Dreamseeker's Road (34 page)

“Sounds like we need to get it back,” David sighed. “I don't even want to think about what's involved in tryin' to do that, but it sounds like what we oughta do.”

“And we generally screw up if we
don't
do what we oughta do,” Liz agreed.

“Fuck,” said Alec. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—but you're right.”

Rigantana had not spoken for several moments, but was looking more troubled by the instant, and even the Morrigu's face was tense with concern. “This is probably a moot discussion,” Rigantana said at last. “The stone is surely out of reach.”

David looked up sharply. “How do you know?”

“Because if I were my mother, as soon as I procured it, I would have taken it to the coast, where ships wait to sail the Tracks for Annwyn, as they can do only at certain times of year, of which this is one. Barring that, I would have sent it there in haste.”

“If I knew Rhiannon,” the Morrigu mused, “she only
sent
it ahead. Do not forget what night this is: Lugh and the court of Tir-Nan-Og ride the Tracks tonight—and need not fear even the Hunt, for it will not attack so many. Usually they ride to the sea on this day, to meet those who have made the crossing, and to bid farewell to those who depart for Erenn and Annwyn. And Rhiannon loves ceremony, and likewise loves to ride; and it is years and years since she has joined the Rade in Tir-Nan-Og, save perhaps at Lughnasadh just past.”

“And if she
does
ride with Lugh,” Rigantana cried, “perhaps we can meet them and enlist
Lugh's
aid.”

“Whoa!” Alec said. “What makes you think Lugh's gonna listen to
us
?”

“Sovereignty is a fluid thing,” Rigantana replied. “Lugh rules Tir-Nan-Og, but he is likewise concerned for the Lands of Men that underlie it, for all of Faerie depends on your World for its shape—its very existence. In that sense, he may look upon you as one of his subjects who has been wronged. Certainly you know how important honor is to him. If you were to meet him, and demand redress for a wrong—the theft of the ulunsuti—he might listen. Perhaps he would even set things right, for I doubt my mother has told him of her intentions regarding that stone. It would be most unlike her.”

David exhaled sharply. “And if I asked
him
for vengeance against Neman, what would he do?”

“Pay blood price, most likely.”

“No,” the Morrigu countered, “he would not. She is not his subject, nor does she dwell in Tir-Nan-Og.”

“Where is she, then?” David snapped, as a surge of irrational anger took flame again. He fought it down.

“She is in Annwyn,” the Morrigu told him flatly. “She is almost beyond my reach there; certainly she is beyond yours.”

“You owe me,” David spat. “You goddamn owe me!”

“I cannot give you a mortal's life,” the Morrigu shot back. “Nor can Lugh, nor Nuada, nor Arawn, nor Finvarra, nor Rhiannon, nor Manannan mac Lir. Your kinsman's soul is beyond our reach.”

“I want justice.”

Rigantana eyed him sharply. “Justice? Or what your kind call closure?”

David blinked at her. “What do you mean?”

“He is gone beyond recall,” Rigantana said. “Never more will he walk the Lands of Men in the body once he wore. Yet what pains you most, I think, is that not only do you miss him, but you never held a proper parting. He left and you thought to see him again, but he did not return, and there are things yet unsaid between you. You were not…finished with him.”

“I'll
never
be finished.”

“No,” the Morrigu acknowledged in turn. “And as I said, I cannot give you a mortal's life…but if you are brave, perhaps I can give you that last meeting.”

David blinked at her through a veil of tears. Did he dare believe her? Did he dare
not
?
Something
survived death, he knew; his friend Calvin had journeyed to the Ghostcountry a couple of years back, to placate the shade of his own father and rescue a boy whose own grief had sent him there. But himself and David-the-Elder…? Was it possible?

“H-how?” he whispered at last.

“The Crimson Road,” the Morrigu replied. “That is as much as you need to know…for now.”

“But what about the ulunsuti?” Alec asked quietly. “What about catching the Rade?”

“If we seek one,” the Morrigu announced, “we seek the other.”

Chapter XXII: Raid on a Rade

(Athens, Georgia—Saturday, October 31—near midnight)

“We
could
reach Faerie directly through the World Walls,” the Morrigu told the company at large. “It would then be simple to locate the Track the Rade will follow. Yet given that we also seek whomever Rhiannon has entrusted with the oracular stone, who surely have ridden ahead, we had best take the Track from here instead—and breaking the World Walls hereabouts so soon after they have been breached twice would not be prudent.”

Unfortunately, the nearest Track was at Whitehall Forest. Equally inconvenient was the fact that David's car was stranded beside Aikin's at the latter's cabin, as was Liz's. Alec's was back at
Casa McLean y Sullivan
in Jackson County. Bumming a ride from a friend would have required
finding
someone, then awkward explanations they had no time for, and finally, a capacious vehicle, since there were now six of them, none of whom seemed inclined to remain behind.

In the end, Aikin produced some cash and called a cab.

The taxi dropped them off at the cabin.

“I'm glad that's over,” growled the Morrigu, who still wore the substance of Faerie. “I could have borne the heat of Iron but little longer.”

David lifted an eyebrow. “So why didn't you
change
?”

“Because it is unpleasant,” she snapped. “Because it consumes Power in profligate amounts—and because…I am tired.”

“I didn't know you folks
got
tired.”

“Different things weary us than you,” Rigantana supplied, “but we tire.”

At which point the cab's taillights vanished around a curve, leaving them alone in Aikin's yard.

Five minutes later they stood beside the Track.

And a moment after that, six white riderless horses came galloping down its golden surface, only to halt at the last possible instant beside the blasted oak and the bifurcated maple.

David's legs still hadn't forgiven him for their last go-round with horses when he once again found himself riding bareback down a Straight Track.

*

Time moved curiously. Mostly they rode through a tunnel of arm-thick whorling briars colored luminous blue and gold like a Maxfield Parrish painting. For a long time—or perhaps no time at all—no one spoke. Reality seemed to merge with dream. Possibly it was a healing dream, too, for stress and strain melted from mortal faces, and the two Faery ladies withdrew into their own ponderings. At some point Alec noticed that his clothes were clean, Aikin that his were dry, David that his raw-rubbed thighs no longer pained him, and Liz that her jeans bore the softness and sheen of silk.

“So,” David began abruptly—and Alec half expected to hear the tinkling of the silence as it was broken. “So,” he ventured again, addressing the Morrigu, who, as befitted her rank, rode at the head of the file, “'scuse me for bein' nosy, but…what in the world were you doin' in the 40 Watt last night?”

Alec grinned, having been wondering the very same thing—what part of him wasn't
avoiding
wondering about certain things.

The Morrigu continued on at the quick yet stately pace she'd established, nor did she look back when, after a thoughtful pause, she spoke.

“I have been in Erenn since Beltaine,” she said. “I spent the bright season with Finvarra, the High King there, seeking to repair what rifts remain after the war he waged against Lugh for the youth, Fionchadd. That accomplished, I set sail for Tir-Nan-Og, intent on meeting Lugh's host at the coast, when their Samhain Riding takes them there. But the Tracks and the Seas between the Realms have been calmer this season than is their wont, and so we arrived a day early—yesterday, by your reckoning. Not having had occasion to roam freely in Tir-Nan-Og—or the Lands of Men beneath it—for some time, I chose to take the slow path back to Lugh's stronghold. As I made my way north, it occurred to me that my route took me past that part of the Lands of Men in which certain troublesome young mortals of my acquaintance dwell, on whom I ought to spy; and with that in mind, I left the Track near this odd, magical, mortal city, of which I had heard so much. Once in your World, it was simple to seek you out, so strong has the taint of Faerie lodged upon you. But what I did
not
realize is how much revelry your kind engage in on Samhain. And the closer to the madness I ventured—it was not unlike a battle frenzy—the more I began to hear music.”

She paused, as if listening to unheard singing.

“Music…ah, music! Many are the things mortal men have writ about the Sidhe, and many are the errors they have stated, but one item about which they have not lied is the fondness we hold for music—even your sort of music: loud, raw, discordant, but full of emotion and energy and drive. And naturally, like all in Faerie, I love to dance, so I dared the place you saw me.”

“But why the disguise?” David wondered.

“I did not want you to recognize me. I feared it would alarm you. Thus, I changed substance and englamoured myself as well, though perhaps I should have appeared as fully human. Yet I knew that your Sight would warn you anyway, and perhaps by appearing in Faery form, I could add wonder to your World, at a time it seems to need it.”

“But why did Rigantana leave when she saw you?”

“Perhaps you should ask her.”

Rigantana shrugged. “I wanted to experience that place and time as mortals do—and when I saw another Faery there, it destroyed any chance of that. Perhaps, too, I feared the Morrigu would acknowledge me—and I did not want to be accosted by anyone as blatantly exotic as she. I feared it would—what is the term?—blow my cover.”

“The college student/damage control thing?”

“Yes.”

“It would seem, though,” the Morrigu mused after a thoughtful pause, “that we have not been the only ones visiting.”

Another shrug from Rigantana. “Was that a question?”

“If you so choose.”

“Would you rather I spoke to you or all this company?”

“Ignorance among them does more harm than knowledge.”

“What do you know?”

“About what?”

“Politics—to start with.”

The Morrigu's brow furrowed. “That Rhiannon's land was awash with lesser fey fleeing the encroachment of the Mortal World on Tir-Nan-Og. That she had come here to petition Lugh for aid and to stem that flow. But I had no notion of that queen's desperation, for we have met but seldom, and none of us save Arawn know her well.”

Rigantana nodded grimly. “Desperate indeed, and more so than I had thought, if her bedding of this mortal lad be proof.”

The Morrigu nodded in turn. “Are there
other things
I should know? I lingered but briefly at the haven, and the folk there fear me too much to speak freely—as these young folk do not.”

“We don't know any better,” Aikin broke in, sounding a little giddy.

Rigantana silenced him with a glare. “As to news…most of it would bore our companions past enduring, and it is rude to be boring on a Rade. Except”—she paused thoughtfully, poised once again between Faery lady and mortal grad student—“except that perhaps there
is
something new that would interest both you and Master McLean.”

Alec's ears pricked up at the mention of his name. Usually it was David who was the focus of activities involving Faerie. It had never occurred to him that the lords and ladies of that place might actually be aware of
his
existence.

“It involves the traitoress Aife,” Rigantana went on. “She whose shape my mother stole in order to rob Alec of the ulunsuti.”

“What
about
her?” Alec demanded, surprising himself with the harshness of his tone.
That
wasn't
her in the tower
, he kept telling himself.
There's still a chance something might come of her and me…

“It may not be pleasant to hear, but the truth seldom is, whether in the Lands of Men or Faerie. And the truth is that there has been a shift in Lugh's policy toward Aife—more precisely, toward what punishment would befit her most. What is the last you knew?” she continued, to the Morrigu.

“That she had resumed her living shape soon after her death, submitted herself for justice, and been confined in a World near the Lands of Fire. I believe there was a tower.”

“So it was when you departed,” Rigantana acknowledged, “but the tower now stands empty—my mother had her own business there not a day gone by. Aife has been given another punishment, but Lugh will not reveal what it is, though it seems to please him, by which I assume it bears an ironic cast.”

“But—” Alec began, frustrated, since real news of Aife seemed as remote as ever.

“Hold!” the Morrigu interrupted sharply. “We approach a crossroads. Those we seek will soon be arriving there.”

Alec held his peace—had no choice. And then it didn't matter because the Morrigu's steed was suddenly galloping, and the others behind it, and though he'd ridden but seldom before, and rode without saddle or bridle now, somehow he kept his seat; neither jolted nor otherwise shaken. It totally unnerved him, too, and the closest description he could contrive was that it was like watching one of the chases in the
Star Wars
films: eyes saw movement, body felt none—but balance compensated anyway.

Abruptly the horse slowed—and the briars diminished to reveal what looked a great deal like a pine forest such as infested mundane Georgia. Or perhaps they were in mundane Georgia, though the air smelled suspiciously fresh and clean.