Bigfootloose and Finn Fancy Free

by Randy Henderson

  “Uh,” I said, “I’m sorry?”

  Don took off his hat and scratched at his head. “Nah, not your fault. I just get a bit riled up at times like these, when an assault rifle or two’d come in pretty dang handy.” He replaced the hat and turned away. “Come on, I’ll lead ya’ll in. The main path’s trapped. And everyone you’re wanting to see is up at the cave, anyway.”

  He led us uphill into the tree line, hopping easily on his goat legs up a path that Heather and I climbed with some difficulty. As the way leveled out, Don said, “I have to admit, Gramaraye, I’m a little disappointed you went and arranged to settle things with one little duel. Me and some of my boys, we were looking forward to giving them shadowbrights some payback.”

  I sighed. “Well, you might still get your chance.”

  “From your mouth to Ares’ ears.”

  We passed a wooden signpost, long overgrown with ivy and worn by time and weather, but I made out the word LODGE and a sign pointing left.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Oh, that’s from when the lodge was built. You didn’t think we Silvers all slept in the woods and caves, did you?”

  “I did wonder,” I replied.

  “Naw. Cave’s just for safety. We got us a real nice place a bit further in. Built to be a hot springs lodge way back when, but it got claimed for the Silver as part of some pact or other. The ARC chased off all the mundies, erased the records of the place, and we put up our diversions so as nobody finds it. Place is old, though. Could sure use someone who understands plumbing.”

  “My brother’s pretty handy with a wrench,” I said.

  Don frowned. “That’d be the wolf fella?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  Don was silent a minute as we continued marching, then said, “Look, we appreciate you helping and all, and I can’t lie, brightbloods ain’t easy on human plumbing so a handy guy’d be, well, pretty handy. But I just don’t know as it would work so well, your brother living there, with being a wolf-bright and all that’s happened.”

  I sighed. “Well, thanks for being honest.”

  *Perhaps his view is not the more common,* Alynon suggested.

  Yeah. Maybe.

  We reached a small bluff overlooking the river.

  “There’s the cave,” Don said, and waved to a crooked, narrow gash wreathed in ferns in the side of the hill. “Good luck.”

  Don Faun tipped his hat at us, then disappeared back into the forest.

  Heather eyed the cave entrance. “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this in a horror movie. You positive we’re not just walking into an all-you-arcana-eat buffet?”

  “Fairly sure,” I said, and led her to the cave entrance.

  “Wait!” Heather said, looking at the pink and purple bell-like flowers growing along either side of the cave entrance. “Are those … brightlilies?”

  “Looks like,” I said. “Sal gave one to Silene. She must have grown these from the seeds.”

  “I—do you know the kinds of potions I could make with that?”

  A hummingbird zipped in front of us, flitting up, down, over, its head tilting to examine us. It shimmered, and a fairy hovered between us and the cave entrance in a dress of glowing red and green feathers.

  “You’re Gramaraye?” she asked, her voice chirpy and sweet.

  “As long as that’s a good thing,” I replied.

  “Sunny! I’m Flidais. Everyone’s inside. Well, not me. Or the others protecting the tree. But everyone else. I’ll take you to them. I like your hair.” She zipped to Heather, and flicked one of the black strands, then flitted back into the cave entrance. “Come on!”

  We followed her into the narrow entrance, Heather gazing thoughtfully at the brightlilies until they were out of sight. The cave opened up almost immediately on the other side, and a grizzly bear stood on his hind legs, one enormous paw raised and ready to rip our heads off. “Who’s this?” he rumbled.

  “It’s Gramaraye,” Flidais said, zipping behind me. “The arcana who’s helping. I don’t know who she is.” The fairy flitted around in front of Heather. “Who are you?”

  “Heather,” Heather replied, her tone nervous. With her hands occupied carrying the duffels, she would have a hard time reaching a potion before the bear’s claws shredded her. “I’m here to help, too. I’m with Finn.”

  Flidais clapped her tiny hands. “Yay! More help! This is Garl. He’s nice. Except when he’s hungry. Come on!”

  Flidais flitted along deeper into the cave, and disappeared where the passage twisted down and around a pillar of rock.

  “Wait,” Garl garumphed. He plopped down on his rear, his back legs sliding straight out. He tugged a wool blanket over his legs, his paws settling on his lap with his Freddy Krueger–like nails crisscrossing each other, and Garl transformed into a man. For some reason I expected a chubby, hairy German-looking dude, but Garl was a leanly muscled and largely hairless Native American. He sniffed at the air. “Got any candy?” he asked.

  “Oh, uh, no, sorry,” I said.

  Heather blinked as if Garl had hit her with a Waerbear Stare, and then said, “Oh, uh, I do. Here.” She dropped a duffel, and pulled a Twix out of her jacket pocket. She handed it to him. “So, I’ve always wondered, do waerbears hibernate in winter?”

  Garl laughed, the kind of genuine belly laugh that made you instantly like him. “No more than the rest of the year. I’m a big fan of naps.”

  “Right,” I said. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Garl, but we really should get going.” I motioned for Heather to follow after the fairy.

  “Wait,” Garl said again. “You guys watch Downton Abbey?”

  “Uh, what?” I replied.

  “Downton Abbey,” he said, carefully enunciating the words. “You watch?”

  I looked to Heather.

  “It’s a TV show,” she said to me; then to Garl, “No, sorry, we don’t.”

  He grunted. “An old couple up at the RV park were watching it on their big TV, but they left. I’m dying to know what happens next.”

  “Uh,” I replied.

  Flidais flew back into sight. “Hey! Over here! Come on!”

  “Sorry, Garl,” I said. “We have to go.”

  We followed quickly after the fairy before Garl could ask anything more.

  The passage went sharply downslope a dozen feet, the walls bumpy brown stone, then opened up again into a wide cavern. The smell of earth was quickly overwhelmed by the odors of sweat, animal fur, and sickness.

  At least a dozen brightbloods lay on inflatable mattresses and sleeping bags around the cavern, some whose brightblood nature was obvious, such as the fauns, and many who appeared simply human. All looked in terrible shape. Those that didn’t have clear injuries from battle moaned and twitched and sweated, the victims of Grayson’s Curse.

  Several brightbloods moved among those laying on the floor, men and women with hints of animal or elemental natures, offering water or clay bowls full of berries or what looked like raw meat, but most of the ill and injured seemed too far gone in pain or exhaustion to accept.

  If Jim Henson had directed M*A*S*H, it might have looked something like that cavern.

  In a far corner of the cave, Dunngo held a small man, pressing him down by his shoulders as he convulsed and kicked. No taller than three feet, the man’s red hair and pointy ears marked him as a leprechaun, but he seemed a feral beast as spittle flew from his mouth and he clawed at Dunngo’s arms. A gaunt man with antlers looked on, his body language saying he wanted to help, but had no idea how.

  The leprechaun screamed a terrible, heart-wrenching wail. And then he collapsed, and lay still.

  “Oooh,” Flidais said, her tone deeply sad. “I don’t like this. Excuse me.” She flew back out of the cavern.

  “Come on,” I whispered to Heather, and we wove our way to Dunngo and Antler Head.

  Heather looked from the dead leprechaun to another nearby brightblood, the young will-o’-the-wisp that the centaur had br
ought to Silene for help that first day I met them. She looked even worse than before, her delicate features now emaciated, her hair lank and lacking its normal shimmer, her lips cracked and brushed with flecks of blood.

  “I—I can help,” Heather said.

  Dunngo rose up on a pile of dirt, his fists clenched and shaking. “Help? Finghin dead! Seven friends dead! Dunngo’s son—” His whole body began to shake as if in an earthquake. I placed myself between him and Heather as he shouted, “Arcana no help! Arcana kill!”

  “Dunngo!” I shouted back. “Stop! She is here to help. If you hurt her, you will be killing all the rest of your clan who are sick!”

  Antler Head also stepped between Dunngo and us. “Dunngo,” he rumbled in a James Earl Jones bass. “Go outside. Find your center.”

  Dunngo pounded his fist into the ground. “Dunngo want vengeance!”

  Antler Head sighed. “You will have your fight soon enough, I fear. Save your anger for the Shadows. We will need it, my friend.”

  Dunngo rumbled in his chest like a rock tumbler, then grunted and left the cave, leaving a trail of loose dirt and an awkward silence behind him.

  “Uh, thank you,” I said finally.

  Antler Head turned to me. “I did not do it for you.” He looked after Dunngo again. “I fear he will seek out conflict until it brings him release from the pain of his son’s death. Though even his own death may not be enough to bring him peace.”

  “I’m … sorry,” I said, not sure what else to say.

  “You have brought the alchemist?” Antler Head asked, looking at Heather.

  “Uh, yes,” I replied. “This is Heather. She has figured out how to make the drug and is going to give you guys enough to keep anyone else from dying. Help her get set up?”

  Antler Head nodded.

  I stayed long enough to make sure Heather would be safe with Antler Head, and had what she needed.

  “I have to get going,” I said, and turned to Heather. “Will you be okay?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t face me, but looked again to the will-o’-the-wisp.

  “Okay then.” I turned to leave, but Heather said, “Finn.”

  “Yeah?” I stopped.

  “I just wanted to say thank you.”

  “Oh. Well, you’re welcome?” I replied. “Thank you for—”

  “No, really, thank you. You could have reported me to the ARC after I showed up in your driveway. You could have probably hunted me down yourself, you and your family, even before that. And after the way I betrayed you all I wouldn’t have blamed you. But you gave me a chance. More than one. And—just thank you for being a good friend, better than I deserved.”

  “I didn’t have the heart to send you into exile,” I said. “I’m not sure that makes me good.”

  “Yeah, you’re not good, you’re grrreat!” Heather replied, the way she would when we were teenagers. She smiled at me, her eyes glistening with tears.

  “More like I’m coo-coo for cocoa puffs,” I replied, and felt a sudden surge of my old affection for her. I pulled her into a tight hug. “Stay safe,” I said, and let her go. “I’ll be back.”

  “Okay, Arnie.”

  I gave her a smile that I almost felt, and headed for the exit.

  Flidais waited outside, and happily guided me downhill through the various physical and magical traps that now surrounded Silene’s clearing.

  Silene sat, her back against the yarn-wrapped trunk of her cedar tree, shaded from the late afternoon sun and watching the river flow by. Sal sat cross-legged downriver a little ways, knitting with yarn from his satchel. Challa stood thigh-deep in the river near Sal, snagging passing fish and tossing them to the shore.

  I knelt beside Silene. “I want you to know, whether I win or lose this duel, your clan will be safe.”

  “And leaves are green, today,” Silene said. She gave me a doubtful look. “You must be a good dancer to have made such a challenge?”

  “I’m good enough,” I said defensively.

  “As you say,” Silene said. “I shall have my clan ready should the Shadows betray the peace of the duel.” She closed her eyes as if nodding off while she spoke. She looked thin, exhausted.

  “How are you doing?” I asked.

  “I healed all those I could, until I collapsed. But I am recovering slowly.” She placed a hand on her tree. “And with the alchemist’s help, hopefully more of our clan will be able to stand in time to fight should the Shadows attack.”

  “I appreciate you giving her a chance,” I said. “I know alchemists are not your favorite people.”

  Silene shrugged, watching Challa. Whenever Challa tossed a fish to shore, Silene’s eyes followed its arc, then flicked over to Sal before quickly looking back to Challa. “Your friend is here to help. And Flidais said she sensed your friend is also … damaged.”

  “You do seem to attract those in need of healing,” I said. “Challa. Sal.”

  “Sal?” she asked, looking up to me.

  “Yeah. Not everyone affected by the mana drug are the ones addicted to it,” I said. “His sister was used by the Arcanites, and died because of it. I get the impression he spent pretty much his entire life just trying to keep his sister out of trouble, taking care of her, and in the end he couldn’t save her. He’s still hurting from that.”

  Silene watched Sal knitting for a minute. “He should be seeking the comfort of his kin and kind.”

  “What he’s seeking is a partner, someone who will judge him by his heart, not his physical appearance. Someone he can trust to return his love, and not just take it.”

  Silene looked back out at the river. “Perhaps he and Challa will be good for each other, then.”

  I looked at Challa. “I’m sure they could help each other,” I said. “But I don’t think they’d love each other, not as mates. Seems to me that Challa is still trying to figure out who she is. She doesn’t want or need a partner right now confusing that. And I don’t think Sal’s ever had an easy time with the other Seeahtik, because of his feet.”

  “In time then,” Silene said.

  Merlin’s balls! I thought to Alynon. Are all brightbloods this stubborn?

  *Dryads live long lives,* Alynon replied. *For Aalbrights, sometimes long life means wisdom, and sometimes that just means you get really good at putting things off, since you’ll always have more time. Perhaps ’tis true for dryads as well.*

  I don’t think this is procrastination. I think it is fear.

  *Sometimes they are the same.*

  I sighed. “It seems a shame if Sal had to just hold onto all that love he’s got, waiting for a future that may never happen.” I looked at my Pac-Man watch. “Shoot, I need to go practice before it is too late.” I straightened.

  “I wish you luck. Whatever aid we can give, just ask Flidais.”

  “Thanks. And good luck to you, too.” I looked from her to Sal.

  I walked over to the giant bare-skinned sasquatch, hunched over his pile of cedar threads. “Hey big guy,” I said, stealing a glance back at Silene. She quickly looked away, but not quickly enough. “So I take it you haven’t told Silene you like her yet?”

  He lowered his head over his knitting, but I could see his blush nonetheless. “Herself is not looking for love.”

  “Everyone wants love,” I told him.

  He shrugged. “Herself keeps pushing Challa at I.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s because she’s being as dumb as you,” I replied.

  Sal looked up at me and growled. I shrugged. “Hey, you asked me to find you your true love. Well, I’m pretty sure Silene is the one. But you’re not going to find out unless you take a chance and tell her you like her.”

  “I protect herself’s heart tree, give Iself’s own fur. I give herself brightlily. Herself still push Challa at I.”

  “What can I say, Sal. Never underestimate a person’s ability to believe they’re not good enough, or attractive enough, or interesting enough, to be loved.”

  Sal knitt
ed in silence a minute, then said, “Is youself ready for the duel of dancing?”

  “I think so. I just need to go loosen up.”

  “Youself a great dancer?” Sal asked, giving me the skeptical up and down.

  Come on! Did I really look that uncoordinated or uncool? “I’ve got some moves,” I said, perhaps a bit angrily.

  “Is maybe goodsmart that youself go practice?” he suggested.

  I sighed. “Yep. Okay. Fine. Take care, Sal. And good luck.”

  I whistled for the fairy, and had her lead me to a small glade in the forest that was nice and secluded.

  Flidais watched as I practiced my dancing. She, at least, seemed to appreciate my moves. We chatted as I consumed a Subway Veggie, several Munch bars, and a couple bottles of Mountain Dew for fuel, and took frequent stretch breaks. It turned out Flidais was a distant cousin of the fairy whose wake my family was hosting. I promised her I would take special care with her cousin’s body, and winced as I remembered removing the wings for donation.

  Don Faun entered the glade several hours later. “The clans are gathered, the circle is set. I hope you are ready.”

  I grabbed my boom box. “Let’s boogey!”

  33

  Rhythm Is Gonna Get You

  Elwha Dam RV Park was a magicals-friendly campsite near the Elwha path trailhead, where a large Greenman totem signaled the site as neutral territory. Near an ancient metal playground set was a small field where the Shadows and Silver brightbloods had gathered, two half circles facing each other. It was not an even match. The Shadows still had greater numbers, and the Silver side had many brightbloods obviously still recovering from illness or injury. But the Silvers had their home territory at their back.

  Barry waited in the center of the circle, on a field of trampled grass, wearing his designer-distressed jeans and a faded brown flannel shirt that looked custom fit. He spotted me, and I couldn’t wait to wipe that cocky grin off his face, with his perpetual five-day growth, and artfully messy blond hair that probably took an hour and a crapload of mousse to shape into that “I don’t care how I look, I just look good” look, and—