by Tom Deitz
The other place revealed Finvarra. A dour prince in black and gold, standing aloof from his men and shouting orders from the bow of his jet-black vessel while behind him warriors took on the shape of wyvems and winged aloft to harry the gryphons Lugh’s forces had sent there to reconnoiter. His face was rather gaunt, his hair black, and there was a familiar hint of madness in his eyes.
The ritual was different this time, though: For the first time no one leapt through the gate. Instead, Ilionin simply gestured and uttered a Word, and before David had time to know what was happening, the gate faded, and two more figures suddenly appeared in the cabin—and were immediately surrounded by bristling spears.
“You!” Lugh shouted, upon first seeing Finvarra. “What folly is this?”
“You, I should say,” Finvarra interrupted with a sneer—and then fell silent as his gaze slid sideways past the guards to Ilionin. “Dana! What treachery has befallen us?”
“I am not Dana,” Ilionin replied calmly. “But I sometimes speak in her name. You are on my vessel, and I am captain of this fleet, therefore I could claim both of you as prisoners—if I sought to precipitate another war. Or we could stay here and watch this one a while longer, and see how many more people suffer needless pain. Or we could talk about peace—and perhaps an even more serious thing.”
“Such as?” Finvarra spat, eyeing Lugh with even more distrust than he eyed the guards whose spears ringed them at chest level.
“Such as the fate of all the Worlds here about.”
Lugh suddenly seemed to notice David and lifted a slanted eyebrow. “Well, David Sullivan,” he chuckled, oblivious to the glowering Ilionin, much less his adversary. “I had not expected to see you again, and certainly not here—though now I think on it, I am not surprised.”
“You shouldn’t be,” David told him with more sarcasm than he’d intended, given the delicate situation. “You hinted enough about the war sloppin’ over into our World.”
Lugh looked genuinely concerned. “And has it?”
“You could say that.”
“Enough,” Ilionin commanded. “It is time we spoke of certain things.” She turned her gaze to David. “David Kevin Sullivan, would you like to begin?”
David took a deep breath. “Maybe if we all sat down…? I mean, this is gonna take a long time, and I know you folks know each other”—he eyed Lugh and Finvarra—“so you might as well forget about puffin’ up and posturing and listen to what I’ve gotta tell you.”
“Upstart Mortal!” Finvarra shouted. “I will—”
Ilionin cut him off. “You will do nothing, King of Erenn—except listen.” Her tone left no room for discussion.
David glanced at her, shrugged, and as soon as the guards had prodded the two unwilling guests to low cushions on the floor, began again. “Well, to start with, how much do you know about the Worlds? Really know, I mean?”
“There is Faerie,” Finvarra said promptly. “There are the Lands of Men—and the Country of the Powersmiths, I suppose,” he added sourly. “If one can truly consider that a realm. And of course there is the place we came from.”
“There are others, too,” Lugh took up. “The Lands of Fire that lie below Tir-Nan-Og…”
“And many others,” Ilionin finished for him. “But it is of three, in particular David must speak.”
“I do not wish to listen to this,” Finvarra spat. “No Worlds matter but our own—and certainly not the Lands of Men!”
“That’s where you’re wrong!” David shouted, then regained control of himself. “Without the Lands of Men, there’d probably be no Faerie!”
He went on then, explaining as much as he could about the multiplicity of Worlds, about the Tracks that linked them and sometimes created them, about how the suns of three worlds were intimately connected so that a threat to one was a threat to all.
Sometimes the concepts were almost beyond him, and at those times he vainly wished Calvin was there, then found himself wondering if the Indian had succeeded in his quest to find Uki. At other times, fatigue—and nerves—and Finvarra’s constant glower—nearly overpowered his adrenaline rush and made him forget something important or lose his train of thought, so that even the wine Ilionin had offered him perked him up but little.
“So,” Finvarra snorted, when David had completed his discourse on cosmology, “but what has this to do with our war?”
“A lot,” David said, taking a long draught of wine to fortify himself. “If one of those Worlds ceases to exist, it could endanger all the others.”
“And what is that,” Finvarra wondered, “to we, who are immortal?”
“Because…because you’re not alone in this!” David stammered furiously. “Because there’re other sentient creatures who don’t have it so lucky! Because…it’s just not your right to make decisions that big. You’re a goddamn king, Finvarra! You’re supposed to govern your country, do what’s best for your folks! Do you imagine there’s one of ’em that’d choose to die if he didn’t have to, even if he was gonna be reborn? And what if you can’t be? What if there’s no substance for you to rebuild bodies from? What if there’re no wombs to re-quicken in? How’d you like that, huh?” He paused for breath. “I mean, we deal with it all the time, us ‘foolish Mortals,’ as you guys like to call us. We know we’re gonna die, and we don’t know what comes after and it scares the shit out of us. And now you’re lookin’ at the same thing if you don’t stop this goddam war! Think about that, Finvarra—you too Lugh, though I think you’ve got a little more sense—you guys might really die. And even if you did come back, who’s to say you’d be lucky again and find a World where you could be immortal? Wouldn’t that be fun? Maybe then you’d gain some respect for Mortals. Maybe then,” he added, “you’d really know something about fear.”
He went on, did not know how long he spoke, only that by the time he had finished stating his case a strange sort of eloquence had set in, and he found himself speaking in ringing phrases and catchy lines, rather like he had felt when composing the graduation speech he had delivered such a few days before. Lugh nodded from time to time, and eventually even the dour Finvarra began to look troubled.
Finally Lugh broke the silence. “This is a dire thing, Lady,” he said to Ilionin, “and war or no, motivation or no, the boy is correct: it is not a thing that can continue. War itself may be entertainment, often it is, though not always for those who fall by the way. But when that war threatens existence itself—who can say what might happen? Oh, aye, we are immortal. But if there is no Galunlati, there might soon be no Lands of Men, and if no Lands of Men, then no Faerie. What would happen then? Would we be souls adrift with no bodies? That is not a thing I like to think on. Is it for you, brother prince?”
Finvarra shook his dark head grimly. “I am not convinced.”
“Not convinced!” David threw up his hands in exasperation and flopped backward on the thick gold-and-crimson rug, his mind completely blank of responses. “I give up!” Alec and Liz were instantly beside him, offering wine, and urging him back upright.
He took a sip, then set it aside and glanced sheepishly at Ilionin. “Sorry, Lady, I’ve given it my best shot and this…this arrogant fool won’t listen. That’s it, I’m done. The ball’s in your court now.”
Ilionin started to speak, though her face too was dark with anger, but Alec interrupted.
“No, it’s still in our court,” he said quietly. “There’s still one thing we can do: we can show this S.O.B. the future!”
David looked up, his face suddenly bright with cautious hope. “Good God—you’re right! We’ve still got the ulunsuti—if we can get ’em to use it. And they’ll have to do it too—we can’t show it to ’em, they’d never trust us!”
“A notion of excellent merit,” Ilionin acknowledged, then turned her gaze to her unwilling guests. “I could hold you for ransom if I wished, and perhaps end the war that way—or perhaps only relocate it. Or I could send you back and let you discover your own folly—and
the folk of three Worlds with you. Or you can mix a bit of your blood with mine and see what we shall see.”
“I am willing,” Lugh said slowly.
“I am not,” Finvarra snapped. “Who is to say there is not some treachery afoot to confound me?”
“Yourself will tell you,” Ilionin informed him. “You know something of augury, else you would not wear your crown. Surely you can distinguish false from true.”
“Or are you just scared?” David asked from the floor. “I’ve conquered my fears about this stuff—about shape-shifting and all. Alec has too, he’s been scared shitless of magic, and yet he’s the one who’s come up with the best suggestions lately.”
“And scrying usually tells me things I don’t really want to know,” Liz added, taking David’s hand.
“I fear nothing!” Finvarra cried.
“Then you will agree,” Ilionin told him sweetly. “Come, we will even use that little dagger you think I have not seen you fondling.”
*
What followed was the familiar ritual, except that the participants, save Alec who had to take part, were all immortals.
Alec took the west, Ilionin the east, Finvarra the north, and Lugh the south. Blood was spilled, the ulunsuti was fed, and to David, who sat on the sidelines and watched, very little happened, except that the Sidhe closed their eyes and breathed very, very little—until suddenly Finvarra began gasping and collapsed forward across the crystal, breaking the bond that had linked them. Lugh blinked, then Alec and Ilionin. The Powersmith scooted around to examine her fallen foe.
Finvarra’s face was very pale indeed, but he opened his eyes. “Death,” he whispered, “and nothing beyond it. All roads lead to that but one.”
“Is it peace then?” Ilionin prompted, as she helped him to his feet and returned to her throne.
“It is,” the Ard Rhi of Erenn acknowledged sourly, “though my tongue chokes me to admit it.” No more would he say.
“Will you call off your fleets, then?” Ilionin asked calmly, though her tone indicated there was only one proper answer. “I will call off mine at your word.”
“Aye,” Lugh replied quickly. “I will do this thing.”
“I also,” Finvarra grunted. “I have no choice any longer, and truly I am weary of all this contention.”
David heaved a sigh of relief. “Then it’s over?”
Lugh shook his head sadly. “Not over, David. There is still the matter of your World encroaching on Faerie, something that neither of us can control. There is still a threat, we have merely removed one. The responsibility is now on you and your kind.”
“I can’t do anything about that, though,” David protested wearily.
“Can you not?” Lugh asked him. “All things are possible in time.”
“I’m mortal, though. Time’s the one thing I don’t have.”
“Then you will have to hurry, won’t you?” Lugh chuckled.
“But the war’s over, really? You promise?”
“I promise,” said Lugh, casting a wary eye toward Finvarra before turning his gaze back to David. “Do you?”
“I can’t speak for my kind,” David sighed helplessly. “I wish I could.” And with that he fell silent, as Liz took his hand and led him back to his seat.
* * *
The war that had begun with a storm ended with lightning. One last time Alec and Ilionin called upon the Power of the ulunsuti (of which it still had much, thus he had to provide no more blood) to open gates. This time Lugh and Finvarra passed through—as one, so that neither would feel himself slighted. The atmosphere was still edgy. A flash of light, and the Faery kings were gone.
The gate was still fading in the cabin when Ilionin ushered them on deck a good while later. It was morning—almost, or at least the sky was brightening in the east. David sprinted to the prow, for he had seen something there that intrigued him. Beyond the copper dragon he could see three armadas—both in the air and on the water—each slowly disengaging: Black sails to the north and gold to the east—and red sails southward. The kings must have passed their orders quickly. He hoped they were sufficient.
For a long time all he did was watch and ponder. Eventually he spoke to Fionchadd, who had trotted up to prop his forearms on the rail beside him, “Well, Finno, as best I can tell, we’ve only got one more problem.”
“Only one more? That is unusual for you.”
“Only one more for now,” he amended, then turned to Liz who stood at his other side—and paused for a moment, caught up by the sight of her: red hair twitching in the breeze, exactly complemented by the tawny fur robe Ilionin had lent her, all framed by the golden sail behind her and lit by torches and sunrise. But then practicality once more banished romanticism, and he poked her in the ribs. “Come on, lady,” he sighed, “I reckon we better go butter up poor old Alec one more time.”
“You don’t need to,” Fionchadd informed them promptly. “If it is returning home that concerns you, I have already spoken to my aunt about that. If you will wait but a little while, she will take you there. This vessel can sail between the Worlds, but cannot do it quickly. Meanwhile, there is time to rest, to eat—to heal.”
“I wish there was time to study,” Liz groaned. “I’ve got a major league test real soon, and Lord only knows what’s going on in our World.”
“We can arrange that, too,” Fionchadd told her.
“No,” Liz replied with a vehement shake of her head. “No more magic, no more fooling with time—my brain couldn’t stand it. I only wanta get back home.”
“Where at home, by the way?” Fionchadd inquired.
“Oh, Christ, yeah: good question. I left David’s car back in Crawfordville…”
“You what?” David screeched.
“It’s not like I had any choice in the matter!” Liz informed him shortly.
Fionchadd chuckled wryly. “Do not worry about it, leave this part to me.”
And with that he turned and left them.
Liz took David’s hand. “They said we had time: food, sleep, and I think I heard something about a bath waiting below.”
“Alec’s already in it,” David laughed, “or is if I know him.”
“Think he’d mind sharing?”
“Probably, but we could always ask.”
“Let’s do.”
And with that they went below decks, with Fionchadd close behind.
Epilogue: At Loose Ends
(Cumberland Island, Georgia—Tuesday, June 17—morning)
It was a much cleaner, happier, and better-fed David Sullivan who was standing on the deck of the Powersmith flagship when it burst through the World Walls and came once more into the Lands of Men. It was not a thing Ilionin had wanted to do, he knew, but she also knew obligation when she saw it, and so she had consented to deliver them to land. But even at that she had been careful. A certain sort of Sight had helped her choose her destination, making sure it was free of lurking humans that might be alarmed by a vast copper dragonship suddenly popping into existence in the shipping lanes. Thus she had chosen a stretch of deserted sea, and further insured her secrecy by wrapping the boat in a glamour and raising a fog. No Minniebelle Cokers would speak of close encounters with her.
As for the transition, David scarcely noticed it, though perhaps it was the fact that he had Liz to distract him at the time—and would have been letting her distract him even more had Alec not been talking to Fionchadd right behind him.
“This may truly be goodbye,” the Faery was saying.
“Lugh says he will still keep the borders closed, and Finvarra has agreed to shut his as well, though I doubt he will be able to fulfill that, since the World Walls are so much thinner in Erenn that many cross by accident.”
“It’s kind of a shame, though,” Alec mused, and fell silent as he noticed David listening.
“Yeah,” David tossed over his shoulder. “But a year ago I said there was a lot of magic left in the World, even without Faerie, and there still is. I�
��ve decided a couple of things, Alec, whether you like ’em or not. One is that you and me are gonna work with that ulunsuti whether you like it or not, and the other thing is that I’m goin’ to Galunlati and see if I can’t put all of this together. I’ve seen so many hints of things, heard so much that almost makes sense, that I really think if I can sit down with the right folks, I can figure it all out. ’Course I’ll have to clear it with Calvin,” he added, and suddenly felt a twinge of guilt.
“Any word from him?” Alec inquired.
David shook his head. “None. I’m sure he’s okay, and I’ve asked Lugh and Ilionin to keep an eye out for him if he pops in here, but that’s one thing I guess I’ll have to deal with when we get back.”
“Actually,” Alec began hesitantly, but with a bit of pride as well, “I suppose we could search for him with the ulunsuti.”
“Good job!” David exclaimed, slapping him on the back. “We’ll make a wizard out of you yet.”
“But unnecessary,” Liz chuckled, pointing past the dragon prow. “Look!”
Without them really being aware of it, Ilionin had let the boat slip to earth and now the figurehead was knifing through the last wisps of fog before making landfall. Waves were cavorting and frothing around the hull, and even as he followed Liz’s extended finger, David felt the grate of the keel against the land, though the sea was so shallow there they were still a fair ways from shore.
“Calvin!” David shouted joyfully, for he had seen the black-haired, bare-chested figure standing on the beach at the high-tide mark—the figure that was now running headlong into the waves.
“I cannot touch your land,” Ilionin said behind him, her voice gentle as the rustling of her heavy silk cloak. “You will have to wade the rest of the way. I am sorry, but the Laws of Dana command it.”
“You follow them too?” David asked incredulously, then remembered he’d heard her speak of them before.
“Aye, some. But there is no more time to speak.”
“Except to me,” Fionchadd laughed, slipping past her. “I need to tell you all goodbye—and I find that I cannot.” And for the first time in his life David saw tears in the Faery’s eyes.
