But today Alfred was talking to another player, one The Hound had never seen before, who went by Elvenboy. The kid was about the same age as himself, and clearly new to the game. Waiting for this seventh game to start, Dobie watched them from a distance as they discussed something rather enthusiastically. If he focused his eyes a certain way it looked like a translucent bubble was surrounding them. The image was brief and fleeting, never staying put for long, and no one else seemed to notice it; Dobie decided he was seeing things.
Today Zeus and his band of bullies had been coming after him every damned game. The first time The Hound had nearly lost his first place position because of them, but in every game after that he learned to milk the situation for points by mentally timing each pack, and nailing them a half second before they came back up. After all, the targets were all right there in the same place, and he didn't have to go far to find them. They found him. How convenient.
The next game started out slow; after the gun's countdown, The Hound found himself completely alone, with nothing to shoot at. All around him he heard points being made. It was infuriating to know they weren't his points. Up the ramp to the unoccupied second level, The Hound scanned the floor for targets, started picking off the few wandering lights down there. Across the arena, at the other, larger second level, laser mayhem was taking place. He found a clear shot over there and started dropping packs; they soon saw where the fire was coming from, and moved out of the way. Damn! Nothing to shoot at again!
He would have to get to the other level. It took about sixty seconds to get there, valuable time when he wouldn't be scoring. I'm not scoring anyway. Better go there now.
Nearing the other second level he knew he had made the right choice. It sounded like a hundred people stomping around up there. And who did he find, at the top of the ramp, but Zeus himself. All alone, too.
The kid looked alarmed, and started firing at The Hound, who turned sideways, gun up, then dipped the barrel, tagging the chest target.
"So where are your friends?" The Hound asked. "I don't see them anywhere."
"Quit tagging me, goddammit!" Zeus said, holding his hand over his chest target. A major infraction of the rules, and no judge was around. It didn't matter. The Hound got the shoulder target, then took out a few of the targets Zeus was after, deeper into the second level, and swung around to take Zeus out the moment his pack was up.
"It's not fair! You're cheating!" Zeus wailed.
"Then go somewhere else," The Hound said. "Go find your buddies if you can't handle me by yourself."
"Go screw yourself!" Zeus said, walking right up to The Hound, holding his gun right at The Hound's chest target while his pack was counting off the seconds before it came back.
"You're a little too close," The Hound said, backing up, and turning sideways, then nailed Zeus again.
If he doesn't like it, why doesn't he go somewhere else? The Hound thought, before deciding to go after more sporting targets. He tried to squeeze past Zeus, who stood in his way.
In a broad arcing motion that could not have been an accident, Zeus swung his gun around, hitting The Hound soundly on the side of his head.
It was not a move The Hound anticipated. The gun connected with his skull soundly, sending an explosion of light through his brain that had nothing to do with lasers. He fell backwards, down the ramp, hitting his head again against the wall.
The light turned to darkness, and he entered the world of his soul.
Chapter Nine
Chulainn rose from a fitful sleep, sore from the previous day's battle. He sat up and surveyed the Valley of Athebern, at the edge of the kingdom of Ulster. The dull glow of dawn rose in the east, burning away the mist of the sleeping land. The warriors of Ulster had camped here the night before, hoping to put as much distance as possible between them and their stronghold, Emain Macha. There it was said a terrible curse had been cast on the Kingdom, and their chief druid, Cathad, had said that if they traveled far from it they might escape it.
The warrior saw the army sleeping soundly, and as he tried to wake his men he saw that the curse was as strong as ever. Most remained sleeping, and those who did wake were as weak as newborns. Though they were far from their home, the curse remained in effect for all but Cu Chulainn, whose divine lineage made him immune to it.
The warrior sighed and took up his arms—a bronze sword, a barbed spear called the gae bulga, and his shield—then hitched his light wooden chariot to his war horse. It was not the first time he would fight an army single-handed, and he knew it would not be the last. He marched to the battlefield, shaking his head in amazement at the events which had brought him here: Queen Maeve of Connacht, Ulster's neighboring kingdom and rival, wished to borrow a divine brown bull from Cuailgne, a district of Ulster. In spite of their usually bloody rivalries, the two kingdoms sometimes traded livestock for breeding, and all would have gone well if the bull's owners hadn't overheard the Queen's men claim they would steal the bull if refused. This soured the deal, and Queen Maeve declared war on Ulster.
Cu Chulainn, the champion of Ulster, found the dispute rather ludicrous but yearned for a fight nevertheless. With his men down with the curse he feared for the safety of their cattle, which grazed in a nearby valley. What was he to do, herd cattle or fight? The answer was simple. Though only seventeen summers old, Cu Chulainn had only one calling in life, and that was to wreak havoc and spill blood.
While immersed in these pleasant thoughts, Cu Chulainn drove the chariot out of the camp, past a treacherous canyon. Suddenly two warriors jumped out from behind bushes, and one dropped down from a tree; they were Maeve's soldiers, hoping to surprise him.
Cu Chulainn leaped from his chariot and landed on the ground with a war cry that echoed through the valley; he would fight these men on their terms, afoot. Swords and shields clashed, and Cu Chulainn buried his sword halfway into a bronze helmet. The other fled for his life. Cu Chulainn calmed his horse and resumed his journey to the battlefield, unperturbed, as if he'd just swatted at a couple of annoying mayflies.
The battlefield was a clearing at the base of the hill where his men were camped. At the other end of the clearing the army of Connacht lined up on chariot, horseback and on foot. Infantry, archers, cavalry. One Cu Chulainn.
Queen Maeve sent one chariot to the field, and Cu Chulainn quickly engaged him, thrusting at an angle, severing the man's arm in an instant. As the opponent lay screaming and bleeding, the archers let loose a volley of arrows, and Cu Chulainn stopped each of them with his shield. Next, two chariots attacked the warrior, and one suffered the barbed spear, the other the sword; Both chariots returned to the army without their warriors.
Then an unarmed messenger came to him from the opposing army, frightened of the mighty Cu Chulainn.
"The Queen wishes to declare a truce," the messenger stammered, a youth no older than himself. "She would offer her love and friendship to the Champion of Ulster."
Cu Chulainn sneered at the messenger. "At what price?"
"If only you would join the army of Connacht against Ulster," the youth stammered, "you would be a prince."
"I have no time for insults," Cu Chulainn replied. "Go. Return to your army. Tell them they will have to kill me to get what they desire."
The day progressed much as it began, with Cu Chulainn slaying all the Queen's best men, into the night.
Then the next morning the men of Ulster were still bespelled, and the fighting began all over again. Morrigan, the goddess of war, whom he'd insulted by refusing her favors, landed on his horse's head in the form of a crow, and spoke with the voice of the war goddess.
"I said that you would pay someday for refusing me," the crow said. "Now is the day!"
Before his eyes the crow turned into a long, writhing eel, which slithered down the horse's tack and up Cu Chulainn's arm. He flailed ineffectually at it, just as another chariot charged. The eel grew until it was as large as he, and wrapped itself around his waist. Before the warrior could rea
ch him Cu Chulainn cut the eel in half, then kicked the two pieces out of the chariot. As he turned to the oncoming chariot, a throwing shield with sharpened edges flew through the air and struck him on the side of his head. The impact caught him off balance, but he didn't fall. His vision cleared, despite the blood flowing from his wound. Cu Chulainn charged the remaining line of infantry, and the whole lot ran like cowards. Queen Maeve's army retreated to the next valley, and Cu Chulainn returned to camp, weary, wounded . . . and, as usual, triumphant.
He fell off the chariot and landed on the ground, weakened by the loss of blood. He peered up, through the trees, as the sun set on another bloody afternoon in Ulster.
* * *
As the last traces of the memory faded away, The Hound opened his eyes and saw another player leaning over him. His targets weren't flashing. Evidently, this game was over.
"That," the player said, "was completely uncalled for." He held a hand out, and as The Hound took it, he saw the gray hair tied in a pony tail, and the goggles hanging around his neck. Elvendude.
The Hound sat up, then stood, with Elvendude's help. "You have a nasty cut on your temple," the older player observed. "You were out cold for about two minutes. Do you feel dizzy? Sick?"
The Hound reached up to his throbbing head, and his hand came away with a bit of blood. But not as much as it had . . . when the throwing shield hit him.
Not a dream. A memory.
"I think I'm fine," The Hound said. Then, cheering up, added, "We'd better get out of here. There's another game coming up."
The Hound moved towards the exit, followed by Elvendude, who seemed overly concerned. His injuries must look worse than they were. The judge, Crazylegs, was waiting for them.
"Zeus smacked him with his gun," Elvendude explained. "Have you . . . see him anywhere?"
Crazylegs took their packs and hung them up. "He and his buddies left the arena just soon as the game was over. Now I know why. You gonna be okay?"
The Hound was starting to wonder why they were fussing over him so much when he remembered he had the special member's key. "Really, I'm fine. Thanks."
If only that were true. A massive headache had started pounding at his skull, as if it were trying to get out. He went into the lobby, and squinted at the bright sunlight pouring into through the front doors.
Father? The thought came unbidden, unexpected; the memory remained fixed in his mind, and he reviewed and explored it. Something about the eel he had cut into stayed with him, nagged at him like a troublesome splinter in his skin. The war goddess. So familiar. Who is she?
He went into the bathroom to have a look at the cut. In the mirror it was thin crescent where the gun barrel hit him. As he dabbed at it with a wet paper towels, he became aware of someone else in the bathroom with him.
"You came in second place that game," Alfred said gently. "I came to see what was wrong."
"They can't all be gems," Dobie said with a forced laugh. He just about had all the blood mopped up. "Some ding-dong in there decided this was a contact sport."
"Maybe I can help," said another, younger voice.
Dobie jerked around in surprise to see a young blond kid who for all the world looked like Zach Hanson.
But Zach Hanson didn't have pointed ears and slitted, catlike pupils.
"What the fuck!" Dobie said, backpedaling into the corner. Then, in a resigned tone, "Now what."
"He will help you," Alfred said calmly, and Dobie believed him. The kid came up closer to him and looked at the cut, then held his right hand a few inches over it. Dobie's eyes remained fixed on the kid's eyes, which could not belong to a human. Yet all the fear had left him. Dobie found himself trusting this strange creature.
A warmth emanated from the hand to the cut. Soft yellow light branched into tendrils which flickered over his temple. The headache subsided, and the creature withdrew his hand.
In then mirror Dobie examined the cut, which had healed completely with only a slight trace of a scar.
"How did . . . ?" Dobie said, but the creature was doing something to make himself look normal. The ears and eyes looked human. Shape shifter? No, if he looked a certain way by unfocusing his eyes, he saw the outline of something covering these features, making them look different.
Dobie came away from the experience inside the area with enough awareness to know that Llan was connected to that other world, and that something in this world, he didn't know what, was threatening him. Another one of these creatures? His gut told him it was much worse than that; the arena didn't feel safe right now.
"We have some things to explain to you," Alfred said. "It would be best if we did so away from the bustle of this place."
"Far away," Llan said.
Dobie believed him. "Can you give me a ride home?"
"Yes, I can," Llan said, pulling a black pager out of his pocket and pushing a button. "We have a ride coming right now. Let's go."
They moved through the lobby, ignoring the sea of stares aimed their way. Evidently word had gotten out that The Hound had been injured. Some looked away in obvious disappointment; they must have been expecting a bloody mess.
They left the coolness of the lobby for the scorching heat outside, and Dobie winced at the sudden brightness. Moments later a black Chevy Caprice roared up to the front doors with just a hint of a screech coming from the tires as it stopped. A lady in a dress suit and a badge looked up at him quizzically.
"Are you the cops?" Dobie asked.
Llan shrugged. "Sort of. We'll explain. Get in up front."
Dobie got into the front seat of the spacious car. There was an empty gun rack on the front dash, and a cop light on the floor.
Without a word spoken among them, the car took off the moment the doors were shut.
"Okay, Llan. Who are your friends?" the driver said with a bit of well-concealed suspicion. The cop was a rather attractive lady, in a no-nonsense sort of way. Her eyes didn't leave the road; she was intent on getting them out of there as quickly as possible.
"Lugh asked us to find his son," Llan replied smugly, sitting behind the driver. "And the druid, Cathad. I obliged him."
The driver turned slowly to Dobie on the front seat. She blinked, and then suddenly her eyes were slitted, and her ears were pointed. Alfred inhaled suddenly in surprise.
"You're Cu Chulainn?" the driver asked Dobie.
The name sounded so very familiar. Coo Hullin. Not an English name, that was certain. But was it his own?
Then, louder, "Are you?"
"I don't know," Dobie finally replied. "I'm not real sure who I am right now."
"The lad is . . . rooted in his present incarnation," Alfred offered. "But yes, if you are of the sidhe, and I am sure you are, you will see the divine lineage in his bright aura."
"I offered to give him a ride home," Llan said. "That might be a good place to start."
The driver smiled, but the pointy eared creature looked uncomfortably carnivorous. "Where to?"
* * *
Though it seemed like an eternity, Dobie knew it had only been a few days since he'd last seen his home. He led the strange assortment of beings into the front room and turned on the large window air conditioner; it belched musty air before the cool came through. Nervously, Dobie addressed his visitors.
"Have a seat," he said, waving toward the ancient sixties vintage living room set with kidney-shaped coffee table and pole lamp. Under a bay window looking over the front yard was an enormous Magnavox TV-with-stereo console, and an old top-loading VCR on a shelf with his collection of tapes. The old beige cable TV channel changer sat on the floor, neglected. These had been the furnishings in this room since before he was born. Having had a taste of the good life, he now saw how depressing his home was.
"I have no family," Dobie explained. "My mom died last year. I live here by myself."
"I see," said Samantha, whose name he learned on the ride over. She seemed sad for him, and for a change the sympathy was welcomed. On the vinyl uphols
tered sofa, Llan and Cathad sat on either side a long gash in the cushions. Dobie had mended the tear with duct tape, but the heat, in his absence, had reopened it.
"Cathad, you'd said that I would have a dream, and it would be important. When I was knocked out, I had it."
The druid incarnate glanced knowingly at the two elves, then, to Dobie said, "Tell us about it."
Dobie described his dream, a day in the life of Cu Chulainn, the fighting, the crow, and the eel; the blow to his head had evidently triggered this memory, which had ended with the throwing shield striking him.
"Then I came to, and well, you know the rest of it," Dobie said. There were still some major pieces missing in all this, he could feel it in his gut.
"The Morrigan," Sammi said softly, looking at Cathad. "Do you know who she is?"
"I do indeed," Cathad said. "What has she to do with this?"
"We are acquainted with the Morrigan," Sammi replied acidly. "She has been involved in Unseleighe doings before. I know for a fact she is involved in this one."
"How so?" Cathad asked, alarmed.
"I saw her here. Driving a red Corvette. Just a block from the arena."
The news made Dobie feel weak. Morrigan? Morgan? Are they the same? If so, then why hadn't Alfred-Cathbad mentioned it, unless . . . he hadn't seen her. Alfred was always inside the arena, and Morgan always dropped him off, and left. He wouldn't know.
"So this was all from a previous life?" Dobie asked. Reincarnation was something these folks seemed to take for granted, but it was a new concept to Dobie. His family had always been ambivalent towards religious and spiritual issues, and even after his parent's death he hadn't considered where they might be besides their graves.
"Your previous life," Cathad replied as he sat forward eagerly on the couch, his hands gesturing as he spoke. "You are an invincible warrior, Cu Chulainn. Everything is connected. Your past, your present, and your future."
"Yeah, but the present is a little murky," Dobie replied, after a pause. "I wish it felt more real than it does."
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