WandWpart10

I didn't especially want to explain myself in front of Jalin; didn't want him to feel as if any of it was his fault. But it wouldn't exactly be any easier on him to ask him to leave Smitty and me alone for a private talk. Probably worse, since that teenaged imagination would surely invent things far weirder and worse than the truth. Seen it happen; been there myself.

So I made my speech for both of them, talking as fast as I ever had in my life and struggling into my slut-boy's shirt in the meantime. Halfway through Jalin dropped to the rug, his expression blank and guarded. Smitty kept her eyes pinned on me and her gaze remained unimpressed. "Shield spell? Assassination attempts?" She rubbed at her nose ring thoughtfully, eyes on me as hard as bullets. "That's your only motive in asking for this, eh, McIntyre? To protect him with a shield spell?"

I drew in a breath. No sense in lying to someone who can see right through you and will let you know it. "No. It's also - I don't think there's any way to convince him now of how much he means to me, just by bloody talking. It's gotta be hands on, Smitty." I nailed her with a look. "It's GONNA be hands on, whether you approve or not. I'd like your cooperation, but if I can't have it then you better believe I'll go ahead without it and God help you if you try to stop me. And to hell with the tribe and their damnfool traditions. I won't lose him to a tradition. I won't lose him to ANYTHING."

She dropped her eyes and smiled a bit at the fierceness of my ending statement. Then looked up, sighed, and uncoiled from her cross-legged seat on the bed. "McIntyre. And you call me a pain in the ass. Wait a second."

She pulled a small, cloth pouch stitched with glittery thread from her belt, and dropped to a seat on the ground near me. "Stick out your hand, California boy."

Warily, I did so. And risked a look at Jalin. He was staring at his lap, biting his lip thoughtfully. Hands gripping his knees, but not tightly. Looked delicious. He felt my eyes on him and glanced up, and somewhat to my surprise smiled at me shyly. Not looking upset in the least, that I was so focused on Carson at the moment and not him.

A collection of little white, carved sticks tumbled into my palm from the pouch. "Jiggle them around a bit," Smitty instructed. "Concentrate on what you mean to do during the ceremony." And without missing a beat or turning her head she added, "And Jalin, I suggest you stop sitting there mooning over this red-haired buttmunch and get that cute little ass of yours dressed pronto. McIntyre's delaying me enough as is; I won't have time to wait for you after all this."

I heard the guilty scrabble from Jalin's direction, and any other time I would've looked up fairly eagerly at the idea of him getting undressed. And I wanted to check out the cut of his leathers as well.

But it was if my mind, my eyes, everything in me had suddenly narrowed to a glittering focus on the chicken bones in my hand - or whatever the hell they were. Ivory, maybe? They looked like ivory, a yellowish cream color. But felt different, heavier.

No. They were *getting* heavier, as I held them. And the carvings weren't just etched on. The carvings were lined with - light, cool violet fire - mana. Violet mana? I'd never heard of such a thing but it was there, glowing like a pool of amethysts in the palm of my hand. I stared raptly, senses caught and stilled.

"Shake them a bit, McIntyre." Smitty's voice seemed to come from far away, from another world almost. Maybe that was why she sounded hushed, enraptured herself, almost fearful. Nothing like her usual clipped speech. Maybe.

I moved my hand, and the violet fire within it surged lazily, the pieces of ivory - if they were ivory - seeming to swirl like liquid rather than clattering together. No clattering, but there was a sound. Wind chimes, distant bells. Voices singing softly in the stained glass leaves of a magical forest. In my mind, in my body, yet as real and audible as Smitty's now shaking voice.

Want him to care about both of us. Well, mostly me, of course - but both of us. No fears, no doubts. Had enough of that in his life. Never doubt me again, Carse, never again no matter what crazy shit happens.

My hand moved without my conscious intent, scattering cool purple fire across the ground like a stream of jewels from a dragon's magic hoard. They pulsed and glittered there, then formed into one solid, throbbing rune that I almost knew the meaning of, somewhere deep in the dark of my mind where magic lurked.

No, that would be the ground shuddering. A light earthquake, from the perspective of a California boy, and over in three heartbeats. Yet from the sudden shouts and excited voices outside the tent, not to mention Jalin's sharp cry of terror from much closer, such a thing was unknown around here.

I hadn't noticed that I'd closed my eyes, mainly because that purple rune seemed to be glowing in my vision still, inscribed maybe on my eyelids for all time. But when the kid suddenly leaped practically into my lap, quaking with fear, I blinked and grabbed him automatically.

Everything looked normal. The purple glow was gone; I was looking down at a jumbled pile of yellow-white pickup sticks scattered in no particular pattern across the rug. Smitty was looking at the same pile, her face so white it was almost green.

I hugged Jalin hard. "Just an earthquake, kid; happens all the time where I come from, nothing to worry about!" He pressed his face into my shoulder hard, but the quivering lessened. My senses were coming back to me, too, enough for me to notice that he'd only made it into the trouser portion of his suit and I seemed to be clutching a lot of bare, pale, satiny flesh here.

"Nothing to worry about? Your ass, McIntyre." Smitty looked up at me; a little of her color had come back, but she still looked like a shock victim. Her lips worked soundlessly for a moment, she swallowed, licked them, and tried again. "It's always dangerous when the gods of this world take an interest." She drew a deep, settling breath. "I don't know what in this world is happening around you, pretty boy, but you not only have a go on your plan. If you DON'T go through with it, we might all be French fries before we even have time to party down tonight."

I drew a deep, relieved breath. Hugged Jalin a bit closer. "Excellent. Then I guess I can count on you, Ms. Smith, to play along with me. How long do we have till curtain time?"

"A fair amount of time, but I still have things to do." She hesitated before scooping her widgets up and dropping them back into her pouch. Almost as if she was afraid they'd burn her. "C'mon you guys, we need to get moving. Jalin, if you need any help with that shirt McIntyre, come here quick, I need your hair."

Smitty was scared. And for some reason, that touched me. I gave Jalin a hard squeeze and released him; he leaped up quickly, not looking at either of us. Grabbed for his shirt and began pulling it on by himself.

We both stood up, and I faced her as she frowned, narrowed her eyes, and quickly grabbed a piece of my hair on the front left side. Muttering to herself about wavy hair to die for and how men didn't really deserve it, she quickly braided that piece and tied it off with a strand of leather and crystal beads that matched those on Jalin's hair. "Tribal," she explained quickly. "The next one is more complicated. Betrothal. Although I don't braid that until the actual ceremony. Now the ears." She reached for my head and I backed up quickly.

Jalin had butted himself right in, and was actually stammering. Not that I felt like interrupting him. Damn right, not the ears! No hell no way, that would hurt like thunder, and besides that I had no desire to reveal the bastards to yet another person. Especially someone like Smitty, who'd probably rib me about it forever.

I'd thought my so-called shirt was radical, just because it exposed my stomach and the laces were designed to not close completely, leaving a fair amount of chest showing also. Well, his outfit made me look like I was wearing a business suit.

Although the sleeves covered him from shoulder to wrist, the rest of the shirt was more or less a series of black leather straps that crossed his smooth hairless chest in a mesh of leather, revealing the pink nipples. What there was of this "shirt", of course, ended at the bottom of his rib cage. My eyes went to the pierced navel and sort of glommed there, stuck on the silver ring from which five perfect crimson beads hung, like drops of blood against his lower stomach. Pointing towards the dipped waistband of the dark leather pants like a bloodstained path to heaven.

I snapped my eyes quickly back up to his face. Not a help; his frosty hair seemed like a halo of light against the dark leather sleeves. His eyes were molten silver through the dark, half-lowered lashes - omigosh. He was checking me out, too.

He didn't seem to mind his state of partial undress as much as I did, though. His chin was lifted high, almost arrogantly, and the smile curling those pale lips as he studied me was more than seductive. Yet still, almost childlike in its simple delight at, uh, what he was looking at. Even though there was less of me exposed and what there was couldn't have been half as, er, attractive.

"Smitty, goddammit, you've been turning the tribe on to piercings, haven't you? And what the hell is this ceremony, a goddamn slave market? Or a sideshow? Look at us!" I waved my arms excitedly, which only succeeded in hoisting the leather shirt up higher and baring my midsection almost to my nipples. Oh, great, now Smitty was grinning at me, too, although her smirk didn't have a particle of childlike to it.

"Relax, McIntyre, and feel honored. It's customary for the tribe to want to have a look at the new blood, if it's worth looking at. What, you'd rather be some wrinkled old coot like Severn? He can wear a big sack to be accepted as tribal and all he'll hear is a sigh of relief. But if someone like you or the kid here tried to waltz through the ceremony in conservative dress, *I'd* be the one getting chewed out for not knowing how to put on a show properly."

"A - show," I said disgustedly, trying to tug my shirt back down with only moderate success. Damn, it would've helped if my eyeballs would quit wandering to that boy's stomach and the sparkly little decoration there.

"Certainly a show. I thought you were a rocker boy, McIntyre. It's a legal function but it's also theatre. Flash. Sex. You're just lucky I've kept my mouth shut about leather, um, chaps. Although I'm kinda sorry about it myself now; I'd love to get a glimpse of your butt cheeks, Berkeley boy."

I turned red, of course. To my special horror, Jalin perked up at the wretched woman's remark. "What are 'chaps'? Is that clothing? And do they really show your - "

"You don't need to know! Trust me!" I shouted, totally exasperated, and he obediently quieted, but with a mischievous sparkle in those deceptively cool eyes that promised me trouble later on.

Nor was Smitty done humiliating me yet. "If you really like that navel ring as much as you, um, seem to," she drawled meaningfully, "I bet I still have enough time to fit you with one before the ceremony. What color beads you want?"

"And no ear piercing, huh? You're no fun, McIntyre. Never thought you'd be so chicken, either." She waited expectantly; with an effort I kept my mouth shut and just glared. Once she saw I really had no intention of explaining myself, she shrugged. "Well, the piercings aren't traditional really; just some little twerps liking to show off how hot they are." She threw a more or less friendly glance at Jalin, who scowled at her and tossed his hair back arrogantly, revealing - shit! Four or five damn earrings, and that was just what I could see on the side turned to me.

So much for me feeling all angsty and like I might be taking advantage of unspoiled youth. The kid had more experience than I did, if his earrings didn't lie.

"It's your loss, McIntyre," Smitty was commenting now as she headed to the door. "You would not believe the sex factor of piercings - or maybe you WOULD." She gave me a grin and nodded towards the tent flap she was now holding open. "So can we get the show on the road?"

I'd managed to tear my eyes away from Jalin to study the digs that had been so quickly prepared for me. Of course, not the size of Carson's tent. Wouldn't want it to be. About as large as a studio apartment, which was way fine for my needs. And yet.

Deceptive. This was no cheap studio. Many of his nicest pieces were in here. The huge cabinet Jalin had slammed me against, for one. Dark wood with what looked like moonstone inlays and hinges of a copper metal that probably wasn't copper; too soft a metal to hold up big hardwood doors like those. I'd mentioned my liking for it, though damned if I'd thought this was something Carson would notice. The softest of those geometric designed carpets, a couple of richly comfortable chairs and the long low table we'd always used to share breakfast. Ah, Carse. The bed wasn't his immense, fur-covered invitation to slanderous sin. But it was luxurious, velvets instead of furs, thank God, furs would've reminded me of someone lying naked in them all lean and dark and glorious.

She eyed me caustically. "Somehow I'm not reassured. Oh, all right, all right! Enough with the flaming green eyes of death. Ten minutes. Then I come in after you and you WILL regret it." She stalked outside, obviously reluctant; given the murmur of the crowd as she emerged alone and her audible efforts to placate them, I figured I'd better move quickly.

We'd just learned that I could create my own spells; I forget what the spell was I cobbled together, something small and silly - oh yes, a sweeping spell. I'd been in no mood to be sweeping the damn floor that day. I thought of Mickey Mouse in the Sorcerer's Apprentice, and then thought to myself, "I could make that work better." Just sweeping; I didn't need no damn brooms bringing in buckets of water and all. That was just asking for it, Mickey.

Thing was, it probably wouldn't have taken half as much energy if I'd just grabbed up the broom and went after the dust manually. But I got caught up in the logistics of making it work. And in those days, those first long months without Carson, I grabbed desperately for anything that could pull my mind from the thought of him.

So Jarone came home to find me sweeping. Or rather, to find the broom sweeping. And me sitting on the chair staring at the broom with big, bugged-out bloodshot eyes. Making it work.

When it shouldn't have. Wizards who could even make changes to existing spells, let alone create a fresh one however small and silly - even Jarone couldn't do that. His range of spells was astounding, but he'd got them all from books. No one since some really hot mage called Razeln the Damned from over a thousand years previous had this particular talent, I learned. Not that I'm saying that this guy's name made me feel comfortable with it or anything.

Jarone - after chewing me out for trying something with no idea how dangerous it could be - had practically done the happy dance in his delight at my ability. He acted like I was his favorite nephew and I'd slammed a homer at the high school ball game. And since I could count on half the fingers of one hand those people in my life who'd ever been proud of me, something had stirred. Something rusty from disuse and fear, but wanting. Horribly, overwhelmingly, wanting.

He'd always shown a great deal of wistful interest in the world I came from. I seemed somehow unable to explain it all properly to him, paint a good enough picture to feed the curiosity that almost poured from him.

I wrote a spell to do what I wanted; a portal spell seemed correct, somehow. Didn't tell Jarone; this was to be a surprise. And I so I portaled in the smallest of my many envelopes full of photos. Didn't know what I was grabbing; just hoped it was good.

Now, I found the envelope I'd retrieved for Jarone deep in my back-pack, just as his son dropped to the rug behind me, slipped his arms around my chest, and nuzzled into my neck. Not especially trying to seduce me, though; he just breathed deeply and made a happy little sound, an I'm-so-glad-to-be-next-to-you sound that was beyond the outer limits of charming. Then perched his chin on my shoulder to look curiously at what I was pulling out of the envelope.

Gravely, I turned in his grip and offered him the stack of pictures. He settled back, though he first rubbed his cheek quickly against my hand like an affectionate cat before taking the pile from my fingers.

To my great delight, he looked at the first picture - a sappy shot of my friend Ralph holding a Frisbee in his mouth, a beer in one hand, and his giggling girlfriend's left boob in the other - and tried to pick the guy off the print with his thumb and forefinger. He frowned at his lack of success, went for the girlfriend with similar results and cast a doubtful look at me. "They are not real? What are they?"

"The past, of your world?" His eyes filled with the same fascination I'd seen in his dad's face years ago when I'd recovered enough to show him what I'm brought him. Oh, yeah, I remembered with a faint smile. After the old coot had smacked the hell out of me for being such a reckless idiot, that is.

He went through the stack slowly, not asking questions now but obviously saving some for later. And then he froze about the fifth photo down - yeah, that would be the one, all right.

I'd been about twenty-six in that shot; fortunately the glasses and mustache were the same, because the hair wasn't twelve different colors back then, just a shaggy golden-red mop. Not as long either, to the collar maybe. And I'd looked my age then, too.

I was grinning like an idiot, flashing the peace sign with one hand. My other arm was hooked around the neck of a scrawny, dark-haired kid of about sixteen who was scowling ferociously at the camera, obviously struggling to get away from the drunken fool holding him. He only came up to my shoulder in the picture, and his hair was about Beatle-length, finally grown out from the brutal prison cut his father had forced on him.

I was glad it was a color print. You wouldn't even have known the kid was Carson, if not for the unmistakable blue fire of those eyes. Oh, and maybe the scowl.

I looked up from the snapshot to study Jalin. His face was such a whirl of emotions I couldn't read him any better than if he'd looked totally blank. "These are true images?" he finally asked a little breathlessly. Still looking at the picture, now as if wishing he could step into it and maybe slide under my other arm.

I'd grown tired of urging Carse to smile for the camera, and forced the issue physically. Damn, I'd forgotten how ticklish he was. Would have to investigate that later, when I could touch him. See if it was still true.

The following picture was a little blurred, because it was definitely an action shot; a laughing, screaming kid fighting to get away from the grinning jackass poking fingers in his ribs. Totally silly picture, and a bit fuzzy. I'd kept it mainly because despite the poor quality one thing came through quite clearly; the blinding, total happiness on - well, both our faces really.

Jalin studied it carefully, with the same focused attention he'd given all the others. Then tidied the stack without bothering to look at the rest, and gravely handed it back to me. "Why do you show me this, Hawk?" he asked quietly, not quite meeting my eyes.

I shifted uncomfortably. Why had I, I wondered? It had seemed important, but I hadn't meant to upset him. "I guess - well, I wanted you to know what I told you before was true. The age thing, y'know. And besides." He was looking me dead in the eyeball now, realizing like the astute person he was that this next part was the important bit. "You, uh, only know Carson as the big, mean Warchief. Got the impression you kinda wondered what the hell I was doing with him. I guess - I wanted to show you why. And that he isn't just Nightwolf the Slayer."

He smiled a little bit, the grey eyes beginning to twinkle with amusement. "Anymore than I am JUSTt a male slut for the pleasure of the Riders. I understand."

The kid was slick, all right. In my lap before I know it, hands cupping my face and kissing me before I could even finish my appalled protest. And it wasn't really a hot, sexual kiss, either - although everything about this boy was sensual in one way or another.

This kiss - I don't know. It was - it sounds sappy. A first love kiss. Maybe even a first kiss, period. Warm and soft and almost innocent, definitely filled with wonder.

I should've resisted. Sex was one thing, dammit, this was, this was dangerous. This was definitely taking advantage of someone, I wasn't sure whom. Jalin? Carson? Maybe even myself. In any case, territory best left unexplored.

Of course I didn't fight him in the least. I think I may even have whimpered a little as I turned my face to fit his lips better, cradled his head in my hand to make sure he wouldn't pull away too soon. It was - nice. It was better than nice. It was sheer heaven, and the strange thing was I didn't feel the least bit guilty.

Naturally, right in the middle of this came an exasperated growl from the doorway. "God DAMMIT! I should've known! Break it up, you stupid bastards! Serve you right if I invited your damned fearless leader in here to watch you snuggling with the biggest cock tease in camp. Not that he has any right to protest, but he gets upset about the SILLIEST things!"

Jalin was studying me lazily, making no effort to get out of my lap. Ignoring the hostility that was beating on us like a wave from Smitty's direction. I could almost feel him purring. "I'm not afraid of him now, Hawk."

No need to ask who "he" was. "Well, I mainly didn't want you to hate him, kid. Even I'm a little scared of him, sometimes. But he was a kid once, too. Not always a tribal bigshot. He's still just a big kid, really." Probably not an opinion I should be sharing, but hey.

"I don't hate him at all," Jalin assured me. Then he grinned, a quick lightening flash of expression that was utterly delightful. "You really tripped and fell on a bench. With your FACE." He began to snicker.

"Well, tough. I'd rather you thought of me as the world's biggest klutz than someone who lets people bash him around. Even Carson. Who by the way, asked if you'd mind us sharing you."

Oh, shit! Where had that come from, blasting out of my mouth from nowhere? Christ, even Smitty had shut off her tirade to hear the answer to this one. I wanted to apologize, backtrack, shoot myself in the head. Way not to be diplomatic about it, McIntyre! "So you see," I footnoted myself kind of weakly, "he doesn't, er, obviously, dislike you either."

His eyes were lowered now, watching his own fingers as he idly played with the laces on my shirt. I would've paid good money to be able to read his expression. I would've paid extra to have just kept my mouth shut.

A quirky little smile touched his mouth as he gently pulled away from me and stood up, extending a hand to me as if I needed assistance to get off my ass. Maybe I did; I was at least three-quarters stunned. As for Smitty, she was standing there looking like someone had smacked her in the skull with a brick. Whoa - a big, fat "jealousy" brick, if I read my expressions right.

"McIntyre, you dog," she finally managed. "I don't fucking believe you're from no wimp-ass California. You gotta be from Brooklyn with gall like you've got!"

I gave her a look. What the hell? She'd be screwing Jalin after the ceremony. I had been, well, major frustrated from every direction. All fucking DAY. What did she have to complain about?

Jalin hadn't let go of my hand when I stood. In fact, he'd just kind of turned. Fallen into me, under my arm, pulling my hand up against his hip. So I was standing there with one arm around him, him tucked tight underneath that arm and I didn't mind one lousy bit. Don't think he did either. How he could make such a move and still be so sweet and innocent I do not know. Oh Christ, he was nuzzling under my jaw now.

Smitty was glaring at both of us. At Jalin snuggled into me, at me beginning to smile at her. Jealous, jealous, jealous. Of who or what, I wasn't sure. But I was beginning to get a clue, here.

"It WAS his idea. Ask him, if you don't believe me. Now I've got a question for YOU, Smitty. How the hell did you, umm, manage to get the right to boink all the new young tribal members? Is there some precedent for that? "

I mentioned he'd been nibbling my throat. Comfortably under my arm, pressed against my body, he pulled away enough to look at me in confusion. "Hawk. Everyone knows, sexual magic is most powerful. And used to seal the rite, it is bound to the luck of the Tribe. Surely, you - " He blushed. It was delightful. "Surely you have used this? With, uh, the Warchief? You are the greatest of wizards, this cannot be unknown to you!"

"Sex-u-AL magic. Uh-huh." I stared at Smitty intently. Did I mention karma is wonderful? Her face was crimson. Even better, I was proving to her that she wasn't the only one who could grin like a shark. "I've heard of it. In the proper - hands, it's quite powerful. Of course there aren't too many people who'd use it as an excuse just to, um, satisfy their desire for younger lovers or anything. The backlash could be way severe. Soooo, was this a long held tribal tradition or what?"

Once again, Jalin answered, sweet innocent that he was in some ways. "Our Witchlady brought several unknown tribal documents to light," he said proudly. "They were unreadable, until she translated them."

Oh, I was SO staring at Smitty. She now resembled a tomato struggling for self-expression. "Oh," I said mildly. "I'll just BET. How lucky for the tribe, to find such a scholar. Of sexual magic. And someone so, uh, lacking in self-interest, that she'd put herself through that." The tomato was about to burst, here. "For the good of the Tribe. How bloody nice. Because I must admit, when I fuck Carson, it's with total self-interest in mind. You know, because he's so damn hot and when he touches me the right way I just come like a bastard and don't even THINK of firing up a spell for the good of anybody with all that energy, I am so damn selfish. Oh, the shame of it all."

"Is he really?" Jalin asked at almost the same instant. Obviously intrigued. He then looked startled and worried, because I couldn't hold it any more; I bent over double clutching my stomach and gasping for air. Enough was enough. I couldn't stand it. If I didn't laugh I would blow the hell up and die. Which I suppose Smitty would have enjoyed, come to think of it.

"Watch out, Jalin," I wheezed. "She just wants to, oh God! ogle your butt going out the door, for the good of the - ouch! Shit, Smitty, not the - oh, God." Dumb, pushy woman. Well, I was busted.

In her exasperation at my levity, she had gone for an ear, the wretched bitch. I don't know if she had intended to pull me out of the tent with it, insist that I get it pierced once she saw it - oh, the height of her artistic life, piercing an elf ear! - or just use it as a handle to shake me hard. But now that she had hold of it, she was staring with - well, to me it seemed a lot more emotion than was even warranted. Not distaste; something else. "Keith. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what? That I have pointy ears? Any of your business? I don't think so." I glared at her and backed away, yanking my hair back over the offensive item. Obscurely feeling guilty. About what? I didn't even know.

"No time," she mourned softly, eyes on my face. Her expression, way too serious. "Let's go, I'll tell you later. It will all work out. Oh, Keith." The way she said my name made me feel like I had already died and been forgotten except by the bards and historians.

Well, at least the sight of the damn thing hadn't caused her to jump my bones. That would've been way too much, because I was horny enough at this point to go for it.

Jalin was still hanging by the door, eyeing us both. Unwilling, I realized, to step outside without me. "Let's do it," I whispered to him, intentionally flipping the innocent comment into the realm of not-so-innocent.

He smiled at me hotly, understanding. A quick study. A more than quick fuck, gods willing, Carson willing. And then he sort of shimmied outside and I was right on his tail with Smitty behind us, caught in some private, shamanly gloom. What was with her, anyway? When all was said and done, it was just a damn party.

And it was. Just like any other party I'd been to, lots of people milling around, most of whom I didn't know, but all of them seeming to know me. In that way, it was like a party where I'd played with my band, Dreadnought. You get off stage and from just another hairball you've become this mildly famous fellow to whom everyone wants to offer food, drink and drugs if they have any.

I had a cup of Blue Death in my hand before I knew it; I'd barely managed to say "Thank you!" to the smiling blonde girl who handed it to me before Smitty had yanked it from my grasp. "Not until after the ceremony, McIntyre. Wouldn't want you to screw up, now would we?"

"That you remember." She pulled the cup farther away from my reach and ruthlessly dumped the contents into the dirt. "Later, I said." She peered through the jabbering crowd. "There go Severn and Irenea. Head for the Stones, Jalin, we're right behind you." She gave me a push in the small of my back that nearly sent me sprawling, since I was still focused on mourning the death of my untasted drink.

And so I followed him into the crush of people, grumbling death threats at Smitty, and I must say watching his cool, lightly arrogant passage through the mob was a treat. He had the attitude of - well, all I can relate it to are those old movie stars. The only ones I can think of are female, the Grace Kelly, Greta Garbo types. He was like that in his own way. Utterly beautiful, desirable to the max, yet ethereal and untouchable. Haughty without being offensive about it; almost on another plane of being. You got the feeling if anyone dared to lay hands on him the damned fool would be struck by lightening.

Of course, with yours truly backing him up, that might have become a real possibility. But he didn't need the help of the big, bad wizard. He was doing it all himself, with sheer charisma; people were clearing a path for him. And although there were more than a few lascivious glances in his direction from both sexes, nobody tried to grab his ass.

We had about a three minute walk, as I figured it, to the edge of the camp where the menhir, the standing stones, were located. And in this three minutes - which extended I think to ten with all the interruptions - I counted that I got twelve backslaps and/or manly shoulder grips. These were usually face to face encounters, enhanced by the individual in question welcoming me to the brotherhood of the noble Shadow Riders. The welcomes being more or less effusive, lengthy or friendly depending on how full of Blue Death the person offering hospitality seemed to be.

The butt slaps, and pinches, and outright gropes were mostly anonymous, but I had a pretty good idea of the alcohol consumption of those involved without even seeing their faces. I didn't let it get to me; this was a party, after all. I was beginning to feel a little high, a little crazy myself. Just from the atmosphere. "Thank you, thank you," I heard myself mumble as another rude hand squeezed my leathered-up ass hard and then retreated. "Stay awhile, Goddammit. I haven't gotten any all day, ya'know, thanks to SOMEBODY. Might as well enjoy what I CAN get."

Somebody - i.e. Smitty - was as tight as an overtuned guitar string. She growled at all who dared to offer me food, drink, or a kind word. "He's not tribal YET!" she kind of snarled. "And won't be, unless you let us through, you barbarian pigs! McIntyre, stop encouraging these assholes!" I was kinda pleased to notice that no one seemed to give their so-called shaman the least bit of respect. They grinned at her attitude and continued to plague me. Ah well.

And then I got a backslap that nearly threw me right down into the dirt. Combining the power of the blow with Smitty's groan of despair, I realized that Do'nar had arrived.

"Firehawk!" he bellered, an inch from my ear. I winced and pulled away; not only from his volume, but from his breath. I should've known that Do'nar would be the type to party his ass off. From the sheer octane level of his gusty emission, I figured the guy must've thrown down at least five Blue Deaths, and maybe some other even more potent liquor. If I'd been mean enough to throw even a tiny fire spell at him, the whole camp would've gone up like a rocket.

He flung his arm around my shoulders, nearly knocking me over yet again as he used me as an excuse to steady himself a bit. But I must say, once he had me there to help he straightened himself up quite nicely, even managing to stand on his own without swaying. He then peered at the smoldering Smitty through one evil, slightly glazed eye.

"Wizard, why haven't you hurried this damn woman up a bit? Shoulda had you in the tribe and half-drunk an hour ago. Warchief's been waiting." He poked me suggestively in the ribs. "Too bad not just bringing you into Tribe. Stupid betrothal. Bad timing. Wants to fuck you BAD. Foul mood all day. Yelled at me." He swiped his eyes here, sad at the unfairness of it all. "Not my fault. I said, to hell with betrothal. You're king. Change rules, screw him senseless. Cute little fucker, frisky too. Screw him myself if I liked boys. Approve your choice, Wolf. That's what I told him."

"Uh, huh. Thanks, Do'nar." I was still trying to dodge his killer breath; I was laughing too hard to be succeeding in escaping his grip, though. "And he said to this?"

Do'nar's sad expression deepened, and he pointed accusingly to - yep, now that he mentioned it there was quite a mighty bruise there. "Punched me in EYE!" he proclaimed mournfully.

Do'nar grinned cagily; for an interesting moment, I thought he was going to tell her to mellow out and have a brewskie. But he just began to walk almost steadily; since he forgot to take his arm from my shoulders, I was more or less obliged to hustle right after him. Smitty brought up the rear, so pissed she was practically shooting fire out her ass. Jalin was long gone, probably already at the Stones and wondering where the hell I could be.

"Tell you, Hawk, I remember a woman so shit-scared when she was joining the Tribe she was begging on her bended knee for any alcohol she could get. Not quite as straight-laced back then, were you, S'athal?"

It was coming down to twilight; despite the heat of the summer day, evening got cool quickly here. I shivered a bit in my abbreviated leathers. And then we were at the Stones and - oh God.

Twilight. And dawn. Always been my favorite time of day. Almost interchangeable, as far as I could tell. The air turning milky, opalescent, yet shadowed and hidden. A time for beginnings and endings. All mistakes could be forgiven, in that moment of magic as the sun rose. And just before the sun set.

The tribal Stones were off to the edge of camp, and were strictly avoided in the day to day run of life. That area was magic. The Stones were for ceremonies.

They were mostly fallen, lying half-buried in the grassy loam. But there were three that stood upright. Not Stonehenge tall. About a foot over seven feet.

How did I know that, you ask? Because he was there. A dark silhouette in the pearly grey twilight, that I could measure everything else in the world against and have it come up wanting.

I think I gasped. I know I stopped and Do'nar had to stop with me because even though he was the size of a small house there was nothing on earth big enough or strong enough to keep me from standing there and just looking. Looking at that tall dark figure, the freshening wind beginning to whip through the cloak he was wearing, teasing it from his shoulders along with the hundreds of thin braids falling over his shoulders, down his back because after all this was a ceremonial occasion and of course he'd had to braid his hair.

"Hawk?" Do'nar's voice seemed very gentle, not especially drunk at all. "Hawk. Don't worry. He loves you, the mighty fool. This will not be as difficult as you think."

His voice was soft, dark music in the haunted air. It was a rock concert, and he was the silken presence that introduced the band and let you know what fire would be dealt to you in the raving night to come. "Brothers of the wind," he said quietly, and all the drunken chatter hitched and ceased. "Riders of Shadow. Tonight we pay thanks. For new blood to the Tribe, and for a child come to manhood within the Tribe. And for - " the soft voice paused.

Oh, it WAS like a rock concert. Because another voice burst in from the crowd, aggressive and loud, yet still fitting the mood of magic. "For a Betrothal, our King's got a consort no less, and DAMN if he don't have good taste in men!"

Christ, it was the Xena babe who'd made kissy faces at me earlier. She was doing the same now, and I almost felt grateful to her. What would I have done, if he hadn't mentioned betrothal? If he'd just, so to speak, shined it on?

There was a pause, as for that fleeting second he looked straight at me. And then it was over and his magical voice said softly, expressionlessly, "Even so. Let the ceremonies begin, Lady."

He didn't look unhappy. Quiet, serious perhaps, as befitted the gravity of the occasion. A little stern maybe, a little withdrawn, but then when had he ever been a light-hearted, jovial sort?

I'd looked deep in his eyes, in that one stabbing glance, and found them as beautiful as ever. Yet empty of fire, of rage, of passion. Of everything that made him - him.

I was quivering like a maddened racehorse now. I couldn't wait to get on stage and do my bit, but from Smitty's rapid-fire instructions as we wended our way through the crowd, I understood that Irenea and Severn would be on first. They had only to be accepted into the Tribe. My position was a little trickier, I would be after them. Jalin was already Tribal, but being given his warrior name. He got the last and most honored slot.

Do'nar squeezed my shoulder, yanking me back to reality. "Ah gods, look at that idiot." And then he roared out, "Gods above and below, what sort of braid is THAT!?"

Poor Severn. He and Irenea were positioned in the circle of stones, and Smitty was gamely doing the ceremony. More colloquial than I'd figured it would be, just explaining what they had done to merit entry into the Tribe. And the crowd had the right to heckle, too. I could tell she was really irritated by that.

Irenea was standing tall and arrogant; her new Tribal braid looked good on her, as most everything did. Her dad, well, he had the shorter hairstyle favored by Southern folks, and I had to kinda giggle myself even though I didn't want to embarrass the guy. Poor Smitty must've gone nuts trying to put a braid on him. What he actually HAD was kind of a tuft. Sticking out at a right angle to his head. The crystal beads securing it were almost bigger than the chunk of hair.

Smitty was busy explaining how Irenea had saved my butt and had healing skills. ("The first good thing she's done since arriving here, but it forgives a LOT!" roared my Xena-babe fan, winking at me brazenly). There was a grudging but accepting murmur. Severn had turned around, peering near-sightedly for whomever had complimented his hairdo. Finally focusing on Do'nar, he bowed slightly and said "Thank you, thank you. But it will grow out. As will the beard."

Do'nar's grin faded; he looked a little stunned. And then he roared with laughter and the dotty old Southern lord's strange brand of charm had saved his day again. Smitty's explanation that though his Tribal membership was probationary, he too had been injured by the Southern dogs also helped. I saw with pleasure that several folks offered him a swig of booze as he wobbled away from the Stones, beaming with delight at his new role in life and totally oblivious to any bad feelings that might remain.

He didn't hug me nor touch me; not this close, not right in front of Carson, thank the gods. But his eyes were filled with hope and fear, and a kind of quiet wanting. And also, the knowledge of what I wanted, whether it merged with his own fantasies or not. "Bring him back, Hawk," he said gently.

I felt like kissing him then. But I could see Smitty practically jumping up and down with impatience, and the crowd too was murmuring with excitement because,

So I just gave Jalin's shoulder a quick squeeze, painted an arrogant bad-ass grin on my face, and approached the glowering Smitty with the best rocker-boy strut I had in me.