Bigfootloose and Finn Fancy Free

by Randy Henderson

  Bragi shook his head, but said, “This is as the Law allows, but seems ill-advised. Your voice adds great value to this Quorum, your life has burned bright. The life of the tree-bright, as much as any vassal is a valued cousin, holds but a spark of the Aal, her function but a fraction of your service.”

  “Nonetheless,” Athena said. “And as is also my right, I choose the manner of death. I shall die that Silene Treebright may share her memories with the Quorum.”

  Chauvelin’s smile faltered somewhat, but only for a second. He apparently did not fear Silene’s memories as much as mine, and still felt he’d won whatever game he was playing.

  “Very well,” Bragi said, and waved his hand. The brutes holding Silene released her, and withdrew from the circle of light. A minute later, Athena and Oshun strode out of the darkness to join us. Oshun looked like Naomi Campbell’s prettier sister, and strode with a serene grace as the circle of light shimmered off of her flowing gold robes and peacock feather headdress.

  Athena looked like a tall Drew Barrymore dressed in white robes, and from her focused intensity she was definitely more in her “goddess of courage and strategy” mode just now than goddess of wisdom and the arts. As she drew close, however, something about her looked … off. It was hard to put a finger on, but it was almost like her skin held a slight translucence, her starts and stops a little stilted.

  Silene fell to her knees before Athena, bowing her head.

  “Bright Lady, it is too much. I cannot let you make this sacrifice for me.”

  “Peace, child,” Athena replied. “You have no power to let me nor prevent me. This choice is mine, and freely made. There is more here than you could possibly know or comprehend, but understand this: I believe your memories important for many reasons beyond your current cause, and I can think of no greater way to end my service to my Demesne than to do so protecting and aiding such a brave vassal in the cause of saving lives.”

  I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. How is sharing Silene’s memories a death sentence for Athena?”

  The two Fey ladies exchanged glances, and Oshun said, “For reasons unknown, when an Aalbright feeds upon the memories of a brightblood, it … undoes our nature rather than adds to it. It is a most delicate matter, one that our brightblood vassals find shameful for fear that it means they are somehow unworthy of merging with the Aal.” Silene blushed, and Oshun continued, “But I find this reasoning unlikely.”

  Silene shook her head, but before she could speak, Oshun put a hand on her shoulder and said, “Come, stand, child. Whether you will or not, the choice is made. It is now for you to ensure Athena’s sacrifice be not in vain.”

  Silene rose unsteadily to her feet, and looked at me. “What memories should I share?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Memories of Hiromi, of how she tried to frame you and your brightbloods?”

  “That will be important,” Athena agreed. “But Chauvelin has tried to turn the Quorum against you by questioning your motives, painting you as a rebellious and ungrateful vassal. You must show them your true quality, and why you are here in truth. Make them feel that truth, feel your love and fear for your brightblood family, make them understand your motives, and they will more readily believe the rest.”

  “I—I’ll try,” Silene said.

  “That is all that may be asked of anyone,” Athena replied, and placed one hand upon Silene’s head as Oshun placed her hand upon Athena’s shoulder.

  “Are you ready?” Athena asked.

  “Yes, Bright Lady,” Silene said, and a tear slid down her cheek. “I—you are all that I believed a Bright Lady to be.”

  Athena smiled. “I am honored you think so.”

  Oshun looked up to the gathered proxenoi. “We are ready. With your permission?”

  Bragi nodded. “Proceed.”

  Silene and Athena both closed their eyes. Then Oshun closed hers, and Silene’s memories were projected into the air, filling the space.

  24

  Janie’s Got a Gun

  The projection immersed us in Silene’s memory, like a hologram except that every sense was engaged, the emotion of the moment palpable as it wrapped the entire Quorum in its spell.…

  * * *

  Silene stood naked before her tree in the silver moonlight, swaying with the great cedar as if in a wind, though the trees of the surrounding forest barely stirred. A true being of beauty and sexuality, her movements were hypnotic and full of promise. She was, in that moment, to an erotic dancer what a lioness is to an alley cat.

  There were few beings said to dance with the grace and allure of a dryad. That’s why so many famous arcana dancers studied the moves of dryads, including Josephine Baker, Mikhail Baryshnikov, and the Solid Gold Dancers. Even Michael Jackson, a mundy, was actually investigated by the ARC under suspicion of having a dryad lover, though the case was quickly dismissed.

  In the field before Silene’s tree, a collection of brightbloods also sang and danced, clapped their hands, and stomped their feet. Some I recognized—Frog Face, the faun, Veirai the siren alive and well, and a few others from the Elwha gang—but I did not see Dunngo, or Romey, and there were many more that I did not recognize.

  Some danced with simple, wild abandon. Some moved in stepping pose-like motions that reminded me of Native American dances. And a few demonstrated the influences of their lives hidden among humans—I spotted some folk dancing, a bit of salsa, Veirai bopped back and forth in a Molly Ringwald–style 80’s move, and a tall lanky sasquatch did a fair imitation of John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, his long fur-fringed arms pointing and swinging.

  Challa played the part of a wallflower, her sasquatch form staying in the shadowed edges of the clearing, and I realized after a minute that she watched the male sasquatch warily, moving to always be on the furthest edge from him.

  Silene raised her hands, and as the singers grew quiet she said, “Soon, the great Thunderbird will sweep down the river, driving the salmon before him with his lightning. Who will join with me on the river’s shore and taste the joy of life?”

  Her voice took on a silky, sultry quality that made clear what she meant by “join with me.” Several fauns, nymphs, and other brightbloods broke from the dance and gathered around her, and she laughed in delight as they approached, her arms spreading in welcome.

  The forested hillsides upstream flickered with light, heralding the Thunderbird’s position.

  A third sasquatch came roaring out of the tree line wielding what looked like a length of rusted rebar in each hand. The dancers were taken by surprise, scrambling out of his way, and Silene and her love gang spun to face him with startled expressions.

  “Challa’vel’Vek!” the new sasquatch roared, looking around him. But Challa had ducked behind the ten-foot stump of a tree, and I noticed that the other male sasquatch who’d been dancing slipped away into the forest. “Challa, come here now and fast!”

  Silene floated forward across the muddy earth. “Friend, welcome to our revels. Come, set aside your weapons and your anger. It is a time to celebrate light, and love, and the creation of life.” She motioned to the flashes of light illuminating the river valley, growing ever brighter and closer.

  “Nymph-bright,” the sasquatch growled. “Youself is one telling Challa to leave I!”

  Silene’s smile never faltered. “No, I told her to seek out happiness and love. And I tell you the same. Come, let me show you the joys—”

  “Youself try to split apart Challa and I hearts. I show youself how badhurt feels!”

  He raised one length of rebar like a club, and stepped toward Silene.

  “No!” Challa shouted, and ran out. “Iself am coming ourhome. Leave the treebright alone.” She stood stooped over in a submissive posture, her hands raised, her eyes lowered.

  The sasquatch growled. “Youself need to learn I strongest of all brightbloods, youself lucky to be one of Iself’s mates.” He moved past her toward Silene. Severa
l of the brightbloods with Silene moved between her and the sasquatch, though none looked certain it was a wise move.

  Challa grabbed the sasquatch’s arm. “No! Youself are strongest—”

  The sasquatch struck her in a backswing across the head, the rebar bending. Challa’s knees wobbled, and she fell to the ground.

  “Youself stay down until I say standing good,” he said, keeping his attention focused on Silene and her protectors. He raised the other length of rebar again.

  Challa screamed, a scream that contained years of pent-up anger and pain, the scream of someone pushed well beyond her breaking point, and she leaped on the male sasquatch’s back. One arm wrapped around his neck, the other began pounding at his chest and punching at the side of his face while she continued screaming.

  He howled a battle cry, dropped both rebar poles, and grabbed Challa’s arm from around his throat with both hands. He spun, and she flew off, but he held onto her arm. There was a terrible, crunching pop, and Challa screamed out in pain, then the sasquatch slammed her to the ground like a giant doll. She lay in the dirt, whimpering, her arm bent at an impossible angle.

  Lightning danced over the nearby bend in the river, announcing the arrival of the Thunderbird.

  “Youself listen next time I saying stay down, Iself thinking,” he said, and snatched up the nearest piece of rebar. He looked at Silene. “And youself, try to take I heart, Iself take youself’s heart instead.” He took a half step back, hefted the rebar, and threw it like a spear.

  It plunged into the trunk of Silene’s tree with a loud “Thunk!”, and quivered there.

  Silene staggered and put her hand over her left breast.

  “Stupid nymph-bright,” the sasquatch said. “I think youself listen next—”

  His words ended with an explosive cough of blood as Challa slammed the other piece of rebar through his back and out of his chest, her scream one that would haunt even a banshee.

  The Thunderbird swept by, a magnificent bird the size of a pterodactyl, lightning dancing from his wings along the river below him. In the flashing, strobe-like illumination, the sasquatch seemed to fall forward in slow motion.

  An arc of lightning leapt from the Thunderbird and struck the rebar in Silene’s tree, drawn by natural attraction to the metal. Not a deliberate act by the great bird, but devastating all the same. There was a terrible scream of metal heating and wood splitting, and the smell of char.

  Silene howled in pain. When the flash faded, her left breast had been burned away, leaving an angry red scar that ran from just below her shoulder down to her abdomen.

  Silene swooned, then fell face first into the mud.

  Many of the brightbloods panicked and fled. Others rallied. A pair of kelpie channeled a fountain of river water onto the tree, sending up a burst of steam from the rebar and quenching the glowing coals around the strike before they could burst into flame.

  Several brightbloods carried Silene to her tree and lay her against it, and someone shouted for word to be sent to the Archon of what had happened.

  * * *

  The memory blurred, and then resumed.

  The sun shone down across Silene’s tree in faint columns that shifted as thick groups of silver clouds moved swiftly across it.

  Silene sat against the fuzzy red cedar trunk, her face a mask of grief. She now wore the familiar green dress.

  The snapping of branches beneath boots announced the arrival of someone. Silene looked up as a DFM enforcer stepped out of the trees. He did not wear riot gear, just a camo uniform, and no helmet hid his spiky blond hair or enforcer’s moustache.

  Brad Cousar. The man who attacked the gathering at the Department of Feyblood Management farm under Romey’s influence.

  “Bradley!” Silene said, and stood. “Thank the Bright you came.”

  Brad grinned as he crossed the clearing. “Every time, you say never again, but I always get another message asking for mana. What sad feyblood pulled your heartstrings this—”

  He stopped, and looked from the damaged cedar to Silene. “Jesus, Silene, your tree—” He shook his head. “You okay?”

  Silene’s hand began to go to her chest, but stopped. “Please, I have need of mana that I may heal my tree.”

  Brad’s eyes narrowed. “How about you do me a favor. Take off that dress and dance for me, the way I like.”

  Silene glided up to Brad, and put a hand on his arm. “I don’t need to dance to make you feel good.” Her voice held a ghost of the seductive quality she’d spoken with during the revel. “Just lay back in the grass, and—”

  “Why don’t you not tell me what to do. Are you going to dance for me or not?”

  Silene raised her arms, and began to wave her hips. “If dance is really all you want—”

  “Naked.” Brad crossed his arms. “I didn’t come here to see a fashion show.”

  Silene stepped back. “I—please, Brad. I don’t want to—”

  “But this isn’t about what you want, is it? It’s about what I want if you expect me to pay you. You know how this works.” Brad pulled out a stainless steel mana vial, its brushed silver surface covered in runes.

  Silene looked from the vial to her tree, and her hand went to her left breast now. She turned so that her back was to Brad, slid the dress from each shoulder, then let it fall to her feet. She began to dance, sinuous, seductive.

  “Turn around,” Brad said.

  “You can take me from behind,” Silene said. “I know you like that.”

  “Turn around, Silene, or I’m leaving.”

  Silene stopped dancing. She turned, tears running down her face.

  The scar had begun to heal, but it remained a pink, puckered line where her left breast had once been.

  Brad winced. “Damn. What a waste.” He shook his head, and his expression softened. “Are you okay? I mean, does it hurt?”

  “My tree takes the pain,” Silene said. “Please, if I can just heal her, maybe—”

  Brad sighed. “Shit, Silene. I’m sorry. It’s been fun, no doubt about it. And we both got something out of it. How about we don’t make this hard, huh?”

  He turned, and began walking back toward the forest.

  “Brad, wait! Please! I—”

  Brad turned back. “Don’t. You’ll just be embarrassed later.”

  “If I can just have some mana—”

  Brad shook his head again. “Sorry, babe, but a little magic ain’t going to fix that. Besides—look, I might as well tell you now, I got another feyblood girl now, I was going to stop our little visits regardless. And you’ve got bigger problems than some burns anyways.”

  Silene’s head shifted back. “What do you mean?”

  “You haven’t heard? They’re tearing down the dams. When they do, there’s a good chance you and your tree are going for a swim down the river.”

  Silene looked to the river. “I—I didn’t know. I am happy for the river and its spirits, but—” She began to sob.

  Brad sighed. “Damn it, don’t cry like that. Okay, look, I know an alchemist, he’d pay good money for certain fluids and … parts of you and your tree, and he has a drug that can unfetter you. Give him whatever you can live without. Maybe you can get enough mana to, you know, make a little Silene cutting or seed or whatever it is dryad mothers do, and plant it above the waterline, closer to the lodge.” He waved up at the hillside.

  Silene’s brow furrowed. “Sell my—?” She wiped roughly at her face with the back of her hand. “Go impale yourself.”

  “Now what kind of talk is that from a creature of pleasure?”

  “I do not exist just to give pleasure,” Silene replied, standing straighter. “I bring health and happiness to my tree, and all beings within these woods. I am not a cow to be milked and cut up in pieces and—”

  “See, I tried to be nice,” Brad said, walking back to jab his finger at Silene’s shoulder. “But you want the hard truth, babe? Your value to us and your mighty Fey masters is in distracting a
ll those wild feybloods out there, so they are focused on your tits and ass and not thinking about fighting or causing problems. That is what you do to earn your place around here, and guess what? You can’t do that anymore. And nobody’s going to give you mana just because you’re a sweet girl. So if you want my advice, you’ll sell what you can to the alchemist while it still has value, take the drugs, and make yourself a baby while you can.”

  “Screw you!”

  “Sorry, sweetie, but you got nothing I—”

  Silene punched Brad. Not some offended princess slap. An Ellen Ripley punch that sent Brad stumbling back to fall on his ass.

  Brad shook his head, and leapt to his feet. Blood trickled from a split lip, and he rubbed it away. “You little—” He advanced toward Silene, who raised her fists. She held them in front of her like a shield, looking more awkward than imposing.

  Brad stopped, and suddenly burst out laughing. “Okay. I probably deserved that.” He shook his head. “But you hit me again, and I’m going to have to arrest you, and that’s a whole lot of paperwork and questions I don’t want to deal with. Don’t forget your place Silene. Now good-bye, for real.”

  Brad turned, and marched away. As he did, he rubbed at his jaw again and said, “What a waste.”

  Silene watched him leave, then turned back to her cedar. She rubbed at her fist.

  Challa appeared out of the forest, her natural glamour making her seem to materialize out of the light and shadows.

  “Yonman badheart,” she said. “Is what heself say about stonedams breaking real-true?”

  “Maybe,” Silene replied. “Probably. I know the Klallam firstmen have been fighting to free the river for many years.”

  “This is true-bad,” Challa said.

  “No, it is good, it should be a cause to rejoice. But we must also prepare.” Silene touched her chest, and glanced in the direction Brad had left. A look of determination settled on her face. “It is no coincidence that all of this change has happened at once. The Aal wished to awaken me, to remind me I am a vassal of the Silver Court, the Demesne of justice. There is a time for revels, for dancing and loving and tasting of joy, for the healing and strength they bring. But today I understand that a slave dancing is still a slave.”