by Wen Spencer
All true. Little Horse had even considered finishing his training with his grandfather.
“The packet ship leaves at noon from the royal airfield,” Sword Strike continued. “Gather your things and go. Now.”
“I-I-I just got here…” Pig-Sticker trailed off. He stared at Sword Strike slack-jawed for a moment, and then whispered, “What if they will not train me? It is Cold Mountain Temple.”
“I sent you. They will train you. Go.”
Pig-Sticker went, radiating his unhappiness.
Sword Strike set a guard on Clove to see that the apothecary purchased his herbs and returned safely to the Wind Clan compound. There was no mention of punishment for Clove, which only left Little Horse’s fate undecided. The Wyvern First pointed at him and said simply, “Come.”
* * *
They crossed into the Wind Clan section of the city but did not head toward the Clan Head’s compound. Little Horse walked beside Sword Strike wondering where they were going. What punishment did the Wyvern intend? Not to execute him; Sword Strike would have done that in the market square. Send him to one of the Wind Clan’s counterparts of Cold Mountain Temple? There were four including the one where his grandmother Perfection commanded. Each was as remote as his grandfather’s monastery. His life would be fixated on combat and spiritual enlightenment—which was not necessarily a bad thing. He liked to fight. His mother had split her childhood between the two temples. She’d chosen life at court, though, once she reached her majority.
“You will be seventy this week,” Sword Strike stated.
Little Horse struggled to maintain his neutral façade. “How did you know?”
“You share the day with my daughter.”
Little Horse knew he shared Discord’s birthday but he didn’t realize that her father was aware of it. It was unsettling information. “Yes, I will be seventy.”
“What is your intention? Will you offer to Jewel Tear of Stone?”
“No!” Little Horse blushed at the speed and volume of his answer. He wanted nothing to do with the female. If she didn’t love his blade brother, then she should have told him immediately. Wolf Who Rules had spoken purely from his heart when he asked Jewel Tear to be his domi; politically the move had been very dangerous. Such courage should have been answered quickly and honestly. Jewel Tear had made Wolf Who Rules wait Little Horse’s entire life for an answer. Little Horse could never serve anyone that didn’t give her answer to such an offer immediately.
His name suggested that he would serve the goddess of war. He’d never considered that it meant he would offer to an actual female. His mother might be playful in spirit, but she wasn’t a dancing otter.
But he couldn’t tell all that to Sword Strike. Little Horse scrambled for a true but less pure answer. “I could not be Sixth to her First; I do not fit.”
Sword Strike nodded. “Tiger Eyes does not have the strength to hold against you. There would be a division between her Hands.”
Why had Sword Strike ever thought he would offer to Jewel Tear in the first place? Had Jewel Tear finally broken her silence? “Why do you ask?”
“Now that you are seventy, you can change your household or clan to one that better suits you. You could even train with one of your grandparents.”
Was the male asking him to choose his own punishment? Pig-Sticker was a provincial nobody but Little Horse was the grandson of two of the most famous and powerful sekasha still alive beyond Sword Strike himself. Was the male worried about political backlash?
“I have not given it much thought.” Little Horse carefully chose his words. “I know that I can choose to change households at seventy but until I reach my majority, I am not a true sekasha.”
“You want to offer to a domana?”
“Yes.” After this morning, he was sure his answer came from his soul. “It will be another three decades before I win my sword and can offer, but yes, that is what I want.”
Little Horse couldn’t tell if Sword Strike was satisfied with this answer or not; the Wyvern merely nodded. Little Horse was still mystified as to the reason for the conversation. They were far from Longwind’s compound; they’d reached the Wind Clan airfield at the edge of the city. There were only open pastures beyond the gossamer’s moorings.
Since each clan had their own airfield, he was surprised that the area was filling up with Fire Clan troops. Nor were they common laedin-caste royal marines; it was a dozen Hands of Wyverns.
“Forgiveness, but what is going on?” Little Horse asked.
“Pure Radiance says that Wolf Who Rules will arrive this afternoon,” Sword Strike said.
“He’s scheduled to return this week.” The Westernlands were over three thousand miles away; the ocean took days to traverse. Marauding monsters. Bad weather. Anything could have delayed Brother Wolf, but if Pure Radiance said he’d arrive today, most likely he would.
The Wyverns would only greet the domana of another clan if they intended to arrest him. Brother Wolf, though, could use the Fire esva. He was a favorite of his cousin, Queen Soulful Ember. He’d been totally out of contact for months. Nor was Wolf Who Rules one to be taken by force, not with his training and abilities. There was no logical reason for armed confrontation.
Pure Radiance did not follow logic.
“What has Pure Radiance accused Wolf Who Rules of?” Little Horse asked.
“Nothing. We’re here because of what she needs him to do.” Sword Strike pointed at a small young gossamer with the gondola of Wind Clan blue. “There he is. Go meet him. Tell him that he’ll be returning to the Westernlands as soon as he’s talked with the queen. She’ll be here shortly.”
* * *
The Wyverns had not come empty-handed. They brought weapon crates, a mountain of dried keva beans in cloth sacks, mysterious chests and boxes, and a herd of baby kuesi. Little Horse eyed the shaggy beasts currently the size of draft horses. It would take years for the animals to be large enough to do real work. What did Pure Radiance see in store for his blade brother?
Wolf’s gossamer drifted to a stop over the moorings. Its tethers dropped to waiting ground crew, the rolls of heavy rope unraveling as they fell.
Brother Wolf was first off the elevator in a show of trust to his cousins. Wolf must have left most his sekasha behind to guard the settlement; only Discord followed him. Despite the worry on Wolf’s face, he smiled and opened his arms wide to Little Horse. “You’ve gotten taller again.” His blade brother hugged him tightly, as if he had all the time in the world for Little Horse. “Why are you here alone with all these Wyverns?”
Why am I?
Sword Strike could have left him with Clove or sent him home. Why did the Wyvern First bring Little Horse here? What was the male doing in the Stone Quarters? It was a wide detour from the Fire Quarters to the Wind Quarters. Was it just luck that Sword Strike was the Wyvern that stopped his fight with Pig-Sticker? Or had Sword Strike been looking for Little Horse? Certainly Sword Strike knew who he was without having to ask his name.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted.
His mother had taught him that his name meant nothing; the only measure of his worth was what he did and said. He was aware, though, that most people expected great things from him because of his name. No one had ever indicated what those great things were going to be.
Was this the eve of his future? Had Pure Radiance sent Sword Strike to find Little Horse?
It was not Sword Strike that escorted Queen Soulful Ember across the airfield but the members of her Second Hand. It meant that her First was overseeing the Wyverns but also was a subtle indication that Wolf Who Rules was a trusted family member. Little Horse steeled himself against disappointment; he would not get any confirmation that he was meant to be there. He told himself that Discord was most likely more disappointed; she’d not seen her father since she won her sword. He could not imagine going so long without seeing his parents. He backed up to take guard position beside Discord as he struggled to keep his face neutra
l.
“Our dear cousin,” the queen greeted Brother Wolf. She wore clothes as informal as her greeting: doeskin pants and a white silk blouse under red-scaled chest armor. She carried nothing to indicate her rank, not that she needed it. The Wyverns at her back were all she needed to claim her right.
“Cousin,” Wolf echoed the greeting. “What do you need of me?”
“To be my voice,” the queen said. “You are to be my Viceroy in the Westernlands.” She waved toward a procession of Wyverns carrying the mystery chests toward the gossamer’s lift. “The position comes with a distant voice and five hundred bars of gold bullion.”
“Forgiveness?” Wolf glanced at the chests with confusion. They represented nearly as much seed money as Wolf started with. “Viceroy? There is nothing there but my own holdings.”
“That will change,” she stated. “I need you to have the authority to speak as my representative.”
“Who—who will I be speaking to? Has one of the other clans decided to use the land they were deeded?”
She did not explain whom. “There is a place that you know of. You considered it as a site for your settlement. You stayed long enough to clear an airfield. In the end, you did not choose it.”
Wolf shook his head as he thought. “There are several such places.”
“Two rivers come together to form a great and mighty third river. A tall ridge overlooks that confluence from the south.”
He nodded slowly to indicate that he knew what area she meant. “I don’t understand. There is nothing there but wilderness. We explored it, mapped several fiutana but decided against it.”
“You must return to that place. Something is about to happen there. Something beyond Pure Radiance’s ability to understand. One thing she has seen clearly: we must not ignore it. It has to be sought out, understood, and controlled, or it will destroy us.”
“And the gold bullion?”
“It is important that you can do business as equals with whomever you meet. Gold has always been universal.”
His eyes widened. “You think the humans are going to find a way to Elfhome.”
“We can only pray for creatures so benign. But yes, your fascination with them will make you invaluable in this. You speak many of their languages. You have studied their history; you know what they’re capable of. You must stand strong; do not allow them to think that we are weak. We are not primitives that can be bought with glass beads or bullied with firearms or overwhelmed by smallpox or measles. You are the strongest domana ever born; make them respect you.”
“Yes, your majesty.” Wolf retreated to his warrior-training; his face set to neutral. He bowed low to his cousin.
Sorrow filled the queen’s eyes. She laid a hand on Wolf’s cheek. “Be careful, my dear cousin. If you’re too greatly outnumbered, fall back and send word to me. It is vital that we understand who we face, how they came to our world, and what they want.”
Wolf bowed again. “I will be careful.”
* * *
After the queen had taken her leave, Brother Wolf turned and gave Little Horse a sad smile. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to spend time with you. I must go. Give my love to your mother.”
Little Horse realized that if Sword Strike had brought him here because of his name, then now was the time to act. “Take me with you.”
“Little Horse!” Wolf gripped his shoulders and gave him a little shake. “You’re not of age yet.”
“I’m old enough to decide my household,” he said. “I know my heart. I want to go with you to the Westernlands. You will need me.”
Wolf shook his head. “You are not old enough to fight.”
Little Horse fought the fear that he’d run out of time and be swept aside and then left behind. He kept his voice level and chose his words as carefully as time allowed. “A horse does not fight. It bears your weight when you need to be carried. You will do the fighting.”
Wolf glanced to Discord.
The female’s father might be Sword Strike, but her mother was Pure Radiance. Her mixed caste was marked in her pale blond hair gathered into a tight sekasha braid. She looked more like her famous mother than her father. “My mother will not tell you if you ask,” she murmured. “Knowledge changes the path taken. It has to be his decision to go and your decision to take him.”
“You were given a warrior’s name.” Little Horse reminded his brother. “We are bound at my birth by my name.”
“My mother!” Discord snarled. “She named us all! She uses people like little chess pieces to move themselves over a game board that only she can see.”
“If it was just a game,” Little Horse said, “your father Sword Strike would never allow it.”
Discord snorted.
“He is right,” Wolf said. “Nor would Pure Radiance bother if it was not important.”
“You don’t know my mother…”
“I know she is the most ruthless, calculating female alive. She would do anything to see the future fulfilled: betray her own mother, sacrifice her lover, or bear a child and put her in the path of danger. I know she guided us through the Rebellion and out of the Clan Wars. If we must walk this path to protect our people, then we will.”
Wolf leaned forward to press his forehead against Little Horse’s. “I love you, little brother. And you’re not so little anymore, so I must acknowledge that it is your right to follow your heart. I offer you the protection of my household and when the time comes and you win your sword, I will gladly accept all that you are willing to offer to me. If at that time, your heart takes you elsewhere, so be it.”
He wanted to say “never.” If Wolf wanted the comfort of allowing him such unwanted freedom as the price for taking Little Horse to the Westernlands, then he would keep his silence. “Thank you.”
ALL THE KING’S HORSES AND ALL THE KING’S MEN
Something had gone drastically wrong with the world, Lain Shenske thought, if government agents were kidnapping cripples out of rehab hospitals. They hadn’t even let the fact that she loudly refused to go or was dressed in a hospital gown deter them. Pausing only to secure her hated wheelchair, they loaded her from the gurney into a Black Hawk helicopter. They handed her off at Langley Air Force Base, loading both her and her wheelchair into one of several C-17s carrying Army soldiers and tank-like Bradleys.
Yes, something definitely had gone wrong.
They landed an hour later at a tiny little airfield in the middle of farm country. The massive transport jet dwarfed everything in sight with nothing more hostile than corn in view. A sign identified the field as “Butler County Airport” and an American flag flew atop the flagpole. While the Bradleys rumbled out of the C-17’s belly, she and her wheelchair were juggled quickly into another Black Hawk with a new sunglass-wearing handler.
“Where the hell are we going?” she shouted as the blades spun up for takeoff.
“Pittsburgh.” The new handler was in combat fatigues with insignia identifying him as Army Intelligence.
Pittsburgh? Pittsburgh? Lain tried to find some logic in the madness and was defeated.
“Why?” She had meant “Why Pittsburgh” but he misunderstood and thought she had asked “Why me?”
“You’re the only fully trained xenobiologist currently available,” the officer answered.
That made sense. Xenobiology was still in its infancy. The title had been conferred on only a handful of people with astronaut training and doctorates in biology and astrophysics. Everyone of her caliber had either been killed in the explosion that had crippled her, was in orbit, or had just jumped through the newly activated hyperphase gate that the Chinese had in geostationary orbit over the China Sea.
But “xenobiologist” and “Pittsburgh” didn’t add together.
“Why Pittsburgh?” she asked.
Frightening enough, that professionally blank look vanished off his face, replaced with a confounded inability to explain the situation.
What in God’s name had happened to Pit
tsburgh?
“We’re coming up on it now,” the pilot radioed.
They hauled open the side door, blasting the cabin with spring-cool air. Below, several major highways tangled together. Clustered tight around the intersection was a sprawl of suburbia. Strip malls with massive parking lots lined the access roads with red lights every few hundred feet. Housing plans crowded the hills behind the stores, hundreds of cookie-cutter houses on aimlessly curving streets. The only green was postage-stamp yards and scrub trees growing in areas too hilly to build on.
“That’s the Pennsylvania Turnpike and I-79.” Her handler indicated the two major highways. “That’s Cranberry Township below us; Pittsburgh city limits should be twenty miles south of us.”
Should be. They followed I-79 south. Military trucks blocked the on-ramps. Eight lanes sat empty of traffic. Despite the ever-present pain in her body and the darkness of her soul, Lain found herself growing concerned for the people of Pittsburgh.
“There.” The officer pointed out the door toward a wooded area.
Lain opened her mouth to ask what she should be looking at and then she realized what she was seeing. The highway ended abruptly at the edge of a forest. A thick, uninterrupted green blanket of trees ran as far as the eye could see.
“Oh, dear God,” she murmured.
“It’s a twenty-five-mile radius,” the officer shouted over the green-scented wind roaring through the cabin. “A perfect circle. Gone—with this in its place.”
“What about the people?” she shouted.
“We estimate that there are close to three million people missing.”
Yes, something was drastically wrong with the world.
* * *
The helicopter landed on the highway near where it ended abruptly. Several branches of military were already assembled but, judging by the general milling about, were jointly confounded as to what to do next. Lain had hoped that with all the massed confusion, her arrival would have gone unnoticed until she was installed in the wheelchair and the wreckage of her body covered. A small crowd gathered, though, even as the blades were spinning down, as if her arrival was more interesting than a major US city vanishing.
