“In a moment.”
“Ah.” Oisin laughed softly. “I heard him called a
fiend
before, but I think a truer word for him is
friend
.”
David simply closed his eyes and did not reply. He was tired…so tired. He did not see Nuada and Oisin leave. Almost he slept.
But suddenly water was splashing into his face—only it wasn’t water, because when he licked it from his lips it was sweet, and when he opened his eyes it was a thin stream of red that Fionchadd was squirting from a white leather bag straight toward him.
David blinked, then allowed the Faery to fill his mouth. His aim, of course, was perfect. “Damn, that was good.” He giggled, after Fionchadd had turned the arc toward himself in a flicker of movement that did not waste a drop. “What is it, anyway?”
Fionchadd’s eyes sparkled with humor. “Why Faery wine, of course!”
“Not the kind that dooms you to an eternity there, I hope.” David yawned, letting his lids close again. “If it is, just go ahead and take me. I’m too tired to care.”
“Would that be so bad?” The Faery’s voice was suddenly serious.
“You’ve
heard
my answer to that. I’ve had one chance already, and turned it down.”
“You’ll die, you know, eventually.”
A shrug. “It’s what we’re designed for.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“Me too,” David grunted.
A long pause, then: “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For the pain I cost you when first we met: most particularly for wounding your kinsman. I…I did not know you then, nor any Mortals. My year as a lizard gave me a great deal of time to reflect.”
David opened his eyes but did not turn his head to look at him, nor immediately reply.
Jesus,
he’d almost forgotten that: how Fionchadd had once shot Uncle Dale with an arrow that had caused him to have a stroke, thereby starting the whole chain of events that had brought him to his present pass. And here he was hanging out with the guy like they were best friends or something. He wondered for a moment if Fionchadd had somehow cast a glamour on him to make him forget, but rejected the notion. They’d both grown up a lot in the year since that had happened. And wasn’t forgiveness part of growing up? Fionchadd had been acting in a perfectly acceptable way for his kind and culture at the time; for most Sidhe considered mortals as little more than animals. But the Faery had changed now, he could tell; and wasn’t that change partly David’s own doing? Besides, it was partly through David’s actions that Fionchadd’s father had died, and the Faery had evidently forgiven him for that as well. Could he afford to do any less? Fionchadd had also been acting out of family loyalty, not spite, which was a thing David certainly understood. Lord, what a complicated mess!
“I will understand if you do not wish my further company,” Fionchadd said finally.
David sat up and looked at him. “Oh gee, Finno, I—
Shit!
I mean, so much has changed since then. I guess if I wanted to I could get really pissed, but…well, it’s like you were a different person then. It was a bad thing from my point of view, but your reasons were honorable—to you.”
“I am forgiven then?”
“If I am. Now—I reckon I’d best be movin’. Think I’ll grab a swim down at Lookout Rock and get on home—if I can make it that far without fallin’ over.”
“May I join you?”
David flopped an arm across the Faery’s shoulders. “If you’ll show me the way out of this confounded bogus Stonehenge.”
*
David had never seen a sight as welcome as the pool on Lookout Rock when Fionchadd finally got him there. The journey hadn’t been difficult, really: a jog down the Track, then off by a certain silver-leafed tree, and suddenly they were in the middle of the logging road a mile or so above the turnoff. From there it would normally have been a quick, painless trek to the rocky outcrop whose precipitous overlook gave the place its name.
But he was not normally this tired.
He stood at the water’s edge now, the forest a semicircle behind him, the sheer cliffs diving straight down a hundred feet away to his right to reveal a vista of purpling mountains, and just up ahead, a steep, black slab down which a waterfall slid into a pool perhaps fifteen yards across and four feet deep at the deepest. He stepped closer. A tickle of spray touched his face, and he could smell the odors of wet leaves, pines, and sun-baked rocks.
Lordy Jesus, he was bushed. Idly he wondered how he would explain that fact to his father. Usually when he got back from a run he was mildly winded and a bit flushed. Sweaty. But now he had almost no energy at all except what was trickling into him from the wine Fionchadd had given him, and all that was doing was making him giddy.
“This place has Power,” the Faery noted from beside him.
David giggled wearily. “I always said that, back before I knew.”
“It has Power anyway. Things have Power because you give them Power. And anything that is beautiful has Power.”
In reply, David threw down the sodden sweatshirt he’d been carrying and commenced prying at his sneakers—then hesitated. He swam here often, skinny-dipping with Alec or his other MacTyrie Gang buddies; he wasn’t particularly shy or modest, nor had any reason to be. But suddenly the idea of undressing in front of Fionchadd gave him pause.
His companion, however, had no such inhibitions. Before David knew it, he was out of his tunic, his breeches, the small bit of fabric underneath.
Though he had seen the Faery naked before, David could not resist a surreptitious glimpse at him. Exposed, the differences between the races were clearer: in proportion, in thickness of bone, in smoothness of contours. The Faery’s body was also blemish-free: no moles, no freckles, no scars nor random hair.
Fionchadd caught him peeking and returned the stare more frankly as David finished stripping. David blushed furiously and dove into the water.
A second splash was the Faery.
They swam a lap or two, then David flopped over and floated, moving only enough to keep his head above water, while Fionchadd paddled lazily beside him. David closed his eyes, gave himself over to the magic of the place: the glitter of sunlight, the call of birds, the susurration of falling water that was surely the earth’s first music…
And then music of another kind;
real
music, and fast approaching; harmonica it sounded like. Abruptly he recognized the tune: Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy,” of all things. “Oh, crap, Finno,” he “whispered, “you better hide. Somebody’s coming!”
The merest tremor shook Fionchadd’s body. “It is too late for that; eyes have touched me already—but I will do what I can.”
“I’d appreciate it.” David scrambled toward the bank.
He was not fast enough. A bare instant later a figure emerged from the deep shadows of the forest and passed into the lesser gloom at its edge. David’s breath caught. At first he thought it another of the Sidhe, for something about the way the stranger moved, something about the way he carried himself reminded David of that immortal race. But then the visitor stepped full into the light and David knew he had been mistaken.
It was a boy roughly his own age, though somewhat taller and good bit more muscular. He was dressed in worn blue jeans, purposeful-looking hiking boots, and a red T-shirt emblazoned with a white falcon at dive. An immense blue backpack towered above his head, and thick black hair hung from under a beaded headband to sprawl across his brawny shoulder, setting off the reddish cast of his skin. He looked, in short, a very great deal like an Indian.
The boy started toward the pool then paused, squinted into the long afternoon shadows. His eyes brushed David, who had retreated to the deeper water in the middle, and he started. “Sorry, guys,” he shouted quickly in a Southern accent David could not place more specifically. “Didn’t know anybody was up here!”
David risked a furtive glance at Fionchadd who was hanging back even further, then looked back at the intruder, startled to see the boy’s eyes also dart toward the Faery and linger there—he’d expected Fionchadd to shapeshift or make himself invisible, or something, but evidently his efforts had gone awry. “No problem,” he called back, as he slipped as close to the edge as modesty permitted; fortunately the pool was fairly deep at that corner, so he could stand waist deep and still make himself heard above the sound of rushing water. “I was just coolin’ off a little.”
The stranger crossed the remaining distance and squatted on the edge. A leather thong hung around his neck, and there was a small bulge between his pecs: probably some kind of pouch—which made sense, if David’s suspicions were accurate.
“Just saw the damnedest thing,” the boy allowed. David’s heart flip-flopped, as a thousand disturbing possibilities unfolded. “Oh yeah, like what?”
“White deer. I was just comin’ over the gap and saw one runnin’ through the woods ahead of me. Tried to follow, but it was too fast. Damnedest thing I ever saw.”
David exchanged glances with Fionchadd. “I bet.”
“Yeah, well, it’s gone now.”
“Right.”
The boy nodded toward the pool. “This stuff fit to drink?”
David folded his arms. “Be my guest.”
The visitor slipped off the backpack and scooped a hand into the pool, then cocked a thick black brow. “You didn’t pee in it or anything, did you?” His eyes were brown and penetrating—and, for the moment, full of humor.
David sniggered and was surprised to find himself echoed by Fionchadd. “Not this time.”
“What about your buddy?”
David glanced toward his Faery companion. “Huh? Oh, yeah. Don’t reckon: he’s civilized—housebroken anyway!”
The boy helped himself to a half-dozen efficient scoops, then sat back on his haunches and sighed contentedly. “Nothing like the real thing, straight from the bosom of the earth, thanks be to it. Name’s Calvin, by the way, Calvin McIntosh. And yes, in case you’re curious, I’m an Indian.”
“All right!” David exclaimed, “I thought you might be—uh, what with the headband and the hair and all. Our folks don’t get hair that black.”
“It’s usually best to settle that kinda thing right off,” Calvin noted. “Saves a lot of misunderstandin’.”
“Huh?”
“Some folks aren’t exactly thrilled by Native Americans. I’d rather know how the land lays to start with.”
“Well
I
think it’s just excellent to meet one,” David said. “So you don’t have to worry about me. Oh, and I’m David Sullivan, I reckon.”
“You
reckon
?”
Real smart,
David told himself as he tried very hard not to display his embarrassment. “Sometimes I’m not real sure.”
“Well, David Sullivan I-Reckon,
I
reckon I’m glad to meet you.” Calvin stretched a surprisingly graceful hand across the water. David took it. The grip was firm but relaxed.
“And your friend…?”
the boy added, turning his gaze back to Fionchadd.
“Call me Finn,” the Faery said, gliding forward. “Would you like to join us?”
Calvin squinted again, then blinked, as if he were having trouble with his eyes. “Uh, thanks, but I’ve had enough cold baths the last few weeks to last me a good, long lifetime, even if goin’ to water
is
part of my heritage.” He paused for a thoughtful moment. “But if either of you fellows know where I could get a
hot
one, I’d be mighty grateful. And maybe point me to a laundry? That’d be real good. I’ve been livin’ in these britches so long they can walk by themselves and whistle ‘Dixie.’”
“You can come down to my house,” David volunteered before he had truly thought it through, and could have kicked himself. It was not that he distrusted or disliked the boy. Indeed, given that they’d known each other rather less than five minutes, it was remarkable how comfortable he felt with him already—like an old friend newly returned. But what would his mother say when he came trotting in the back door with a for-real redskin in tow? Especially now, when she had about a ton of cooking to do, not to mention all the other preparations for the party and the impending company. It was too late to call back the invitation, though, now that he’d made it.
“That’d be great.” Calvin grinned, looking vastly relieved. “Not too far I hope. I’m bushed.”
“Tell me about it, man,” David said with a chuckle. “But no, it’s just down at the foot of the mountain. My folks’ve got a farm there.”
Calvin’s eyes shifted once more toward Fionchadd. “Both of you?”
“I live further away,” the Faery offered before David could reply. “And while I speak of that, I had best be going.” He slipped out of the pool and calmly commenced drying himself with his nubby tunic. A moment later he tugged on his baggy trousers and pranced off. David was glad they looked more or less like modern sweatpants. “I will see you again,” the Faery called over his shoulder. “Both of you, perhaps.” He entered the forest, then, and was gone.
When David turned back toward Calvin, he was still staring after Fionchadd. He hoped the Indian hadn’t noticed anything too odd about their late companion. ’Course for that matter, he rather wished he hadn’t noticed him at all, and wondered once more how he had.