By Sun

by T Thorn Coyle

  “Okay, I can’t really explain this shit, so I’m just gonna start in the middle,” he said. “I was coding and it’s almost like I went out of my body, man. And like the code was just slipping through me, smashing through me. And then I started to feel this weird pressure.”

  As Jack spoke he felt the same pressure again, as if the point of the spear was trained just underneath his shoulder blade.

  He told Joe the rest, as best as he could, about the tall guy with the spear, and about the lightning. About his monitors frying, and Brenda and Lucy saying it was some Irish God.

  Joe drank more beer and tilted his head at Jack, squinting a little from the sun. Then he sighed, and held up his non-beer-holding hand in a what are you gonna do? gesture.

  “Gods make as much sense to me as computers, man,” Joe said. “It’s all magic, in my book, just a bunch of stuff I don’t understand but that affects the world all the same. I mean, I was raised on my grandma’s Fiji fairy stories, but give me a wrench or a hammer, and I’m good.”

  “Yeah, but…what do you think about this God or whatever it is? Brenda and Lucy say he’s a craftsman, a poet, and some warrior dude. And I have no idea what that’s got to do with me.”

  Joe drank more beer, then looked thoughtful. “Some folks might say coding is a craft, right? And maybe it’s time you stepped up, man. Time we all stepped up. Time to stop hiding in the shadows. Playing it safe. It’s one thing I learned when we were dealing with those corrupt developers awhile back. We all have to fight for something. Maybe you need to fight for yourself.”

  “You talking about Lucy or something else?”

  “I’m talking about all of it, man. Lucy—who you were an idiot to let go of, by the way—and all the other stuff that’s going on these days. The big-picture stuff. This country is in trouble, man, but saying that, sometimes we need to start a little closer to home. At least, that’s my opinion. Take it for what it’s worth.”

  Jack didn’t respond; he just played with a piece of yuca frita, crumbling and mashing it onto a discarded napkin.

  “But right now? It’s a gorgeous evening and we don’t know how many more of these we have left before the rain comes,” Joe said. “So, drink your beer and chill. You’re freaking me out.”

  Jack flashed Joe a grin at that, and hoisted his beer.

  “To Gods and computers,” he said.

  “To Gods, and computers, and witches, and ghosts, and all the spooky stuff that makes this world go ’round,” Joe replied.

  And Jack found he couldn’t disagree.

  19

  Lucy

  Lucy couldn’t relax. Spending time with Arrow and Crescent coven was usually one of her favorite things, but focusing on the ritual of first harvest was the last thing she felt like doing right now. Oh, there was plenty for her to feel thankful for. Overall, life was pretty sweet. But she couldn’t shake the knowledge that right now, people were languishing in cages, separated from their families…and that too many of them had crossed the border hoping to find work helping with the very harvest the coven was honoring.

  Maybe she needed that beer bath after all. Her aura was funky from all the toxic goo flying around the country.

  The coven was in Raquel’s backyard again, under the shade of the towering maple tree, flanked by vegetable gardens and flower beds. The dusty scent of tomato plants filled Lucy’s nostrils, along with her shampoo. After visiting Izel, she’d rushed home to shower off the vestiges of pepper spray and put some more ointment on her right hand. She’d even put on a floaty white sundress for a change.

  Alejandro had quirked his eyebrow when he saw her re-wrapped right hand, and the light abrasions on her left. When he pulled her in for a hug, he had whispered in her ear: “I know you aren’t going to want to talk about whatever the fuck is going on with you, Hermana, but you’re going to have to spill.”

  Here she sat, as everyone around her drank cucumber- and mint-infused sparkling water over ice, or set out trays of fruits and vegetables and a freshly baked loaf of gluten free bread Tobias had made. She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to laugh…and she didn’t want to sit here, either. Sitting still was painful. And so was her right hand. Beneath the scrapes, both her palms still itched and tingled. As if she wasn’t paying enough attention already.

  “So,” Selene said, sitting down next to Lucy in a waft of amber scent, “you going to tell us what’s going on with you? I can tell your hands are bugging you again. And what’s with the scrapes?”

  Selene flipped their long black hair over one shoulder. Waiting.

  Selene and their new partner, Joshua, had been the main instigators in helping the coven take down the Alchemist that had poisoned Lucy. The Alchemist had targeted Selene because, not only were they queer, they were non-binary. The Alchemist had fixated on Selene as the perfect alchemical creation. The man’s delusions had led to one death, and several people being hospitalized. He had also assaulted Selene.

  Lucy sighed. There was no getting around talking about this.

  “I think I just need to talk to the whole coven, when we’re ready. I can’t tell the story over and over again.”

  Raquel gave her a sharp glance from across the table where she was pouring more sparkling water into glasses.

  “We’re all gathered now,” Raquel said. “No time like the present to tell us what the hell is going on with you. I can smell danger all around you, girl. What now?”

  Lucy sipped some of the sparkling cucumber-mint water, desperate to wet her throat, which had gone dry under Raquel’s gaze.

  “The short story?” she said. “Tonantzin has been coming to me, insisting I do something to help the families—especially the children—being held by ICE and the DHS. On top of that, my hands have been tingling like crazy, and leading me out to the ICE building more than once.”

  She held up her scraped hands. “And this morning, I got chased by DHS agents, who shot pepper balls at me.”

  “What the…?” Moss sprang out of his chair. “Are you okay?”

  Lucy shook her head, clean hair swirling around her shoulders.

  Alejandro cleared his throat. Half the coven still looked at Lucy, but the other half turned toward him. Lucy was grateful for the respite.

  “There’s something else,” he said. He jerked his chin at Raquel. “Your neighbor Jack is having visions. He’s been trying to figure out what’s going on.”

  Brenda chimed in then. “And he told us today that he’s being visited by a figure with a spear.”

  “Lugh?” Tobias asked, scratching at his goatee.

  Brenda nodded. “It looks that way. And considering this is Lammas, or Lughnasadh…”

  “That means we have to act fast,” Raquel said, “about whatever this is. Dammit. Can’t we just enjoy a holiday now and then?”

  Raquel shook her head in irritation, then continued. “Much as I hate to say it, I think today’s ritual is going to be a toast to the Gods and the harvest and then, while we eat this glorious feast here, a big discussion about what the heck we’re going to do. Again.”

  “We’re going to have to call on the network again,” Moss said. “If what’s about to go down is happening this weekend, and it’s as big as it seems? We can’t do this without backup.”

  “And you most certainly can’t do this on your own, Lucy, so don’t even try it.” Raquel’s voice brooked no disagreement.

  “But the Goddess…” she protested. Everything in her wanted to fight them. Fight her coven siblings. This was her battle. Her war to fight. Not theirs.

  “The Goddess nothing,” Raquel said flatly. “That’s bullshit and you know it. Talk about grandiose? What? Are you trying to protect us? After we helped train you? After every person in this circle has fought by your side?”

  The fight swept out of her in a whoosh, and Lucy’s shoulders slumped. She was suddenly just tired. Raquel was right. Moss was right.

  She raised her injured hands up in surrender.

&nb
sp; “Okay,” she said. “Okay.” She didn’t have to like it to acknowledge what they said was true. Every single holiday for the past year might have ended up in some sort of crisis, and her country—and the world—might be teetering on a precipice, but at least she had her coven around her.

  “To the Goddesses and the Gods,” Brenda said, raising her glass. “And to the harvesters who toil so that we may enjoy this glorious bounty.”

  Everyone raised their own glasses of sparkling water. The sun’s rays caught the bubbles and the fluted glass, and threw shards of light on the beloved faces of her coven.

  “And to the Earth and Sun, who, together, help keep us alive,” Lucy said. “I give thanks.”

  “We give thanks,” the coven replied.

  Lucy drank, deeply, letting the bubbles and the taste of cucumber and mint fill her mouth. She could appreciate this moment, at least, even if they were on the verge of war. Even if the coven seemed beleaguered, battle after battle, with seemingly no end in sight.

  They had this day. They had this bounty. They had one another’s power.

  And at least those DHS bastards hadn’t caught her.

  Yet.

  20

  Jack

  Jack was holed up in the cave Olivia called her office, wincing slightly at the Norwegian metal blasting from her speakers. His head was better. It still ached a bit from his overindulgence the day before, but he didn’t dare ask Olivia to turn it down. He knew she worked best with her music cranking, and they had a lot to get done.

  He worked on Olivia’s second setup because he had to buy himself new gear. Thank someone-or-other that his tower hadn’t fried, at least. And he had all of his work stuff backed up online as well, but losing his monitors, including his favorite gaming screen, really blew.

  Olivia sucked down another high caffeine cola, crumpled the can, and tossed it toward the squat, overfilled recycling bin in the corner. Jack couldn’t exactly tease her about her habit, considering his own food and drink intake, but it was still incongruous that a jock like her was such a typical geek in so many ways.

  “You need anything?” she asked.

  He quirked his mouth up. “You ever heard of this thing called natural light?”

  She snorted. “Open a curtain if you want to, though why you want to fight the glare, I don’t know.”

  He needed to get up and stretch, anyway. Maybe get some water. Pee. They’d been at it for hours.

  While he was up, he slid one of the heavy navy curtains over, letting a slice of sun into the room. The light slid across the hardwood floors, the big metal desks, and the racks of computer gear. Olivia’s room was strictly utilitarian. Her partner’s touch—so apparent in the rest of their one-story home—was lacking here. No way Grace’s chair would fit around all the cables in here, anyway.

  “I’m taking a breather,” he said. “Do you want anything while I’m up?”

  “Nope. I’m good.”

  Olivia turned back to the twenty-four-inch screen streaming with code, her yellow-tinted computer glasses reflecting the harsh glow. It didn’t take long until she was clearly back in the zone, fingers tapping out a rhythm only she kept time with. The singer growled from the speakers, over crunchy bass and rhythm guitar.

  Jack massaged his temples. He’d been wondering what was next in his life. Wondering when the boredom and dissatisfaction would resolve itself. Well, that “something next” turned out to be taking a short leave from his current projects in order to get whatever the hell this thing was done.

  He was answering the call.

  After Jack’s monitors had blown, and given the damn stabbing behind his shoulder blades when he even talked about doing something other than figuring out the cryptic messages trying to come through, it was clear that he wouldn’t be allowed to work on anything as prosaic as a game to pay his bills.

  It seemed that he had a bigger debt to pay. To some guy with a spear, apparently. Some ancient Irish God named Lugh, and how weird was that?

  And since—coincidence of coincidences—Olivia had been getting a group of hackers together to mess with the DHS anyway, Jack jumped on board. Was this the particular project he’d been called to? He wasn’t sure, but it would at least do for now. He was glad Olivia trusted him enough to bring him in.

  He stretched, took a drink of water from the bottle on his desk, re-capped it, and then realized he knew exactly what the next lines of code were. Rubbing his hands over his face to get some blood flow moving, he swung his arms a few times, then sat back down in the ergonomic chair and got back to it.

  As soon as he sat down, Jack felt the pressure on his back again, but this time it wasn’t painful. It felt good. As if, instead of stabbing him, something—or someone—had his back. Or as if he had on some sort of leather armor. Jack felt his posture straighten. His breathing came more easily. He realized the body aches from his out-of-character workout were just…gone. So was the headache from last night’s beer. As a matter of fact, part of him wouldn’t even mind another run. All of a sudden, he felt…great.

  If this was what it was like to have a God hovering over your shoulder, maybe he could get used to it. The perks were pretty good.

  Jack smiled and let his fingers hover over the split keyboard for a moment, took a breath, then dived back in.

  Immediately, his fingers moved as if possessed. Some direct connection bypassed his conscious mind and let whatever needed to come forth find its way onto the keys. The image of the painting flashed into his mind, replaced by a picture of the tall blond man, striding toward a giant wooden door.

  Jack just kept coding, fingers flying across the keys. Shards of images flowed across his mind, just like the code flowed on the screen. There were symbols, strange and foreign, and the Clyfford Still painting, and the striding man—Lugh—pounding on a solid wood plank of a door. There was the growling voice of the lead singer, the hum of the computer towers…all of it turned into one image, one sound, one flow.

  The image of Lugh turned and stared at Jack with sharp eyes. They were hazel, with deep, hooded lids. The eyes of a falcon, or some other bird of prey. Jack felt frozen, for just an instance, but his fingers never stopped their tapping.

  He was in rhythm with the pounding drums and bass. With Olivia’s keystrokes.

  ::I, master of all crafts and the warrior’s arts, have been left out of the feast. You must allow me in. You must open the great doors. Open the doors to the hall. Depose the king if you must. But no matter what happens, the doors must be opened. My mother died clearing the fields so that all may be fed, and yet there are still those who would keep us from the feast, we warriors, poets, and harvesters alike.::

  The words resounded inside Jack’s head, bounding through his skull like Ping-Pong balls. His hair stood up on end. He just kept coding.

  ::Gather your warriors for battle. Gather the witches, high on the hills. Gather the crafters who know how to build. You cannot work alone.::

  Sweat crawled down Jack’s spine, and dripped across his face. He swiped at it only long enough to keep the salty water from his eyes. Then his fingers, damp now, returned to whatever feverish beat they were grabbing from the universe and throwing into code.

  ::There are no lone assassins. Tell the woman with the raven hair. There is no sneaking in the night.::

  The growling vocals made way for the crash of cymbals and the screaming wail of guitars. Jack felt a charge building in the air. Coming to his senses long enough, he shouted at Olivia.

  “Do you have a UPS? And enough surge protection?”

  “What? Of course I have uninterruptible power supply, do you think I’m…” Olivia screamed back. Then Jack saw her eyes change. “Holy shit!” She frantically began closing programs, trying to save everything.

  He couldn’t stop. He just had to ride the storm.

  “You’re going to blow everything up again, Jack!” She swatted at his shoulder. He flung an arm back.

  “I can’t stop!” he said. “Jus
t save what you can!”

  His hair stood out straight on end, and his fingers flew. In his mind’s eye, the tall man pointed a spear straight at his heart.

  ::You must bring the summer storm. The lightning and the thunder. The people must see. The people must hear the truth.::

  In the midst of the noise and heat, a sliver of ice pierced the center of Jack’s heart.

  And, in a flash of lightning that lit him up inside, he saw. He trembled. He could not look away.

  ::Each warrior faces their own truth first of all.::

  And what stared out from the reflection of the computer screen, resting just above the scrolling lines of code?

  That was his own truth. Showing all over his terrified face.

  He had lived his life afraid. Seeking safety overall.

  But apparently, those days were no more.

  The man with the spear nodded. Satisfied. The code pouring through Jack’s fingers slowed, then stopped. Breath heaving, sweat pouring down his back, Jack sobbed in relief.

  “Damn. What was that about?” Olivia asked.

  Jack just shook his head.

  He couldn’t speak. And if he could have spoken, he had no idea what he would say.

  21

  Lucy

  Izel’s shop was filled with clouds of myrrh. Lucy gave a slight cough as the bells on the door toc-tocked, announcing her arrival. She’d been enjoying the fact that, though a slight haze still lingered, almost all of the smoke from the fires had cleared outside, so walking into the cloud of incense made her want to turn around. She knew better than to wave a hand in front of her face, though. It wouldn’t do to insult another bruja’s practices.

  Especially when you wanted their help.

  “Two visits in two days?” Izel raised one of those perfectly manicured eyebrows. “You don’t come by for months at a time, but now that Tonantzin rides your back, you decide you need me? Did you take a bath, like I told you?”