Sons (Book 2)

by Scott V. Duff

  Little Brother, are you ready to get dressed? Peter called. I vaguely remembered something about having to dress something and Peter needed to get into my closet. The water felt so good that I didn’t want to move, so I just moved Peter.

  “Seth? Seth, where are you? Se— Whoa!” I was suddenly assaulted with erotic images of myself doing things that I have never done and finding them very… exciting. “Seth, I’m not coming back in there!” Peter yelled from the other room while dangling a towel through the doorway. His laugh echoed in both rooms.

  “Hey! There’s nothing to laugh at in here!” I cried, wading out of the pool. Jerking the towel out of his hand, I walked out in front of him, wiping my face then drying my hair. That gave Peter the other half of the view he got when he walked in.

  “You dog!” he laughed, throwing another towel at me as he followed. “Come on, we’ve only got about half an hour.”

  “What?” I asked surprised, gawking at his reflection as I lathered to shave. “I was in the bath for two hours?”

  He grinned and said, “We told you to relax and you certainly look it.”

  “’Relaxed’ wasn’t the word you were thinking back there,” I said, pulling the razor across my jaw while I picked on Peter.

  “Yeah, well, you’ve toned up a lot lately,” he mumbled, then tried to cover it by moving around me to my closet door. “Have you thought about what to wear?”

  Snickering, I wiped my face and said, “I thought shorts and a T-shirt were good enough.” My hair fell into place with a push of my hand and whatever the oils in the water, I smelled great. And it explained Peter’s reaction, at least in part. It was very… pheromonal.

  “You did not!” Peter called slowly peering inside. “How big is this thing?”

  “First you laugh and now you want a measurement?” I asked, coming around to lean on the doorframe. Peter sat curled up in the floor, red-faced from stifling his laugh. “Second time today I’ve had a man on the ground laughing. Let it out. We’re short on time.”

  A few short, choked barks and he was under control with little chuckles. He grabbed my towel from around my waist as I stepped over him. My modesty stayed back in the water without me because I kept walking to the bureau. Dark blue and silky boxer briefs and matching socks were right where I thought they’d be, third drawer down. A simple twist of location and I was wearing them instead of holding them.

  When I looked up, Peter leaned in the doorway this time, folding the damp towel very slowly with a wicked smirk on his face. On the wall beside him was a display case, conspicuous because it was the only lighted one in the general area. Normally when I went into an area, if something could light, or ring, open, slide, move, bubble, peal, whatever, it did, but all the other cases were dark. I glanced back at Peter and his grin.

  “You could go like that,” he remarked, still folding the towel in front of him.

  Chuckling, I said, “Your mother and sister, Gordon and Marty’s mother, my Mother… you and your towel… all good reasons not to be running around in tight shorts. What do you suppose that is?” He pushed off the wall and turned as I lurched forward and we met to look at the display.

  The shirt was a T-shirt of sorts, fitted onto an invisible, muscular mannequin. The material was Gilán-blue and gossamer-thin. The fit ran halfway up the throat and hung a little loosely past the hips. The sleeves ran down the arms to just past the elbows. If it weren’t the only lighted fixture, I would have walked right past it.

  “What’s it made of? Ow!” Peter asked, reaching out to touch to the fabric lightly then jerked his hand away with an electrical shock. The shirt, though, went through a fireworks display of explosions of color, centering around where Peter touched it.

  “Cool!” I said absently watching the lights fade. “Undergarment, then. You all right?” The fabric had a mind of its own, wrapping itself around me nearly instantly when I touched it. Then it sort of “melted” into my skin, leaving me with a very slight sparkly sheen on my skin. Oh, yeah, I could feel what it did now, causing a slow band of blue light to roll up from my waist to my neck. It showed Daybreak’s power to the rest of the world.

  The shelves of the closet moved behind us when Peter faced the display. I turned and reached, almost carelessly pulling the dark blue, silk slacks from the shelf and picking up the soft leather shoes from the cubby-hole below them. I pointed around the corner to the next aisle to get Peter moving in that direction.

  “This is one big tesseract, isn’t it?” he asked as he tried to see the folding dimensions around us.

  “Not really,” I said, pulling the pants on quickly as I eyed the huge selection of shirts hanging along the aisle. The shoes felt like slipping my feet into warm butter; they were that soft. “More of a complicated knowe. The wardrobe is actually a few hundred yards behind us and down some. The mirror just manipulates the dimensional interface between here and there.”

  We didn’t have to go very deep into the selection of shirts. We picked the very first one. It spoke to both of us. The base color, of course, was the nearly cobalt blue of Gilán. It showed the glimmer of a rising sun on the front and back at my hips with three rays of bright, golden light. At the upper left shoulder, in faint English letters were the words “And then there was” falling along the line of the ray. From the right shoulder, equally faint, was a Fae script that translated similarly, “And he was.” The last ray shot straight up from the sun, bisecting the glyph of my name embroidered in the same colors, exploding out of the tiny sliver of star with fiery enthusiasm. On the back was Gilán’s symbol within the half-risen dawn, limned in the five colors of the dome of the front door.

  “Looks like you didn’t need me at all,” Peter said, watching me pull the silk shirt over my head slowly. “You have a built-in valet.”

  “Let’s not take that for granted,” I said, smoothing the shirt across my chest. Peter followed when I took off for the full-length mirror at the front of the closet. “What do you think?”

  “I think if it was any tighter, we’d have to paint your skin,” he said, grinning. “You look great! Excellent choice.”

  “Okay, then. Let’s go,” I said and walked through the mirror and back into the bathroom.

  “Wait! Wait a minute,” Peter called, stopping on the other side of the glass. Turning, I grinned and waved for him to come to me. He looked the mirror over suspiciously then slowly put his hand out, touching the glass and slipping through slowly, then plunging completely through.

  I stood there chuckling at him. “You saw Kieran and Ethan doing this the other day, dude,” I said mildly.

  He brushed that off with a glance. “’We’ don’t go. I go. You tell Jimmy to announce you first, and then you make a grand entrance.”

  “What kind of ‘grand entrance’?” I asked, chortling.

  “I don’t know!” he exclaimed in false exasperation. “It’s your show and you’ve had all day to think of something.” He was picking on me.

  “All right, all right,” I said to calm him. “I’ll think of something.”

  “See ya in a few, then,” he said and shifted to the Throne Room underneath us.

  Now I had to figure out how to make a grand entrance—in short order, too. Looking at where everyone was gathered, Jimmy had set up a table to the right of the steps to the throne with refreshments and light food. People were gathered between the table and the steps, idly talking and looking around the room. Ian and Marty were climbing the steps slowly, daring each other to climb higher toward the throne. There was almost a clear line through from the throne to the front door.

  Jimmy sat on the steps away from the others, watching. I don’t think he was uncomfortable with them, though. I think he was just waiting. He was still in a white tee shirt and shorts, though. I could… Oh, yeah, I can.

  First, clear the line from the throne to the front door except for you, please. I’m coming down.

  Chapter 29

  I stood at the base of the overlook starin
g into the Palace door as Jimmy stood up grinning, still wearing his white tee shirt and shorts. He shooed the boys off the steps with quick, polite words then hopped down to quietly prod Gordon and Kieran toward the banquet table a few feet. He bounded happily back up the steps. I dressed him in his “work” clothes when he turned to face everyone, placing his staff in his right hand, fully extended. He fell into position as if he expected it, all smiles.

  “Welcome,” his voice boomed through the room without reverberation. “I am First of Gilán.” His power burst out of him, shining throughout the room then settling into a blue flame licking at his body. “The Great Claiming of the Faery is a unique and deeply emotional experience for all involved. Seth greatly appreciates you all for being here. And now, I present…” He tapped the staff on the step and it boomed irrationally loud through the room. “The Faery High Lord Daybreak…” Another tap, booming. “Liege-Killer…” Another tap, louder than the previous two. “And Master of Gilán.”

  That was my cue. Dawn was just touching the third continent, so that’s where I touched the light. Bringing it to me, I pushed it out the front of my body, just like at Fuller’s party except without holding back anything. The first ray of daybreak hit the dome and the Palace started singing its first low tone. Then I just relaxed into the dawn and let the sound happen.

  When I opened my eyes a moment later, the Palace was holding the final note and I was pushing a shaft of light through the dome that refracted off the crystals and shot down every corridor. Shifting to the throne, I closed the connection I had to the dawn and turned to my family and friends in a maelstrom of faery energy that faded with the sounds.

  “Welcome to Gilán,” I said with a smile, my voice booming like Jimmy’s. “Thank you for coming.” Happily bounding down the steps, I stopped halfway, thoroughly embarrassed… by applause. They were applauding me. It died into laughter quick enough; my blushing gave Ethan and Peter fodder for jibes.

  “Seth,” my mother called, hesitant and fragile, from the bottom step, my father beside her. “That… sound. What was it?” She looked wonderful today, vibrant in light purple. Perfectly healthy if I ignored the ugly stress marks in her mind that threatened to snap any moment. I yearned to just reach in and take those away. Instead…

  “That was the Palace singing my name and Gilán’s together, intertwining the sounds,” I answered, and of course smiled.

  “The loveliest yet,” Kieran announced. There were several nods of agreement, which started a couple of small conversations.

  “The building sang?” Mother asked as I finished coming down the stairs.

  I nodded, taking her shoulders lightly and looking up at the crystalline rings floating in the air above us. “There is an immense amount of power in this building. It’s not simple stone and glass on a mountainside. There is a lot in this place I haven’t even discovered yet.” I kissed her forehead and hugged her. “If you need anything, anything at all, you let me know.”

  “I will,” she said with a smile. “Worry-wart. See to your other guests.”

  Hugging Dad, I turned to the next small group, the Borlands. Peter slipped into an embrace immediately, whispering, “Damned fine entrance!” in my ear as he beat on my back, surprising me a bit.

  “Mom, Justine, I’d like you to meet my best friend in … two worlds actually,” he said, stepping back and presenting his mother with his right hand, his left on my shoulder still. “Seth, this is my mother, Elise, and my sister, Justine.”

  I glowed as I said, “I am so happy to finally meet you! Both Peter and Richard have been worried about the both of you and thrilled that you were coming this weekend.” Hugging them both without reservation, I realized that neither of them had said a word. They were staring at me, sort of… entranced. “Are y’all okay?”

  “Mom!” Peter said sharply then chuckled. Elise snapped her head slightly, her loose curls framing her round face. Her features sharpened as her soft brown eyes focused on me again as she reached down and took her daughter’s hand. “Lord Daybreak can be a little… intense,” Peter finished, chuckling again.

  “So can Seth,” Richard said, clapping my back heartily. Justine regained her senses as well with her mother’s contact, shaking her head as if to throw off a glamour.

  “It’s good to meet you, too, Seth,” Elise said, a mild tremor in her soprano. “We’ve heard a slew of tall tales, but seeing this, we wonder how ‘tall’ they were.” She wore a bright orange skirt with a silky shirt with matching orange flowers. It complimented Richard’s blocky orange, black, and purple outfit well.

  “You might believe ten percent of it,” I said shrugging. “You know how people exaggerate.”

  Peter snickered and shoved me. “Go lie to someone else, skirt-chaser.” I could have sworn Justine perked up a bit. Probably my imagination. Did she just thrust out her breasts, too? Ignoring thoughts of Peter’s sister, I moved on quickly. Sister. Sister.

  Laughing as I pulling away from Richard, I said, “The Palace is at your disposal. You may come and go as you please and as time goes on, we’ll get more locations in the world set in your keys. It’ll make it a lot easier to get around.”

  The next group was the Cahills, clustering around Felix sitting rather high in Lucian’s Ori-chair. Continuing through everyone there, I glad-handed and hugged and thanked, including David and Steven. I’m sure they thought I was nuts, but I didn’t care.

  “First,” I called, turning back to the throne where Jimmy stood waiting, still burning, “you seem to know more about this than I. Why don’t you tell them what to expect out there.”

  “Yes, Lord Daybreak,” Jimmy said, bowing his head slightly. Grasping his staff with both hands, he rested his head on his arm and said, “Today is the supreme test of Seth McClure’s humility as a million souls prove that he is a great man.”

  I was not expecting that from Jimmy.

  “Today is the Great Claiming!” he called, throwing back his arms, a gout of blue flame flew straight out the front door, turned and followed the Road all the way to the Monument. His words echoed through every room and hall of the Palace. I heard it; it was eerie. The fire lasted about thirty seconds before stopping. “Today is the day that he repeats a miracle. This is a highly emotional experience for the faery, for he is not only saying ‘Yes, you are good enough,’ he is saying, ‘Yes, I do want you.’

  “To their minds, this is a gift that cannot be repaid,” Jimmy said, airily. Too bad the crowd was so small, I thought, cuz’ he was workin’ it. “But they will try. There will also be a few gifts for some of you as well, I’m told. The culmination will come just before dusk when Lord Daybreak crafts the Second Claim. Then he will take us to his room for… cookies and cake.”

  “Isn’t this… dangerous?” my mother asked, nervously looking back at Dad who nodded slowly.

  “Not for you,” I said across fifteen people, trying to show confidence and ease. “For me, most definitely, but it’s not my first time. Don’t worry. Everybody ready?” I shifted us to the Road just before the clearing to the monument where the faery had left an open space for us.

  “Everyone, the Faery of Gilán!” I said, sweeping my arms around in a wide circle. And they started singing. I floated back to ground a few minutes later, grinning and embarrassed. “Sorry, wasn’t expecting that.” I started us moving into the Fae toward the monument. Dusk was roughly an hour and twenty minutes away.

  Jimmy took over immediately, leading us through a less than straight path. “The one limitation that Lord Daybreak put on his gifts,” he said, having lost none of his fiery countenance, “was that they come at no cost to the faery. They had nothing to give, but their bodies, after all, and they have a completely different way of thinking. This came on the heels of discovering—”

  I interrupted him, unthinking, calling, “Ilan!” Embarrassed by the outburst, I turned back to Jimmy with a friendly grimace of apology. The Braedon clan, all of them, filed up the path in one huge mass of brownies wit
h Braedon in the lead. They held aloft a thin, wooden case about a foot long to each side. Ilan sat atop the box, his feet splayed in front of him and leaning back on his arms. Excited and motion-sick, I could only hope the little guy hadn’t eaten lately. I sat cross-legged on the ground, waiting for them to arrive and giving Jimmy time to finish. The caravan came to a halt, tipping the box forward so Ilan could slide off next to Braedon.

  “Lord Daybreak,” the clan cried in unison, bowing deeply. Ilan fell over, giggling, so I reached over and stood him up again. Yep, he was motion-sick and woozy. Only those holding the box were short in their bows, and, come on, they were holding up a giant box. Braedon and Ilan came forward with the box between them and several brownies on either side helping to hold it up off the ground.

  “Braedon?” Jimmy prompted. Both the little brownies went from incredibly happy to incredibly scared in the blink of an eye.

  “Lord Daybreak,” Braedon squeaked. “Please accept this gift in honor of your greater gift and the gifts of your family in saving the doomed from the atrocity. And if you find it acceptable, know that all the Faery participated in its implementation. This is from all of us, not only clan Braedon. But if it fails to please you, that fault can only be mine.”

  Hearing that out of a rail thin man smaller than a toddler was amusing. “Very diplomatically put, Braedon,” I said, smiling and taking the box from them. “I seriously doubt anything will displease me today.” Setting the box in my lap, I slowly opened the lid. Sitting among the fine, spongy green material were five rings, a row of four and a single ring at the top. This was meant for more than me, this gift.

  Like the monument, each ring told a part of the story of the battle that freed the faery. Making each ring virtually priceless was the large, oval Gilán-blue diamond set atop the platinum, the name “Gilán” embossed in mirror image along the hemisphere. On the side of each was a nearly photographic-quality image of the intended recipient and damn good portraits they were, too.