The Case of the Toxic Spell Dump

"So it is," Michael said. He forgot to yell, but I read his lips. When Michael forgets to do something he should, you know he's under strain. We all were. I didn't want to think he was right, just because that would have made getting my hopes dashed all the crueler.

But after another few seconds, there could be no doubt. The speck in the air we were watching swelled out of speckdom far faster than any carpet could have, and it didn't have a carpet's shape, either. I saw great wings beat majestically.

"The Garuda Bird!" I shouted - with all my heart and with all my soul and with all my might, as the Bible says.

The Bird came on unbelievably fast. Two or three more flaps and it was hovering over the dump. Of course, it didn't need to work its wings the way a merely material creature of flesh and feathers would have. The Other Side suffused it; it was, after all, an avatar of Vishnu. As Matt Arnold had said back at the Loki works, it couldn't have flown - or existed at all - as a material creature; when it hovered above the dump, its wings spanned the entire width of the containment area and more, and cast the ground into shadow almost as deep as night It looked much like the poster in Arnold's office - those incredible wings supporting a huge - chested body that didn't look birdlike at all to my mind. Nor was its head anything like that of a natural bird, but for the hooked beak that took the place of nose and mouth. The rest, especially the eyes, looked more nearly human, and the feathers on top of its head, instead of being peacock - brilliant tike those of the body and wings, were black and soft like hair.

The wings beat again, right over our heads. The blast of wind from a flap like that should have blown walls down, and blown dust motes like us into the next barony, but it didn't After a moment, I realized why: since it flew more by magic than with its wings, their flapping was just a symbolic act, not quite a real one. And thank God for that; it wasn't something I'd worried about when I called Matt Arnold.

The Garuda Bird threw back its anthropomorphic head and let out a bellow that sounded like a tuba about the size of a city block played by a mad giant wfao'd quit halfway through his first tuba lesson. Let me put it like this: by comparison, the squalling cacodemons were quiet and melodious.

One thing, or rather two sets of things, thoroughly ornithomorphic (ah, Greek!) about the Garuda Bird were its talons. In fact, it was the most talented bird I'd ever seen: those enormous gleaming daws could have punctured the Midgard Serpent, by the look of them. I would have paid a good many crowns to watch that fight - from a safe distance, say the surface of the moon.

Now, as the Bird hovered over the Devonshire dump, its left foot closed on the Nothing. The hazmat mages pelted back out of the way. I found I was holding my breath. This was something else I hadn't had figured when I called Arnold: was the Garuda Bird's magic strong enough to penetrate the encystment the Chumash Powers had thrown up around themselves? If not - well, if not, I told myself, we weren't any worse off than we would have been without the Bird.

When the Garuda Bird's talons struck the Nothing, sparks flew, but the talons didn't go in. I was praying and cursing at the same time, both as hard as I could. The Garuda Bird bellowed again, this time in fury. I staggered, wondering if the top of my head would fall off and whether I'd ever hear again.

The muscles in the Garuda Bird's monster drumsticks bunched. That's what I saw, anyhow, though I knew it was only a quasi - physical manifestation like the Bird's flapping wings. What it meant was that, on the Other Side, the Garuda Bird was gathering all its thaumaturgic force.

Its claws closed on the Nothing once more. More sparks flew. The Bird cried out yet again, but its talons still would not penetrate. I thought we were doomed. But then, ever so slowly, the needle tips of those immense claws began sinking into the Chumash Powers' shell of withdrawal.

Tony's mouth was wide open. So were Michael's and Yolanda's and mine. We were all shouting for all we were worth, but I couldn't hear any of us, not even me.

The Garuda Bird's feet disappeared into Nothing. You couldn't see them. They were just-gone. I stopped shouting. My heart went into my mouth. The Garuda Bird wasn't a power that had had to hide itself away to keep from going extinct; the belief of hundreds of millions of people fueled it Never in my most dreadful nightmares had I imagined that it wouldn't be able to overcome the Chumash Powers that hid inside the Nothing if once it broke their shell.

The Bird's next roar carried a note of pain. It flapped its wings again: almost a real flap this time, for dust rose in a choking cloud from the dry dirt of the dump. Through the dust, I saw more of the Garuda Bird's leg than I had before.

"It's coming out!" I cried, coughing.