6
Give Me Your Hand
“Wait a minute, Banyon.”
Eric turned slowly, unwillingly. I don’t think I’m going to like what’s coming. “Yeah, Beth?”
She pushed her dark, ragged bangs back out from her eyes with a tired gesture. She looked wrung out.
Not surprising.
And preoccupied.
Which doesn’t bode real well, either.
“I want to talk something out with you. Now. Just for a couple of minutes. I have this bad feeling that you’re going to vanish the minute we finish the show.”
Eric warily glanced at Korendil, then sat down on a crate. “What did you want to talk about?”
Beth sighed, giving Korendil a sidelong look. “What do you think?”
They’ve been talking about the elves, and that “Eric the Bard” bullshit. Damn it, Beth, how did you let him sucker you in so fast? I thought you were smarter than that!
“Uh, I don’t know what he’s been telling you, but—”
“You don’t?” Her lips tightened. “Then you’re dumber than I thought, Banyon.”
He bristled. “Oh come on! You don’t really believe this guy, do you, Bethy? I mean, look at him! He has to be an actor. And those ears are fake, I know it—”
Eric reached out his hand towards the tip of one of Kory’s ears, showing through the blond curls.
The fake elf held up his right hand in a graceful, but dangerous gesture of warning. There was a steely glint in his green eyes, a definite challenge, as clear as if he’d spoken aloud.
Touch my ears and you die, white boy.
Eric hesitated, suddenly remembering the pain he’d felt earlier this afternoon as his face met the wall at high speed.
He coughed, and turned his own gesture into a shrug.
Well, maybe I won’t demonstrate how the ears are just a latex special effect . . .
He turned to the only other—marginally—sane person in the room. “Beth—listen to me. You’re not a ten-year-old, or a member of Hobbits Anonymous. You can’t really believe what he’s saying. There’s no such thing as elves. Or magic. Or any of that crap.”
Beth leaned back, crossing her legs and surveying him with a faint smile on her lips. “Really? Then how do you explain what Korendil did to that creep in the hallway? How do you account for three-quarters of the people out there in the audience tonight? Have you taken a good look at some of those outfits? At the way they look?”
So she’s seen them, too. “I don’t know, maybe they all just showed up from a cast party on the Universal lot. It’s a helluva lot more believable than a nightclub full of dancing elves.” Eric shook his head, trying stubbornly to break through Beth’s conviction. “I just don’t believe in Santa Claus, the tooth fairy, or elves. As far as I’m concerned, this guy is playing a practical joke on all of us. I think Maureen paid him to do it; she’s got enough connections. And she’s always been a bit jealous of you. She’d be perfectly happy to get both of us with her prank.”
“I told you he’d be difficult to convince, Lady Beth.” That was from Korendil.
Eric gave him a dirty look.
The elf sighed, ignoring it. “For a Bard, he has a very closed mind.”
That’s it! I’m sick of hearing that word!
“Goddammit, I am not a Bard!”
The actor turned to face him. His voice was very soft, yet it demanded attention. “Then what are you?” he asked simply.
Eric was silent for a moment before speaking. “I don’t know. I’m a musician. A reasonably-talented street musician. Sometimes I’m a composer. I don’t know if I’m any good at it. And besides that?” He shrugged. “Not much else.”
“No.” Korendil shook his head solemnly, but with stubborn conviction. “You are a Bard. You must feel it, the magic that flows when you play your music. Everyone else can.”
Midnight, alone in the grove, playing “Sheebeg Sheemore,” then the music taking over, a melody strange and wild, as the trees bend down to listen—
Korendil continued relentlessly. “You can heal and harm and create with your magic. Glimpse the distant past or—” His voice suddenly took on a tone of desolation.
“—touch the future . . . ”
The bleakness of the last three words threw Eric into the waking nightmare of that moment on the bus—
Los Angeles, grayness everywhere, no life, no joy, only misery like a living thing, dragging everything down, destroying all hope—
He shook off the clinging weariness, shook off the despair. How can he do this? How can he reach into my thoughts and know exactly who I am and what’s happened to me? That’s not possible. Nobody can do that. That’s—magic.
Fear made him clench his jaw; made him try to deny that last thought.
No. This can’t be real.
But—
The rope of fire—the music—
I wasn’t stoned. I saw it, back there in the hallway. I wasn’t stoned on the bus, or this afternoon at the apartment. It was magic. And it was real.
I can’t keep pretending that it’s all fake. There’s too many things that have happened, too much to disbelieve. It’s real, as real as I am.
And if it’s real—
Then so are my nightmares.
Oh shit.
Eric sat down slowly, before his knees went. “Okay,” he said weakly. “You know. I don’t know how you know, but—yeah, I saw the future. At least, I think it was the future, it was horrible.”
Korendil nodded sadly. “You probably saw what would happen if the magic nexus was destroyed. Now do you see why that must not happen? That is what this city will become.”
Eric shuddered, thinking of the desolation on the faces of the people in his vision. “When I saw that—there was a man, watching me from a limo. An older guy, with silver hair, and green eyes like yours—”
Green eyes, reaching inside where no one should see, violation, a hand that fouls all it touches—
“Perenor.” The elf’s voice was a whisper of apprehension threaded with pain.
Eric looked up at Korendil, startled. “What?”
Korendil’s eyes were clouded, his face as still and pale as a death mask. “His name is Perenor. He was one of us, and now is our greatest enemy. Where did you see him? When?”
Perenor. I won’t forget that name.
Eric shivered, remembering the despair, the hopelessness that had almost pushed him over the edge. “I saw him on Van Nuys Boulevard, this afternoon. It was weird. It was like he recognized me, somehow he knew me.”
Knew me, and tried to take me apart at the seams—and he knew every button to push. Every twitch. Whatever else is going on, I wasn’t imagining that—it was real! What that bastard did to me, it was real!
Korendil’s green eyes were troubled with things Eric couldn’t read. “I did not realize that Perenor knew of your existence. Perhaps he felt the magic in the place-of-festival when you awakened me, and decided to seek you out. Perhaps it was an accident—but I cannot believe that. If Perenor knows of you, then you are in great danger, Bard. He will hunt for you, knowing that you are the only one who can stop him.”
The only—hey, wait a second—His horse sense reared and snorted in alarm. “What do you mean, the only one? You’ve got other people who are going to help you, right? I mean, you’re pretty flashy with the magic, mister—”
“—Not compared to Perenor,” the elf said, resignedly. “My power is nothing to his. Believe me, Bard Eric, the little power I have is insignificant beside even your own, untutored as you are. That is why we need you so very much.”
Beth gave him a look.
Like—“Turn him down, and I just may decide never to speak to you again.” Thanks, Beth.
“Even if I do help you,” he said, trying to keep from sounding like he was ready to dive under one of the crates, “you don’t expect me to take on this guy by myself, do you?”
Korendil gazed at him with rising hope and eagerness. “Then you will help us?”
He froze. Oh shit. I just said that, didn’t I? Me and my big mouth.
Well, if I’m going to back out of this one, better do it quick.
He started to open his mouth, started to search for words to extricate himself without Beth disowning him—then stopped again, struck by something he wasn’t certain he understood. A feeling that whatever he chose or said at this moment was incredibly important. And a feeling of conviction.
What if I am a Bard, like this guy says? What if I really do have some kind of power that his people need?
What if I’m the only one that can help them?
If that’s true, and I walk away from this guy, I’ll be doing the worst, lowest thing I’ve ever done in my life.
I can’t live with that.
Eric looked away from those too-bright eyes for a moment. “I—I don’t know,” he replied, haltingly. “I mean, I’m just Eric Banyon. I’m not some great hero out of the legends, here to save your ass. I’m just a busker, a wandering musician . . . God, it’s hard enough for me to stick around one place long enough to finish a run of Faire, let alone fight a Crusade! Aren’t there any other bards around who can help you?”
Korendil shook his head, wearily. “No. Not one. Either they do not believe, or they do not have the power to aid us. And most of the elves are Dreaming, trapped in despair and apathy. Even the great Prince, our leader, is lost to Dreaming. It may be too late to save them, I don’t know. But if you will help me . . . ”
He gazed at Eric now with pleading, and something akin to worship.
Or awe. Great. Now I’ve got an elf who’s convinced that I’m the Second Coming of Christ. In addition to whatever it is that he wants me to do.
This really is too weird for words. Even if I really do believe him, I’m still not certain I can deal with this . . .
“So. What are we going to do?”
Eric and Korendil both glanced up in surprise.
Beth Kentraine stretched, standing up slowly. She looked at them questioningly, hands on her hips. “Well? What are we going to do about this?”
“We?” Eric repeated.
“Yeah, bucko. We. Did you think I wasn’t going to get involved in this? Get real, Banyon.”
She smiled, but her eyes were distant, looking off at someone, something that wasn’t in the Here and Now. “When I was a kid, a friend of mine told me about elves, how they were real. How he’d seen them, talked with them, how there were maybe even a few of them living in California. I believed him, he’d never told me anything else that wasn’t true, no matter how strange it had sounded. I used to dream about them—but I never really thought I’d see one.”
She turned her gaze back to the present; looked from Eric to Korendil and back again. “Now, I have seen them. Now I know they’re real—hell, there’s one sitting right here in front of me—and I hear that they’re in real trouble. What the hell do you expect me to do? Of course I’m going to help.” She grinned. “Just try and stop me, Banyon.”
Before Eric could speak, there was a sharp knock at the door. “Hey, guys, are you in there?” They could hear Bo’s anxious voice through the thin plywood. “We’ve got a crowd waiting out here, and they’re getting tired of the canned stuff. Are you going to start up soon?”
“Just a sec, Bo!” Beth called to him. She turned back to Eric and the elf. “We’ll talk more after the gig, right?”
“Right,” Korendil said, glancing at Eric.
Yeah, right. Terrific. Now Beth’s involved in this lunacy, too. I don’t know if this is going to be dangerous or not—I don’t want her to get hurt—
He followed her out the door, heading for the stage, thinking furiously.
I’ve got no idea what this is all going to cost. Or even what or who we’re going to have to face—like that Perenor guy. He really did mess with my mind; a little more and I would have been playing tag on the Ventura Freeway. What could he do to Bethy?
This could be worse than dangerous. I don’t want to think of him doing something like that to her.
But as she took her place in front of her mike, he looked at the straight line of her back, and sighed with resignation.
I know her. There is nobody in the world that can out-stubborn Beth Kentraine. Once she’s made up her mind, she won’t budge. There’s no way I’ll be able to convince her to stay out of this.
Terrific. Three of us committed to this idiocy: me, an elf, and a rock singer. Against God knows what. Shit. We should be committed.
Maybe we should get some cards made up: The Unholy Trinity. Weddings, Bar Mitzvahs and Parties. Worlds saved, only a modest additional fee—
* * *
The Porsche banked sharply around the curve, barely touching the dividing yellow line, then swerved back for the next turn. A professional race-car driver might have taken that curve at a tighter angle, but no one else.
The engine purred as the driver downshifted for the canyon hills that rose stark and shadowed above the accelerating car. The lights of the city reflected off the glistening black paint, glittering against the windshield’s glass, brighter than the stars in the night sky above Mulholland Drive.
Another turn, at a speed that most would consider reckless. A policeman would have called it illegal. But for the driver, it was only skill, reaching for the edge. Perfectly controlled. Flawless.
A test of excellence.
Ria Llewellyn clenched black-gloved hands on the steering wheel, ignoring the strands of blonde hair flying haphazardly in the wind from the Porsche’s half-open window, concentrating on the road, and driving at the limits of her abilities.
Damn him!
The Porsche banked around another tight curve. For a moment, the sports car skidded towards the edge of the canyon, the steep stone wall blurring past, only inches away from the Porsche. Then Ria tightened her grip on the steering wheel, expertly bringing the car back to the center of the twisting canyon road.
Right in the middle of the goddamn board meeting. “Ria, I need to see you. The Japanese restaurant in Studio City, one hour.”
And when I ask him what in the hell is so important I need to leave a critical strategy session at ten o’clock at night, all he says is “Korendil has escaped . . . ”
She sighed, brushing long blonde hair back from her face with a gesture of annoyance. As if one person—even a warrior of the Old Blood—could make a difference in this. I told him we’ve secured the land, it’s already signed for, nothing and no one is going to stop it now. Definitely not a fool who’s spent the last ten years asleep under an oak tree . . .
Like the rest of those fools. Unable to see the real world around them. Living in Dreaming—hell, living in shopping malls! “When everything they could possibly desire is so close, within their reach—
Like Mother, in that commune somewhere—Mendocino? Marin? I don’t remember. Not that it matters, I never see her anyway. How could she give up everything that Father could offer her—for that? What a sham she is, to preach about caring, then walk out on us before I was even in kindergarten. And what did she get? Tie-dyed T-shirts, drugs and “love.” “Love,” what a joke, what hypocrisy.
It’s all escapism, hiding from reality. That’s all these fools are doing. Like Mother.
Except now, it’s too late for that. They’re going to lose everything. Even if Korendil is free, it’s too late for him to do anything.
A wailing siren interrupted Ria’s thoughts. She glanced into the rearview mirror, and saw the flashing red-blue lights of the police motorcycle, close behind her.
A motorcycle cop, on Mulholland at night? Unusual. A bit of bad luck that he spotted me. But it doesn’t really matter; it’ll take only a moment to be corrected—
She pulled over to the side of the road, waiting for the helmeted policeman to dismount from the white police-model Kawasaki. His boots made sharp crunching noises on the rough gravel as he walked towards the black Porsche.
“Good evening, officer.” Ria smiled at him through the open window.
How pleasant. A handsome motorcycle cop. That curly brown hair would be quite attractive if he let it grow out a little longer and got rid of that mustache. Why do all the policemen in L.A. have mustaches?
“Your driving license and car registration, ma’am. I’m writing you up for reckless and exhibitionist driving—”
“Here’s my license.” She reached down to the black purse on the seat beside her, removed the license from her wallet and handed it to him.
“This says your name is”—he glanced up at her over the edge of the laminated piece of paper—“Arianrhod Llewellyn? Is that correct?”
She smiled, gazing into his eyes. “Absolutely correct.”
Brown eyes, ordinary, very human. But reach beyond, brushing past surprise and disbelief, and you can touch, and take control, and change—
Brief struggles, like a small bird fluttering in my hand, trying to escape. They always try to escape, never realizing that it’s already over . . .
The cop stared at her blankly, unable to look away, Ria’s driving license trembling slightly in his hands. His right hand edged towards the .38 holstered at his hip.
No. You are mine, now. Be still.
Ria surveyed the man standing beside her, motionless. Unfortunately, I do not have time for you tonight, even if you are a handsome, obviously virile man. But, if I ever see you again—
She released him, breaking the spell. The officer shook his head slowly, dazed. “I—I, uh, I’m just going to give you a warning miss. Please drive more carefully.”
“Thank you officer.” Ria smiled to herself as the cop walked unsteadily towards his parked motorcycle.
Remember me. Dream that one day I will call you.
A pity that Father needs to speak with me tonight. That man could have proved to be an interesting . . . diversion.
She waited until the cop had left, then started the Porsche, driving through the shadowed canyon. At Laurel Canyon, she turned left, and a moment later the lights of the Valley were visible before her, scintillating jewels against the darkness.
Beautiful, but I would rather be back in Century City, finishing up the contract for the meeting tomorrow—
Dammit, Father, why tonight?
Ten minutes later, she parked the Porsche in front of the entrance to the restaurant. The valet opened the door for her. His eyes brightened when he saw the folded bill she handed him with the keys. “Make sure nobody scratches the paint.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His eyes followed her, hungrily, as she strode to the restaurant door. She smiled to herself and gave her hips a little extra twitch, just for his benefit. She could feel the heat of his eyes on her as she reached for the lacquered black door handle.
Dream on, little man. Only—this dream costs more than you’d ever want to pay.
She stepped inside, glancing around the entrance. A distinguished older man rose from his seat near the koi pond, and moved gracefully towards her.
“Good evening, dear,” the silver-haired man said, and she leaned close so he could kiss her cheek. “You’re looking especially lovely tonight.”
She offered him a hint of icy smile. Enough so that he could read her annoyance—not enough so that he could read how very annoyed she was.
He took her arm to lead her towards the back of the restaurant. “Kyoshi’s holding a table for us. Have you had any dinner yet?”
“Not really.”
Damn him, he really wants something from me, I can tell. Of course, he’ll never just come out and say it. We’ll have to go through this whole dinner routine first. “Some sushi, maybe. And hot sake would be wonderful. It’s been a rough day.”
“You’ll have to tell me about it.” He maneuvered them to the table, isolated behind a colorful paper screen and a small stand of potted bamboo.
“Sake, Kyoshi,” he instructed the waiter standing patiently beside the table, “and a tray of sushi to start with.”
Ria sat back in the chair as the waiter hurried away, and surveyed her father thoughtfully. Was it her imagination, or were there faint lines at the edges of his eyes? Probably not—he was never less than perfect.
As always, his silver hair was immaculately barbered, carefully masking the tips of his long, slightly-pointed ears. But nothing could disguise his eyes, the cold emerald-green, slitted black pupils.
At least my eyes are human. I suppose I should thank Mother for that.
A twinge of something, not quite concern, touched her briefly. He looks tired. This Korendil affair must be worrying him more than I thought. Unless it’s something else that he wants—
I suppose I might as well start the game myself.
“As much as I enjoy seeing you, Father, I must admit that tonight isn’t the best night for this. Did I tell you that we’re about to sign the investment deal? Twelve million in paper, tomorrow at noon. My execs are still at the office, hammering out the details. And I’m sure they’re wondering just what was so important that their boss had to disappear immediately.”
To see her father—
His green eyes glinted with hidden amusement. “I’m sure they have faith in you, my dear. They probably just think you’re closing another deal, right now.”
“Am I?”
Her father smiled. “Perhaps.”
You bastard. Games within games, even with your own daughter.
I know what he sees. His beautiful little girl. A corporate executive. Half of the Old Blood, half human. Not quite his equal in power, but damn close. Someone he can manipulate and control, and use in his games.
But you taught me not to trust others, Father. To believe only in myself and what I can do, and never let anyone past my guard. So of course as I grew older, I realized that included you as well. You never put that variable in your equation, did you?
Now you think you can snap your fingers and I’ll come running to help you—
It’ll snow in hell first.
The sushi arrived, with two small ceramic containers of hot rice wine. Ria and her father were silent as the wine was poured, a brief respite in the verbal fencing match. Parry, riposte. Feint and feint again.
Ria sipped the steaming-hot wine, then dipped a piece of octopus sushi in the small bowl of soy sauce beside her, savoring the unusual texture.
And waited for her father to make the next move.
Which of course, he isn’t going to do.
Perenor sampled another piece of sushi, then mixed more green wasanabe horseradish into his soy dipping bowl. “Try the crab, my dear, it’s really quite excellent tonight.”
He’s trying to bait me. And, damn him, he’s succeeding. I don’t want to spend all night sitting here, making polite conversation, trying to figure out what he wants from me. Not when I’ve got twelve mil in paperwork sitting back at the office.
She heaved an obvious sigh, and gave her head a little shake. “All right, Father. Why are you so concerned about Korendil? What does it matter if he’s free? He’s just one person, and he isn’t going to awaken the Dreamers, or desert them to rouse the High Court; he can’t do anything against us. He isn’t even one-tenth of the mage that you are.”
The silver-haired man was silent for a long moment. There was an indefinable expression in his emerald-ice eyes. “Ria, what would you say if I told you that there was a Bard in Los Angeles? A true Bard, with all the abilities of the ancient Bards?”
“I’d say that you’ve been drinking too much sake,” Ria said flatly. “There are no more true Bards. Taliesen was the last one, and he died a thousand years ago.” She pondered that a moment. “Well, perhaps O’Carolan. But he was a drunkard, and he never used his magic.”
Her father picked up another piece of sushi, a pale-orange fantailed shrimp, and gazed at it thoughtfully. “You shouldn’t discount what I say so quickly, Arianrhod.”
Ria stared in silence at her father.
It’s true, then.
A Bard, in Los Angeles. A true Bard.
But that’s impossible—
“All right, you’ve found a Bard.” She shrugged. “And Korendil is free. That still doesn’t add up to any danger that I can see.”
“You still don’t understand, do you?” Perenor said tersely. “Korendil is the one who found this Bard, somehow—or the Bard found him. This one has great potential—too great.
I saw that when I encountered him, recognized his power, and touched the boy’s mind. I’ve taken steps to neutralize him, but I want to be rid of Korendil before he brings any other players into this game. And for that, I need your help.”
Ria almost laughed aloud. Why, father mine, you’re not feeling inadequate now, are you? A little hit of self-doubt, here? Is that why you needed my help so many years ago, to trap Korendil in that grove?
You are getting older, even for one of the Old Blood—you wouldn’t happen to be getting weaker, as well? You power fading, even as mine grows in strength? Now, that would be an amusing thought—
“I imagine I could help you with this, Father,” she purred. “Of course, I would like to know what’s in this for me . . . ”
Perenor’s fist slammed down on the table, rattling the sake bottles. The young couple at the table across from them glanced up at them in surprise, then carefully looked away.
He leaned forward, speaking in a low whisper. “Don’t play games with me; and don’t forget, daughter, exactly what is at stake here. This is our chance to finally rid ourselves of any who might thwart us. To avenge ourselves on those who cast me out, who refused to acknowledge you. And to gain such power, power as you’ve never dreamed of it—”
“I have power,” Ria said, cutting through his words. “Power in the humans’ world, true, but it’s good enough for me. I have my business, and money, and control in this city. Why should I help you? What does it matter to me what happens to any of the Old Blood? They’re fading now, they’re no threat to anyone, least of all to me. I see no reason to exert myself, to involve myself, just because you want to amuse yourself with another game.”
He leaned back a little, his eyes glittering, and toyed with another piece of sushi. “Even if, with a little ‘exertion,’ you could win immortality?”
Breath failed her momentarily. “What are you talking about?”
Perenor shrugged. “I thought you knew. You . . . inherited . . . certain gifts from me, Ria, but you are half-human, after all. Eventually, you’ll grow old and die.”
An unpleasant smile passed briefly across his lips.
“I’m sure,” he continued, “that I’ll still be alive to see it. That, of course, is one of the reasons I suggested that we purchase the Elizabethan Faire land. I was thinking primarily of you, my dear, though, of course, I will gain a few benefits from this as well. Once we have control of the nexus, you’ll never have to worry about this again. The power itself will hold time at bay and keep you young.”
He reached out, touching a strand of her pale blonde hair with mocking tenderness. “You’re so lovely, such a remarkable child. I truly would hate to see you grow old, see your beauty wither away.”
She tasted the bitterness of being outmaneuvered. I’m sure you would, Father. I know I’d feel just the same way, if you were the one who was aging and dying.
Very well; for now, our goals are the same. But, when this is over . . .
She laughed lightly. “Father, of course I’ll help you. I, I just thought this was part of your fight against the Old Blood, and that was why you wanted control of the magic nexus. To avenge what they did to you, so many years ago. I never dreamed it was more than that . . . ”
Perenor leaned back in his chair, a faint and satisfied half-smile flickering across his handsome features. “Well, now you know.” He glanced at his watch. “There’s time enough to deal with this tonight. I know where Korendil is—this shouldn’t take very long.”
The silver-haired man tossed several bills onto the table, then stood, extending his arm to his daughter. “Shall we?”
“Of course.”
But I won’t forget this evening. And, once we control the nexus—
—we’ll talk again of power and promises, Father.