Dreamseeker's Road (44 page)

The enfield trilled back, something that sounded close to language. The keening persisted, but the birds slowly parted, opening a path away from the cliff and toward the logging road that lower down became the Sullivans' drive.

The sun was fully risen now: a disk of red perched atop the ragged horizon like an immense burning ruby in the crown of a sleeping giant-king. Its rays lanced across the land like tangible things, to strike the quartzite cliffs of Bloody Bald.

And though the pointed cone of the mundane mountain did not alter for anyone save Second-Sighted Dave, all of them heard one sound, clear above the keening.

Horns, softly blowing: the horns of elfland greeting a Faery dawn.

“Wanta stand on my feet, big boy?” David stage-whispered into Aikin's ear.

Aikin grinned back but shook his head. “I've seen enough.”

“Repeat that in a month,” Alec snorted. “Then we'll know you're not lying.”

Aikin cocked his head, listening. “The splendor falls,” he murmured, eyes shining.

“On castle walls,” Alec added.

“And snowy summits old in story,” David finished

Tennyson's line, in a tone that betokened finality. And for a minute more they listened. The keening ended with the last trumpet call. The blackbirds as one watched—and waited.

“So,” David sighed, when the morning light had shifted back to normal, “what'll it be? Go down the mountain and lay
another
wild tale on my folks, and get 'em to take us back to Athens…”

“Or…?” From Liz.

He kissed her.

She pinched his butt.

The enfield stretched and whistled—which segued into a purr as the beast became a cat once more.

Alec patted his grumbling belly. “C'mon, folks, I'm starved.”

“I could always
hunt
something,” Aikin suggested wickedly. “Got four-and-twenty blackbirds right here!”

“Dream on,” Alec shot back promptly. “But not till we get back to Athens.”

“I've had too much death,” David shuddered. “Come on, guys, let's do some livin'!”

And with that, they marched past the black-winged multitude—and raced morning into the valley.

Epilogue: Treasure Trove

(Jackson County, Georgia—Monday, November 2—evening)

The phone rang six times before David collared it. “Hello?” he ventured, half-afraid it would be a panicked Cammie, as the last call he'd answered had been—when was it? Barely two days ago, though it seemed like half a lifetime.

Instead, it was Uncle Dale. He felt a twinge of nerves when he recognized his kinsman. Dale Sullivan
never
called to chat.

“How's it goin', boy?” the old man asked without preamble.

“Fine, I reckon,” David answered carefully. “How's things up in the cove?”

“Fine as frog hair,” Dale gave back. “Just thought I'd pass on a couple things you might wanta know.”

David raised an eyebrow at Alec, who was peering in from the hall, cat in hand.

“Like what?”

“Like I had company today.”

“Wanta tell me who?”

“Guess.”

“The Pope—Nuada—hell, I don't know.”

“John Devlin.”

“Oh!” Then: “What'd he want?”

“Brought me a poem he'd written. Said he should've been by a lot sooner, but just wanted to see where David-the-Elder came from. And that it was never too late to make new friends.”

“Ah-ha!”

“Said he'd see you one of these days.”

“O-kay, David drawled.”

A pause. “Something else, too, boy: something kinda strange—nothing to worry about, but…well, I thought you'd wanta know.”

“I'm listenin'.”

Another pause. “Well, that Devlin guy wanted to go see David-the-Elder's grave, so me and him went over there. And…we found something.”

“What?”

Dale cleared his throat. “It was right at the headstone; couldn't hardly see it, 'cept Devlin stubbed his toe on it. But…it was a sword.”

David's heart flip-flopped.

“A…sword?”

“Viking, Devlin thought, or a damned good copy. I've got it here waitin' for you.”

“Yeah,” David laughed, “some things are worth hangin' on to!”