by Tanya Huff
My chance.
Marcus.
I was running full out by the time I reached the doors. I leapt a cart just inside, smelled the sudden rush of fear from the man pushing it, scrambled along a cloth path on the floor, skidded through a room with only three walls, found myself outside but not outside, ignored the yelling, and concentrated on finding the Gate. I'd been in buildings before – once, on a high-tech world, I'd been chased through an underground structure so complicated ants couldn't have found their way around – but nothing in this building made sense! The ceiling was too high, the walls didn't reach it, and there were cables everywhere.
I couldn't find the Gate.
My toenails scrabbling for purchase against a polished stone floor, I raced around a corner and ended up in a long hall. Three men ran toward me from the other end, one of them carrying a net. They were all making soothing sounds, the one with the net repeating, "It's okay, boy. It's okay, boy." I wanted to believe them. I wanted to lay my head on someone's knee and have him tell me I was home.
I knocked over a row of chairs, jumped a pile of cable, and ran up a flight of stairs. The stairs ended in another railing and a door. I threw myself against it.
The wall shook.
The Gate… the Gate was on the other side!
I threw myself against the door again. Someone was whining. I had a horrible suspicion it was me.
So close…
Then suddenly, the wall gave way, the stairs shook, and I jumped.
A hand closed around my tail.
The Gate opened.
I braced myself for the pain of my tail being yanked free but it never came. Instead, the grip released and sharp points of pain dug into my back.
This time the Gate dumped me on the edge of a meadow. The sun was shining, birds were singing, and I could smell both rabbits and water on the breeze. My stomach growled and I growled with it.
Ready to move on, I turned to piss on the weed growing closest to where the old Gate had been and discovered I wasn't alone. There was a crow in the grass, lying in a parody of a nest, wings spread and feet in the air. Bending my head, I snuffled her breast feathers. Warm. Alive. The sharp pains in my back suddenly made sense.
Dark Dawn With Thunder had hitched a ride.
I glanced across the meadow, then back at her, then sighed and scratched.
I was napping when she finally came to, but the sound of her flapping awkwardly onto her feet woke me. Her wings looked as though the edges were unravelling and she staggered three paces forward then three paces back before she caught her balance.
"Rather remarkably like flying into a hydro wire," she muttered, caught sight of me, and stilled. "Nice doggie. Doggie no yell at crow. Crow have very big headache."
"Crow deserves very big headache," I told her. "What were you thinking?"
Dawn cocked her head and studied me for a moment. "I was thinking you hadn't thanked me for saving your furry ass."
She was right, I hadn't. "Thank you."
"And I was thinking that I'd like to know how the story ends."
"Story?"
"You and Marcus."
"Why do you care?"
"Care?" Twisting around, she poked her tail feathers into alignment. "I don't care. I just hate to leave a story hanging. Gives me that unfinished feeling."
I chewed a bit on a paw and when I looked up, Dawn was watching me.
"I was also thinking," she said, "that dogs are hopeless romantics and you need taking care of. And besides…" Her eyes glittered. "…you're certainly not boring."
"You can't go back," I reminded her.
"I'm not going any where until the story ends." She clacked her beak and launched herself into the air. "So, let's get a move on."
I sat and watched her fly for a moment, then smiled and shook my head. She was going the wrong way. Not that it mattered, she'd learn to feel the Gates soon enough. For now, she had me. I shook, walked out of the cloud of shed fur, and trotted across the meadow.
After a moment, I heard her wings in the air above my head.
"Any sign of him?" she called as she swooped by.
"Not yet."
The pull of the next Gate was no more than a suggestion, so we had a way to travel still and Marcus could be anywhere along the path.
I could tell the crow how the story was going to end.
I would find him.
But I supposed it wouldn't hurt to have a little company along the way.
It is impossible to find a skateboarding magazine in January in a small town in Canada. Snowboarding, yes. Skateboarding, no. Yet another reason why I give thanks daily for the internet. Some years after I wrote this story, the local skateboarders finished up a long and unexpectedly successful fund-raising campaign, and built a skate park in our very small town. It was more an accident of vacant land than a plan that it was built almost right next to the hospital.
Sooner or later, most fantasy writers will take a crack at re-imagining the oldest tales and He Said, Sidhe Saidis my take on Tam Lin. While I think it's a fun story even if you don't know the original, it's a lot more fun if you do. And, as much as I believe this is one of the cleverest stories I've ever written, I have the nagging feeling that I owe someone an apology.
HE SAID, SIDHE SAID
Last summer, they built this new skateboard park down by Carterhaugh Pond; a decent half pipe, some good bowls, a pyramid, couple of heights of rails. Blatant attempt to keep us off the streets, to control the ride, but they put some thought into the design and I've gotta admit that sometimes I can appreciate a chance to skate without being hassled. It was October 24th, early morning, and I had the place to myself. Kids were all in school, and a touch of frost in the air was keeping the usual riders away.
I was grabbing some great air off the pipe and I was seriously in the moment, so I figured this was the time to try a backside tailslide on the lip. Yeah, yeah, there's harder tricks, but for some reason, me and tailslides… So, I picked up some serious speed, hit the lip, held the lip, and then WHAM! I was ass over head and kissing concrete.
World kind of went away for a minute or two – you know, like it does – and when I finally got my eyes open, I was staring up at this total babe. I was like, "Woo! Liv Tyler!" only without that whole kind of creepy I look like the lead singer for Aerosmith vibe.
Over the sound of The Bedrockers still jamming in my phones, she said, "Give me your hand!"
I figured she was going to help me up, so I put my hand in hers, and next thing I knew, the park was gone, the pipe was gone, hell, the whole world was gone. Good thing my other hand was locked on my board.
* * * *
The land between the water and the wood has always been ours, one of the rare places where our world touches that of mortal men. The news that it had been defiled came to the High Court with a Loireag who dwelled in the pond. She was a plaintive little thing, wailing and keening as she made her way through my knights and ladies to throw herself damply before me.
The wailing and keening made it difficult to hear her complaint, but, eventually, she calmed enough to be understood. Great instruments of steel and sound were scraping away the earth, crushing and tearing all that was green, driving terrified creatures from their homes and into hiding.
We do not concern ourselves with the world of men, and, in return, we expect that which is ours to be respected. Clearly, it was time again to remind them of this.
When I arrived with those of my court I trusted most, I saw that the tale of woe spun to me by the Loireag was true. A great scar had been gouged into the earth and men surrounded it. Large men. Their skins browned by the sun and made damp by their labours. Cloth of blue stretched over muscular thighs, and, as I watched, one threw off a gauntlet of leather and tilted back his head to drink.
A lifted finger and I directed a spilled rivulet of water over his chest and down a ridged stomach until it disappeared behind…
"Majesty?"
I breathed deeply. "
It is overly warm in the world of men," I said as a breeze sped to cool my brow at my command. "We will go and return again another day."
But our days are not the days of men, and when we returned, the scar in the earth had been filled with stone sculpted into strange and impossible shapes. In stone cupped into half a moon, a young man rode a winged board.
His hair was dark, but tipped with light, his eyes the grey-green of a storm. Loose clothing hid his body from my sight, but his hands were large and strong and he moved like water down a mountain side. His smile spoke of earthy joys.
I stepped forward as his head hit the stone.
"Not again, Majesty…"
Who of my court dared to voice so weary a warning, I did not know. For the sake of so enchanting a creature, I disregarded it and crossed into the world of men. Admiring the broad shoulders and lean length of my fallen hero, I reached out to him.
"Take my hand," I said.
And he did.
* * * *
I woke up in what I later learn is called a bower – it was kind of like a bedroom without walls, just this billowy curtainy stuff, and I wasn't alone. The babe who wasn't Liv Tyler was with me, we were both totally without clothes, and she was studying this major scabbage I've got all down my right forearm.
"Screwed up a 180 out of an axle stall," I explained, trying to sound like this sort of thing happened to me all the time – naked with a strange babe not the scabbage, because, you know, sometimes you bail.
She touched it with one finger, all sympathetic.
I probably should have been more freaked, but she was naked and I was naked and so…
It was a fast ride, but no one did any complaining.
Later, we were lying all wrapped up and worn out when this tall, skinny blonde fem wearing a lot of swishy green just wandered in without so much as a "Hey, coming through!"
"Majesty, your husband has sent an emissary. Will you receive him?"
"An emissary?" she asked.
Me, I was kind of fixating on a different word, although I totally kept my cool. "You have a husband?"
* * * *
Once I had him unclothed, I was a little disconcerted to discover that he was damaged. His shins were an overlapping mix of purple and blue, and his right arm had been horribly disfigured.
He muttered words I did not understand, but I could feel his terror so I touched his arm to calm his fears. His reaction to my touch was unexpected. It had been long since a mortal man had shared my bed, and I had forgotten just how impulsive they are. And how quick.
About to suggest a second attempt, my words were halted by the appearance of Niam of the Golden Hair. "Majesty, your husband has sent an emissary. Will you receive him?"
About to ask who my husband had sent this time, my words were once again halted.
The mortal threw himself from the bed, hiding his manhood behind a handful of fabric. "Husband?! Oh man, you never said you had a husband!"
As he was the only man in our lands, I had no idea who he was speaking to and would have demanded an accounting had I not caught sight of that infernal Puck hanging about at the edge of hearing. He wore his usual condescending smile that told quite clearly how he would enjoy informing my Lord Oberon of my latest dalliance.
I could hear him now, insinuating that any discontent I felt was a result of my own choices.
As I would not give him the satisfaction, I bound my mortal lover round with cobwebs and as he lay silent and unmoving said, "Tell good Robin that I will speak with him anon. I have matters here to attend to still."
Niam raised a quizzical brow toward the mortal, but bowed and left as commanded, sweeping Puck before her.
I drew the mortal back to the bed and released his bindings. "You need not fear my husband," I told him. "The King has his own Court and does not come to mine."
* * * *
Now, having heard husband, I hadn't paid a lot of attention to the rest of what the blonde chick had said. I mean, I was cool, totally dignified, but a little stunned, you know? I couldn't think of anything to say until we were alone again and the babe was trying to explain about how they were separated and I didn't have anything to worry about.
"He's the King?"
"Yes."
"And that would make you…?"
"The Queen."
Of the Fairies as it turns out. No, not those kinds of fairies. Real Fairies. Like in fairy tales. We got dressed and she lead me out onto this balcony tree-branch thing and, well, it was pretty damned clear I wasn't in Kansas anymore, if you know what I mean.
I just did the Queen of the Fairies. Prime!
"What do I call you?" I asked, tearing my eyes away from a whole section of tree that would make a wild ride.
"Majesty."
I knew she was just teasing, so I gave her my best you and me, we're closer than that smile. "Sure, but you got a name?"
She looked at me for a long moment, then she smiled and I knew I had her. "I am also called Tatiania."
"Annie."
"Tatiania!"
"Not to me, babe." I laid my fist against my heart. "Tommy Lane. But I tag with Teal, so you want to call me that, I'm cool with it. You know, TL… Teal."
* * * *
"I think I will call you Tommy Lane," I told him. Not that it mattered; he would not be in my realm for very much longer. I would send him home the moment I had dealt with Puck.
"So while you're seeing the dude your old man sent, you mind if I ride?"
As I had no real idea of what he was talking about, I told him I did not.
He raced back into my bower and emerged with his wheeled board – it had merely seemed to have wings, so quickly had it moved. Balanced on the edge of my balcony, he grinned with such joy that I felt my heart soften toward him. Then he placed the pieces of sponge upon his ears again and threw himself forward, bellowing out a most impertinent question as he raced along the branch.
"Who's your daddy!"
With any luck, he would fall and break his neck and save me the walk back to the place where our lands touched.
"I can't wait for the feast!"
"What feast?" I snapped as Puck dropped down beside me. His manner of perching and appearing and making himself free of my Court as though it were my husband's was most annoying.
"The feast you'll be having for your skater-boy."
Tommy Lane was no longer in sight, but I could still hear the rasp of his wheels against the tree and the shriek of my ladies as he roared through bower after bower. How unfortunate that none would risk my wrath and stop his ride upon their blade. Birds took wing all around us, protesting so rude a disturbance.
"It's traditional," Puck continued, grinning insolently. "A mortal crosses over, and we throw him a feast. You can't send him back without one, not unless you made a mistake bringing him here in the first place."
Oh, he would like to go to my husband and say I had made a mistake. They would laugh together over it.
"Moth, Cobweb, Mustard Seed!"
The sprites appeared.
"See that a feast is made ready." As they vanished, I turned to Puck and said, as graciously as I was able, "You will stay, of course."
Wise enough to recognize the command, he bowed gracefully. "I wouldn't miss it, Majesty."
After the feast, he would go to my Lord Oberon and tell my husband of the great joy and pleasure I took in my mortal companion, and then my lord could feel the bite of being replaced once again.
* * * *
I have no idea where the room came from. One minute I was having the wildest ride of my life and the next I'm landing an ollie on marble floors. I knew it was marble because Philly used to have this great park with marble slabs that was prime loc for street skating. Anyway, there were banners hanging from the ceiling and tables all down the middle and these little people laying out plates and stuff.
I saw my Annie up ahead, standing with some short brown dude – not a brother but brown; hard to explain – and so, pushi
ng mongo-foot, I made my way over. Just before I reached her, I decided to show off a bit and so did a quick grind along the last of the marble benches that were up against the wall. Kid's trick, but she didn't ride and I could tell she was impressed.
* * * *
His board left a black mark along the edge of the bench, and only the presence of my husband's emissary kept me from freezing his blood on the spot.
* * * *
Flashing my sharpest smile, I planted one on right on the royal lips. "Hey, babe, what up?"
* * * *
I did not have the words…
Mostly, because I hadn't understood the question, but also because of his fearless stupidity. This was truly why we find mortal men so fascinating. Not content merely to die, they spend their short lives courting death in so very many ways. And, in truth, the salutation was a bit distracting.
"He wants to know what's going on," Puck said helpfully.
I ignored him and graced my unwelcome paramour with my full attention. "My people prepare a feast in your honour, my love. Rich raiment befitting one who shares my bower has been laid out for you. Go and adorn yourself in silk and velvet."
"Silk and velvet? Not my deal. I appreciate the thought, but I'm cool."
"You will be warmer in the clothing that has been made ready for you."
He threw back his head and laughed and, to my horror, wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me tightly against his side. I would have turned him into a newt then and there if not for the irritatingly superior smile on the face of Robin Goodfellow.
"Isn't my Annie the greatest?" Tommy Lane declared once he had his laughter under control.
Puck bowed deeply so that I could not see his expression. "She is indeed," he said.
* * * *
The food was great. A little poncy, you know, with sauces and garnishes and fancy stuff, but there was lots of it, and it tasted prime. Unfortunately, the after dinner entertainment of one guy with Spock-ears and a harp, totally sucked. I had to ask what the harp was; I thought maybe it was some kind of warped axe. Oh, and the dude was blind, but he was no Stevie Wonder. I figured they were all being so nice to him because he was blind, and that was cool, but the piece he was slaying went on and on and on.