As if sensing that appraisal, Calvin jerked back around and once more lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “Well,
he
was certainly a strange bird. Never saw anybody quite like him.”
“Yeah, well, old Finno’s pretty special; that’s for certain.”
“He part Japanese, or something?”
“Or something.”
“Didn’t think he could be full. Hair’s wrong—’course I
have
seen a couple of blond Orientals.”
“Yeah,” David said noncommittally.
Calvin continued to press the subject. “Not from around here is he? Couldn’t place his accent.”
“Nope,” David replied, admitting nothing.
The Indian’s eyes narrowed minutely.
“But you are—a native, I mean.”
“Yep—and proud of it.” David was grateful for any chance to turn the conversation away from the Faery. The last thing he needed was to start a friendship by lying, though something about Calvin’s face told him he’d have to be extra careful. The Indian was
awfully
sharp.
Calvin commenced unlacing his boots. “Maybe I
will
take you up on your offer, at least partly. You don’t mind if I just cool my bunions a little, do you?” He grinned again, displaying a mouthful of very white teeth. David grinned back and slipped back into deeper water as the Indian rolled up his jeans and lowered his feet into the pool. A gasp followed, then a moan of blissful contentment. “Oh,
mama mia
that feels good!”
“Mama mia?”
David echoed. “Where’re you
from,
anyway?”
Calvin’s expression turned serious.
“I was afraid you’d ask that; and if I were true to the better part of myself, I’d say I was from here: the woods.
But unfortunately, I’m from Atlanta—mostly. My dad’s a construction foreman down there. He’s half of the People, but doesn’t like to claim it. Mom was full, though. She died when I was born.”
“Sorry.”
An absent shrug. “Can’t miss what you never had. ’Sides, they were separated by then, anyway. Fortunately Mom’s dad stepped in and made sure I got to spend some time with her folks up at the reservation.”
“You mean Cherokee?” David asked, thinking of the big settlement a couple of hours away to the northwest. He’d been there once or twice, but he hadn’t been impressed. As far as he could tell the place was simply miles of handicrafts from Taiwan and Hong Kong—that, and bored-looking Native Americans wearing more feathers and beads and fringes and leather and paint than the Cherokee (at least) ever would have. Even the traditional drama,
Unto these Hills,
which depicted the Trail of Tears, had failed to move him—though he had to admit that an intermittent threat of thunder hadn’t helped any. “That your tribe?” he finished.
“That’s what you folks call it.”
David scowled. “And what
should
we call it?”
“Well, the right name for the place is Qualla; the proper name for the tribe’s
Ani-Yunwiya.”
“Ani
—” David began. “What was the rest of it?”
“
Ani-Yunwiya.
Means
the people,
or
the principal people.
Cherokee is somebody else’s name for us. Means
people-who-live-in-caves,
more or less.”
“Ani-Yunwiya,”
David repeated. “Is that it?”
“Close enough. Most folks don’t even bother.”
“Names can be important,” David said. “Hey, isn’t there something about you folks having secret ones? That’s what my uncle told me one time. Supposed to be as much a part of you as your hair, and all, right?”
The Indian’s expression became very serious. “Right. I only tell mine to certain special people; people I can trust with my life—because that’s what it is.”
“Yeah.”
“Edahi,”
Calvin said suddenly.
David looked up. “What?”
“Edahi:
my true name.”
“Jesus!” David cried. “I sure wasn’t expecting
that!
I mean, we barely know each other!”
“Surprised me too,” Calvin whispered gravely. “But something told me to do it, and I can usually trust my instincts.”
“And what did they tell you just now?”
“That you’re a guy who’s used to keeping secrets.”
“Well, thanks…Edahi.” He paused. “I…I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me what it means, would you?”
“He-goes-about
.
”
“I see,” David replied, though he didn’t.
“My grandfather gave it to me. He was one of the last of the old-time medicine men. Read my fortune when I was born and saw that I’d always be wandering around lookin’ for something. My middle name’s a pun on it.”
“Yeah?”
“Fargo.”
“Oh.” David chuckled. “I get it! But, hey, thanks again, man, for trusting me.”
An awkward silence fell on their conversation for a moment, but eventually David spoke again. “So, you spend much time up there on the reservation—at Qualla, I mean?”
Calvin nodded. “Spent summers with my grandfather until he died last year.”
“Sorry to hear that,” David said. “So what brings you here, then?”
The grin returned. “Legs’ taxi.”
“All right,
Fargoer,
get serious!”
“The Appalachian Trail.”
Which explains the bodacious backpack,
David thought, flipping an indignant handful of water at his new friend.
Calvin easily dodged the tiny tsunami. “Well, then,
seriously,
David-I-Reckon; I…I guess I’m searchin’ for my roots, or something. I grew up in the white—in
your
world and thought I’d adjusted, but a couple of years ago I found out it just wasn’t enough. ’Course the reservation doesn’t work either, in the long run—all that drinkin’ and show biz and stuff’ll drown your spirit in a second. So anyway, when my grandfather died, it really bummed me out, so I thought I’d hike the old Trail and try to get a handle on myself that way. Find out which world was mine.”
“How long you been at it?”
“’Bout a year.”
“A
year
?”
“Started at the north end, worked south.”
“But what about—”
“School?”
“Yeah, right.”
“Dropped out.”
“But you’re not stupid!” The words were out before David could stop himself.
Calvin grimaced. “Yeah, I’m plenty bright; made good grades, and all—but it’s
your
people’s history I was learning,
your
literature,
your
science—which is fine, if that’s the world you wanta live in. But my grandfather showed me there’s more, and I’ve gotta follow it, learn my
own
history, and lit, and science.”
“And music?”
“Yeah!” Calvin laughed, but then turned serious again. “Uh, look, man, were you bein’ straight about that bath?”
“Absolutely. And laundry, and all. Supper, too, if you want it—’course you’ll have to watch my ma. She’s okay, but we’re planning a big birthday do for my favorite uncle—he’ll be seventy tomorrow—so she’s kinda wired right now. Got a six-year-old brother who’s a real pill, too. He’ll just
love
you. Probably think you’re a Thundercat.”
“And your dad? I don’t want to, like, make you uncomfortable, and all; but—well, a lot of folks up here don’t exactly appreciate my kind.”
David could only shrug. “Well, to be perfectly honest, I’ve never heard him comment on the subject. Probably won’t say anything anyway, ’cept about the farm. Just sulks and grumbles a lot. We’re not much alike.”
“You don’t act much like
any
of the folks around here.”
“I’m not, I guess.”
“Ever read Tolkien?”
“Of
course
,” David replied archly, wondering what had brought that up. “Hasn’t everybody?”
“And
Dune,
and…”
“All I can get my hands on. Ever read
Gods and Fighting Men
?”
“Never even
heard
of it. What’s it about?”
“Never mind,” David told him, suddenly wishing he hadn’t mentioned that particular book, since he was trying to shy away from Faerie these days, not drag other people in—which any protracted discussion might well do, especially if the wrong kind of questions set him flirting with the Ban. “We’ve got enough in common without gettin’ into that.”
Calvin did not reply, but he stared at David so intently that David felt compelled to duck under water.
“Guess I’d best be gettin’ on home, too,” he gasped when he had resurfaced. “My stomach’s startin’ to sing opera.”
“Sounds good—the food, I mean, not your tummy.”
“I hope not.” David laughed, as he headed for shore. Calvin slid his feet out of the pool. “Uh, look, Dave, is there anything I can do around your place to pay for supper and all? I’m pretty handy with farm chores.”
David barred his teeth evilly. “Oh, I’m sure Pa could find
something
to keep you busy. How are you at mucking out stables?”
“Fine,” Calvin said, turning his head discreetly as David climbed out of the pool and commenced toweling himself off with his sweatshirt—to little effect, though it had been lying in the westering sun. “Sure they won’t mind?”
“No,” David told him; then: “Shoot, why don’t you spend the night? That is, if you want to.”
“It’d beat the ground I’ve been sleepin’ on for the last week, that’s for sure.”
“What about before?”
Calvin grinned from ear to ear. “There was this girl up near Silva had a cabin, see; that, and curiosity—and raging hormones…”
“Aha!” David chuckled, tugging on his gym shorts. “I gotcha.” He slipped on his shoes, wadded the sopping shirt into a bundle, and started toward the trail that led out to the logging road. Calvin shouldered his pack and followed, and for a moment they walked single file through the woods. That was a little disturbing, too, for David could almost feel the Indian’s eyes boring into his skull. Once or twice, too, during the hike down the mountain, he caught Calvin slipping him strange sideways glances—though their conversation was the usual sort of banter typical of kindred spirits.
But still, he thought, as he trudged into the kitchen almost an hour later, there was something a little disconcerting about Calvin Fargo McIntosh.
Chapter IV: Speaking of Ships
(Tir-Nan-Og—high summer
—
sunset)
Lugh stared at the red-haired woman lounging on the red silk cushions beside him and tried not to be swayed by her beauty, which held all the fascination—and danger—of a flame. He had found her by the long, shallow pool in the Court of the Summer Stars, and there they remained, drinking pomegranate wine from ruby goblets of the lady’s own making—she had insisted.
White marble was warm beneath them; breezes cool across their faces where the first breaths of evening drifted past the square pillars of the surrounding colonnade and brought with it the scent of cedars from the next courtyard down, where a lone guardswoman waited. Silver inlays set in the pavement showed the constellations, and diamonds large as olives marked the particular stars and sent rainbows sparkling over the pinkening stone as they caught the last rays of the sun. The woman’s eyes, too, sparked brightly, but there was little softness there, for she and Lugh had been speaking of war.
“Truly, Lady Morwyn,” said the King of Tir-Nan-Og, “I have no choice, if I would preserve my realm. Do not forget that I warned you of this already, and still I have given you shelter—sanctuary—call it what you will. All has been as you asked and Dana’s Laws demand. But my land must come first. I may not turn you out, but it is certainly my right to ask you to leave of your own volition.”
The corners of the woman’s lips lifted slightly in an ironic half-smile as she took a sip from her goblet. “Indeed, Lord, I have no desire to foster contention between you and your brother princes. Yet it is as I have said: I have little choice
but
to stay, if what you have told me is true.”
“True it is: the ravens have seen what comes. Finvarra’s ships have already passed onto the Sea Road, no matter that the Tracks are weak this season. He intends, I am certain, to lay siege to Tir-Nan-Og unless I relinquish you.”
An eyebrow lifted delicately. “And will you withstand this siege?”
Lugh’s face was grim. “For a while. I will seal the borders, if need be. Once, already, I have done so.” Morwyn dipped her fingers in the pool and watched the drops trickle through them, a gleam of diamonds in the waning light. “Long has it been since Faerie went to war.”
“And now—forgive me, Lady—over so small a thing as the lives of a pair of half-mad twins.”