Darkthunder's Way (18 page)

*

Calvin, however, knew a great deal more about seeing than most people. His grandfather had taught him a few things about the nature of perceived reality and looking out of the corner of one’s eyes, and also that knowledge is sometimes more reliable than sight. So it was, then, that though the Track melted from the Mortal World, still its memory persisted, and the resonance of its Power. Thus it was, too, that though he had dived as deeply as he could when that Finn guy started making signs and passes, he had still resurfaced in time to heave himself through the remnants of that strange, shimmering surface before it healed entirely. But now he was lost: trapped in a kind of golden fog with only a strip of tenuous yellow light to guide him.

Chapter XII: Spies and Spying

No matter how many times he did it, David never really got used to traveling on Straight Tracks. It was an instinctive fear of heights, he supposed, or of falling—that terrible apprehension in his gut that no matter how solid the ground looked or felt, it might transform at any moment into a mere gauze of light, or dust upon the air, or even a hazy vapor across nothing at all. He was afraid of bridges, too; and this Track above the lake was very like a bridge when you thought about it, which he was trying very hard not to.

Liz rode beside him, but she had not spoken, and Fionchadd too was strangely silent—legacy, he imagined, of their almost-altercation. But he had been
right
to be upset, dammit: he was
tired
of being jerked around by the Sidhe—and everybody else, when it came to it. All he wanted to do was get his life in order: finish school, leave the farm, go to college, and see what happened. At least the negatives there (like bullies and chores) had a discernible end. But this Faerie stuff
didn’t
look like ending anytime soon, and he was getting sick of it. The Sidhe wanted him, did they? Well, he’d grant them an audience this time, but he’d lay down the law, too, and tell them to let him be. They had the wrong man if they wanted him to be their ambassador. And as for dragging Uncle Dale and probably the rest of the clan into it—he’d have none of that!

The silence persisted, and for a while David was only aware of the half-seen landscape beyond the tenuous golden tunnel around him: none of the usual subtly altering woods this time, but a stranger way that passed through less tangible regions marked only by a weaving of shadows and rippling curtains of mist and fog.

He had just begun to wonder why Lugh had chosen this route, which was obviously longer than the path through the unfrequented woods of his own World, when the fog abruptly vanished, and he beheld, not a hundred yards away, the rusty tin roof and weathered posts of Uncle Dale’s back porch. Straight ahead lay the split-rail fence that marked the limits of the old man’s farmyard, and to the right was the loom of barn, its ancient SEE ROCK CITY ad still faintly visible on the shingles. At a word from Lugh they dismounted. Froech led the horses toward the stable.

“David, you had better go first,” Lugh told him.

David nodded sourly, casting a distrustful glance backward toward the company. A quick check of his watch showed 11:30. He could not imagine how he was going to explain the situation.

*

“Well,” said Uncle Dale five minutes later, “I don’t reckon you folks come here to talk about the weather, did you?” He took a sip of coffee-and-’shine and surveyed the group arrayed around his living room. Nuada and Regan had been there before, but Fionchadd had not (the old man hadn’t said a word when he’d entered, though he’d looked at him intently), nor had Lugh; and David, squatting on the hearth beside his uncle, could not help but be aware of the King of the Sidhe; how, in spite of his low-key (for him) dress, regality literally poured off him, so that he dominated the room like a flame.

Liz squeezed David’s hand and settled herself against his other side.

Finally Lugh cleared his throat and spoke. “It is a long tale we have to tell, good folk, and yet there is a little time in which to relay it. But to set it out truly in all its parts, I must speak first of the realms of Faerie. Three kingdoms there are, of great import: Tir-Nan-Og, Erenn, and Annwyn. And three lesser exist as well: Norwald, Alban, and Prydain. A number of minor lands exist, too, and some there were which have vanished—of these Aelfheim is best known among your folk. Each touches your World at some point, ofttimes at many: Tir-Nan-Og here in America, Erenn in Ireland, Annwyn in Wales, and so on. But other, more obscure, realms there are, that join our World and no other. One of these, which brushes only Annwyn—so we thought—is known only as the Land of the Powersmiths, for they do not tell its true name. Lady Morwyn here is partly of that race, and also, of course, is her son Fionchadd.” He paused to help himself to another sip of coffee.

“Now for centuries, the realms have been at peace except for the sort of intrigue one expects among restless princes, but lately there has been more trouble. Ailill has been the cause of much of it, but always there were the Laws of Dana maintaining balance. Such Laws were in force when David played the Riddle Game a year ago, and likewise they oversaw the Trial of Heroes he then assayed. But they govern many things, and not the least of them hospitality. Thus when Morwyn came to my land to seek her vengeance against the slayer of her son, as was her right, she was perfectly within the Law to take Ailill’s life—or so she deemed, for at that time she believed Fionchadd dead beyond recall. That Ailill’s sister, in trying to save him, brought about her own destruction was not Morwyn’s doing—directly, though some may question it. But when Fionchadd returned to life again, the Laws suddenly became more complicated.”

Lugh went on to explain how he had offered Morwyn hospitality, and she had accepted, all according to the Laws of Dana. He continued with the tale of Finvarra’s wrath at the death of his kindred, though of his own admission he had not loved them. Next, he told of the messages exchanged: of surrender asked and denied, and of greater threats made and ignored. And at last he told of the blockade.

“
That
, at least, I may show you!” he said, whereupon he brought out the crystal disk and called the image of Finvarra’s fleet into being in the space before the sofa.

David stared at it for a long, breathless moment, not only caught up by the wonder of the thousand ships of Erenn’s navy stretched as far as he could see across the Faerie ocean, but also amazed at what Nuada—or someone—had made from what was obviously some mixture of holography and magic.

“Well, that’s all real interestin’,” Dale said, when a Word from Lugh had banished the image. “But what’s all this got to do with me ’n Davy?”

“It is because we have a problem,” Nuada replied. “We have a hard choice before us: war with Finvarra if we do not give up Morwyn, and war with Annwyn, and the Powersmiths if we do.”

“An’ let me guess,” Dale said. “Them Powersmith folks is the stronger ’uns.”

“Exactly!” Nuada nodded. “Fortunately, Oisin has remembered something which may save us.”

All eyes turned expectantly toward the old seer. Oisin cleared his throat but had not even got out his first word when there was a commotion at the door and Froech shouldered noisily in.

A wet, wild-eyed, and totally limp Calvin McIntosh dangled in his arms. The boy was wrapped in Froech’s black cloak but wore no other clothing. Froech dropped him to the floor with an unceremonious thump and there he remained with only his brown eyes moving. “A spy,” he stated flatly.

Lugh inclined an eyebrow toward Nuada. “One of yours?”

Nuada scratched his jaw thoughtfully and dipped a brow in turn. “Not that I am aware of.”

“I know him,” David said heavily. “His name’s Calvin—Calvin McIntosh.”

“What shall I do with him?” Froech wondered.

“A very good question,” Lugh replied. “Where did you find him?”

“I had just left the stable and saw him crouching on the porch. Apparently…apparently the Track washed him up.”

“The
Track
?” Regan cried.

The Morrigu nodded. “He speaks truth, for I sense its music yet about the boy.”

Lugh eyed Fionchadd narrowly. “Were you careless, lad?”

The young Faery would not meet his gaze. “I closed the Track in haste, I will admit; but I never thought any human could see, much less follow. Besides, you were there,
you
did not see him.”

“But if anybody could follow us, I’ll bet old Calvin could,” David said slowly. “I’m pretty sure he’s got some kind of Power,” he added, and could have kicked himself, not the least because he had no real idea where the notion had come from.

Morwyn stared intently at the Indian. “Aye, Power there is, though not our kind, nor yet the common sort of Mortals.”

“Tell us of yourself, boy,” Lugh demanded, as with a subtle gesture of his thumb and forefinger he released whatever spell Froech had laid on their unexpected visitor.

“Not until you tell me what’s goin’ on!” Calvin cried, as soon as he found his voice. He glanced fearfully at David. “Help me, man, you’ve got to!”

David shook his head. “I
can’t.
”

“Silence!” Lugh snapped. He rose, strode around the room to glare at Calvin; locked gazes with him.

Nuada stroked his chin. “A spy you say, yet certainly an auspicious one, for it was of him we were about to speak.”

“Of
me
?”
Calvin sputtered. He leapt to his feet, coming perilously close to colliding with the looming Lugh. “Who
are
you folks, anyway? Hey, Sullivan, what the hell’s going
on
?”

“Sit down, Calvin,” David said quietly. “Looks like you’re gonna get your questions answered.”

Calvin responded mutely, face pale.

“I think,” Nuada said wryly, “that he is a very rare sort of human. As rare as young Master Sullivan—or rarer, if he is what I suspect: one of the old people of this land, one attuned to their Power.”

“And the exact reason we are here,” Oisin put in. “For it is because of this boy that I have summoned you.”

“This
boy
has a name,” Calvin gritted, “and he’s not real keen on being talked about like he’s not here! I’d
really
like to know what’s goin’ on.”

Nuada looked at David. “Maybe you had better tell him, David, if”—he shifted his gaze to Lugh—“our King would be willing to lift the Ban?”

Lugh nodded his assent.

David sighed and rose, vaguely aware of a subtle difference somewhere between his brain and his tongue. “If you guys don’t mind, I think this’d be easier if we just stepped into the bedroom for a minute. Nothing personal, or anything, but some things are just better one-on-one. Come on, Fargo, this is gonna take some explainin’.”

Calvin nodded apprehensively, drew the cloak around him, and followed David out of the room.

“Okay, Calvin,” David said wearily, after he had tossed his friend a pair of Uncle Dale’s khaki britches and ensconced himself on the trunk at the foot of the old man’s bed. “How much do you know?”

“How much you gonna tell me?”

“Look, guy, we don’t have time for this!”

Calvin tugged on the borrowed garment and stared David squarely in the eye. “Okay, then: I know you’ve got a strange-lookin’ swimmin’ buddy who’s hard to focus on, and then shows up again in your uncle’s living room lookin’ like something out of a movie. I know you’ve got a model ship that enlarges by what looks to me like some kinda magic. I know you came here some way I sure as hell don’t understand, ’cept that it brought me too. And I know why these folks are here, ’cause I heard every word you folks said till that guy caught me.” He folded his arms and flopped against the wall. “That enough?”

David eyed him narrowly. “But do you know who they are?”

“I’ve got an idea ’bout that too, but I’ll let you tell me.” David took a deep breath and frowned. “Like I said, this is gonna take some explainin’.”

“I kinda gathered that.”

“Yeah, well, you know those books of mine?
Gods and Fighting Men, The Fairy-Faith,
and all? Well, almost all of ’em’s true, or at least the stuff about Sidhe is. They’re—”

“The old gods of Ireland,” Calvin finished. “I know that much—and I think a bunch of ’em are sittin’ in the living room right now, if I heard the introductions right.”

David’s eyes narrowed again. “You didn’t know anything about this yesterday—or claimed not to.”

Calvin met his glare. “I
didn’t,
then; I do now.”

“But how…?”

“You mean you haven’t missed ’em?”

“Missed what?”

“Those books. I kinda borrowed ’em before I left last night. I really meant to ask, but—well, you’d kinda cashed in, and I didn’t want to bother you. Your dad said you wouldn’t mind, but I guess he forgot to tell you. You can ask him if you don’t believe me.”

“And
you
conveniently forgot to tell me this morning.”

“Well, I was feelin’ sorta guilty about it, so I thought I’d try to sneak ’em back in without you noticing. I guess that was a mistake.”