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kin to a skull, though some semblance of its former beauty clung yet about it.
The skin was nearly transparent, and David could see dark shadows under the
cheekbones, and dark hollows where the eyes were eyes that burned round and
red like living flame. Those eyes had nothing of beauty about them.
Only of hatred: hatred of life.
David straightened his shoulders, shifted the changeling so that it was
cradled awkwardly in the crook of his left arm. Slowly he eased himself down
to a wary crouch, but his gaze never left the face of the banshee. He freed
his right hand and took a new and firmer grip on the knife.
Greetings, banshee, he said tentatively, suddenly realizing he had no idea
how to properly greet such a being, and feeling rather foolish the moment the
words escaped him. His eyes burned so much with the
Sight that he felt they might take fire in his head; he could feel tears
forming in them.
The banshee remained where she was, but her gaze shifted down to meet his, the
movements jerky, uncertain, like a lizard s. For a moment it seemed to David
that the flesh fell away from her face and he truly looked upon an empty skull
with burning eyes.
p. 217 Greetings, Banshee of the Sullivans, I say, he continued, swallowing
hard. Looks like you ve had a long journey tonight but it ll do you no good,
I m afraid. I can t let you have what you came for.
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The wailing of the banshee faltered. She looked there was no other word for
it puzzled.
David coughed nervously, and carefully laid the changeling before him on the
porch floor. I have a child here, a
Faery child. I don t know if he has a soul or not, but I guess I ll have to
find out very shortly, unless some things change real fast. I have no doubt
that this knife this iron knife will have some effect. He raised his voice
and looked up, his gaze searching the darkness beyond the banshee. You hear
me? I m going to kill the changeling. The Sidhe took my brother; I claim this
life for myself! He raised the blade.
The banshee took a tentative step forward and extended its arms; its fingers
caressed the air.
David jerked the knife toward it in a warning gesture; his eyes flashed. Back
off! I may try to kill the dead before this is over.
He glanced down at the changeling. Its eyes were open, blue on green, but the
green predominated now and by some trick they reflected a hint of the red
gleam from those other eyes.
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I m not kidding, banshee! Go back to Ireland, and leave Dale Sullivan in
peace. I don t want to hurt this . . . whatever it is. Really I don t. But I
will if I have to, because I know my uncle is real, half alive though he is,
and I know he doesn t deserve what you people have done to him. David
suddenly realized he was not addressing the banshee so much as an unseen host
he imagined in the darkness.
The banshee took another step; the hem of her robe touched the bottom step.
David raised the knife higher.
Stop! came a voice from the shadows by the barn.
David s head jerked up sharply.
The banshee, too, turned; its wild hair flowed like water about its shoulders.
The keening had quieted to a low, thin hiss, like the wind between skeletal
teeth.
A woman stepped into the light before the door: A beautiful, pale-skinned
woman clothed in deep blue-gray a black-haired woman of the Sidhe.
p. 218 Who are you talking to? David asked sharply. Me, or the banshee of
the Sullivans?
I speak to you both, the woman said. And he could see that rage wrapped her
like a cloud, but he was unsure of its focus.
She stepped closer even as the banshee stepped back to regard her. They faced
each other across the backyard, ten feet apart. David picked up the changeling
and walked to the top of the steps.
Do not harm my child! the woman cried angrily as she turned her head
slightly to face the banshee.
She extended a pointed finger. Banshee, begone! I would speak privately with
this one.
The towering figure did not move.
David laughed in spite of himself. Seems like she won t listen to you,
either, he said. But I m still not satisfied. Is this your child, woman?
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The Faery woman looked David up and down contemptuously. It is.
What am doing with it, then?
I
Ailill stole him from me.
But you let him be stolen. You haven t tried to get him back. The child is
sick, woman; he s probably going to die anyway. I m just going to help him
along, a little.
Not by iron! Not wielded by mortal hand!
David shrugged deliberately. Talk to the banshee, then.
The woman turned her head a bare fraction. The banshee does not concern me.
All I desire is my child s safety.
Well, why don t you just take him, then? David said carefully. All you have
to do is help me first. He knelt and gently laid the changeling lengthwise
before him and then set the flat of the knife against its throat. It did not
flinch. David was scared as hell.
The Faery woman stepped forward and stretched her hands toward the still form,
brushing her fingertips across its face then jerked them back abruptly to hold
them clenched at her sides. I may not! she cried. And not because of that
flimsy bit of iron, either. I touched my child with Power to learn what manner
of binding was laid upon him and bitter indeed was that learning. It is as I [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]