by Scott Duff
Ethan was the first to get to it, pulling at the blanket of the bed to raise it out of the fairly deep hole it had dug. It was considerably smaller on the bed than in my head, about two and a half inches across. It looked like a cut crystal in shape with the faces in a fractal design similar to a nautilus and a shade of orange that only existed for football teams. At least you could look at this and not get a headache. Ethan poked at it experimentally with a finger. When it didn’t bite back, he picked it up, turning it over and over in his hands examining it thoroughly.
“That’s how you move things from your mind into reality?” Kieran asked. “I still don’t understand the translation.” He quirked his head to the side, thinking hard about what he witnessed as he watched Ethan. I hope he didn’t expect me to explain it to him.
“Don’t know. I’ve never quite done it that way. I thought that was you,” I said.
“It wasn’t me,” Kieran said. I couldn’t quite place the look on his face, maybe whimsical? “I merely grabbed the construct and exited your psyche. The construct did not exist purely on the mental dimensions and I found your cavern a difficult place to comprehend.”
With a grunt and a shrug, Ethan passed it to Kieran, who sat on the bed and did the same. I felt him pull a small amount of energy off the nearest line and push it into the crystal. It accepted the energy without a problem and without changing the crystal physically from what I could see. Then he pulled from the crystal itself, again without a hitch. Then pulled a little more than he put in, pushing the excess out to dissipate. Again no change in the crystal. He passed it to Peter, who started the process over again. I guess Peter was the litmus test of this experiment, but I really hadn’t thought of that until I noticed that Ethan was standing behind him with his hand on Peter’s shoulder, watching intently.
“This is so cool,” Peter whispered as he pushed and pulled energy through the battery. “It’s like a ley line in the palm of my hand. What is it?”
“That’s one of the batteries Seth made,” Ethan said, releasing Peter’s shoulder, apparently satisfied there was no immediate danger.
“That is so awesome,” Peter said, smiling while handing it back to me.
I waved him off, saying, “If you can use it, keep it. I have two more.”
“Now hold on,” Kieran objected. “Not that I object to you giving Peter gifts, but there are a number of things to test before you start giving those out. Just because none of us has seen this before doesn’t mean it’s new to the universe. There could be known drawbacks to this that someone else could exploit, putting all of us in danger.”
They gathered around Peter as he held the crystal out. He was clearly disappointed that he wasn’t going to get to keep it but he took it in stride. When it was obvious that neither Ethan nor Kieran was going to take it from him, he just held it out while they looked at it. While they were distracted by their examination, I picked up a second battery and pushed it into my hand like I would have one of the swords. It was heavier than I thought it would be, traveling down my arm and coalescing in my right hand. It was the same unnatural orange as the one Peter held, the same fractal-driven shape, the same opaque faces. There was no seeing deeply into these things.
“Well, it’s not associative,” said Ethan. “There is no sense of Seth in its making.”
“There’s a sense to the energy in it, but not how much it’s holding,” said Peter. “At least I’m not getting any.”
“I’m not either,” said Kieran. “Which worries me when it starts to get full. And what happens if it overloads?”
“This one is more full than that one is,” I said, “I don’t feel a difference here, but I do in my cavern.”
Kieran turned to look at the crystal I held, then up at me. Shaking his head and grinning, he said, “You are something else.”
“It’s no more associative to itself than a piece of granite,” announced Ethan, beaming proudly at me. “Good work, Seth.”
“Can you reabsorb it back into the astral?” Kieran asked me.
I pulled the crystal back into my cavern from my hand. It reformed into the weird milk can shape it had before, losing the more natural form it had. And I had a name for the energy plane now: astral. I think I liked mine better.
“Apparently,” I said.
“Peter, can you do that?” Kieran asked.
“I haven’t figured out what he’s doing yet,” scoffed Peter. “Teach me that and I’ll try.”
Kieran smiled at that. “Hold on to it then. Keep it safe and don’t try to put too much energy into it. Ethan and I will build one and experiment on it later. And you play with the energy you’re already holding. From what I saw, you have more than enough. Tomorrow morning, Ethan and I will begin teaching you self-defense.”
“Why not now?” I asked. The last few minutes had left me feeling quite energetic.
“Even tomorrow is too soon, Seth,” said Ethan. “Most people would still be unconscious.” Kieran nodded in agreement.
“What you’re already doing is taxing enough,” said Kieran.
“Speaking of that,” Ethan said, pausing and moving past Kieran and around me to my left side. He started tapping on my laptop, pulling up links until he had two pictures onscreen: the giant check and Harris’ office. “This is the emblem in common you saw, right?” Ethan pointed out a small trophy on Harris’ shelf in the picture.
“Yeah,” I said, leaning to look at the blurry image. “But that’s not where I saw it, I don’t think. Is that a trophy?”
“Harris’ bio said he won in MacNamara’s in thirty-eight,” offered Peter.
“What is MacNamara’s?” I asked, again. That name was bandied about before Ethan noticed me holding the lines.
“The fights,” said Kieran, falling back on the bed hard. “Particularly nasty fights, too. Been around for centuries. They are by invitation only so you have to know someone or do something to gain MacNamara’s attention to get in.”
“Do we know anyone?” I asked, thinking first of Peter.
“We’re looking for one now,” said Kieran, proudly. “Father has won two team championships and one singles championship at MacNamara’s in the seventeen hundreds.”
“Wow, Dad was a boxer,” I said, kind of awed by that.
“No, he was a combat mage,” Kieran said, sitting up on his elbows and smiling rather mischievously at me. “The thing to know about MacNamara’s fights is that from the winner’s standpoint is the bigger the trophy, the lesser the purse. The bigger the purse, the bigger the contest. Do you follow me?”
“I don’t recall ever seeing any trophies bearing that emblem in my house before,” I said, thinking back carefully through the Savannah house, at each room’s cabinets that might be holding keepsakes I’d seen all my life. “That is impressive, right? That he was capable of these three things? I mean he was roughly your age now, right? Would you stand a chance at MacNamara’s?”
“Ethan and I would stand a very good chance of winning in the top class,” said Kieran with rancor. “But I don’t see the need to compete at that level. It is too easy to kill and be killed.”
“So the only way to win in these fights is to kill your opponent?” I asked, disgusted by the thought of that and associating it with my dad. Ugh.
“No,” corrected Kieran, “There are submissions and knock-outs and technical knock-outs as well. Death is allowed under the rules of submission. Lots of different rules for different contests. Absolutely no rules in the biggest contests. Those are the ones Father won in. They lost one of their four-man team. Something ate the guy from what Father said.”
“Yeah,” said Peter. “That’s the way my Dad told it, too.”
“Was your dad the one who babbled for a year or the one who lost half a hand?” asked Kieran, smiling crookedly at Peter.
“He did tend to babble when I was younger,” Peter said, giggling a bit. “I’m just glad my dad wasn’t the one that got eaten.”
“Your dad fought there
, too?” I asked Peter, duly impressed with Mr. Borland now. I didn’t know that they were that close.
“He told me a little about it after we left your house,” Peter said, nodding. “He wouldn’t say why, only that they’d been coerced.”
“Wait,” I said, “I think I know where I saw it.” It wasn’t on a trophy shelf; it was jewelry. I started back through all the pictures I’d looked at today, looking for a common thread or for the emblem itself. Jewelry meant rings, bracelets, necklaces, brooches, and tiepins. Tiepins. That’s where I’d seen that symbol, on a tiepin. The memory tied it all together. I needed the picture of my mother and grandfather from August. So back I went.
Opening the picture still hurt. To see Mom and Dad so close and not that long ago. On Mom’s left stood my grandfather, Uriah St. Croix, holding one corner of a draping red ribbon. On Dad’s right, a tall, white man, in a white day suit with tails and top hat, was holding the far right side of the ribbon. The man’s pale blue tie was held in place by a pin made of silver or platinum. This was the first place I’d seen the emblem: on this tiepin.
“Here it is,” I said, triumphantly. “Who is this?” I turned the screen for Kieran and Peter to see.
“That’s a Fae glamour,” said Kieran. “You can’t judge from the picture exactly who it is, but from the clothing and the emblem, I’d bet it was MacNamara.”
“Yeah,” agreed Peter. “They’re pretty particular about their symbols. If somebody else tried to use theirs, they’d go after ‘em.”
“So we have a connection between my parents, my grandfather, Harris and this MacNamara all centering in August, which is just before they disappeared.”
“Yes,” agreed Peter slowly, “But in all fairness, Seth, you could tie MacNamara in with every person on the list.”
“But he’s not on the list,” I countered. “Why?”
“Because MacNamara’s only concern is for the fights,” said Kieran, distastefully. “He has no interest in anything else.”
“And yet,” I countered again, “we have two examples of different behavior. Or at least apparently differing behavior.”
Kieran tried to answer but couldn’t. “Perhaps something has changed while I’ve been away,” he admitted.
I looked back and forth between Peter and Kieran, trying to read them. “So, you’re telling me it makes sense to want to talk to him, then?”
“It certainly makes sense,” said Peter carefully. “But getting to talk to him is another story.”
“Getting him to talk is yet another story,” said Kieran. “He is a very powerful elf. There is little doubt that he could win the top levels in the fights if he ever chose to compete.”
“Does that put him at a higher level than the woman you faced the other day?” I asked.
“How much higher is ten million than nine million, nine hundred thousand?” Kieran asked philosophically.
“How do I fit into the power scheme of everyone then?” I asked.
“You are untested and untrained,” said Kieran. “With the weapons you carry, you are fairly safe. That is why I gave them to you in the first place, though admittedly I didn’t expect you to take ownership so personally. Officially you fit at the bottom of the scale.” He grinned, then added, “Unofficially, you took out what amounts to three black belts in karate and their master, so you tell me.”
“I’d prefer bystander with a baseball bat,” mumbled Peter, tapping lightly on the keyboard.
“I vote for Peter’s idea,” I agreed. Ethan was nodding his head as well.
“There are some people out there who are taking that choice out of your hands,” said Kieran. He sighed heavily. “Very well, I will seek information on the location of the next tournament and see if we can corner MacNamara. It may take a few days, though.”
“Arkansas,” said Peter. “In three days. Ethan, would you hand me the phone?”
Kieran looked at Peter, surprised, while Ethan turned to the bank of cell phones on the dresser just as one started to chirp. He chuckled softly, picking it up and handing it to Peter. He checked the incoming number, then answered in a language I’d never heard. It was vaguely reminiscent of Latin and Spanish, but definitely not either. The conversation lasted about ten minutes, broken with a few heavy laughs. He closed the call with “Bye, Dad. I love you, too.” He pulled the battery off the phone and dropped both into a satchel near his feet.
“Dad confirmed the tournament starts in three days in Arkansas,” Peter said. “He doesn’t know exactly where, but he’ll try to find out and leave me a note at a drop site we arranged. He also said that Harris is having a few problems with the Marshals. Seems that they don’t take too kindly to losing prisoners, especially in black ops. And somehow, word got out about how, oh how did Dad put it… Pardon me here, Seth, these aren’t my words—‘a snot-nosed whelp of an elf ass-kisser waltzed in and kicked his ass personally and walked out with his prisoners.’ It wouldn’t have been quite so bad for him if he hadn’t spent half the morning bragging about how he’d stolen McClure’s kid right out from under the Summer Princess. Harris is furious about the leak and has been searching high and low for the origin of the rumor. Seems a lot of details of the rumor concerned him and not much about Seth.”
He was grinning so hard I could barely believe he could speak.
“I’m guessing you know where the leak is,” said Kieran, leaning back on the bed, eyebrows raised.
“While that would be a highly likely possibility,” Peter said, the grin still plastered on his face. “I would have to deny knowing anything about such an illegal activity perpetrated against a government agency protected by anti-terrorist acts. Even knowing that said agency was not acting in that capacity, oh my god, I can’t keep this up with a straight face…” He fell back in his chair laughing. “Dad told me the whole spiel he fed to Harris. And he can’t touch us anyway; we’re Canadian and Dad has diplomatic status.” He broke out laughing again.
“You told your dad?” I asked waiting for him to calm down some.
“Well, yeah,” he said, the red waning from his face slowly. “Wouldn’t you?”
I really hadn’t thought about it. “I suppose I would. No reason not to,” I answered. “Gotta find him first.”
“We should go to the fights,” Peter said. “At the very least, your grandfather will be there. MacNamara will be there. Both Courts of Fae will have representatives, probably Princes or Princesses. More than likely, all the councils will have reps there. Pretty much everybody on the list will be there. We should be there.”
“It’ll be night, soon,” said Kieran, softly. “That means we have two and a half days to find it and wrangle four invitations. That’s not going to be simple.”
“Earlier you said we could gain MacNamara’s attention and get in,” I said. “Can’t we do that? Find some way to gain his attention?”
“If we wanted to fight, I suppose we could attempt to break through the entrance,” said Kieran, “but I have no desire to participate, Seth. I have seen enough death in my life without seeking it for pure entertainment.”
“No,” I said. “That wasn’t what I intended, either. Can we sneak in through the back or side, maybe?”
“How do you lift the tent flap on a dimensional rift?” Peter asked, somewhat sarcastically, then he shook his head. He was angry with himself for that comment. It showed in his aura, especially since his was the only one visible in the room. “I’m sorry, Seth, that was uncalled for. It’s just really confusing to see someone who can do what you can, but know so little about the world. Makes me want to find Robert just to box his ears.”
Kieran laughed at that one. “Box his ears?” he said with a grin. “I think we need to call the day done. Peter and I will see to dinner. Then, Seth, you need to rest. Tomorrow, we will have our first defense practice then we will swing through and pick up the pixie and drive to Arkansas to begin our search.”
“Cool, what do we want for dinner?” asked Peter, turning and tapp
ing on his laptop.
“We’ll surprise them,” said Kieran, getting up from the bed and stretching. It reminded me of how big a man he was. I’m glad it was Ethan who carried him to the car and not me. Smiling at me as they left, Kieran said, “Ethan, he’s allowed to read and sleep while we’re gone. Nothing else.”
Ethan looked over at me calmly, still leaning on the dresser. “We’ll get there somehow, Seth. Don’t worry. And we’ll find your parents. Kir du’Ahn will find a way.”
I hope he’s right.
Chapter 12
I was crammed into the back seat of my own car. I hurt all over. Even my hair hurt. And to make matters worse, there was a pixie jumping up and down on my nose shouting, “Wakey, wakey!” in a sing-song, high-pitched voice at the top of his ever-so-tiny lungs.
“I’m awake, Shrank. Quit yelling,” I said, peering bleary-eyed out the side window. We were coming into a small town in I don’t know what state. Kieran and Ethan were alternating driving and they were both ‘skipping’ down the highways at a tremendous rate. We’d gone from just outside of Atlanta to home in less than an hour and a half. We could be in Canada for all I knew.
Peter had fared a little better during our sparring this morning. Kieran and Ethan showed us basic self-defense in a style that neither of us had heard of before. It was similar in many ways to the martial arts I’ve seen on television and in movies, but each form and pose had power in it that the others lacked. Not only mental or physical power, but magical power. It drew and focused magic in the very movement of the body. It is quite elegant. Peter managed better, both physically and magically, from practice in other arts. He had better concentration where it counted and he was used to moving his body in ways I wasn’t. Maybe I’m just clumsy.
“He’s up,” said the pixie as he flew up to the dashboard, narrowly missing Ethan as he turned to the back seat. Ethan was excessively cheerful.