by Wen Spencer
“There are clothes in the other room,” Oilcan said.
Barley nodded. “Cattail Reeds is looking at them. She is a seamstress; she’ll find something for me. If I’m going to be doing the cooking, I need more pots, dishes, spices, knives…” He closed tight his eyes, his breath suddenly ragged.
“Are you okay?” Oilcan asked gently.
“They took my knives. They used my paring knife to cut my hair and then they took them.”
What could he say in the face of that? “I’m sorry.”
Barley nodded rapidly, blinking. “It’s—it’s just my knives were made for me; the best I could afford.”
Oilcan glanced around but Tooloo had no knives for sale. “There are other places to buy things. I’m sure we can find knives if we look…”
“Yes, I know. In truth, my knives would have not lasted more than one or two hundred years. I feel stupid. I thought I could come and start an enclave. I was in the city no more than an hour before I was captured. What idiocy to think I could protect others when I could not even protect myself.”
“One failure does not make a life,” Oilcan said. “The important thing is you’re alive. You failed because you knew nothing about Pittsburgh. Once you know the city, you can try again.”
“The mistake I made was thinking I could do it alone,” Barley said. “It’s a major undertaking. It takes lots of people.”
Oilcan nodded encouragingly.
“We could start one with the six of us. Blue Sky told us that we would be leaving that unsafe place with humans.”
“What? Wait. No.”
“We’re staying there?” Barley’s dismay at the condo was clear; the young male’s façade started to crumble at the edges. His hands trembled slightly and he blinked rapidly to keep tears out of his eyes.
“We’re not staying.” Oilcan quickly reassured him. “I don’t know where we will be going. I haven’t had time to think about it.”
“Good. It’s far too small and vulnerable.” Barley ticked the points off on his fingers. “Everyone will need their own space to maintain the harmony of our household. The commons need to be at least five times bigger than where we are now. The bathing room should be separate from the toilets. We need a safe room. We need garden space. We need…”
“Okay.” Oilcan held up his hands to stem the flow of information. If opening an enclave was Barley’s dream, then the elf had probably spent decades studying their design and function.
Somehow this felt all very familiar. Tinker been this focused when she decided that opening a salvage yard would be the answer to many of their problems. “No one is going to think we’re helpless orphans if we’re running a successful business.” She’d been right, as usual. Every cop in Pittsburgh knew they were living on their own, but looked the other way since they were obviously doing well enough to be left alone.
“We’ll start looking for a new place to live after we leave here.” Oilcan promised.
Barley nodded and wiped at his eyes. “Thank you, Sama.”
Cattail Reeds came up with a bundle of clothes in her arms. She was already dressed in a black checked mini-skirt and a pink flowered baby doll shirt. “I will have to take in most of these; everything is too big. Hold this please, sama.” She pushed the clothes into Oilcan’s arms and then tugged free a pair of black denim jeans. “We’ll have to roll up the cuff until I can shorten these, but they should fit you in the waist and inseam.”
She had to show Barley how to zip up the jeans but her eye was perfect; the pants were a perfect fit. She sighed at a cotton tunic that was Wind Clan blue. “If we can dye this, it will work well.” She flipped it over her shoulder and pulled out a black Steeler’s T-shirt. “Will you wear this?”
“What is it?” Barley took the shirt and examined it closely.
“It’s human fashion!” Cattail grinned. “Isn’t it awesome? They write on their clothes. You should see what they do with patterns. I want to get some of their fabric and make dresses and tops.”
“But what does it mean?” Barley held out the shirt so the NFL logo was prominent.
Oilcan spent several minutes trying to explain professional football and the Pittsburgh habit of clinging to the memory of something that didn’t exist anymore. All the professional sports teams had left immediately after it became clear that Pittsburgh would routinely be stranded on Elfhome. Hoverbike racing had filled the void.
“Sama,” Rustle of Leaves came out of the next room, trailing Blue Sky and Merry. He was wearing ear buds linked to an iPod by white cords. He held the mpeg player out to Oilcan. It was old but irreplaceable now that Pittsburgh was stranded permanently on Elfhome.
“I told him it’s expensive.” Blue Sky said. “Tooloo wants over a hundred dollars for it.”
“You can have it.” Oilcan said. Rustle of Leaves was the one he was most worried about; the quiet male wouldn’t be able to put his captivity behind him if he never regained the use of his arm. Music would be a comfort and a distraction for him.
Rustle of Leaves smiled his thanks.
“Here,” Cattail Reeds dug through the clothes to find khaki slacks and a white button down shirt for Rustle of Leaves. She and Merry helped Rustle strip down and eased him into the new clothes. Oilcan was glad that the kids all seem to be taking care of each other. It was only after Rustle was dressed that he realized that Blue seemed to be on the brink of losing it.
“Hey,” Oilcan pulled the boy aside. “Are you okay?”
And just like that, Blue Sky wasn’t a confident seventeen-year old but a rattled ten-year old. He wrapped his arms around Oilcan and buried his face into Oilcan’s side. It was always so odd when something like this served as a reminder that Blue Sky wasn’t just short for his age, but actually stuck young. Oilcan and Tinker had moved forward, grown up, and somehow Blue Sky ended up left behind.
“What’s wrong?” Oilcan asked quietly in English.
Blue Sky mumbled something into Oilcan’s shirt; the only words that Oilcan could pick out where “hurt” and “so bad.” The boy had seen Rustle’s massive bruises, the fresh ragged wounds and the ink of all the healing spells needed to save Rustle’s life. What could Oilcan say? “It’s okay” was so inadequate, especially with the knowledge that the oni were still out there, fully capable of doing it to someone else.
“I know,” Oilcan said finally.
To be brutally honest with himself, he’d been grief stricken at first when Tinker had been transformed into an elf and then whisked away to Aum Reanu. What made it bearable was seeing how much she loved her new family and how much they loved her. He constantly searched for ways to be okay with the sudden turn of events. He reminded himself that sooner or later she would have married, that at least she hadn’t gone to Earth and been a full universe away, that he didn’t have to worry that if something happened to him that she’d be left alone in Pittsburgh. And now he could add that he was glad that Tinker would be there for Blue all the years it took for him to grow up.
#
“Is that everything?” Tooloo asked at the overflowing checkout counter.
Baby Duck squeezed in between Cattail Reeds and Fields of Barley and held out six baby chicks. “Quiee.”
There was exclaims of delight from all the kids and each picked up a chick to cuddle. He knew, though, that Tooloo never sold live chickens in the store and all her eggs were refrigerated for hours. Baby Duck must have gone out the back and raided Tooloo’s chicken coop.
“Oh, Baby Duck.” He didn’t have a heart to tell her no without even asking Tooloo. “Can we have the chicks too, please?”
The old half-elf pressed her lips into a tight line, but after a moment, said. “Oh my poor little wood sprite, you don’t stand a chance.”
13: Knock Knock Open the Box
Windwolf found Tinker deep in mad scientist mode in Poppymeadow’s woodshed. He hadn’t come home the night before. She distracted herself from his absence by blowing up wood and telling herself someone wo
uld come tell her if something horrible had happened to him. Wraith Arrow—if he were still alive—which would be doubtful. Maynard. True Flame. The Wyverns. Chloe Polanski. Someone!
She worked through all of Poppymeadow’s spare lumber and had the staff raid the neighboring enclaves for more. She was starting to think she would need to decimate Pittsburgh’s entire supply of ironwood when he appeared.
“Finally!” She launched herself into his arms. He swept her up off her feet. He smelled of blood and smoke and mud. He hugged her so tight she realized that he had had his own fears.
“We really need to work on communication.” Tinker said.
“Yes.” Windwolf laughed tiredly. He slid up her safety goggles and kissed her. “The marines, once they were able to fight through the oni to my side, told me of your adventure. You impressed them.”
She blushed, feeling like a kid again, caught raiding the dynamite locker. “You’re not upset with me?”
“You are my domi, Beloved. It means we will be together, forever, but it also means that in times like these, you must act for me. I cannot have one without the other, and in truth, I would not want it any other way. I love your courage and your ability to lead.”
She supposed that made sense. She hated that he needed to go out and fight, and yet she would not want him to let Pittsburgh fall to the oni either. Blood and mud were sprayed across the front of his white silk shirt, and there was a bruise on his cheek. Something had gotten through his shield and hurt him. The Stone Clan children had forever, and yet three of them were now dead. She hugged Windwolf tighter, wrapping arms and legs around him. And for a while, all that matter was that they were together.
#
After Windwolf examined the chest with her, they ended up in the hayloft, like they were just two average teenagers sneaking away for some privacy.
The problem with going into mad scientist mode was it didn’t shut down for nookie. Even as Windwolf nudged up the blue cheetah print camisole with his nose, her mind was pointing out inconsistencies in the events she just told him.
She sighed and gave up resisting the demand for answers. “Did Sparrow know about Earth Son’s offer of sponsor anyone from his clan that came to the Westernlands?”
“I do not believe so.” Windwolf used his lips and tongue to quieted the mad scientist…for a few minutes.
“The thing I keep going back to with the kids: how did Yutakajodo know? He sent the lesser bloods to the train station because he knew that there would be elves traveling alone. Elves no one would miss. How would Yutakajodo know about the kids when the rest of us were so clueless?”
Windwolf leaned back. Emotions played across Windwolf’s face, starting with anger. It gave way to confusion and he shook his head. “I sent word to the Queen after the oni kidnapped you—before they even took Little Horse as your whipping boy. I knew that my cousin would probably request the Stone Clan to send domana; they excel at city sieges and guerrilla warfare. If this were a battle all in open fields, Ember would have just sent more Fire Clan. She could only require the Stone Clan to send someone—she could not select the domana herself—not without insulting the head of the Stone Clan.”
“Gods forbid we insult people,” Tinker growled.
He grinned at her, and then sobered as he traced circles on her bared stomach. “Ember has a thankless job of keeping four clans that would happily slit each others throats from doing just that.”
“Earth Son was at Aum Reanu. Perhaps he told Sparrow while he was there that he planned to sponsor these children. She could have passed that information on to the oni.”
Windwolf considered it and then slowly shook his head. “I doubt it. Sparrow was misleading me to how many strong the oni force was in Pittsburgh. I wasn’t willing to give up my holdings for help until the oni took you. Then I was willing to give it all away to get you back.”
It made her all fluttery inside to know he meant it. “Wow.” She slapped him slightly on the shoulder. “Don’t say things like that. It wouldn’t have been fair to people like Poppymeadow and Ginger Wine. They depend on you.”
He grinned and kissed her. “You are perfect.”
She blushed and yet felt giddy happy. “Why?”
“Because you’re right.”
“Of course I am. I usually am. I don’t see how the two relates though; what does that have to do with Earth Son telling Sparrow about sponsoring people?”
“Because he had no holdings in Westernlands until the crown rewarded him remunerations for coming to Pittsburgh.”
She saw the cause and effect then. When Earth Son was at Aum Reanu, he couldn’t have known that Windwolf would ask for help. Sparrow was dead by the time Earth Son arrived in Pittsburgh.
“Could someone have sent Sparrow the information before she was killed?”
“No. My cousin came in all haste, leaving behind half of his people just to get here quickly as possible. No messenger with a letter could have outstripped him. The entire enclave would have known if we received a message via the distant voice; Sparrow couldn’t have kept the information secret.”
There had been distant voices at Aum Renau. When Tinker was the all-important pivot who would stop the oni invasion, the elves answered all her questions about the magical devices in great detail but very politely refused her request to experiment with them. With everything else, she’d been given free-rein—well—they had made her promise not to dissemble the dreadnaught.
Far as she could determine, the elves had discovered how to entangle elements at the quantum level on a large scale. The distant voices appeared to be two marble slabs. A spell was embedded within the stone. As a special pen was moved over one, a special magic-sensitive paper on the paired slab recorded the pen strokes as they were written. Given earth technology, it wouldn’t seem amazing to the causal observer. To know that the distant voices could operate half a world apart without a satellite system or wires connecting them fascinated Tinker. She desperately wanted to take one apart so she could view the spell.
An idea bubbled up. She nudged Windwolf chest until he rolled them over.
“We have distant voices here?” She sat up. So far she hadn’t seen any at Poppymeadow’s but at Aum Renau they were kept in a small, locked and guarded room.
“We have four. They work in pairs. We have one to the other three Wind Clan settlements here in Westernlands and one to my father in the Easternlands.”
“Show me.”
#
It turned out that the distant voices were as tightly guarded at Poppymeadow’s as they had been at Aum Reanu. They were always attended by a member of Windwolf’s personal household, who rang a bell as a message was received. The bell summoned someone who could take the message directly to Windwolf without leaving the device unattended. Like Windwolf said, Sparrow couldn’t have received information without the entire household knowing.
Tinker would be more worried that other members of Windwolf’s household had been in league with Sparrow if she hadn’t spent the weeks at Aum Reanu. It been clear that Sparrow had no friends.
“How did you end up with her as your husepavua?” Tinker dug through the supplies for the room. Windwolf—being rich and systematic—had stocked the room with several reams of the special paper.
Windwolf laughed. “I inherited her, like so many things in my life. Sparrow was vital to the clan during the clan wars. After my grandfather was killed, my father took certain steps to secure his place as clan head. One was to marked Sparrow with the dau to make her domana in name, though not in blood. She thought he would make her his domi—and perhaps if the war continued—he would have. Politically it would have been a good match, although loveless.”
“The sekasha, however, decided that the war was decimating our people and that it had to end. They united and forced the clans to accept Ashfall as king. He was a wise choice. Ashfall was willing to do whatever it took to create a lasting peace, even sacrificing his children to the cause. He summoned the heads o
f the clan to court and proposed marriages to tie the clans together with blood. When my parents met for the first time, my father was smitten.”
A whooping ten kids later, Windwolf was born. Apparently Ashfall missed out when the Skin Clan was handing out infertility. She wondered what it would mean for her and Windwolf. Babies—gah! So not ready for that.
Tinker counted out a dozen pieces of special paper. “Your dad falls for your mom, dumps Sparrow, and she has an axe to grind forever after.”
“So it appears,” Windwolf followed Tinker back to the woodshed. “My father had no choice. Sparrow would not let go of the war and focus on peace. War would have torn Father’s heart and home apart. He all but exiled her to remote holdings. Anyways, I did not want another domana taking control of Pittsburgh and yet I did not want to abandon my holdings on the coast; using Sparrow seemed the perfect compromise. Since there were no other clans in the Westernlands, I thought she could do no harm…”
Pony had told Tinker once that Sparrow hoped Windwolf would take her as his domi. Twice burned. That would piss anyone off—but enough to betray your entire species?
“Other than redecorating Poppymeadow’s woodshed, what you attempting to do?” Windwolf fingered the splinters embedded into the wall, making it look like a cactus.
“I’m trying to safely open the chest from the whelping pens.” Tinker laid the distance voice paper on top of one of her newly created spell-locks. “It requires me to pick the lock.”
“I did not think that was possible.”
She held up a finger to indicate silence. Into the hush, she slowly pronounced, “Three point one four one five nine two.”
There was no outward sign from the spell-lock, but the spell glyphs appeared on the paper as she spoke the syllables of the key. Only when she hit “two” did the spell-lock gleam with power and the lumber it was etched on split into two pieces.
“Owned!” She shouted and danced around the wood shop.
Windwolf scooped her up and kissed her.
“I don’t understand.” Wraith Arrow murmured to Pony. “Yes, it copied the spell, but she made the lock, so she knows the key. How does that help with a lock that she does not know the key to?”
