by Wen Spencer
As the vibration continued, an endless drawing of power from the stones, cold certainty filled him. It could only be Tinker.
Tinker and her sekasha had neared the far side of the Ghostlands, crossing once again into Pittsburgh but on the opposite side of the valley. The road climbed the steep hill in a series of sharp curves. As they crossed the cracked pavement, Stormsong laughed and pointed out a yellow warning street sign. It depicted a truck about to tip over as it made the sharp turn—a common sight in Pittsburgh—but someone had added words to the pictograph.
"What does it say?" Pony asked.
"Watch for Acrobatic Trucks," Stormsong translated the English words to Elvish.
The others laughed and moved on, scanning the mixed woods.
"You speak English?" Tinker fell into step with Stormsong.
"Fuckin' A!" Stormsong said with the correct scornful tone that such a stupid question would be posed.
Tinker tripped and nearly fell in surprise. Stormsong caught Tinker by the arm and warned her to be careful with a look. Most of Tinker's time with Windwolf's sekasha had been spent practicing her High Elvish, a stunningly polite language. Stormsong had just dropped a mask woven out of words.
"For the last twenty-some years, I pulled every shift I could to stay in Pittsburgh—" Stormsong continued. "—even if it meant bowing to that stuck-up bitch, Sparrow."
"Why?" Tinker was still reeling. Many elves first learned English in England when Shakespeare still lived and kept the lilting accent even if they modernized their sentence structure and word choice. Stormsong spoke true Pitsupavute, sounding like a native.
"I like humans." Stormsong stepped over a fallen tree in one long stride and paused to offer a hand to Tinker; the automatic politeness now seemed jarringly out of place. "They don't give a fuck what everyone else thinks. If they want something that's right for them, they don't worry about what the rest of the fucking world thinks."
The warrior's bitterness surprised Tinker. "What do you want?"
"I had doubts about being a sekasha." She shrugged like a human, lifting one shoulder, instead of clicking her tongue like an elf would. "Not anymore. Windwolf gave me a year to get my head screwed on right. I like being sekasha. I do have—as the humans say—issues."
That explained the short blue hair and the slight rebel air about her.
Stormsong suddenly spun to the left, pushing Tinker behind her even as she shouted the guttural command to activate her magical shields. Magic surged through the blue tattoos on her arms and flared into a shimmering blue that encompassed her body. Stormsong drew her ironwood sword and crouched into readiness.
Instantly other sekasha activated their shields and drew their swords as they pulled in tight around Tinker. They scanned the area but there was nothing to see.
They were in the no-man's-land of the Rim, where tall young ironwoods mixed with Earth woods and jagger bushes in a thick, nearly impassable tangle. They stood on a deer trail, a path only one person wide, meandering through the dense underbrush. For a moment no one moved or spoke. Tinker realized that the birds had gone silent; even they didn't want to draw the attention of whatever had spooked Stormsong.
Pony made a gesture with his left hand in blade talk.
"Something is going to attack," Stormsong whispered in Elvish, once again becoming the sekasha. "Something large. I'm not sure how soon."
"Yatanyai?" Pony whispered a word that Tinker didn't recognize.
Stormsong nodded.
"What does she see?" Tinker whispered.
"What will be." Pony indicated that they should start back the way they had come. "We're in a position of weakness. We should retreat to—"
Something huge and sinuous as a snake flashed out of the shadows. Tinker got the impression of scales, a wedge-shaped head, and a mouth full of teeth before Pony leaped between her and the monster. The creature struck Pony with a blow that smashed him aside, his shields flashing as they absorbed the brunt of the damage. It whipped toward Tinker, but Stormsong was already in the way.
"Oh, no, you don't!" The female sekasha blocked a savage bite at Tinker. "Get back, domi—you're attracting it!"
A blur of motion, the beast knocked Stormsong down, biting at her leg, her shield gleaming brilliant blue between its teeth. The Blades swung their swords, shouting to distract the creature. Releasing Stormsong, the creature leapt to perch high up the trunk of an oak. As it paused there, Tinker saw it fully for the first time.
It was long and lean, twelve feet from nose to tip of whipping tail. Despite a shaggy mane, its hide looked like blood red snake scales. Long-necked and short-legged, it was weirdly proportioned; its head seemed almost too large for its body, with a heavy jawed mouth filled with countless jagged teeth. Clinging to the side of the tree with massive claws, it hissed at them, showing the teeth.
Its mane lifted like a dog's hackles, and a haze shimmered to life over the beast, like heat waves coming off hot asphalt. Tinker could feel the presence of magic on her domana senses, like static electricity prickling against the skin. The second Blade, Cloudwalker, fired his pistol. The bullets struck the haze—making it flare at the point of impact—and dropped to the ground, inert. Tinker felt the magic strengthen as the kinetic energy of the bullet fed into the spell, fueling it.
"It's an oni shield!" Tinker cried out in warning. "Hitting it will only make it stronger."
Stormsong got to her feet, biting back a cry of pain. "Go, run, I'll hold it!"
Pony caught Tinker by her upper arm, and half carried her, half dragged her through the thicket.
"No!" Tinker cried, knowing that if it weren't for her safety, the others wouldn't abandon one of their own.
"Domi." Pony urged her to run faster. "If we cannot hit it, then we have no hope of killing it."
Tinker thought furiously. How do you hurt something you can't hit but could bite you? Wait—maybe that was it! She snatched the pistol from the holster at Pony's side and jerked out of his hold. Here, under the tall ironwoods, the jagger brushes had grown high, and animals had made low tunnel-like trails through them. Ducking down, Tinker ran down a path, the gun seeming huge in her hands, heading back toward the wounded sekasha. The thorns tore at her bare arms and hair.
"Tinker domi!" Pony cried behind her.
"Its shield doesn't cover its mouth!" she shouted back.
She burst into the clearing to find Stormsong backed to a tree, desperately parrying the animal's teeth and claws. It smashed aside her sword and leapt, mouth open.
Tinker shouted for its attention, and pulled the gun's trigger. She hadn't aimed at all, and the bullet whined into the underbrush, missing everything.
As the beast turned to face her, and Stormsong shouted warning—a wordless cry of anger, pain, and dismay—Tinker realized the flaw in her plan. She would need to shove the pistol into the creature's mouth before shooting. "Oh fuck."
It was like being hit by a freight train. One moment the beast was running at her and then everything become a wild tumble of darkness and light, dead leaves, sharp teeth, and blood. Everything stopped moving with the creature pinning her to the ground with one massive claw. Then it pulled—not on her skin or muscle, but something deeper inside her, something intangible, that she didn't even know existed. Magic flooded through her—hot and powerful as electricity—a seemingly endless torrent from someplace unknown to the monster—and she was just the hapless conduit.
She had lost the gun in the wild tumble. She punched at its head, trying to get it off her as the magic poured through her. The massive jaws snapped down on her fist, and suddenly the creature froze—teeth holding firm her hand, not yet breaking skin. Its eyes widened, as if surprised to see her under it, her hand in its mouth. She panted, scared now beyond words, as the magic continued to thrum through her bones and skin. Her hand seemed so very small inside the mouthful of teeth.
A sword blade appeared over her, the tip pressing up against the creature's shields, aimed at its right eye. The t
ip slid forward slowly as if it was being pressed through concrete.
"Get off her," Pony growled, leaning his full weight onto his sword, little by little driving the point through the shields. "Now!"
For a moment, they seemed stuck in amber—the monster, Pony, her—caught in place and motionless. There came a high thrilling whistle from way up high, bursting the amber. The creature released her hand and leapt backward. She scrambled wildly in the other direction. Pony caught hold of her, hugging her tight with his free hand, his shields spilling down over her, encompassing her.
"Got her!" he cried, and backed away, the others closing ranks around them.
The whistle blew again, so sharp and piercing a sound that even the monster checked to look upward.
Someone stood on the Westinghouse Bridge that spanned the valley, doll-small by the distance. Against the summer-blue sky, the person was only a dark silhouette—too far away to see if he was man, elf, or oni. The whistle trilled, and, focused on the sound, Tinker realized that it was two notes, close together, a shrill discord.
The monster shook its head as if the sound hurt and bounded away, heading for the bridge, so fast it seemed it teleported from place to place.
The whistler spread out great black wings, resolving all question of race. A tengu, the oni spies created by blending oni with crows. Tinker could guess which one—Riki. What she couldn't guess was why he had just saved them, or how.
"Domi." Pony eclipsed the escaping tengu and his monstrous pursuer. He peered intently at her hands and then tugged at her clothing, examining her closely. "You are hurt."
"I am?"
"Yes." He produced a white linen handkerchief that he pressed to a painful area of her head. "You should sit."
She started to ask why, but sudden blackness rushed in, and she started to fall.
2: GO ASK ALICE
Tinker fell a long time in darkness.
She found herself at the edge of the woods near Lain's house, the great white domes of the Observatory gleaming in moonlight. The ironwood forest stood solemn as a cathedral before her. Something white flickered through the night woods, brightness in humanoid form. Like a moth, Tinker was drawn toward the light, entering the forest.
A woman darted ahead of her, wearing an elfin gown shimmering as if formed of fiber optics tapped to a searchlight—brightness weaving through the forest dimness. She was so brilliant white that it hurt to look at her. A red ribbon covered her eyes and trailed down the dress, bloodred against the white. On the ground, the ribbon snaked out into the distance.
It came to Tinker, knowledge seeping into her like oil into a rag, that she knew the woman and they were searching for someone. In the distance was a thumping noise, like an axe biting into wood.
"He knows the paths, the twisted way," the woman told Tinker while they searched for this mystery person. "You have to talk to him. He'll tell you how to go."
"We're looking in the wrong place," Tinker called.
"We fell down the hole and through the looking glass," the woman cried back. "He's here! You only have to look!"
Tinker scanned the woods and saw a dark figure flitting through the trees, keeping pace with them. It was a delicate-boned woman in a black mourning dress. A blindfold of black lace veiled her eyes. Tears ran unchecked down her face. At her feet were black hedgehogs, nosing about in the dead litter of the forest floor. In the trees surrounding Black and the hedgehogs was a multitude of crows. The birds flitted from limb to limb, calling "Lost! Lost!" in harsh voices.
"Black knows all about him." Tinker said. "Why don't we ask her?"
"She is lost in her grief," White breathed into Tinker's ear. "There is no thread between you. She has no voice that you will listen to."
The thumping noise came from the direction that they needed to head, speeding up until it sounded like helicopter rotors beating the air.
"Wait!" Tinker reached out to catch hold of White, to warn her. She missed, grabbing air. "The queen is coming. You've murdered time. It's always six o'clock now."
"We can't stand still!" White caught Tinker's hand and they were flying low, like on a hoverbike, dodging trees, the ground covered with a checkerboard design of black and red. "We have to run as fast as we can to keep in the same place. Soon we won't be able to run at all and then all will be lost!"
"Lost! Lost!" cried the crows and Black flew like a silent shadow on Tinker's other side. They had left the hedgehogs behind. The red ribbon of White's blindfold raced on ahead of them, coiling like a snake.
"He eats the fruit of the tree that walks." White stopped them at the edge of a clearing. The ribbon coiled into the clearing and its tip plunged into the ground. "Follow the tree to the house of ice and sip sweetly of the cream."
Feeling with blind fingers, White followed the ribbon, hand over hand, out into the clearing. The bare forest floor was black, and grew blacker still, until the woman was sheer white against void with red thread wrapped around her fingers. Tinker took hold of the thread and followed out into the darkness. Beyond the edge of the clearing, she started to float as if weightless. Tinker tried to grip tight to the red ribbon, but it was so thin that she lost track of it and started to fall upward. The woman caught hold of her, pulling her close, and wrapped the red thread tight around her fingers, making a cat's cradle. "There, no matter what, you can always find me with this."
Turning away, the woman pulled on the ribbon, and pearls started to pop out of the ground, strung on the thread. "It starts with a pearl necklace."
Tinker was drifting upward, faster and faster. Black and her crows flew up to meet her in a rustle of wings, crying, "Lost, lost."
Tinker opened her eyes to summer sky framed by oak leaves. Acorns clustered on the branches, nearly ready to fall. A cardinal sang its rain song someplace overhead.
With a slight rustle, Pony leaned over her, bruised and battered himself, worry in his eyes. "Domi, are you well?"
Tinker blinked back tears. "Yes, I'm fine." She sat up, trying to ignore the pain in her head. "How is everyone else?"
"Stormsong is hurt. We have called for help but we should start for the hospice in case it returns . . ."
"Its eyes are open," Stormsong said from where she lay on her side, a bloody bandage around the leg that the creature had bitten. "It's not coming back."
"What the hell does that mean?" Tinker asked.
"It means what it means," Stormsong groaned.
"There is no sign of the beast," Rainlily said.
"Okay," Tinker said only because they seemed to be waiting for her to say something. How did she end up in charge?
Almost in answer, a sudden roar of wind announced the arrival of Wolf Who Rules Wind, head of the Wind Clan, also known as her husband, Windwolf. Riding the winds with the Wind Clan's magic, he flew down out of the sky and landed on the barren no-man's-land of the Rim. He dressed in elfin splendor. His duster of cobalt-blue silk, hand-painted with a stylized white wolf, whipped out behind him like a banner. He was beautiful in the way only elves could be—tall, lean, and broad-shouldered with a face full of elegant sharp lines. With a word and gesture, he dismissed his magic. Released, the winds sighed away.
Beauty, power, and the ability to fly like Superman—what more could a girl want?
"Beloved." Windwolf knelt beside her and folded her into his arms. "What happened? Are you hurt? I felt you tap the clan's spell stones and pull a massive amount of power."
The "stones" were granite slabs inscribed with spells located on top of a vastly powerful ley line that the domana accessed remotely via their genome. Until Windwolf unleashed his rage on the oni, Tinker hadn't realized the power that the stones represented. In one blinding flash of summoned lightning, it suddenly became clear why the domana ruled the other elfin castes. Somehow, the monster had tapped and funneled the power through her.
"Oh, is that what the fuck it did to me?" And with that, she lost control of the tears she'd been keeping at bay. What was it about him that m
ade her feel so safe in a way not even Pony could? She hugged him tightly, trusting he would make it right. As she wallowed in the luxury of being sheltered by the only force besides nature that seemed larger than herself, Windwolf turned his attention to Pony.
"Little Horse, what happened?" Windwolf's voice rumbled in his chest under her head, like contained thunder. "Is anyone hurt?"
"We were attacked by a very large creature." Pony went on to describe the fight in a few short sentences, ending with, "Stormsong took the brunt of the damage."
"We need to get her to the hospice." Tinker pulled free of Windwolf's hug, smeared the tears out of her eyes, and started for Stormsong. "The thing bit her in the leg."
