by C Lee Tocci
A plump, elderly woman wearing a magnificently-flowered dress stood decorating the Main Street of Dry Creek. The gaudy dress, the abundance of jewelry and the huge, round, rhinestone-encrusted sunglasses made the woman look like a huge bug landing on a flowerbed. And to crown it all, her improbable copper red hair was sculpted into a beehive tower adding an additional eight inches to her height.
Molly Coppertop had had a very interesting week.
After the Battle of Nether Rock, she woke to find herself in a hospital. Shattered from the loss of her beloved Beryl, she’d laid there listless, waiting for death to catch up with her body.
That’s when she learned there’d been two very interesting changes in the Overworld during the past fifty years while she’d exiled herself in the mines of Coppertop.
The first change brought to her attention was that the abandoned town of Coppertop, once just a desolate collection of ruins, was now an oasis of rustic wilderness amidst a desert of suburban development. Turned out, the land above the barren minefields was now worth more than whatever minerals once hid beneath it.
And Molly Coppertop was the sole surviving owner of the entire town.
Lying in her hospital bed, Molly endured a series of visits by real estate agents, developers and opportunists who mistook her lethargy for hardheadedness. When the dust cleared and the papers signed, Molly was an absurdly wealthy woman.
The second revelation was that the doctors were able to restore most of her vision. She considered this a waste of time and effort since, at the time, she had no intention of ever leaving her hospital bed alive. Yet as she looked out the window, she remembered Keotak-se’s parting words.
“Perhaps you are spared because you are called,” Keotak-se told her when he left her at the hospital. “Do not indulge in despair. Listen for the call, for you are needed.”
Which is how Molly found herself being driven around the deserts and countryside in a garish stretch limousine by a squirrelly little man name Rocky.
Molly smiled at the customary hush that fell over the diner as she entered. The bracelets on her plump arms rattled as she waved at the patrons. She picked up a local paper before toddling over to sit at the counter.
The Enemy must be getting desperate. There was nothing subtle about the headline that screamed of seven missing runaways. Six faces, file photos from the Social Services Department, stared sightlessly up at Molly. Was one of these children the Infant Stone Voice? As she waited for a cup of coffee, she studied the pictures.
The oldest boy, Todd Hawker, had black hair and dark eyes. He gazed from the newspaper with the wary look of a hunted wolf. Molly guessed he wasn’t the type to trust others easily. A pretty black girl, Marla Fuller, had smiled for the camera, but Molly could see a the shadow of anger and hurt behind the dimples. Jeffrey Terrance glared like a mugshot, defiant from the tilt of his chin to the glint in his eyes. Donny Johnson’s gaze was unfocused, fear and loneliness sending him to hide deep within himself. Little Nita Rodriguez looked frightened half to death, while the waif-like Devon Brigham looked lost and bewildered. Could one of these sad children be the Infant Stone Voice?
Perhaps it was seventh child, the nameless one with “no photo available.” High on the wall of the diner, the television droned, repeating the same images, echoing the same messages, “If you see these children, please call…”
The waitress poured a cup of thick coffee into a mug and glanced up at the television.
“Kind of makes you wonder what they’re running from, huh?” she said dryly.
Molly smiled as she picked up her coffee cup. She had a job to do.
“Well, Connie.” Molly said, reading her nametag. “Let me tell you what I’ve heard.”
Chapter Forty
The Canyon Del Muerte
A scattering of black feathers froze Todd in his tracks. Stooping, he examined them with shaking fingers. Too many feathers. Some were mutilated and corroded as if they had brushed against acid. He looked around, but couldn’t see a body. Could a bird have lost this many feathers and survived? Todd poked at the mound, picking up the largest and least damaged ones. His breath caught noisily in his chest when he lifted a solitary grey feather from the bottom. He looked up and down the canyon, hoping for a glimpse of familiar black wings, but there was nothing. Carefully, he slid a half dozen black feathers, along with the one grey feather, into the pocket of his backpack, zipping it tightly. He continued walking over to Midnight, mounting him heavily, but made no mention of his discovery.
Todd steered the troop towards the northeast, hoping for the best. He didn’t want to say it out loud, but without Grey Feather to guide them, finding Kiva had just become a lot more doubtful.
The horses picked their way over a trail that wound around gentle foothills in a narrow valley. On either side, mountains speckled with pine trees framed the horizons.
Todd was weary and his body ached, but it was a healing pain and after the roller-coaster ride of fever and near-coma of the past day, he was feeling lucky just to be alive.
A glance over at the Trickster showed Jeff was still hurting as well. Lilibit, however, was a point of wonder. Almost completely recovered, she sat atop Old Auntie, clinging to the horse’s back with her knees as she rummaged in her knapsack. As she rode, she’d pull out and caress her stones, smiling as she stroked them against her cheek. Feeling his eyes upon her, she turned around so she rode backwards, facing him. She tilted her head like a bird and looked at him.
“Todd, did you have a mother and a father?” she asked. The others looked at her speechlessly. Lilibit just broached one of the inviolate walls of the inmates of Dalton Point. They rarely discussed their lives before they arrived and never touched upon the private hurt of their parentlessness.
Lilibit waited patiently while an unnatural silence settled on the troop.
“Had to have them once,” Todd answered shortly. “We all did.”
Todd felt everyone’s disappointment. They all wanted to talk about it, but as usual, they waited for him to take the lead. He wished that opening the musty vaults of his childhood wouldn’t be another one of his responsibilities.
But maybe, perhaps more than food, this was exactly what they needed.
“I don’t remember my mother,” he offered quietly. “I kind of remember my father once telling me that she was an amazing woman who’d made some bad choices. I guess one of the choices was leaving my dad and me. Mostly I remember driving around in a pickup truck with my dad. Then one day my dad said I had to go to school. He dropped me off one morning and said he’d be back after school to pick me up.” Todd’s throat tightened. “He never did.”
For several minutes, nothing was heard except the muffled clops of the horses’ hooves. Todd didn’t feel like sharing with them his vague memories of the last week with his father. Looking back, Todd could see his father had been worried about something and in those last few days, had tried hard to hide that fear, but Todd had only been six years old and his trust in his father had been unwavering.
It had taken years before Todd stopped expecting his father to come back. Every squeaking door hinge, every sudden footstep, every stranger’s shadow, Todd had turned, looking for his dad. Then, after a while, he stopped looking for him. Now even the memory of his face and voice had faded. All he had left was the cherished knife.
“Did he give you that knife?” Lilibit’s voice cut through the haze of Todd’s memories.
Looking down at his hands, Todd hadn’t even realized that he’d unsheathed his knife and was gently fingering the haft. He nodded.
The knife was a beautiful instrument. It might even have been expensive. The blade was gently curved at the point and honed on both edges. The haft looked to be sterling silver, though it was probably only silver plate, and was set with a mosaic of tiny turquoise and colored stones. For all of Todd’s gypsy childhood, he had kept his knife hidden, a forbidden secret he never shared.
Until today.
“M
y parents were working in Manila,” Devon’s voice offered quietly.
Todd was grateful for the interruption, relieved to have the attention diverted away from him.
“They left me with some cousins in Naircott.” Devon reached down to pat the neck of his horse. “They got killed by some fanatics because they didn’t believe in the same things. When my cousins had to move into a smaller apartment, I couldn’t go with them.”
Left unsaid was the confusion of a small boy who couldn’t understand that his parents weren’t coming home and the miserable feeling of being discarded. One way or another, they all knew those same feelings.
Except perhaps Lilibit. Her brow furrowed as she tried to absorb all the emotions and experiences the others spoke of. Memory of her life before Dalton Point was so fragmented and incomplete that she could barely understand what it was she was missing. Todd saw the confusion in her eyes and wondered if she was to be envied or pitied.
“Don’t know who my real dad is.” Marla announced abruptly. “He bugged out before I was born. My stepdad was a piece of work. When my teacher figured out what a number he was doing on me, she called Social Services and they pulled me out of there. The judge told Ma she had to choose between me or my stepdad. I haven’t spoken to her since.”
Marla clenched her stone tightly and her thoughts went inward. It was obvious the rest of her tale would only be heard by Ulex who followed them far below, poling along a subterranean river.
“My mom died when I was a baby.” Nita seemed eager to share. “My dad was a fisherman. I don’t really remember what he looked like, but I remember his smell when he came home. The lady downstairs used to complain about that smell, but I loved it.” Her grin faded before she spoke again. “He died in a storm at sea when I was four. Mi abuela, my grandmother, she took care of me for a while, but she then she got sick. She died about a year ago.”
A pensive silence descended on the troop.
“Lilibit?” Lilibit glanced up to find Marla staring at her. “Do you remember your parents?”
Lilibit shook her head with frustration. “Not a scrap.”
“You’re lucky.” Jeff stated. Lilibit looked surprised at the bitterness in his voice. “My parents have six cars, three houses, five servants and a dog. They’ve got everything they want in life, except a son.”
“What were you doing at Dalton Point, then?” Marla asked.
“I got sentenced to Juvenile last year. I was at the Hardwell Center, but I got transferred.” Jeff’s smile aimed for smugness, but missed.
“Sentenced? Did you actually commit a crime?” asked Nita, her eyes wide.
“Yup,” answered Jeff. “I hacked into the corporate computers of Endrune and ‘redirected’ about three hundred thousand dollars into my own account.”
“You did what?” snapped Todd.
“Why?” asked Devon.
“How?” asked Marla.
“What did you buy?”
The last question came from Lilibit and was said with a complete disregard of the ethics of the situation.
“Lilibit!” Todd glared at Lilibit. When Lilibit shrugged innocently, Todd turned back to Jeff, who was still laughing at Lilibit’s comment. “Dalton Point was a foster home, not a halfway house. Why would they transfer you there?”
Jeff gloated with poorly concealed pride. “My social worker left me alone in her office for ten minutes with her computer. Stupid goat! By the time she got back, I’d hacked into her system and had already processed and approved my own transfer!”
Todd bit back an angry reply. It bothered him that Jeff had no remorse about having pushed some other kid out of Dalton Point and into juvenile hall.
It was funny, though, Todd thought. Homeless, wandering, burdened with the responsibility of all the others, aching in body and pursued by an unknown murderous enemy, he still felt luckier than those kids still back there, trapped in the system.
The walls of the valley loomed higher and closer and the trail disappeared into a heavily wooded canyon. The mid-day sun grew hidden and dim as they entered the shadowed forest of the Canyon del Muerte.
Their escape from Little Pine rankled the Director of Security. That a bunch of untrained brats with no apparent resources had managed to evade him tested his temper farther than he could recall being pushed before. This was a personal affront to his expertise and he would not allow it to pass unheeded. The Director had not slept for two days but he was not tired. Adrenalin and determination had overridden biological survival instincts.
It did not concern him that the massive RV parked along a rural highway might attract attention from the locals. Working day and night, his subordinates came, left, and returned again, awed by his stamina, terrified by his temper.
They scanned all resources looking for a sign of the runaways: police reports, bank transactions, even traffic cameras. In the end, a weather satellite provided the key. And it was the Director himself, reviewing the data, who picked up the infinitesimal blip that was originally identified as a small herd of wild mustangs, but which, upon closer examination, proved to be traveling in a manner quite unlike the way a pack of feral horses should behave.
Forgoing his usual helicopter reconnaissance teams, the Director hacked into the government’s weather satellite’s control system and directed its focus on the aberrant herd.
The Director smiled. Not only did he confirm the location of the truants, he quickly ascertained that they were heading into a box canyon. A dead end. The appropriately named Canyon Del Muerte.
Pausing only to transmit a status update to the absent Syxx, the Director mobilized two hundred operatives into ten ground reclamation teams. It might be considered excessive, but the Director would not allow any margin for error.
The children would be reclaimed today or they would be terminated. The Director could not decide which option would gratify him more.
Chapter Forty One
The Dell of Bocarbolee
A dense canopy of leaves masked the bright morning sun. In the gloom, the air hung heavy with the smell of decaying foliage. The horses’ legs waded through drifts of dead leaves as the trees above their heads creaked like old uncles rising to stand after a long dinner. All other sounds were hushed and muffled.
Weary and wary, the travelers plowed through the dusk and the musk of the woods.
They’d been forced to travel due north for the last few hours, unable to find any break in the foothills that might have led them eastward. Todd figured that this canyon might their best bet to cut across, but as he looked around at the looming trees, he once again wondered if he’d made the right choice.
“Todd!” Marla was jittery. With a jerk of her head, she pointed to the trail behind them.
In front of them, the trail was narrow and clear, but behind them, Todd couldn’t see any trace of the path they had just traveled. It was as if the forest parted to let them enter, but then sealed their route behind them.
They rode silently, the dank murk of the forest stifling any chatter. Even Lilibit seemed spooked. Twice she squeaked when a branch brushed against her face.
Urging Midnight into a canter, Todd maneuvered so he rode directly behind Lilibit. Sure enough, the trees appeared to be moving, bending their branches to touch her as she passed. The contact was more of a caress than an attack, but since this was obviously frightening her, Todd guided Midnight to ride between Old Auntie and the trees. Lilibit shot Todd a grateful smile and he reached over to ruffle her hair.
For more than an hour, they rode silently through the trees.
A brightening ahead on the trail warned them of the clearing before they reached it. A wide grassy vale gleamed in the light and a broad sunbeam lanced through the trees, revealing a solitary figure standing on a small knoll. They gaped, amazed.
A magnificent elk stared back at the travelers, twenty-four points crowned its golden brown antlers. It gleamed bronze in the sunlight.
No one moved. Todd didn’t think he even breath
ed. He lost count of the minutes. Finally, the Elk snorted and tossed his head.
“The Keepers of the Trees wish to speak to the Pilgrims of the Stones. Will you hear?”
Todd whipped his head around, looking to find who spoke, but only saw the others looking around as well. He then realized that, not only was it the Elk speaking, but he hadn’t heard the voice with his ears.
“He said ‘The Keepers…’” began Donny.
“We heard,” interrupted Todd. He looked at the elk and nodded slowly.
With that, the Elk pawed the ground three times and flicked his head sharply. He then backed down from the knoll to stand quietly at the edge of the trees.
Softly at first, then building to a frenzy, the trees began to twitch and rustle. The horses whinnied with alarm when several dozen small figures fell into the grassy clearing, plopping like ripe fruit in a gentle breeze,.
Some landed nimbly on their feet. Some landed awkwardly, tipping and wobbling like buoys on the tide. Several toppled over to land on their behinds while a few dropped directly on to their behinds and then bounced back to their feet like clumsy acrobats.
They were a small and colorful people, the females looking only slightly more lumpy than the males. The tallest was little more than two feet high; their clothes and their skin were striped and blocked with large bands of bright colors. Their eyes were exceptionally large and black, with pupils so large you could barely see the white. On top of their heads, their brightly colored hair was pulled into tufts and decorated with colorful beads and painted acorns. They blinked curiously at the travelers and formed a ring along the edge of the clearing.
Todd didn’t want to appear menacing so he hadn’t pulled out his staff, but he did casually rest his hand on it. With all his attention focused on the Keepers, he wasn’t prepared for the thud that hit him from behind.
Lilibit leapt from the back of Old Auntie on to Midnight, slamming into Todd’s back and wrapping her arms around his waist.