The Elves of Cintra

by Terry Brooks

  FIFTEEN

  S QUIRREL’S FAMILY buried him at dawn.

  They were all awake by then, perhaps because they were no longer safely tucked away in their Pioneer Square home, perhaps because they were already anticipating the uncertainty of the journey that lay ahead. It was barely light, the sunrise still little more than a faint brightening on the eastern horizon, its glow muted by a heavy screen of smoke and ash blown south from the city. Glimmerings of the fires dying out on the docks and in the adjacent buildings could still be seen against the fading darkness. North, a single star was all that remained, a tiny pinprick of light that seemed to have lost its way.

  Logan Tom had risen before the rest and was standing by himself on the crest of the hilltop where they had made their camp when Owl rolled up in her wheelchair.

  “We have to bury the boy,” he told her. “It isn’t safe to keep him with us another day.”

  She knew what he meant. Too many diseases; too many ways to infect the others. There wasn’t any choice, no matter how you felt about it. “We can bury him here, beneath this spruce,” she said, pointing to a majestic old growth that the wilt and sickness had not yet killed and stripped of life. “He would like sleeping here, I think. Will you help us dig the grave?”

  He put down his black staff and retrieved a couple of shovels from the AV while the others were still rising and dressing. Then Bear joined him, big and strong and silent as they worked together to make the hole deep enough to keep the carrion away. Fixit and Chalk wandered over, as well, but there weren’t any more shovels, so there wasn’t much they could do to help. Chalk sat down with a board and began to scratch something on it. Fixit stood watching with Sparrow.

  Panther was staring at the boy inside the Lightning. The boy tried to pretend he didn’t care, but Logan could read the uneasiness in the shift of his body as Panther walked from one side to the other, stone-faced.

  When the hole was more than four feet deep, Owl called the others over. Bear retrieved Squirrel’s body, wrapped it in a blanket, and carried it over. Gently, with help from Sparrow and River, he lowered it into the grave and stepped away. Candle was already crying. Panther kept looking back at the kid in the AV.

  “Squirrel was a good little boy,” Owl declared, her voice strong as she faced the others from the head of the grave. “He did what he was told and he almost never complained. He was curious about things, and he was always asking questions of us. He never hurt anyone. I think he was maybe ten years old, but none of us knows for sure.”

  She thought a minute. “He liked books. He liked to be read to.”

  “Wait a minute,” Sparrow said suddenly.

  She turned and ran over to the cart that held their belongings, rooted through the jumbled contents for a moment, and then hurried back. When she reached them, Logan could see that she was carrying a storybook. She scrambled down into the grave and laid it on his chest. There were tears on her cheeks when she climbed out again.

  “It was his favorite,” she said without looking at anyone in particular. “It belongs with him.”

  There were a few murmured assents. Owl nodded. “He may need something to read on his journey. Even if he can’t read all the words, he knows them by heart. We will miss him.”

  Sparrow turned away and looked off toward the sunrise. The sky east was washed a dull yellow through the haze of smoke and mist, and the world beyond seemed impossibly distant.

  “I want him back,” Candle said quietly.

  “Me, too, sweetie.” Owl bit her lip. “But maybe he’s happier where he is.”

  She reached down for a handful of loose earth and tossed it into the grave. Logan took that as a signal to finish, and he began shoveling earth over the small body. Bear stared down into the grave for a long time without moving, but finally he began to shovel, as well. Most of the Ghosts could only stand to watch for a few moments before walking away. Chalk stayed long enough to shove one end of the board he had been scratching on into the loose earth. Squirrel’s name was written on it.

  Logan was patting the last of the earth into place over the grave when he caught sight of Panther trying to open the door of the AV. The handle would not budge, and he was yanking on it in fury. Logan put down the shovel, picked up his staff, and walked over to stand beside the boy.

  “It’s locked,” he said.

  Panther wheeled on him. “What?”

  Logan gestured toward the door. “It’s locked. You can’t open it.”

  “Then you open it, Mr. Knight of whatever you spose to be! You open it!” The boy’s dark face flushed with mingled rage and sorrow, and his hands knotted into fists. “You open it, and then you give me two minutes with that scum inside and see what I can do with this!”

  He reached into his pocket and brought out a wicked-looking switchblade that opened with an audible snick that brought several heads around at once. The blade gleamed in the fresh sunlight, clean and smooth and deadly.

  “I’m not going to do that,” Logan told him.

  “Panther!” Owl shouted, anger etching the sound of the boy’s name as she wheeled toward him. “You put that away!”

  Panther ignored her, his eyes on Logan. “Don’t mess with me. This ain’t none of your business, ain’t none of your concern. This is about the Ghosts. You open that door!”

  Logan shook his head. “Nope.”

  For just a second, he thought Panther was going to try him. The knife came forward a few inches, the boy’s grip tightening. But there were others shouting at him, as well, by now. Bear was almost on top of them, and Owl was right behind him, her features twisted with rage.

  Panther stepped back suddenly and shrugged. “Hey, fine. Don’t open it. But you can’t be watching him all the time. Sooner or later, I’ll be doing what you should let me be doing right now!” He closed the blade and slipped the knife back in his pocket. “Hey, what’s all this?” he asked, looking around in disbelief, holding out his hands to Owl and Bear, who were bearing down on him. “I was just showin’ him, that’s all. Just lettin’ him see!”

  He grinned disarmingly and walked away, whistling. He gave the boy in the Lightning a hard look as he passed, but only Logan saw it clearly.

  With Panther’s retreat, Bear turned aside, but Owl continued coming until she reached him. “What was that about? What happened?”

  Logan inclined his head toward the Lightning. “That boy is going to cause problems if we keep him around.”

  She looked over at their prisoner. “He isn’t a threat to anyone. Look at him. He must be scared.”

  He stopped her arm as she reached for the door handle. “Don’t go in there. Listen to me. We can’t keep him with us. Panther hates him. Some of the others probably do, too. You’re just inviting trouble.”

  Her arm dropped away as she swiveled back around so that she was facing him. “He didn’t mean to kill Squirrel. I saw what happened. It was an accident. We can’t go on blaming everyone for bad things, no matter what sort of…” She stopped and shook her head. “We have to learn how to forgive again.” She gestured toward the other Ghosts. “They have to learn.”

  “I’m not arguing about what happened or how it should be handled. I’m just telling you we can’t bring that boy with us.”

  She looked away. “I won’t put him out until he is well enough to look after himself. Otherwise, it would be just like killing him.”

  He didn’t like the idea, but he knew he couldn’t push her any farther. “All right. Another day. No more.”

  She nodded, saying nothing.

  He knelt beside her. “Something else. I had a vision last night, a dream. The Lady came to me. She told me Hawk was safe.”

  She stared at him in surprise. “Are you sure?”

  “She said magic saved him. She said he would come north to find us, but we must travel south to find him. She said he would meet us on the banks of the Columbia. What is that? Is it a river? I haven’t heard the name before.”

  Owl nodded. �
��It’s south of here. I don’t know how far. I’ve never been there. I’ve only read about it in books.” She paused. “It could be more than a hundred miles away.”

  He thought about it a moment. He looked over at the Lightning and the shopping cart attached to the back of it. Then he looked at the Ghosts, scattered about the campsite, most of them now waiting for someone to tell them what to do.

  It could be more than a hundred miles. Not too far if he were traveling alone in the AV. Much too far for a shopping cart and a bunch of kids who would mostly have to walk it.

  “We need to find a faster way to travel,” he said.

  THEY ATE BREAKFAST, Logan dividing up portions from their meager supplies, realizing already that they didn’t have enough to last the week. Too many mouths to feed for the distance they needed to travel. They would have to forage somewhere along the way for both food and water.

  While the others ate, Owl fed the boy chained inside the AV—Bear keeping close watch—and River trickled a little water down the throat of the semi-conscious Weatherman. Afterward, Logan checked the bindings on the old man and the shackles on the sullen boy, did a quick survey of the loads strapped onto the AV and the shopping cart, informed Owl and Candle that they would be riding with him, and prepared to set out.

  “I spose you get to ride the whole way, Mr. Knight?” Panther sneered at him. “We walk, you drive?”

  “Panther, stop it!” Owl admonished.

  “I’m the only one who knows how to drive her right now,” Logan answered him. “If one of you was to learn how it’s done, you could help me. Interested?”

  Panther hesitated, and then shook his head. “Naw. I’m just asking. I don’t want nothin’ to do with it.”

  “I do!” Fixit said at once.

  Logan nodded. “Good, Fixit. We’ll start your lessons right away. Climb aboard.” He winked over his shoulder at Owl. “Let’s go.”

  They set out at midmorning, the day bright and sunny but hazier than usual, a combination of smoke and ash from the dock fires and the general pollution of the air. As they made their way down off the bluff along the service road and onto the freeway, Logan could hear the steady beating of the invasion force drums overlying the sharp snap and pop of automatic weapons fire. The fighting was still going on in the streets. When it was over, things would quiet down while the demons and once-men began staging the siege of the Safeco Field compound. A few days later, the real madness would begin.

  He thought about the doomed people trapped there, but only for a moment. They weren’t the first and they wouldn’t be the last. He couldn’t save them all, no matter how much he might want to try. He would be lucky to save the few he had managed to take with him in his flight. He would be lucky to save himself.

  Their progress was slow, though steady. He drove the big machine at a crawl to allow those afoot to keep pace. Fixit rode next to him, watching what he did, asking questions constantly and paying close attention to the answers. At one point the boy said he thought he was ready to try driving the AV, but Logan shook his head. Better if he waited another day, gave himself some time to think about everything. Fixit looked disappointed, but he didn’t object. He just settled back in the seat, watched Logan some more, and then began asking about the vehicle’s weapons systems. Logan hesitated, debating the matter, and then told him about the cannons and missile launchers, which were locked down anyway, but kept to himself what he knew about the laser trackers and shields.

  Behind them, Owl talked to the boy who had shot Squirrel, telling him about the Ghosts, asking him questions about himself, trying to draw him out. It didn’t seem to be working. The boy slouched down in the rear seat and looked out the window and never said a word. Now and then he was forced to look at her when Panther dropped back to walk next to the AV, his eyes on the boy, a half smile on his dark face. Logan could see the fear in the boy’s eyes; he knew what Panther had planned for him. Owl tried to motion Panther away from the AV, but even when he moved off, it was only for a while and only to return to walk next to the window and the boy, the same look on his face.

  They continued on through midday at a slow, almost desultory pace. Logan allowed them to stop for lunch but did not plan to stop again until nightfall. The walkers shared bottled water slung on straps across their shoulders and energy bars he had salvaged from some warehouse in the Chicago area several months back. He had a case of the bars, but with this many sharing them it would be empty in a week. He wished he had been given a better opportunity to stock up on supplies before leaving the city. The Ghosts hadn’t brought much, either, concentrating on hard-to-find items like purification tablets and medicines along with their clothes and bedding. They were a ragtag bunch for sure, he thought, and not likely to find themselves better off anytime soon.

  Candle rode up front with Logan when they set out again, her intense gaze focused ahead, her blue eyes filled with hidden knowledge. He remembered that she experienced premonitions, that she saw things that foretold the future and warned of danger, things hidden from the others. She was their guide dog through dark places.

  He remembered, too, how she had defended him to the others.

  Once or twice, he caught her looking at him out of the corner of her eye, but he let her think he didn’t notice. She was still taking his measure, deciding how she really felt about him, how far she wanted to trust him. He was a part of the outside world, and for a girl of ten years who had seen so much darkness and experienced so much doubt and fear, there was a great deal of which to be wary.

  At one point, she asked, “Do you think we’ll see Hawk soon?” She gave him a quick look as she did so.

  “I don’t know,” he answered, cocking one eyebrow. “I would feel better about things if we did.”

  “Hawk belongs with us.”

  He maneuvered the Lightning past a downed utility pole. “The Ghosts are a family. Isn’t that right?”

  She nodded. “Hawk will lead us to the Promised Land.” She did not look at him this time. “Owl tells the story better than me.” She hesitated. “Do you believe that?”

  He smiled despite himself, thinking of Two Bears and the Lady and the destiny of the gypsy morph. “As a matter of fact, I do,” he said.

  He saw her smile back. That was all she said for a while, gone back inside herself, her gaze directed out the window to the gray landscape of the countryside.

  And then, “Were you a street kid like us when you were little?” She was looking at him again, studying him closely this time. “Did you belong to a tribe?”

  He shook his head. “I was a compound kid.”

  “What happened to you? Why did you leave the compound? Did they make you leave?”

  “The compound was overrun and my family was killed. I escaped with a band of rebel freemen that managed to save a few of us. Their leader adopted me.”

  “Do you remember your real parents?” she asked.

  “A little. Not very well anymore.”

  “I don’t remember mine at all.”

  He thought about it. “Maybe that’s okay.”

  Her head cocked slightly. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because the dead belong in the past.”

  She didn’t say anything for a long time, watching his face, her blue eyes intense. Then she said softly, “I don’t think that’s true.”

  “No? Why not?”

  “Because they were our friends and they need to be remembered. Don’t you want to be remembered by someone when you’re dead?”

  It seemed strange to hear this little girl talk like that; it seemed too grown-up for a ten-year-old. In any case, talking about the dead made him uncomfortable.

  “Don’t you?” she asked again.

  He glanced over and shrugged. “I guess maybe I do.”

  She hunched her thin shoulders. “I know I do. I don’t want everyone to forget about me.”

  It was nearing midafternoon, and they had covered almost twenty miles. They were well below the big
airfield that stretched along the highway south of the city when they passed a huge industrial complex closed off by heavy chain-link fencing topped with razor wire. The fence and the wire reminded Logan of the slave camps, but the buildings beyond were of a different sort entirely and there was no sign of life anywhere. A service road branched off the highway and climbed an incline through a grove of withered spruce interspersed with ornamental stone to a pair of gates, which were chained and locked. A sign, faded and weather-stained, hung from the mesh:

  ORONYX EXPERIMENTAL

  Robotics Systems

  Building for the future.

  He glanced at it as they passed, his gaze continuing down the line of the fencing as it stretched along the highway and stopping suddenly at an equipment barn. He braked the AV, shut off the engine, and climbed out.

  The Ghosts who were on foot wandered over. “What now?” Panther demanded. “You gonna let me drive?”

  “You didn’t want to earlier.” Logan gestured toward the fence. “See those?” He was pointing to a series of metal haulers, flatbed units with oversize tires, trailer bars, and low rails that surrounded the bedding. “We could use one of those.”

  “We’ll have to break in,” Fixit declared, glancing back toward the chained, locked gates. “Spring the locks. Or maybe cut the wire.”

  Logan walked back to the AV, told Owl what he planned to do, and then lifted her out of the vehicle and into her wheelchair, where Candle promptly took up watch. He unlocked the boy chained in the backseat, led him over to the shopping cart, and chained him anew through the wheel spokes. He put Chalk on watch and told him to make sure nothing happened while his back was turned, that he was responsible. Then he went around to the storage compartments at the rear of the vehicle, unlocked the one on the driver’s side, reached inside, and brought out a pair of heavy cutting shears and two black-barreled Parkhan Sprays. He carried his load around to the front of the Lightning where the others were standing.

  “Whoa, that’s some Freak-size firepower,” Panther hissed, eyes wide as he caught sight of the Sprays. “You know how to use those without shootin’ off your foot?”