Bigfootloose and Finn Fancy Free (37 page)

Silene floated forward across the muddy earth. “Friend, welcome to our revels. Come, set aside your weapons and your anger. It is a time to celebrate light, and love, and the creation of life.” She motioned to the flashes of light illuminating the river valley, growing ever brighter and closer.

“Nymph-bright,” the sasquatch growled. “Youself is one telling Challa to leave I!”

Silene's smile never faltered. “No, I told her to seek out happiness and love. And I tell you the same. Come, let me show you the joys—”

“Youself try to split apart Challa and I hearts. I show youself how badhurt feels!”

He raised one length of rebar like a club, and stepped toward Silene.

“No!” Challa shouted, and ran out. “Iself am coming ourhome. Leave the treebright alone.” She stood stooped over in a submissive posture, her hands raised, her eyes lowered.

The sasquatch growled. “Youself need to learn I strongest of all brightbloods, youself lucky to be one of Iself's mates.” He moved past her toward Silene. Several of the brightbloods with Silene moved between her and the sasquatch, though none looked certain it was a wise move.

Challa grabbed the sasquatch's arm. “No! Youself are strongest—”

The sasquatch struck her in a backswing across the head, the rebar bending. Challa's knees wobbled, and she fell to the ground.

“Youself stay down until I say standing good,” he said, keeping his attention focused on Silene and her protectors. He raised the other length of rebar again.

Challa screamed, a scream that contained years of pent-up anger and pain, the scream of someone pushed well beyond her breaking point, and she leaped on the male sasquatch's back. One arm wrapped around his neck, the other began pounding at his chest and punching at the side of his face while she continued screaming.

He howled a battle cry, dropped both rebar poles, and grabbed Challa's arm from around his throat with both hands. He spun, and she flew off, but he held onto her arm. There was a terrible, crunching pop, and Challa screamed out in pain, then the sasquatch slammed her to the ground like a giant doll. She lay in the dirt, whimpering, her arm bent at an impossible angle.

Lightning danced over the nearby bend in the river, announcing the arrival of the Thunderbird.

“Youself listen next time I saying stay down, Iself thinking,” he said, and snatched up the nearest piece of rebar. He looked at Silene. “And youself, try to take I heart, Iself take youself's heart instead.” He took a half step back, hefted the rebar, and threw it like a spear.

It plunged into the trunk of Silene's tree with a loud “Thunk!”, and quivered there.

Silene staggered and put her hand over her left breast.

“Stupid nymph-bright,” the sasquatch said. “I think
youself
listen next—”

His words ended with an explosive cough of blood as Challa slammed the other piece of rebar through his back and out of his chest, her scream one that would haunt even a banshee.

The Thunderbird swept by, a magnificent bird the size of a pterodactyl, lightning dancing from his wings along the river below him. In the flashing, strobe-like illumination, the sasquatch seemed to fall forward in slow motion.

An arc of lightning leapt from the Thunderbird and struck the rebar in Silene's tree, drawn by natural attraction to the metal. Not a deliberate act by the great bird, but devastating all the same. There was a terrible scream of metal heating and wood splitting, and the smell of char.

Silene howled in pain. When the flash faded, her left breast had been burned away, leaving an angry red scar that ran from just below her shoulder down to her abdomen.

Silene swooned, then fell face first into the mud.

Many of the brightbloods panicked and fled. Others rallied. A pair of kelpie channeled a fountain of river water onto the tree, sending up a burst of steam from the rebar and quenching the glowing coals around the strike before they could burst into flame.

Several brightbloods carried Silene to her tree and lay her against it, and someone shouted for word to be sent to the Archon of what had happened.

*   *   *

The memory blurred, and then resumed.

The sun shone down across Silene's tree in faint columns that shifted as thick groups of silver clouds moved swiftly across it.

Silene sat against the fuzzy red cedar trunk, her face a mask of grief. She now wore the familiar green dress.

The snapping of branches beneath boots announced the arrival of someone. Silene looked up as a DFM enforcer stepped out of the trees. He did not wear riot gear, just a camo uniform, and no helmet hid his spiky blond hair or enforcer's moustache.

Brad Cousar. The man who attacked the gathering at the Department of Feyblood Management farm under Romey's influence.

“Bradley!” Silene said, and stood. “Thank the Bright you came.”

Brad grinned as he crossed the clearing. “Every time, you say never again, but I always get another message asking for mana. What sad feyblood pulled your heartstrings this—”

He stopped, and looked from the damaged cedar to Silene. “Jesus, Silene, your tree—” He shook his head. “You okay?”

Silene's hand began to go to her chest, but stopped. “Please, I have need of mana that I may heal my tree.”

Brad's eyes narrowed. “How about you do
me
a favor. Take off that dress and dance for me, the way I like.”

Silene glided up to Brad, and put a hand on his arm. “I don't need to dance to make you feel good.” Her voice held a ghost of the seductive quality she'd spoken with during the revel. “Just lay back in the grass, and—”

“Why don't you not tell me what to do. Are you going to dance for me or not?”

Silene raised her arms, and began to wave her hips. “If dance is really all you want—”

“Naked.” Brad crossed his arms. “I didn't come here to see a fashion show.”

Silene stepped back. “I—please, Brad. I don't want to—”

“But this isn't about what you want, is it? It's about what I want if you expect me to pay you. You know how this works.” Brad pulled out a stainless steel mana vial, its brushed silver surface covered in runes.

Silene looked from the vial to her tree, and her hand went to her left breast now. She turned so that her back was to Brad, slid the dress from each shoulder, then let it fall to her feet. She began to dance, sinuous, seductive.

“Turn around,” Brad said.

“You can take me from behind,” Silene said. “I know you like that.”

“Turn around, Silene, or I'm leaving.”

Silene stopped dancing. She turned, tears running down her face.

The scar had begun to heal, but it remained a pink, puckered line where her left breast had once been.

Brad winced. “Damn. What a waste.” He shook his head, and his expression softened. “Are you okay? I mean, does it hurt?”

“My tree takes the pain,” Silene said. “Please, if I can just heal her, maybe—”

Brad sighed. “Shit, Silene. I'm sorry. It's been fun, no doubt about it. And we both got something out of it. How about we don't make this hard, huh?”

He turned, and began walking back toward the forest.

“Brad, wait! Please! I—”

Brad turned back. “Don't. You'll just be embarrassed later.”

“If I can just have some mana—”

Brad shook his head again. “Sorry, babe, but a little magic ain't going to fix that. Besides—look, I might as well tell you now, I got another feyblood girl now, I was going to stop our little visits regardless. And you've got bigger problems than some burns anyways.”

Silene's head shifted back. “What do you mean?”

“You haven't heard? They're tearing down the dams. When they do, there's a good chance you and your tree are going for a swim down the river.”

Silene looked to the river. “I—I didn't know. I am happy for the river and its spirits, but—” She began to sob.

Brad sighed. “Damn it, don't cry like that. Okay, look, I know an alchemist, he'd pay good money for certain fluids and … parts of you and your tree, and he has a drug that can unfetter you. Give him whatever you can live without. Maybe you can get enough mana to, you know, make a little Silene cutting or seed or whatever it is dryad mothers do, and plant it above the waterline, closer to the lodge.” He waved up at the hillside.

Silene's brow furrowed. “Sell my—?” She wiped roughly at her face with the back of her hand. “Go impale yourself.”

“Now what kind of talk is that from a creature of pleasure?”

“I do not exist just to give pleasure,” Silene replied, standing straighter. “I bring health and happiness to my tree, and all beings within these woods. I am not a cow to be milked and cut up in pieces and—”

“See, I tried to be nice,” Brad said, walking back to jab his finger at Silene's shoulder. “But you want the hard truth, babe? Your value to us and your mighty Fey masters is in distracting all those wild feybloods out there, so they are focused on your tits and ass and not thinking about fighting or causing problems. That is what you do to earn your place around here, and guess what? You can't do that anymore. And nobody's going to give you mana just because you're a sweet girl. So if you want my advice, you'll sell what you can to the alchemist while it still has value, take the drugs, and make yourself a baby while you can.”

“Screw you!”

“Sorry, sweetie, but you got nothing I—”

Silene punched Brad. Not some offended princess slap. An Ellen Ripley punch that sent Brad stumbling back to fall on his ass.

Brad shook his head, and leapt to his feet. Blood trickled from a split lip, and he rubbed it away. “You little—” He advanced toward Silene, who raised her fists. She held them in front of her like a shield, looking more awkward than imposing.

Brad stopped, and suddenly burst out laughing. “Okay. I probably deserved that.” He shook his head. “But you hit me again, and I'm going to have to arrest you, and that's a whole lot of paperwork and questions I don't want to deal with. Don't forget your place Silene. Now good-bye, for real.”

Brad turned, and marched away. As he did, he rubbed at his jaw again and said, “What a waste.”

Silene watched him leave, then turned back to her cedar. She rubbed at her fist.

Challa appeared out of the forest, her natural glamour making her seem to materialize out of the light and shadows.

“Yonman badheart,” she said. “Is what heself say about stonedams breaking real-true?”

“Maybe,” Silene replied. “Probably. I know the Klallam firstmen have been fighting to free the river for many years.”

“This is true-bad,” Challa said.

“No, it is good, it should be a cause to rejoice. But we must also prepare.” Silene touched her chest, and glanced in the direction Brad had left. A look of determination settled on her face. “It is no coincidence that all of this change has happened at once. The Aal wished to awaken me, to remind me I am a vassal of the Silver Court, the Demesne of justice. There is a time for revels, for dancing and loving and tasting of joy, for the healing and strength they bring. But today I understand that a slave dancing is still a slave.”

“So … what youself doing now?”

“Now?” Silene asked. “I shall rest, and heal. Tomorrow, however, I shall begin to gather those of the Silver who would share in the purpose the Aal has revealed to me. And then? Then, we shall fight for the respect we are owed.”

*   *   *

Blur …

Silene stood within the protective stone circle on the bluff at Fort Worden, hacking at the strands of spider silk around Reggie as she watched me struggle to my feet, the white crust of the jorōgumo protection potion flaking from my skin. Hiromi faced us across the dew-soaked grass, swaying on her spider legs.

“Hiromi, why are you doing this?” I shouted. “We don't need to be enemies.”

“Of course we do,” she replied. “We are different, and difference always leads to conflict. Or enslavement.”

“You sound like my grandfather.”

“Then he is right,” she hissed back.

“He's dead. He tried to start a war, but arcana and brightbloods, we fought together to stop him.”

“Then you only delayed the inevitable!” she said, and attacked.

*   *   *

Blur …

Silene stood beside the curled-up, still body of Hiromi as I questioned the jorōgumo's spirit.

“You were responsible for Veirai attacking the alchemist?” I asked.

“Yesssss.”

“You infiltrated Silene's group posing as Romey, a waerfox?”

“Yessss.”

“Hiromi? Were your orders really from your Forest of Shadows patrons?”

“Yesss. I obey obey betray the betrayers all will die die die.”

*   *   *

Blur …

Silene, looking like a young teen girl, stumbled backward through a moonlit forest. Bright flashes, explosions, and screams deeper in the forest announced a battle drawing ever closer. Silene's hands trembled as her fingertips sought out the comforting feel of the ferns and shrubs that surrounded her.

A mixed group of arcana and allied brightbloods began to appear from between the trees, retreating toward Silene. Soon, enemy brightbloods could be seen pressing them back, bolstered in strength and ability by possessing Fey.

Silene tried to stem the tide of enemy brightbloods, tried to weave tangled walls of vines and branches to slow them. But the enemy brightbloods were too many, and too strong.

Allied brightbloods—dryads, satyrs, sasquatches, gryphons, leprechauns, and others—fought a desperate but clearly losing battle against waer creatures, ghouls, trolls, lindworms, wendigos, unicorns, and other dark brightbloods fighting for their Fey masters.

Arcana fought side by side with the allied brightbloods. Wizards wielded wands and rings, or fought with tattoos and swords. Sorcerers cast illusions to frighten and confuse, or controlled the minds of the less intelligent enemy brightbloods and turned them against their own. Thaumaturges crushed and broke the enemy lines with prepared boulders or tree trunks by moving a resonant pebble or branch across their palm. Alchemists lobbed gas grenades, or splashed healing potions on the wounded. And necromancers darted forth to rip the spirit from enemy creatures, or snag the magic from both ally and enemy fallen in order to fuel the living arcana's spells and weapons.