and closed the door.
Chapter III: Weapons Practice
(Sullivan Cove, Georgia—Friday, June 27—noonish)
“So let me get this straight,” JoAnne Sullivan said stiffly. “You really have no idea when you’ll be back?” She was addressing David, but her eyes were averted, fixed firmly on the rocky shingle beach of Langford Lake. Which meant she was having a hard time staving off tears and didn’t want anyone to notice. David hated to see her this way. He wasn’t a father—yet, and maybe never—but he’d seen people he cared about march knowingly into situations from which they had no guarantee they’d return. This was the same. The lapping of the waves against the shore made a counterpoint to her breathing, as though the world echoed her regret.
He reached out to give her a cursory hug, which she returned with surprising vigor. “No idea,” he murmured. “Sorry. Time runs screwy over there. It shouldn’t take long—you might get home and find us sittin’ there—but there’s no way to be sure.” He paused, shifted his weight, looked around at his friends for support that didn’t seem forthcoming. “Plus, if things go like they’re supposed to, we’ll have Lugh in tow, and there’s no tellin’ what he’ll want to do once we spring him—whether he’ll try to retake the palace then, and if so, whether he’ll want us around for that, or whether he’ll hie himself off somewhere to lick his wounds and regroup, or what.” Another, more uneasy pause. “Shoot, there’s even some chance we might have to bring him back here. I hope not, and I’ll try to keep his stay short if that happens—but be prepared.”
JoAnne ruffled Little Billy’s hair. David snared his no-longer-so-little brother—he was a sturdy eleven and change—and embraced him roughly. “Take care of our ma,” he admonished. “Dale’s gonna be there, and Elyyoth, but you’re the man of the house.”
Little Billy stood up straighter, which put him not far off eye level with David. “I’ll fight for you, Dave,” he said solemnly, but his blue eyes were bright with tears. “I’ll fight for whatever I have to.”
“You and me both,” David sighed.
Fionchadd cleared his throat. David grunted a reply and rejoined the group waiting with the Faery youth at the shore. And shivered. Not a week had passed since a similar crew had met here, a quarter mile south of the incipient construction at what he and his friends called B.A. Beach (in memory of a particularly embarrassing fall that had occurred there) to embark on what had proved to be a fruitless mission to enlist the aid of Fionchadd’s Powersmith kin. And here he was again, on the vanguard of a similar mission, though to a far more accessible and familiar place, and he was scared all but shitless. Maybe it was the fact that there was a good chance there’d be fighting, a chance he or someone he knew—his father, even—could be killed. Or perhaps it was simply that Big Billy would be present: his first foray into Faerie.
David didn’t know what he thought about that. His pa was about as earthbound as you could get: narrow-minded, almost a bigot. But he loved his family and his land. And he was proud of his children, David had no doubt. Still, the natural order of things made David defer to him—yet he, David Kevin Sullivan, was effectively in charge of this mission. Would they find themselves contesting control at some crucial juncture? Or defending kin at the expense of a higher goal?
No! He wouldn’t think about that now. He’d think about how pretty this little out-of-the-way cove was, where the mountains pointed into the lake in pine-gloved fingers that made a vee around a quiet backwater where stone shelves sat on the porch of the Enotah National Forest. He’d think about how this was what he was fighting for: the land itself. His land, and his family’s, for nigh onto ten generations.
But it was Calvin’s land, too, for far longer; and for a moment he
Chapter III: Weapons Practice
(Sullivan Cove, Georgia—Friday, June 27—noonish)
“So let me get this straight,” JoAnne Sullivan said stiffly. “You really have no idea when you’ll be back?” She was addressing David, but her eyes were averted, fixed firmly on the rocky shingle beach of Langford Lake. Which meant she was having a hard time staving off tears and didn’t want anyone to notice. David hated to see her this way. He wasn’t a father—yet, and maybe never—but he’d seen people he cared about march knowingly into situations from which they had no guarantee they’d return. This was the same. The lapping of the waves against the shore made a counterpoint to her breathing, as though the world echoed her regret.
He reached out to give her a cursory hug, which she returned with surprising vigor. “No idea,” he murmured. “Sorry. Time runs screwy over there. It shouldn’t take long—you might get home and find us sittin’ there—but there’s no way to be sure.” He paused, shifted his weight, looked around at his friends for support that didn’t seem forthcoming. “Plus, if things go like they’re supposed to, we’ll have Lugh in tow, and there’s no tellin’ what he’ll want to do once we spring him—whether he’ll try to retake the palace then, and if so, whether he’ll want us around for that, or whether he’ll hie himself off somewhere to lick his wounds and regroup, or what.” Another, more uneasy pause. “Shoot, there’s even some chance we might have to bring him back here. I hope not, and I’ll try to keep his stay short if that happens—but be prepared.”
JoAnne ruffled Little Billy’s hair. David snared his no-longer-so-little brother—he was a sturdy eleven and change—and embraced him roughly. “Take care of our ma,” he admonished. “Dale’s gonna be there, and Elyyoth, but you’re the man of the house.”
Little Billy stood up straighter, which put him not far off eye level with David. “I’ll fight for you, Dave,” he said solemnly, but his blue eyes were bright with tears. “I’ll fight for whatever I have to.”
“You and me both,” David sighed.
Fionchadd cleared his throat. David grunted a reply and rejoined the group waiting with the Faery youth at the shore. And shivered. Not a week had passed since a similar crew had met here, a quarter mile south of the incipient construction at what he and his friends called B.A. Beach (in memory of a particularly embarrassing fall that had occurred there) to embark on what had proved to be a fruitless mission to enlist the aid of Fionchadd’s Powersmith kin. And here he was again, on the vanguard of a similar mission, though to a far more accessible and familiar place, and he was scared all but shitless. Maybe it was the fact that there was a good chance there’d be fighting, a chance he or someone he knew—his father, even—could be killed. Or perhaps it was simply that Big Billy would be present: his first foray into Faerie.
David didn’t know what he thought about that. His pa was about as earthbound as you could get: narrow-minded, almost a bigot. But he loved his family and his land. And he was proud of his children, David had no doubt. Still, the natural order of things made David defer to him—yet he, David Kevin Sullivan, was effectively in charge of this mission. Would they find themselves contesting control at some crucial juncture? Or defending kin at the expense of a higher goal?
No! He wouldn’t think about that now. He’d think about how pretty this little out-of-the-way cove was, where the mountains pointed into the lake in pine-gloved fingers that made a vee around a quiet backwater where stone shelves sat on the porch of the Enotah National Forest. He’d think about how this was what he was fighting for: the land itself. His land, and his family’s, for nigh onto ten generations.
But it was Calvin’s land, too, for far longer; and for a moment he
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