A Wish Comes True

Diego sat quietly in the shade of the wagon—what little shade there was—leaning against the spokes of one of its big wheels.  He knew they were well past San Luis Rey by now, though they probably wouldn’t reach San Diego until tomorrow.  And at the pace they were going, they probably wouldn’t reach Descanso until the day after that.

The costal lowlands grew thick with new spring grasses and chaparral but not much in the way of taller vegetation, which meant that Bernardo had been obliged to stay well in the distance to keep from being spotted.  Nor was there much fresh water.  At least Diego had been allowed to shave the night before, since they had camped near a stream.  But now, in the heat of the afternoon sun, he thought he would probably give a lot for some clean clothes and a chance to wash off the thick coating of dust that darkened the sweat staining his shirt front.  Even his scalp felt gritty as he ran a hand across his forehead to brush back the dark tousled curls.

Oreana seemed impervious to the heat, sitting quietly nearby, her eyes narrowing as she gazed eastward, toward the hills.  She also looked a little darker complected than usual, but he couldn’t tell if it was only the dust or if her pale cheeks had started to sunburn.  Zavala and Muñoz had tried hard not to let their corporal see how edgy they got whenever he went near her.  Clearly they themselves had lost all desire for her company.  Still, Diego wished now more than ever that he could get her away from here, and not just for her sake.

The soldiers had put up a makeshift awning by draping a blanket over the branches of a nearby bush, where they sat eating carne seca and some figs the corporal had brought back from yesterday’s visit to the mission.  But they couldn’t seem to quit fidgeting, and in their uniforms, Diego thought, they were probably even hotter than he was.  Tension hung as heavily in the air as the moisture from the sea.

Nor did he think he could do much about it, at least not directly, since they seemed equally afraid of him now.  But he had given a lot of thought to what Oreana had said about magic, as well as what she had done.  And while he remained skeptical, he had decided to try an experiment, if for no other reason than to prove to himself that it wouldn’t work.

He had to admit she was right that fencing had taught him to shift into a milder version of that altered state of mind she described as being "between the worlds."  Usually he did it without thinking, whenever he drew a sword, though by nudging him into it at other times, she had made him more consciously aware of it.  But she seemed to believe that, in this state, one could do more than unwittingly make subtle improvements to one’s fencing style or to have somewhat insightful dreams.  Just by sheer force of will, one could also bend and shape events outside oneself.

He really didn’t see how that was possible.  But just in case it was, he had decided for now to keep his own desires modest.  He only wished that the soldiers could forget about witchcraft for the time being, that they would cool off, calm down and think about other things.

He tried to picture them laughing as he idly scraped a line of sweat from his forehead and watched it trickle down from the tip of his finger onto the dirt between his ankles.  Then he sat up a little straighter and squinted off toward the eastern horizon, gently inhaling the distance, letting his perception recede as if through a doorway, until the scene before him seemed to darken and glow like an afterimage.

The moment he closed his eyes, he felt cooler, as though he really had crossed a threshold of some sort, and for an instant he was tempted to look.  But then all at once, another fleeting image caught his mind’s eye instead, sending a shiver of energy up through the pit of his stomach.

Instinctively he winced, blotting it out.  But then, wondering what might have provoked such a reaction, he tried to recall it, though the harder he tried, the less he could see.  At first, it looked like someone drowning, or at least struggling to breathe.  Undulating waves dissipated filaments of hair or sea weed in a dark tide pool whose surface shone like the dark blue tiles of a baptismal font, or the dark blue eyes of a siren whose song stained the water with the delicate purple blood of sea snails.

Then he knew she couldn’t breathe, not because she was underwater, but because she wasn’t.  The air itself crinkled in the stifling heat.  Finally, the ocean sighed, its moist breath caressing him like a gentle remolino, and the sudden flicker of what looked like a votive candle flashed across his eyelids.  A deep resonant boom of thunder shook the earth.  Diego opened his eyes just in time to see another jagged streak of lightning split the sky, and the dark clouds overhead began to spill their contents, crashing down on him like the heavy spray of ocean surf.

There was no point trying to find cover, even if there had been any.  He was drenched before he could get to his feet.  The ground boiled into a swift ankle deep current below the wagon.  The mules, still in harness, grew jittery.  A hard blast of rain and another intense flash of lightning scattered two of the saddle horses and a pack horse that had been tied to a nearby bush, and Muñoz and Zavala staggered after them while Corporal Esquivel made a grab for the wagon.

But he succeeded only in alarming the mules even more.  As his foot caught the edge of a rock, he tripped, and they bolted sideways, each in a different direction.  Then one of them shied and stumbled back into him, knocking him to the ground.  He didn’t get up.  The rear wheel of the wagon had begun to sink into a deepening rut in the mud, anchoring it for the moment, but the third saddle horse, tied to the crate, soon dragged it partway off the wagon bed and broke free.  Then the animal whirled to gallop off into the pelting sheets of rain.

Keeping his head down, barely able to breathe, Diego almost couldn’t see where Esquivel had fallen, but he saw enough to know that if the mules weren’t caught, in another instant they might yank the wagon out of the rut and over the top of the downed man.  Diego’s own ankle irons prevented him from leaping onto the back of the nearest animal, but he did manage to grab its harness and dig his heels into the mud, praying he had the strength to pull the team aside in time, and that they didn’t drag him too far in his bare feet, or that his chains didn’t get tangled in their tack.

Luckily, the moment the crate finally fell off the wagon bed, another bolt of lightening struck the ground in front of them, some distance off, but so bright he could smell it.  The mules backed up, sinking the wagon wheel even deeper into the rut, and before they could splay out, he managed to grab their heads and pull them down to where they could hear his voice and feel his steady hands.

When he finally saw Oreana moving to unhitch them from the wagon, he knew the worst of the storm was over, and since there was no secure place to tie the creatures, he simply let them go.  But he had no idea how badly hurt the corporal was, or even if he was alive.

The girl looked half drowned herself as she motioned him to come and help.  Together they dragged the soldier’s limp body up out of the current and onto the bank of the freshly scoured arroyo where she put his head in her lap and bent over him to shield his face from the torrents of rain that still pummeled them.  Standing beside her, Diego leaned over them both.

"Alive?" he yelled at her shoulder.

Without looking up, she nodded, but the thunder drown out her words.  Then, as the sky began to lighten, he watched her run her fingers carefully through the man’s hair, tilting his head sideways, looking for signs of where the blow had struck him.  Finally as she pulled her hand from beneath the right side of his head, Diego noticed the blood on her fingers as it quickly melted and dissipated into thin red filaments, too watery even to stain her sopping clothes.  All they could do now was hope the rain would soon let up.

When it finally did, he knew the wait had probably seemed longer than it was.  Huge curls of steam rose in foggy patches all around them as the sun tried to fight its way free of the billowy dark clouds that had all but wrung themselves out against the distant hillside.  Then he heard the sound of laughter, and a moment later Muñoz and Zavala stepped out of a fog bank, leading two of the horses.  Then their laughter died, and they froze in their tracks.

Diego straightened up to face them squarely, though he knew there probably wasn’t much he could do against them, shackled and unarmed as he was.  Lucky their gear had been drenched, he thought, or they would surely have drawn their muskets.  As it was, they only drew their swords.  "Get away from him—both of you," said Zavala bravely.

Carefully, Diego backed away, and Oreana scrambled to her feet and came to stand next to him as Muñoz knelt down beside the corporal, then said, "He’s alive."  Following the man’s gaze as he surveyed what was left of the campsite, Diego suddenly found the entire situation impossibly ludicrous.  He tried to stifle a laugh.

"Oh, come now," he said.  "Surely you cannot believe that we—"

"Cállate, brujo."  Muñoz came toward them, eyes narrowed.  "I should have killed you when I had the chance."  Oreana stepped in between the two men, but Diego shoved her roughly aside.

"This is insane," he said.  "You are going to kill us because it rained?"

"Because you are sorcerers.  This is the work of the devil."

Diego rolled his eyes.  "Oh, of course," he said dryly.  "Such spring rains—they could only be the result of something depraved and unnatural."

"You tried to kill him," Muñoz said, nodding at the corporal.

"Then why is he still alive and why are we still here?"

"She threatened us."

"Does she not have a right to defend herself?"

"Back off, private."  Corporal Esquivel’s voice was surprisingly firm, but Muñoz stood his ground.  "Back off," the corporal repeated.  "Or you will find yourself wishing you had only the devil to contend with."  As Muñoz lowered his blade, Oreana quickly slipped past him and knelt down again beside the corporal.  Then Zavala came forward.

"But Corporal," he began.  "They— "

"They did not try to kill me," Esquivel insisted as he struggled to sit up.  Then, glancing at Oreana, he added, "They saved my life.  I was trying to catch the mules.  I fell.  They could easily have taken these keys"—he nodded at the key ring at his belt—"then run off and left me for dead."

Zavala and Muñoz looked at each other, and this time Diego had no trouble reading their minds.  Now they thought Esquivel was under her spell, but they didn’t know what to do, so they merely sheathed their swords and backed away.

Oreana fumbled with the hem of her skirt, then bent to rip a piece of it with her teeth.  Finally, she tore off a strip from the bottom, wadded it in her hands to wring out the water, shook it out, folded it into a neat square and gingerly ran her fingers through the corporal’s hair, placing the fabric on the cut and pressing gently.  "Hold still," she said as Esquivel tried to pull away with a shy but valiant shrug.  "It will be all right in a few minutes.  Just hold this here while I find something to secure it."

As she looked up at him, Diego shrugged, then unfastened the cinturón at his waist and gave it to her.  Carefully, she tore off a strip of it and gave it back to him, then wrung out the strip and wrapped it around the man’s head.

"Gracias, Señorita," he nodded, then glanced up at Diego.  "Señor."  Then he started to get to his feet, but Oreana caught him by the shoulder.

"It would be better if you did not try to rise too quickly," she said.  He studied her face for a moment, then nodded.  Finally, he glanced back up at Zavala and Muñoz.

"Perhaps while my men are out rounding up the other horses, you might care to explain just what you meant about the lady having to defend herself, Señor," he said pointedly to Diego.

"Merely an observation," Diego replied carefully as he watched the two soldiers squirm.  He knew they understood he was letting them off the hook.  They exchanged a quick glance, then nodded deferentially at Esquivel and mounted up to go chase his horse and the pack horses.  He watched them go.  Then he unfastened the key ring from his belt and casually tossed it to Diego.

"Here," he said.  "You may as well unharness those mules.  No sense hauling that wagon any farther.  We can use them as pack animals, and anyway, we will make better time with you on horseback.  I am convinced you will not try to escape, though I must confess I do not know why."

Diego sat down and unlocked his leg irons.  "You are taking us where we want to go," he said truthfully.  "We want to clear our names.  We’ve done nothing wrong."

"You are not sorcerers, then," said Esquivel.

"I am a healer," said Oreana as she took the keys from Diego and bent to unlock her own chains.  "I have some knowledge of plants, as you know.  And as for Señor de la Vega," she added, glancing up at him with a faint smile.  "His abilities are surprisingly varied.  Unfortunately, his reputation as a sorcerer is, at the moment, perhaps a bit overinflated."

The corporal smiled.  Then, once her ankles were free, she handed him back his keys, and his smile became a quizzical frown.

"I believe I will be safer wearing these," she explained, nodding at the cuffs on her wrists.

Then he nodded too.  "Sí," he said.  "That is probably true."

"You yourself may be safer leaving us in some restraints," said Diego.

The corporal looked up sharply, and for an instant the shadow of an indignant frown crept across his face.  But then it faded.  "Ignorant men can indeed do stupid things," he said, looking off in the direction the two soldiers had gone.  "But I do not think they are that stupid."

Oreana shrugged.  "No sense tempting fate, eh?"

Esquivel nodded in agreement as Oreana got to her feet and walked gingerly through the rocks to help Diego catch the mules.  Luckily the animals hadn’t wandered very far, though the rain had swollen the leather of their harnesses, making the buckles slippery and hard to undo.  She held their bridles while he unhooked the backbands from the traces.  Then, as he unfastened the traces from the hasp and slid the heavy collar over the ears of the nearest animal, he finally let his eyes meet hers again, knowing she was still watching him, a faint trace of amusement on her face.  He couldn’t help but chuckle.  "That is impossible," he said.

Oreana said nothing, but it was clear from the way she looked down and pressed her lips into a thin line that she could barely keep from giggling.  He rolled his eyes.  "It was just a coincidence."

"Of course."  She took the bridle of the first mule as he moved around behind her to unhook the second one.  "But you do need to be a bit more careful what you wish for," she added.  "And you need to learn how to bind a spell so that it does not harm anyone."

He shook his head and laughed in disbelief.  "This is madness," he said.  "You’re telling me you think Muñoz and Zavala were right?"

She shrugged as she watched him slide the collar off over the head of the second mule and gather up the driving reins.  Then she added, "By the way, there is no point in trying to reason with them.  You cannot break one of my spells that easily.  You may as well try to convince these two," she said, glancing at the mules.

He studied her face for a long moment as he gave her the reins.  Then, to his own surprise, he said, "It was Endicott, wasn’t it.  He did that to you."

Inadvertently, she reached for her throat, then let her hand trace over the fading bruises as her gaze drifted off toward the distant horizon.  "He is under a very evil spell indeed," she said.  "It has made him crazy.  I doubt even his death could break it."  Diego nodded thoughtfully, then turned to gather up the harnesses, but she grabbed his arm.

"Quierido— "

"This is a theory we will test," he assured her in a quiet yet lethal tone.

Her eyes widened as her fingers knotted in his damp shirt sleeve.  "I should never have shown you the portal into the realm of intent," she said.  "I can see that now.  It was a stupid and dangerous thing to do.  I only did it to tease you, because you were so smug and sure of yourself.  And because, despite your skepticism, you already knew so much.  And because . . . I wanted you."

He glanced in the corporal’s direction, but he already knew the man would be preoccupied with something else by now.  So he let his fingers trace the line of her cheek, then gently lifted her jaw to examine the scratch on her neck, which was still red.

"It was very selfish of me," she went on.  "I wanted you to know who I really am, to enter my world without fear.  To love me—without the disguises.  As I love you. . . ."

As she reached for his hand, he grabbed her fingers and kissed them.  "You have your wish," he said.  Then he grinned.  "Perhaps you also should be more careful what you wish for, eh?"

She tried to laugh, then winced.  "You are like a child," she said.  "And I am the fool who has given you the loaded pistol to play with."

"If you really believe these things are more than just coincidences," he said, caressing her shoulders, "then make the night fall.  And come with me.  Just for a while."

Watching her dark blue eyes, he noticed the very edges of his own perception start to dim.  Then the huge shadow of a dark billowy cloud swept over them, and for an instant he thought she was actually going to grant his request.  But when the sunlight returned, even she looked startled.

"You have a great deal of power, Diego," she said.  "You can open the door, and you can cross into the other world.  But you lack the proper training, so you cannot control the forces you unleash.  And you have made no allies among the inhabitants of that world.  Nor have you any way to shut the door if one of them comes after you.  You are vulnerable.  Please—you must leave the casting of spells to me, at least for now."

Diego held her gaze, then looked away, shaking his head.  Some part of him still could not believe he was actually taking any of this nonsense seriously.  "I will not need magic to take care of Señor Endicott," he said, though even as he spoke, a voice in the back of his head reminded him he would need, at least, to cast a fencing circle.

"You must not kill him," she said.  "He is an injured spirit, like a wounded animal.  No spell will work predictably on him.  This is why Señor Marigál is using him."

"Then his suffering will soon be over."

"And yours will begin.  Do you think he will let you go—even in death?  If you take his life, he will take yours, one way or another.  His blood on your sword will link you to him for as long as you live, if not longer.  His spirit will haunt you.  You may even incur the wrath of the creature that feeds on him."

"The creature that—?"  Diego winced, suddenly, and raised his hand to cover the side of his face, feeling light headed.  "Do you know how crazy this sounds?"

"Sí."  She reached for his arm.  "We have come too far; we must go back now."

"Back where?"  As he looked up at her again, he suddenly realized that there was nothing behind her.  And it was not as if they were simply standing in darkness, but as if everything except her had disappeared into some sort of blind spot in his field of vision.  On the periphery he noticed the shapes of an oddly foreshortened landscape that seemed to wrap itself around him as if it were reflected on the surface of a sphere, or as if he were trying to see it through a sharply curved lens.

"How are you doing this?" he said, feeling chilled, suddenly, but at the same time strangely numb.

"I am not," she said gently, "you are.  You must stop now.  Let go."

She brought her hand up to his forehead, as if she meant to feel it for signs of fever, and as he blinked hard, he felt something give way, and the world seemed to condense around him as if it were made of filaments of light.  Reaching for her, he half expected his hand to go right through her, but her arms felt reassuringly strong as she caught him and helped him to the ground.

"Is he not well, Señorita?"

"He will be fine," she said, looking up at the corporal, who had come to take the mules from her.  "It is just a dizzy spell."  As she spoke, Diego realized he had lost all sense of time, as though it might have been days since he had felt the solid earth beneath him.

"Well, I hope he can ride," said Esquivel, handing her the manacles Diego had been wearing.  "It looks like we will be ready to set out again soon."  As she followed the man’s gaze, Diego tracked hers to a spot just above the chaparral where they could see Muñoz and Zavala coming in, leading the two pack horses and the corporal’s horse.  Narrowing his eyes, Diego could also make out the shape of a third rider, and as Oreana looked down at him, he saw that she also knew who it was.  Grimly, he clamped the chains back on his wrists and stood up again.

"Remember what I have told you," she said quietly as she watched Esquivel tie the mules to another nearby bush.  "No more magic.  And no swordplay.  His death will mean your own."

"He means to kill you."  Diego wasn’t sure how he knew this, but he was certain it was true.  And he was equally certain she had known all along.  She sighed softly.

"He yearns to kill me," she said.  "The mere prospect of it inflames his desire.  But he may be able to wait.  He may relish his task even more once Señor Marigál has assured him that he will be sending me to hell."

"And suppose his patience runs out?"

Stepping closer to Diego, Oreana tried to take his hand without being too obvious about it, though their chains made the task more difficult.  "The end will probably be a little less painful that way," she said, swallowing hard.  "And at least I will stand a chance of being able to find you again, in another lifetime."