Sunshaker's War

by Tom Deitz

Alec poked David in the ribs as Calvin led them to the table. “Wonder if it’ll beat the old family recipe?”

  “Time will tell.”

  *

  Time did. The venison was excellent: back strap cut into thin discs, dipped in milk, then dredged in flour, lightly garlic-salted and peppered, and then quick-fried. Eaten while still hot and crunchy, it was tender enough to be cut with a fork. David decided he’d need to fool with the family recipe some, even if it was for stew. There was also wild rice and tossed salad and homemade brownies with black walnuts for dessert.

  Eventually Calvin pushed back from the table. In a series of efficient moves, he whisked away the dishes and cutlery and loaded them into the sink. Five minutes later they were sitting on the front porch, watching the first ruddiness of evening creep into Carolina.

  “So what’s this problem you folks have?” Sandy asked at last.

  Calvin told her his part first, but when they came to the section where they had spied on Tir-Nan-Og, David took over; and then each took a turn describing the wedding, since neither had seen it exactly the same.

  Sandy had little to say throughout, though she nodded occasionally and jotted down a few notes now and then. Finally she looked at David. “Well, I think you’re right about one thing: Obviously you should try the simplest solution first. Find out where this Fionchadd fellow is and go from there. And also, much as I hate to admit it, I think you’re probably right in deciding to take matters into your own hands before you tell your friend about the threat. I really can’t fault your logic or your motives. But I’m like Liz: I really think you’ve an obligation to warn both your friends if this scheme of yours goes awry.”

  “Oh, we’re definitely goin’ to,” David assured her, “for whatever good it’ll do. But thanks for the vote of confidence.” He glanced at Liz, then at Calvin. “Well, boys and girls, I think we’ve probably wasted enough time. Liz has to get back to school, and I need—well, I just need to know something. So let’s get the show on the road. You got the torque, Fargo?”

  Calvin did not reply, but slipped into the house and returned an instant later with a ring of thick gold just big enough to slip around someone’s neck. It was patterned with spirals and granulated gold-work, and cloissoné lizards were worked around its circumference. One end was knobbed by a strange transparent jewel, the other was missing. Calvin handed it to Liz. “This do?”

  Liz took it uncertainly. “I think so. I know I’ve got vibes off David’s ring a time or two. Once in particular.”

  “I’ve still got the ulunsuti,” Alec volunteered, nodding toward his red nylon backpack. “If you still want to try what we were talking about over at Uncle Dale’s.”

  “You mean use the ulunsuti to focus, and I use the ritual of finding?”

  “While Liz tries to scry using the torque,” David finished.

  “Merge the magic of two worlds?” Liz asked doubtfully.

  Calvin nodded. “Worth a try—if you’re up for it.”

  “Yeah,” David said. “What do you think, Liz? Wanta try to use ’em both?”

  Liz shrugged uneasily. “I don’t reckon it’d hurt to make the effort. Worst that can happen is that I’d fail again.”

  Calvin took a deep breath. “Just remember one thing, folks, Fionchadd may not be one World away, in which case we may not be able to find him. I mean we do have to consider that.”

  David frowned. “Yeah, but I think he’s reached me once, in a dream, which argues that he’s nearby.”

  “Good point,” Calvin conceded. “Only one way to find out for sure.”

  Sandy still had not spoken, but was watching with real interest, a cup of Irish coffee in her hand.

  David stood decisively. “Okay, gang: let’s do it.” He paused, looking at Liz, whose face was tense with anticipation. “Hey, you okay?”

  She nodded. “I…I’m scared, a little. And I really don’t want to do this, but I think it’s the necessary thing, really the only thing. But I can’t help wondering what we’ll do if we can’t find him. I mean, if he’s further away, we may not be able to get there from our World at all, and if we have to try to figure out the Tracks—well, I’m real dubious about that.”

  Calvin took her arm. “You don’t have to. I can give it a go.”

  She shook her head. “Sorry guys, but I think it really does have to be me. “

  They retreated inside and, at Calvin’s urging, changed into shorts, then cleared a space in the middle of Sandy’s living room—a place conveniently demarcated by a circular rug in the shape of a Power Wheel, though Sandy said she had got the idea out of a Susan Cooper novel. Calvin stared at it a moment, then nodded and scooted it a couple of feet to the left so that it was precisely under the apex of the roof. He took the ulunsuti jar from Alec and placed it in the center, then motioned Liz to seat herself behind it, facing east. He squatted down on the eastern arm and pointed David to the north. “Your Power comes from there,” he explained. “The Sidhe come from the north, at least relative to Georgia, and your Galunlati connections in the form of Yanu are from there as well. Alec, my man, you get the south.”

  “’Cause I’m from Atlanta?”

  “Right.”

  “Which leaves the west for me,” Sandy sighed. “Because that way lies the Land of the Dead, and I’m closer to that than you guys, right?”

  “You folks must’ve been talkin’ a lot,” David told Calvin.

  Calvin rolled his eyes. “White woman ask many questions.”

  “This is creepy,” Liz said hugging herself, obviously trying to remain calm. “Combining two different magical traditions, and all. And I hate to say it, but I feel kinda silly.”

  “So did I when Oisin told us all to strip naked in Uncle Dale’s barn,” Calvin chuckled. “You get over it.”

  “Tell me about it,” Alec muttered, glancing nervously at Calvin. “Do we need to prime the pump?”

  “Prime it?” Sandy wondered.

  “With blood,” Calvin replied. “It gives you surer results.”

  Alec grimaced sourly, even as he began baring his arm. “I feel like a bloody pin-cushion.”

  “Bad pun, McLean.”

  “Meant to be.”

  Calvin shrugged. “Let’s try it without, first. If the torque’s as strong as I think it is, it should be enough. How ’bout it, Liz?”

  She shrugged in turn. “All this ritual’s new to me. My granny just taught me to trust my feelings; she just showed me how to breathe and let go of myself and see what my brain was really thinking when I wasn’t watching. But since then I’ve decided that desire and belief are prime triggers. Now—let’s get started.”

  She took a deep breath and unstoppered the jar, then emptied the ulunsuti from its bag and placed it back on the center of the rag before her. Next, she placed the torque atop it so that it curved around the crystal, took one gilded end in each hand, and closed her eyes.

  David simply stared at the talisman. He was aware of Sandy to his right, of Calvin to his left, conscious of the pressure of their knees against his own. But he centered on the ulunsuti. It was easier here than at Alec’s or Uncle Dale’s, perhaps because of the environment. The ceiling between the rafters was dark now, though the beams themselves were limned with candle fire.

  But the brighter flame was the ulunsuti. It caught the last furtive beams of sunlight and sucked them in, caught the uneven flicker of the candles and claimed them for its own, to grow brighter and brighter as he watched. He was aware of Liz, too, somehow; of her reaching out to him as the mystery of that linkage became more natural. That was strange, too, he realized distantly. A year ago they’d never have considered such a thing: a mingling of minds. But he’d touched her mind now, and her body as well, and for an instant he wondered if what Eva had told Alec was true: that exchange of bodily fluids conferred or amplified Power. If that was true, he and Liz certainly had a link with each other.

  But then there was no more time for speculation, because he felt himse
lf drawn into the crystal.

  *

  Liz took another breath, feeling a prickle of Power that was not her own. She closed her eyes against the sudden glare of the ulunsuti and tried to envision Fionchadd’s face. Distantly she heard drumming, and knew Sandy had begun a soft tapping on the small tom-tom she had brought. That helped a lot, helped bring her out of herself, helped her center. Calvin had also begun to chant, very softly, keeping time to Sandy’s rhythm. She did not try to make out the words, though she knew they were familiar.

  “Sge! Ha-nagwa hatunganiga Nunya ulunsuti, gahusti tsuts-kadi nigesunna. Ha-nagwa dungihyali. Agiyahusa aginalii, ha-ga tsun-nu iyunta datsiwak-tuhi. Tla-ke aya akwatseliga. Edahi digwadaita. “

  More deep breaths, letting the sounds soothe her, open her memory to Fionchadd. She tried to imagine his face above the torque, though she had never seen him wear it. Smooth beardless skin, narrow chin, high cheekbones that complemented the slant of his green eyes and elegant black brows. A mouth that was wide and pretty and a little mocking, quick to joy, to lust, to the merest touch of evil but with a softening that had come into it lately. Long blond hair curling past his shoulders.

  Fionchadd? she called, and was aware that she was floating—or that part of her was. Fionchadd?

  She drifted further, aware that this had never happened before. It was as if the torque were tugging her toward it, making her one with the metal. She could sense every grain, every twist and spiral. Could feel the strange alloys of which it was made, the sparks of the jewels that tapped the hidden powers of the universe.

  Fionchadd? The crystal swallowed her, sent her spiraling. The chant rang loud in her ears, and she followed it, let it take her, became one with it, took its words into herself and repeated them over and over, centering on her goal.

  Unreality whirled and shifted. She was aware of the torque again, dragging her onward.

  Abruptly she was in a room. Fionchadd was there, chained to a bed, his rumpled gray clothing stained with blood. He looked groggy. Chains bound his hands and feet, his neck. A strip of thin leather hung across his naked chest. A dagger lay atop it. An iron dagger it must be, for the Faery boy was writhing. She wanted to go to him, to rip away the bonds, but something stopped her.

  “Where is this Galunlati?” someone was saying. “Lugh threatensss us and Finvarra would come on him from behind through this ssstrange place. Lugh is no friend of yoursss. You mussst tell usss, if you would sssave your fossster-father’s people.”

  “My foster-father has deserted me,” Fionchadd spat, and looked away.

  “He will have you back if you will tell him. He will exalt you among the Daoine Ssssidhe.”

  “I do not wish—”

  “Very well.”

  A scaly hand lifted the dagger, another removed the hide. The dagger was restored but rested on bare flesh now; the point coming nigh to his navel, the hilt to the base of his throat. He writhed, screamed, hid within himself, but Liz trailed him there.

  Fionchadd! she called, with no voice.

  Liz? he had time to call, and then the pain truly found him. And through him discovered Liz.

  She screamed, though she could not, and jerked free. Her mind whirled, she was vaguely aware of herself moving, of Fionchadd’s form fading away. David, she shouted and he was there, anchoring her. We have to find out where he is, he said, and she steeled herself and saw: A tall tower made of stone with a silvery glint, but with a look of age and decay about it, the whole surrounded by water—a lake maybe, or was it some sea? for the silvery surface was alive with waves and silver Tracks swept across its surface. There was precious little land between the tower base and the shore. Nor did there appear to be any door. Beyond was nothing: the edge of the World itself, maybe, and she was aware of reality twisting further.

  Liz! again, and with it another wash of pain, and she could stand it no longer.

  There was an instant of agony and she was out of herself entirely—lost. For a panicked moment she floated helplessly, powerless to return to herself. Then she sensed something, followed it eagerly—and glimpsed wars and armies, entire forests lying shattered. Tir-Nan-Og, a part of her realized, even as she felt herself whirled away again. Eventually the spinning stopped and she heard chanting. Lost, fearful, she moved toward it, saw seas that were alive with light and tenuous clouds of Tracks, all laced with a nothing that was darker than black.

  And then a fleet—a floating island of black ships that lay off a Faerie coast. Somehow she was above them, looking down—so far down she could see the edges of the World, the Tracks as they rode the seas of Faerie, something of the non-stuff between. And she saw more fleets—at least three. One in black that bore the scarlet eagle of Finvarra, and another sailing from the south that showed the golden sun that was Lugh. And the third bore an emblem she could not clearly make out, save that the sails were gold and the emblem crimson, and that it moved slowly from the east. Powersmiths, something told her. She looked closer, suddenly was there, seeing everything as clearly as if she were standing on deck.

  “How many days until we meet?” someone was saying. A man’s voice, one of a score of gold-clad seamen who lolled against the rail as the oars plied the shimmering waves of their own volition.

  “No one is certain,” another answered. “The seas are fickle; so are the Tracks. Had I to guess, I would say at least two.”

  “And then we put an end to Finvarra for certain, take him captive and make him relinquish our own.”

  “Aye—if Lugh joins us in time.”

  “He will. He has never failed us. Besides, it is his southern harbor Finvarra plans to attack.”

  “Aye, but he makes a capricious ally.”

  “Not with fear of us as a motivation.”

  “True, but we fear him too, or at least the captain does. It would not be good if he used that spear again.”

  “One reason we are to join him, so I have heard. The King wants an end to this war.”

  “And well he should.”

  A pause, then. “Did you hear something?”

  Another. “No, but I felt the ether stir. I do not think we are alone.”

  Liz felt eyes come at her. A mind brushed hers, knew her alienness.

  “Human!” it breathed. “But how?”

  She tried to turn and flee but could not. “One of Finvarra’s spies?” that mind cried.

  No! she tried to scream, and back in the room her lips moved in that sound. “Help.”

  *

  Calvin started. He’d been following Liz, but then had lost her. Or she had lost him. He had caught a glimpse of land and ships, then she had vanished—until the word had come ghosting into his mind: help! And the only help he knew was the magic of his people. He closed his eyes, shut out the ulunsuti, concentrated on the formula he had been slowly chanting, and tried to think of Liz.

  “Sge! Ha-nagwa hatunganiga Nunya ulunsuti, gahusti tsuts-kadi nigesunna…”

  And somewhere upon the Faery ocean, Liz heard. She followed that voice, let it rip her free from the mental walls that held her.

  And then she remembered her task: Fionchadd.

  She had seen Fionchadd, did not want to see him again…yet she had one thing left to do: she had to find him, pierce the World Walls there about, and see where in her own World they lay. She steeled herself, drew on the strength she felt flowing into her from her friends.

  The tower was the key. Slowly she rebuilt the memory.

  Cold, then: cold and dark and falling. A resistance against her mind: present, then gone. World Walls, a part of her knew, and then she had a sensation of flying, of fleeing that place. She touched fog and felt colder yet—impossible for one who had no body. An image clarified: the tower! But with it came another wash of unbearable pain, and she had no choice except to flee—but at least she could choose her route: across the sea to the edge—through it. And then silver enveloped her in a fine mesh, and then, so suddenly the familiarity made her cry out, she saw something she recognized.


  A city spread before her, night-lit. She knew those buildings: the silver cylinder of Peachtree Plaza, the Regency Hyatt House’s famous blue dome, the red marble slab of the Georgia Pacific Building, the elegant new IBM Tower. And to the left almost at the limits of vision was the low, humped mass of Stone Mountain.

  Atlanta!

  The shattered stone tower returned for one final instant, and with it a fading help, but before she could reply it was gone, replaced once more by the shimmering facade of IBM’s nouveau-art deco showpiece.

  “I think he’s in Atlanta,” Liz said aloud, and fainted.

  * * *

  David felt his heart catch when he heard those words, but then his concern was for his lady. He leapt forward, broke the circle, even as Sandy ceased drumming and Calvin stopped the chant David had also unconsciously taken up. Calvin was on his feet in a moment, splashing cold water on Liz’s face. She stared blankly for an instant, then blinked.

  “Atlanta,” she repeated, looking up at David. “How much of that did you catch?”

  “Enough,” he managed, as Sandy rose shakily and staggered for the kitchen.

  “Enough for sure,” Calvin agreed, joining David to help Liz back to the sofa. “Damn! Two kinds of magic workin’ together, and five minds!”

  “Yeah, and goin’ every which way,” David added. “Jesus, I don’t ever want to do that again.”

  “Atlanta,” Alec mused, as if he had not heard them. “Oh, come on; you’re not serious!”

  “He’s in Atlanta,” Liz repeated. “Well, not Atlanta, really. I think it’s another World—a bubble off Tir-Nan-Og or one of the other Faerie realms, or something, and accessible only from there—and maybe from here, since we were able to look through to it. Maybe it’s like Powersmithland, sort of, which is accessible only through Annwyn—so folks in Faerie thought—but also touches Galunlati. But it overlaps Atlanta, I’ll bet you anything.”

  “Is it always that…traumatic?” Sandy wondered, returning with a pot of hot cider she’d put on before they began. She looked pale, but otherwise seemed none the worse for her first encounter with magic.