circumstances, he didn’t have much choice.
There were too many people depending on him, and all those damned government regulations and budget cutbacks were forcing him to take drastic measures in order to prevent mass layoffs that would compromise the safety of the plant he ran. This was really the only way to cope—people kept their jobs, he kept his year-end bonus, and nobody got hurt.
Hell, it was practically a public service, the way he saw it. And it was perfectly safe, no matter what anyone said; the containers were tightly sealed and the ocean was huge. It wasn’t as though anything one guy did could really affect it. Everything would be fine. As long as he didn’t get caught.
Which was why he and his two most trusted guys were the only ones who knew about this little cost-cutting measure. Them and the man they were here to meet, that is.
Charlie peered into the distance, finally hearing the sound he’d been waiting for. The muffled thrum of a powerful engine running at the lowest speed possible barely disturbed the silence of the empty site. A large speedboat, painted a black so deep it blended with the night, eased up next to the dock and slid to a stop so smoothly it barely caused a ripple in the water. An equally dark figure jumped lightly onto the splintered wood dock and had a rope slung loosely around a crooked post before Charlie could even take a step forward.
“You’re late,” Charlie said in a low growl. There was something about the diver he’d hired that just set his teeth on edge, although he could never put a finger on exactly what it was.
But it hadn’t been easy to find someone willing to drag a bunch of unmarked containers down into the Monterey Trench where they would be out of harm’s way and safe from discovery. In fact, the guy had actually found him, although how he’d known that Charlie was looking to hire someone, the diver had never quite gotten around to explaining.
Arrogant son of a bitch, and tight-lipped to boot. Of course, for Charlie, the latter was a quality he needed in the person he hired, and outweighed the first, so he just put up with the man.