Sunshaker's War (26 page)

But the brighter flame was the ulunsuti. It caught the last furtive beams of sunlight and sucked them in, caught the uneven flicker of the candles and claimed them for its own, to grow brighter and brighter as he watched. He was aware of Liz, too, somehow; of her reaching out to him as the mystery of that linkage became more natural. That was strange, too, he realized distantly. A year ago they'd never have considered such a thing: a mingling of minds. But he'd touched her mind now, and her body as well, and for an instant he wondered if what Eva had told Alec was true: that exchange of bodily fluids conferred or amplified Power. If that was true, he and Liz certainly had a link with each other.

But then there was no more time for speculation, because he felt himself drawn into the crystal.

*

Liz took another breath, feeling a prickle of Power that was not her own. She closed her eyes against the sudden glare of the ulunsuti and tried to envision Fionchadd's face. Distantly she heard drumming, and knew Sandy had begun a soft tapping on the small tom-tom she had brought. That helped a lot, helped bring her out of herself, helped her center. Calvin had also begun to chant, very softly, keeping time to Sandy's rhythm. She did not try to make out the words, though she knew they were familiar.

“Sge! Ha-nagwa hatunganiga Nunya ulunsuti, gahusti tsuts-kadi nigesunna. Ha-nagwa dungihyali. Agiyahusa aginalii, ha-ga tsun-nu iyunta datsiwak-tuhi. Tla-ke aya akwatseliga. Edahi digwadaita. “

More deep breaths, letting the sounds soothe her, open her memory to Fionchadd. She tried to imagine his face above the torque, though she had never seen him wear it. Smooth beardless skin, narrow chin, high cheekbones that complemented the slant of his green eyes and elegant black brows. A mouth that was wide and pretty and a little mocking, quick to joy, to lust, to the merest touch of evil but with a softening that had come into it lately. Long blond hair curling past his shoulders.

Fionchadd?
she called, and was aware that she was floating—or that part of her was.
Fionchadd?

She drifted further, aware that this had never happened
before. It was as if the torque were tugging her toward it, making her one with the metal. She could sense every grain, every twist and spiral. Could feel the strange alloys of which it was made, the sparks of the jewels that tapped the hidden powers of the universe.

Fionchadd?
The crystal swallowed her, sent her spiraling. The chant rang loud in her ears, and she followed it, let it take her, became one with it, took its words into herself and repeated them over and over, centering on her goal.

Unreality whirled and shifted. She was aware of the torque again, dragging her onward.

Abruptly she was in a room. Fionchadd was there, chained to a bed, his rumpled gray clothing stained with blood. He looked groggy. Chains bound his hands and feet, his neck. A strip of thin leather hung across his naked chest. A dagger lay atop it. An
iron
dagger it must be, for the Faery boy was writhing. She wanted to go to him, to rip away the bonds, but something stopped her.

“Where is this Galunlati?” someone was saying. “Lugh threatensss us and Finvarra would come on him from behind through this ssstrange place. Lugh is no friend of yoursss. You mussst tell usss, if you would sssave your fossster-father's people.”

“My foster-father has deserted me,” Fionchadd spat, and looked away.

“He will have you back if you will tell him. He will exalt you among the Daoine Ssssidhe.”

“I do not wish—”

“Very well.”

A scaly hand lifted the dagger, another removed the hide. The dagger was restored but rested on bare flesh now; the point coming nigh to his navel, the hilt to the base of his throat. He writhed, screamed, hid within himself, but Liz trailed him there.

Fionchadd!
she called, with no voice.

Liz?
he had time to call, and then the pain truly found him. And through him discovered Liz.

She screamed, though she could not, and jerked free. Her mind whirled, she was vaguely aware of herself moving, of Fionchadd's form fading away.
David,
she shouted and he was there, anchoring her.
We have to find out where he is,
he said, and she steeled herself and saw: A tall tower made of stone with a silvery glint, but with a look of age and decay about it, the whole surrounded by water—a lake maybe, or was it some sea? for the silvery surface was alive with waves and silver Tracks swept across its surface. There was precious little land between the tower base and the shore. Nor did there appear to be any door. Beyond was nothing: the edge of the World itself, maybe, and she was aware of reality twisting further.

Liz!
again, and with it another wash of pain, and she could stand it no longer.

There was an instant of agony and she was out of herself entirely—lost. For a panicked moment she floated helplessly, powerless to return to herself. Then she sensed something, followed it eagerly—and glimpsed wars and armies, entire forests lying shattered.
Tir-Nan-Og,
a part of her realized, even as she felt herself whirled away again. Eventually the spinning stopped and she heard chanting. Lost, fearful, she moved toward it, saw seas that were alive with light and tenuous clouds of Tracks, all laced with a
nothing
that was darker than black.

And then a fleet—a floating island of black ships that lay off a Faerie coast. Somehow she was above them, looking down—so far down she could see the edges of the World, the Tracks as they rode the seas of Faerie, something of the non-stuff between. And she saw
more
fleets—at least three. One in black that bore the scarlet eagle of Finvarra, and another sailing from the south that showed the golden sun that was Lugh. And the third bore an emblem she could not clearly make out, save that the sails were gold and the emblem crimson, and that it moved slowly from the east.
Powersmiths
,
something told her. She looked closer, suddenly was there, seeing everything as clearly as if she were standing on deck.

“How many days until we meet?” someone was saying. A man's voice, one of a score of gold-clad seamen who lolled against the rail as the oars plied the shimmering waves of their own volition.

“No one is certain,” another answered. “The seas are fickle; so are the Tracks. Had I to guess, I would say at least two.”

“And then we put an end to Finvarra for certain, take him captive and make him relinquish our own.”

“Aye—if Lugh joins us in time.”

“He will. He has never failed us. Besides, it is
his
southern harbor Finvarra plans to attack.”

“Aye, but he makes a capricious ally.”

“Not with fear of us as a motivation.”

“True, but we fear him too, or at least the captain does. It would not be good if he used that spear again.”

“One reason we are to join him, so I have heard. The King wants an end to this war.”

“And well he should.”

A pause, then. “Did you hear something?”

Another. “No, but I felt the ether stir. I do not think we are alone.”

Liz felt eyes come at her. A mind brushed hers, knew her alienness.

“Human!” it breathed. “But how?”

She tried to turn and flee but could not. “One of Finvarra's spies?” that mind cried.

No!
she tried to scream, and back in the room her lips moved in that sound. “Help.”

*

Calvin started. He'd been following Liz, but then had lost her. Or she had lost him. He had caught a glimpse of land and ships, then she had vanished—until the word had come ghosting into his mind:
help!
And the only help he knew was the magic of his people. He closed his eyes, shut out the ulunsuti, concentrated on the formula he had been slowly chanting, and tried to think of Liz.

“Sge! Ha-nagwa hatunganiga Nunya ulunsuti, gahusti tsuts-kadi nigesunna…”

And somewhere upon the Faery ocean, Liz heard. She followed that voice, let it rip her free from the mental walls that held her.

And then she remembered her task: Fionchadd.

She had seen Fionchadd, did not want to see him again…yet she had one thing left to do: she had to
find
him, pierce the World Walls there about, and see where in her own World they lay. She steeled herself, drew on the strength she felt flowing into her from her friends.

The tower was the key. Slowly she rebuilt the memory.

Cold, then: cold and dark and falling. A resistance against her mind: present, then gone. World Walls, a part of her knew, and then she had a sensation of flying, of fleeing that place. She touched fog and felt colder yet—impossible for one who had no body. An image clarified: the tower! But with it came another wash of unbearable pain, and she had no choice except to flee—but at least she could choose her route: across the sea to the edge—
through
it. And then silver enveloped her in a fine mesh, and then, so suddenly the familiarity made her cry out, she saw something she recognized.

A city spread before her, night-lit. She knew those buildings: the silver cylinder of Peachtree Plaza, the Regency Hyatt House's famous blue dome, the red marble slab of the Georgia Pacific Building, the elegant new IBM Tower. And to the left almost at the limits of vision was the low, humped mass of Stone Mountain.

Atlanta!

The shattered stone tower returned for one final instant, and with it a fading
help,
but before she could reply it was gone, replaced once more by the shimmering facade of IBM's
nouveau-art deco
showpiece.

“I think he's in Atlanta,” Liz said aloud, and fainted.

* * *

David felt his heart catch when he heard those words, but then his concern was for his lady. He leapt forward, broke the circle, even as Sandy ceased drumming and Calvin stopped the chant David had also unconsciously taken up. Calvin was on his feet in a moment, splashing cold water on Liz's face. She stared blankly for an instant, then blinked.

“Atlanta,” she repeated, looking up at David. “How much of that did you catch?”

“Enough,” he managed, as Sandy rose shakily and staggered for the kitchen.

“Enough for sure,” Calvin agreed, joining David to help Liz back to the sofa.
“
Damn!
Two kinds of magic workin' together, and five minds!”

“Yeah, and goin' every which way,” David added. “Jesus, I don't
ever
want to do that again.”

“Atlanta,” Alec mused, as if he had not heard them. “Oh, come on; you're not serious!”

“He's in Atlanta,” Liz repeated. “Well, not Atlanta, really. I think it's another World—a bubble off Tir-Nan-Og or one of the other Faerie realms, or something, and accessible only from there—and maybe from here, since we were able to look through to it. Maybe it's like Powersmithland, sort of, which is accessible only through Annwyn—so folks in Faerie thought—but also touches Galunlati. But it overlaps Atlanta, I'll bet you anything.”

“Is it always that…traumatic?” Sandy wondered, returning with a pot of hot cider she'd put on before they began. She looked pale, but otherwise seemed none the worse for her first encounter with magic.

Calvin fixed her with a searching glance and an inquiring eyebrow, but she shook her head and mouthed, “I'm okay.”

Liz spared her a wry grin, and helped herself to a long swallow of cider. “No,” she said, “that's the worst it's ever been.”

And then she repeated what she had seen and felt and heard as best she could.

“That stuff about the ships is real interestin',” David noted, his thoughts linking up almost more quickly than he could blurt them out. “'cause it looks like three fleets are convergin', one of Finvarra's, one of Lugh's, and one of the Powersmiths'. I bet I know where, too,” he added. “Lugh's got a major port down around Savannah, I've seen it on one of those projection discs of his, and they mentioned something about defendin' Lugh's southern harbor, so I bet that's where they're goin'. We already know Finvarra's been causin' a lot of grief in the north of Tir-Nan-Og, and we know Lugh's given him an ultimatum. But that doesn't mean old Finvarra won't try to fight. Shoot, that whole mess in the north might even be a feint to draw attention away from that fleet.”

“But what does this actually mean in terms of your plan?” Sandy asked.

David took a deep breath. “It means that
if
we can spring Finno, we've got a goal to try to get him to. The Powersmiths are his people, and looks like a bunch of 'em are gonna be fairly close to the coast. If we can get him to them, we can hand him over. Slam-bam, thank-you-ma'am, end of war.”

“Except that we've still got a couple of problems,” Alec said slowly. “Like, now that we've found Finno, how're we gonna spring him? And once we've freed him, how're we gonna
get
him to the Powersmiths? I mean, we can't go through Tir-Nan-Og, the border's closed—which I suppose means Faerie itself's closed as far as this century's concerned. And there's no way we can get to Erenn and try to get through there. So that leaves three choices: we take him via our World, via the Tracks—or via Galunlati.”