Darkwalker: A Tale of the Urban Shaman (49 page)

“
Once you’re Warden, you’ll be dealing with me, and people like me, a lot. But when you’re making your decisions, make them for Suzi Mascarpone, and Arnie Hawthorne, for the people of Maricopa, and the other places you’ve visited in the zones. Make your decisions with all of them in mind.”

He slapped his open palm on the table. “Enough lecture!” he said, and stood. “You’ve done a man’s job, sir.” He produced a small valise, slid it across the desk toward me. It was heavy. I looked inside. Gold pieces gave it the weight, and there were bundles of intercity scrip.

“
That’s an awful lot of money,” I said.

“
You saved my skinny old arse, and saved my city and my people from a pair of monsters,” he said. “Take it. If you won’t take it personally, deliver it as my contribution to your order.”

“
Thank you,” I said.

He extended his hand, and I took it. Roth knew nothing of the fact that I’d killed my own mother. His thanks were unmitigated by any doubt or second thoughts. He would not be haunted by what had happened. Or would he? Maybe, I thought. He may not have killed his own mother, but the woman I killed had once been his lover, and had become his most fervent nemesis, and Roth was a man who clearly saw how his own actions had sown the seeds of his near-destruction. Yeah, I thought, he’d have his own ghosts to deal with.

“
Many thanks, Railwalker Wolf,” he said.

“
Just doing my job,” I said in the ritual response.

“
Go safely, and return as the crow flies.”

“
I will as I may. Twenty-three Blessings of Soul-Are on you and yours, City Boss Micah Roth.”

***

We stepped out onto the roof in the half-light of early evening. The sun was a narrow crescent of orange on the edge of the bay to the west. Morgan and I turned toward it and performed the Salutation to the Setting Sun. When that was finished we stood still, watching the final slice of the red orb sink into the bay. Then we turned toward the ornithopter.

That was when I noticed the figure in the wheelchair. She saw me notice her, started her chair, and rolled over to me.

“
Oculus,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“
You don’t know me, Railwalker,” she said. “You don’t know nothing ’bout me, or my homies and contacts. How’s this crippled old mutie come to be on the roof of the City Admin Tower, chair and all? Like to remain one of them mysteries. But I tell you true, Railwalker, word and pledge on it, I had a vision ’bout you. Your Momma, she dead these many years, no?”

“
Not so sure about many years,” I said. “But she’s dead, that’s for sure.”

“
You’re a fool, then. You Momma, her spirit come to me, coupla days ago. She showed me a vision. She feared for you, Railwalker. You face many trials ahead. Then one of these days, you’ll meet that old Glaeken. And your Momma feared for your fate at its hand.”

A Glaeken was something like a dragon. There were tales of them in the Railwalker Canon, but no one had seen one in living memory. The Glaeken was also often used as a metaphor for other forces: the unconscious, the darkness, the things that dwell in shadow. It wasn’t clear how Oculus, or my mother’s spirit, meant this to be taken. I sighed. Again with the obscure mystification.

“
But here’s the important thing,” Oculus continued. “What she wanted me to tell you. Don’t try to stand against the Glaeken alone. You can’t defeat it by yourself, so don’t even try. When the day comes, reach out to your people, Railwalker. That’s the only way you will conquer.”

She peered at me, apparently gauging how well I was listening. I nodded slowly.

“
Go safely, Railwalker,” she said.

“
Twenty-three Blessings, Grandmother.”

I turned and followed Morgan to the ornithopter.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Nearly every acknowledgments page I’ve ever read (and, yes, I always read them) trots out the old saw about how novels are not created in a vacuum, and it takes lots of help and support to make them happen. It’s not as if I ever scoffed at this idea, but writing
Darkwalker
and seeing it through to publication certainly underscored the validity of that oft-repeated claim. I’m deeply grateful for the help and support of a number of folks who contributed in one way or another to the making of this novel.

First and foremost, my profound thanks to my best friend and sometime collaborator, Rev DiCerto. He was there at the start of
Darkwalker
, and gave invaluable feedback and input during the writing of the initial drafts. I think it came as a bit of a surprise to both of us when he ended up becoming my editor on the final drafts, but I couldn’t have asked for a better editor.

A major shout-out is due to my crow-bro Gregory A. Gallo, one of the finest artists and the finest men I’ve ever known, without whom the Railwalkers would never have existed.

Thanks also to Rose Mambert, for believing in
Darkwalker
, and offering it a home at Pink Narcissus. Profound appreciation to my early readers and critics: Kelley Braheny, Jane LeCompte, Juniper Talbot, and Sarah Eaton. Also to James D. Macdonald, for some of the most practical, pragmatic and down-to-earth writing advice I’ve ever been gifted with.

Though I don’t know Howell Chickering personally, I nevertheless owe him a debt of gratitude, as it was his essays and annotations to
Beowulf
that first opened up that famous epic poem for me, and got me delving further into the critical literature about it.

And deep gratitude to my life partner, Moira, and my daughter Kelley, for their unflagging belief, love, and support.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Author and artist Duncan Eagleson has had a checkered career which has included working as an advertising copywriter, private detective, astrologer and cartomancer, actor, stage combat choreographer, painter, sculptor, screen printer, book and comics illustrator, and mask maker. He is best known for his artistic contribution to Neil Gaiman’s
Sandman
series, his graphic novel version of Anne Rice’s
The Witching Hour
, and the masks he created for Wes Craven’s
Cursed
, the Big Apple Circus, magician Jeff McBride, and the WWE wrestler Kane. He lives just outside Providence, Rhode Island (former home to Poe and Lovecraft) and spends most of his time in his basement studio, surrounded by far too many drums, swords, books, and DVDs. He no longer owns any pets, and refuses to explain why, but has been seen talking to crows on numerous occasions.

He can be found online at
duncaneagleson.com
,
eaglesondesign.com
, and
maskmaker.com
.

Other Pink Narcissus Press titles
featuring Duncan Eagleson

ELF LOVE: An Anthology The best of the lot was “Goodnight, My Lady”, penned by Duncan Eagleson and inspired by Raymond Chandler’s “Farewell, My Lovely” wherein hardboiled detective Philip Marlowe is hot on the trail of the vanished lover of a dangerous ex-con. Although it is a 35-page short story, the pages fly by fast and the story goes down like a shot of Hennessy Cognac. -Bob Heske, IndieCreator ISBN: 978-0-9829913-0-5

IMPOSSIBLE FUTURES The subtitle emblazoned across Duncan Eagleson’s pitch-perfect, retro-kitsch cover of Impossible Futures promises its readers a “Return to the Future that Never Was!” It’s a promise that this new anthology fulfills several times over...This wholly satisfying collection delivers an entertaining, engrossing, even exhilarating reading experience . -ForeWord Reviews ISBN: 978-1-939056-02-3

RAPUNZEL’S DAUGHTERS and Other Tales Duncan Eagleson’s Viking Snow White retelling, “Snovhit” [has] an authentically ancient feel. [… A]ny fairy tale fan will find something to enjoy in this collection. -Publishers Weekly ISBN: 978-0-9829913-1-2

Table of Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

MORE FROM DUNCAN EAGLESON