The Wiccan Diaries: Neophyte Adept Part 51

"I brought my backpack," I said helpfully, holding it up and showing him.

In it were things like my diary, and the red marker Selwyn had given to me; I also brought my diploma from St. Martley's. Those were my true credentials, proof that I belonged in the Magic world!

If they rejected Ballard, I could vouch for him. Hadn't he said something about potentially being magic? But then thoughts of vampire hunters crept into my imagination, and I put myself on guard.

Be reckless, not dumb, Halsey....

Ballard gathered and augmented my pack. He put things like cans of food, and even a can of engine oil, in it. I looked at his pack, and saw how ma.s.sive it was. I tried lifting it, but it made a strange clinking noise when I lifted it; besides, it was way too heavy for me. Tethered to the outside was his moonflask; it glugged with some unknown liquid. When he was done, my pack looked almost like his. "There!" he said. "Now, if we die in the wild, at least it will take a while!"

Next, he showed me my GambalungaI had a grattachecca while he explained.

Ballard had rigged up a new system of onboard flips and switchesmechanical magicfor it.

"This is your booster," he said, indicating the tank fitted under the seat; it said NOS on it (nitrous oxide systems). "For emergency use only," he said.

I gulped.

"We may run into things while we're out there," said Ballard, "so I want you prepared. This is the Jesus bolt. Because if it breaks, you see Jesus." He smiled. "So don't wipe out." It was the race all over.

I nodded my head. "I'm ready," I said.

"I do love having a purpose. I told you the blue moon would ride again," he said. I sat waiting on my motorcycle while he got on his. The last rays of the sun were going down. My pack felt heavy; but it would get lighter as we went. I watched him heft his own onto his back, and then he shut and locked the garage door.

"Thank you, Ballard," I said. "For everything. You get points."

"I always wanted to score with you."

A sign, which read GONE FISHING, hung on the door. Ballard's motorcycle sank with the weight of him. It groaned unnaturally. We started our engines.

I was to follow him out of Rome. It was an amazing moment for me, to know that I had started this alone, and that now I had Ballard, and together we were going to the Districts of Magic. I wondered what it would be like. The whole flight to Prague was one big check-it-out thing. What if I didn't like what I saw? It would not be easy, but then, that was the point, wasn't it? Just hearing the engines, I got the sense the Past was around the corner. Maybe if I looked for it hard enough, it would reveal itself to me, including certain secrets I wished to find out.

The previous volumes of my Diary were preamble to the adventures to come.

Ballard flipped his visor down and gave me the thumbs-up. I returned the gesture. We lifted our feet and headed down the vicolo, into the smog and monuments, leaving Trastevere behind us.

I felt like one of those dogs.e.xiled, in a way. Like Ballard and I were being booted from our home range. I didn't know when I would be back. Could be never, I told myself. I had given my landlady four months' rent. She literally cackled in my face.

"I am going. I may not be back."

"Stupid ragazza," she said. Like she knew something I did not. It made me feel uncertain about everything.

But that was over, now. All of it was. Ballard and I were going. We were leaving Rome.

We drove that night past Vatican City, and onto the autoroute, which took us out of Rome. I supposed things were different between Ballard and me now. Always before our objective had been to see What if... What if there were vampires out there? What if there were werewolves? What if witches and wizards really existed and I was one of them? Well, we had our answers now. It was the truth which eluded us.

We stopped to top off our fuel tanks before we put some miles behind us.

Ballard told me about the benandanti ("Witch-fighting werewolves," he called them), who used to battle evildoers, in order to protect their crops. "They were called the Hounds of G.o.d... Those Who Do Good."

"Are they still around?" I said.

I was wondering about my landlady. She seemed to be one. Or Grigori.

Ballard shrugged. "Werewolf, witch, and vampire myths are wherever you go. In the Philippines the Asw.a.n.g are all three. The Benandanti are no different... They were thought to originate in Venice..."

We would be pa.s.sing it shortly. It was almost like a fourth magic city, was old Venice.

"...The Benandanti also existed in Rome and Germany..." said Ballard. "We should go looking for them, when we get to Prague...."

I wasn't really paying attention. "Don't you see, though, the old Histories are cross-mutating, interbreeding," he said.

How come Dallace and Camille had been allowed to create their own magic city? They were vampires, after all. Yet they seemed to pay no allegiance to Paris. Why not?

Ballard removed the nozzle, and put the cap back on his fuel tank. "The last thing we want is to be drawn into a three-way war. There have been stories about disagreements in the past, between the Grigori and the Benandanti, and us... I figure I can introduce myself around. See what's up," he said.

My head felt like it was going to explode. Find ThemLook for them.

The weather was changing. It was becoming colder. We got back on the autoroute; finally it started to snow.

Neither Ballard nor I had any thoughts of stopping. The snowflakes felt otherworldly. As though there were two worldsthe one, non-magic, the other, magical.... The impulse to continue was so strong in us that in consequence we made very good time.

I eased my helmet off, riding momentarily no-hands, and came alongside Ballard. My hairalready longflew behind me in a whipsong of wind and fury; my eyes stinging with how fast we were going, I changed to a higher gear. I pa.s.sed the mile markers without really having pa.s.sed the milestones, Wiccanwise. What, if anything, would we find? I rode without any particular fondness of feeling, content in the deep-seated a.s.surance that I rode to nowhere.

The Dioscuri had set me a mission. They were the Enemy, vampires changed with longevitythey knew things, foul things, things I wanted to know.

We pa.s.sed like shadows in the night. AlwaysalwaysI looked behind me. I didn't know why, but it felt like we were being followed. We flew past police speed traps, but whoever the two ghosts were, the officers never found out. Ballard knew his geography well. I saw him ease up, steering with one hand, while he looked at his map with the other. We ghosted like that some timethe ever-helpful moonlight bright on my tires, as I cut through the snowfall which was turning to sludge. A pale light was coming over the horizon. Mountaintops filled my vision. Ballard signaled for us to take the next exit; there was a roadblock ahead he said we needed to avoid; I followed after him. I was all for risking our way through Central Europe, but he said: "I'm taking no chances."

We wound our way through surface streets, pa.s.sing small towns; Ballard a.s.sured me we would get to Prague, eventually. I didn't know what to think. He hadn't lead us astray, yet.

We drove to Verona, when the trek got really hard. The sweeping countryside gave way to hillscraggy, dramatic, out-of-nowhere. The scree threatening landslides.

"It's only going to get worse," he said.

The Dolomites were northeast. At the town of Giazza, on the Monti Lessini plateau, I saw a spectacular view. Mountain ranges filled with trees, and snow, there in the distance. The Alps were directly before us. The roadways began becoming perilous. A picture-postcard, Giazza was snowed under. We pa.s.sed vineyards, dead or dying, when my Gambalunga started having fits. We decided to give it a rest, the Gambalunga, not the trip, to see what we could see. Some soul saver. We slept until evening in motel rooms.

"Enjoy it while it lasts," said Ballard, "for it is the end of our comfort, when it goes. Soon we will have to leave the road behind usany food will come either from our packs, or the cunningless game misfortunate enough to wander into our traps."

He showed me the mapthe "place of trees," the Stromovka, as he called it, the deep swaths of forest surrounding Prague. The Czech Republic lay in the heart of Central Europe. Our path lead right through it.

"That is our route we are taking," he said.

"There are no roads," I noticed.

He readjusted his pack. "Not to worry," he said.

And to think, I told myself, if I had just taken the Eurorail, I could practically be there by now. Prague was beginning to feel like a million miles away. But then I remembered about my status as an illegal alien and shut my mouth. Ballard had to see what was wrong with my Gambalunga first. I moved our stuff into our rooms; a fast, laborious trip. I plopped on my bed in the unknown room. Ballard popped his head in. "I topped the oil off," he said. "Your Gambalunga should be okay. It's just old. See you tonight." He was anxious to get his shut-eye. I shut and locked my door and then fetched out my diary. I had decided to make use of my time by creating a travelogue, an ongoing narrative account of my Roman exodus, and our journey to parts unknown. My pen whizzed across the page. The elastic catch-all on the exterior of my bag was becoming satisfyingly full of c.o.ke-bottle caps and other souvenirs. I could hear Ballard snoring through the paper-thin walls. When his head hit pillow, he went right out.

"Something is wrong," I wrote. "It's like the Spring is late. It's nearly March. It shouldn't be this cold. Maybe it just stays extra cold extra long, where we're going." I pulled out my guidebook, something I had not been obliged to do for a very long time. There was a section on Northern Italy. Apparently I could expect more freezing cold, because the guidebook a.s.sured me Central Europe did that. I shook my head. What had I gotten myself into? At least it wasn't December. I couldn't explain it... Even though the weather was supposed to be cold, this felt wrong... Unnatural...

I put my book away. Lennox and his eyes were coming out of the darkness after me: they were feral, hungry-looking. Before I knew it, I was awake.

Central Europe seemed like the Dark Ages to me, when I looked at it on the map. I knew it was silly Western superst.i.tionbut that was where Transylvania was at. Ballard's map showed Europe's major rail routes, like a crisscrossing web of interconnected pathways. Still, when I looked at the map, all roads seemed to lead to Paris, not Rome; mildly off-putting "You always do that," said Ballard. We were eating our way through strawberry landslides. The waitress seemed to think we were both crazy, sitting outside in the cold. But Ballard and I had become supernaturally acclimated: He with his radiator-like heat, and me my throbbing mark. "Grimace..." he said.

I had slapped it. I made a noncommittal noise.

"Sometimes it hurts," I said.

"Your mark, you mean?"

"Yeah."

Paris would have to wait. I couldn't go there until I knew Wicca... Even though it was where Lennox was from...

There was nothing on the map about finding the actual Districts of Magic. Almost as though they were off the beaten path, or worse, hidden. How did one enter an unseen world?

By going there? Trying to find it? I told myself.

"I think we have to stumble our way upon it," said Ballard, who didn't know either. He wiped his hands on a napkin and we paid up.

From here on out, the path, according to the map, would be one long winding, vertical road, up into the snowy-filled Alps.

They were beautiful, those Alps. The narrow roads filled with sharp, hairpin turns. I felt revitalized after the long rest. Perhaps it was all the talk of Ballard's People, but I thought I saw onea real, live werewolfthere, on the periphery of my vision. We were out of the Boot, headed East, leaving Italyzigging and zagging our way up, past drifts of snow banks. Headlamps of pa.s.sing cars preceded curious faces, as they pa.s.sed us by. I fetched out my hoodie. It felt thin against the onslaught of wind, but what the H? The Alps were crazyhuge plummeting drops, with other, perilous, points. Soon the roads were empty. What I thought I saw was a giant, s.h.a.ggy grey wolf. When I looked again, it was gone. It was just Ballard and I. Hypothermia was beginning to set in. "I need to stop," I said. My non-Wiccan fingertips felt like ice cubes. They were about to fall off. We had to battle on. There was no stopping. We had to get through herethe Alps were killing Ballard and I. The maps hadn't prepared us for this.

The border crossing was coming up. Soon we would be in Austria. But something was with us. A second traveler.

I caught glimpses of it, here and therehallucinations. I didn't know what to think.

A pair of eyes, always on the outskirts... They would seem to melt away, when I looked, and then come back.

We had to get out of the Alps. I didn't like stopping for the night here. And Ballard seemed uncomfortable. We were aware of the Hunter, even though we could not see him. "I think he's out there," said Ballard. I shivered, remembering the vision I had seen: Of it killing the two gravediggers. They had been burying it. Why?

The air was slick with moisturemy k.n.o.bby black tires grabbing the asphalt, the Gambalunga humming along. It left me feeling terribly exposed.

Still, I felt something powerful and ancient and primal stirring within me; my own get-up-and-go. It would be morning soon. The Grey Wolf couldn't hide from us, then. I didn't know what Ballard's reaction to it would be, when and if he saw it. "I can't explain it, but I felt as though something was watching us," he said. Maybe it was a member of one of Ballard's teams of riders. They were patrolling the northern border. Lost, astray, rogue. It, the Grey Wolf, had disappeared and we were briefly alone.

It flashed through my mind, the vision I had seen, Ballard and I, racing through the trees; it was like we were after somethingor something was after us... But there had been a third person... And he, or she, was with usand we were togetherand we were headed... somewhere.

We were through the Alps, into Slovenia, in a region of karstbeautiful, exotic fissures of limestone; the snow so bad here we had to fit snow chains on our tires. That explained the clinking sound I had heard coming from Ballard's pack. He was full of wonders.

We made a light supper of sh.e.l.lfish paella. Our days and nights were starting to get themselves un-confusedsoon the light would come. That just left the problem of first watch. Ballard was getting feelings. "Might as well stay up," he said. "I want to figure out what they mean." Because it was out therewe both could feel it. What would we do if the grey wolf actually attacked us?

That night I had visions of eyes and a dark-filled voice saying ComeBe with us. The vision changed. I saw him. Lenoir! It must've been. As he spoke, things unbidden crept into my imagination. I heard clashing, rapiers whipping magically through the airI saw wizards and witches, engaged in combat, meeting in heaths, to settle some ancient grudge. And there was also a fire-blade, blacker than the rest; and it could not be beat.

He was entering upon a heath, Lenoir, the wicked weapon in his hand, where others were fighting. But as he pa.s.sed they died, slain by his comrades, spread like an infection. And there was also a stone circle. ComeBe with us.

n.o.body fought with swords anymore. Who would? It was very much an anachronism. My mind rebelled against it.

I could hear the tongues of scorching fire, clinking hammers, the hiss of steel. But no faces. Ballard nudged me. I woke shouting. The face of the hunter, coming out of the darkness. It was time to leave, he said. Clink-clink, clink-clink, clink-clink. He had a strange look on his face, Ballard, and had stayed up the night.

Austria was one long rolling hillside of dairy farms and fat cowsleastways, that's how it appeared to me. I missed Rome; I missed the heartbeat of the city. Soon we would be in Slovakia; from thence, the Czech Republic. My travelogue was filled with names like souslik, gyr falcon, Grey Wolf.

Near Bratislava we got lost in a hornbeam forest. I saw kingcups and peach-leaved bell-flowers. Ballard kept repeating phrases: "Put him off! Gotta get lost! Lose him!" He was more manic than a maniac. Nothing could convince him against the route we had taken.

I completely understood! Hadn't I listened to that same mysterious voice, which was the voice of premonition?

Because, despite our rudderless wanderings, I knew Ballard and I were destined to meet up with a third member of our pack; who, for some reason, I had always imagined to be Lia. But she couldn't shift anymore, could she? Then who had been the other wolf I had seen in my dreams of this moment?

We crossed in secret from Slovakia, to the Czech Republic, and walked our bikes across. The ground was covered in trumpetcreeper and snapdragons, not to mention mounds of sneezeweed. I still wore my Harm None ring. It was on the index finger of my right hand.

More of the Prague viburnumsfitting since we were almost there. I wondered who would come for us, if we managed to traipse into Prague. Surely, not the Dark Order.

I don't know why, but I was thinking about Vittoria, and her role in this. And about Ballard's proposition that I should make her feel welcome somehow.

It was four days since we had left Rome; four days of traveling through swamps and peat bogs, rock quarries, and over mountain tops; and now we had a new obstacle; the omnipresent twilight under dark forests, which made seeing where I was going impossible: I nearly crashed a million times. The crackling twigs and other detritus littered the floorand so endless.

One felt compelled towards drastic lashings-out. Trees were everywhere. It was silent under their canopies, which stretched on forever. I was not used to feeling so stifled. In truth, it was like being back at St. Martley's. But worse. Here there was no end in sight. It was just tree after tree.

A happy and flickering fire jumped at the roots of a Silver Linden, under which we made our camp. Ballard and I fashioned walking sticks. We had marched our way through so much smelly swampland my boots squished with the stuff. They were off, now, drying by the fire. Prague was only about a hundred miles away, he said. If Ballard and I didn't get out of the forest soon, we would have to turn cannibal. I didn't fancy muzzleburgers. "What makes you think you would win?" said Ballard, somewhat indignantly.

The paella was gone.

A twig snapped. My heart rate spiked uncomfortably. I felt the adrenaline flow through my veinsbut that could've been Dark Magic; the aether was inside all of us, remember, I said to myself. Every witch and wizard, whether we wanted it or not. Ballard stiffened.

I was too busy fashioning my walking stick. I decided to make the point extra sharp, like a spear. That way if any wild boar were in the Stromovka, I wouldn't have to eat Ballard.

Ballard got to his feet and went to have a look around. I could hear him striding through the trees, trying to scare off whatever was after us.

Not even the stars could penetrate to where we were at; it was impressively dark.

I gripped my walking stick. The flames crackled; their embers shooting into the air. It was silent for miles around. Ballard put on another log. The fire caught and spit. "Goodnight," he said. He crawled into his sleeping bag. I was left staring at the flames, not really seeing them.

Isn't it funny? I thought. Here I am, all the way out here...

Hours pa.s.sed, Ballard snoring softly beside me. It happened rather fast. One minute, I was warming my hands by the fire, admiring the firelight glinting off my ring, the next the whole length of my right arm began glowing with silver-bright magic.

It appeared like moonlight, under the trees, glowing soulfully there on the extreme edge of my vision. The four paws of the grey wolf standing resolutely. My orchid woke up and began twisting towards itreaching for the wolf.

It dipped its head to me, as if smelling. Ballard turned gently in his sleep. "Can't stop now! I will be Risky!" he said, incoherently Ballard sat up and the grey wolf vanished.

Sound returned to the forest floor. I hadn't heard it coming; I hadn't heard it leaving. It was almost like the grey wolf hadn't been here at all; and, looking to the place where it had stood, I thought I might have hallucinated it, entirely. Instead of hunting me, it had been like the grey wolf was standing guard over me.