Darkthunder's Way (22 page)

“That’s still too much time to be spendin’ on foolishness,” Big Billy snorted. “Fastin’, and then settin’ all day in a hot house tryin’ to have a vision. You ain’t gonna be smokin’ dope, are you? Sounds ’spicious to me.”

“Uncle Dale’ll be checkin’ on us,” David replied. “Ask him. He’ll see everything we do.”

“Humph,” Big Billy snorted again. “Don’t trust
that
old buzzard not to try that stuff, now you mention it.”

David rolled his eyes in resignation.

Calvin grinned wryly. “You ’bout ready?”

“Soon as Alec—”

Gravel crunched outside, and David looked through the open back door and across the porch, to see Alec’s old burgundy Volvo putter into the yard. The car stumbled to a halt before Alec had truly stopped it.

“Fuel injectors,” David said to Calvin’s raised eyebrow. “G-Man must’ve got it running. I reckon miracles really do happen.”

“That’ll be two, then; considerin’ what you said about him bein’ grounded.”

“Good point.”

“His old man relent, or what?”

David shrugged. “That’s what he told me when he called to say he was on his way. You never can tell about Dr. McLean.”

By the time Alec disentangled himself from his seatbelt and climbed out of the car, David and Calvin had snagged their own gear and were waiting by the trunk to help him unload. David groaned when he saw the mass of equipment Alec had assembled.

“
All
this? I don’t know if it’s gonna be possible to take
anything.
I’m not even sure we’ll be there in the flesh, exactly. Oisin wasn’t clear on that point.”

“Be prepared,” Alec quoted, wiping his hands on his number-two pair of winter cammies before attacking the pile in the trunk. “Or have you forgotten your days in the Scouts?”

“I’m
almost
an Eagle,” David reminded him haughtily. He pulled out the five-foot length of Alec’s hiking stick-cum-runestaff—twin to the one he carried—and tossed it to him. Alec caught it deftly with his unencumbered hand. “Would have been if the troop hadn’t folded.”

“Water under the bridge, man. So, you ready?”

“After you, bro.”

Alec started at that and looked thoughtful for the barest instant before slamming the deck lid. “Right.”

“Into the breach, boys; into the breach.”

An instant later they were marching down the Sullivan Cove road whistling “Darth Vader’s Theme” from
Star Wars,
with Calvin accompanying on harmonica.

Uncle Dale was sitting on his front porch when they got there, calmly drinking hot cider—or what smelled like cider—with Oisin. But David knew his uncle well enough to know there was very likely more to it than what came out of store-bought jugs. “I don’t suppose I could have some of that, could I?” he called when he came into hailing distance. “This fastin’ business takes it out of a man.”

“And you think this would put it back in?” Oisin laughed.

“Put
somethin
’
in you’s for sure,” Dale rejoined.

David paused at the foot of the rickety steps and looked at them. Two old men, not that unlike, really: both with white hair that was longer than most men their age wore, though Oisin’s held a hint of silver. Both lean and hard-looking, proof of a man’s work done all their lives, except that Dale’s had been in the Copper mines of Tennessee, and Oisin’s—he’d been a warrior, David thought, before he was a philosopher or sage. Alike in truth, then, until you got to their clothes: Uncle Dale’s inevitable khakis and hat; and Oisin’s staff, rings, and the long velvet robe that was the color of moonlight. Even here in the clear light of day David could put no certain name to it, though it bore hints of silver and gray and white, even of gold and brown. Their eyes, too, were different: Dale’s blue and penetrating behind their gold-framed lenses, Oisin’s blind and filmed with shining silver.

“Are you ready to begin?” Oisin asked.

“Ready as we’ll ever be, I guess,” David told him. He patted his backpack. “I’ve got the two things I really need: the ship and the ring.” He held up his hand where the twining dragons sparkled in the morning light.

“And you, Alec McLean?”

“Right as rain,” Alec echoed.

“What about you, Mr. Calvin?” Dale inquired.

“Sure.”

“But where’s Finno?”

“Here,” a voice called from inside, and the Faery pushed through the screen door, a tabby tomcat curled in the bare arms exposed by his sleeveless tunic. David started at that, first because Fionchadd had been inside at all, and second because the screen was steel mesh, which would manifest as fire to the Sidhe, as Fionchadd knew by bitter experience. Judging by his nonchalance around that metal, though, the Faery now wore the substance of David’s World, as he must do for any lengthy sojourn there. He found himself wondering how that affected the prohibition against entering any dwelling unasked. Probably ought to ask sometime; find out if it was physical, psychological, or social.

“And what have
you
been about?” David asked him lightly.

“I was examining the—what is the word? Plumbing.”

David and Alec exchanged amused glances. “Plumbing?”

“We do not have such things in Faerie,” Fionchadd said deadpan.

“Jesus,” David chortled. His gaze met Alec’s, then Calvin’s, and finally Uncle Dale’s, and then he could control himself no longer. He doubled up with laughter. Tears started from his eyes, and every time he got close to regaining control, he would catch someone else’s smirk and lose it all over—or worse, would catch Fionchadd’s puzzled gape and really go over the edge. Eventually, though, his panting giggles subsided, leaving his sides sore. He felt distinctly lightheaded—probably a function of hyperventilation on an empty stomach.

Oisin laid a hand on his shoulder and dragged himself up. “An auspicious beginning,” he said. “Let us hope the conclusion is as mirthful.”

David tried to look sober, but kept catching glimpses of his companions and sniggering again, as did they all, even Oisin.

“You will have to explain this to me sometime,” the Faery said, obviously still mystified.

“I will, I promise,” David told him.

“Let us proceed,” Oisin prompted.

Wordlessly they followed him around the side of Uncle Dale’s house that faced away from Big Billy’s farm. A variety of outbuildings sprawled there amid a complexity of split rail fences, abandoned wagon wheels, miscellaneous farm equipment, and an even dozen indignant chickens. Oisin leveled his staff toward the shack in the middle. “That is your
asi
,” he told them. “Dale Sullivan has made it to fit our need. The ritual will take place there.”

“What’s an
asi
?”

“A sweat lodge,” Calvin volunteered. “It’s a word from my language.”

Alec puffed his cheeks doubtfully. “I don’t think I’m gonna like this.”

David thunked an arm across his shoulders. “Think of it as a sauna, Scotsguy: a very
looong
sauna.”

“What’s a sauna?” Fionchadd wondered, but they shushed him.

David started toward the small building, but Oisin called him back. “No! You have not yet been purified! The sun will tell us when to begin, which is very soon. But before that happens, you must go to water. So if you will accompany me…”

David nudged Calvin in the ribs. “Going to water? Didn’t I hear you say that one time?”

The Indian nodded mutely but did not elaborate as they followed Oisin to another ramshackle building, this one a former corncrib.

David stepped inside, the others following, with the old seer last of all. Though the outside air still had a bite to it, it was warm there, and dusty, and very dry, as if the ghosts of long defunct kernels and shucks sucked the moisture from the air. David licked his lips experimentally.

“Good folk,” Oisin said formally, and their muffled comments and nervous snickers subsided instantly, for his voice had suddenly assumed an air of authority the like of which David had never heard in it before. No longer was he Oisin the friendly old man, but Oisin the arch-druid.

“Good folk, I say,” he repeated, “you have come here to embark on a journey which may take you far from anything you know. I alone of any you have met have been there; even among our own folk, Fionchadd. But to approach Galunlati, you must travel by the Roads of that land. And in order to accomplish that you must undergo the fourfold preparation. The first part—the fasting—you have finished, though properly it should have lasted for seven days; yet I hope by certain things I have done at another stage, to have shortened that. But now come the other three portions, and these follow a form most ancient that I had from a druid of Calvin’s people.”

He paused for a moment to survey them.

“In a moment you will begin your quest. Yet you must not enter the asi as men from This World, as Calvin’s people call it, bearing any outward sign of this land. Rather you must enter as man first came into This World: naked.” David sighed. He’d expected something like this, though it was really no big deal—it wasn’t like any of them had anything to be ashamed of. He exchanged resigned glances with his companions, stuck the dragon ring in his pocket, and began to strip.

“What about this?” Fionchadd asked, fingering the elaborate gold-and-jeweled torque he wore around his neck. David hadn’t noticed it before. “It takes great effort to remove, and it is important—as you know.”

“You may retain that,” Oisin said, “and likewise may Calvin retain the bag that lies upon his chest, if he wishes.”

“How did you—” the Indian began.

“I heard it slide against your skin. Now hurry! There is not much time.”

A moment later they all stood naked in the middle of the corncrib. Calvin had a tattoo, David noticed for the first time; a cross-in-circle on his right buttock. “What does that signify?” Fionchadd asked, indicating the design on Calvin’s butt.

“A sign of my people,” Calvin said shortly; apparently he was taking the whole ritual very seriously. “It symbolizes the earth and the four cardinal directions.”

“The Sidhe use a similar sign,” Fionchadd said. “For the Four Elemental Powers and the Circle of Time that encloses all things.”

“Four Elemental Powers,” Calvin mused. “Like maybe the Four Councils Sent From Above in some of our legends.”

“Maybe,” Oisin said. “But this is a time for silence.” He stared at them, then; and David could almost see them reflected in his silver eyes. “Four fine men, indeed,” he murmured finally, nodding his approval. “And four finer men there never were to undertake such a quest. Now come!”

He ushered them through the door on the mountain-facing side. Cold air hit them, and they shivered. David wrapped his arms around himself. Calvin, ahead of him, was rubbing his ribs. At least the barn and the honeysuckle overgrowing a convenient fence shielded them from prying eyes.

“That way,” Oisin called, pointing with his staff to the banks of a small stream that burbled along a few hundred yards behind Uncle Dale’s house.

“The formula I will use is properly for reciting before ritual ball play,” Oisin said, when they had halted by the banks. “But I think it will be fitting here, for you do not know what sort of enemies you may find, and whatever efforts we can make to thwart them would be well.” He turned his face toward the rising sun and began to chant, his voice high and clear in the frosty air:

Sge! Ha-nagwa asti unega aksauntanu usinuli

anetsa un-atsanuntselahi aktati adunniga.

The chant droned on for quite a while, but when it started around again Oisin turned south toward the boys, reached to the silver leather pouch that hung from his belt, and drew out a stick of some red material with which he marked each of them on cheek and nose, chin and brow. When he came to Calvin, the Indian boy stopped his hand, then stuck two fingers into his medicine bag and withdrew a sealed plastic bag from which he shook a similar stick, then placed it in Oisin’s hand.

Oisin nodded and marked Calvin like the others before continuing with the third round, in which he faced west, and the fourth in which he spoke to the north.

He started over then, but this time, at a sign from him, the boys trooped into the water. It was not deep enough to truly cover them, but was sufficiently cold that it scarcely mattered. Still, they forced themselves to remain there through another complete fourfold repetition of the formula. By the time they emerged David’s teeth were chattering. Alec was hopping from foot to foot.

“I have asked the aid of the Wardens of the Seven Heavens,” Oisin told them. “You are now fit to enter the asi.”

“’Bout bloody time,” Alec muttered, as Oisin directed them back toward the small building.

Once they had returned to the farmyard, Oisin turned his empty gaze skyward. David saw the sun light his face with a ruddiness that was not usually present. And he saw the cracks, the seams and fissures of age beyond that given by rights to men—but saw too the hardness of the muscles, the strength of the bones beneath it.

“Oh, yes, I almost forgot,” Oisin said. “There is one thing I would give you, David Sullivan.” He reached into his robe and pulled out a pouch.