The Elves of Cintra

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

DARKNESS CLOSED ABOUT the three weary travelers as they entered a stand of skeletal trees as bare and lifeless as the bones of the dying earth, bleached white and worn smooth. The woods seemed sparse at first, but the trunks stood so close together that two dozen feet in, it became impossible to tell which way led out. Simralin looked unfazed, picking their path without hesitating, taking them deeper in. After a time, they reached an inlet that had cut away into a ring of surrounding cliffs. Piles of jagged rocks broken off by time and upheaval lay all along the shoreline, their sharp–edged out–lines suggesting the ridged backs of sleeping dragons. The travelers an–gled right along the shoreline, skirting the rocks when they could, climbing over them when they couldn't. In the dark it was hot, ardu–ous work, and Angel kept feeling that both time and opportunity were slipping away.

Finally, several hours after they had begun their inlet trek, they caught sight of a pinprick of light ahead, dim and hazy in a thick stand of ruined trees, burning out of the window of a small cottage.

"We're here," Simralin advised, giving them a quick smile.

They climbed over a tangled mound of fallen trees, forded a stream that branched off the inlet, and arrived outside the cottage with its soli–tary light. The sheltering harbor was so draped with shadows from the cliffs and trees that the gloom was all but impenetrable. Angel, who had excellent eyesight, could barely make out the details of the cottage and the surrounding landscape.

"Larkin?" Simralin called into the darkness. "Are you home?" "Right behind you, Simralin Belloruus," was the immediate re–sponse.

The answering voice was so close that Angel jumped despite her–self She wheeled about to find a solitary figure standing not three feet away. The nature of the speaker was not immediately identifiable. Male and grown, but the rest was a mystery. The face and body both were concealed by a long cloak and hood wrapped tightly about. A hand that was definitely human emerged from one sleeve and gestured.

"Heard you coming half a mile away." The hand withdrew. "You made a lot of noise for a Tracker."

"Hiding our approach wasn't my intention," Simralin declared. "If I didn't want you to know I was coming, you wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I?" A small laugh drifted through the dark. "Well, now that you've arrived, would you and your companions like to come in–side and have something to eat?" There was a pause. "Traveled a long way to get here, didn't you. Through the high desert, maybe? Not your usual route, Sim." Another pause. "Urn, a bath might be a good idea be–fore you eat. Then straight to sleep. You all seem a bit used up."

The speaker stepped around them carefully, started toward the cot–tage, and suddenly stopped short. "Oh, here's something I almost missed!" The hand gestured toward Angel. "A human! Making friends with the enemy now, are we, Sim? Or is she something special?"

"This is Angel Perez," Simralin replied, giving Angel a wink. "And she is something special. She is a Knight of the Word."

"Ah, a bearer of the black staff. Pleased to meet you." The hand ex–tended, and Angel took it in her own. It was lean and hard. "And the boy? Is this your brother?"

"The very one. Kirisin."

The hand extended again, and Kirisin gave it a quick shake. "Larkin Quill. Now we all know who we are. Come inside."

He took them through the shadows and gloom and the door of the cottage. The solitary light they had seen earlier burned from a smoke–less lamp set on a table, but there were no other lights in evidence, and the little house was buried in darkness. Angel had to look carefully be–fore moving so as not to bump into things. Kirisin wasn't so fortunate and promptly ran into a chair.

"Put on some lights, Sim," their host ordered. "Not everyone can see in the dark as well as I can."

Simralin moved comfortably about the cottage, obviously familiar with its interior, lighting lamps with only a touch of her hand. Angel could see no power source and smell no fuel burning. She had never seen anything quite like it. She was also surprised by the deep, rich, loamy smell of the cottage, as if it were as much a part of the forest as the trees. She had even caught a strong whiff of that smell on Larkin.

But these were only small surprises compared with what followed. As the light chased back the dark, Larkin removed his hooded cloak and turned to face them. He was a lean Elf of indeterminate age with strong, sharp features and a shock of wild black hair. He looked strong and fit beneath his loose, well–worn clothing, and his slightly crooked smile was warm and welcoming. But his eyes, flat and milky and fixed, caused Angel to take a quick breath.

Larkin Quill was blind.

"I can always tell when someone first notices," he said to her. "There is a kind of momentary hush that is unmistakable. Isn't that how it was with you, Sim?"

"That was how it was," she agreed.

Angel was stunned. How could this man find his way about in the tangle of the forest so easily when he was blind? How had he been able to tell who they were or of what sex without being able to see them? How had he known they were dirty or had traveled far?

Simralin gave her a knowing smile. "Hard to believe, isn't it? He takes great pleasure in showing off his skills. He went blind about five years ago, but his other senses have compensated for it in an extraordi–nary way. He can see much better than you or I over short distances.

Sometimes I wonder about the long distances, as well. He sees things that I don't think sighted people even notice. That's how he manages to live out here all by himself'

"I was a Tracker like Sim," Larkin said. "When I lost my sight, I lost my job. No one thought I could do it anymore. I wasn't too pleased about that because I knew how well I could see. Better than they could, those who thought I had no further use. So I moved out here, away from everyone but the few like Sim who would take the trouble to come see me. It was my way of proving I was still whole, I suppose. Childish, in a way. But it suits me."

He moved over to the tiny kitchen and without pausing or fum–bling brought down glasses and poured out the contents of an ale jug until each was full.

"Long–range Trackers like myself know about Larkin," Simralin con–tinued. "We rely on him. He keeps a boat to ferry us across the Re–donnelin Deep so we can avoid using the bridges. He takes us across and then comes back to get us when we're done. He reads the currents of the river the same way he reads the faces of the Elves who think he can't see." She smiled. "Don't you, Larkin?"

"If you say so. Who would know better than you?" He took a deep swallow from his glass. "She hasn't told you yet that she was the one who saved me when I lost my sight. We were on patrol together below the Cintra and came across a mantis field."

"The insects," Simralin interjected. "Thousands of them."

"Thousands, devouring everything in their path. But some of these had mutated. They spit out a poison that blinded me before I realized the danger. Poor instincts, that day. Simralin was lucky. They missed her, and she was able to get us both away. The Elves went out later and eradicated the mantis field. Too late for me, though."

"He was my mentor before and after the accident," Simralin said, continuing the story. "He taught me how to be a Tracker, taught me everything I know. He still teaches me. He still knows more than I do."

"That's because I'm older and I've had time to learn more. Now why don't you go bathe, you and Angel Perez? Then we'll wash down our junior member of the family. Meanwhile, Kirisin, you can keep me company and tell me everything I don't know about your sister. Come on, now. Don't be shy. I'm willing to bet that there's lots you can tell me that she doesn't want me to know."

There was a rudimentary shower out in back of the cottage at the base of the cliffs that took its water from a narrow falls. Angel and Sim–ralin stripped off their clothes and began to wash. The water felt icy cold as it splashed over Angel's hot skin.

"I can't believe anyone who is blind could live out here alone like this," she said, scrubbing off the dirt. "In fact, I can't believe that he can tell as much as he can about what's going on around him."

Simralin caught the bar of soap she was tossed. "He sees in ways none of us can. He won't talk about it, but it's there in the way he knows things no blind person should be able to know. Not even with enhanced senses. He's a different breed."

"But the Elves don't know this?"

The Tracker shrugged. "Elves aren't so different from humans. They make up their minds and pass judgment without knowing as much as they should. 'Blind people can't see. Blind people can't do as much as sighted people.' You've heard something like it. No one questions that it could be any different for him. Certainly, they don't want to take a chance on him as a Tracker."

They finished washing, and then sent Kirisin out to do the same. When they were all clean and wearing the one change of clothes they had brought with them as they fled Arborlon, they sat down to eat. Dinner was hot and tasty. Angel never even bothered to ask what it was she was eating; she just ate it and washed it down with ale and felt a lit–tle of the aching weariness seep from her body.

Afterward, they sat out on Larkin's tiny porch while Simralin told him what had brought them north from the Cintra and what sort of danger he might be in if he agreed to help.

"We need a crossing," she finished. "We need to get to the far shore without being seen and without anyone knowing you helped." The blind man said nothing, made no movement.

"In truth, you shouldn't help," she added as they stared at one an–other in the ensuing silence. "A smart man would tell us to take our troubles somewhere else."

He nodded, and his Elven face wrinkled with amusement. "Good advice, I'm sure."

"Arissen Belloruus will have sent his Elven Hunters looking for us. Those demons will come looking, too."

"I expect so. They might even show up at the same time."

Simralin gazed at him. "You don't sound as if you are taking this se–riously enough. You sound like you think this is amusing. But there are three dead people back in Arborlon who would tell you differently if they could still talk."

Larkin brushed off her comments with a wave of his hand. "Do you want my help or not, Simralin? Did you come all this way to talk me out of doing anything or to talk me into it? You can't have it both ways."

"I just want to make certain you understand — "

"Yes, that this is dangerous business." He leaned forward, his milky eyes fixed and unseeing, but his attention all on her. "What have we ever done as Trackers that isn't dangerous? We live in a world that is filled with dangerous creatures, infected with plague and poison, and saturated in madness at every turn. I think I have the picture."

She stared at him, her lips tight. "Sometimes you make me want to scream."

"Please resist the urge. Now then. We should make the crossing at first light, when the tide is out and the world mostly still at rest. In the meantime, it looks to me as if young Kirisin has the right idea."

They glanced over. The boy was asleep in his chair.

Larkin rose without waiting for a response to his suggestion and gestured toward one corner of the room. "We can make a place for all three of you right over there. A little crowded, but if you are as tired as you look, it shouldn't matter. I'll keep watch while you rest."

He paused, his head cocking slightly in the silence that followed, his blank gaze fixing on the space that separated them. "Have I been clear enough for you?"

ANGEL SLEPT POORLY that night, plagued by dreams of Johnny. In her dreams, he was still alive, walking the streets of the barrio, keeping watch over the people who lived there in the wake of civilization's collapse. She was a child still, and he was her protector. She would sit in the doorway of their home and wait for him to return, scanning the faces of those who passed, searching for his, afraid until she found it.

And then one day, in her dream as in her life, she searched for him in vain.

The dawn was unexpectedly chill and damp as they set out across Redonnelin Deep, the air thick with moisture off the river and the sky gray with roiling storm clouds. A change in the weather was coming, something no one saw much of anymore. It might even bring serious rain, although Angel was doubtful. No one had seen more than a trace of rain in LA in almost a year. Could it be so different here?

"The higher mountains might even see snow," said Larkin Quill, smiling brightly into the wind and the light as he steered the boat from the shelter of the inlet toward the open water. His face was lifted into the wind, as if he took direction from its feel. "Once, there was snow on the upper slopes year–round. I was told that. Imagine. Snowcaps all year long, brilliant veils of white. Wouldn't that be something to see? Syrring Rise, draped in white?"

The boat that conveyed them northward was a blunt, heavy craft with a metal–reinforced bow, the cleats of her gunwales wrapped with old tires and lashed with protective fenders. She boasted a pilothouse, an open aft deck, a galley, and two berths below through a hatchway. Twin inboard engines thrummed softly and, in the same way as the lamps inside the little cottage, seemed to lack any source of fuel. When Angel asked Larkin how they worked, he just smiled and shrugged.

"Magic," he said.

Not magic of a sort that she was used to, she thought. She had be–lieved until now that the Elves had lost all their magic, but it seemed that a revision of her thinking was in order. She let the matter alone for the moment, but made a promise to herself to follow up on it later. For now, it was enough that they were leaving the land in which the demons prowled and the Elven King hunted and the dream of Johnny still haunted her in her sleep.

Adios, mi amigo, she whispered to the wind, thinking of him once more. You were the best of us all. Rest in peace forever.

The chop of the waters quickened, and the waves grew higher. The earlier haze had settled lower on the waters, long trailers fanning out, weaving strange patterns. She looked back at the shoreline and found that it was already fading away.

Vaya con Dios. Tu madre suena contigo. Your mother dreams of you.

Then, as she lifted her eyes toward the high bluffs that Larkin Quill's little cottage backed up against, she caught sight of something moving. Three figures, indistinct and shadowy, appeared out of the veil of the mist. They stood at the edge of the bluff and looked down at her.

A boy, a girl, and a very large dog.

They were visible for just a few seconds, and then they faded back into the mist. As the boat moved farther out into the channel, she tried repeatedly to find them again, but could not do so.

When she finally turned away, setting her gaze on the shoreline ahead, she was not even certain of what she had seen.

ON THE FAR BANK, two figures crouched behind a screen of heavy brush and peered out at the boat that was crossing toward them. The boat could not put in anywhere close to where they waited, which was atop a sheer cliff wall that dropped straight into the rough waters of the river. Instead the boat would land farther upriver, where an inlet of–fered shallow waters running up to a small sandbar. After disembark–ing, the occupants would be forced to ascend a steep, rocky slope to the heights, a climb that would consume the better part of an hour. By then, the watchers would be gone, leading the way to their mutual des–tination, a place known as well to them as to the three they shadowed.

Shadowed, rather than tracked, thought the one.

"It would trouble them to know that we will be there to greet them," the two–legged demon whispered to the four. "See how they look behind, searching the shoreline for some sign of us? How worried they must be that we will catch them unawares! How helpless they must feel! They have no idea that we passed them by more than a week ago, do they?"

It reached over and stroked the other demon's sleek, scaly form, feeling it press itself against its hand, anxious for its touch.

"They have no idea of anything," the speaker whispered.

They watched the boat sail slowly closer, buffeted by the waves, knocked about by the current, straining mightily to stay on course for the inlet. But the watching quickly grew tedious, and the four–legged demon became restless. The other demon understood. It was time to quit this place, to continue on with their journey.

The two–legged demon edged backward until it could no longer see the river, then rose to a standing position. "We know where they will go next, don't we, pretty thing?" it murmured to its companion. "Oh, yes, we know. We know everything."

The Elves and the Knight of the Word would soon find that out.

WHEN HAWK WOKE, it was dawn on a gray and mistdraped morning, the sky and earth of a single hue, the air smelling of damp and old earth. He lay in a sparse woods close by the edge of a bluff that sloped away toward a deep gorge; through this a broad–banked river churned, its surface white–capped and choppy. He could see the far side of the river and the high, cliff–edged bank beyond, but the land after that was shrouded in a deep, impenetrable haze.

He had no idea at all where he was.

He glanced over to find Tessa lying several feet away, still asleep, and beyond her—a dark shaggy lump against the wintry grasses–was Cheney.

For just a moment, his thoughts returned to the gardens of the King of the Silver River. His senses were infused with its colors and its smells, his memories of what the old man had told him fresh and new, and his vision of his destiny as clear as still water. Then the moment was gone and he was staring into the gray, past the sleeping forms of his companions to a future he could only imagine.

Tessa woke. Her eyes opened and she sat up slowly, her eyes fixing on him. "We're alive," she said softly.

He moved to sit close to her and took her hands in his. "Are you all right? Are you hurt in any way?"

She touched herself experimentally. "No. Are you?"

He shook his head.

"How can that be, Hawk? We were thrown from the compound wall and we fell and …" She trailed off, brushing nervously at her tou–sled hair. "And what?" She stared at him in bewilderment. "I can't re–member anything after that."

"And we lived happily ever after," he said, smiling. "Just like Owl's stories."

She arched one eyebrow. "That would be nice. Now tell me the truth. What happened to us?"

So he told her, taking his time, remembering things as he went, try–ing not to leave anything out. Mostly Tessa just listened, but once or twice she couldn't help herself and had to stop him to ask a question. There was incredulity and disbelief mirrored in her eyes, but she did not try to tell him he might be mistaken or had dreamed this story or was a victim of delusion. She sat facing him, and her eyes never left his.

When he was finished and silence had enveloped them, she sat without moving for a moment. Then she leaned forward suddenly and kissed him on the lips, her hand behind his neck so that he would not move away, and she held the kiss for a very long time.

"I love you," she told him when she finally broke away. "I love you so much." She cupped his face in her hands. "I knew there was some–thing special about you. I knew there was nobody else like you. I knew it from the moment we met. The stories Owl told are true. You are the boy who will save his children. You are the one who will find a safe place for all of us."

He took a deep breath. "It's only what I've been told. I don't know how much of it I can believe."

"But you're not like the rest of us, are you? You're something differ–ent. I mean, you don't look it, but you are. You're a Faerie creature of some sort. Both Logan Tom and the old man said so. So maybe it's true. Maybe you are." She seemed to consider the idea more carefully. "What does that mean, Hawk?" she asked finally. "How are you different? Can you tell me anything?"

He studied her for a moment. "Does knowing I might be different make you afraid of me?" he asked.

She shook her head quickly. "No, that isn't what I mean. What I mean is … I just want to know. I want to understand. Are you put to–gether differently? When you were born, were you … ?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, and he saw tears. "Sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I wish I hadn't asked. It doesn't matter. You are still the boy I fell in love with. You are the one I will always love. It doesn't matter how you are made or what you can do or any of it." She clasped his hands tightly in her own. "Just forget I asked. Please. We won't say anything about it again. Let's talk about something else. Tell me what we are going to do?"

Cheney was waking up now, his big head lifting to look over at them. His gray eyes were calm, and his gaze steady. He did not look to Hawk as if he thought anything strange had happened to him. He looked just the way he always looked–alert and ready.

"I don't know where we are going," he told Tessa, getting to his feet and then helping her stand, as well. "I don't even know where we are. I know there is a river in the gorge below us. That's about all."

"You must have some idea," she insisted. Her dusky face broke into a sudden grin. "How can you save anyone if you don't know how to find them?"

He shrugged. "I'm kind of new at this. I have to learn as I go. Do you have any ideas?"

She looked around. "Let's walk over to the edge of the bluff and see if we can tell anything from that."

They left the shelter of the trees, walked across the bluff to its edge, and peered over. A solitary boat was making a slow, arduous passage from their side of the river to the far bank. There were four passengers. The first of them, cloaked and hooded in black, stood at the steering wheel on the bridge, staring forward into the haze. Two more were seated on the decking benches just below. The last—a woman, Hawk thought–stood at the aft railing looking up at him. For a moment it seemed their eyes met, and it almost felt to him that they knew each other.

Then the mist rolled in again, and the boat disappeared. Hawk stared after it for a long time without speaking.

"We have to cross that river," he said finally.

"Do you know where we are now?" Tessa asked him.

"No, but it doesn't matter. What I know is that we have to cross that river."

"How do you know that?"

He shook his head. "I can't explain it. I just do." He looked over at her. "Something inside tells me."

Cheney moved up beside them, his big head lowering to sniff the ground. A light rain was beginning to fall, and the mist on the water was thickening. The dawn should have brought a steady brightening into day; instead, the light seemed to be failing and the dark growing stronger.

"I wish I could tell you something more," Hawk said softly.

Tessa looked at him for a moment, and then she took his arm and turned him toward her. "You've told me enough. We'd better get started."

HAWK CHOSE THEIR PATH. They could have turned either way along the riverbank, but his instincts sent them right, upriver toward the faint brightness of the sunrise. The rain fell steadily, but not in sheets, only as something slightly damper than a mist. Rain of any sort was unusual, and particularly so for any length of time. But it rained all morning as they traveled, and into the afternoon. The river followed a mostly straight course, and they were able to stay within sight of it as they walked the bluff. They saw no other traffic on the river and no sign of life on the banks. The land stretched away about them–hills and forests, fields and meadows dotted with rocky monoliths, and in the distance huge, barren mountains.

By early afternoon, Hawk was beginning to wonder if he had made a mistake. It bothered him that the King of the Silver River had de–posited him back in the world with no clear idea of where he was supposed to go. It was difficult enough coming to terms with the idea that he wasn't entirely human, that he was in part, at least, a creature of Faerie, imbued with wild magic and the promise of performing an im–possible feat. How he was supposed to find and lead thousands of peo–ple–children, in particular–to safety, to the gardens from which he had been sent, was difficult to imagine, no matter what anyone said. At least he should have been given a better idea of how and where he was supposed to undertake this task.

Instead he was in a foreign place, not even Seattle and Pioneer Square, the only home he had ever known. He was separated from the Ghosts, his only family, and told that his memories of his early life of growing up in Oregon were not real. All he had to sustain him was his dog and the girl he loved.

He glanced covertly at Tessa, at her fine dark features, her dusky skin and curly black hair, at the way she carried herself, at the sway of her body as she walked. Her presence comforted him as nothing else could, and he was grateful for her beyond anything words could ex–press. Tessa. She made him ache inside. She made him feel that every–thing he had been asked to do was not too much if she was with him. He remembered anew how frightened he had been for her during the tribunal at the compound when the judges had pronounced the death sentence on them both. He remembered how terrible he had felt for her when her mother spit on her and refused to take her side.

His determination hardened.

We are the Ghosts, and we haunt the ruins of the world our parents de–stroyed.

He repeated the litany silently, testing the strength of the words. The world they had inherited was poisoned, plague–ridden, and deci–mated. Adults who ought to have known better had left it in tatters. How much would it take for an eighteen–year–old boy to salvage any part of what was left?

More than he had to offer, he thought. Much more. They could say what they wanted about who and what he was, all of them. They could say anything. But deep down inside, down where his heart and his de–termination were strongest, he knew that he was just a boy and that his limitations were brick walls through which he could not break free. He was expected to save thousands of children. He was expected to help them survive. He was expected to find a safehold that would shelter them all from a fire that would consume everything.

He was expected to perform miracles.

It was too much to ask of anyone.

It was nearing midafternoon when they saw the first roofs of the distant buildings, a cluster of gray surfaces that reflected back the dull slick of rainfall and dust that had collected. The buildings were set down in a flat between two higher bluffs facing out toward the river at a narrows. A bridge spanned the water about a mile farther on where the river narrowed even more. Although the rain clouded his vision sufficiently that he couldn't be sure from this distance, Hawk thought that its steel trusses and cables were intact.

Tessa took his arm suddenly. "Look, Hawk," she said. "Down there."

He shifted his gaze to where she was pointing, away from the river and back toward an open field that extended from a cluster of large ware–houses to woods backed up against low hills that disappeared into the haze. The field was filled with tents and vehicles and people–hundreds, perhaps thousands of them. Many were busy doing things, but from where he stood he couldn't tell what those things were. He saw fires and makeshift kitchens through which lines of people passed with their plates empty and reappeared with them full. He was looking at a camp, but he had no idea why there would be a camp of any kind in this place.

Then he realized all at once that most of the people he was seeing were children.

He took a closer look at the perimeter of the camp and found guards, all of them heavily armed and keeping close watch on the ap–proaches. He knew from the extent of their vigilance that he and Tessa had already been spotted. But he stood where he was awhile longer, not wanting to appear furtive or frightened, not wanting to create a wrong impression, studying the busy sprawl below, waiting to see what would happen. These were not Freaks or once–men or anything threatening; they were people like himself, and if he did not pose a threat to them perhaps they would not cause problems for him.

When Cheney growled, low and deep in his throat, he knew he was about to find out if he was right.

"Stay," he told the big dog softly and reached down to touch the grizzled head.

A man emerged from the trees to one side, carrying a flechette. He did not raise it in a threatening manner or even look particularly wor–ried. "Hello," he said.

"Hello," Hawk and Tessa said together.

"Are you looking for someone? Can I help you find them?"

He was a tall, thin man with glasses and a soft look that suggested that serving as guard for this camp was not his usual line of work. But he held the flechette in a familiar manner, and Hawk knew that no man or woman who had survived in this world outside the compounds was doing what he or she had done before.

"I'm looking for whoever is in charge," he said.

The man studied him a moment. "What's the trouble? Are you lost?"

Hawk shook his head. "No. In fact, that's why I'm here. To help you find your way. I came to be your guide."

A flicker of amusement crossed the man's face, but then he simply smiled and shrugged. "Can't wait to hear how you plan to do that. Is your dog okay down there with the kids?"

Hawk nodded. "He does what I tell him."

A white lie at best, a misplaced hope at worst. The man gave him a doubtful look and said, "He better. If he doesn't, I'll shoot him."

He took them down off the rise through the trees and into the camp. They passed other guards on the way, men and women of all ages, a ragtag bunch if ever Hawk had seen one. A few were big and tough looking, hardened veterans with obvious experience, but most were something less. It looked like whoever could still walk and was over the age of eighteen had been pressed into service. Those placed in their care were much younger. They were playing games and reading stories and completing small tasks to occupy their time. Older children supervised the younger. Everyone was behaving. Everything looked well ordered and thoroughly organized.

The guard brought them through the camp and across the field to one of the tents. A small cluster of men and women were gathered around a makeshift table that had maps spread out on it, most of them worn and heavily marked. A small, slight woman with short–cropped blond hair and quick energetic movements was speaking.

"… patrols along both banks, and let's keep a close watch on that bridge, Allen. Those militia boys may want to play rough, and we want to be ready if they do. We don't want to encourage them by looking un–prepared. All right. Now, the woods are ringed with sentries all the way along the tree line and back to …"

She stopped and looked up as the guard approached with Hawk, Tessa, and Cheney in tow. She gave the wolfish dog a long, hard look before saying, "What is it, Daniel?"

The guard looked flustered. "I found these three on the bluff. The boy says he came here to guide us. I thought maybe you should speak to him."

The woman studied Hawk a moment, as if trying to make up her mind about him. She straightened up from the table over which she was bent, ran her fingers through her disheveled hair, and put her hands on her hips. Hawk could feel her taking his measure, looking hard at this lean, not particularly interesting, dark–haired boy standing in front of her and trying to decide if he was worth her time.

Then she looked at those gathered around her and said, "Give us a moment to talk, please."

Her companions moved away, some reluctantly. One or two stayed close enough that they could still protect her if it proved necessary. The woman herself did not seem concerned. She was the leader, Hawk de–cided, even though she didn't look the part. The men were bigger and stronger and might even know more about fighting, but she was the one whose judgment they had learned to trust.

"I'm Helen Rice," she told them, and she held out her hand for each of them to shake.

They did so, giving their names and Cheney's, in turn. But Hawk did not recite the litany of the Ghosts. It would be hard enough getting her to listen to him as things stood.

"Someone sent you to guide us?" Helen Rice asked him.

He nodded. "I think so."

"You think so?" She stared at him. "Was it Angel Perez?"

He looked in her eyes and saw something that told him what to say.

"She didn't give me a name. She said I was to come to you and take the children to a safe place."

"Where is she? What's happened to her?"

He shook his head. "Can you tell me where we are?"

"Hawk!" Tessa whispered in astonishment.

Helen Rice was looking at him now as if he had come from another planet. "Let me understand. You were sent to guide us, but you don't know where you are?"

"I know where we are going, but not where we are."

She started to say something and then stopped. "All right. We are on the south bank of the Columbia River, maybe a hundred miles east of the city of Portland, Oregon."

Hawk looked at Tessa. "South of Seattle," she confirmed. "Look, what's this all about? I have to tell you that I am in no mood for games. I just marched two thousand children and their caregivers all the way up here from southern California. The pace was grueling, and not everyone was up to it. Those who made it are exhausted and short of patience. Please get to the point."

"We have to cross the river." He glanced at the maps, and then looked back toward the town. "I saw a bridge earlier," he said. "We can cross there."

Helen Rice shook her head quickly. "A militia has it fortified and de–fended against anyone trying to cross without paying a fee." "What sort of fee?" Tessa asked.

"It doesn't matter. We were told to wait here, not cross to the other side." She shifted her gaze back to Hawk. "We outnumber them, but they are better armed and have less to lose. I can't risk the lives of these children attempting to force our way past. Not without a better reason than you've given me so far.

"Besides." She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I'm not con–vinced I should do what you tell me. You don't know who sent you. You don't know who we are. You don't know where you are. You don't seem to know much of anything. Your intentions are good, I think. But the road to Hell and all that. It makes me suspicious. I'm having real difficulty believing that you are who we've been waiting for."

Hawk understood. He would have felt the same in her shoes. He was just a boy, nothing special. Why should she believe for one minute that he was someone who could help? Why should she place hundreds of children under his direction without knowing more? He understood all that, and yet he had to find a way to make her do exactly what her instincts and training told her not to do.

"You should believe him," Tessa said suddenly, trying to help. "Hawk is more than what he seems. He is special, different than the rest of us. He was told so by a Knight of the Word."

"Angel Perez is a Knight of the Word," Helen Rice said.

Hawk shook his head, unwilling to lie to her. "No, this wasn't her. This was someone else. A man. His name is Logan Tom."

He looked back toward the river again. He could feel his concern for their safety pushing hard at him to do something. The longer they waited, the more dangerous their situation became. He couldn't

ex–plain his certainty about this, only that at this moment it was so strong, he could not ignore it. He couldn't explain, either, why he was com–pelled to guide these people, the children especially, except that some–thing of what the King of the Silver River had told him in those gardens had resurfaced the moment he saw who was down here. Now, standing in the presence of Helen Rice and in the center of all these children, he found a fresh connection with his gypsy morph self–the part of him that was Faerie, the part that was born of Nest Freemark, the part that combined the magic of both.

That magic surfaced now within her finger bones, which were still tucked away in his pocket. It spit and crackled against his flesh like tiny electrical charges, demanding to be set free.

"There is an army coming," he said, knowing all at once that it was true. "From the south."

"That old man," Helen Rice said at once. Her lips tightened. "How do you know this?"

"The army is too big for you," he said, avoiding a direct answer. "You won't be able to stand against it on this side of the river. If you cross, though, you might be able to hold the bridge."

"Or blow it up." Her fierce gaze was locked on him. "But it's still too dangerous to attempt a crossing with the children. Not without some–thing more than the warning you've given me, Hawk."

"If I can get you across that bridge safely, without a struggle and without putting the children in danger," he asked, "will you go?"

She hesitated, weighing the offer, her doubts fighting her need to believe in this boy, her fear that he deceived warring with her desire for him to be the one.

"Please," Tessa said softly. "Let him try."

Helen Rice gave the girl a quick glance. "All right," she said finally, her gaze shifting back to Hawk. "You have one chance."