The Children of Hamelin

by Danny Lasko

  “Anything?” asks Annie, stepping off the ramp of the wreck, carrying a canteen. I shake my head, both to answer and to pull myself out of this despair. I reach out for the canteen, but she pulls it away.

  “Give me your hand,” she orders. I look down to see my outstretched hand blistering, much of the skin already burned away or ripped off from the rope. I hadn’t even noticed. She takes it in both of hers and closes her eyes. A few seconds later, the skin is as good as new, but I don’t let go. Her touch heals more than my hand. My twisted chest relaxes, too. I start to breathe again.

  “They could use you back at the Garden,” I tell her.

  “They have half a dozen healers there.”

  “Alive?” I ask. She doesn’t answer. “They got it all,” I say. “The Garden, totally burned away.”

  “I’m sure they got out. They were already evacuating before the first shots were fired.”

  “How did the Synarch find us?” calls Linus. “I don’t understand how they found us.”

  I say, blankly. Right now, I don’t really care how they found us, just what happened when they did. I’m alive. But now there are several who can’t say the same thing because I am.

  ““Tracking device? From the stadium?” asks Linus to himself. “Possible but unlikely. We would have known. They must have been tipped.”

  “They came for me,” I say staring at nothing. “They came for me and didn’t find me and now they’re going to take it out on Allen.”

  I turn on the video com and find a news feed. Sure enough, Billy Jack is back on the air and reporting it as a victory for the Synarch.

  “Sources are telling us that the Synarch have identified and destroyed the hideout of the terrorists responsible for the vicious attack on the Tower, home to the Knights of Revolution. They have confirmed that the traitor, Horatio Gaph, who returned to Revolution and attacked one of his former teammates last night, was hiding away at the terrorist base at the time of the Synarch siege. Unfortunately, we cannot confirm if Gaph was one of the several casualties during the attack. So he could still be out there, folks. Keep an open eye.”

  “Vicious attack,” repeats Linus. “We blew a hole in the wall after we moved everyone out of the way. None of your precious Citizens were killed. Vicious attack.”

  “But here’s the good part, folks,” adds Billy. “If Horatio Gaph is not captured, dead or alive, within ten days, his hosting district, Allen, Texas, will submit to a mandated raze. All volunteers wishing to join the manhunt may do so by registering—”

  I slam the video com into the tree behind me, silencing the messenger for good in a spray of debris. I run my hands through my hair, trying to pull back the fear I feel. I press hard on my head, trying to stop my hands from shaking. Now it’s the Synarch, the wizards, and mobs of desperate, terrified lo-pry after us.

  “Hey,” starts Annie, kicking at my foot, jerking me out of my stupor, “you’re about to change the world. You didn’t think everyone was just going to let you, did you?”

  I have no comeback. Just a quick rock of the head.

  Annie chokes away her own fears. “Come on. Let’s see what we can salvage.”

  After an hour, Annie’s and Linus’s dusters are recovered, as are each of our packs. The Spirit is dead, and we don’t have room or strength to carry any components that might be useful. The packs include both a video com without tracking or communication as well as a digital map. It brings us a little hope that we won’t die out here. The Spirit’s cloaking device still works, making it almost impossible for the Synarch to find where we crashed and giving us a head start.

  “But I don’t know for how long,” warns Linus. “They’ll easily track it once it’s visible. It’d be best if we were on our way.”

  With dusters on and packs hitched, we head west toward the mountain range for no other reason than it’s the general direction of the castle on the coast. I was right. The green coat matches Annie’s eyes exactly.

  I know I can’t trust the news feeds to tell the truth. I do know that the Garden is crushed. I know that we’ve lost contact with anyone and everyone, and that we have 750 miles to hike to get to something that might not even be there. I know that things don’t look good.

  “Alright,” I say, looking at the map. “Walking won’t work. Even if we had the original twenty days, it still wouldn’t be enough. We need help.”

  Before either Linus or Annie can speak, I hear the high-pitched scream echo above me. The blue eagle glides over the trees, at least a hundred feet up, its blue and white body a striking beacon against the smoky sky. It’s heading east, opposite of the way we’re going.

  “What’s that?” asks Linus.

  “Help,” I reply.

  We hurry along after it, though it’s slow going through the ancient forest. Is it really ancient or amplified by one of the Children? I don’t take anything for granted these days. I’m not even sure why we’re following the bird other than it’s the only option.

  “Did I see that bird in the trees? During our escape?” asks Annie between steps over tangled roots.

  “It saved us,” I say. “At least, it made it possible for us to get out of there. I couldn’t see a way out. Not until it showed me.”

  “Go Eagles,” says Annie.

  “Yeah,” I answer. “Go Eagles.”

  We follow the blue eagle for at least an hour. But I’m confident it is, in fact, leading us. It continues to circle back, waiting for us to catch up, and never flies out of our limited view. My mind keeps slipping to the attack on the Garden, knowing it won’t be the last time we’ll see the Synarch. Manhunts for traitors or terrorists—usually it’s just an opposing voice—are celebrated events in Citizen cities. Games and gambling are involved. They won’t rest until they find me.

  The irony is that I should be more prepared than most. Having trained for The Escape, the academy gave me all the skills I need to have a fighting chance. Lots of strategy classes, lots of situations where I was forced to face more powerful opponents with greater resources. They taught me to fence, taught me judo and other martial arts, honed my balance and my reflexes. And they taught me to read defenses. So many hours dissecting and analyzing defenses. Problem was, I only sort of paid attention because I can flash forward and see my best option no matter the defense. Oh, and, whatever I learned, the Synarch police know twice as much. Plus, they have fire cannons. But still.

  “I knew it,” calls Linus, shaking his head.

  “What?”

  “Up ahead,” answers Linus without looking. I peer through the remaining trees to see a clearing about a hundred yards from us. But it isn’t what I see that gives me the shock of hope. It’s what I hear. Quick, muffled, rhythmic beatings against the ground. Lots of them.

  “Horses,” I say.

  Just as we come to the edge of the trees, a blur of black and white thunders by, maybe five feet away. They are beautiful. One a solid white mare and with such a smooth and graceful gallop, she seems to be floating above the ground. The other a titan, its coat of sleek black marked by a silver back that merges into a silver mane on one end and a matching tail on the other.

  They race along the clearing’s borders, about a mile wide if it’s a yard. Seconds later, they merge into the herd of animals but with coats of different color—rich browns, creamy beiges, and silky grays—all just as quick, powerful, and noble as the last, all grazing in a carpet of lush green grass.

  “It’s better than walking,” I say.

  “Way better,” says Annie. “These are Hamelins.” As if on cue, the snowy white mare rears up on her hind legs, greeting us.

  “You know about these, Annie?”

  “Oh, yeah,” she says, smiling. “Normally, horses would be too slow to make a difference.

  “But these aren’t normal?”
r />   “Stronger, smarter, and faster. Much, much faster.”

  “How much faster?”

  “Seven hundred and fifty miles in a day faster.”

  I have to chuckle. “My dad would love to see this.”

  “He has.”

  “What do you say, Linus? Think these will handle better than the Spirit? Linus? Where’d he go?”

  We search among the nearby trees but have to go deeper into the forest to find him. He’s staring at nothing, crouched at the foot of one of the bigger trunks.

  “What, are you hurt? Sick? What’s going on?” I ask. “Annie?”

  “There’s nothing physically wrong with him,” she says after running her fingers across his forehead.

  “No horses,” whispers Linus, shaking his head.

  “What? What do you mean, ‘no horses’?”

  “Just what I said, hero! No horses!”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” I ask. “You’re afraid of horses? You just flew through a forest being chased by Synarch cruisers and horses scare you?”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “We have no time.” This isn’t a choice Linus is going to make on his own, crouching in the shadows of false hope, so I grab a fistful of duster and yank him into the light.

  “Raysh, do you really think that’s—”

  “If the committee on ‘saving the world’ comes up with a better idea, I’m all ears,” I say, breaking through the last of the trees and into the clearing.

  “That’s not–wait, did you just call me a committee?!”

  “No, no, no, this isn’t a good idea,” pleads Linus. “There are much better ideas than this—Horatio, please!”

  I can hear the panic in Linus’s voice grow with every step nearer. My conscience gets the best of me, and I drop him about twenty yards away from the nearest tree but much more than that away from the horses.

  “Is this the way you’re going to handle every conflict?” Linus yells. “By the scruff of the neck?”

  “Not every.”

  “You don’t understand. This is bad for me.”

  “You’re perfectly safe. The nearest horse is at least two hundred yards away.”

  “Two hundred?”

  “A hundred and fifty.”

  “What?”

  “A hundred and thirty. And closing really fast. Annie, don’t let the band geek run away.”

  The black titan charges us. I have to believe that it isn’t a threat and try to convince him that we aren’t, either. Otherwise, we have no chance against these animals. I’m trying to think like my dad. I need to believe that this horse will know and welcome its own.

  I step forward, distancing myself from Annie and Linus. Linus is hysterical, a quivering, feeble mess and a problem we’ll have to work out later. All I’m trying to do is to keep everyone conscious.

  I’m about twenty feet from my friends and about twenty yards from the horse, a stallion. I stop and let this magnificent animal do the rest of the work. Which he does very quickly. He rears up on his hind legs and screams, whether a greeting or a threat, I can’t tell.

  PULLOUTSWORD horse attacks RUNAWAY horse ignores you and returns to the herd HOLDOUTHANDPALMUP horse rests his chin inside.

  I reach out my hand, palm up, and wait for the horse to react. He sways from side to side, regarding me with each of his eyes, and finally approaches by sticking his chin in my palm. I reach my other hand up and stroke the horse’s massive jaw. Up close he is even more impressive. He is perfect, his powerful legs and body without blemish. The silver in his coat and mane shimmer in the morning light. He brushes my hand with his lips and softely nickers.

  “It is good to meet you, too,” I say.

  I lead him over to the others, hoping a polite introduction will calm Linus down.

  I tell Annie to hold out her palm, and when she does, she gets the same greeting as mine. I pull Linus up off the ground and force his hand out and order him to open it up. He does, and the horse rests his chin for a fraction of a second before Linus wrestles his arm away from my grip.

  “Still alive,” I tell him.

  The horse backs away several paces and bucks his head back and forth.

  “He wants us to follow him,” says Annie.

  “You sure?” I ask, but she’s already halfway between me and him. I turn to Linus, who has sunk to the ground again.

  “Well?” I ask. Linus doesn’t budge. I grab for his duster again, but he kicks my hand away.

  “Alright!” He pulls himself up, brushes off his jacket, and steps ahead of me.

  “Don’t do that again,” he says, stomping by.

  By the time we catch up with Annie, the stallion has turned and raced to the other end of the clearing, running along the line of the others, thirty at least, stopping in front of two horses, which step out in front of the herd and amble toward us.

  I hear Linus swallow.

  The black stallion joins the other two to line up just opposite of us. A beautiful silver mare with a frosted mane and tail bows her head to Annie, while a thin chestnut colt scrapes the ground just in front of Linus, who does exactly nothing to encourage it.

  The stallion, black as pitch, bows before me.

  “Looks like we have our rides,” I say.

  “Amazing,” says Annie, patting the silver mare’s neck.

  Linus says nothing.

  Annie spots a shed hidden in the trees just beyond the field. A quick search inside reveals everything we’ll need: blankets, saddles, bridles, even chaps if we want them. The saddles catch my eye. All I know about horses and how to ride them I’ve learned from watching Westerns. Not once in my life have I ever ridden anything that breathed. But somehow I’m not worried. This saddle is not like John Wayne’s. It has my dad’s fingerprints all over it.

  The horses help us figure out what goes where, even which saddle is theirs. I notice its name stamped into the leather. Wildwynd. Not exactly comforting to a novice.

  Linus is too stupefied with terror to speak. I haven’t worked out how I’m going to get him to climb up on his colt, but if I have to, I’ll fling him up and tie him to the reins.

  Wildwynd bows, telling me he’s satisfied with the job I’ve done with the saddle and bridle and urges me to climb on. I pull myself up and settle in.

  Annie climbs aboard her silver mare and looks expectant.

  “Okay, Silver Wing,” she says, patting the mare’s neck. “Be gentle with me.”

  I glance at the chestnut, who appears to be chomping to run. Linus doesn’t even carry a hint that he’s interested.

  “Let’s give it a test run,” I say to Annie.

  I do like in the movies and give Wildwynd a slight kick in the ribs. He bolts off to the open field so fast that I grab hold of the horn until my body catches up with the speed.

  I hold the reins loosely, figuring the horse knows what he’s doing better than I do. I look back to see Annie right on my tail. She’s a natural. Behind her, the chestnut colt scoop Linus onto his back and bolt forward, Linus holding onto whatever he can find for dear life.

  The ride is unnaturally smooth and comfortable thanks to the advanced saddle. Definitely my dad’s work.

  Annie pulls up right next to me, and for the next fifteen minutes, I forget about everything outside the clearing. Just Annie and me. The horses take us on a tour, sprinting through the open grass and swerving in and out of the trees. It isn’t long before I get how the horse moves and I can anticipate him. The wind in my hair and face fills me again with the belief that maybe this can be done.

  “I want to go home,” says Linus, dropping himself off the chestnut colt after the ride, landing on the grass with a thud.

  “Good luck,” I tell him.

  “When
do we head out?” Annie asks.

  “Before dawn,” I say. “We’ve been in a fire and an air battle, we’ve crashed, we’ve hiked through forests, and we’ve learned how to ride a horse. It’s been a full day. Tomorrow’s even bigger. Sleep time.”

  It’s easier to say than do. Without knowing whether the Synarch is searching for us among the Garden ruins or spanning out in the forest, I can’t justify building any kind of fire. I’m reluctant even to use the flashlights from our pouch, but when Linus comes over with the map, I know we have to talk.

  “A little problem,” he says. “Everything from Vegas to the new coast will be cause for alarm.”

  “Nomad territory,” I say, recalling the horror stories of my youth.

  “Exactly, and we’re full of the kind of spoils they seek, not to mention the horses. We’ll certainly outrun them, but if they see us coming … ”

  “We’re done.”

  “In all likelihood.”

  “But we can head south through the Mojave and hit the coast straight on. It adds a couple hundred miles to the journey, but we avoid the main concentration of rumored Nomad camps.”

  “Wait, can we pass through the Mojave fast enough, you know, before the sun fries our faces off?” calls out Annie.

  “I believe the horses will suffice. Far greater risk facing the Nomads on their lands.”

  I can’t help but shake my head.

  “So this is where it would be good to have the Piper’s record. The what’s it called?”

  “The Mirastory.”

  “Right.”

  “This is where we are meant to be, Horatio,” says Linus. “I’ve no doubt.”

  “Mojave Desert,” I say, returning to things that make sense.

  “Yes,” nods Linus.

  “That’s our route,” I say. “Good to see you’re still with us, Linus.”

  “At least until morning,” he says, turning off his light and spreading out some bedding we found in the shed.

  “Do I have to tie you up?”

  “Not unless you make me ride in my sleep,” he replies. “Just keep them away from me for the night. That’s all I ask.”