Excerpts
From Friday Night after Second Weekend
I am not dressed for this, Bea mused for the third time, and she'd only just cleared C-gate. The weather had settled to a hazy, creeping chill that seeks out warmth and sucks it away. A hastily-donned cardigan was not going to make up for air that had lost the day's heat but not its moisture.
On the other hand, the high humidity made the moonlight occasionally dance in front of her eyes in miniature prisms and spots. Or maybe it's just that the faeries are out tonight, Bea thought with a mental grin. The moon wasn't quite full yet, but there was certainly enough of it that the Fae would enjoy a romp.
The express teller machine beside C-gate flashed capitalist messages in a disturbing shade of green.
As Bea meandered away from the comforting sounds of the Blue-Legged Unicorn, she found the moonlight more unsettling than a cloudier night. Stark shadows thrust sharply across the ground and anything else in their way. Hay turned to molten strands of silver, and anything painted a light color glowed eerily. She half expected some little gremlin to pop out at her, all purple-glowing teeth and eyes.
Thoughts like that aren't helping your cause, Bea told herself firmly. You must not want this much if you consider turning back the first time you get a little spooked. Come on, now. Not kosher to attack pilgrims on their way to a holy place, right?
As she approached the Harvest Man, Bea kept her eyes down. She was going for guidance and clarity - aye, true - but something deep within her feared what she might find all the same . . . and chiding herself did nothing to alleviate the situation. Humbly, and with no little trepidation, the rookie knelt before the giant idol. The long cloth ribbons fluttered quietly in the breeze. The moon-washed grass at her knees held the slightest hint of green in its shadows.
"I bring to you a feather for freedom, a yellow rose for friendship, and a red rose for love." Reverently, she laid the items among the creeping vines. "I'm pretty confused about all that stuff, actually. I want to find my love, but I don't know if maybe I have already, and if it's Liam, I think I need to ask you to help give me the strength to submit because he makes me really jumpy when he's not making me melt into a little puddle, and that's probably something wrong with me and not something wrong with him. If it's not Liam, please help me find who it is - someone who is freedom and friendship and love. Help me have the clarity of heart and mind to realize who it is when they show up, and help them realize, too, because none of this is going to do anyone much good if it's one-sided, you know?" She paused, a little awkwardly. "I'm, um, not expecting a neon sign or a lightning bolt or anything like that. Just maybe a nudge, if it's not to much trouble and stuff. Er . . . yeah. And even if you don't, thanks for listening. I appreciate it." After a few more moments of quiet respect, Bea rose, dusted herself off, and headed the long way back to the campground, around the Flying Buttress side of Track. Her right leg from the knee down was wet from the dew where she'd knelt.
But oddly, Bea didn't feel cold anymore.
It seemed a good sort of omen, she decided as she rounded the end of Flying Buttress Stage and scaled the small hill at its end.
And went absolutely round-eyed.
Someone had turned on the blacklight in the BLUE's tower; it glowed surreal off the fog as stark moonlight bathed Bea from behind. Faintly she heard wire-strung guitars as the opening strains of "Hotel California" drifted from within.
"Oh, wow." Bea stood for a moment, imprinting the moment in her soul.
Despite better sense that warned she might disappear off the face of the dimension if she entered, the rookie slowly approached and let herself into the firelit room. Somebody was mulling cider, and it smelled absolutely wonderful. Bea found the bartender and procured herself a mugful (and a pottery mug with "BLUE" and the year on the front - just because she could) before locating a quiet corner in which to sit and watch the show, maybe even learn a couple songs. Which I can do now, she reminded herself with a smug smile, since I don't have to worry about ignoring my date in favor of the music.
And it really was worth it, Bea decided as the cider spread its warmth sleepily through her and the musicians ran through a few tunes. No one was paying any attention to her, and she liked that. She could observe unseen, enjoying the casual laughing banter the musicians tossed around between songs, just as entertaining as the music itself. Here were people who made music for the sake of making it, not just to see how much they could make in hat pass. Here was music given freely to the night and anyone who cared to listen.
And they showed no signs of slowing or stopping.
That was okay with Bea. She didn't want them to.
Fog swirled outside the windows as Ryna and her father entered playing their fiddles, bringing with them an eerie, slow lament. Voices took up the round in a key that slid just a little sideways of reality. Soon the tavern had stilled save for the many-voiced cry:
"We lay down and wept,
And wept
For Avalon.
Please remember, please remember,
Please remember
Avalon . . ."
Bea heard her own voice and wondered when she had begun to sing. Other instruments joined in a respectful cadence, slow drums, guitars, a bass, a mandolin, the occasional chime of zills and shiver of tambourine, and a pennywhistle like the call of spirits in the wind as it swirled around the violins' stately melody. The music faded, slowly, a carousel winding down. For a long moment Bea felt as if she stared at an old photograph, everything in suspended animation and exquisite detail, though just a little faded: the rough wood of the tables, the warmth of the mug against her palms, the quiet crackle of the fire in the hearth, the smell of woodsmoke, and mulled cider, and Guinness.
This must be what eternity feels like, Bea mused, but thought seemed a long way off, as if it came from someone else entirely. I wonder what would happen if we never moved again?
Into that stillness dropped the enthusiastic strumming of a mandolin, followed a couple measures later by a hearty alto:
"The night that Paddy Murphy died is a night I'll
never forget
Some of the boys got roarin' drunk and they ain't got sober yet;
As long as the bottle was passed around everyone was feeling gay
O'Leary came with bagpipes some music for to play!
And that's how they showed their respect for Paddy Murphy
That's how they showed their honor and their pride;
They said it was a sin and a shame and they winked at one another
And every drink in the place was full the night Pat Murphy died!"
Bea grinned at the explosion of sound that accompanied the chorus as musicians dove into full swing and the Blue-Legged Unicorn thrummed with life oncemore.
