by Tom Deitz
“Uh, sorry to call so late, but is this Dale Sullivan?” A woman’s voice, musical, but a little nervous.
“Uh, yeah, shore is. What can I do for you?”
“Uh, well, you don’t know me, but my name’s Sandy—Sandy Fairfax. I’m a friend of Calvin Macintosh’s.”
“Right,” Dale said, still fumbling for the light. “I know him. He’s not here now.”
“No,” Sandy said. “I know he’s not. That’s why I called you. I think there’re some things you ought to know.”
Chapter XVI: A Night in the Woods
(Jackson County, Georgia—Sunday, June 15—very late)
Five hours after leaving Calvin’s Power Wheel, whatever apprehensions David might have had regarding the salvation of either his friends or his World had been sublimated by a much more immediate concern: staying awake. In spite of having slept through the morning and most of the afternoon, fatigue had caught up with all of them again in the last little while and was making its presence known in no uncertain terms—either that, or their biorhythms were screwed up something awful, or maybe it was the simple fact that having your body taken apart and reassembled took as much out of you as a hard day’s work, and having your consciousness out flying around had much the same effect.
Unfortunately, it was the middle of night and he was driving to Atlanta.
He’d been fine when they’d decided to press on that evening, hoping to get as close as they could to the real-world analog of Fionchadd’s prison under cover of darkness, since none of them were certain what they might have to do or where, except that whatever it came down to would best be accomplished without any unwelcome scrutiny. And he’d still been okay while they’d packed and plotted and putzed around the house far longer than he liked. But now he was beginning to regret not having pushed harder for Sandy to drive, as she’d volunteered to do before Calvin reminded her that she had a post-planning session at her school the next day that she absolutely could not afford to miss. Her peculiar living arrangement had raised some eyebrows over the previous year, and though she was a good and highly regarded teacher, some folks in her local school system disapproved of her lifestyle and would avail themselves of any opportunity to ostracize her, so she had to be careful not to rock the boat too much.
So it was that David found himself piloting the Mustang-of-Death down the long, empty stretches of 1-85 between Commerce and Jefferson at just shy of midnight, with Liz and Alec cutting heavy Z’s in the right side shot guns, and Calvin only fitfully awake behind him. The trunk was packed with an assortment of gear assembled for a variety of contingencies, but immediate reality had narrowed to the rush of white line across the dark pavement and the harsh whip of wind through all four lowered windows—the car, a ’66, had no A.C., and they were in rather close quarters. The noise also helped him stay awake, aided by the lively beat of the B-52s’ latest album being tracked on the University of Georgia station they’d been listening to ever since they’d come in range fifteen minutes before. Alec had still been functional then, and it had been his suggestion. He was asleep now, and David was considering several alternatives. He’d have put in a tape, but the humidity had got to his cassette player sometime lately, and after it had eaten the new Midnight Oil, he’d called it quits.
And what he really wanted to call quits to was driving. His eyes were about to go: they were burning like crazy and he’d been blinking them far too often, and not because of the Sight. Worse, he had more than once caught himself on the ragged edge of veering off the road. Fortunately there was coffee that Sandy had sent along, but that only made him want to pee again—and they’d made two pit-stops already, to his chagrin. To take his mind off his bladder, he put himself to wondering about it all once more, about Calvin and Sandy—about how in the world they were going to rescue Finno. And with that came not awe, but dread: dread of the pain of the transfer, fear of shapeshifting, of losing himself. The horror of failing and knowing that though his World would probably survive, others might very well not. It was too much, he realized, too much for a guy to have to put up with when he was only five months past eighteen.
He tried to exile the notion, to concentrate on the situation at hand: white lines and a reflective-silver-on-green sign that hove suddenly out of the darkness bearing the legend JEFFERSON: 5 MILES. He started: hadn’t the last one said eight? Where had the last three minutes gone? He blinked, shifted position, stuck his head out the window to try to wind-whip himself back to full alert. And cranked the radio louder. A glance in the rearview mirror showed Calvin finally sacked out. So what was the deal…? “We’ll go to Atlanta,” they’d said, and this was the quickest way. Only which way now? There were several routes to Atlanta, so if they stayed on the interstate, they’d hit the perimeter in about forty-five minutes. The IBM Tower was smack in the middle of town, but what was the best way to get there?
The left side tires crunched gravel and David jerked reflexively, aware he’d faded out while actually making a conscious effort not to. He wrenched the wheel to the right and swore softly. One or the other shook Calvin from his stupor. “Damn, Sullivan, you tryin’ to get us killed?”
“It’d solve some problems,” David retorted wearily.
“Want me to drive?”
“You’re no better off than I am, Fargo. But you can talk to me if you want to, help me stay awake. We’ve only got another hour or so. “
“Only takes a second to splatter us across four lanes,” Calvin yawned back. “But I’ve been thinkin’. I hate the idea of any more delays, but it’s not gonna do any good for us to try this when we’re dead on our feet. Besides, there’s something else we need anyway, so I was just thinkin’…let’s see, we’re nearly in Jefferson, so why don’t you turn off there?”
“Ask and it shall be given,” David chuckled wanly, pointing to the exit sign that had obligingly appeared on the horizon. “US 129, to Jefferson, Athens, and Gainesville. Which way now, mon?”
“Left,” Calvin instructed. “I know a place near here where we can chill out for a while.”
“You got it,” David sighed, and shifted to third as he braked and changed lanes to head up the gentle exit ramp. “Left, you said?” he asked at the top, pausing to vent a yawn of his own.
“Yeah.” Calvin yawned back offhandedly.
“Where are we?” Alec muttered from the right side of the back seat where he’d been curled into a cramped and rather angular ball, his long legs a problem in spite of Liz having moved her seat all the way forward.
“Close to our goal,” David told him, “Closer, anyway.”
“Wake me up when we’re there,” he slurred back softly, and closed his eyes once more.
“Just go south,” Calvin told David. “It’s only ’bout fifteen more miles.”
The distance passed quickly and fairly painlessly. David had finally begun to acquire his second wind, and, now that there were some curves in the road, was finding more to occupy both his hands and his reflexes.
They trundled through tiny, rustic Jefferson and even tinier Arcade, which was hardly even a town; still heading south, traveling through rolling hills that were about an even mix of farms and forest. As they crested a low hill roughly ten miles out of town, Calvin leaned up and spoke into David’s ear. “Okay now, slow down, it’s up here somewhere, just let me find it—off on the right.” David eased off the gas, but still had to brake hard to catch the road that suddenly darted out from behind a stand of pines. The tires squealed in protest. Liz squealed in irritation at having been so inelegantly awakened.
“Where are we?” she mumbled grumpily.
“Just what I was about to ask,” Alec chimed in from the back seat. “For that matter, when are we?”
“Nearly midnight, and south of Jefferson,” David replied. “And closer to bed.”
“Not bed, precisely,” Calvin corrected. “Let’s just say closer to sleep.”
“Where to now, Fargo?” David wondered, as they puttered down a narrow pav
ed road between ranks of scruffy pines. A small church and graveyard slipped by on the left, a house on the right, one light burning. Somewhere a dog yipped.
“Couple of miles on, dirt road, lefthand side.”
David shrugged and followed Calvin’s directions into what was now purely forest, and at last turned onto what looked suspiciously like a well-maintained logging road—until it became progressively more overgrown.
“Here,” Calvin said at last.
David took in their surroundings: a small clearing almost overgrown with bushes and long grass, surrounded by more of the tall, stringy pines. He could see sky through their sparse branches, though—and bright stars. The only sounds were the hiss of air through needles and the distant cry of an owl.
“You know the owners?”
“Know their son, met him at Boy Scout Camp once. Don’t think they’ll mind if we camp out here for the night, long as we don’t hurt anything—’specially if we don’t leave any sign we were here, which means we can’t risk a fire. The north may be soggy to the core, but not this part of the country.”
“Didn’t know you were a Scout,” David observed, as he shut off the car and climbed out.
“Wasn’t,” Calvin replied, as he followed suit. “Grandfather took me down to their big set-up at Rainey Mountain a couple of years ago to do a demo. Met this guy there. Visited him again last year while I was roamin’ around.”
“What kinda demo?” This from Alec.
“Medicinal herbs.”
“Oh, right, I’d forgotten about that.”
“So where do we sleep?” Alec wondered.
“We’ve got bags,” David noted with a touch of sarcasm. “And the ground looks pretty soft over there where the moss is. We can sack out there. Or you can crash in the car if you want to.”
“No thanks,” Alec protested, stretching again. “I’ll take the ground. I’ve had enough of the M-of-D lately.”
“And I’ll take wherever you are,” Liz whispered, seizing David’s hand.
“It’ll be the ground then,” he said, digging a pair of nylon bags from the trunk. “How ’bout you, Fargo?”
“I’m gonna wander around for a bit,” Calvin replied absently. “Be back when I get back.”
“Take it easy,” David called.
“You got it. Just remember: save me some food. And no fire!”
“Right.”
David watched, but was never certain when Calvin passed from view among the trees.
“Lord, I’m tired,” Alec groaned, as he unrolled his bag and stretched out on a flat, mossy spot.
“You got it,” Liz agreed, following his example. David slipped his bed roll between his friends, then returned to the car for the cooler Sandy had lent them. “There’s a little coffee left, and some hot cocoa. Got some cokes, too.”
“Cocoa,” Liz decided instantly, “to soothe our nerves.”
“What’s to eat?” Alec inquired.
“Venison sandwiches and tater chips,” David replied. “We should’ve stopped at that last Golden Pantry.”
“And called out for pizza?”
“I wish,” David sighed, applying himself to a sandwich—homemade bread, as it turned out.
They ate in silence, too burned out for conversation. David wondered again where Calvin was, but knew he could take care of himself. The wild was his turf, after all, and Calvin had essentially been on his own for several years.
Eventually they all snuggled into their bags. David lay back in his, arms folded above his head. The night had warmed up some, and in spite of the pesky mosquitoes, he took off his shirt. He was not surprised when he found Liz’s head in the hollow of his arm, her fingers gently stroking his bare chest. He took her hand, held it against his heart. “I’m scared,” he whispered to her.
“You’re a hero,” she whispered back, and then weariness claimed them.
*
David woke once an indeterminate time later, strangely disoriented. He gently disengaged Liz’s hand and looked up. Fog had drifted in from somewhere, dense, white, low-lying stuff that made even the nighted trees go strange where they reared above it. Moonlight caught one of those pines and sprinkled stars among its needles, indistinguishable from those in the sky. A spiderweb glittered between twin dead oaks to the right, wrought in diamonds and silver. He glanced around, searching for Calvin. He didn’t seem to be in evidence, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. He could be asleep in the car. Or, if the fog had trapped him somewhere, he was probably woods-wise enough to stay put and wait for morning to burn the stuff away.
And it really did have a calming effect, he realized. He closed his eyes again, slid down in the bag against the chill, and kissed Liz’s hand once more. She mumbled something, and he mumbled back, and then her soft breaths were lost in the murmur of the woods.
*
Somewhat later, David was startled awake once more by Calvin poking him on the top of the head with a bare toe. He started to protest, but the silhouette raised a finger to its lips and silenced him, motioning him to follow. David nodded, and as quietly as he could slid out of the bag. The fog had lifted a bit, but Calvin’s body was still indistinct in the half-light. Must still be a few hours till dawn. David picked up his shoes but did not put them on until he could lean against the hood of the car. His feet made almost no noise among the pine needles.
Thirty or so yards further on, he caught up with Calvin. The Indian was almost naked—clad only in a loincloth that appeared to have been hastily improvised out of one of Sandy’s handwoven scarves belted with a length of twine from which depended a matched pair of pouches. Golden uktenas David had not seen before glistened balefully on his muscular arms, though the moon had stolen all their color, and he wore his beaded headband. His hair looked strange, though: slick with moisture—too wet for the fog to account for. When he turned, David saw that his cheeks and chest were painted with designs that might have been hawks or eagles. David felt something thrust into his hands, looked down and saw the coffee thermos. It was cool and wet, as if it too had been dipped in water.
The silence was uncanny, as if the lurking fog swallowed all sound. The fog…there was something familiar about it. David caught Calvin gently by the arm, gestured around him, mouthed the word you and sketched a question mark in the air.
Calvin nodded almost imperceptibly.
When David had followed Calvin a hundred yards further on, he saw why Calvin had raised this mist. A tiny snow-white deer stood in the trail, its dainty form so bright it reflected the moonlight like a mirror, its delicate antlers extravagantly branched and shining like new-cast silver.
David held his breath, knowing instantly this was no creature of this World. Faerie then? But no, Cherokee myth spoke of such a beast: Awi Usdi, the Little Deer: Lord of Deer-kind in Galunlati. Was this him, and if so, why had Calvin summoned him?
Calvin took a deep breath and settled himself into a low crouch. Very softly he began to chant in the liquid syllables that David knew were his native tongue, then slowly reached into the grasses at his side and pulled out something David recognized: the many-wooded bow Uki had given him their first time in Galunlati. He had one like it; wished he’d remembered to bring it along. Calvin crept forward, once more softly chanting. Abruptly there was movement to the right: a flash of half-seen gray-brown shape amidst the leaves, the white flag of tail that gave its name to the local species of deer.
“Usinuliyu Selagwutsi Gigagei getsunneliga tsudanda- gihi ayeli-yu, usinuliyu…”
—And a sudden tension in the air as Calvin pulled back the string…
“Yu!”
The arrow flew.
The whitetail did not cry out, did not move, simply collapsed where it stood. That was strange too, for usually it took arrows a while to kill, but by the time David remembered that, Calvin was beside the creature and wrenching the shaft free of the hollow behind the shoulder blade. The deer’s eyes found David’s for a moment: clear and moist—then dulled abrup
tly, and by then Calvin had looked back at him. For the first time he spoke. “Quick! The thermos.”
David nodded mutely and provided what he’d been asked. Calvin took it, and with one quick movement of his knife, drew the blade across the deer’s throat, holding its head while a sporadic stream of blood dribbled into the container. When it slopped out onto his hands, he stood and backed away.
“Shouldn’t we…?” David began, but Calvin shook his head and pointed behind him. The white deer was back, and with it a thickening of the fog. Indeed, the fog seemed to congregate around them, as if drawn there from all quarters of the wood. Something about it sent chills up David’s spine. Calvin waited an instant longer, then took a deep breath and whispered one more chant. The fog melted away then, as if the trees absorbed it; and of neither animal was there any sign.
Calvin turned, grinning, but David could see sweat sheening his body and relief on his starlit features.
“Whew,” the Indian whispered. “I wasn’t at all sure that’d work; that’s the first time I ever tried it on my own.”
“Tried what?” David asked. “Or rather, which?”
“To raise a fog, to start with,” Calvin replied. “Uki taught me that. It functions as a gate between here and Galunlati but you can only use it at certain times and for certain reasons. The ritual Oisin used to send us through the first time’s too complicated. Mine’s easier—but before you ask: no, we can’t use it to get to wherever Finny is. Uki wasn’t even sure it’d work here, but I had to try. That’s why I left: I had to go purify myself: go to water, perform the ritual as a man of the Ani-Yunwiya.”
“And let me guess,” David appended. “You summoned the king deer and got him to intercede.”
“I had to, Dave. I could’ve killed a deer tonight anyway, probably, ’cause there’re certainly plenty around. But it’d have been out of season, even if I’d thanked it and covered the blood; so I had to get Awi Usdi to intercede, to explain my errand—though he already knew about it—and to take the body away. To leave it’d raise too many questions. Besides, I owe it to my friend whose land this is. Awi Usdi has promised me he will bring another deer here, one from beyond these lands, one with many points. No one will know.”
