Warstalker's Track (21 page)

And yeah, I know they’ve got a real and true important job to do (Myra caught me up on that, and old man Dale’s kept me posted fairly well, so maybe I’m only sucking next-to-hind tit now), but I just can’t seem to get it through anybody’s head that while, yeah, a lot of really important things hinge on what they do in all those places, I’ve still got to function in the real world, and they’ve mostly been piss-poor at helping me cope. I mean, I
finally,
at the absolute eleventh hour dissertation-wise, finally get this really neat, good-paying job doing stuff I don’t mind doing, and all of a sudden at the eleventh-and-a-half hour I find out it’s completely at odds with all my friends’ wild romantic notions of what I ought to do.

And the trouble is, they’re right. And they’ve promised to help me keep my head on straight after this, but you know, Mr. Laptop, it’s gonna be
me
having to list Mystic Mountain Properties on every job application I ever fill out from here on out, and something tells me I’m not gonna get an A-one recommendation. “Oh, right, you worked for that group that fucked up the mountains.” Yeah, sure.

So I told Myra no. I told her I’d like to help ’em out on this Faerie-thing (which is true). But I told her I also had to cover my ass, and had (as they’d said) an important job to do here, so that I can maybe keep my nose clean. I…

Fuck it! Just fuck it! (They oughta call these rant machines.) Just goddam mother fuck it! I keep trying to do the right thing and I just can’t seem to make it happen. Oh well. Elyyoth says he knows some kind of spell that might make it hard for them to get heavy equipment in here. Well, except that he also says it may not work on iron. In any event, he’s a pretty cool dude, so maybe I’ll get one good thing out of this.

And I guess, if I really want to be objective, the folks did promise to help me out money-wise, but I’m not sure if I want ’em to do that. Even fuck-ups like me got pride.

End of rant. Gotta call the guys back home, and see how my ferret’s doing.

Chapter IX: Swimming Upstream

(near Clayton, Georgia—Sunday, June 29—late morning)

“I don’t feel real,” David grumbled to Liz in the first private moments they’d managed since she and Alec had arrived the previous night. They’d wandered out to the end of John Devlin’s drive, ostensibly to case the place for artifacts the Sidhe might have left behind—or bloodstains, or any other tokens that might supply insight into their adversaries’ strengths and weaknesses. None were forthcoming. What few footprints had survived three sets of invading vehicles plus Dale’s Lincoln Town Car were bare, and all showing aberrations that evoked avian, canine, and feline alike; not unreasonable, for shapeshifters. David kicked at a patch of gravel. “Not real,” he repeated, more loudly.

“I don’t either,” Liz sighed. “And I’m not exactly sure why. I mean, look at all this; every sense we’ve got’s being stimulated to the max: clean air, cooking smells, pine trees, earth, birdsong, bugs in the woods, our friends chattering up at the house, warm wind, sunlight on skin, blue sky, mountains that’re purple-gray-green. Trees in a dozen shapes. Cars in all kinds of colors. Those are the realest things there are!”

David scowled. “And then there’s the war. It’s real, but it’s also remote. Like, there’s a part of me that thinks I’m just goin’ through the motions, that if I’ll only go back to Athens and keep on takin’ classes and hangin’ out in clubs and readin’ and listenin’ to music and goin’ to movies, folks won’t really come out of Faerie after Lugh. They won’t really build that resort back home. The Sidhe won’t really flood Sullivan Cove if they do. Pa won’t really be in the hospital. It’s like—like I feel after a movie. Total immersion for a while, and then heightened senses, but it’s all illusion.”

Liz gazed at him askance and reached over to take his hand. The wind ruffled her hair; the sunlight woke highlights in it: bright flame against darker, but still glowing, embers. “I know one thing that’d make us feel real,” she murmured, nodding toward the nearest patch of woods, which was conveniently screened by a stand of rhododendron. “Looks pretty mossy in there.”

David grinned at her. “And what use would we have for moss?”

Liz’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Softer to lie on than leaves.”

David’s grin widened. “I don’t have any…”

Liz regarded him levelly. “This time I think it’d be okay to risk it. I think it’d be more real.”

“Yeah,” David agreed a little shakily. “I think it would.”

*

David wasn’t certain if it was sunlight in his eyes, some subtle shift in Liz’s breathing, or the sound of voices talking deliberately loud that woke him from a drowse he’d neither sought out nor intended. In any event, it took but an instant to realize that he wasn’t exactly in the safest place in the world, that he was naked as the day he was born (as was Liz, beside him), and that decisions were being made even now with which, just possibly, he ought to be involved.

“Liz,” he hissed, “we got company.” And with that he fumbled through his clothes and whipped a sweatshirt over her more interesting bits, where she curled on a nest of moss in his shadow. That accomplished, he found his skivvies, skinned them on, and was just buttoning his fatigues when the voices reached the point where he had no choice but to dash out of the bushes and yell “Whoa!”

Aikin and Alec looked amused, if not startled, and shot him sympathetic grins. “Sorry, man,” Aikin muttered. “Folks are leavin’.”

David donned his T-shirt. “Thanks. I, uh—well, basically, we didn’t mean to—”

“What?” Alec inquired archly.

“Nothing you wouldn’t do yourself, if you had the chance,” David retorted, glancing back at Liz and finding her…progressing.

Alec’s face clouded. “Yeah, well, that’s kind of the problem, isn’t it? Not that she hasn’t suggested it,” he added hastily. “But it’s been so long, and there’s so much going on. And you know me; I’d as soon do it right, if I’m gonna do it.”

David rolled his eyes at Aikin. “That’s our buddy: ever the romantic.”

“’Least I won’t get leaves in my butt crack!”

“Depends on who’s on top,” David shot back sweetly. And ducked back into the thicket. “So,” he continued, when he returned with clothes in hand and a barefoot Liz in tow. “What’s the deal?” They sat down to deal with socks and shoes.

“The deal,” Aikin replied patiently, “is that the Silver Track crew are leavin’.”

David lifted a brow. “They’re not gonna cross over straight from here?”

Alec shook his head. “And technically, it’s not a
they
.”
David’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Aikin shifted his weight and looked a trifle guilty. “I mean—that is, uh, me and Mach-One here are goin’ too.”

David shrugged a bit too nonchalantly as he attacked his second sneaker. “Whatever. I got tired of hearin’ pros and cons of this person and that. I know where I have to go, for balance, if nothing else. The rest—it’d be good people anyway.”

“I hope so,” Aikin muttered, looking apprehensively back toward the cabin.

“So what’s the final tally?” David asked. He snugged his last lace and rose, slapping leaves off his backside in the process.

Alec counted on his fingers. “John stays here—obviously. So does Brock, because it’s the least risky proposition, plus he’s got some background in Cherokee mojo, and Cal and Churchy thought it’d be best if we had as many traditions represented here as possible. And since Cal pretty much has to go to Galunlati, Churchy’s got a vested interest in goin’, and Sandy’s in no mood to argue, that only leaves the kid.”

“So someone from Faerie’s stayin’ here too?”

“Silverhand,” Alec acknowledged. “Finno’s been to Galunlati, so it makes sense for him to return. Aife, being a traitor to the Sons, feels like she’d be better off if she wasn’t so close to hand, plus she’s an added attraction to anyone who might happen to attack, so she’s going Tracking. Silverhand’s an even bigger draw, of course, but he’s also bigger mojo. And now that he’s rested, he swears he feels as good as new.”

“What about LaWanda?” Liz broke in. “She’s from yet
another
magic tradition.”

“And a damned fine fighter,” David added. “But she’s also friends with Myra, who has to look for the Silver Tracks; as, apparently, does Piper.”

“Right,” Aikin agreed. “Which is why McLean and me decided to go with ’em. They’ve got native guides. They got
a
Faery. They
might
have Scott if Myra convinces him to cut work for a day. But they need somebody who knows how all this stuff fits together.”

“And who’s spent enough time away from his girlfriend,” Alec appended.

“And of course they need someone tireless, resourceful, and decent with weapons, even if they don’t expect to fight,” Aikin finished with a smug grin, glancing at his watch, then at the sky, then back at the cabin. “And now, if you guys don’t mind…”

David gave Liz a hand up. “We gotta get movin’ too.”

A minute later, they were standing beside Myra’s van. The owner was fidgeting with her keys and looking antsy. Piper wasn’t doing anything at all, having withdrawn into that quiet place he went when fear, desire, and responsibility—and his love for LaWanda—resumed their invisible war.

Aife and Nuada were on the porch, talking animatedly, and only partly with their mouths, as the
clogging
in David’s head testified. As best he could tell, Aife was debating whether to remain in the Faery substance she’d adopted upon leaving the Cove, in which form she’d have easier access to Power; or to put on the substance of the Mortal World, in which guise she’d be better equipped to weather the proximity to iron riding in the van would entail.

Aikin, who’d also caught the conversation, settled the matter abruptly. “’Less somebody’s willin’ to lend a pickup with a bedliner, I don’t see how she’s got much choice.” He gazed at Liz speculatively, then at Devlin.

“Mine won’t make it,” Devlin said.

“And we may need mine,” Liz added. “When we get back from Galunlati.”

“Gee,” Alec sighed, crestfallen. “And I was hoping we could ride in the back.” Then, to David, with a wink: “Ain’t no
moss
in a pickup.”

“Just pryin’ eyes.”

A shrug. “That’s what cover’s for.”

“Abstinence,” Myra drawled, “makes the heart grow fonder.”

“Heart, or—?”

David elbowed his friend and giggled. A man could only take so much that was stem and grim and…
significant,
after all, before he had to get punchy or go insane.

Myra jingled her keys meaningfully and opened her door. Piper was already inside. Alec was moving that way as well, propelled by Devlin. No argument there, David noted. No endless discussion. Merely simple, direct action. He wished everything was that simple.

But where was LaWanda?

“Sorry,” the woman called, as if in answer. “Figured I oughta have one last go at a for-real potty, seein’ how I may not have access to one for a while.” And as LaWanda jogged around to the van’s passenger side, Myra Jane Buchanan closed the door and cranked the engine.

Alec gave David one final hug, as did Aikin, which surprised him, and then they too climbed in the vehicle. Aife, very white-faced, came last.

The air resounded with good-byes, or inanities uttered in lieu of real emotion. And then, for almost half a minute, John Devlin’s yard filled up with silence.

*

Ten years ago, David concluded wryly, he’d have given anything he owned, might own, or would ever have considered owning, to be doing what he was right now. If you considered
right now
to mean helping the King of the Faeries evade rebels by spiriting him to another World, anyway. Yeah, his twelve-year-old self would’ve thought that was pretty cool. Little Billy still thought it was pretty cool and was jealous as hell that David got to have adventures he only heard about, and that under penalty of worse punishments than he could imagine if he told anyone else! Of course, the kid hid most of that jealousy—and pride and anger—under
a
thickening veneer of attitude David didn’t recall ever having. But he’d still have thought it was pretty damned cool.

David, age twenty-two, was royally tired of it. Even worse, as
Liz said, there was no end in sight. At least the logistics were nowhere near as complicated as they would once have been, not with Calvin having custody of a sufficiency of uktena scales—scales from a serpentlike monster that dwelt in Galunlati, one incarnation of which he, Alec, Calvin, and Fionchadd had long ago helped to slay.

Yep, those scales had proven mighty useful more than once; and trouble, of course, as well. Shoot, the plain, unadulterated items could help a man shapeshift. All you had to do was hold one in your hand, close your eyes, and think of what you wanted to become, then squeeze until the scale’s sharp edges brought blood. And presto-chango: instant ’possum, or whatever.

Actually, it wasn’t that easy. It hurt like hell, for one thing. And you had to have eaten the critter in question—which wasn’t a problem for country-boy-woodsy types like him and Calvin, or forestry jocks like Aikin. It was also wise to shift to something roughly one’s own mass; cougars, deer, small bears, wolves, and alligators were ideal.

Nor was that all uktena scales were good for. Another function was about to be utilized right soon. David wondered if he was ready—beyond being packed, fed, and sporting his
atasi,
the war club Asgaya Sakani had given him at his naming ceremony, three years back. Trouble was, as he’d already warned Sandy, Liz, and Kirkwood, this application
also
hurt like the devil. Fionchadd had said it didn’t matter, and Lugh was still out of it, though looking better all the time. Still, he dreaded it.

He wouldn’t be dreading much longer. Cal had suggested they wait until noon, which was a
between
time, since between times were auspicious for working with what the Sidhe would have called Power.

David wondered if he was ready. He’d spent most of the morning since the departure of the Silver Tracks crew helping Calvin, Kirkwood, and Sandy contrive a travois-litter-thing on which to transport Lugh, in case cross-country travel was required. The finished apparatus consisted of twin eight-foot staves of rattan wrapped with foam and duct tape at all four ends to form padded handles, and joined by a surplus army blanket stitched around the poles.