Chapter Sixty
I spent some of Monday catching up with the heavyweight papers, which published pretty diagrams of where I84 and the railways now were. Engineers are a pragmatic bunch but Medicine Wolf had stirred them up, and during the week I gave a long interview to the Civil Engineering Journal repeating warnings about taking manitous for granted. Faced with technical queries I rang Medicine Wolf, who was happy to come by and tell the startled interviewer all sorts of things about direwolfite. It had been amused by my request for a pillar of the stuff at Biggs Junction, and thought a request from Oregon and Washington to widen mountain roads offered an interesting challenge.
Until Mercy asked me I had no reason to create tunnels, but reshaping rock so precisely is satisfying. I am thinking about what else I could do, and providing animal overpasses is the most urgent need.
A really interesting discussion followed of how existing roads might be lowered into cuttings that closed over them, adding entunnelling to my vocabulary and pleasing Coyote no end. Beyond that, with my tour complete and only days to the re-emergence, I stayed regional, seeing excitement build as First People began to migrate towards the Gorge. Most would arrive Thursday, in convoys from Jackson, Billings, and Great Falls, and the media had finally understood this week really did matter to First People, so there was plenty of coverage,
The steady appearance overnight, on the arid triangle of land Elder Spirits had claimed, of acres of mature trees both intensified everyone's feelings and hushed them with awe, while letting me talk about just how much carbon self-planting trees could capture fast. Uninhabited Miller Island, just upstream of Celilo Falls, was a prime opportunity, and acquired a young forest — literally, the trees all being saplings. So did arid areas between Wishram, Maryhill Winery and Museum, and Horsethief Lake, cutting off the view of Celilo Falls from Lewis-and-Clark Highway. Dan Strongbear was so happy he agreed to a display at the Deschutes River SRA, and most Yakama elders were content to blunt Second People's curiosity in a reasonable and respectful manner.
The woods alarmed any number of botanists, who told everyone with great concern that even with the new soil I'd mentioned trees would die for lack of water. But Medicine Wolf was taking care of irrigation, and made its new Engineer friends happy all over again by requesting they turn on their 3-D printers and providing some specs. The kit was simple one-way valves, a foot in diameter, and once selkies emplaced them in tunnels that opened well below where the river surface would come to rest, on the north-eastern end of Miller Island, the bank of the narrow channel to its north, and the south bank of the bend after the Deschutes confluence, the current drove the distribution system, topping it up as trees drank. It was efficient, simple, and as cool an example of human-preternatural co-operation as anyone could ask for. And as I told everyone, Underhill agreeing with me about Brocéliande and magical forests in general, these woods would be mildly perilous. They had enough slow time about them to be growing all but visibly, and Elder Spirits would be using them with their children. The trees had glamour, and besides the cloaking effects electronics should not be relied on around them. The woods were small, but people should get used to the idea, as there would soon be bigger ones.
With far less publicity mature trees also appeared around some army and federal facilities within the Basin. The deal had taken careful negotiation, but trees really did want space and Underhill was happy for me to leverage it to compel accelerated transition to hybrids and fully electric cars, and reduction of carbon footprint. The military were willing, in principle, to concede those things, defeat of satellite imaging being a major plum. But the Fae were the Fae, so things had to balance, meaning a formula equating trees up with pollution down, which could only be arbitrary but had to be sufficiently logical for both sides. I'd handed the problem off to Darryl, whom it amused, and he'd invented an equation using security rating of the base, the number of trees, and percentage reduction in energy use and emissions, with ways of measuring them. COs had to swear it, and though we worked out a wiggle about changes of command a fae-enforceable penalty of two years hard labour Overhill planting trees gave real teeth. The Pentagon was very happy, and while no-one was saying anything public word spread where it mattered.
Incoming animals were another excitement. As fencing was completed, warning notices attracting excited media, Elder Spirits used oversize animal forms and avatars to escort creatures in. We'd given a lot of heads-ups, but when a way oversize grizzly, cougar, wolf, coyote, deer, moose, elk, and rattler escort numerous regular-sized versions on direct routes to the same place, humans get heebie-jeebies and PDs of whom escort is requested frozen expressions. Then again, animals weren't so impressed with humans either, as Elder Spirits let them know.
The stream of arrivals commanded global attention, and as they were converging from all directions places that rarely made any kind of news found themselves getting their fifteen minutes. Animals from the south were mostly coming up the Deschutes Valley, and there was a seriously weird photo-op when converging cougars, deer, coyotes, and a stray moose grabbed a ride on empty flatbeds attached to a BNSF freight train, disembarking when it reached its new tunnel. Those from the north had to cross the Columbia at Biggs Junction or The Dalles, and Jill, Skuffles, and I joined a score of avatars shepherding a wary mix of creatures as they used the I97 bridge, closed to let them pass, then the hard shoulder of I84. Wolf and Cougar were doing as much at The Dalles, and I84's inner lanes were closed, drivers streaming slowly past in the outer with bemused expressions. We had media like fleas on a dog, and everyone on any number of legs heaved sighs of relief when we reached Sacred Space and traffic vanished into the Tunnel of Manitou Love. I gave yet another interview explaining once more what would happen on Friday, and confirming that reborn Celilo Falls would be unphotographable. My consistent refusal of requests to draw Excalibur had laid groundwork, and though I didn't think of it in those terms the NYT told me next day I'd thrown my political credit behind sacred meaning sacred, period, and made it stick. What was happening was for First People, and would happen by their rules.
Then I watched Elder Spirits doing some last collective magic before animals scattered to explore their new home. Early arrivals had swollen the population of Celilo Falls, and there were elderly RVs and tents dotted around. A fire burned cheerfully as soon as the animals left, and the loom of the trees had already cast a spell. Magic whispered all around as spirits danced, and First People responded by dancing themselves, achingly slow shuffles and occasional leaps of welcome and joy. Jill and I talked to avatars, intrigued by the role she'd accepted, ambivalent about the fame it brought her, and wanting assessments of vamp progress.
Wiseman had had to authorise his first prosecution for damage to a donor, but on the upside several translocators were augmenting Federal SWAT and training with Special Forces. Regular medical checks on donors were catching problems early, so their death-rate had plummeted, not that accurate figures were available for the past, and there was a National Vampire Council, on which Wulfe, Marsilia, Stefan, and Thomas sat with a dozen masters and mistresses. Their business was the vamp-federal interface, with what vamps would and wouldn't do, but they were facing up to my demands about examining history, if only because I'd gone on pushing. It was still mostly helping Italian Police and scholars from all over to interpret the Bonarata Papers, and real accounts would take a while, but interim reports had begun, some making very queasy reading, and any number of journalists were scribbling Bonarata biographies.
Too much vamps was a damper, and we got back to avatar opportunities. Fred and Hank were there, and military service always an option, but my election would open state and federal employment in a new way, and, however they remained wary of being out many had families, so good salaries and health insurance were attractions. That meant a disinclination to move, so local jobs, the North-West leading, mattered, but some were willing to travel, and I wanted avatar Buffalo Rangers for interactions with Ol' Manitou River, with instinctive understanding of ecosystems.
The evening shifted something in my mind, because it was a first real flowering of reborn culture. New arrivals kept turning up, faces lighting and bodies dancing as they felt the magic, though the noises as wolves and coyotes explored kept people twitching. There were dozens of tribes represented and no Second People — I was as Anglo as anything there, which didn't feel very Anglo at all, and somewhere bone- and heart-deep the respect everyone gave me felt right, for the first time. Spearpoints aren't much use without hafts behind them, I'd drawn on every being I could, and without Medicine Wolf nothing, but even so the Sacred Space was in a tangible sense my achievement, and more than Coyote had let it be known. At 34 you didn't get to be an elder, but that was the slot I was in, and with spirit magic tickling everything my blood sang with the knowledge. I was feeling very First Person when I got home, as well as amorous, and Adam got some overdue benefits.
Media next day showed some resentment at their exclusion, and Fox were so snarky I sent registered supporters an email asking them to make my displeasure known and providing eddresses. Other media were tracking those emails so the story broke rapidly, and I hadn't only suggested complaining to Fox execs, though they got inboxes hundreds of screens deep. So did cable providers, asking them to drop Fox from standard bundles if they didn't want a lot of customer switching, and before evening a volley of supporting statements from tribes all over turned Fox's accelerating panic into the lead story. More flexible Bible-belters joined in, alarmingly quoting the Lord from Exodus on taking away His hand to reveal His hinder parts while His face shall not be seen. Medicine Wolf's involvement and the simple truth that sacred means sacred overcame the fact that it was someone else's Sacred Space, and the public were beginning to feel bullish about people power, so Fox's usual aggression in defending displays of bigotry did them some real damage, and I gave myself a coyote point for opportunism.
More pleasingly, most Second People were broadly respectful, if sullen, and the point was underlined Thursday night when three British tabloid hacks, from a paper owned by the man who owned Fox, faked a breakdown and managed to scale the fencing, triggering alarms and cameras, only to find themselves confronted by an irate grizzly and cougar working in tandem. Their equipment suffered damage, as did clothing, though not their persons save scratches and bruises, and with assistance from a second grizzly, three rattlers, and a pair of moody elk giving the cougar fisheyes they were herded to the longhouse and handed over to very angry and whatever the adjective is from schadenfreude tribal authorities. Intriguingly, on the fence and longhouse cameras human and animal figures were clear but background fogged, and the sequence was running continuously on most stations Friday morning.
Gordon still wasn't showing his human face on TV, but as Thunderbird in full attended a hearing in the longhouse, a scrambled Caroline providing coverage. He snapped his beak at a finding of wilful desecration by trespass, aggravated by commercial motive, and again at the imposition of swingeing fines, confiscation of equipment, and remission to federal custody on charges newly specified in state and federal law. He also approved a Yakama demand that custodial sentences be served here with hard labour, and the expressions on the idiots' faces as they realised their skyped-in lawyers uniformly expected there to be such sentences offered a bleak satisfaction of sorts.
Leslie had been tapped as federal liaison, and having observed swift justice accepted custody of prisoners, had them cuffed, and let them watch Thunderbird drop all confiscated equipment into the Columbia, which shot up a waterspout to meet it, sitting everyone up and giving me my first laugh of the day. Leslie capped events by giving a memorable speech about Feeb impatience with pure stupidity that would have gone viral even before she offered the animals, observing from the treeline, thanks for timely vigilantism, promising citations for valour. Sheer surprise at the courtesy restored even Gordon's good humour, and the image of an African-American SAC commanding Amerindian and preternatural respect was a very happy one.
The Man was still laughing when he arrived for breakfast, yet again, having flown in overnight. Sawyer was with him, equally amused but deeply thoughtful at the demonstration that animals could be weaponised.
"I don't think my advertising Da was joking last year, Mr Secretary. He may have got the idea from Terry Gilliam, but he's not wrong having a hunter or two killed by massed rabbits would send a strong signal. I expect they'll reserve it for protecting bison though."
Sawyer and the Man stared at one another, and Jesse gave me a look.
"Seriously, Mom?"
"Well, maybe not rabbits, because it'd probably traumatise them, but predators and bigger ungulates, you bet. Hardcore trophy loons will need discouraging. Which reminds me, sir — does the Department of Transportation have anyone in charge of roadkill issues? The Traffic Safety people only do humans."
"Not that I'm aware of, Ms Hauptman. Huh. Point."
"You've been giving me ideas, sir. Reorganising federal government hadn't occurred to me before, but new posts do focus things."
They also had dangers, and we talked about that before the Man switched topics.
"The British PM called about those reporters, citing prisoner exchange protocols." He gave a sharkish grin. "He linked what he called obviously biased treatment to your having taken a dislike to him."
"Somebody told him what I said to Caroline Taylor?"
"Surely. He's stupid, but their ambassador isn't, and he was listening to that teleconference. There are idiots who get elected by idiots, but also very serious people on their team."
I nodded. "I'm not going to mess with anything that matters. The Oaf just told me I didn't have to respect him, personally. Have someone tell the ambassador the serious people should make an effort to contact the great manitou of the Thames Basin? Or the, whatsit, Severn? A very tidal manitou ought to keep the Oaf busy for the duration."
The Man laughed. "Already did, Ms Hauptman, and I have every hope the Oaf will have an interesting year. It's a good name for him."
We spoke of simpler things going to the Gorge, using the Freed's coach with a Secret Service driver, because Penny was there for Living Free and Moonbound. And as the Man wasn't kidding about his interest in the Freed, she got a spectacular segment. He'd been this way visiting The Dalles two months back, and whistled when he saw dense verdure on Miller Island and the northern rise of the Gorge.
"Magic forests, yet."
"You bet, sir. Only little ones, though Celilo Forest packs a punch, but big woods as soon as we can. Faulkner would approve."
"I imagine. Are people going to get lost in them?"
"Probably. Happens with big woods. But animals need them, and so do we, even without carbon capture."
He shook his head. "Can't argue, Ms Hauptman. We need new priorities, and you get to play with them for a while. It'll settle down after a bit, and someone safely dull can succeed you, but for this phase your kind of sideways is perfect."
That was a thought to chew on, and I stored it away as we were cleared through to the Sacred Space Spur, now a parking lot. Besides many Chiefs, collected from Tri-Cities Airport by coach, every First Person in the Basin seemed to have arrived; inner lanes each way were a solid line of battered pickups, SUVs, and RVs, with a scattering of saloons, and I thought getting First People into hybrids and electrics would be an interesting challenge. Even before we arrived the place was crowded yet quiet with breathless sacred excitement that I decided was the spirits' version of spannungsbogen.
I'm not going to describe what happened in any detail — sacred does mean sacred, period — but if in one sense it wasn't magic at all, just engineering allowing the water level to drop to where it should always have stayed, and cliffs in the river-bed to function again as they had for millennia, in another it was the purest, most intense spirit magic I've ever felt. Humans were aware of something, preternaturals felt it more, ap Lugh was as wide-eyed as I've ever seen, magical senses intent as power gathered and flowed, and Charles as goofy as Skuffles had been on Medicine Wolf's earth-moving. Caroline and Penny filmed preliminary formalities, with general diplomacy between the Man, many Chiefs, and senior preternaturals, though Bran was still camera-shy so Charles took point for wolves. Preternatural oaths affirming the Sacred Space as a place of strictly peaceful meeting were recorded, and Al and Dwayne could film faces as other things happened — often silently tearful, happily so yet with long memories of injustice and loss. Then cameras were turned off, the real ceremony happened, and the endgame was Salmon and avatars leaping up a small Fall steadily heightening.
Everyone was left in a sated euphoric daze, extended for me by being introduced, with Adam and Jesse, to the guardian animals who'd nabbed the idiot reporters. Jill had me used to grizzlies, after a fashion, but being greeted by wild ones was a trip, never mind by cougars, elk, and halitosis. I pulled myself together to get around assembled chiefs I hadn't yet met, putting faces to names and finding they were being very efficient on their own as well as my behalves. Medicine Wolf was circulating, reading widely, and with the absurd mix of beings I kept being reminded of those old paintings of the Garden of Eden exaltedly imagining lions lying down with lambs, rabbits with foxes, deer with wolves, while hawks roosted by doves and every kind co-existed peacefully — and though it was only here, in the Sacred Space, all the world going on as usual outside, that was pretty good, as the Man agreed when he thanked me for the invitation.
"Not many presidents get to go out on a high, and I know there's the Cascadia 'quake yet. I guess Miss Hauptman takes care of some of this for you, but remember you have a large and steadily increasing number of very grateful living, as well as your grateful dead."
I nodded, more rueful than not. "I do know, sir, but the dead have already been done their favours and don't confuse them with entitlement."
He raised his glass. "Hold that thought."