Chapter Thirty-Nine
Sunday meant pack breakfast, but the media mob outside had grown a lot overnight, and was back to unruly. What had set them off I wasn't sure, and from a scan of various networks neither were they, but there hadn't been further European developments, nothing distracting had happened, Elder Spirits and the Boss rewriting a classic were top of the news cycle, and they wanted me to feed them more even though they'd barely begun to digest what they had. Any which way they were a menace, and with yet more being restive outside St Paul's the KPD were stretched. More than one of the pack cried off breakfast, saying tailbacks were affecting East Riek Road, and those who did make it used South Finley and came up Meals Road, a long way round. Something had to be done, and after discussions with Secret Service guys and KPD got nowhere, thanks to freedom of the press, I made a decision, because if law couldn't cut it magic could, and Adam did not need new rage. It would be full moon Monday, and its tug was adding enough twitch that blowing steam would be worthwhile anyway.
It meant a call to Leslie, who didn't hesitate, and another to Bran, who did, but bowed to necessity. The first thing was to clear South Piert so we could get out, and though the Secret Service were even less keen than Bran the KPD kicked it to Rodgers, who heaved a sigh of relief and agreed.
The SEALs had agreed to provide a boat ride for David later, but at Leslie's request arrived by water sooner, reinforcing KPD uniforms on the gate. As soon as they had, Adam and all pack present except me and Joel headed down. The mob heaved, held back by the SEALs but frantic with flashes, until Adam took a megaphone from a KPD sergeant, raised it, and gave an Alpha roar that slammed them silent before the overloaded megaphone died in a shower of sparks. The TV picture wobbled, and I grinned as it steadied on Adam giving the dead megaphone a quizzical look before handing it back.
"Sorry about that. I'll get the KPD a new one." He turned to the stunned mob. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the sound of an angry Alpha. I warned you I would not tolerate rank incivility at my gates, and while you are entitled to be here, you are not entitled to park on our land or our neighbours', nor block access and jam traffic on the interstate, all of which you are doing. Given the public order problem you collectively represent, Chief Rodgers has deputised me and all pack, and media vehicles will move down South Piert and Meals Roads to the scrubland south of my land. Anyone who refuses will be arrested by uniformed officers and charged with everything the KPD can think of, while vehicles will be impounded, meaning for now that wolves will open them however forcefully they have to and move them, and for tomorrow that the KPD will institute aggressive forfeiture proceedings. So to start, whoever is driving that CNN van get driving, now, and next time drop your crew and head on down, or it'll be immediate arrest and forfeiture of the vehicle."
There was a hiatus as CNN tried to explain their driver was on a break somewhere, and they didn't have keys. The KPD sergeant shrugged, ruled that, being illegally parked, the van was subject to seizure, and Adam simply grasped the door-handle and pulled. The same wolf strength — and some dubious knowledge, but he'd seen a lot — silenced the alarm and hotwired the van in about seven seconds, and Honey swung up to move it along. Fox and everyone else decided discretion was the better part of valour, following without demur, and the only holdouts were other missing drivers. Quite where they'd got themselves to in our corner of Kennewick, which was not café or diner country, was a mystery, but locks were popped and vehicles moved, drone footage showing vehicles queueing on East Riek getting word and beginning to move on. Jams eased as flow on 397 was restored, and on local stations a note of approval joined wittering about press privilege and intermittent whining about wolf over-reactions.
Jesse had intended to come to church, but thought better of it and agreed to stay with Jill, who didn't care for any Christian service, so my temper kicked up and the convoy was reordered. Adam would drive me and Brent, wolves and Secret Service bracketing us, while Hummers took point and tail, with KPD outriders. The KPD had control outside the church, while Freed would guard doors. As we passed the gate David used his tannoy to inform everyone we were coming through at 5 mph as far as East Riek, and toes were their owner's responsibility. There was still a barrage of flashes and pointlessly shouted questions, but as reporters realised they had no way of following until they got back to their vehicles, half-a-mile south, rear-view mirrors pleasingly filled with people hurrying along in shoes not designed for doing so.
I was genuinely cross with the way media were behaving, and what was happening at the church made it worse. West 10th was blocked, even sirens didn't open our way until David in the lead Hummer made it clear he wasn't stopping, and Adam had to squint against the barrage of flashes. By the time we made it into the cordoned parking lot I was in a severe version of what Brits call high dudgeon and Jesse calls getting a mad on. My eyes had gone golden, the cloak and Manannán's Bane picked up on my mood, and my magic was fizzing as Adam and I stalked across the carpark with Brent and four of David's crew behind us, Secret Service flanking them. Flashes went into overdrive amid a cacophony of shouting that might have been tribal bellowing for all I could pick out. The KPD presence was bending under pressure, those at the front being squeezed, so Adam and I didn't delay joining hands, bringing up dominance, and shouting together.
"BE SILENT AND STILL."
Abruptly the only sound was ragged breathing, and Adam continued.
"Those at the rear, take twenty paces backwards, now. And everyone else, as pressure eases behind you. Move backwards. People at the front are in danger." Slowly they shuffled back, and when it was enough Adam curled his lip. "Idiots. Mercy?"
"Idiots is right, and this stops now. Our daughter Jesse did not feel able to come today and your nonsense will have prevented other congregants attending, which is intolerable. So is the fact it took a unit of SEALs, a wolfpack, a Secret Service detail, and scores of KPD officers for us to get here. Being accredited media does not exempt you from law or simple courtesy, so there are two things you need to hear, and more you need to do."
I held up a finger.
"First thing to hear. Adam has already warned you bad behaviour will mean exclusion from official press conferences, and everyone here, like everyone who was obstructing highways outside our property, is now on notice. We have pictures, we will identify you, and if anyone already identified re-offends you will be excluded. Not your stations, you. No access here, nor to any slate campaign or preternatural event, and if I win no access to the White House for the duration. Nada. Read my lips and see my eyes."
A second finger joined the first.
"Second thing to hear. This is not doing your jobs, it's being lazy and stupid as well as over-the-borderline criminal. There is plenty of time before November, I have interviews scheduled from next week, the intranets Jesse's doing will kick in, and I am not going to make off-the-cuff statements about anything major. You are hanging around me in case something photogenic or soundbitey happens, and in one sense fair enough, but it means you are not doing anything else, and you ought to be. I haven't had a chance to read today's papers, because we've been dealing with you being idiots, but from all I have seen none of you have yet done anything much about my campaign headquarters, volunteers, the FEC auditing donations, or emails from those abandoning the NRA. Op-ed writers have been doing their jobs, but you lot, the boots on the ground, are just hoping a magical show falls into your laps, or you can goad me into sufficient rage I have to do something about you. And now you've succeeded, by coming between our daughter and church and putting your own behaviour right at the top of the news cycle. Do you still think that's such a wise strategy? And it's not just failing your audiences by failing to cover my campaign properly, it's failing them by ignoring everything I'm reacting to. Coverage of that weird villa the Italian police found has been crimped, with the good news about smuggling rings, and follow-up on the re-emergent land bill, Celilo Falls, voter registration, and a bunch of things. So —"
I spread fingers, folding them down one by one.
"Five of many things you all need to do. One, stop being idiots and start being sensible. Two, get some ethics and civility. Three, get a pool system for loitering at our house, or anywhere in the Tri-Cities barring scheduled public events. We will allow one TV, one radio, and one newspaper pool person. Any more will be moved on, as legally and forcibly as necessary. Four, with your cleared schedules, start doing your jobs properly. I said yesterday this is about a lot more than me, and it's high time you noticed. And five, media editors and bosses, get a grip. Talk to your boots on the ground and among yourselves. Put weight and authority behind good behaviour, and come down hard on bad. This shambles is not only down to individuals present, and if they have to be held accountable, so do you."
I dropped my hand.
"Adam's was the last polite warning, and this is the last warning, period. Today we only used magic to get your attention but we have been deputised by Chief Rodgers, and it is a KPD promise that if we are ever again forced magically to freeze a media mob on security grounds, there will be mass arrests and maximal prosecution, forfeiture of equipment, and individual naming and shaming, on top of all that blacklisting." My eyes were still golden but I added a razor smile. "Now, I have to be even-handed, so" — I pointed with Manannán's Bane — "for now, you, Rude Fox-guy, are TV pool, you, KFLD-AM-gal, are radio, and you, Tri-Cities Herald-guy are print. Everyone else, go away, now. Clear the street, digest your shame, and mend your ways."
Adam and I swung away into a silence broken only by grateful thanks from a sweating KPD sergeant we paused to acknowledge, and a muttered Fuck me from a Secret Service guy that drew a glance from Adam but was otherwise ignored. At the church-door David's men split to take their usual positions, Secret Service with them, Freed who had been on the door joined us, and I found myself in a church a lot emptier than it should have been. Ramona said she'd had to park up on West 7th, and jog round the mob on South Sharron and West 12th.
"Shook out some moon itch, as did hearing you lay into them, Mercy. And your eyes are really pretty as well as really scary when they do that."
Gold was fading, and I felt mischievous enough to bat eyelashes.
"It's really not a come-hither look, Ramona. More a get-thither one."
She laughed, and so did Adam.
"Oh yeah. They're still pretty, though. More like Medicine Wolf's colour than werewolf yellow."
She was exaggerating but the thought pleased, and with a sense of calm returning I apologised to congregants present — mostly those who came on foot or bike. They'd been genuinely disturbed, as well they might be, but also watching us, directly or on phones, and were pleased we'd acted and impressed by results. So was Reverend Jenkins when she came to announce a postponement. She'd been talking to folk calling to say they couldn't get in.
"As Mr and Ms Hauptman have taken care of business, those who live closer are coming after all, so I said we'd wait. I hope that's alright."
It was, though it meant the time was filled with what all I'd been about during the week, until stragglers began to arrive and it turned to what all I'd been about in the last half-hour. There was a lot of tut-tutting about professional standards among strong approval, and when the Wrights arrived, with a strapping grandson visiting for the weekend, an excited introduction. Jed Wright was a lumberjack, and looked it, but if he coped with Adam both Ramona and I seemed to make him extremely bashful. Mrs Wright's eyes twinkled.
"He's always had a thing about strong women, dear."
Adam grinned. "Me too, Mrs Wright. I dare say he comes by it honestly."
"You're a flatterer, Mr Hauptman." She was delighted and Mr Wright grinned. "You're both alright after what happened on Wednesday?"
"We're fine, Mrs Wright." It wasn't untrue, whatever it left out. "But thanks for asking."
They went to their usual pew, Jed squeezed in, and eventually the service began. For the sermon, Reverend Jenkins ruefully said she had intended to discuss church support for SAGE, having had interesting conversations with Spokane, but would save it for a full house next week, and instead follow my lead and try that dangerous thing, an extempore sermon. When murmurs faded she gave me a look.
"My apologies, Ms Hauptman, but what you said to those loutish media people was, among other things, a sermon, and a very good one — a moral analysis that offers rich food for thought. It was also a stinging rebuke, of course, and I'll confess to enjoying that aspect more than I should, if only because the noise really has been very annoying. But feeling Old Testamentary puts me in mind of a verse I often wonder about. Isaiah 41:15. I like the RSV translation best — "Behold, I will make you into a new threshing sledge with sharp teeth; you shall thresh the mountains and beat them small, and make the hills like chaff." Well, that's quite a thing to say, isn't it? For a long time I didn't really notice the into, and didn't bother to find out what a threshing sledge is, so I had a picture of someone, often enough myself, being given a sort of magic flail they could use to beat up on mountains."
She smiled reminiscently, laughing at herself a little.
"But there is that into, and when I realised it meant becoming the threshing sledge, I found out what one was, or is, because some people still use them. And they are like a sledge — a slightly curved rectangle of boards nailed together, maybe five or six foot by three or four, with sharp stones or bits of metal on the underside, and you weight one with big stones and stand on it while horses or oxen pull it over reaped grain to thresh it, to separate grain you want from chaff you don't. So the verse says you'll become a wooden rectangle someone will stand on, that can grind down mountains. And one day I noticed that if you grind down mountains you get hills, but the verse says the hills will be made like chaff, so what's being removed is grain. And what grain could that possibly be?"
She shrugged.
"Some newer translations say you'll make mountains into chaff, or turn everything into dust, but I don't like ignoring the Hebrew that way. Then again, we are Episcopalians, not Fundamentalists, and since a seventeenth-century Englishman called Thomas Browne pointed out the Bible mentions the phoenix but he doubted such a creature could be found in nature, we've accepted that Scripture uses metaphor. So this has to be metaphor, too, but saying what? And why that particular metaphor, which you'd think would be a lot less attractive if you know what a threshing sledge is, and how hard mountains can be, as I presume Isaiah did? And I think the answer has to lie in that mysterious grain, not the poor old mountains."
I decided extempore sermons were pretty good to receive as well as dish out, and I wasn't the only one listening hard.
"If I'm teaching anyone to suck eggs, forgive me, but when you are dependent on grain you grow, for bread to survive winters and feed livestock, a threshing sledge is a serious thing. It's a long step beyond a flail, where you just whack grain with a stick plus ropes or chains, and it means more harvest, more quickly, with less effort, before things get rained on or spoiled some other way. So it's a good thing, especially a new one with sharp teeth. And we all face mountains of one or another kind, problems in our own lives, and our society, culture, nation, world. But we don't want to destroy them, just fix the problems. To separate wheat from chaff, even if it means taking a threshing sledge to those mountains. Only, who's got a threshing sledge that's up to the job, mountains being plenty tough? Or, harder still, but remember that into, who can be that threshing sledge?"
She looked at me, and my heart sank.
"Apologies again, Ms Hauptman, but this verse has been in my mind all week, and longer, because it seems to me that when you have, ah, gone a little Isaiah-ish, shall I say, on things that attack you, or your family, and extended that to wider if not quite root causes, you are more capable than anyone else I've seen of threshing mountains small, getting needed grain. From the chaff of Cantrip, the shining example of the Freed, and the, ah, Farouts to replace it, cleansing Hanford and the Medicine Wolf Accords. From the deeply distressing and necessary prosecution of ex-senator Heuter a renewed sense of accountability and discussion of how our justice system works, or doesn't. And in recent weeks, well, I had been thinking of it as a series of bodyblows to the two-party system, but now I'd rather say you're being and riding that new threshing sledge with sharp teeth. And the mountains are not looking in such good shape."
I couldn't stop the blush.
"I'm embarrassing you, and I apologise, but it has been in my heart. It isn't any pastor's job to tell congregants how to vote, nor to weigh in on overtly political issues, but our church has with many accepted that Medicine Wolf at the least constitutes a divinely sanctioned wake-up call, and you have played a very significant part in that. And as its prolonged manifestation at Sacajawea State Park yesterday confirms, it is supporting your amplifications of that wake-up call, extending to your very thought-provoking slate. And now I've painted myself into a corner, which is one problem with extempore sermons, but I can pray God be with you in your endeavour and trials, to protect you and your family against those who hearts are hardened and violent, and guide you in choosing your mountains to thresh, and I ask all to join me in doing so."
She did, and they did. I'd have been making that prayer anyway, not for the first or last time, and if I was less enamoured of the back half of the sermon there was comfort in a weight of communal goodwill. Then Reverend Jenkins took me aback, again, by adding that as she hadn't been able to clear what she'd said with me, she felt she should offer a chance to reply, and did I want it? Reluctantly I rose and went forward.
"I'm not comfortable with this, Reverend, everyone, and there's no way I'm going to preach. But I will say that while I am very grateful for all your prayers, and thank you for them, I am much less so with sacramentalising Medicine Wolf, let alone me by extension. Everyone's conscience is their own, but I cannot say I believe God has lately been any more hands on than usual. The Great Manitou of the Columbia Basin was there soon after the basin itself, at least eight million years ago, and First People had some contact with it between maybe 15,000 and 10,000 years ago. Then it withdrew to its depths, until our dams and pollution, with the presence of the Fae and latterly Guayota, woke it last year. Yes, that triggered a lot of things, but for me and any preternatural falls within the realm of known events, and does not demand divine explanation. Nor does Medicine Wolf have any knowledge of a singular deity sending it along. So while I am not unhappy with the effects on Fundamentalists — being greener and more tolerant are good, and it helps me electorally — I do not share their need to believe God tapped us on the shoulder, and there has been nothing I call revelation, however great the surprises."
I shrugged.
"For me, as for any magic-user, magic is practical. With the Fae, Werewolves, Elder Spirits, and Manitous all out, it is happening in public more often. And yes, there are all sorts of theological problems with what is magic and what constitutes a miracle. But the magic I have, and Adam, the Marrok, Medicine Wolf, Coyote, Gwyn ap Lugh, is all natural. We were born with it, or got it from another preternatural by conquest or gifting, and it derives one way or another from the natural world. I assume it was part of God's creation, if only as a potential within the Big Bang, but I have never seen any indication that what any of us do with our magics is a matter of anything except our own natures, capacities, and wills. It blesses our lives in some ways, curses them in others, longevity counting under both heads, and for those who seek to be moral and upright it tends to impose a sense of obligation, to use magical strength to fight the good fight, and go that extra mile — but that's consciences, not a divine finger."
I raised a hand, palm out.
"So, to complete the syllogism, my politics may involve something like a threshing sledge, as our problems are surely mountainous enough, but is nevertheless very practical, joining human technological excellence with magical enhancement. And sacramentalising the magical bits as divinely ordained, approved, or instigated, is a very dangerous road to go down." I turned. "I welcome prayers, Reverend, and I'm asking for everyone's votes, but I need a friendly congregation a lot more than a fan club. Your SAGE sermon sounds good, and I'll look forward to it, but I wonder if you might add mundane magic and divine miracles to your agenda. Was that a miracle outside, when Adam and I used dominance and my cloak's amplification to shut up a bunch of rioting reporters? If I stripped and went coyote, as I did in that first candidacy broadcast, would you witness a miracle? If Adam or any wolf changed into their four-legged forms? Is Medicine Wolf walking on water any more miraculous than it walking on land, or eating Preskylovitch, or cleansing groundwater at Hanford? At Cantrip's hellhole I saw Gwyn ap Lugh summon water to erode rock by thinking about it, and my reaction was, oh, you must have got that ability from Manannán mac Lír, because it's what's seas do, not lakes. There was every sense of potent fae magic, none whatever of the divine. And if we all hope Medicine Wolf will be able to divide the Cascadia 'Quake, which would be an incredible boon, there's no kind of divine guarantee, and for a miracle it's sure taking a lot of organisation and staffwork."
I got a rueful smile of apology.
"Point taken, Ms Hauptman. And I think you're better than me at extempore sermons." There was murmured laughter. "But I still have a strong sense we've been blessed in you this week, and not just with that lot outside today."
The congregation seemed to agree, but I shrugged again.
"Not for me to say, Reverend, but even if so, please remember that we Episcopalians believe in metaphors."
I thought it a decent parting shot but the whole thing left me frazzled, with rue of my own in that Bran's hesitations had not been wrong. I still couldn't see we'd had much choice, and with the liturgy complete and people talking, David spoke to John-Julian, who'd been on the front door, and came across.
"Seems to be working, Sarge, Mercy. JJ says the media have retreated to the Hilton Garden to sort themselves out. Talking-head opinion's split, but whiners are mostly media, and the KPD, Mayor, and Governor all issued strong statements condemning their behaviour and thanking you for magical assistance in restoring order. KPD backed you on mass arrests with prosecution and forfeiture as well."
"Thanks, Corp. Are they covering their own debate?"
David grinned. "Oh yeah. Mercy gave them real issues to chew, so there's a whole lotta shakin' going on. Consequences are back in fashion for the media? Now that's a miracle."
I shook my head. "Don't you start."
"Anything you say, Threshing Sledge."
I so did not need more names, but it was a new levity in David I welcomed, and made Adam laugh in surprise as well as pleasure, so I contented myself with a light thump on David's arm.
"Enough already. We need to move, if the roads are actually passable."
For once I was glad to leave Reverend Jenkins and fellow congregants to palavering. Eavesdropping on good of oneself is also less fun than you might think, however gratifying at some primal level, and when I caught myself again enjoying our traffic priority wondered if I was getting a god-complex. Cars were hooting, drivers offering thumbs-ups, which didn't help, but when I mentioned it Adam gave me a fisheye.
"That would be no, love. Reverend Jenkins mis-spoke a little, but you set everyone straight. And I have to say threshing sledges are a metaphor that works for me. When you do the grinding, you feel the weight on your back, and you also get ground."
"Un huh." I hesitated. "You're thinking of Vietnam?"
"Yeah. It's oddly nice to be able to do that without wincing so much, and that's down to you. Corp's got some of his humour back, too, and before yesterday I didn't think that'd ever happen."
"I noticed, love, but it was the cloak and Manannán's Bane that did the work. And the spirits, I'm told."
"Maybe so, but amplifiers need something to amplify, and ghosts have always been avatar business."
"And the Boss's."
"Yeah. But that was for your sake too, and Warren's. You've been nailing imaginations and hope all week, Mercy, as well as pragmatics. It's just Reverend Jenkins doing her own version of the triple bow."
Brent laughed, and I made a face.
"She shouldn't do it from the pulpit, then."
It was hard to go on being grumpy when I saw the mob at our gates was down to a pool of three, and SEALs and remaining KPD officers very happy indeed. So was Jesse, greeting me with a hug and her line about being awesome. Even Jill gave me a thumbs-up.
"That was some good fixing, She Doesn't Only Fix Cars."
"We'll see, Jill. And apparently it's Threshing Sledge now."
Her doubletake let me escape, and as we were for once eating out I iced the fruitcake, enjoying the normality of Jesse stealing a finger-scoop and the empty bowl, then made brownies to send to SEALs and KPD. When Andrea blew in with Frank and Rachel, all of Jesse's mind, I got dragged to see the continuing media bunfight — a CBS lawyer explaining to Rude Fox-guy that duly deputised magic halting a mob endangering lives was not actionable, and the KPD really could seize equipment and make arrests if reporters were involved in disorder, so as the big networks and papers agreed a pool system was necessary would he kindly get real. Fox-guy was into another scattergun refusal, more or less claiming media exemption from the law of gravity, when his phone rang. The jeers when he said Fox were in after all amused, but the bickering that resumed about who'd do what when for the pool was dull, and the clock ticking.
David was sticking to the boat-route, to see how it worked, so when Mary Jo called to say she and her man were on their way to Game Road with a people carrier, there was one exodus, and an hour later, when he called to say he was five miles out of Toppenish, another. Waiting, I'd fielded calls from an amused Jenny, a deputised presidential candidate being another precedent, and an approving AED, to say two more seethes had registered but Wulfe had yet to get back to him. There was vamp activity ahead of the full moon, and wolves and fae had spread word departure from the country would not be allowed. Nothing had been said of wooden bullets, but humans, wolves, and fae or half-fae had been seen outside seethes, packing Glocks rather than carrying stakes.
There wasn't much I could do except email Wulfe to say 'Oy!', which I did, so I took the rest under advisement and went to let the Secret Service know we'd be gone a while. The senior agent was not happy I'd be ditching them, but having Jill, Brent, and the Freed on us was mollifying, and there wasn't anything he could do. Jesse was coming, so it was a fair party with hands on the cloak as I asked it to open an arch.
The organic Yakama farm that provided lunch to tour parties on their way back to the Tri-Cities from seeing petroglyphs and whatever could seat up to a hundred, so it was good cover for a strange assemblage. Jim had known the owners for years, if surprised by the request they'd been more than willing, and despite being a little freaked by the presence of Medicine Wolf and Elder Spirits gravely offered me approval. Leslie, Maya, and families were already there, David and crew just arriving, so I met Boz Lucas and Maya's children, and there were a bunch of introductions before we went to meet … representatives, I decided, there not being a proper term for manitou-briefing-designees. The process was underway, and they were gathered in a barn, watching. First People were talking to Coyote, Bear, Raven, and Wolf, but everyone looked at us as we entered, and a moment later, when Medicine Wolf finished reading a woman I thought Lakota, it said hello.
"And to you, Medicine Wolf, everyone. Do please carry on."
Jesse took Andrea to talk to her Gramps, wolves shifted towards Adam, and I circulated with Frank and Rachel, trying to remember names and locations, absorbing impressions. Despite strong ethnic presences and broad cultural commonalities, widely underpinned by working knowledge of the great river, they were as diverse a bunch as you'd expect from such a geographical spread, and it was heartening. They were excited and grateful to be asked, and appreciated what I'd set up, but had a lot of dignity and weren't going to gush at someone offering consideration everyone should. The presence of Medicine Wolf kept me in proper perspective, rippling manitou magic tingling more nerves than mine.
Readings were as swift as ever, but Medicine Wolf was taking time to talk with each representative, so it was going to be a while. People inevitably wanted to ask about events of the week, and we answered, but I shifted conversation when I could towards Ol' Manitou River, the Blues as one great song of the Mississippi, and accumulated meanings of 'Ol' Man River'. The music Coyote was passing on came into it, and besides some liking for bluesmen and -women I had I collected interesting names one or another person thought sadly missing. So did ecology, cleaning up basins, levees, migrating bison, and buffalo rangers.
There were good vegetarian sandwiches and wraps, with an array of traditionally smoked and cured meats for carnivores. Elder Spirits fielded questions about deputising Warren but as Bear pointed out the big decisions had been brokered, and it was a distinct advantage to have a werewolf in the role as even hard-headed First People needed to think carefully before trying to get stroppy with one of those. Calvin ruefully agreed, but raised smiles when he asked if, Warren being two-spirited as gay and wolf, that made three or four spirits.
Coyote grinned. "Good question. Who knows if spirits are commutative? Maybe we should call him He Has More Spirits Than We Can Count."
"Too long, mathematical Da. And doesn't experience matter more than however many spirits? How about Long Wolf?"
"That's not bad. But why stop at one name, Threshing Sledge?"
I gave him a look. "You were listening?"
"Only with one of my big ears. You were on a roll. And though I'm really not into Christian scripture, Isaiah sounds more fun than not."
"Only you. Warren could use an Amerindian name as well as a feather, though, so do go on thinking, please."
I was still pondering it, listening to an idea of Jesse's, when Medicine Wolf completed readings, and stood to stretch before settling again and looking at me, though it spoke to all.
This has been very helpful, Mercy. The press of events when I awakened meant it was a while before I could gather fuller knowledge of humans within my territory, but I will be able to give my neighbour a much better framework for it to grasp what you all tell it. It knows more to begin with, not having been as deeply withdrawn, but its size makes for much variation. How will you seek to organise matters on Friday?
I ran through what I wanted. State governors in the Mississippi Basin ought to be read, all thirty-two of them, with Canadian premiers, but I wanted First People and African Americans to have priority. Columbia Basin governors might attend, to offer guidance in manitou-interfacing; the Man couldn't but would be flying into St Louis the day after to commit in principle. But it was down to Ol' Manitou River, and what shape, form, or colour we might find ourselves talking to and being read by was its call. With a sideways look at Medicine Wolf, I added that while this great manitou came recommended, manitous seemed to reflect their territory in some measure — Guayota had been unpredictably explosive, as befitted an active volcano, but river-system manitous were much nicer, though volume of water and vertical fall made for some differences in style or attitude. Medicine Wolf dropped its jaw in a wolf grin.
Style and attitude, Mercy. My neighbour is not exactly younger than me, for the centre of this continent is old and precipitation always has to go somewhere, but has faced greater changes. With my vertical fall I cleave strongly to the steepest way, but my neighbour moves its main channels about as I do not, and its extents were altered by withdrawal of the ice. You might say I resumed, while it grew. And it is bounded by mountain ranges while I run through the Rockies as well as dividing the Cascades. It does have seismic sectors, but major vulcanism only around Yellowstone, and that is more intermittent than mine.
"Makes sense. And I was meaning to ask about Yellowstone. There are scientists who do a lot of fretting about high-volume basaltic flows from there. Are they right? And if so, is there any way of reducing the risk?"
There is much magma there, certainly, and I remember it flooding out just before the ice truly set in. By all means ask my neighbour about it.
"Thank you. There's no point restoring migratory bison if they get cooked on the range." I ignored Elder Spirit winces. "I'm probably talking nonsense, but is the Cascadia 'quake any kind of opportunity?"
I got a dire wolf frown.
An opportunity for what?
"Draining magma. I was thinking, big shock, and, I dunno, open a tunnel so it can go back under Jackson's Hole, or wherever it came from."
Maybe. And maybe not. Magma is no politer or amenable to persuasion than earthquakes, Mercy. They are all rock, and rock is stubborn.
"Un huh. I get you can't shoot earthquakes, Medicine Wolf. But magma is by definition fluid, and other things being equal fluids flow downhill." Overhill, anyway. "You can open tunnels within yourself, and drop things below the mantle. Can your neighbour do the same?"
I cannot see why it should not.
"Then it could open a tunnel fifty or whatever feet wide that led away and down. A drain. Or two, or six. Take magma away from the hot spot or whatever drives it, and let it cool off some."
There was a silence while Medicine Wolf looked at me quizzically.
You do not ask boring questions, Mercy. It is one reason I like you. It rose, stretching again, and sounded thoughtful. You should let it read you first, Mercy. I am increasingly pleased I did so. Fare well, all. I will hope to meet you again, and my thanks for your efforts to be here.
It vanished, and though I wouldn't call it an ease, there was a certain relaxation as magical pressure diminished, even among Elder Spirits. Jill's voice was a murmur to my left.
"Medicine Wolf also votes not-boring. Momma really did have a point."