Sunshaker's War (12 page)

Liz eased the car along the muddy road, trying to stay in the high spots where a trace of gravel yet remained. Fortunately the road was not as worn as many, mostly because only the Sullivans or their visitors used it, except for the paperboy on weekends, and the small congregation of the Sullivan Cove Church of God on Sunday morning.

They passed David's house on the left, the ruins of Uncle Dade's cabin a half mile further on. David strained his eyes in the darkness, trying to make out the trailer the old man had slipped in behind it. It was too bad, though, that his favorite uncle had been reduced to that in his old age. Oh, he'd heard the excuses: too much trouble to fix the house, and he planned to leave it to David anyway, so he'd rather let David build the kind of place he wanted than stick him with something he might not like. But that didn't make him feel any better when it was his fault the place was trashed to start with. It also reminded him of the inevitability of Uncle Dale's death, and that thought chilled him.

A short way further on forest closed briefly in, and then they reached the turnaround at B.A. Beach. The rain had stopped again, but they did not get out to make their way across the field of soggy broom sedge and through the line of trees to their usual lakefront makeout site. Instead, Liz turned the car around so it was pointed back the way they had come. David reached into the glovebox and pushed the button that popped the hatch, and they climbed into the long carpeted platform behind the seats. Too short to stretch out in, really, the upholstered cylindrical cushion Liz stored there made a good support for their heads. Feet propped on the high trunk sill, they looked out on the night. David shivered when he thought about the image they must project: rather like a snake's head agape, with them reclining in its jaws.

They did not look at each other, simply twined their fingers and relaxed into each other's company.

“So what do you think's going on?” Liz asked at last.

“Oh, Lord,” David began, “I don't know where to start.”

“How 'bout with the rain? This much can't be natural.”

David shrugged. “Well, it has to be something to do with the war in Faerie. Remember Ailill? Ailill
Windmaster
they called him, 'cause he was born in a storm and therefore had a natural affinity for 'em. He liked to make 'em, too, according to Nuada. Would sense 'em forming in Tir-Nan-Og, help 'em along, and then send 'em through the World Walls to bother us.”

“Right—but he's out of the picture now.”

“Yeah,” David agreed. “But remember last fall when the Sidhe were out to get Alec and we were all holed up at Uncle Dale's? They couldn't actually attack the house, so they juiced up the weather and brought storms down on us—worse than these, actually. These have just been goin' on longer.”

“So you think this is Sidhe doing?”

“I
know
it is! It's the war in Faerie. Lugh said it would happen and it has: it's come to Tir-Nan-Og, and the results are resonating even here. And remember what Calvin told us about what Uki said? That the storm at Dale's was felt even in Galunlati? It's the same thing here: storms in Faerie leaking through the World Walls to clobber us.”

Liz shuddered and drew closer to David, resting her head against his shoulder and stroking his bare thigh absently. “Must be a hell of a war. It's been going on for days.”

“Days here, sure; maybe no time there at all. You never can tell how time runs on the other side.”

He felt her nod. “Good point. But, gee, Davy, how much longer
can
it go on? If it rains like this all summer, nothing'll get done: everything'll mildew, and gardens won't grow, and the tourists all stay away by droves.”

“No loss that!”

“You don't make your money off 'em. A lot of folks do. Think about them!”

“Okay,” David conceded. “But you know what really bothers me?”

“I give.”

“That it's all our doing, really. Alec's fault if you look at it one way, or ours if you get to the
real
bottom.”

“Don't say that, David; we've been over it before.”

“But it still bothers me—I guess it's got to be practically an obsession. If you and I hadn't got things going he'd have never gotten jealous of you. If he'd never gotten jealous, he'd have never been vulnerable to manipulation by that Faery woman who betrayed him.”

“Would you rather we'd never gotten together?”

“No, of course not. But I wish we'd been more aware of the effect we were havin' on him. I mean, shoot, Liz, he's my best friend, has been forever, and then suddenly he's odd man out. That
has
to be a bitch to deal with.”

“He has to grow up.”

“Well he did a lot last summer, let me tell you. It may have ruined him, too.”

“How so?”

“Well, with women, for one thing. He's hardly dated at all since then.”

“He didn't date
before
then, either,” Liz pointed out. “The pickings are rather slim, if
you
notice.”

“That didn't stop Gary and Darrell and Aikin.”

“They're not as picky.”

“Okay, I'll grant you that. But even so—”

David interrupted. “I mean being shafted's one thing; practically everyone goes through it. But Alec wasn't just shafted; he was tied up and roasted over a long, hot flame, then sauced with guilt and left to stay warm in the oven. I mean, most folks' exes don't deliver their friends to enemies who threaten to kill them, and use the weather for weapons.”

“Well, I can't argue with that.”

“Know what's weird, though? I think he's still in love with her. In spite of all she did, Alec's still in love with Eva.”

“You sure about that?”

“Well, he's more or less said as much—and she
was
his first.”

Liz pinched his side. “That's
lust
,
David, not love!”

“Yeah, but even so, she did admit there at the last that she loved him—at least that's what he told me.”

“Unfortunately, I wasn't there when she died,” Liz replied slowly. “And anyway, I was kinda concerned with other things—like whether
you
were dead or alive.”

“I still think it's possible, though—”

“Okay,” Liz said decisively, and David knew she was seeking to divert the conversation. “So we've established that it's the war in Faerie causing the shitty weather.
And
we've established that it's all our fault for ignoring Alec—which in a way it really is, though I think the Sidhe would've found something else to fuss over even if Fionchadd hadn't been captured. What about the newest stuff?”

“My dreams, or yours?”

“You've had 'em too?”

David nodded. “For the last week. I didn't tell you on the phone 'cause walls have ears, and I didn't want to upset the folks any more than I had to. I've told Uncle Dale, Ma, the Gang—but I didn't know who might be listening on your end, I mean the phone down at your dad's isn't exactly private. So,” he added, “you wanta go first?”

Liz took a deep breath. “Well, it's basically like I said. I was just sitting there with your mom and dad, looking up at you on stage and thinking how handsome you were. But then the weather started acting up and I started getting real edgy, like I've been since I got back up here, and then I started, like, picking up vibes all around—not
trying
mind you, not scrying, just picking up feelings like a lot of nervousness, a lot of anger, a lot of hostility. It was like a pot about to blow. Fortunately, there was a lot of happiness and excitement too, and that kinda damped it down. But it was strong, Davy,
really
strong. I don't usually feel things like that unless I try really hard, but these just came. But anyway, I started fidgeting with the ring, the one Oisin gave you, that's not supposed to be magic anymore. And the next thing I knew I wasn't looking at you. I was looking at Lugh standing up on some kind of platform talking to the troops. I…I must have got in touch with Oisin, or somebody, because I was sort of vaguely aware of him. But…I don't know. It was just really scary, coming on me unasked like that.”

David whistled. “Fortunately, mine haven't been that bad. Nightmares mostly, the last week or so. Just a feeling of dread—of being hurt, maybe. Images of soldiers mustering, of storms above forests, of ships plunging on wild seas. Until today.”

“Okay…”

“Today's was much clearer. I sort of drowsed off at the cove, and then suddenly I was in someone's head—Froech's, I think. I was keepin' watch on top of some kind of tower, seein' the clouds come in across sweeps of forests—the biggest forest you ever saw. And…I had a friend there, I think, and we talked some, but I can't remember what they said—maybe they were speaking Sidheish, or something. But I think the gist of it is that Finvarra really has landed. There was something else, too: a message sent by raven, and…and there at the last…I…I think it was a cry for help.”

“From Froech?”

David shook his head. “I don't think so. I don't know where it came from. I don't even know if he was aware of it. But when I woke up that was what was ringing in my mind: somebody in trouble. Somebody needing help.”

“But who? You've got lots of friends in Faerie.”

David shrugged. “Who knows?”

“Fionchadd, maybe?”

“
That
I doubt. He's supposed to be captive in Erenn. I don't think thoughts reach that far.”

“But you don't know.”

“No, of
course
I don't!” David snapped.

“Christ,” Liz whispered. “You know what you just did, don't you?”

“What?”

“You got bitchy for no reason.”

“I… You're right—I did the same thing to Alec earlier.”

“Don't worry about it. I've been fighting it all evening. That's why I wanted to dance so much at the party: so I could burn out nervous energy and wouldn't have to guard my tongue all the time.”

“I hate to say it,” David told her, “but I think that's more slopover from Faerie.”

“But the border's supposed to be closed!”

“Yeah, but according to what Finno told me, Lugh can't really physically seal it without great cost to himself. He has to actually
nail
himself to his throne with a dagger, and he can't do that—not and be commander. What I think he did was simply forbid commerce and maybe juice up the glamour a little. As far as the barriers are concerned—the natural ones, if they
are
natural, I think they're the same. I think the Sidhe still cross into our World on their Ridings when the residue of iron forces them off the Tracks. I just think they take extra precautions not to be seen. But what worries me is that we're coming up on another of their high days—Midsummer's—and the Walls Between the Worlds are usually thin then. And if the weather's this bad now and the war's still going on then…God knows what'll happen.”

“You got any ideas?”

“Other than wishing I could stop the war? No. But even if I did, I couldn't do anything. I couldn't get there if I wanted to, not by any direct route. And anyway, I think they have to let you in.”

“It's a moot point anyway.”

“But, God, Liz, I feel so bad about Finno. He was my friend. He liked me, I liked him. Even Alec liked him—and now he's a prisoner, maybe even dead beyond return.”

“No word on that?”

“Nothing. I've tried to get Alec to use the ulunsuti and check things out there, but he won't. Maybe I'll try again, though. Maybe together we can convince him, 'cause I really do think things have kicked up a level, somehow.”

“Right. Well, now we've assessed the troubles of two Worlds, how have you been doing otherwise?”

“Missin' you, of course.”

“Me too.”

“Lookin' forward to never missing you again. 'Bout time, too.”

“What about Mr. McLean? He decided what he's gonna do?”

“Goin' to Georgia, of course. Couldn't stand to go to MacTyrie Junior. His dad's all for it, too.”

“Still shadowing you?”

“Well, we
are
gonna room together—at least officially.”

She looked at him askance. “What's
that
supposed to mean?”

“Uh, well, Darrell's sister Myra says she'd feel better if there was somebody stayin' at her studio some. So I thought you and me…”

“David!”