He pointed to Winchester. "Here is a place where the Host has driven out a Laird's Court, taking it for their own. Such places grow almost daily now.
"This map's not so new now and some of the borders have changed, for as Gyre the Elder's people grow in strength, our own borders shrink. There was a time, Jacky, when you wouldn't see a bogan though you walked from the High Dales of Dunlogan down to Avon Dhu." He pointed to the St. Lawrence Seaway as he spoke.
"But now … now Gyre the Younger stands outside my Tower, penning me in, and sluagh whisper on the winds that creep between the boards."
"Can't these other Lairds help you?" Jacky asked.
The Gruagagh shook his head. "They're as bad off as we are, if not worse."
"What about these wild faerie?"
"The fiaina are impossible to gather under one banner. They are a solitary folk and won't see the danger until it's too late. Since the Host has made no move against them to date, they appear content to remain uninvolved. It's an evil time, Jacky Rowan, and it's not getting any better."
She pointed to the first map. "It says 'The Gruagagh's Tower' here," she said, indicating the house they were in. On the map, Belmont Avenue had become Auch Ward Way. "Why does it say Tower? This is just a house."
"In the homeland, the gruagaghs all had Towers," he explained. "We're a folk that stick hard to tradition, so that even if the building's not a tower, we'll call it one all the same."
"Here's Tamson House," Jacky said, still poring over the map. She glanced up at him. "It's called that in our world as well."
The Gruagagh nodded. "That is an old magic place – a doorway to the Otherworlds of the spirits who were here before we came."
Well, there was certainly something odd about the block-long building, Jacky thought. It had always fascinated her when she walked by, especially the towers, but she'd never been inside.
"Where is Gyre the Elder's Keep?" she asked.
The Gruagagh opened the second map again and showed her. She had to think for a moment before she could find the proper name for the place, at least the name as she knew it.
"That's near Calabogie," she said at last. It was an hour west of Ottawa and she'd had a picnic at a friend's cottage near there just this summer. "But I don't remember seeing anything that looked even vaguely like a Keep." Then she smiled. "But it's not a Keep, is it? You just call it that."
The Gruagagh nodded. "The Giants' Keep is a cave – a well-guarded cave, Jacky. You'll find it hard to get near to it, much less inside, even with a hob skillyman's stitcheries to help you."
"But I have to try, don't I?"
The Gruagagh nodded again. "I suppose you must."
"If I get the Horn, will you help me call the Wild Hunt? We can set it on the giants and see how much they like it."
"I can't help you," the Gruagagh said. "And you must not return here. They have marked you now. Once in and out of my Tower, and they may let you go, or just follow and watch to see who and what you are. Twice in and out, and they'll know you for an enemy and they will kill you."
"Why can't they get into this house?"
"Because 'this house' is my Tower, a gruagagh's Tower, and I use all my diminishing powers to keep the Host at bay. To protect the Laird's heart, to protect the realm. It and the Laird's Court are the only safe havens in all of Kinrowan now. The only other safety is to tread softly so that they don't see you."
"That's why the hob was running across the park two nights ago," Jacky said. "He would've been safe if he'd reached this place. And that's why you didn't go out to help him. You couldn't."
"Just as I won't be able to help you, once you leave here," the Gruagagh said. "You can go back to your old life, Jacky Rowan, and no one will think ill of you, for this isn't your war, no matter what your name. But if you do bring the Laird's daughter back safe, you can ask anything of me and it will be yours."
"I … I don't want anything. I just want to help."
"You're a brave lass, Jacky."
She smiled quickly, pushing down the panic that was demanding to be heard. She was trying to be brave, though she didn't really know why.
"If you do reach the Keep," the Gruagagh continued, "you will still have to find the Horn. It won't be lying in plain sight, nor will Gyre the Elder keep it with him. He can use it, but it makes him uneasy, so it will be hidden."
"How do I find it then?"
"By your name."
"That doesn't tell me anything."
"Rowan," the Gruagagh said. "It will be marked by the berries of the rowan. No matter what Gyre the Elder has disguised it as, you'll know it by the berries. Like your name: Berryred. Which makes us closer kin than you think."
Jacky nodded. He'd told her earlier. His bardic name, Dearg, meant red.
"Bhruic," she said. "What's the name – the speaking name – of the Laird's daughter?"
"Lorana."
His features grew bleak and grim as he spoke her name. For a long moment silence lay between them until at last Jacky stirred.
"I'd better be going," she said.
The Gruagagh nodded. He rolled up the maps and returned them to their storage place, then rummaged about in the bag for a moment or two. When he found what he was looking for, he took Jacky's hand and pressed a small brooch into it. It was made of silver and took the shape of a tiny staff, crossed by a sprig of berries. Rowan berries, she knew. And the staff would be rowan, too.
"Take this," he said.
"What … what does it do?"
"Do?" The Gruagagh smiled. "It doesn't do anything. It's just to remind you of me. It's my way of thanking you for trying what my own people won't dare."
It was all those magic stitcheries that Finn had put into her jacket and sneakers, Jacky realized. They made her think that anything she got from faerie would … do something.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean–"
"I know."
The Gruagagh rose and she stood quickly with him.
"Don't go searching out the Giants' Keep straight away," he warned her. "The Host will be watching you to see what you do, and if you set off immediately, your quest will be doomed before you even start. Go back to your own life for a day or two. Let the Host grow weary of your routine. And then go.
"Wear your hob coat. It will hide you from most eyes at night, if not so well by day. The cap will serve you well, too. It allows you more than sight. Wearing it is what lets you accept more easily all these new things you've seen these past few nights."
He took the brooch from her hand and pinned it to her jacket.
"How come I could see you the other night?" Jacky asked. "You, and the hob, and the riders, and everything?"
The Gruagagh shrugged. "Sometimes your people stray into our realm. Grief will bring you, or strong drink. A sudden shock."
Jacky blushed thinking of strong drink. The Gruagagh turned and extinguished the candle by simply looking at it. Jacky shivered in the darkness, the reality of it all coming home again. There was a rider outside, watching, waiting. And a Big Man.
The Gruagagh opened the door and stepped to one side. "Luck be with you, Jacky Rowan."
Jacky peered out into the shadows of the backyard and hesitated. Then she frowned at herself. She stole a glance at the Gruagagh and impulsively stood on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss, then was out the door.
The Gruagagh watched her go, startled. He lifted a finger to his lips and the shadows in his eyes deepened. If duty didn't bind him, he thought, then sighed. But duty did. And so Lorana was captured or worse, and this Jacky Rowan was going out to tilt with giants, and he was trapped, bound to his duty. By his oath. By the need of the realm.
"Luck," he said again softly and closed the door.
* * *
"Finn?" Jacky whispered from the foot of the garden.
She started to look up into his tree, but then she saw that the rider on the far side of the park was no longer alone. She froze against the cedar hedge, her voice caught in her
throat. There were two of them now. She bit at her lip. Would they go away if she took off her redcap? Or would they still be there, invisible? She glanced back at the Gruagagh's Tower, wishing she hadn't left its safety.
"Finn?" she whispered again and shot a look up his tree.
She saw the hob sitting there, clutching the trunk. He turned to look down at her, a finger to his lips. Jacky followed his gaze and saw that he wasn't looking at the riders, but at the Big Man.
Gyre the Younger. An eighteen foot high giant. Here in the middle of Windsor Park. He shouldn't exist, but he did. And he was turning to look in their direction.
Frightened in earnest now, all Jacky could do was crouch by the hedge. She felt the ground tremble slightly as the giant lifted one foot, put it down, lifted the other, turned. Then he started across the park toward her.
Five
He was big, this giant. Bigger than any creature Jacky had ever seen. His head alone was more than two feet high, almost a foot and a half wide. Legs three yards long supported the enormous bulk of his torso and carried him across the park. He was going to be right on top of her in moments and she didn't know what to do. She was too petrified with fear to do more than shake where she was crouched. Her fingers plucked nervously at the hem of her jacket and she chewed furiously on her lower lip.
Run, she told herself. Get up and run, you fool. Find someplace too small for him to follow. Be a field mouse to his cat and find some hiding place to burrow into.
But she couldn't move.
Finn dropped from his tree with a rustle of leaves and crouched beside her. "I'll lead him off," he whispered urgently. "He doesn't quite know what's here, I'm thinking, so if he sees me run off, he'll give chase to me. The stitcheries in your coat will keep you hidden so long as you don't move!"
"B-but … what about you?"
"He won't catch me. Only the Hunt could catch me, but they won't follow. There's only two of them. They need their full ranks for a proper hunt."
"But –"
"Stay still!" His gaze fell on the Gruagagh's brooch and he frowned, then quickly shrugged. "I'll find you," he added. "As quick as I've lost him, I'll find you. Stay until he gives chase, then go as quick as you can to a safe place."
The only safe place Jacky could think of was the Gruagagh's Tower behind them. But before she could say anything, the giant was looming over them.
"Hey-aha!" Finn cried at the top of his lungs. "Laird, but you're an ugly creature, Gyre the Younger!"
And then he was off with the same speed that had astonished Jacky earlier. She pressed against the ground close to the hedge, trying to make as small a target of herself as she could. She expected to feel those great big hands lifting her, squeezing the life from her.
The ground trembled under the giant's tread like an echo of the shivers that fear sent through her. She peeped open an eye to see the giant turning and heading in the direction that Finn had taken. Relief went through her for one long blissful moment, then she thought of Finn with that monstrous man on his heels. If the giant ever caught hold of him … She shuddered.
She stayed hidden by the hedge until the rumble of the giant's footsteps faded before slowly getting to her feet. Her bones were all watery, but she knew she had to go now or she'd never get away at all. She glanced at the Gruagagh's Tower, but Bhruic wasn't at the window. A second glance went across the park to where the two riders sat on their gleaming machines. Then she gathered the tattered remnants of her courage and crept away, following the hedge to the backyard of one of the neighboring houses and from there onto Belmont Avenue.
Just as she was congratulating herself on her escape, the sound of a big Harley starting up came from the direction of the park. She reminded herself that the Hunt needed its full ranks to be dangerous, but that didn't do much to ease her fear. For someone like her, they probably didn't need more than one of the riders.
She took to her heels and ran, the hob stitcheries in her sneakers lending her speed that she could never have managed on her own. From the park, the sound of the motorcycle grew louder.
* * *
Finn led the giant for a merry chase, up streets and down the back alleys where the earlier residents of the cities had once kept their horses and buggies. He made sure to always stay just in sight of his monstrous pursuer so that the giant wouldn't give up the chase until Jacky had had time to make good her escape.
Gyre the Younger moved more quickly than one might have supposed from his initial lumbering pace across the park. He took steps of three yards or more at a time, and it was only the speedy stitcheries in the hob's own brown leather shoes that kept Finn ahead. Where the hob darted between parked cars, Gyre the Younger stepped over them. Where Finn squeezed through fences and dove under hedges, the looming giant continued to merely step over each obstruction.
They passed a couple out for a late night stroll with their dog. Neither human noticed the faerie, but the hackles of their pet rose as Finn brushed by. The dog began to growl and bark after the fleeing hob, but then the giant was there and it whined, trying to hide between the legs of its master.
"Silly dog," the man said. "I don't know what's gotten into him."
Finn never heard the woman's response. He was already out of earshot, barely dodging a car on Riverdale. The driver never saw him, invisible as the hob was, but Finn gave him a curse anyway as he ran on. The car had come too close for comfort. Behind him, Gyre the Younger gave a booming laugh.
That was enough for Finn. He judged that he'd given Jacky enough time to make her escape, so he put on a new burst of speed, finally losing the giant in the trees up behind Perley Hospital. He stood and listened to the night, but it was quiet now. When he was sure that the giant had given up, Finn made his way to the back steps of a nearby house and sat down. There he let loose the string of curses that he hadn't had the breath to mouth earlier.
"Damn him, and damn his brother, and damn all his kin," he finished up with. "May he lose his head in a bogan's arse, looking for nits. May he feed on sores. May he fall asleep and let me stitch his mouth and nose fast shut, and then I'll watch him choke, and I'll smile, oh yes. Won't I just grin? Oh, damn!"
It was not so long ago that only the Lairdsfolk held Kinrowan and the Host kept to its own reaches. He could still remember when it was safe to have a gathery-up of hobs anywhere you pleased, and never have to worry about bogans or the restless dead. But times had changed, and were still changing, and none for the better.
"Oh, damn," he muttered again, scowling at his feet.
Gyre the Younger had this hob's smell, yes he did. And if he wanted, he could set the Hunt on him, just like he'd done to poor old Redfairn Tom. Finn's anger turned to sorrow, thinking of his cousin, and then he remembered Jacky. He sighed and rose silently to his feet. He supposed he had better fetch her.
What he'd told her was true: He wouldn't let anyone fall into the clutches of the Host. Not if he could help it. But that didn't explain why he'd told her all that he had, or why he'd gifted her with stitcheries. That was more than just help, but it had seemed right at the time. Just as his leading the giant away from her had been, and going to fetch her now was. They, too, seemed like things that must be done. It was poor Tom's cap, he supposed. That had made him feel kindly to her at first. And then there was her name.
He set off at a grumbling walk, hoping she'd had the good common sense to head off for a safe place once he'd led Gyre the Younger away. She was an odd sort of a girl, he thought. Brave and frightened all at the same time. Fey as his own kin sometimes, but then so bloody mortal it made him wonder that a stitchery spell would even work for her. Oh, but it took all sorts, now didn't it?
He didn't wonder too much about what had happened between her and the Gruagagh in the Gruagagh's Tower, at least not until he was on Auch Ward Way with the Tower in front of him and no sign of her anywhere. He should have been able to trace the trail of his own stitcheries, a trail not one of the Host would sense, though perhaps the Hunt c
ould. The Hunt followed the smell of your soul.
It was as he cast up and down the street, then finally snuck into the neighboring backyards to assure himself that she wasn't still huddled by the hedge, that he realized what had happened.
"What game's he playing now?" he muttered.
For he remembered the Gruagagh's brooch he'd seen pinned to her jacket and knew that it was some spell of the Gruagagh's that was stopping him from following the lingering trail of his own stitcheries. He paused in the middle of the street, scowling through his beard. He debated going back to his lookout tree by the Gruagagh's Tower, but he knew that the Big Man would be watching it very closely now.
So he needed a new tree to perch in – and what? Should he follow the girl or leave her to her own devices? He was partly responsible for whatever she was up to, that much was certain. He'd given her stitcheries and pointed the way to the Gruagagh's door. He wondered if the Gruagagh had told her where the Horn was, and if she truly meant to go after it. Only what if it had been the Gruagagh who had set the giant after her?
"Oh, I don't like thinking," he told the empty street.
Cloaked with the stitcheries sewn into his own coat, he crept into the backyard of a house a few doors down from the Gruagagh's Tower and stole a quick peek out across the park. When he saw just the one rider on his Harley and the giant still gone, he knew trouble was brewing. The giant would be fetching his kin, or the Horn to call up the Hunt, while the missing rider would be following Jacky.
He had to find her first. He was the one who had filled her head with all that nonsense about asking the Gruagagh for help and rescuing the Laird's daughter. Scowling at the dark shadow of the Gruagagh's Tower, he made his way back to the street. Deciding to find her was one thing, he realized once he stood there. Only where did he begin?