by Tom Deitz
“All of which presupposes we can even find Finny,” Calvin interrupted. “He may not be accessible at all, ’specially if we can’t use the Tracks. I was kinda countin’ on ’em.”
“Yeah, but we’ll simply have to use the other resources at our disposal, I guess,” David sighed. “Whatever magical whatsis we’ve got: the ulunsuti, for instance, and whatever you can do, Fargo. Probably oughta check with Uki and see what he suggests, too.”
“Well, then,” Liz said, taking his hand. “That’s not so bad. And remember that you and me and Alec all know a lot about Faerie, you especially—and that I can scry.”
“I keep forgetting about that,” Alec admitted. “You never used to be able to.”
“No, I’ve always been able to, a little. But I’ve gotten much better at it lately.”
David’s face brightened. “So that means you could use it to find Finno?”
“Maybe,” Liz replied uncertainly. “But I’d need something that belonged to him—a part of him would be even better, like blood, for instance. The last time I tried to find somebody who was lost in the Worlds I was using a bit of Ailill’s blood.” She looked at David. “You got anything of his?”
David frowned, taking inventory of what he had left from Faerie: a suit of chain mail, a few bits of clothing Morwyn had given him, an odd bit of jewelry, but nothing from Fionchadd.
“This do?” Uncle Dale asked suddenly, pointing to the golden coffee-chalice.
David glanced at it uncertainly. “I’m not sure. Finno gave it to you, but it was gold from this World, and Morwyn actually made it, not him—though I’m still a little puzzled that it works, since Lugh said magic stuff would lose its power.”
“Which argues for more than a verbal closing,” Alec pointed out.
“Spells, maybe? Or a stronger glamour?” David suggested. “I don’t know.”
“I’ve got it!” Calvin exclaimed suddenly. “I really do have something that belonged to him.”
David looked puzzled. “Huh?”
“The torque!” Alec cried, slapping the arm of the green velvet sofa he sat on. “The torque that he used to record the trip through Galunlati. He gave it to you when you parted.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve got it with you, do you?” Liz wondered hopefully.
Calvin shook his head. “Negatory. I didn’t exactly know I was comin’ over here till I found myself on the way. And I sure didn’t think I’d find myself plottin’ jail breaks from Faerie.”
“So where is it, then?”
“Back at my lady’s house in Sylva.”
“Hold on a minute, guys,” Alec interjected, “we’re forgetting something.”
“Oh yeah, like what?”
“Well, we’re sitting around talking about scrying, but we’ve got the ulunsuti here now—it’s in my pack, Calvin made me bring it. So why not look for Finno now? I mean, it worked before when we were looking for Lugh.”
David’s face brightened. “Yeah, Fargo, any reason not to give it a go?”
Calvin’s brow wrinkled thoughtfully. “We could, I suppose, but—”
“No buts,” David interrupted. “We’ve gotta do it—I mean presuming you’re still willing,” he added to Liz.
“Same ritual as before?” Alec wondered.
Liz shook her head. “I’d rather go solo first, if you don’t mind. I…I’m kinda insecure about this kinda thing. It’s…well, ideally you’ve gotta open your mind to other people, and that really does kinda freak me out.”
“Whatever you say,” David told her, patting her hand. “It’s your call.”
Liz nodded, and seated herself in the middle of the floor. Alec handed her the ulunsuti jar and she removed the crystal reverently and held it in her hand. A moment’s pause, a series of deep breaths and she began staring at it, her eyes growing ever wider and more unfocused until David could see only the thinnest ring of green around her enormous black pupils. Her breathing became shallower and shallower.
For perhaps two minutes she remained that way, and then suddenly she blinked and looked up at them. Her face was grim, but she said nothing until she had put away the ulunsuti and returned the jar to Alec.
“So?” This from David.
“I…couldn’t find him. It was all so chaotic, so confused. I kept trying to picture his face, kept calling on him, but I kept getting other images, other faces—other emotions! God, the emotions! It was…I think it was the war, ’cause they were certainly Faery faces, and most of ’em in armor. Oh, there may be a truce, kinda, but there’s still so much…I don’t know…karma over there and leaking through from there to here that I can’t focus on anything. I’m sorry, folks.”
“How ’bout if we all tried together?” Alec ventured. “Like we did over at my house, or when we found David’s spirit last year.”
“No,” Liz told them flatly. “I can’t, not now. It took all I had to find my way in and back, and at that I nearly lost myself—couldn’t tell what was me and what was somebody else. I can’t look for Finno and hang on to you folks too, at least not this way, I…I’m not that strong. I guess I really do need the torque.”
“I could use the ritual of finding,” Calvin suggested. “That worked before.”
“It might,” Liz admitted. “But frankly I’m…I’m just not up to it, not this soon. That was scary, real scary.”
David took her hand. “That’s okay, girl. We understand.” He glanced at Calvin then. “Any ideas now?”
“Well, for one thing,” the Indian replied, “the problem may not all be Liz’s. The ulunsuti can only look one World away, and we’re not sure Finny is one World away; he could be in one of the Worlds that touch Faerie but not here. The ulunsuti can show us what’s in Worlds that touch ours, and the near future but that’s about it, and even then its limits depend on the strength of the user. Like, it’s harder to see something far off than nearby—and how likely is it that old Finvarra’d conveniently hide him in our backyard, much less Lugh’s?”
“Well, then,” Uncle Dale inserted unexpectedly. “Seems to me you’ve got a choice ’twixt a maybe thing and a sure thing. I’d go for the sure thing if I had the time—which you do. I’d get hold of this torque and see if you can’t find Mr. Finny with it.”
“How soon can you get it, Fargo?” David asked. “Couple of hours at least,” Calvin replied, frowning. “It’d be faster if we all went over to Sandy’s, if we can pull it off. I mean, we are on a short schedule, folks.” David and Alec exchanged weary glances, and Liz too looked troubled. “I’ve got school,” she groaned. “Got a big final coming up. And I’ve managed to get my car stuck again,” she said sheepishly.
“Oh Lord,” David sighed, glancing toward the yard, where the black EXP was enmired to its bumpers. “I forgot about that. “
“That doesn’t mean I won’t do it, though,” Liz said. “I can go over there, do the scrying, and still get back in time to get to Gainesville late—if I can get somebody to get the car out. Ma’ll be POd about it, but—well, she’ll just have to deal with it.”
Uncle Dale grinned. “Yeah, I ’spect there’ll be a lot of pissed-off parents ’fore this is over with. But just you leave ’em to me.”
“Lord, yes,” David groaned. “I can just imagine me havin’ to clear this with Ma and Pa. They’ll let me go, but they won’t like it. What about you, Alec?”
“Do you really need me?”
“Fool-of-a-Scotsman! Of course we need you; you’re Lord of the Ulunsuti. Don’t forget that. You’re actually master of the most power, and don’t forget that, either!”
“Yeah,” Calvin said. “I can work it, but not without your permission. Rest of the stuff I know’s mostly good on the other side.”
“Crap,” Alec sighed in turn. “Well, I reckon I don’t have any choice, do I?”
David flopped an arm on his shoulder. “I reckon not. But the folks’ll be used to us runnin’ off by now. We’ll just tell ’em we’re goin’ over to see Calvin’s place. No
big deal. Besides, come fall we’ll be on our own anyway.”
“Good point,” Alec admitted uncertainly.
David rose to his feet. “Okay, boys and girls, let’s to it. We’ll go to my house and get some stuff—Alec, I’ll lend you some gear if we need it. Then it’s off to Sylva to scry for Finno, and then…”
“I’ll have to report to Uki,” Calvin reminded them. “I could do it here, but it’d probably make more sense to find out what we can beforehand. The more I have to report, the better. Besides, I need to tell my lady.” He glanced at Dale speculatively. “Mind if I call and tell her to expect company for dinner?”
“Be my guest,” Dale replied, nodding toward the phone.
“And then I’ll go on to school from there,” Liz added. “If I can get my car unstuck,” she added pointedly.
David frowned. “Hmmm. That’s a problem. We don’t really have time for that now. So…”
“I’ll take care of yore car, Miss Lizzy,” Uncle Dale assured her. “You young’uns go on. Take David’s car, and I’ll get Liz’s out and drive it over later, if you want. Or you can run her on down to school and you and me can take her car back later. Just give me a call.”
“Or Liz could take somebody and I could take somebody on the bike,” Calvin suggested.
“No way!” came twin horrified shrieks from Alec and David.
“Enough of this,” Liz sighed. “Let’s just get going.”
Chapter XIII: Just Visiting
(near Sylva, North Carolina—Saturday, June 14—early evening)
Gravel spat and sputtered and threatened David’s headlights as he saw Calvin’s bike fishtail around the steep curve ahead of him to disappear beyond an outthrust mass of laurel. He gritted his teeth and swore silently—and wished there was a gear lower than first.
In spite of their best efforts, it was after seven o’clock and he still hadn’t got the Mustang-of-Death the last quarter mile up the pig trail that was purported to be Sandy’s drive, though it looked to be more moss and weeds than gravel. The problem was neither steepness—though there was enough of that to make a Range Rover think twice—nor curves, nor even the loose roadbed. It was simply a capricious washboardedness that reacted with the car’s wheelbase at exactly the wrong frequency and made it bounce and jump sideways every time he tried to go above about five miles an hour—which he felt he had been doing for at least a day.
“Damn,” David muttered, aloud this time, as a final set of ruts sent the tail-end half sideways and set twigs scampering along the sides. Liz in the passenger bucket echoed his sentiment, and Alec in the cramped backseat added, “In spades.”
“Just hang in there, Mach-One,” David sighed. “We’re almost there—I think.”
“Yeah,” Alec countered, “but I think my butt’s somewhere down around Franklin.”
“How ’bout your nerves?”
“Nerves? What nerves? Oh, you mean those things that oozed out of me after you passed that semi on the blind curve? The things that went skulking off into the bushes with their tails between their legs? They—”
“It wasn’t blind.”
“I couldn’t see.”
“Of course not! You had your eyes closed!”
“That’s okay,” Liz chuckled. “So did I.”
“That makes three of us,” David giggled, and Alec cuffed him.
“Yeah,” David laughed, “but you could always’ve ridden with Calvin.” He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Alec’s slightly green face assume a shocking pallor.
“Once was enough,” Alec replied quickly. “’Course I could also have driven your car…”
David shot him a glare that would have melted lead, but a sudden steepening of the trail brought him back to the task at hand. The way had narrowed among a stand of birches that rose pale on either side, and just as he was certain the car wasn’t going to be able to pull the precipitous grade, the road finally leveled off and opened up, and they were there.
Straight ahead a gravel oval about the size of his folks’ side yard had been scooped into the loose schist of the mountain that towered above it to the left, and to the right was what he had first thought a pile of fallen timber, but which proved to be a shingled carport angling off the corner of a long, rustic building. Calvin’s borrowed bike peeked out from under one side. A formidable-looking red-and-black Ford Bronco poked out the other. David doubted the winch on the front bumper was ornamental.
“Well, folks,” David announced, “we’re here.”
Calvin met them at the back door and handed David a frosted mug full of some frothy dark liquid. David took it, sniffed, it tentatively, and took a sip—and almost gagged at the bitter taste.
“What’s the matter, Dave? Can’t abide your native firewater?”
“Tastes like burned horse piss!” David sputtered back. “What is it, anyway?”
“Guinness Stout, of course. Ireland’s national brew.”
David made a face. “Somebody squeeze it out of a peat bog?”
“Let me try,” Alec volunteered, reaching for the mug—just as Calvin handed him its twin. He raised a questioning eyebrow at Liz. “I didn’t know if you partook or not.”
Liz cast a glance back down the alarming slope and nodded vigorously. “I do now!”
“You still abstain?” David asked Calvin, steeling himself and risking another taste.
The Indian nodded.
A musical voice interrupted, floating toward them from somewhere inside. “You forgetting about the glass of hard cider we had on my birthday?”
Calvin blushed and eased the door open, motioning for his friends to enter. The wrought-iron latch, David noted, was homemade—probably a local antique.
David let Liz in front of him and followed her into a vestibule maybe eight feet square, sided with knotty boards nailed at a forty-five degree angle. Rough hunks of skinned tree-trunk marked the corners, each of which offered a branch to a point straight above their heads in an organic semblance of a gothic vault. The arching spaces between were augmented with racks of deer antlers, including a very impressive eight-pointer. Doors opened off on either side, each hung with a woven tapestry depicting mountain sunsets. That to the left was closed, the one to the right ajar enough to expose a toilet and an antique footed bathtub, and the one straight ahead opened against a wall. Warm light came through from beyond, probably candles. There was still no sign of the woman with the wonderful voice.
David shrugged and went on ahead, entering a large space that obviously doubled as kitchen, living room, and dining room. The beamed ceiling (also peeled pine) rose to the full height of the sloping roof, and an open door beyond let in a breeze off the porch and a fabulous view of mountains.
Immediately to their right was a huge stone fireplace, and in front of it a woman was standing.
In spite of the sunburned gold of her hair, David at first thought she too was a Native American. Maybe it was the shape of her face, or the arch of her nose, or the way she carried herself—or simply the way she looked at him as if she saw more than was there. Behind him he heard Alec’s sharp intake of breath and realized that she also looked more than a little like his lost love, Eva—except that this woman was wearing gray-green cords, a souvenir shirt from The Who’s latest tour, and a brief, heavy-fibered vest that looked handwoven.
Suddenly the woman smiled and the ice was broken. “Well, looks like you folks made it up Coon Hound’s Despair! Come in, grab a chair; I’m Sandy.”
David shook her hand, then flopped down gratefully on an overstuffed love seat beside the low green sofa facing the fireplace. Liz joined him. Without waiting permission he tugged off his shoes and socks and flexed his toes and ankles gratefully, running them through the thick fur of the sheepskin that lay on the bleached pine floor. He glanced at Alec. “So sit down, man.”
“Yeah, have a seat,” Calvin echoed, returning from whatever nameless errand had detained him out back. “Liz, what do you want to drink?”
&n
bsp; “Water’s fine.”
“It really is, too,” Calvin assured them, trotting into the kitchen corner to run a frosted glassful which he handed to Liz before turning his gaze to David. “You, however, don’t get anything until you’ve finished what I gave you to start with.”
“You don’t like it?” Sandy asked, sounding a little disappointed. “It was my idea.”
David tried to smile. “A valiant effort, but…”
“I’ll finish it,” Alec volunteered, having already polished off his own. David handed him the mug and raised an eyebrow in Calvin’s direction. “Got more of that branch water, sir?”
“I’ve got some bourbon to go with it,” Sandy offered, then caught herself. “Lord, what a loon I am, offering liquor to folks your age like it was goin’ out of style. If the school board ever found out, they’d run me out of town on a rail.”
“Without their scalps, though,” Calvin appended over his shoulder, grinning wickedly as he filled a mug for David from the tap.
“I won’t tell.”
Calvin handed David his water and cast an amusedly appraising glance at Alec, who was still leaning against the fireplace. “So have a seat McLean! You waitin’ for a written invitation?”
“Thanks,” Alec replied, “but I’ll stand a while longer, if you don’t mind. Have you ever ridden over that road in the backseat of a Mustang?”
“I bet he hasn’t,” Sandy laughed. “But I have. I’ve got a recliner with a built in massager if you like. It’s in the bedroom.”
Alec managed a weak smile. “Later.” He glanced at David. “I guess Calvin’s told you we’ve got serious business.”
“Which we can talk about after supper,” Sandy said, rising. “Plotting the salvation of Western Civilization always goes better on a full stomach.”
“Venison,” Calvin noted simply.
