by Terry Brooks
He wished momentarily that things could go back to the way they had been. He wished he could return to the city, to the abandoned building in Pioneer Square, that he could live there again with his family, and that the future could be nothing more than a dream that came every so often to remind him of what might one day be.
“Logan Tom will be here soon,” he said. “When he gets here, we will go looking for the monster.”
“I could do that myself,” she said. Her eyes were dark with anger. “Just as well as he could. I might have to, if he doesn’t return soon. We don’t even know if he’s still alive. There’s nothing to say he is.”
Which was true. “He’s alive,” Hawk said anyway, feeling inside the certainty that he was.
She studied him with a gaze that said everything about her feelings toward him. She didn’t believe him. She didn’t think that he could do the things he claimed. She hadn’t witnessed any of his magic firsthand, and she wasn’t convinced by what she had been told. She was worried for the children he was going to lead and suspicious of where he was taking them. But he didn’t know what to do about it.
“Maybe we can leave tomorrow,” he told her. “I can tell you by tonight.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what to make of you, amigo. I don’t know if you’re what you say you are or not. Maybe you don’t know, either. Maybe you’re doing what you think is right. Maybe. But if it turns out you don’t know what you’re doing, a lot of people are going to be very angry. Especially me.”
“If I don’t know what I’m doing, it won’t matter,” he replied. “Because we’ll all be dead.”
She stared at him for a long moment, as if undecided about whether to pursue the matter. Then she wheeled about wordlessly and walked away.
“YOU’RE SURE ABOUT THIS?” Fixit pressed, hoping that maybe the other boy wasn’t.
But Chalk gave a quick, firm nod. “I heard them talking. A couple of the caregivers. A boy and a girl disappeared sometime last night. Didn’t come back. No one can find them. They sent out search parties, but there was no trace.”
“Just like the others,” Fixit said.
Chalk compressed his lips. “Just like the others.”
It was late in the afternoon, another sultry, miserably hot day on the flats above the Columbia River, another day of sitting around and waiting for something to happen. They were crouched together in the partial shade of some tall brush off to one side of the main camp. Fixit was working on an explosives fuse he had picked up from the discards down by the bridge where the demolitions teams were wiring the bridge. If the demon army that they were expecting reached them before they could escape, they would blow the bridge. It would take time for the enemy to find another way across the river. It would gain them at least a day and maybe more.
He glanced at Chalk, who had begun drawing images in the dry earth with the end of a stick. Even using such rudimentary materials, he soon had the beginnings of a sketch of the mountains south, using dark and light earth and sand to shade and delineate. Fixit watched the picture take shape, struck once again by how talented his friend was. No one could create images with the precision and depth Chalk could.
“Do you think we might leave anytime soon?” he asked.
Chalk shrugged. “Hawk makes those kinds of decisions, not me. Even the lady who runs the camp listens to him. No one leaves until he says they should.” He shook his head and looked up at Fixit. “The boy and his children. Can you believe it? We all thought it was a story. Oh, we thought it might really happen, someday. But we thought it was only meant for us, for the Ghosts, and not for all these others.”
“I believed it,” Fixit insisted.
“Sure. But think about it. We didn’t believe it was going to happen now. Not right away. In the future, sure. But we’re still just kids. We aren’t ready for this.”
Fixit looked at his friend’s sunburned face, nodding. Chalk wasn’t used to being out in the heat. He looked flushed and angry. “I know,” he said, mostly to end the conversation. “You should get some water to drink. Aren’t you hot?”
Chalk smirked. “Only all the time. Guys like me, pale-skinned guys, don’t belong out in the sun. We belong inside. That’s why it would be better if we were back in the city, in our home, away from all this.” He paused. “What about the monster, Fixit? You think it’s doing all this with the missing kids? You think it’s taking them?”
Fixit didn’t know, but he nodded anyway. “Hawk says so. He’s convinced it’s that demon that almost got him a couple of days back. Tracking him still, right to our doorstep.”
Chalk shivered. “I wish it would just go away, go hunt someone else. I don’t like having that thing out there. You heard how Panther described it.”
Fixit nodded. He tried to picture the demon in his mind. It was hard because he hadn’t seen it, only heard it described by the others. A big, shambling hulk formed of scales and hair and leathery hide, long arms with massive hands and claws, and a head that looked as if a boulder had fallen on it. He could see it, all right. Eyes that looked right through you, that cut you apart and left you helpless. He shook the image from his mind. He was glad he hadn’t been there when it came after the others. If Hawk, Bear, Sparrow, and Cheney weren’t enough, then he didn’t know what was.
“Tell you what,” Chalk said suddenly, breaking into his thoughts. “I’m not going anywhere until they kill that thing. I’m staying right here in camp.”
“Those kids were in camp, too,” Fixit pointed out. “It got to them anyway.”
“I don’t know about that.” Chalk shook his head, his face flushed with more than the heat. “I think they must have wandered off, gone somewhere outside the perimeter. That’s how it managed to get them. I mean, think about it. If they had stayed inside the camp, how could something that big take them and no one see or hear anything?”
“I don’t want to think about it,” Fixit said. He glanced past Chalk in the direction of the camp. “Hey, let’s see what Owl has to say.”
They turned to watch Owl approach, wheeling her chair carefully over the rocky ground, eyes fixed on them. River was walking with her, helping with the chair.
When she reached them, Owl took a moment to size them up. “Don’t you think you’re a little farther out than you should be?” she asked quietly.
Fixit and Chalk looked at each other. Neither one had given it a moment’s thought. In fact, they had believed they were pretty close in.
“It’s dangerous for you to be anywhere but in the center of the camp,” River added. “You know why.”
“You think that was what happened to those kids, Owl?” Fixit asked.
“I think you don’t want to risk finding out,” she replied. Then she smiled. “Let’s just try to be very careful for a few days more, all right?”
Both boys nodded, feeling slightly foolish for not doing what their mother had expected of them. But the whole business didn’t feel real somehow; it didn’t feel as though it had anything to do with them. Fixit thought that if they had actually seen the monster, it might have helped convince them. On the other hand, he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to see it.
“What does Hawk say about leaving this place?” Chalk asked. He made a face. “I’m tired of sitting around doing nothing.”
“It’s what you do most of the time anyway,” a new voice declared, and Sparrow walked over to join them. She knelt next to him, blue eyes quizzical. “But I wouldn’t argue with what you’re suggesting. I’d like to get out of here, too. I don’t like how being here makes me feel.”
She was carrying the Parkhan Spray. She carried it constantly now, ever since their encounter with the monster. She seemed edgy all the time, too, Fixit thought. Not like the old Sparrow.
“Hawk says he hopes we can leave tomorrow,” Owl offered. She squinted against the sun. “He’s waiting for Logan Tom.”
“Been waiting on him too long already,” Panther declared, coming up to join the rest of them,
Bear with him. He was armed, as well. “What’s he doing, anyway? Does anyone know? He just left us and went off on his own. Not very responsible, frickin’ Knight of Nothing.”
“He doesn’t answer to us,” Sparrow snapped. “It’s his business what he does.”
“Okay, it’s his business. But I don’t see why we’re waiting on him.”
“Because if Hawk says to wait on him, that’s good enough for me, Panther Puss!”
“If Bird-Man told you to jump off a cliff, that would be good enough for you!” Panther snapped. “But I ain’t like you, Sparrow. I don’t stand around waiting for someone to tell me what to do.”
“No, you just go do whatever you feel like, don’t you?” Sparrow sneered. “Mister Who-Cares-About-Anyone-But-Me.”
“Stop it!” Owl ordered sharply, silencing them both. “You sound like little children. You’re not. You’re big enough to know. We don’t need this arguing. We need to be patient with each other and to look out for each other until we get to where we’re going!”
“To get to where we’re going, first we got to start walking,” Panther grumbled. “Not sit around.”
“We’ll go,” she insisted. “It won’t be long now. Hawk will take us.”
Panther rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything further. After a few minutes, he muttered something about needing to find Cat and wandered off. Bear left with Sparrow shortly after that.
Owl and River sat with Fixit and Chalk for a while longer, not saying much, just keeping one another company. Fixit found himself thinking again of the old days in Pioneer Square, where their lives had been less complicated. He wished again that they could go back. He wished they could have their evenings together with stories after dinner from Owl. He felt rootless and disconnected from everything, and it bothered him more than he could say.
When the sun sank west toward the mountains, Owl told River they should go find Hawk and see if anything had changed. “Remember what I said,” she admonished Fixit and Chalk before leaving. “Stay inside the camp and close to other people. Don’t go off alone.”
Both boys nodded. But after she was out of earshot, Chalk said, “She worries too much.”
“That’s her job,” Fixit replied.
“Well, I think she’s working overtime at it. She looks awfully tired. Did you see her face?”
Fixit nodded. “I saw.”
He didn’t like the way Owl looked, either. She hadn’t looked good for some time now, ever since losing Squirrel, and none of them knew what to do about it. It wasn’t the sort of thing you could address directly. You could suggest she get some more sleep and not try to do so much, but you couldn’t just come out and tell her she wasn’t looking well. At least, he couldn’t. Maybe River could.
He would say something to River, he decided. Owl might listen to River.
They sat quietly for a time as the sun continued its slow journey toward the mountains behind them, the heat of the day pooling and settling like soup in a cauldron. The sounds of the camp changed as work was put aside in favor of dinner preparations. There wasn’t much to eat these days, and everything was strictly rationed. The foraging groups were finding less and less from which to make a meal, which was another reason they needed to move somewhere else. This spot was used up, and the camp was in danger of becoming a breeding ground for bad things.
Fixit thought again of the monster, picturing it in his mind one more time before brushing it aside. It didn’t help to think on it.
“Let’s do what Owl says and stay inside the camp,” he said finally. “You know, stick together.”
“We’re always together,” Chalk pointed out.
Fixit shrugged. “I’m just saying.”
They sat quietly for a few minutes more and then rose to go off and eat their dinner.
TWENTY-THREE
I T WAS SHORTLY AFTER MIDDAY of the following day that Logan Tom pulled the Ventra 5000 onto the bridge that crossed north over the Columbia River to the refugee children’s camp and was confronted by a cluster of barricades and armed guards. Suspicious looks greeted his appearance, cast first toward the rune-carved black staff he was carrying and then toward his passenger. While Kirisin had the basic appearance of a human, there was no mistaking that the strange pointed ears and slanted eyebrows marked him as something more. The commander of the bridge defenders was summoned, took a quick look at things, and politely but firmly asked Logan and Kirisin to wait where they were for just a few minutes more.
“Seeking to pass any decision as to what to do with us on to someone else,” Logan said to the boy after the commander had departed.
“Don’t they know who you are?” Kirisin asked him.
“They know what I am, but not who I am. Big difference. If Hawk and the Ghosts haven’t made it here, no one will know anything at all about us.” He sighed. “It’s happened before. It’ll happen again.”
“Won’t they let us cross? They won’t turn us away, will they?” Kirisin paused. “Do you think that Praxia and the others are here?”
Now, that last was a good question, Logan thought. He shook his head at the boy, indicating his lack of a helpful answer. They should have caught up with Praxia and the other two Elves by now. Should have found them somewhere along the road coming up. But they had seen no sign of the Elves at all, and now Logan was starting to worry that something might have happened to them. And to the Loden Elfstone, which contained the bulk of the Elven nation, its talismanic tree, and its city. Logan didn’t like to think what that would mean.
They were silent after that while they waited, surrounded by guards arrayed loosely about the Ventra, weapons not leveled but ready, eyes watchful. Logan didn’t blame them. In their place, he would have assumed the same stance. He glanced past them to the barricades and then beyond to where a small cluster of men and women worked over what looked to be wires attached to detonators. He had done enough work with explosives while he was with Michael to know what he was looking at. The defenders of the camp were set to blow the bridge if they felt the barricades were in danger of being breached by an enemy.
He wondered if they had a specific enemy in mind. He wondered if they knew about the demon-led armies working their way inland from the coastal regions. Given that they had fled north from Los Angeles, it seemed likely they did.
“I’m worried about Angel Perez, too,” Kirisin said suddenly. Logan looked over at him. “We left her just down the river with Larkin Quill, a former Tracker that Sim knows.” He hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more. “He was looking after her until she was well enough to come join us. But we never heard anything more. She should be here, too. If she isn’t, we need to find her.”
Logan nodded without saying anything that would commit him. He couldn’t make Kirisin any sort of promise at this point. He wasn’t sure what he would and wouldn’t be able to do. Obviously, it would help to have another Knight of the Word in their camp. But he couldn’t be sure how fit she was or even if he could get to her. The demons under that old man would be coming as quickly as they could manage. Moving an army north through the mountains would take time, even if the demon drove them hard. But Logan could not depend on gaining more than a handful of days before the leading elements caught up to them and began efforts at forcing a crossing.
He couldn’t even promise himself that he would go back and look for Simralin, something he wanted desperately to do.
He shook his head. Mostly, he needed to get everyone moving. The longer they delayed in getting to the haven that Hawk was supposed to lead them to, the greater the danger that they wouldn’t reach it at all.
There was sudden movement from behind the barricades and guards. The commander of the bridge defense had returned in the company of two women. A small, intense woman with short-cropped blond hair and a determined step was in the lead. But it was the bronze-skinned woman walking next to her that caught his eye immediately.
Or, more particularly, the black staff she carried.
A couple of the guards tried to stop him, but he was too quick for them, and the next thing anyone knew he had reached the second woman and flung his arms around her in an effusive hug. Logan watched in amusement, then extracted himself from the Ventra and walked over to join them.
The woman with the short blond hair stepped forward to greet him. “I’m Helen Rice,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m leader of this camp.”
“Logan Tom,” he replied, taking her hand in his own. Her grip was firm and reassuring. He liked how it felt. He shifted his gaze to Kirisin and the young woman he was hugging. “Angel Perez?”
The young woman gave him a quick smile. Then she whispered something to Kirisin, who immediately released her and stepped back, blushing as he did so. “Sorry,” the boy mumbled.
Angel Perez reached out and ruffled his hair. “I’m glad to see you, too. We were worried about you.” She extended her hand to Logan, who took it in his own. “I’m Angel,” she affirmed. “It’s good to have you here, Logan.” She paused, looked past him, and then looked back again quickly. “Only the two of you? I was expecting quite a few more. What’s happened to the rest of the Elves?”
“It’s a long story,” Logan said, shrugging.
“Let’s go somewhere else for that,” Helen Rice suggested. She glanced at the Ventra. “Someone will bring your AV along later.”
She led them back through the barricades and guards and into the camp beyond. Logan took in the sprawl of tents and makeshift shelters, cooking fires, fenced-off areas of supplies and equipment, and armed guards who stood watch almost everywhere. Children were gathered in small groups within the perimeter of their cordon, working and playing, heads turning at his approach, eyes studying him briefly before shifting away. The children looked better than he thought they had a right to given the obvious lack of adequate food and shelter. Some even smiled.
