Widdershins

by Charles de de Lint

  “We go to a real place?” Con asked.

  Cassie nodded. “Except, usually, we’re the spirits there. And most of us don’t remember the trip, or at least not clearly.”

  “I have some really weird dreams,” Siobhan said.

  “There are some really weird parts to the dreamlands. Joe says that anything we can imagine exists there, and more. Lots more.”

  “So,” Con said, “anything can happen there—just like it does in a dream? There’s no structure or—I don’t know—natural laws?”

  “There are both, but they’re not readily apparent. Which is why it’s so dangerous for humans like us to go there.”

  The three of them fell silent for a long moment, but Cassie could see where their thoughts were taking them. Andy was the one who started to voice the question.

  “So then Joe,” he began.

  Cassie nodded. “Isn’t like you or me.”

  “Who isn’t?” a familiar voice asked from the middle of the room.

  “Jesus!” Andy cried.

  He fell back onto the bed and banged into Con’s legs as he tried to get away from the man who’d suddenly appeared in the room with them. Siobhan and Con just stared wide-eyed, but Cassie jumped up from where she was sitting and flung herself into Joe’s waiting arms.

  “You aren’t,” she said into his shoulder and hugged him tightly. “You’ll never be like anybody else.”

  “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

  She gave him a harder squeeze. “I’m glad you’re back. I was getting so worried.”

  He pulled back, the trace of a smile touching the corner of his mouth.

  “And bored,” he said.

  “That, too.”

  It was only then that she realized Joe was on his own.

  “Where’s Jilly?” she asked, stepping back to look around the room. “And the others?”

  “It’s complicated,” he told her. “And right now we’ve got bigger problems.”

  “But—”

  “See for yourself.”

  He opened up a view of the between and the rhythmic sound of drums and stamping hooves filled the room, loud as thunder. Cassie and the musicians could see the massing buffalo, facing a glow that Cassie knew was how the city manifested in this place between the two worlds. Standing on the plain, between the buffalo and the city, was a lone figure, the many tines of his antlers lifting high from his brow.

  “Is that . . . ?”

  “Walker? You bet.”

  Joe did something to the opening he’d made into the between so that the roar of sound was gone, but they could still see.

  “He’s there,” Joe went on, “standing all on his own—the only thing between the Newford courts of fairy and way more pissed off buffalo soldiers than anybody’s got the time to count.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “War.”

  Cassie shivered. “Oh, god. Why are they doing this?”

  Joe shrugged. “What have they got to lose?”

  Cassie turned to look at him.

  “Everything,” she said, her voice soft.

  Joe gave her a slow nod.

  “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Revenge starts out tasting sweet, but dealing in hurt is always going to leave a mark on your spirit. Still, I’ve got to tell you—if someone killed you to make clothes out of your skin, or just to cut a steak from your thigh, I wouldn’t be taking the time to worry about the state of my soul. I’d just be taking them down—any and everybody who had a hand in it.”

  “And then?” Cassie asked. “It wouldn’t bring me back.”

  “Then I’d deal with the fallout. But the thing is, at a moment like that, you don’t have time to work out the details of what’s wrong and what’s right, or how what you’re going to do makes you no better than them. You just want your payback.”

  “Except they’ve had a lot of time to think about it.”

  Joe nodded. “And maybe all that time just makes it worse. Makes it build up to a point where you just don’t care about anything anymore except bringing the hurt to those who hurt you.”

  “So, what are we going to do?”

  “Try to stop it.”

  Cassie shook her head. “You know that’s suicide.”

  “Can’t not try.”

  “You’re not going without me.”

  “Didn’t expect I would. Something like this, everyone has to make their own stand and we have to respect their decision, even if we don’t like seeing them put themselves in the line of fire. But I’ve got to tell you, I was hoping you’d stay someplace safe for the duration.”

  “Then why did you come to me first?” Cassie asked.

  Joe smiled. “I had to see my girl. Isn’t that what knights do when they go into battle?”

  This was so Joe. Keeping it light when everything was so dark and pressing down on them.

  “What about Lizzie?” Siobhan asked. “And Jilly?”

  Con nodded. “And what happened to Geordie?”

  Joe turned to the musicians. “They’re all some place I can’t get into. If this hadn’t come up, I’d still be there, banging on the figurative walls and trying to get in—you can put money on that. But this . . . “ He waved a hand to the window he’d made into the between. “This can’t wait.”

  “You made it sound like you won’t survive,” Andy said.

  “The odds aren’t good,” Joe told him, “but I’ve got enough Cody and crow in me that I’ve got a chance. And see, the thing is, we don’t deal with this, there won’t necessarily be a world for Jilly and the others to come back to.”

  “But they’re safe enough for now, right?” Siobhan asked.

  Joe couldn’t hide the unhappy look that came into his eyes.

  “I won’t kid you,” he said. “It looks bad. But a friend of mine got in there before the place closed down on us, and if anyone can help them, it’s her. Honey got in,” he added, turning to Cassie.

  “So, what do we do?” Con asked.

  “There’s nothing you can do,” Joe said, “except sit tight, and if you’ve got a god, send up a prayer for all of us.”

  Joe gave the musicians what he probably thought was a reassuring smile, but with the fierce light in his eyes, it was more like a wolf baring its teeth as it confronted an enemy. Except, Cassie thought, this enemy was made up of cousins. Cerva, but still Joe’s kin. He wasn’t letting on, but she knew that was the hardest part of this for him—maybe even harder than leaving Honey to look out for Jilly.

  Joe could be as fierce as any predator, though in situations such as this, he was usually the mediator. But with the way those buffalo were revving themselves up, she doubted they’d even be capable of listening to reason anymore.

  He turned and took her hand. But before they could step away into the between, Siobhan moved forward.

  “I’m coming with you,” she said.

  Joe and Cassie paused to look at her. Cassie expected Joe to argue with the fiddler, if he didn’t just shut her flat down. Instead, he nodded in agreement.

  “This is going to spill over into your world,” he said, “so you’ve got a stake in it, too. But I’ve got to tell you, I don’t see us making much more than a statement here, and then we lose our lives.”

  “But you’re going.”

  He nodded. “My problem is I’m an eternal optimist. I always figure something’ll come up at the last minute.”

  She smiled back at him. “Me, too.”

  “Then let’s go and give it our best shot.”

  In the end, they all went, leaving behind an empty hotel room.

  Christiana Tree

  “Remember those kids who asked if they could use one of my stories for a film school project?”

  Saskia and I were sitting on cushions on the floor of Christy’s study, leafing through an old photo album and smiling at all the pictures of the Riddell boys when they were young. At the sound of Christy’s voice we lifted our heads and looked over to
where he was sitting at his desk, reading e-mail on his laptop. It was such a nice quiet day: the sun shining outside, the three of us in here, just hanging out like the family we’d come to be. I cherished moments like this.

  So, why did I feel this sense of foreboding, creeping around under my skin, burrowing deep in my bones?

  Saskia nodded in response to Christy’s question.

  “I remember,” she said. “You told them it was okay.”

  “I know. For a school project. Except now—” He pointed a finger at the screen of his monitor. “—Bernie tells me that they’ve made a DVD out of it and are selling it on the Internet. He found a link for it on eBay while he was doing a search on my name.”

  “Your friends need to find better things to do with their time,” I said.

  “Ha ha.”

  “Or maybe it was really you doing the search.”

  “This is serious, Christiana.”

  Beside me, Saskia was frowning.

  “They can’t just do that, can they?” she asked.

  “Apparently, they think they can.”

  “But—”

  She broke off and I could feel her stiffen beside me, but there wasn’t much I could do because it hit me at the same time. I don’t know what it felt like for her, but for me it came like a sharp pain riding up through the back of my head, leaving in its wake a spreading wave of irrevocable loss. It was as though a little black hole had opened up inside me, sucking I don’t know what into itself. But whatever it was, it felt like it was gone forever.

  Saskia was the first to put a name to what I’d lost. Her anguished gaze met mine.

  “It’s Geordie,” she said.

  As soon as she said his name, I knew she was right. That was what I’d felt—Geordie pulled out of the world. This world, the otherworld, any world. The little subconscious fishhook of connection I kept attached to him was gone. The line holding it tethered to him, severed.

  Christy got up from behind his desk and hurried over to us, worry plain in his eyes.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “What happened to you two?”

  Saskia looked up at him.

  “It’s Geordie,” she repeated. “He’s just . . . gone.”

  “Gone? What do you mean ‘gone’? Gone where?”

  “I don’t know. It’s like he doesn’t exist anymore.”

  Christy dropped to the floor in front of us.

  “I don’t understand,” he said. “What’s happened to him? Where has he gone?”

  Saskia wore a pained expression. “There’s no way I can tell.”

  “But I can guess,” I said, getting to my feet. “This stinks of magic, and magic means fairy is involved. I told her to leave him alone.”

  “Told who?” Christy asked.

  “Mother Crone.”

  “But she’s—”

  “His girlfriend? Don’t kid yourself, Christy. Fairy don’t have relationships the way we do. It’s all about how useful we are at a given point in time.”

  “But she wouldn’t have . . .”

  “Hurt him?” I said. “That’s what I’m going to find out.”

  “Christiana!” Saskia called before I could step away into the between.

  “What?” I asked. “Don’t beat the crap out of her?”

  “No,” Saskia said. “Don’t lose your temper.”

  I didn’t realize how tightly I was clenching my fists until she said that. I forced my hands open and took a steadying breath.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll let her tell her side of the story.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And if she’s to blame, then I’ll beat the crap out of her.”

  “You’ll have to wait in line,” Saskia told me.

  We held each other’s gaze for a long moment. I saw everything that was boiling away inside me reflected in her eyes: my worry, my love for Geordie, the fierce need to protect those I loved. Then I nodded my head to her and stepped away.

  Galfreya

  Tatiana’s court lay one step sideways from the Harbour Ritz Hotel in the world of men, but this afternoon the court’s council was in one of the small conference halls of the hotel itself, its members gathered around a large round table set in the middle of the room. Guards stood on either side of the door to keep outsiders at bay. Inside, the small group sat around a table uncluttered by paperwork or any of the paraphernalia one would find in the business meetings of men. The only commonality was a plastic bottle of spring water in front of each individual.

  We’re like Arthur’s knights, Galfreya thought, except while everyone gathered here could certainly fight, they were none of them warriors. And perhaps, it could also be said, they weren’t nearly so selfless and clear of heart as those knights of old. Or at least as the knights were remembered and revered in legend. Humans always fared better in Story than they did in real life. Story allowed them time to polish their better traits and cover up their baser ones with a glitter of words and edited takes on truth.

  Fairy were probably more particular than humans when it came to their reputations, but they were only concerned with how they were perceived in the ever-present now, in the footprints they left on the world itself, rather than how they were remembered in Story.

  Fairy were rarely interested in participating in Story. When it caught you up in its pages, especially here in the real world, it was a messy and dangerous business. And there were no guarantees for a happy ending. It was too much like History, dusty volumes stuffed away in some dark corner of a library, and fairy had no patience for anything so cut and dried.

  No, Galfreya decided, their only resemblance to the Pendragon’s men was how they were gathered at the sacred circle of a wooden table to consider the fate of their world. In their company, they had no knights errant, no ambitious purveyors of their place in Story. All they wanted was for this crisis to be over and done with so that they could return to their normal lives.

  Except that wasn’t going to happen. Not unless they came up with a miracle.

  Looking around the table, Galfreya didn’t see the makings for such in the grim faces of her fellow councilors.

  When she’d first come into the room, she’d been surprised at the small size of the council Tatiana had called. Were they really so few now? she’d thought. But then she realized exclusions had had to be made.

  They couldn’t have most of the gruagaghs present today because too many of the court’s wizards had some long-standing personal quarrel with one or another of the local spirits. For that reason, only Muircan and Kimiad were at the table, neither of whom spent enough time outside the court to have become embroiled in animosities.

  The bogans and their various trollkin were absent for the very good reason that it was individuals from among their ranks who were the source of the problem now at hand. Arguing rights or wrongs, or attempting to assign blame, was an impossible task when it came to the Unseelie fairy. Even the most evenhanded of bogans immediately became impossible in what anyone else would consider a reasonable discussion.

  Though they could fight, Galfreya thought. Perhaps Tatiana had been hasty in excluding them. It was far too late now for the pointing of fingers. First they needed to survive, and whatever else they might be, the Unseelie fairy were survivors.

  But the queen, it appeared, had another course of action in mind.

  “As queen of these courts,” Tatiana said, “this is my responsibility. I never condoned the hunting of the local spirits, but I should have done more to keep the hunters in check.”

  “Your Majesty,” Kimiad argued, “no one can keep bogans and their like in check.”

  Unlike her fellow gruagagh Muircan, whose garb wouldn’t be out of place for a wizened little wizard man in some nursery tale, Kimiad was a tall, attractive woman, sensibly dressed—considering the circumstances—in jeans and a cotton shirt. A worn leather jacket hung from the back of her chair. If they needed to take to the field, she’d be ready, unlike Muircan in his robes and silly poi
nted hat.

  “Regardless,” Tatiana told her, “I must take full responsibility for what they have done.”

  Kimiad shook her head. “We’re beyond simply taking responsibility. Those cerva want blood.”

  “Which is why I will deliver myself to them for judgment. If the moon is with us, perhaps that will be enough.”

  For a moment, no one could speak. Then Swanson, Captain of the Queen’s Guard, stood up from his chair and banged a fist on the tabletop.

  “This is madness,” he cried. “I won’t allow it.”

  “You won’t allow it?” the queen said.

  “Please, your Majesty. Reconsider this—if not for your own sake, then for that of your people. They will take your life, then still fall upon us. But we will have no leader, no rallying point for our people.”

  At two o’clock from where Galfreya sat at the table was another of the court’s seers: Granny Cross, young, black-haired and even-tempered, her speaking name no more representative of her appearance than Galfreya’s Mother Crone.

  “I see no good coming from this,” Granny Cross broke in before Tatiana could respond to her captain. “There is only darkness ahead.” Her dark gaze went to Galfreya. “Can you pierce it, sister?”

  Galfreya looked down into the small scrying bowl set in front of her on the table. She spoke a word and the water began to eddy, but before an image could form, she felt as though a knife had been plunged into the back of her head. She cried out, falling back into her chair, her hands going to her temples where the sudden flash of pain had lodged.

  Tatiana was closest to her. Rising quickly, she put her arm around Galfreya’s shoulders.

  “What is it?” she asked. “What did you see?”

  Galfreya grimaced and massaged her temples.

  “It’s not anything I saw,” she said. “It was . . . it was Geordie.”

  “Geordie?”

  “The human fiddler at my revels.”

  Tatiana nodded. “Oh, yes, him. Your lover.”

  “He’s not my lover.”