Windmaster's Bane (18 page)

“Well put,” said the blind man, smiling again. “And since I know your name, and thereby have power over you—according to some—I will give you mine in return. When I last walked freely among mortal men I was called Oisin.”

“Oisin,” David said incredulously. It was a name he remembered from
Gods and Fighting Men.
The very sound of it cast shadows in his mind: of the ocean, of endless leagues of dark water sailed by a silver boat under a moon that never waned, while harp music floated softly over the waves; and then of other things: of the Sidhe, and the banshee; and the soft but threatening sheen of cold steel weapons well made.

“It is a name like any other,” Oisin said quietly. “It conjures images like any other. Some day I may tell you what visions shine in
my
inner eye when I hear David Kevin Sullivan spoken aloud—or Suilleabhain, as it was in the tongue of your fathers.”

David realized, then, that the language Oisin spoke was English, though strangely stressed and cadenced. There was none of that remote, heard-under-water quality he recalled from his encounter with the Sidhe. That, he suspected, was their own language rendered intelligible in his mind alone.

Oisin rapped David on the knee with his cane so that David flinched in alarm. “But I did not come here to speak of words and languages, boy. I came to speak of deeds. And particularly of your deeds, once and future.”

“Deeds? I don’t plan any deeds. I just want to go on living a normal life, like I was living before…”

“Like you
thought
you were living, you mean,” Oisin interrupted sharply. “Few men of this age stay up nights reading anything at all, David, much less the sort of things you read. And you have seen things no one in this land has seen—things no one may see and remain unchanged.”

“You seem to know a great deal about me,” David observed suspiciously. “Buy why should I trust you? What difference does it make to you what happens to me?”

Oisin turned his face toward the cold blue sky. “That would be obvious if you knew my story. Indeed, I am surprised you do not know it, but perhaps men have forgotten. At times I forget myself. Certainly most of the Sidhe seem no longer to recall that I was once a mortal man such as you; that blood red as yours once ran in my veins.”

“Your story…?” David ventured uncertainly.

“I came to Tir-Nan-Og once, as a youth. Years I spent here, ageless. And then a craving came on me to return to Ireland. That grace the Sidhe granted me, but as soon as I touched the earth of that land, age fell upon me, and I withered where I stood. I can but recall with bitterness how I crept back here with my youth stricken from me by my own careless folly and by the curse of the Sidhe—how the Faery women would have nothing to do with me because I was no longer a fit lover, and how the Faery men lost interest because I was no fit opponent in their endless duels. I do not want that to happen to you, and it could—easily—in spite of the protection that is now upon you.

“Nothing changes in Faerie, David: The dead do not stay dead; the living scarcely know they are alive. What passion there is, in love and hate, in pain and pleasure, has no fire beneath it. It is only gratification of the moment, for when time does not matter, neither does anything else. The past is gone, yet the present is so like it that there is little to distinguish this year from those a thousand gone. To the Dagda, the Sons of Mil came yesterday; to him the sun will fade tomorrow. There is eternity in a moment, and a moment may span a century.

“Now look at me!” Oisin commanded fiercely. “Imagine your features cast upon mine, and ask yourself if anyone would wish this upon another of his own kind.”

Almost against his will David found himself staring into the blazing gaze of the old man’s blind eyes. The force of the horror and regret he found there chilled him to the core. Finally he blinked, and stared at the ground.

“Now do you see why I feel it my duty to speak to you?” Oisin asked, shifting his position slightly. “But enough of this. I have some things to tell you, and some things to ask you, but first of all I have a warning for you, and that warning is this: Beware the wrath of Ailill. He is a great threat to you and those you love.”

“Tell me something I
don’t
know,” David snorted. “He’s been after me at least once today already…either him or somebody—or something—that works for him. There was this black horse that came after me and some of my friends while we were swimming. If it hadn’t been for all those white animals—they weren’t you, were they?”

“White animals? No, I have not lately worn any shape but my own. Now tell me of these things.” Urgency filled Oisin’s voice.

“Well, first there was a white dog, and then today I saw a white squirrel, and a white trout, and…”

“Those would all be Nuada, I think…or some of his minions. He is of your faction.”

“My faction?
What
faction?” David shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“The Sidhe are of two minds about you, David,” Oisin said. “One side, of whom Ailill is chief, regards you as a threat. They say that when your people made the chariot road that passes near here, and thus it became an easy thing for great numbers of men to come into these mountains, there was then no longer a possibility of peace between the Worlds; that unless the Sidhe make a stand very soon, the day is not far off when only the Deep Waters will remain where the immortals may walk free—and there are no stars in the Deep Waters, and no moon. Ailill and his minions fear you, yet they dare not slay you, if only for fear of the wrath of Nuada and Lugh. But they would be glad to have you safely in Faerie so drunk on Faery wine that you never recall your own lands. This Ailill would have done on Lughnasadh had Nuada not tricked him—and had your answers not been so skillful. Ailill did not like that at all, for he and Nuada have become great enemies, and the rift between them grows wider by the day. Lugh is greatly vexed.”

“Lugh is your king, right?”

Oisin nodded. “The Ard Rhi—for this time and this place. It was not always so, nor will it always be. Nuada was king once; he may be again, and for your sake I hope that day is soon. It is his faction which feels that you may be of service to us as you are: a youth largely untouched by the grosser things of this world.” Again he rapped David on the knee. “This group feels that you may serve us best if you remain free among mortals, maybe in time to become a sort of ambassador between the Sidhe and mortal men, working in secret for their causes.”

“But why would I do that? I’m mortal myself. And what would I do? Go to Atlanta and say to the Governor, ‘I’m David Sullivan, and the Irish fairies have told me to tell you not to build any more roads in the mountains ’cause they were there first’? Shoot! They wouldn’t listen to the Indians; they sure won’t listen to anybody they
can’t
see!”

“The Indians gave us no sorrow,” Oisin said wistfully. “The Nunnihe, they called us.”

“But I’ve only seen a couple of things,” David protested, “and already I’m fidgety all the time. I can’t trust anything to be what it looks like. I don’t mean Ailill any harm, Oisin! I don’t want to hurt
any
of the Sidhe.” David buried his face in his hands.

“And they wish that you—and all men of this land—would leave
them
alone.” Oisin’s response was momentarily sharp; then it faded into gentler tones. “Oh, it is a true thing, lad, that no one may harbor ill will toward what he does not know exists, but the taint of mortal men nevertheless intrudes more and more into Faerie. The days of the Sidhe in the land you call Ireland are nearly finished because of that intrusion. Here in these mountains the taint is less, yet now this land, too, is becoming closed—by things like the iron tracks that once lay where the chariot road now lies. Fifty years they have been gone, yet the shadow remains. The Road is still very weak there, the Walls between the Worlds very thin. For that brief distance the Sidhe must ride almost wholly in your World. And this year those Walls were thinner than ever before, only the faintest veil of glamour. Anyone with even a trace of Power could hear our music and see our lights. And such Power is in you and in your brother as well, though it still sleeps in him. What has awakened it in you, I do not know. But we have more important things to discuss now. You said you thought Ailill had been after you already?”

“If that really was him today—that water-horse thing. And there was a really weird wind, too. Could he have had something to do with that?”

Oisin shrugged. “Neither would surprise me at all; Ailill is very fond of shape-shifting, and is a master of winds and tempests as well, though it seems strange that he would attack you by daylight, for his Power is greatest at night. As I mentioned before, a protection has been laid upon you. I imagine he seeks to learn its nature, and so uses the tools he knows best. But, more importantly, he fears the threat he thinks you embody—and a frightened man is very, very dangerous.”

David drummed his fingers on his leg. “But what about the ring? It’s mixed up in this, I’m sure. Is it the protection you spoke of earlier?”

“Ah.” Oisin smiled. “The ring. I was myself among the host that you encountered, and even as we rode away, I reminded Ailill of the promise he had made to you for a token of the meeting, and how it was an ill thing for him not to see that part of the bargain fulfilled. Oh, he was in a black mood after his double defeats, let me tell you, and he dismissed me with a shrug, saying that if tokens were wanted, someone else would bestow them.

“And then I thought of these many rings I have, each given me by a Faery lover when I was young”—and Oisin spread his fingers so that David could see the intricate metal work, the almost infinitely tiny gems—“each one of which is magic, but one alone, I knew, affords protection against the Sidhe themselves, for it was forged by a druid of the Fir Bolg and once belonged to Eochaid their king. That ring I caused to be put on your finger.”

“But how…”

Oisin smiled simply. “One learns much magic in a thousand years, even those of mortal birth such as I was before I put away the substance of your world. Mortality is both a blessing and curse, David, for though it shortens our lives, it quickens our wits.”

“You say the ring protects me?” David asked cautiously.

“It will protect you and those you love—those you
truly
love—from the Sidhe. While you possess it, the Sidhe are powerless to do you any physical harm. They may not touch you against your will, and their magic will have no power over you. But the ring has its limits. I yet retain some control over it, for instance, such as I used to bring you here, and the Straight Tracks are a greater Power and older; even the Sidhe do not understand all their workings.”

“But how will I know whom it protects?”

“You have only to watch, for you are not without Power yourself. Things have Power because you give them Power, David, do not forget that. Discover that Power! Use it! There are people, for instance, to whom you have given enough of yourself, knowing or unknowing, that part of your Power is in them. Just as there are things like that, and places—Places of Power for you, like this one. There is part of you in that boy over there”—Oisin pointed to where Alec still slept—“or in that red-haired girl.”

“Liz? I don’t love her.”

“Do you not?”

“I don’t think so,” David added in a small voice.

“You may be surprised then some day.”

Suddenly David felt very uncomfortable; he didn’t like the direction this conversation was going.

“Is there anything else I can do…to, you know, play it safe?”

“Iron and ash wood may be of some aid, and the Sidhe may enter no dwelling unasked. Remember that. Nor does time always run in Faerie as it does in the Lands of Men; thus the Sidhe are sometimes slow to act. This may be your strongest defense against them. Also, do not let anyone you care about be alone when you can prevent it, especially at night, for as I said, the ring has limits. And take special care of your brother; he is a prize they would covet. There are few things Ailill would not do to have him in his grasp.”

“What kind of things?” David asked slowly.

Oisin straightened his back and began to rise. “Would that I had time to tell you a tenth part of them. Surely you have heard something of the Sidhe’s less favorable dealing with mortals. Much that has been written is true.”

He extended a hand to help David up. “Now I fear I must leave you. Already I have stayed too long, for I suspect that I am watched, and not only with eyes. Ailill knows I favor you and will do all in his power to prevent our further meetings if he learns of this one. If you find yourself truly in need of me again, it may be that I can come again at your bidding. In that event, come into the forest and break a twig from a maple tree. But do this only if you have no alternative, for it is magic of a kind, and you should have as little to do with magic as possible.” He turned and started toward the waterfall.

“Wait a minute, please, before you go—I want Alec to meet you.”

Oisin shook his head. “That may not be; the boy will recall nothing of this night’s work. He is safer thus.”

“But Oisin, I want him to see you!”

Oisin twisted half around to face David. “Do you also want to see him imperiled? More than he already is? I feel someone’s thought creeping about the walls of my mind even now, so truly I must depart. I will leave you with a warning, one thing that should never be far from your thought if you would deal with the Sidhe:
This land they have claimed for their own, for the eternity of their lives,
and they
will
see that it remains so, even if they must make one last stand against mortal men. That time is not yet, David, but I fear it fast approaches, and when it comes, it may fall upon you to choose with whom you cast your lot. You could be a valuable friend then, or a bitter foe. It is up to you. Farewell, David Sullivan, most blessed of mortals.”