Sunshaker's War (15 page)

“Jesus,” he whispered, then noticed he was shivering, though not with cold. That had been the worst one yet: so very real…and somebody he had known as well. The whole thing was starting to get to him. It was one thing when you had to deal with rain as a matter of course, as one of the inconveniences of life, and ditto for contention. Then you merely had to watch your step and try a little harder. But when it was your fault, and you couldn't do anything about it—that was a thousand times worse. It was like that awful sick moment last year when he'd lost control of his car and knew he was about to crash. Everything had gone into slow motion and he'd known absolutely that he was gonna hit, but not how hard or with how much damage. Except that this time the irresistable force was coming at
him
and he was powerless to avoid it.

Restless, he climbed out of bed, tugged on his gym shorts and threw the robe around his shoulders more from a desire for psychological comfort than any physical need. Barefoot, he padded downstairs, wincing as his tread brought more than one set of creaks from the boards of the narrow stairwell. So much for his ma's precautions.

Right at the bottom and down the hall; hesitating, but not stopping, by the door of his sanctum, and again to glance in on Little Billy who slept peacefully in his own room. Once in the kitchen he closed the hall door behind him but didn't latch it, thought of switching on the light, but decided against it. A glance over his shoulder, and he made it to the counter beside the stove, where he knelt and rummaged quietly through the detritus there until he found a bottle of Big Billy's Jim Beam. That was what he needed, something to deaden his memory, to banish the horrible images.

He grabbed a squatty glass from the dish drainer and opened the freezer compartment at the top of the fridge. Four ice cubes, and the whiskey went over. It took more than he'd intended—Pa would know some was missing—but his was the greater need now. If Big Billy gave him any grief, he'd simply level with him. They'd argue, of course, but he'd get the better eventually.

Thus fortified, he crept out the back door (open, except for the hooked screen, to let in the night breezes that cooled the house in lieu of air-conditioning), and sat down on the edge of the porch. A long swallow almost made him choke, but he caught it in time and let the cold fluid set fire to his throat, feeling its warmth flood through him. The rain had slackened to a persistent drizzle, and he stared for a while at the patterns it made in the evergrowing puddle at the base of the steps. The steady drips diving off the roof scant inches beyond his feet were a sort of frame: bright silver pillars against a background of gloom-shot gray. Tiberius the tomcat came up to him and curled against his side. He could feel the prickle of water on his toes as drops smashed themselves on the steps and showered them with liquid shrapnel.

To the right, at the limit of vision, he could almost see Bloody Bald. Lightning flared there, a shimmer in the darkness like a flame seen through layers of gauze. War went on there, he knew, war in Faerie. He wondered what had become of his friends among the Sidhe. Lugh, he supposed, was leading the charge. Nuada and Morrigu were Lugh's lieutenants, so they probably had major roles as well. Oisin, the old human seer, was doubtlessly advising. And the others he knew less well: Froech and Regan, Cormac and Forgoll—how did they fare? It was all pointless, too: a thousand lives altered, the very land changed, all because of him.

Footsteps sounded soft on the bare boards behind him. He did not turn, because he knew them, though he had never heard them just that way. Silently Liz folded herself down beside him, gently displacing the cat. She rested her head on his shoulder. He took a drink, felt the burning in his throat, his head growing muddled—which was precisely what he had intended.

“Something's wrong.” Not a question.

He nodded and took another swallow. “Another dream, Liz. It was Froech this time.” He shuddered violently, until she slipped an arm around him and drew him close. “More vivid than ever, and…oh, God, Liz; what am I gonna
do
?”

“Do you always have to do something? This time there isn't anything you
can
do.”

“I…I felt him die…I was there, in his head—and I felt him die.”

She gasped softly, then paused. “You can't worry about that, David, he'll be reborn, they all will. The Sidhe
can't
die.”

“No, but they can feel pain, just like us. They claim they're used to it; but how can you get used to havin' your throat slashed or your head cut off? And if you did, what would it do to you? I
liked
Froech. He was sort of like me: wild and impetuous, even if he was a thousand years old. But will he like me now? I caused this mess, in the last analysis, so will
any
of the Sidhe like me? I mean crap, girl, any way I try to reason it out I come to the bottom and find me being nosy on a summer night. Am I supposed to assume the Sidhe won't make the same conclusions?”

“It wasn't just you, though,” Liz said. “The Morrigu had a hand in it too, remember? She's the one who saw you assume the Second Sight position, the one who sensed the Power of the Sidhe in you from some ancestor of yours she'd dallied with, the one who woke the Sight in you. You only had the desire and the potential. No, if it's anyone's fault, it's hers.”

“I hope she's happy, then. Morrigu, they call her:
great queen.
But queen of what? Of the dead? She oughta be in her element now!”

“I thought you said her thing was combat. Lawful combat—enforcing the rules, and all.”

“Yeah, but even if I blame it on her, that doesn't change the situation.”

“Which is?”

“Shoot fire, just look around you! Weather gone wild, contention in the air, war in another World causing the equivalent in this! You think I like havin' to live with that, knowin' it's all my fault?”

“But it's
not
your fault!”

“Yes it
is
!
The only question is: what am I gonna do?”

“I…I don't know.”

“And it's gonna get worse, too. As Midsummer's Day approaches, it'll just get worse. Mark my words.”

“Maybe you should leave town for a while.”

“Yeah, sure—and let all hell break loose while I'm gone? What about that? Good God, girl, I could come home and find my folks with their throats cut. Pa's got that much violence in him, so has Ma.”

“So then…”

“I think it's time I started acting instead of just bitchin'.”

“Okay, then; I'll turn it around: what
are
you gonna do?”

“Well, for one thing, I'm gonna go see Alec and make him use the ulunsuti so I can maybe find out what's goin' on in Faerie. I'm gonna talk to Uncle Dale, probably; and I'm gonna try to get hold of Calvin.”

“Okay, then,” Liz said. “See, things are better already; you've got a battle plan.”

“Yeah,” David sighed. “But how do you stop a war?”

“One man at a time, and one side. You remove the cause.”

“If we can even
find
the cause. Sometimes I get the feeling the Sidhe are doin' this just for giggles.”

“Maybe so.”

“Guess I'd better get in now, though. Folks'll be out here next.”

Liz nodded, and they stood. For a long moment they remained there on the porch, close together. David enfolded her in his arms and bent his head into her neck, stifling a sob.

When they parted at the base of the stairs, he saw that her eyes, too, were shiny.

Back in the attic a short while later, he lay down naked atop the covers, then shivered and climbed underneath, hugging his pillow close like the teddy bear he had abandoned years ago. Never in his life had he felt so alone.

Chapter VIII: Universal Secrets

(Galunlati—summer)

Though Calvin had spent a considerable amount of time in Galunlati during the previous nine months, he had visited the place Uki led him to only for very special functions—certain prayers and meditations, rituals such as that which empowered the uktena scales to teleport, the passing on of particular bits of lore. To reach it, they walked for perhaps half an hour northwest from Uki's home in the caverns above the gorge Hyuntikwalayi. During that journey, by some unspoken agreement, they did not converse, and Calvin found himself becoming keenly aware of his environment. The trees grew closer together here than any other place he had seen, and eventually he noticed that the oaks and scattered dogwoods were gradually being replaced by cedars and laurel—plants of vigilance. More than once he felt the hair rise up on the back of his neck. The light slowly shifted in color as well until it bore a distinct greenish tinge that in no wise lessened the almost-blinding glare. Nor had the heat abated, though they walked in a semblance of shade. If anything, it had become even
more
stifling in the windless spaces of the
woods. He could see very little ahead, for the tall shaman's wide, white shoulders filled most of the trail.

Abruptly Uki stepped aside and ushered Calvin into a circular clearing perhaps thirty yards across, completely covered with hard white sand: his Power Wheel. The light was nearly unbearable, but by squinting Calvin was able to reacquaint himself with its particulars.

The perimeter was faced with a high wall of dark laurel beyond which cedars glowered. But what caught Calvin's attention every time he came here was that each of the cardinal points was marked by a lightning-struck tree, which were very strong medicine indeed. That to the north was blue, the east red, the west black, and the one to the south, from which direction they had entered, white. He had been unable to copy them when he'd made his own amateurish duplicate, and had been forced to substitute wood from a single tree painted appropriately.

A final quick survey showed him something he
had
copied, though: The sand was not actually pure white, but quartered by yard-wide strips of darker gravel leading from each tree to the center and girding the clearing as well, so that the configuration was that of a circle divided by a cross. A magic sign: sigil of the Four Councils Sent From Above, and also of the World. And well he
should
know that, he thought wryly, for in those days before he truly appreciated its significance, he had gotten that same symbol tattooed on his bottom.

He knew better now, of course. Someday he would have it removed.

Uki seated himself at the point where the southern arm joined the others and motioned for Calvin to face him on its northern twin.

“Now,” the shaman said, when Calvin had positioned himself,
“
now
we may talk freely. I imagine you have many questions.”

“Uh, yeah,” Calvin replied uneasily, finding it difficult to sit still on the hot sand. “What's goin' on with the sun?”

“You have gazed upon it,” Uki replied. “Look again and tell me how it seems to you.”

Calvin lifted an eyebrow dubiously, then dared a tentative skyward glance. Was Uki crazy? You didn't gaze straight at the sun and keep your sight, at least not for more than the instant he had risked before.

“It will not harm you here! Now
look
!”

Calvin swallowed, took a deep breath, and stared straight at the solar disc, startled to realize that he really
could
gaze full on it without discomfort. In fact, he had never seen it so clearly; it was almost like peering through a telescope. It blazed at the zenith, red and furious, and Calvin was certain he could actually make out the sunspots that pockmarked its surface, the solar prominences that rose and fell upon it. He held his breath, caught up in wonder. But something really was wrong—the great star was pulsing, quivering a little, flinging off mass with wild abandon, and if he tried very hard, he thought he could feel the heat increase with each flare.

“It's…moving,” he whispered finally. “And it's awful bright.”

“Shaking,” Uki affirmed, nodding.

“And let me guess; this isn't normal; leastwise it sure wouldn't be back home.”

Uki nodded again. “Yes, there is a wrongness—a great wrongness, and it troubles all of us here. I have met with the Chiefs of the three other Quarters, and none of us have found answers.”

“
No
ideas?
That's
hard to believe.”

“None to speak of,” Uki replied calmly. “But perhaps I should relate the whole tale. To begin, the last time you were here nothing was wrong; Galunlati was as it should be. The seasons came and went in their proper times, and Nunda Igeyi was neither too bright nor too dim. The rain came when I called, and the winds answered my need, and all was well. But six hands of days ago, Nunda Igeyi began to grow hot. The increase was slight at first, but quickly became greater, so that many of the plants began to wilt, and it sometimes took all my effort to bring the rain while at other times I had to strain to keep it away, for it seemed to come from nowhere, and with great violence. Finally we saw changes in Nunda Igeyi itself, and then we recalled with fear how when this Land was made Nunda Igeyi was too close and had to be moved nine times before Galunlati grew cool enough for anything to live.”