by Tom Deitz
Ailill spun about in his saddle, his eyes narrowed into evil slits. He raised the sword again. Lightning flashed down to greet it, wrapped it in a nimbus of Power. Ailill smiled.
In that instant Nuada set his own fists together, and likewise called forth a blade new-forged of Faery magic: a blade of cold blue ice. And in the thick, still air of Tir-Nan-Og the two met: An arc of red flame intersected one of frosty blue.
Once. Twice.
Then, with a crackling hiss, Nuada’s sword shattered into fragments.
But as Ailill continued the downward stroke, something swished past his ear and clanged loudly on the fiery hilt of his blade: a dagger cast from among the dark trees behind them. It landed clean upon the pommel so that Ailill’s blade flew hissing through empty air even as Nuada swung his horse another step to the side.
Both Nuada and Ailill whirled about to see a dark woman richly clad in black and gray urging a steel-gray horse between the needlelike leaves of a thick stand of giant club moss that banked the narrow opening from which she rode. A black crow sat on the high pommel before her, an empty dagger sheath hung from her side. A moment later a second, larger figure joined her, dressed in a dark green robe, a glittering golden circlet on his black hair.
“My lord Ard Rhi,” Nuada inclined his head toward the man. “Morrigu.” Ailill did not follow his example.
“Airgetlam,” Lugh acknowledged with an absent nod, then stared at Ailill. “And the troublemaker from Erenn. You I am glad to see, Nuada. But it would seem that some do not hold such favorable inclinations toward you, else they would not choose to violate the peace of my realm.” The King of the Sidhe glanced at the Mistress of Battles beside him.
“Nor the Rules of Battle, either, Ard Rhi,” the woman put in, then turned her icy gaze upon Ailill. “There may be no combat involving Power unless I sanction it, Windmaster. Combat is sacred, do you forget that? In combat a man risks all the gifts he has been given, and such gifts are not to be risked capriciously. You have called me a fool, but at least I still honor that trust which has been laid upon me, as you do not.”
“Ailill may have called you a fool, Morrigu, but he has thought me one,” Lugh added, deliberately ignoring the look of fury that burned on Ailill’s face. “From Beltane to Lughnasadh have I listened to his rantings, and since then my realm has been sorely vexed by the endless contention he has caused. I have been thinking for a long while what I might have to do to put an end to his connivings. I have even been in touch with Finvarra, his king and brother.”
“And?”
“Finvarra said to follow my own judgment regarding him. And now I see that judgment will not be delayed.”
“And what judgment is that?” Ailill sneered.
“To order you to cease your meddling in the Lands of Men and release the mortal boy you have taken as a changeling,” Lugh replied calmly. “Do this at once, or face exile from Tir-Nan-Og.”
“I will not,” Ailill shot back. “David Sullivan is a presumptuous mortal who has made a mockery of me and my son. I claim the right to vengeance upon him.”
Lugh did not respond.
“The boy knows about us. He is a threat to your realm, do you not see?”
“I see a short-sighted fool who has spent too much time in Annwyn, where the Roads to the Lands of Men open onto older times than this,” Lugh said abruptly. “And now I have heard enough of these matters. As for you, Ailill, you are no longer welcome in my realm.”
“The Road to Erenn is dangerous this time of year,” Ailill replied. “And, besides, I am the only one who knows where the mortal child is.”
“You are no longer welcome in my lands,” Lugh said again as the black-cloaked members of his guard rode from the forest and surrounded Ailill Windmaster with swords bright as sunlight.
Chapter XIII: Choices
(Saturday, August 15)
“Let’s see, St. Charles Avenue with three houses, that’s $1500 you owe me.” Liz looked smugly up at Alec, smiling a wide, close-mouthed smile that reduced her eyes to slits and made him think of a large and self-satisfied cat—rather like the one that was crawling (illegally) among their feet as they sat around the kitchen table at David’s house.
Alec groaned. “Well, I’ll just have to mortgage my railroads, I guess; I don’t have that kind of money.”
David laughed; it was the first time he had really loosened up in what felt like ages. He leaned back from the table and folded his arms, peering at his friends over the tops of his glasses. Alec was frantically checking values on the back of his Monopoly cards while Liz held out a demanding hand.
“I really owe you two a lot,” David said, suddenly serious. He felt sort of silly getting into one of his introspective moods in the middle of a Monopoly game, but when those moods came, they came, and David felt it was better to let them out.
“Yes, I know,” teased Liz, “you still owe me fifty bucks from the last time you landed on Boardwalk. If I hadn’t given you credit, you’d be out of the game.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it! . . . It’s just that I’m glad you guys could come up here to help me watch the invalids so my folks could go off to a movie. They really needed a night out by themselves, haven’t had one in ages, and with all the crises lately . . .”
“We know why we’re here. Now are you gonna play, or not?” asked Alec, handing Liz a stack of multicolored money, which she snatched away with exaggerated eagerness.
“Oh, yeah, suppose so.” David rolled the dice.
“Shoot! Seven! That puts me where? On Alec’s land there. There goes my $200 for passing GO. Can I owe you one more round, Liz?”
“With interest?”
“You won’t make another round, my lad,” said Alec. “The worm has turned.”
“The wind has too. Listen to it,” said Liz, shuddering involuntarily.
“The wind’s done nothing but blow all summer—when it hasn’t been raining,” David observed.
“That’s what it’s supposed to do,” Alec said drily, “by definition.”
David glared at his friend. “Well, it’s blown really hard this month.”
Liz cocked her head to the right. “Remember the wind that came up while we were swimming last week—the time we saw the horse? It almost reminds me of that.”
“It does, a little,” David agreed, suddenly wary.
“Listen to it howl,” Alec said, “loud enough to wake the dead.”
“Don’t say that!” cried David. “Least not around here.”
“Oh, come on!”
“Okay! Okay! I will try to exist in the real world for just this one night. No tangents into Faerie.”
Alec nodded. “Good enough. You have seemed to have your act together a little better the last couple of days—but I’m still worried about you.”
“He’s got a right to act weird,” put in Liz, “with all he’s been through.” She got up and went to reheat the hot chocolate. “Hmm, it’s nearly eleven o’clock. When’ll your folks be back?”
“Heck if I know. They were going to a double feature—at the drive-in, for Christ’s sakes.”
“Uh-oh,” said Alec, rolling his eyes. “You’re liable to end up with another little brother.”
“Alec!”
“Well, you could!”
“Listen, Alec, that’s the least of my worries.”
“I’ll agree to that.” He regarded the board. “You’re losing, kiddo. But, then, Liz has always been lucky at games. Better not teach her how to play strip poker—or have you already?”
Liz pointedly ignored Alec’s remark. “You know, this is the longest-winded wind I ever heard,” she observed, looking curiously past the checked window curtains. “Must be blowing in around something, but the trees aren’t bending or anything. It sounds almost like somebody crying.”
David felt an unexpected shiver run down his spine. Unconsciously he rubbed his finger where the ring should be. It itched a lot. “It does sound like crying—jus
t like some old lady carrying on at a funeral,” he agreed cautiously, suddenly aware that his eyes were tingling as well.
The wind subsided abruptly, dying away to an eerie whine.
“Where does your mother keep the chocolate, David?” called Liz from the counter. “There’s not enough for each of us to have a cup; I’ll have to make more.”
“On the cupboard.”
Liz turned expressively. “Not here.”
“Oh fiddle,” sighed David, “let me look.” He rummaged among the canned goods, finally digging out a new can of Hersheys.
The wind began to howl again.
Liz looked at David, one eyebrow raised, as he stood up and handed her the can. “It really does sound like somebody crying—you don’t have any neighbors I don’t know about, do you?”
David rolled his eyes and twitched the curtain aside—and began backing away slowly, arms held out rigid from his sides, fingers stretched taut.
“David!” cried Liz. “What is it?”
“Look for yourself!” he whispered.
Liz peered through the glass pane; a puzzled expression crossed her face. “I don’t see anything.”
“Alec, you look. Please!” David had backed across the room and was leaning hard against the washing machine.
Alec opened the back door and peered through the screen. Liz was still squinting out the window, trying to discern the cause of David’s discomfort.
“What am I supposed to see?” Alec asked. He started to unhook the screen door.
David leapt halfway across the room to grab the handle against Alec’s push. “No!” he shouted. “Don’t! You’ll let it in!”
Alec frowned at his friend uncertainly. “Let what in?”
“You don’t see it? You really don’t see it?” David stared incredulously.
“I see you, half crazy—and if you’re acting, you’re doing a damn good job.”
“You don’t see that woman in white standing in our backyard, not ten feet from the steps? She’s the one who’s howling.”
“David, for the last time: No, I don’t. You’re putting us on.”
“I do see a bright patch of moonlight there,” Liz said hesitantly.
David slumped down at the table and buried his face in his hands.
“What is it you think you see?” Liz asked softly.
David opened one eye distrustfully and looked up at Liz from between his fingers. “It’s a banshee, Liz. A real banshee. It’s come for Uncle Dale’s life.”
“A banshee! Well, I do hear the wailing, that’s real—and the more I hear the less it sounds like the wind.”
“Liz, not you, too!” Alec groaned. He reached for the door again.
David sprang up faster than he could have imagined. He grabbed his friend by the shoulders, jerked him roughly back, spun him around and pushed him hard up against the doorjamb, his arms locked tight behind him. Their faces were inches apart. David’s gaze burned into Alec’s, his breath hissed hot on Alec’s cheek.
“Believe me, Alec! For God’s sake, believe me: I’ve got Second Sight, I can see it. When my uncle dies tonight, then will you believe me?”
“Dammit, David, I’d like to believe you,” Alec replied through gritted teeth, “but banshees don’t exist! If I could only see for just a minute whatever it is you think you see, I’d believe . . . I think. But I can’t take this on faith.”
“If you could see . . .” David paused as a memory played across his mind. “Alec, stand on my feet.”
“Huh?”
Realization dawned on Liz’s face. “Do it, Alec, do what he says.”
Alec shook his head angrily. “What’re you guys talking about?”
“By God, I’m gonna make you see, McLean. Stand on my feet.” David swung Alec around so that he faced the yard and forced his friend’s chin onto his shoulder.
“David, if this is some kind of game . . .”
“Oh, believe me, brother, it’s no game. Now, put both your feet on my feet.”
“Sullivan, if you don’t let me go . . .”
“Alec, as you are my friend, my best friend, stand on my feet!”
“Just do what he says, Alec! Trust him.”
“Okay! Okay!”
“Do it, Alec!” Liz shouted.
“Okay! Give me a break, will you?”
David felt Alec’s whole weight fall upon his feet. “Good God, you’re heavy,” he muttered. He shifted his hold on his friend’s tense body with his left hand and freed his right, then slapped that hand firmly on top of Alec’s dark hair and shouted, “Everything between my hands and my feet is within my power! Now see, Alec, see!”
And Alec saw.
David knew from the shudder that ran through his friend’s body that he saw. He could feel Alec’s heart skip a beat, feel his muscles relax as they ceased fighting David’s hold. David removed his hand. Alec staggered back, white faced, to fall heavily into a chair.
“I don’t doubt you anymore, David,” he gasped at last.
“I don’t think I need to see,” Liz whispered as she gently closed the inside door. “The book was right, then, wasn’t it?”
David nodded. “Okay, now that you’ve seen, what do we do?”
“Do?” asked Liz. “What can we do against a banshee? That’s one thing that wasn’t in The Secret Common-Wealth.”
“The secret what?”
“It’s a book, Alec. One the fortuneteller gave me. I loaned it to Liz.”
Alec’s face clouded.
“She was more likely to get something out of it.”
Alec nodded reluctantly. “I understand, I guess. But there’s nothing in it about banshees, right? They just stay till they’ve done their job, is that it?”
“More or less,” David sighed agreement. “But I can’t just sit and wait. I’ve got to do something!” He struck the table hard with his fist. The Monopoly houses scattered.
“You can’t go up against that,” Alec protested. “You’d be crazy to try.”
“Well, I’m not just gonna sit here and listen to it howl until Uncle Dale dies, that’s for sure. Look, it’s my fault he was hurt. The Faeries are after me. I know it sounds crazy, but you’ve seen the banshee, you’ll just have to accept that now. They shot Uncle Dale with a Faery arrow—it looks like he’s had a stroke, but he hasn’t.”
Alec was biting his knuckles. This was too much to assimilate at once. “You mean,” he said, looking up, “that what you said about the water-horse, about the ring, all of that’s true?”
“Yes,” David answered simply, with a bit of a smile.
“You’re the student of folklore, though. Don’t you know what to do?”
“That’s just it, Alec. I should know—I’ve always bragged about that—but I can’t think of anything at all. Nobody ever does anything about banshees.”
“I wish she’d just go away,” Liz said edgily. “That wailing could send you off the deep end in short order.” She slapped her hands over her ears and paced the length of the room.
“She will,” David said almost savagely. “As soon as my uncle is dead.”
“What are banshees?” Alec asked slowly.
David frowned and cleared his throat. “That depends. The name is from bean sidhe, Gaelic for woman fairy. According to some people, they’re the ghosts of young women of particular families who have died under unpleasant or unconventional circumstances. Each family is supposed to have one. . . . I suppose I should be flattered: Ours must have come from Ireland.”
The wailing continued, but at a lower pitch.
“Did you see her face?” Alec asked. “Was she human? I didn’t look but a second.”
David shrugged. “I couldn’t tell. At least she wasn’t the Scottish sort; they’re ugly. But listen, I’d just sit here and let nature—if you can call it that—take its course . . . except for something Oisin said. Never mind who he is; I’ll tell you later if we get out of this. Anyway, he told me that there is a solution, but that it lie
s in me, in my own Power. . . . But I can’t think of a thing. None of the books I’ve looked at mention cures for elfshot. Yet I was led to believe there was something I could do.”
Liz went back to the window, flicked the curtain aside nervously, and glanced out. “That spot of moonlight has moved closer,” she observed.
“I wonder if it’ll come in the house?” Alec speculated, shivering.
“I don’t think so,” David replied. “The screen door should help keep it out.”
“I sure hope so,” Liz sighed ominously. “It is iron, after all.”
Alec sat straight up. “Does it have to have your uncle’s life?” he asked suddenly.
“What do you mean? He’s the one who’s dying.”
“I know, but has anyone ever tried to outwit a banshee by killing somebody else before the intended victim expired? Just theoretically, you understand.”
“Alec,” David cried in shock. “Nobody is going to be killed here. I’m not that crazy, and I sincerely hope you’re not.”
“I was thinking about the cat.”
David picked up the cat from its place by the stove and rubbed its head so that it purred. He looked meaningfully into its green eyes. “I don’t think banshees respond to animals. It has to be human.” David’s eyes took on a faraway look. “But Little Billy is not human . . . but he’s not an animal either . . . and he’s—”
“What do you mean, he’s not human?” Alec interrupted. “Of course he’s human!”
“No, he’s not. He’s not my brother,” David replied quickly. “He’s a changeling, a Faery child, left in place of my brother. You’ll have to trust me, Alec. You’ve seen enough now to know I’m telling the truth . . . or would you like another look?”
Alec put up his hands, a screen before his face. “No—no, thanks! One was fine!”
“So!” David muttered. His mouth hardened in resolve.
“David!” cried Alec, grabbing his friend’s arm as he passed. “You’re not going to kill your brother!”
“No, I’m not going to kill him, Alec,” David said wryly. “I finally have a plan—if it’ll only work.”
He forced his way into his bedroom, which he now shared with the changeling. It was sleeping peacefully, as it always did, except when it had to be fed or changed. It seemed to have given up trying to talk and didn’t even walk much anymore, as if it had abandoned hope of adapting to an alien world. David was genuinely sorry for it. Poor thing, the shock must have really been hard on it. So much for Faery morality, to condone such things.