WandWChapter28

The days following Smitty's little visit to our tent went by in a blur to me, I was that busy. And yet at the same time, events seemed to pass so damned slowly I was biting my nails in frustration even as I ran around like a madman. I was stressed, harassed, overworked, bored shitless at times yet always horny as sin.

Me and Carson smiled in passing, gave each other steamy looks. Smitty had mentioned we would get no honeymoon thanks to the threat of war, and boy she wasn't wrong, the bitch. Honeymoon, hell; we had almost no time for regular sex let alone any specialty stuff!

Carson had his council meetings with the other tribes, battle strategies to plot, meetings with Smitty to go over more esoteric shit. Meetings here, there, my poor boy was as up to his ass in meetings and it was obvious he didn't like it. And this time, boss or no boss he couldn't just hand the reins over to Do'nar and bail. He was this big old icon. He was the Once and Future King, the only person that all the various tribes would firmly unite behind. If he wasn't involved in each and every discussion group, many of these juvenile badasses woulda just picked up their toys and gone home. Carson was, in a word, pretty much royally screwed.

I slept during the day since my magic work was more powerful after sundown for some reason. Carse spent the day in said meetings. He fell into bed just as I was getting up, maybe three hours after dark. And even if I'd been unreliable enough to blow off my own responsibilities for the pleasure of his company (and I damn sure was, no problem there!) it woulda done me no good. Carson was beat to shit from the effort of being sociable and diplomatic---and if you don't think that's work, you've never had to glad-hand people for a reason unconnected with partying. Not to mention that my lover's personality had a few rough edges that were hard to squeeze into either box. Diplomatic? Sociable? Carson?

No wonder he was tired and irritable; it was probably the hardest, most disagreeable work he'd done since coming to Khesh. He'd much prefer to just jump on his war-beast and hurl himself into battle rather than deal with planning bullshit. And if he was outnumbered a hundred to one it would still be better than hobnobbing with all these squabbling visitors! At least he had the option of killing his enemies. His allies, well, all I can say is they were probably lucky my boy had a grip of iron on his impulses. Except sometimes, of course, when his impulses were directed to me.

And why wasn't I at his side helping him out with my own formidable political skills, you ask? Well, I had meetings too, gawd help me. With Smitty and Jalin mostly, also for war talk though on a different level. We were figuring out the various ways magic and the gods could be used to our advantage.

We were kind of the missile crew, the stealth fighters. I mentioned that to Smitty and she fell down laughing, then agreed. I was pretty glad she was there. In the midst of all these swordfighters, I needed someone who knew a bit about Earth. Maybe she did, too; I'd like to think so.

Because it all made me feel pretty damn weird, being this close to a real-life war. On Earth, in California, I'd avoided the whole war question through sheer luck. War in the USA, though talked to death, just wasn't an in-your-face thing for people who weren't in active military. I wasn't born early enough to go to Vietnam, and if I had been you would have seen my ass in Canada the second the draft hit town.

I mean, I'm no peacenik, though I tend to dress as one. And I don't consider myself a coward either. But I don't agree with governments sticking their noses in other people's business. If our own country had been attacked, then hell yes I'd of fought and like a bastard too. Because, you see, that would've constituted some outside government sticking its nose into OUR business. And that's one thing I've always had a problem with, people I don't know and don't care to even get acquainted with trying to push me the hell around. Or hurt my friends.

Here and now, our country was gonna be attacked. That we knew about it in advance was because of magic, our ace up the sleeve. And you better believe I would be one fired-up soldier for this cause. I was defending my home, my friends----the right to love Carson.

I was defending everything that had ever meant a damn to me. Including the right to be left the hell alone, which was not the least of my concerns. In this world, only the Southerners were crass enough to want to manage everyone else's lives from the ground up. Part of why I had no trouble fighting with them.

Smitty had explained the other parts, who and what the Southerners actually were. Carson had added some explanation; between the two of them, it was enough to piss me right the hell off.

Our current crop of Southerners were the descendants of people who had Gated in from their own dying world, killing off the original, rather mellow Southland folk thousands of years ago. They had built up an Empire outta sheer arrogance, wiped out the elves for the same reason. They had a thriving slave trade, mainly composed of kids they garnered from conquered towns and villages, and these were not pampered sex toys but badly abused children----something I've never been prone to tolerate. They'd deserved to have their asses kicked by us Northerners hundreds of years ago, and damn if I wasn't ready to do it again, in spades.

"Each of the Four Quarters used to have a Lord, my beloved," Carson had explained softly, after Smitty had left our tent that day. "North and South, East and West, there was a Keeper of the Land for each point of the compass. For each part of the Land is very different from the other, as you know. But the South---it lost its true people long ago; it is a dead place now though full of so-called humans, but gutted of magic and its Keeper. The Eastern lands rebel against the dark powers some fools invoke there, and its last living Lord was killed by treachery before imparting that Land's secrets. The West----well, the elves are perished or departed, now."

I'd looked at him, feeling more than unhappy. "Don't tell me---let me fucking guess. That means I'm it in the Lord of the Land department. It's all on me, right?"

He'd made no reply to that. Only pulled me into his arms for a brief moment. Then he pulled back, studied me gravely. And proceeded to stun me as he softly quoted something I'd taught him many years ago.

"Matthew Arnold," I said when I could. "Christ. You actually listened to the English lit lessons, I guess. Although I, I think that was a poem about religion. And you hated it at the time."

"You are wrong, teacher," he almost whispered. "I just was too young to understand these things, or to ever believe that love would touch me. And to me it is a poem about life, but also about belief. Not always the same thing as religion. Shall I show you, what I believe in?"

He'd already dropped to his knees, rubbed his face gently against my crotch. He looked positively amazing, this huge powerful creature, kneeling before me like that. I swallowed as a part of me reacted very damn predictably to the sight and feel of him.

"Okay. So what do you believe in?" Even with such a feast in front of my eyes, even with my dick suddenly filling and throbbing, I had to ask now didn't I? Just call me Curiosity Boy.

I reached for his head, slipped my fingers into his hair to pull him closer against me. Damn if he hadn't managed to take my mind right off every war in town. Damn if I didn't want to cry, suddenly. "I'll drink to that," I told him softly. As unsappy a reply as I could come up with at the moment.

Well. He definitely got the last word in that case. But I sure wasn't complaining about it at all. Especially considering that we weren't gonna get a goddamn honeymoon.

I was so gung-ho to get this war over and done with I was even training with Do'nar now, upgrading my rusty fighting skills. Okay, I was a killer wizard, but there is just something much more satisfying about being able to pound your enemy's head physically. Just call me an NRA member. And yeh, I did think fleetingly about portalling in guns, but sternly decided that would be unfair. Not to mention that someone like, say---Do'nar? would probably shoot his own balls off before hitting anything else he aimed at. So I was training with him for real, barbarian level, no cheating involved.

I don't really know why, not like I didn't suddenly have all kinds of shit to do. Maybe a whisper of pre-knowledge hit me, that I might need to know how to fight for my life in a different way? I knew damn well it was never a good idea to put all your trust in any one talent. I was arrogant about my magic skills, had reason to be. But I didn't wanna be relying on any one thing however good I was at it.

I remembered popping wheelies to impress the ladies just before a desert motorcross event. Stupid wheelies, a kid's trick compared to the gruelling 70 mile race I was headed for. Well, I missed that race. I hit a stupid rock outta nowhere while showing off and flipped completely over into a cactus patch. Concerned motorcycle groupies were still picking spines outta my back when the race started. By the time it ended, I was face down in a hospital bed screaming into my pillow. Having the remaining thorns yanked from my ass by a much homelier and much less sympathetic nurse.

Point is, you don't take it for granted that just because you're really, really good at something you'll automatically win. The damndest things can come along and screw you over and if you get too full of yourself you can pretty well count on it happening. Every damn time. Trust me.

Besides, Jalin had suggested it. That I train with Do'nar, I mean. Jalin had suggested a great many things actually. I was proud of the kid, though a little sad that he seemed to have grown up overnight. I supposed war and shit does that to people. He always seemed depressed now, and a little distant.

But I actually accomplished the big-ass magic of pulling a motorcycle in from Earth---a hair-raising thing in and of itself, mostly because of Jalin's help. In fact I accomplished hella more than that! And I didn't get as sick as I thought I would from that magic-working. About twelve hours of something like mild flu, and I was ready to ride that baby.

The kid had smarts, but he also had a kind of weird intuition. He studied my portal maps and with a slight frown made readjustments to them. I held back my curiosity. There was no time for the Wizard Club trading of recipes here. And it was also very likely he didn't understand himself how he knew what was wrong. Even for a mental wizard, there were some things you just knew in your bones. They weren't big changes anyway; more like when you plan a trip with only basic information, and then someone more familiar to the area points out roads that will take you there quicker and safer than the Rand-McNally choices.

But on one point he helped tremendously. He questioned me in almost annoying detail about the backlash and sickness I experienced after portalling things from Earth. And I sensed uneasily that if he thought I would be too hurt by this magic I planned, he would flat-out refuse to help me. If I tried to lie about it, the results would be even worse, cause he'd know it and lose all respect for me too. And no pressure that I myself, Carson or the entire world of Khesh could bring to bear would sway his decision. He was that stubborn a boy, my Jalin.

So I leveled with him about everything to do with my previous portal-spells. Like how I could only snatch stuff from places I had actually visited while on Earth. How food items for some reason weren't possible---I may have gone on a bit too long and bitterly about the time I unsuccessfully tried to lift oh, about twenty pounds of Moka Java beans from my old coffee hangout. He actually grinned at all my cussing as I tried to explain how my spell was perfectly executed but seemed to slip off the stupid sack of beans as if it was greased. But even though I couldn't snag the swag, damn if I still didn't come out sick as a dog!

"Hawk----I think part of it----you admit you can't create something out of nothing. So when you take from your Earth, you admit you are stealing."

"What!" Well. In a way, I guessed it was true. I had to go to a spot I knew, grab stuff I recognized. But because I usually went for new things, it did mean shops---someone elses' stuff---technically. I thought of the pile of jeans and tee-shirts I'd lifted from the Gap in San Francisco. Oh, dear. Was that why I got sick? "But what about the photos? Those were mine, dammit!"

"Law of Three?" I felt an uneasy sense of familiarity. Oh, yeh. That nifty law about karma hitting you back three times as hard if your magical attack was unjust.

He cocked his head. He was still in my teeshirt; he'd offered it back to me with a muffled apology, I'd said "Keep it! Looks better on you than it ever did on me!" His smile of thanks had been too ghostlike to please me. And he was too thin, my brave blond boy. But at least he'd started talking to me again, smiling just a little as he did so.

He hadn't shared why he had looked at me with such desperate eyes in the council meeting. And when I tried to pump Smitty----his shaman teacher, who should know these things----I'd gotten a stern look. A soft-voiced "Leave it, McIntyre!" that had somehow convinced me I didn't wanna dig too much. I'd just consult my goddamn magic 8-ball on this one.

As I suspected, it said "Reply hazy, try again." Said it twenty times in a row before I gave up. Fucking 8-ball. Smitty's twin, swear to God. Just a hair more polite.

Jalin studied me, with his cool grey eyes. His whole attitude bordered on tense, too old for his actual age. We were kinda sprawled in my offshoot tent---I'd pretty much turned the place into an office. There were books everywhere, you could barely see the floor for all the scrolls and such. But Carson had gifted me with a humongous desk-like table to work on, and the bed was still visible though definitely unmade. It reminded me of my messy Berkeley digs so much I could have cried.

"We call it the---the Hammer of the Gods. The Hammer judges all actions, both great and small. If you are not wronged, and steal---well, it is yourself the Hammer falls upon. In large or, or small degree. Even if the theft does not succeed, a price will be paid."

Jalin nodded mutely. I cursed, not so mutely. "I wish I could say it didn't make sense. Well---I apologize and all that crap, for the guitar and the clothes. I had no idea. I don't suppose there's a back door to all----hmm. Whoa." I was thinking so hard now I do believe my ears stood up.

"Computer thought; forget it. If someone wronged you first," I pondered slowly out loud. "If they really put the screws into you say at an earlier date---and to even it out you stole from them---how would this Hammer react then? If you were justified?"

"They owed you weregild for past injuries, and had refused to pay?" My boy was quick. I wrapped my arms around my knees, smiled at him winningly.

"Then, Hawk----I think the Hammer would balance your wrongs and extract from those who had hurt you, without injury to yourself. But you would need to let the gods be judge of the weregild due you, I think."

I smiled dreamily, reached into my past and found an answer I really liked. "Oh----I don't think that'll be a problem. Tyr likes me anyway---I think he might see my point, on this one----"

Al Morans (Big Al, as he liked to be called) found himself musing on the past for some reason as he drove into work that bright spring day. In specific, on one sucker he had conned in the '80's sometime. A young guy in his twenties, nowhere near Al's impressive size. But good God, had he been a nasty one when he came roaring back to the shop! Every red hair on his head seemed to be standing on end.

"What kind of tune-up did you give me, you worthless muthafucker!" the kid had yelled three feet inside the door. Big Al had been annoyed; there was a customer in-house he was trying to convince to buy an expensive engine he really didn't need. The kid's dramatic entrance had knocked the completion of that sale back a good twenty yards.

"I don't get cha," he responded, trying to place this frothing character. Oh, yeah. The Berkeley student from last week. Al got a lot of students, looking for a deal because of a slim income. Well, what did they except for nearly nothing, perfection? He had other things to do besides charity work.

"You charged me two hundred fifty for that crap!" The guy bulled past Al's now very nervous engine mark, practically shoving his face in the big guy's neck since he was so much shorter. But that fact didn't seem to intimidate this annoying imbecile. Al was disgusted. Big as he was, a lot of his muscle had gone to fat over the years and he really disliked getting physical. It revealed some weaknesses he preferred to keep hidden.

"What's your point?" he said flatly, hoping to intimidate this annoyance. A cold, indifferent attitude generally took the wind right out of an irate customer's sails.

"My point is the goddamn bike caught fire right under my butt yesterday on the freeway and it was the fault of your lousy electrical work!" the guy all but screamed. "My bike is toast; my ASS was nearly toast! If some guys with a fire extinguisher hadn't stopped I'd be DEAD because of you!"

Al was unimpressed. It probably was a buncha bullshit, anyway. But the hasty, skulking retreat of his engine customer out the door annoyed him enough to where he uttered the show-stopping question; the one that always shut bastards like this right the hell up.

To his considerable amazement, this moustache-heavy creep grinned sharply, pulled out a beat-up wallet, and after a few seconds of muttered searching tugged out a slightly grubby slip, which he handed over triumphantly.

Al silently perused the receipt---a legitimate one, irritatingly enough----until he found the words he was looking for. He handed the slip of paper back and urged this hippie punk to read those words for himself.

He actually looked as if going for Al's throat was on his mind, maybe with his teeth. Al was concerned enough to step back and grab the phone, brandishing it like a weapon. "Get outta here, punk, or I'll call the cops! You got no right to be cussing me out; that receipt is clear as hell, the work was fine. You probably juiced the bike up afterward and messed things up yourself. I know your type."

The kid halted in his rush, stared at Al for a long silent moment that somehow was more unnerving than all his shouting. "I know your type, too," he said in a soft and deadly tone, then thankfully turned and left without another word.

Big Al was a pragmatic guy, but there was something about this little punk that creeped him out. So he watched his back for weeks, months. Then forgot all about it----until today.

He frowned as he pulled into his parking spot and dug for the keys of the Kawasaki dealership. There was no reason in hell he should have remembered that pain-in-the-ass out of nowhere. Hell, there'd been dozens like him over the years, though maybe not with quite his intensity.

I came back very slowly, somewhat groggily, from my trip. Portalling stuff with Jalin's help was nothing like the pain-staking, nerve-wrecking exercise it was on my own. And since the gods of Khesh were involved this time, all I really had to do was pick the spot, go through the portal Jalin held open, and sling my memories around in a flurry of magic, requesting humbly that my claim of wrong be judged.

So I awoke from what was essentially a trance of magic, blinking up into Jalin's tight face from the golden velvets of my messy bed. His expression seemed less than happy. And damn if I didn't hear some startled shouting from outside. What the fuck had gone wrong now?

"Didn't it work?" I asked nervously. "Achoo! Goddammit, I could swear I was doing the humbly-beseeching thing for hours! Something had to of happened!"

Unexpectedly Jalin burst into soft giggles as I managed to lever myself up to a sitting position. I felt a little crappy, like I was coming down with something. But nowhere near as awful as usual after doing a portal spell. Christ, it couldn't have fizzled could it? "Fuck, Jalin, don't tell me it didn't"

"Oh, it worked. In a manner of speaking." He reached out a hand to grip mine. "Though your Warchief and some other warriors who were knocked off their feet might have ill words for you. I should have thought to clear the area around your tent," he grumbled, blaming himself as usual for something gone wrong. "And all the beasts seem stunned, Hawk, they are not moving----"

There were about twenty motorcycles scattered around my tent, and not exactly neatly parked. Most lay on their side in fact; one, a triple I think, actually pinned an unfortunate warrior who was kicking like an upended turtle and swearing with a force that made even me blush. Carson was just going over to this guy to help him out; he spotted me at the tent flap and gave me a look so chilling that I backed inside the tent a little further. Jesus Christ he looked pissed!

Twenty bikes! The fucking things all seemed to be undamaged and shiny new, but from their positioning they might very well have dropped from the sky right on top of the camp.

Tyr liked me, and I guess there was no doubt about it that he felt my cause was just, judging from his response here. But damn him, he sure could be sloppy.

"Fucking Tyr," I growled. "He sent me everything in the showroom! What am I gonna do with all those motorcycles? Teach Do'nar and his idjits to ride? Start a Shadow Rider chapter of the bleeding Hell's Angels? That incompetent boob!" I was getting pretty riled, mainly through fear of what Carson was going do to me once he finished helping his buddy out from under that heavy-ass triple. Jalin suddenly threw his arms around me, laughing for the first time in days.

"There is no one like you, Hawk," he said fondly. And then as I hugged him back he suddenly hitched with a sob, yanked from my grip, and sprinted out the tent entrance. He barely missed slamming into Carson, who was stalking toward my little abode with his Warchief's face on, a sight to frighten armies.

My bad boy stared after Jalin's fleeing form, then directly at me. I was hanging on the tent flap, a little weak by now. There was apparently a bit of backlash even if you did deserve what you thieved.

He bent a stormy, lowering look my way. Then, surprisingly, the corner of his mouth twitched. He glanced out at the array of bikes all over the ground, and said almost civilly, "If that happened, you might be unfit for what I was planning later this evening. So perhaps I should forgive you. If you clean up this mess, apologize to the Flame Moon tribesman Al'skar and heal the buises and broken ribs your invocation produced----"

"Ah, jeeze! Of course I'll heal---! Uh, wait a minute. Planning later this evening---what you mean by that?" Oh, I was a selfish dude, no doubt about it. I actually paused in my run to ease this poor galoot's suffering to find out what Carson had up his sleeve.

He gave me the tiniest of smiles, but there was a smoky heat to the eyes lowered on me that made me swallow. Wow, that didn't look like anger any more, now did it, boys and girls? I couldn't be so lucky, could I?

"There is word of a small troop of Southerners attempting a raid on the Black Moon tribe. Do'nar and Asher are eager to take a few warriors to join the fun, so tonight's planning session has been waived. And truly it is not necessary for me to lead such a foredoomed skirmish---our troops will be lucky if there is anything left for them to kill." He tossed this item of gossip off almost negligently, but I could feel him watching me, gauging my reactions.

"The Black Moon tribe!" I said wonderingly, slightly distracted by the news. "The nuttiest barbarians of the bunch! Aren't they the ones who like to, uh, skin people and make drinking cups outta their skulls? Those dumbfuck Southerners haven't got a chance in hell!" Then my brain swung around to the important shit he'd said, and I felt my whole body sing. "You mean---later tonight---ALL night?"

He drew himself up to his full awesome height, and stared down his nose at me without a ghost of a smile. "My plans may change, if this mess-----"

"No more than I am. He's been acting really weird ever since that first council meeting. But he's close as a clam when he wants to hide something, the annoying little shit. Yeh, let's have him with. And speaking of weird, well----"

I hesitated, because Asher was always a lit fuse between us in any conversation. Then I mentally shrugged and went for it. "Do'nar and your buddy Asher. They've getting tighter than hell these last few days. Do everything together it seems like to me. Doesn't that strike you as a little odd? I didn't even think Do'nar like the guy!"

He was silent for a moment, studying the ground, frowning lightly. Then he looked up at me with a rather flat smile. "I find it very odd, indeed. Now go and tend to Al'skar before his lungs burst from bellowing and leave you with more to fix. I still have some tasks, but I shall be back at dusk."

He gave me a quick, distracted kiss on the forehead, and stalked off to do whatever business he had waiting. And I went out to soothe the wrathful Flame Moon dude and play band-aid as usual. My anticipation of the evening's "plans" was still running high, but my joy was a little muted.

Goddammit. It couldn't have been jealousy I saw in Carson's eyes, when I mentioned Do'nar and Asher hanging so chummy lately. Totally my imagination; absolutely couldn't be.