Drink Down the Moon (24 page)

And she’d thought they were cow’s horns, Kate thought, glad that she hadn’t said anything.

“We should show this to Finn,” Gump said. “He might recog—”

The trow broke off as a distant music rang through Faerie. Only slightly aligned to the Seelie Court through his friendship with Finn, Gump felt the strong pull of the sidhe calling-up tune. He wanted to run out into the night and find the piper, to follow her anywhere.

A rade called up.

The thought of it filled him with an inexplicable joy.

“What’s that sound?” Kate asked.

For a long moment, Gump said nothing, then he slowly shook his head. The hold of the tune on him lessened. He blinked and concentrated on ignoring the music as it continued to sound.

“The fiaina sidhe are being called up for a rade,” he said.

“And you want to go?” Kate asked.

Gump nodded, surprised at her insight. “I don’t need its luck, but I’ve been there, a time or two, following the winding pattern of a fiaina rade. It’s not something you forget.”

“I sort of feel like gathering with them myself,” Kate said. “What does that make me?”

“A skilly mortal who’s spent too much time in Faerie.”

“You make it sound dangerous.”

“Not dangerous,” Gump said. “But it changes you. Faerie don’t steal mortals— not so much anymore, at any rate— but the Middle Kingdom is still a chancy realm for mortals, Kate. Too long in it and you’ll never want to leave.”

“Then I’ve already been in it too long.” She gave him a quick grin. “We should go back to your place and show Finn and Jacky what we’ve found.”

The music had died away now, but there was a new sound in the air of Faerie. Gump paused, staring at the window, listening. Then Kate heard it, too. Part of the sound was the wind, rising at the call of the sidhe to mask the sound of their movement. But part of that sound was something else, a sound like dark wings cutting the night skies, of Unseelie creatures called to their own gathering.

“War,” Gump said. “The Pook’s calling up the sidhe to ride to war and the droichan’s gathering his own army to meet her. Oh, this is a bad night for Faerie, Kate.” He sat down in a slump and leaned against an empty bookcase. “I don’t like fighting. I don’t like it, Kate. I’ll stand up and do what needs doing, but I don’t like it. It makes us all small— winners and losers alike.”

Kate had a moment of thinking it was odd that such a big, gruff creature like the trow would feel this way, but then she remembered the beautiful mechanical birds she’d seen in his home and realized that she was being very small-minded. Just because Gump was a trow didn’t mean he had to like hurting people. She sat down beside him and leaned her head against his arm.

“No one likes it,” she said. “Not if they’re at all decent.”

Gump nodded unhappily. “I don’t take sides, because I don’t like being a part of what comes from taking sides. Unpleasantness. Fighting. But this

We’ll all lose our luck if we allow the droichan to win.”

Kate tried to think of something she could say to make it easier, but there was nothing. Just because something had to be done didn’t make it any easier to do it. She stroked Gump’s arm.

“I’ll be fierce for both of us,” she said. “You can—”

She broke off as she heard a sound downstairs. Someone had entered the house. She shot Gump a quick glance, then stood quickly and moved towards the door.

“Now it begins,” the trow muttered.

He rose as well and took up a stance on the other side of the door. The floor creaked as he moved and Kate hoped that maybe the sound would drive the intruder away, but while the noise downstairs ceased when Gump moved, after he’d been still for a few moments, it began again. A stealthy movement up the stairs.

Gump lifted an arm so that it was raised above the doorway. He looked at Kate and gave her a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Kate tried to smile bravely back, but all she could think of was, What if it was the droichan? What could they possibly do against him?

The intruder paused at the top of the stairs, then moved to the first doorway, stopping abruptly when a floorboard creaked underfoot. Long moments of deathly silence followed. Kate thought she was going to collapse from holding her breath, but she didn’t dare breathe. Then the intruder moved again, coming towards the doorway that they were guarding.

I should have grabbed a chair, Kate thought. Maybe a double-whammy— chair and trow-fist— would at least knock the droichan out long enough for them to make good their escape. Instead she was just standing here, hands closed into small fists, staring wide-eyed at the door and still holding her breath.

A figure moved into the doorway, Gump’s big fist started to come down, then Kate lunged forward.

“No, Gump, don’t!” she cried. “It’s Finn.”

The little hob froze at the sound of his name, then stepped hastily back as Gump’s fist narrowly missed him. The trow lost his balance, but Kate managed to steer him against a wall where he caught hold of a bookcase and saved himself from falling. Finn stood shaking, looking as though he was ready to bolt at any moment. Slowly he regained his composure and glared at the pair of them.

“You should have called out,” Kate said sweetly.

“There was a stink of magic about the place,” Finn replied. “I should have realized that it was no more than that of a trow and his sweetheart playing hide-and-go-seek in the dark.”

“We thought you were the droichan,” Kate said.

“And I thought— oh, never mind. Listen closely now, for I—”

“Look,” Kate broke in.

She thrust Caraid towards Finn, open to the page with the circular image on it.

“We dowsed and pried,” she said, “until we got a magical echo to give up this much. What do you think it is, Finn?”

“Kate. You’re not listening to me.”

“Oh, don’t be mad,” she said. “We didn’t know it was you, and you didn’t know it was us. It was an honest mistake.”

“I’m not talking about that,” Finn said. He caught hold of her arm. “Jacky left Gump’s home and has gone to the Tower by herself. I’m afraid the droichan’s captured her again.”

All the blood drained from Kate’s face.

“Oh, no,” she said in a small voice. “What are we going to do?”

Gump straightened up at her side.

“Rescue her,” he said.

Johnny woke with a start to find that he’d dozed off on the couch. Mactire was standing over him, shaking him awake.

“Huwzzat?” he mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“Listen,” the wild boy said.

“But I don’t hear anything

” Johnny began, then his voice trailed off.

There was no mistaking that sound, nor its urgency. It was Jemi’s pipe, its music ringing through all of Faerie. The tune went coursing through him until it seemed that his every cell vibrated to its call. He sat dumbfounded by the intensity it awoke in him, sat there long after its last notes died away.

“What

that tune

?”

“It’s the calling-up music of the fiaina sidhe,” Mactire told him.

He caught hold of Johnny’s arm and hauled him to his feet.

“But–”

“We mustn’t delay. She calls the sidhe to war. That means she knows the name of our enemy.”

Johnny looked down the hall to where Henk was sleeping.

“But,” he started again.

Mactire shook his head. “There’s no time. Are you coming, or do I leave you behind?”

“No. I

“

Still fuzzy with sleep, and dazed from what the music had woken in him, Johnny finally started to move. He grabbed his jacket and started for the door.

“Your fiddle,” Mactire said.

Johnny went back for it.

“Jemi’s going to be okay, isn’t she?” he asked as he started for the door again, fiddle case in hand this time.

“Not if we don’t hurry,” the wolf boy said.

Outside he set off at a lope that Johnny was hard put to keep up with, but keep up he did. Down Bank Street they went and over Lansdowne Bridge into Ottawa South. In the Middle Kingdom they had another name for this place, Johnny remembered from talking to Jemi. They called it Crowdie Wort’s Bally. It was there that the Tower of the Jack of Kinrowan stood, and on the grassy park south of that Tower, the sidhe were hosting tonight.

Behind, in Johnny’s apartment, Henk awoke in time to hear them leave. He’d fallen asleep on the bed fully dressed, so that when he reached the door and saw Johnny and the wild boy hurrying off down the street, he had time to snatch his own jacket from where it lay on a chair, and set off into the night, following them.

His night fears scurried up and down his spine, but this time he was determined to ignore them. Unsure of where they were going, he still knew he had to follow. Just before he’d woken, he’d been dreaming. Nothing remained of that dream, not one image; only a haunting music that had called him up from sleep to find Johnny and his strange companion leaving the apartment.

As he ran in their wake, he wondered what was so important that it had sent them hurrying out into the night as they had.

Fifteen

The droichan’s shadow had congealed on the floor between Jacky and the window, crouching there in the shape of a large black dog. It stared at her with its hot-coal eyes, silent now.

Jacky wouldn’t look at it. She couldn’t. She sat on her haunches, chin against her chest, and stared at the floor. The noise of a large commotion downstairs rose up through the floorboards, but it didn’t really register. It wasn’t until she heard a certain footfall coming up the stairs, until the door opened, that she lifted her head and slowly turned.

The droichan had returned.

He filled the doorway, his brown cloak hanging in loose folds to the floor, its hood thrown back to show his handsome features. The fire from his shadow-creature’s eyes flickered in his own gaze as he regarded her.

“Sweet Jack,” he said. “The time for kindness is past.”

Jacky couldn’t suppress an involuntary shiver at the sound of his voice. The strength to get up just wasn’t in her, so she sat where she was, staring back at him.

“What

what do you want from me?” she asked.

“Everything.”

“But I never hurt you. Why would you want to—”

The droichan made a sudden gesture with one hand and she was jerked roughly to her feet by an invisible force.

“Nothing?” he asked softly. “You stuck a knife in my heart, sweet Jack.”

“But you—”

“Enough.”

He made another gesture. Jacky heard a roaring of storm winds in her ears. The unseen force took her and slammed her against a wall, spread-eagled. She hung there, a foot or so from the floor. Helpless. Unable to move.

The droichan stepped slowly across the room until he was a foot or so away from her.

“It’s time to end this,” he said. “I want the luck of this Tower, sweet Jack. I want what Bhruic left you. It’s as simple as that. A sidhe army is hosting behind the Tower. Perhaps my bullyboys— unruly rabble that they are— can defeat them, perhaps not, but why should I bide the outcome? I want what Kinrowan has to offer me— every drop of its luck, sweet Jack. Nothing less will do.”

“But

they

can’t

hurt you

” Jacky mumbled through taut jaws.

“Not forever, no. But they could conceivably best the Unseelie army that I can field at this moment. They could catch me and cut me to pieces. I wouldn’t die, no. But think how long it would take me to become whole once more. I won’t have that. I will not allow it. This Tower is the key to Kinrowan, and you are my key to the Tower, sweet Jack. You will unlock Bhruic’s secrets for me. I will brook no more argument.”

“But I don’t know how to unlock—”

Invisible hands drew her back from the wall and slammed her into it again.

“No argument,” the droichan repeated softly.

Fires glimmered wickedly in his eyes. He made a gesture with his hand in front of her face, fingers moving in an odd pattern, and cobwebs covered her features. They clung thickly to her skin, letting her only see the world through their grey gauze. She moved her head back and forth, trying to dislodge them, but they stuck to her like a second skin.

“When my kind dies,” the droichan said, “truly dies, this is where we go.”

One by one, Jacky’s senses deserted her. Sight went first— from a gauzy veil to nothingness. Her other senses compensated, becoming more acute.

She heard her own raspy breathing, the droichan’s light breaths. In the Tower itself, the cries of the bogans and other creatures readying for war. The sound of them issuing forth from the Tower to the park behind, gathering under an Unseelie banner— a flag with the image of a crucified swan-man encircled by briars upon it.

Then her hearing went.

Now she could smell the sharpness of her own fear, the earthy smell of the droichan. The open window of the Tower brought in the scents of autumn, mingled with a bog-reek of sluagh and bogans.

Smell went.

She could taste her fear now— a raw vomit sour in her throat. The salty sweat that beaded her lips.

Taste went.

There was nothing left but touch. The hard wall at her back. The vague kiss of a breeze on her skin. Then her nerve ends began to tingle and go numb. Limb by limb, feeling withdrew until she was devoid of all sensation.

No outside stimuli entered her. She might as well have been immersed in a sensory-deprivation tank. But there was no peace to be found in this. No rest. No solace. She hadn’t chosen to withdraw from the world to capture some inner harmony. She’d had her senses stolen from her by a monster and been cast adrift in a bleak void of his making.

There was no way to measure time.

A moment could have passed and it could have been forever. An eternity slipped by in a scurry of seconds. Blank, utter panic came gibbering up from the back of her mind and flooded her brain.

Had he left her here?

Could anything exist in such emptiness?

She tried to call up comforting images in her mind’s eye, but they were slow to come. She managed a small candle, its flame spluttering.

The flame went out.