Part 6 (1/2)

I shook my head. ”Not specifically. I've never been down to First World or run into a skinwalker before. It's been centuries since I've had to deal with any sort of Native American magic. I've been hiding in cities to stay away from the Fae, and all the shamans or holy men are hiding out on the reservations.”

”When was the last time you dealt with any?”

”Well, there was this rain G.o.d of the Maya who gave me a bit of trouble.”

”The Maya! Do you know what happened to them?”

”Not for certain, but they might have left this plane. They had a priest who could do it. But this is a completely different belief system,” I said, waving back at the hogan, ”and so the rules of the magic are different as well. If I wanted to work up something to ward specifically against a skinwalker, I'd have to confront it first and see the pattern of it in the magical spectrum. General wards against magic from another plane may or may not work. And that's the problem with wards, Granuaile.” I figured I might as well embrace the teachable moment. ”You can't ward against everything, and sometimes the bad guys will win through or around it despite your best efforts. So you know what happens in that case?”

”The bad guys win?”

”What, automatically? Getting past your wards means you're instant toast?”

”Well, no, I'd fight first.”

”Exactly. You fight. The problem is you don't know how.”

Granuaile huffed, her pride wounded. ”I've taken some kickboxing lessons.”

I grinned at her. ”Ah, you have? Bring it.” I set myself in a defensive stance.

My apprentice scowled at the idea. ”You'll use magic.”

”I promise I won't. Not even a little-”

She didn't lack for initiative. She pivoted and shot a kick at my gut before I finished the sentence. I pivoted as well and her toes grazed my belly, no more. I knew she was the athletic sort, but I hadn't seen her exert herself until now. She was fast. Lunging in, I socked her in the stomach before she could recover and she staggered back, wheezing. I didn't press my advantage, and she didn't seem eager to continue.

”You know a bit more than kickboxing, don't you?” she said.

I nodded. ”Considerably more. We could do the whole Pai Mei thing if you want, but I'd rather not hurt you and I don't have the flowing white beard to pull it off respectably.”

If I grow out the hair underneath my chin until I look like Pai Mei, will you brush it to keep it silky yet intimidating?

It will drag on the ground and get dirty every time you go to smell something or eat. It will be a mess.

Oh. Good point.

Thank you. Hound 4, Druid 3.

Aplicated than I expected.

To a Druid's eyes, all magic, regardless of origin, is an exercise in binding and unbinding. Other systems differ from Druidry in what they're able to bind and how, and usually they call on different energies from Gaia's, but all those circles and pentagrams and sacrifices accomplish a binding of some sort. Customarily there is a religion involved and a generous helping of faith. Shamanistic systems, like those of many Native American faiths, often seek to bind people more closely to the spirit world for healing and protection or else unbind them from the influence of a malign spirit. I find them all fascinating and a little bit scary, because, except for my own shape-s.h.i.+fting-which involves my own spirit-I have no influence on the spirit world. A Druid's bindings are physical. But what Frank was doing was occurring almost entirely on the spiritual level.

My suspicion that everyone would play a part in the ritual was confirmed; whether they knew it or not, whether they were actively partic.i.p.ating or not, some portion of their energy, their spirit, was contributing to the protection of the hogan. It took no effort on their behalf; Frank was gathering it, channeling it, and redirecting it, and he was doing this through his singing and his sandpainting. Since I had never seen this ceremony performed by any other hataaii hataaii, I didn't know if it was normal-but I suspected Frank might be in a league of his own. In my sight, the energy flowed from the others in multicolored undisciplined globs toward Frank's sandpainting, and then it flowed outward from there as fine white rays of light. These rays shot toward the base of the walls. The ceremony wouldn't be complete until the fourth day, according to Frank, but his preliminary songs during construction and his current singing was already energizing a rudimentary protection along the base-and a good thing too. Oberon, who was inside with us, barely had time to warn me before the attack began. I was about to pop open a can of liquid sugar when his ears p.r.i.c.ked up and he growled. in multicolored undisciplined globs toward Frank's sandpainting, and then it flowed outward from there as fine white rays of light. These rays shot toward the base of the walls. The ceremony wouldn't be complete until the fourth day, according to Frank, but his preliminary songs during construction and his current singing was already energizing a rudimentary protection along the base-and a good thing too. Oberon, who was inside with us, barely had time to warn me before the attack began. I was about to pop open a can of liquid sugar when his ears p.r.i.c.ked up and he growled.

Hey, Atticus, something's coming- A b.e.s.t.i.a.l feline scream rent the night and a crunching impact shuddered the north wall of logs, rattling the roof and eliciting more than a few curses of surprise. It was quickly followed by another impact directly behind where I was standing, which enveloped me in a cloud of sawdust and shot splinters into my back.

Chapter 7

As any war veteran will tell you, there is a vast difference between preparing for battle and actually facing battle for the first time. You can be told that reading Victor Hugo will sap your will to live, but you can't understand what that means until you've read a few chapters and your eyes have glazed over and someone has to revive you with a defibrillator. Sophie and the six crewmen might have understood intellectually that skinwalkers possessed superhuman strength and speed, but to see it in action freaked them out a little bit. The creatures had nearly punched through the walls on their first try.

Frank Chischilly cast a pleading eye over at Sophie and kept singing. He couldn't stop what he was doing without stopping the flow of magic; he had to keep singing, had to keep sandpainting.

”Keep on with the ceremony!” she bellowed. ”Join in, help Frank where you can. It is our best defense.” They nodded, and some of them offered up their voices along with Frank when they knew the words; the choruses were repet.i.tive.

Any idea what's outside? I asked Oberon. I asked Oberon.

Smells like some kind of cat. But they smell wrong somehow.

I turned around, thinking I would ask Coyote, only to discover that he wasn't in the hogan at all. Come to think of it, the last time I remembered seeing him was right after I told him off. discover that he wasn't in the hogan at all. Come to think of it, the last time I remembered seeing him was right after I told him off.