Mercedes Lackey & Ellen Guon - Knights of Ghosts and Shadows

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Mercedes Lackey and Ellen Guon

Knights of Ghosts and Shadows

Tom 0 Bedlam

"Selfish, inconsiderate, irresponsible—"

Maureen's voice had been rising all through this tirade;

by now she was hitting A above high C, and everyone in

the Faire could hear her. Eric Banyon winced, and wished

she'd get to the point, since it was pretty clear he wasn't

going to be able to patch up this fight.

Christ, it would be nice if she'd tell me what it is I'm

supposed to have done that was so awful.

She stamped her foot, and got angrier—if that was

possible—when she made no impression on the hard-

baked adobe. "Shit, Eric, I can't take you anymore! You,

you, you, that's all you think about! Where you want to

go, what you want to do, when you want to screw—now

this—this—"

Now wait just a cotton-pickin minute here— Her accu-

sations bewildered—and angered—him. What is this shit?

I've never asked her to do anything she didn't want to. I've

never gotten her into anything she didn't okay first! So I'm

doing the Fairesfor a while—I'm a musician, dammit, and

so is she! What's the big deal about my taking a couple of

gigs?

Maureen's long red hair was coming loose from its knot;

strands of it flew around her face as she gestured at the

messy area back of the Elizabethan Faire mainstage. Eric

presumed, however, that she was including the whole of

the Faire in her gesture.

"Dammit, I have had it with you!" she screamed, com-

2 Mercedes Lackey and Ellen Guon

ing into full operatic voice. "I have ^^^^

selfishness and I have had it with this grubby little dump

and I have had it with you!"

"But—" he said weakly, unable to compete with a voice

that could fill the Greek without even using the push ot

anger she had behind it now.

"You can just take this stupid gig and all the rest ot it,

and you can ... can ... keep it!" she shrieked at the top

of her range, probably shattering glassware in the taverns

and booths out front. "I am leaving'.

And with that, she threw down the bodice and skirt he d

talked her into wearing and stormed off in the directionof

the parking lot, every visible inch other pink with rage—

and^n the scraps of shorts and halter she was wearing,

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there was a lot of her visible.

She nearly collided with one of the Gypsies, who was

laden with costumes and couldn't see her. He halt ex-

pected her to turn on the girl, but she was so angry she

didn't even notice the wide-eyed dancer/musician; she Just

stormed on past, leaving the faint scent of scorched earth—

and scorched Eric—in her wake.

He wanted to run after her, but Beth was in the way,

and he'd have to bowl her over to get to Maureen in time.

Always assuming Maureen didn't deck him in full view

of the "travelers" when he caught up with her.

"What in hell was that all about?" The dark-haired,

dusty dancer put her armload of clothing where it be-

longed in the Costumes storage, and gave him an incredu-

lous look. "Who was that madwoman, Banyon?"

Eric sighed, and picked the skirt and bodice up out of

the dust, beating the worst of the dirt off them. "That was

a ... personality conflict," he said, choosing his words

carefully. "Half of it was my fault, I guess. And the other

halt of the conflict was Maureen Taylor."

"That was your girl? The man-eating soprano herself?"

Ex-girl, Eric replied bitterly. "At least at the moment.

She made that abundantly clear just now. She doesn't like

theraire in particular and my itinerant lifestyle in general "

But—Eric, everybody knows what you're like "

Maybe she thought that when she moved in with me

KNIGHT OF GHOSTS AND SHADOWS 3

I'd change? She never came out and told me that but—

maybe she thought I'd settle down. Get a job. Join the

Moose Lodge." He ducked behind the burlap curtain and

set the costume down in a stack of others. He turned

around just in time to catch Beth's sardonic expression

through the open door flap. "Well, go ahead, you might as

well say whatever it is you've got trying to beat its way

through your teeth."

"Do the words 'fat effin' chance' translate properly?" she

replied. "You've been a footloose street busker for as long

as I've known you, Banyon. You're a darlin' man," she

continued, slipping into her Faire dialect, "But I'd ne'er

be after chasin' ye if were ye the last stallion in all of

Eire. Jaysus, O'Banyon, but ye've got the wanderin' foot

an' the rovin' eye, ye do, an' I'd ne'er trust ye wi' a puir

maid's heart. Not t'mention the uither fairer portions of

meself..."

"Give me a break," he said, wincing a little. "I just like

my freedom."

"Yeah, and I just like to know where my man is once in

a while." But she took a closer look at him, and her

expression of irony softened to something a little like pity.

Not quite—but it was at least more sympathetic. She

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patted his hand. "Hey, c'mon, Eric, I'm sorry. You just

had a rather spectacular breakup. That was a stupid thing

to say. I didn't intend to make fun of you."

"It's okay," he said, only now beginning to feel anything

besides confusion and pure embarrassment. The full im-

pact of what had just happened started to hit him. Mau-

reen was gone.

Worse than that. Really gone this time. She'd never

walked out on an argument before. Not ever. He'd always

managed to get her cooled down, they'd always talked it

out. Not this time. She hadn't given him a chance to get a

single word in. He still didn't know what he'd done—but

he'd sure stepped over the line somehow. And it started

here, with the Faire.

Like he'd said to Beth, the Faire in particular and

busking in general.

What's wrong with being a traveling musician? he asked

4 Mercedes Lackey and Ellen Guon

himself angrily. What's so important about having a mun-

dane job? Shit, I'd rather die. I get by just fine. 1 did

great before I got to LA., I'm doing all right now, and I'll

do okay when I move someplace else. If she wanted a CPA,

she should have moved in with one.

He pummeled his memory, trying to remember exactly

when she'd Brst put up the storm warnings. Okay, she was

getting zoned, and I showed her the camp—that's when

she just came out and asked me how long I planned on

keeping this gig going. And how long 1 planned on staying

in LA. with her.

So I told her.

Damn. What did she expect me to do, lie to her? It's not

like I wouldn't be coming back eventually. Why does she

want a leash on me? What would she have that she doesn't

have now?

He kicked at a comer of the stage, and checked for

"travelers" before venturing out into public pathways. Just

what I need right now, a bunch of customers wanting to

hear me play "Creensleeves" for the millionth time.

He ducked through the burlap doorway, and into the

dusty Faire "street."

I thought she'd figured out I don't like being pinned

down, like the way my parents managed to pin me down

for so many years. I've had my fill of being tied hand and

foot, like a poor little lamb about to get his throat slit.

Sacrificed on the altar of Great Art. Bullshit. No more.

1 wonder if she's heading straight home to clear out her

half of the apartment? Or are we going through this all

again as soon as I get home? Goddammit, Maureen, you

knew what I was like when you moved in with me! Why

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did you have to pull this shit on me now?

Beth put her armload of costumes away and changed out

to jeans and a T-shirt with "Gentle Ladies of Death and

Destruction ™" embroidered in pink and lavender on

the front.

Poor Eric. He is going to be in real deep kirn chee when

word of this gets back to Admin. She pulled the shirt over

her head and shook out her hair. The audience didn't

KNIGHT OF GHOSTS AND SHADOWS 5

know whether to listen to the show or Mademoiselle Mimi.

At least he doesn't repeat his mistakes. Tract just went

away. Donna married her shrink and left an invite to the

wedding on his coffee table. And Kathie—the bitch—drove

him out of Texas Faire. Even if that isn't the way the

rumor-mill has it.

She hung her mini-ocarina around her neck and men-

tally slapped her hand. It was itching for her Fender—

We have a gig Wednesday night and rehearsals Monday

and Tuesday. Stop thinking heretical thoughts! Guitars

alone could get you burned at the stake by the Renaissance

Purists at this place, Kentraine. Electric guitars, oh horrors!

She poked her head out into the street, and saw Eric off

in the distance, shoulders slouched, head down.

Lawsy. It's hit him. Now we're going to be in for at least

twenty-four hours of Gloom, Despair and Agony.

Eric slowly walked down the Tinker's Lane, past the

wooden booths, decorated with colorful ribbons and cloth,

where the Faire merchants were already closing up shop

for the night.

Irish Hill. It's quiet up there this time of night. Nobody

to bother, or to bother me. I could play a bit, get my head

straight—

A few "travelers" were still wandering the Faire, gently

herded towards the exit by the red-tunicked Faire Secu-

rity. Mostly only the Faire folk were out in the narrow dirt

streets, dancers and musicians returning from their last

shows, actors carrying their props back to Lockup.

The road continued on in a marginally straight line up to

the Hill, his usual post-Faire hangout. But he could see

that something was happening up there, a group of Faire

folk gathered around a table the burning candles visible

even at this distance. Their bright costumes were now

replaced by cowled dark robes. A neo-pagan Wiccan Cov-

en was in session, and it was looking pretty serious.

Tonight is May Eve, Beltane, that's right. I'd almost

forgotten. High Holy Day. Lord. If you want to raise an

occult ruckus, seems to me this would be the place for it. I

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wanted to sit on the Hill—naw, they're already in Circle,

I'd better not disturb them. I'll find another place to play.

He trudged up the slope to the Traveler's Road, that

met the Tinker's Lane just below Irish Hill. He could hear

the soft words from the Hill: "... Great Goddess, save

our Fairesite, keep those who would destroy it at bay.

This is all we ask. Great Goddess . . .".The chant faded as

Eric walked down Traveler's Road towards the Wood, the

dark oaks hiding the last glimpse of red-gold sunlight.

So it's bad enough that they're praying for help. I didn't

know it was that grim—sounds like the death knell. Shawna

and her bunch are into "the Goddess helps those who help

themselves," and if it's gotten to the point that all they can

do is pray— He shook his head, stopped, and looked

around, the familiar booths and stages of the Faire, the

stubby brown grass, ancient oak trees, the shadowed South-

ern Califomian hills rising above it all. Damn shame. Just

because some developer thinks this would be a terrific

place for shopping mall . . .

I wish somebody really could save it. This is the best

Faire I've ever seen; it's so alive, always music and

laughing— But when a corporation gets something into its

collective head, there ain't much you can do about it. Not

when they've got all the money, all the pull they need to

make whoever owned the land sell it. Possession being

nine-tenths . . . and I know I saw surveyors out here

Friday.

General depression piled on personal depression.

/ don't know if I want to stick around and see this place

turn into another shrine to McDonald's and Sears Roe-

buck. Maybe this is a good time to move on.

Maureen sure wouldn't mind seeing me leave LA.

Eric sighed and continued walking, dodging three

drunken travelers, two guys in shorts and T-shirts, each

carrying stacked paper beer cups, at least fifteen each—

and keeping their balance despite the added burden of the

third member of their party, slung over one guy's shoul-

der, out cold.

No wonder he's DOA. Their blood must he at least sixty

proof. He felt sorry for the Security guy, trying to push

KNIGHT OF GHOSTS AND SHADOWS 7

the three in the direction of the Faire exit. Not my idea of

a fun job.

The Wood loomed before him now, oak branches curv-

ing overhead to create thick darkness beneath. Dark and

forbidding, to anybody who didn't know it.

But it was as familiar as an old friend to Eric, who'd

played there for years: on the Wood Stage, and on the

streets filled with travelers and Faire folk.

His pace slowed, and he felt a pang, thinking about how

this would all go under a bulldozer's blade. God, but I

love this place. It's the only place I've ever really felt at

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home—even when I want to escape from everything, there's

that grove, hidden at the edge of the Fairesite . . .

It occurred to him that since Irish Hill was occupied, he

might want to play there for a while tonight, just get

away from everybody and everything and play until he

couldn't think or feel anything anymore . . .

Damn it, Maureen, everything was fine! How could you

walk out on me like this?

He walked to the edge of the haybale rows that were

the seats for the Wood Stage. A group of musicians was

seated on the stage, playing. Eric smiled sadly, recogniz-

ing the tune even before he saw the players. "Banish

Misfortune" . . . yeah, I wish it could.

The reality of the fight—and what it meant—hit him.

He began to feel empty inside, and lost; like he'd lost

more than just Maureen. Like he'd lost his way and he'd

never find it again. Black despair came down on him, so

palpable that he was mildly surprised that he wasn't sur-

rounded by a dark fog like a cartoon character.

God. I don't know where I'm going, what I'm doing.

Nothing makes sense anymore . . .

All of the Celtic musicians were on the stage, some still

wearing their Faire costumes, others in denim jeans and

sweaters. All his friends, his favorite people. Linda and

Aaron, fiddling like crazy, with Ross and red-bearded lan

pounding out the fast tempo on their Irish war drums.

Judy standing over her dulcimer, the hand-held hammers

moving so fast they blurred, with Jay sitting next to her,

playing tinwhistle.

8 Mercedes Lackey and Ellen Guon

And four of the visiting Northerners, two fiddler girls

looking like a matched set, one with short curly hair, the

other a blonde; off in the back, a serious dark-haired

woman concentrating on an intricate rhythm on a dumbek,

and that blond bearded fellow playing the bouzouki.

Together they sounded better than any professional group

Eric had heard in six years of busking, and the music was

magnetic, drawing him to them. He half-reached for his

flute, then sighed. Not tonight. I can't pretend that noth-

ing's happened, pretend to be cheerful and happy. They'll

know I'm pretending, they'll hear it in my music. No,

they're having fun. Better not to spoil it.

"Hey, Eric, you crazy whistler, come down here!" Judy

called to him.

He forced a laugh and shook his head, calling back to

her over the loud music. "Not tonight, sweetheart, I have

a previous engagement." He grinned. "Maybe afterwards.

Judy laughed and said something he didn't catch, though

from the look on her face it was probably salacious. He

just kept his mouth stretched in that phony grin and

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hurried past them, hoping none of them would decide to

follow and haul him back.

"Hey, Eric!" Beth hailed him from behind.

Oh shit. I didn't want to talk to anyone—especially not

somebody who saw the fight.

Beth could hear Eric groan, but he stopped, and turned

to face her.

"Beth, I'm not in the mood—" he began. She shoved a

flask into his long, fine-boned hand before he could finish

his statement.

"Have a pull on that," she ordered. "I only heard the

tail end of the fight, but I suspect you need it. Besides, we

can stay here and talk about it, if you want. I may have to

go take care of the rumor-mill after that ruckus."

And I want to know, because you don't usually go

around making women screaming mad on purpose, Banyon,

she thought wryly. You may not think about things before

you do them, but you don't screw up on purpose. And I

don't think you would knowingly hurt a fly.

KNIGHT OF GHOSTS AND SHADOWS 9

Beth remembered Kathie, and how she'd used this lad

to get herself into the Texas Faire, then into a pro band,

then dropped him like a hot rock.

In your own peculiar way, you're the gentlest man I

know. And, in your own peculiar way, the most forgiving.

You forgave Kathie, and I never would have. Hell, I still

haven't, and I wasn't the one who got it in the teeth.

"I'd almost rather not talk about it," he said plaintively,

shaking his shoulder-length chestnut hair out of his eyes.

Cod, how can anyone be that pretty? He looks like

Sophia Loren at sixteen. With the appropriate male accou-

trements. Very . . . nice.

Down, girl. He's also as feckless as they come. He's no

good to you or himself as he is.

"You want to live till morning?" she retorted, hands on

hips. "Look, maybe I can scotch some of the worst ru-

mors. Tongues are already clacking, and they're not being

real flattering to you. Besides, you've never hesitated to

talk to me before, right?" He gave her an open, vulnerable

look that almost made her want to take him in her arms

and give him the best kind of comfort for a broken heart.

Almost.

She continued, trying to keep her thoughts where they

belonged—out of the gutter. "And maybe I can help you

figure this thing out, keep you from getting into any more

screaming break-up fights behind Mainstage . . . during

the five o'clock show, no less."

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His eyes widened. "You mean . . . could they hear us

out there on the haybales?"

"To the tenth row, m'friend."

"Shit. Somebody from Admin is probably going to toast

my tail for breakfast." He uncorked the flask, and took a

mouthful. His eyebrows rose, and he took a second.

Well, at least he appreciates my whiskey.

"Thanks," Eric said, pausing long enough to come up

for air. "This helps a lot. I think Glenfiddich can cure

almost anything, even broken hearts." He took another

swallow, and Beth waited until he recorked the flask.

"Okay," she said, "You and Signorina Tosca seemed to

be doing all right around noon—what happened after that?"

10 Mercedes Lackey and Ellen Guon

He shuffled his feet in the dust, and looked sheepish.

Too damn cute for his own good, that's Eric Banyan. He

attracts too many women who think that sweet face means

he's malleable. They don't look past the face to the eyes,

the eyes watching for somebody who might put fetters on

him. They look at the generosity, and they think he's theirs

for the taking. He'll give you anything, all right; anything

but himself. That part of him that he won't let anyone see,

or touch . . .

"She was getting hot, I guess, and sweaty, and she

wanted to know how much longer I was going to be out

here. I told her all weekend. Then she wanted to know

where the motel was. I said there wasn't one, and I told

her about my campsite."

Oh boy, the operatic soprano hothouse-plant meets

reality.

"I can hear the storm brewing already," Beth remarked

sagely, since he seemed to be waiting for her to say

something.

"Yeah." He took another swig, and his eyes took on

their habitual expression of wariness. "Then when I was

checking the schedules backstage, she wanted to know

how long this was gonna go on. I told her. Then I said I

was thinking about hitting Northern Faire in the fall,

maybe stay up in SanFran after, if the busking was good. I

didn't get a chance to tell her I'd be back by Thanksgiving,

'cause that was when the excrement hit the rotating blades."

Beth shook her head, and recaptured her flask. "Eric,

Eric, you lovable idiot . . ." She took a swig. "If I was

planning on setting up a fight between the two of you, I

couldn't have managed it better. You probably punched

every button she has."

This one is obtuse even for you, sweetie. First you let

her think you're planning on a long-term relationship,

then start wandering off at odd intervals, then casually

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tell her you may be cruising on out—without her—this

fall. Banyon, you definitely take the prize.

"I don't see why," he said, obviously nettled. "She knew

I was a street busker, that was how we met! Right at the

downtown YMCA. I was playing the street; she was com-

KNIGHT OF GHOSTS AND SHADOWS 11

ing back from a rehearsal at the Pavilion. She knew exactly

the kind of guy I am, from the minute she met me."

"Allow the Great Madame Zarathustra to read the past,"

Beth intoned in a cheap gypsy accent. "Tell me, in the

past several weeks has she, or has she not, been making

hints about how you should go do some serious auditions?"

"Well, yeah ..." The eyes were warier.

"Has she not, in fact, set up a couple of auditions? Like

the one you were telling me about a few weeks back, with

that chamber orchestra?"

"Well, yeah ..." He wouldn't look at her.

"Did you not, in fact, go to those auditions? And get job

offers?" Taking the line of least resistance, you lazy

sonuvabitch. Avoiding a confrontation, and inadvertantly

leading her on—

"Well, yeah—but I didn't take any of those jobs!"

"Which looked like what? That you weren't interested?

Hell no! Like you were waiting for something better."

Beth ran her hand through her hair in exasperation. Banyon

actually looked perplexed. "Look, dummy, anybody with

half an ear knows how good you are. Madame Butterfly

has considerably more than half an ear. She figured you

saw how well those piddly auditions were going, and you

were gonna go for something big—and then settle down

with her."

"Aw, come on, Beth—I never— I mean—she's the one

that moved in, she's the one that started the thing in the

first place. It's not my fault, dammit! You know it isn't!

Come on, Beth ..."

He finally wound down, and sighed. "Shit. I did let her

think I was planning to stick around and take a serious gig,

didn't I?"

No shit, Sherlock. "I think that's a pretty fair assessment."

He looked down at the dirt of the path for a moment,

and when he looked back up at her, the haunted expres-

sion in his eyes finally made her feel a bit more sympa-

thetic. Maybe more than sympathetic—

Hold on there, girl. Don't let that pretty face and those

big brown eyes make you forget. He's the original Love-

'em-and-leave-'em. Mister Drifter. He likes hav'ng no ties.

12 Mercedes Lackey and Ellen Guon

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Though I don't think he likes the feeling of having someone

like Maureen walk out on him—they were a pretty tight

little item, and the chemistry sure seemed to be there.

"I didn't mean to, Beth," he said quietly. "I didn't mean

to string her along. If she'd said something, I'd have told

her."

She sighed. "I believe you. I just wish for once you'd

look at what you're doing before it gets to scenes like this.

Holy Saints Paddy and Bride, you never do things by

halves, do you, Banyon?"

She shook her head; he hung his.

"All right, now that I know what happened, I can at

least see what I can do to keep your reputation out of the

mud. I'll try to put in a good word for you with the Admin

people, too, convince Caitlin that you couldn't avoid it,

wasn't your fault." He started to turn away. "And by the

way—"

"What?" he replied, lifelessly.

Come on, bucko. Keep looking down in the dumps, and

I may bed you just to cheer you up. Pure therapy.

Sure, Beth, and I've got this beachfront property in

Nevada . . .

"We've got another gig over in that place on Van Nuys,

and we'll keep a corner of the stage warm for you. You're

welcome to come on by, usual split. It's been a while—

would be nice to have you back, you and that whistle of

yours."

He gave her a miserable attempt at a smile. "Thanks,

Beth. I just may do that. Hey, Spiral Dance is a helluva

lot better than that dump deserves—how come you keep

going back there?"

"We have our reasons." Which I wouldn't tell anyone

unless they're one of us. Not even you, m friend. 'Sides, I

bet you wouldn't believe it anyway.

"Oh,"

Beth passed him the flask for a last swig, then headed

back the way she had come, towards Woods Stage and the

jam.

But as she walked down to the stage and pulled out her

ocarina, she spared a last, pitying thought for the lonely

KNIGHT OF GHOSTS AND SHADOWS 13

figure trudging off into the dusk. He really doesn't under-

stand it at all. He tries, but he doesn't. Banyon, Banyon,

when are you ever going to grow up?

Beth already had her ocarina out, adding the tiny wooden

whistle's voice to the jam session's version of "Kesh Jig"

file:///G|/rah/Mercedes%20Lackey/Lackey,%20M...%20Knights%20of%20Ghosts%20and%20Shadows.txt (10 of 285) [2/2/2004 1:22:59 AM]

Mercedes Lackey & Ellen Guon - Knights of Ghosts and Shadows

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