Windmaster's Bane (19 page)

And he turned away and walked not into the woods, but into the pool and under the waterfall. David was not surprised that the waters did not bow his head.

Most blessed of mortals.
David’s thought echoed the words. “Or most cursed of mortals,” he added aloud as he walked slowly back to the lookout.

Alec was waking up as David came up beside him. He stretched languorously. “Darn! I didn’t mean to go to sleep like that. Sorry. Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Oh, I didn’t notice at first; I was thinking about…other things.” David smiled cryptically.

“Well, the only other thing I’m thinking about is a nice soft bed waiting for me a couple of miles down the road, and the sooner the better. I hope you found whatever it was you were looking for, that is, if you could find anything with the moon behind the clouds. Just look at them!”

David glanced up and noticed that the Faery moon was gone. Magic had left the mortal world for a while.

They didn’t talk much on their way back down the mountain. Indeed, the cloud cover had become so heavy that they had to devote most of their attention simply to navigating the road without hurting themselves.

They managed to get into the house without waking anyone, undressed in the dark, and crawled into bed. Just as he closed his eyes, David heard the grandfather clock in the living room toll one time. He checked his watch’s luminous dial: five after one. It’s running again, he said to himself.
But how could it be only one? We left at midnight, and we’ve been gone hours and hours.
He started to wake Alec to tell him, and thought better of it. His friend was already snoring.

Chapter VIII: Running

(Sunday, August 9)

David could not believe how good he felt the next morning. His eyes virtually popped open at six o’clock, and he had no urge whatsoever to go back to sleep—this in spite of logic, which told him that he had, in fact, slept for less than six hours, and emotion, which told him that he had awakened with a great deal more to worry about than he had had the day before.

And, on top of everything else, it was threatening rain again, as a glance out his window told him. The sky loomed dark and ominous, promising the kind of sullen day he hated. If his father was a fire elemental, David thought, then he must be a spirit of the air, for it was bright sunlight and clear, clean air that delighted him most.

But, in spite of logic, in spite of emotion, even in spite of the weather, he was experiencing an almost embarrassing sense of well-being. It was as if some untapped spring of energy had overflowed simultaneously into both his mind and his body. He felt—there was no other term for it—powerful. Powerful, in the most positive, most literal sense. And there was no way he could reasonably account for it. Unless, just perhaps, it was some final legacy of his meeting with Oisin.

David vaulted out of bed and stretched luxuriously, feeling every muscle and bone and sinew slide sensuously into place. There was no trace of morning stiffness, none of the soreness he expected from the three hours he had spent yesterday tugging on a block and tackle—just pure energy.

He glanced over at the amorphous mass of rumpled bed linen that he hoped was Alec. A single foot protruded near the lower edge of the bed. Impulsively he grabbed it and tugged. There was a muffled cry, followed by a resounding thump as Alec flopped to the floor amid a tumble of sheets and coverlet.

“Rise and shine, Master McLean,” David said, grinning.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Alec mumbled, trying unsuccessfully to extricate himself from the combination toga, sari, and cocoon into which he had wound himself during the night.

David sat back down on his own bed and watched with vast amusement as Alec finally disentangled himself from the pile and stretched himself in turn, fingers automatically trying to smooth his rumpled hair even before rubbing his eyes. “What’s the matter, McLean? Not ready to face the day?
I
feel marvelous, absolutely first rate. In fact, I don’t think I can avoid going for a run this morning before breakfast. You, of course, oh faithful partner, will come along.”

Alec knelt on David’s bed and peered out the window. “You’ve
got
to be kidding,” he said again.

“What’s the matter, kid? Rigorous rural life not agreeing with you?”

David began pilfering his chest of drawers in search of a pair of gym shorts (his customary cutoffs being too snug for running), followed almost as an afterthought by an ancient gray sweatshirt from which the sleeves and everything below the ribcage had been ripped.

Alec peered groggily into a mirror. “Got anything I can use?”

“Not much of a boy scout, are you?” David grunted as he rummaged under his bed for a delinquent running shoe. “Never seem to be prepared. Fortunately I think Sullivan’s Lending Service can come through again. It’ll be worth the trouble just for the novelty of seeing you do something physical for once.” He snagged the shoe and reached for his gym shorts.

“One condition, though.”

“I make no promises.”

“Coffee.”

“Afterward.”

Alec flopped back onto his own bed. “Before, or I don’t go.”

“It’ll stunt your growth.”

“For which you should be grateful, seeing I’m taller than you.”

David threw a pillow at him.

Alec caught it in mid-flight and, using it as a shield, advanced on David, whom he caught off guard with one foot still tangled in his shorts. Giggling like idiots, they collapsed backward onto David’s bed.

“Fool of a faggot Scotsman!” cried David. “Get off me!”

“Promise me something, first.”

“I promise to beat your ass for you if you don’t get off me.”

“Two cups of coffee.”

“I can’t promise if I can’t breathe.”

“Two cups of coffee.”

“Done. Now hurry up, before Pa catches both of us and puts us to doing something obnoxious.” He flung a slightly ragged pair of shorts in Alec’s general direction, which his friend picked up somewhat distastefully.

“He works like that on Sunday?”

David looked startled. “It
is
Sunday, isn’t it? Well, well.” He slipped a hand under the abbreviated shirt and fondled the ring. “I’ve had this for a week now.”

“What?” said a startled Alec as his head emerged through the neck of his T-shirt.

“Oh, nothing.”

Alec frowned. “My butt.”

“Has as its main functions keeping your legs together in a vain attempt to follow in my footsteps as I run fleet as a deer through the morning woods.”

“Give me a break, Sullivan.
Nobody
feels that good this early.”

“Not everybody has a magic ring, either.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” said Alec, suddenly serious. “If I can beat you in a race, you tell me the straight story, beginning to end.”

David stared at him. “I
have
told you the straight story.”

“Bull.” Alec extended a hand, his face serious, eyes trusting. “Deal?”

David took it reluctantly. “Deal…but only if you catch me.”

Maybe I’ll just run off in the woods and not come back!
David thought as he burst out into the backyard a few minutes later with a still-groggy Alec trotting stiffly after him. He’d follow his short route: maybe a mile and a half—it’d never do to push Alec too hard. Across the upper pasture first, just skirting the woods; down the other side, into the woods proper for half a mile or so; then back to civilization on the other side of Uncle Dale’s farm, where the forest intersected the Sullivan Cove road at the lake; and then another half mile back along that road to the farm. A fair mix of terrain.

It was good to get the blood pumping, David thought. He’d never considered himself especially physically oriented—the only sports he much cared for were swimming, volleyball, wrestling, and gymnastics (and auto racing, on TV), and rural Enotah County offered little along any of those lines. Lately, though, he’d grown more aware of his body, now that the eager upward rush of puberty seemed to be slowing and giving his body time to fill out instead of up.
A little more
up
would have been nice, too,
he thought wistfully, but at least his work on the farm over the summer seemed to have done him some good: His ribs were not so noticeable now, and his shirts were getting tight in the armpits. But he lacked the discipline to exercise on a regular basis. So he had started running a couple of months before, which was not like exercise at all, but like religion: a becoming of one with the natural world. A part of him wished he could study sword fighting or at least fencing, but, of course, there was no way that would be possible in this part of the country. For a moment he imagined himself in plate armor, swinging a two-handed broadsword in his gauntleted fists, a lord among men—like Nuada.

Joyfully he vaulted the low barbed-wire fence at the edge of the pasture, then jogged back to lift it for Alec to climb through. This first part of the run was gently uphill across the rounded crest of the upper pasture, maybe a hundred yards. David gloried in the feel of air rushing in his ears, the rhythm of his strides, the steady thud of his feet touching the springy ground. There was no trace of fatigue in his body this early on, just the exhilaration of moving fast on soft grass with the faint scent of pine needles coming in on every breath. Straight ahead of him the stubborn sun momentarily broke through the glowering clouds with swords of light, dolloping the stubble of cow-mown grass with greenish gold, striking fire from the tin roof of Uncle Dale’s old house that huddled ancient in its hollow a quarter of a mile away.

Alec’s dull staccato tread and hissing breaths sounded behind him.
Poor kid,
he thought as their route leveled briefly along an abandoned farm road before turning down the steeper slope on the far side of the pasture. It would be down this slope, in a now-broken rhythm, across (or under, or through) the fence at the bottom, and then sharply left, uphill into the woods proper, up a steep, winding path he recalled, that gradually straightened and then paralleled the top edge of the steep bank behind Uncle Dale’s house where some ancestor or relative had ripped a gash in the mountain to make a level place for a barn that had never been built. A small, swift stream snaked along the bottom of that cut.

David half jumped down the lower face of the slope, being careful not to twist an ankle in some unexpected gully, then headed uphill, aiming for the gap between two lightning-blasted pine trees that marked the entrance to the wooded part of his route.

Abruptly the forest closed in about him, and the persistent sun now sent pale shafts of light shooting between the branches, shafts so bright against the gloom that they almost seemed solid. David set himself a new pace, arms pumping vigorously, breath coming steadily but a little harder as he began to exert himself. Up ahead he could see another landmark tree, to which he called an absurdly friendly greeting as he passed, surprising even himself. He could feel sweat beginning to form on his chest and back now, rolling gently down between his shoulders to pool, tickling, at the waistband of his underwear.

David’s thoughts began to wander as he slowed a little where the course became steeper and more crooked. A newly-fallen limb lay athwart the trail, and he leapt over it and continued on. Behind him he could hear the steady thump-gasp, thump-gasp of a remarkably consistent Alec. He broke his stride to venture a glance over his shoulder and saw his friend pounding grimly onward, his dark hair flopping on his forehead. Alec’s eyes caught David’s for an instant, and he bared his teeth in friendly menace.

David reestablished his pace, but he could hear Alec’s breathing becoming harder, more forceful, though it was not yet labored.
Like a little bull,
he thought. Alec was gaining, too—which was not good. Suppose David lost! Suppose Alec held him to his vow and demanded the whole incredible story from him. How could he tell his friend
that?

A branch slapped at his face, disrupting his reverie. He checked the trail ahead; he hadn’t been this way in a while, and the landmarks were not as clear as he remembered them.

“You’d
better
run, Sullivan,” he heard Alec call out behind him, “’cause if I catch you, you ain’t gonna like being caught!”

David quickened his pace, but the sound of Alec’s running grew no fainter.

“What you gonna do, fool of a Scotsman?”

“Wring the truth out of you like a bagpipe,” Alec gasped.

“Ha!” David cried. “Not bloody likely!”

They came upon a short section that was straight and level, an aisle among the pines and maples. Ahead and to the right David caught glimpses of the roof of Uncle Dale’s house, much closer now. Once on that straight he increased his speed—but so did Alec.

David withdrew into himself then, concentrating, feeling only his blood racing, his legs pumping, hearing the air whistle between his glasses and his ears, noting that the lenses were steaming up a little. Where
was
the next landmark, he wondered; the trail had become extremely vague here. Oh yes, there it was, over to the left.

The trail now bent upward into the steepest part they had yet come to—that part which led most deeply into the forest before turning abruptly back upon itself. Funny, David didn’t remember it being quite so steep last time, but then it had been a while since he had used this route. And it was
awfully
straight. Too straight, in fact; maybe he had made a wrong turn or something and come upon one of those old logging roads that mazed the woods. Up ahead he could see something white moving alongside the trail: the telltale flag of a whitetail deer? He supposed so; there were some in these woods.