Armageddon's Children

by Terry Brooks

  She stared fixedly at him, as if not certain who he was. Then she said, “We would have to sneak into the room where the histories are stored. Old Culph is poking around in there all the time. We would have to get in when he was sleeping or he would want to know what we’re doing and would probably tell my father.” She paused, thinking. “But I know how to get into the room, even after it’s locked.”

  She was getting caught up in the idea of doing something, of shedding the burden of guilt she had been carrying for obeying her father’s wishes and ignoring her duty as a Chosen.

  “Are you willing to do that?” he pressed, wanting to make sure she wouldn’t change her mind. “If you decide to disobey him, he will probably be pretty angry.”

  “He will be furious,” she agreed, looking doubtful again.

  “But you can’t worry about that right now,” he insisted. He watched her face, measuring her resolve. “Not until we find out what he knows that we don’t.”

  She shook her head. “I suppose not.” Her eyes lifted to meet his. “No, not until we find out.”

  The doubt he had seen a moment earlier was gone. He exhaled sharply in relief. “Can we do it tonight?” he asked.

  She nodded, determination plain on her face. “We can do it tonight.”

  THE REMAINDER OF the day passed slowly for Kirisin. He kept as busy as he could in the gardens, his thoughts drifting constantly to what Erisha had revealed to him. His emotions were mixed. On the one hand, he could understand her father’s reluctance to place his only child in danger. On the other, she was the leader of the Chosen and the one the Ellcrys had asked for help. It seemed to him that both her father’s and her own duties were clear, but he didn’t know how he would act if he were King and Erisha were his daughter, so he tried not to judge them—even as he found himself doing so. Kirisin had always looked up to and admired Arissen Belloruus, but he didn’t think he would ever feel that way again. How he would feel about Erisha remained to be seen. It would depend on what happened this night. It would depend on how she reacted to whatever they learned from the Elven histories.

  One thing was certain. His parents would be furious if they were to learn that their cousin was willing to endanger the entire Elven nation to protect his daughter. Which is why Kirisin would have to keep it from them, since he knew that they would take the matter right to the King and how that was likely to end for all of them.

  Sunset was a long time coming, and he had more than sufficient time to mull things over. By then, he was sick of thinking about it and anxious to act.

  But first there was dinner with his parents—with whom he had arranged to spend the night—talk of Simralin and her anticipated arrival home, and household chores he was expected to carry out when visiting. He went to bed early, feigning weariness, and slept restlessly for several hours before waking an hour before midnight. After listening to be sure the rest of the household was asleep, he rose and dressed. Taking his long knife and sandals, he climbed out the window and disappeared into the darkness without a sound.

  The Elven community was quiet, most of the people either in bed or on their way. The sky was overcast and shed only a little light, so Kirisin was forced to rely on his Elven senses to help him pick his way through the blackness. The air was still and warm, the night cloaked in silence and hushed expectancy. He moved cautiously down the narrow paths that led to the Belloruus home, picking his way and listening for sounds that would alert him to another’s presence. He heard none, and he arrived at the edges of the King’s home without incident.

  Crouching in the bushes at the prearranged spot, just beyond the perimeter where the guards patrolled, he waited for midnight and Erisha.

  Several times it occurred to him that no one knew where he was. If anything happened to him, no one would know where to look for him. It was a chilling thought—that the Elven King might do something to silence him—but he could not help thinking about it in light of what he now knew about the man. If he were willing to risk endangering the Ellcrys to protect his daughter, he wouldn’t have much trouble finding an excuse for removing a troublesome boy.

  It made him wonder. Would Erisha have gone back on her word and betrayed him to her father?

  He was still wondering when she appeared out of the darkness, dressed as he was, a shadowy presence in the gloom. “This way,” she whispered, putting her mouth right next to his ear. “The guards won’t see us. Their eyes look elsewhere for the next few minutes. Hurry!”

  He followed her through the trees, doing his best to place his feet exactly where she did, casting anxious glances all about—for the Home Guard and whoever or whatever else kept the King safe. But no one appeared and no alarms sounded, and in only minutes they were at a side door that gave soundlessly at Erisha’s touch and admitted them into the Belloruus house.

  Kirisin stood just inside the doorway, breathing hard despite himself. Erisha had stopped in front of him, apparently listening, making sure that it was safe. Satisfied, she took his arm and pulled him ahead. They went slowly, passing through rooms lit by tiny candles that gave just enough light to permit them to find their way without falling over the furniture. Once or twice, Erisha stopped and listened anew before proceeding. They reached a door that opened onto the stairway that led to the library housing the Elven histories and started down. Erisha was carrying a smokeless torch now to light their way. The air grew cooler and the silence deeper. They went down several flights until they reached the bottom level and stood in a small anteroom with a worktable and several chairs. A pair of doors were set into earthen walls shored up with beams and siding.

  Erisha walked to the door on the right and opened it carefully, thrusting the torch inside for a quick look. Satisfied, she turned back to Kirisin and beckoned him forward. They entered the room, which was filled with shelves and cabinets crammed with books and papers, all marked by printed labels and numbers. Erisha moved to the back of the room, casting about as she went, searching. She stopped finally and pointed to a set of books that were ancient and dustcovered, bound in leather and labeled in gilt. She took down the first two volumes and passed one to him.

  “These are the histories,” she whispered. “Do you want to carry them outside to the table?”

  He shook his head. “Let’s stay in here.”

  Together, they sat cross-legged on the wooden slat floor, placed the torch between them, opened the books, and began to read.

  It was a long, slow process. The order in which the contents of the books had been recorded was confusing; it didn’t seem to be chronological or by subject. The writing on the pages was small and cramped, and many of the words were unfamiliar. Kirisin quickly decided it would take too long to read everything and suggested to Erisha that they search for key words such as Ellcrys and Elfstones, stopping to read the text when they found either. They did so and were able to turn the pages more quickly, but still found only infrequent mention of either word.

  Worse, they did not once come across even the smallest reference to the Loden.

  They finished the first two books and moved on to the next pair. Time was slipping away. Kirisin found himself glancing at Erisha, who was absorbed in her reading and paying no attention to him. He was surprised that she had come around so completely, but gratified, too. He was thinking better of her already. If they found something and she acted on it, he might even be willing to reassess…

  “Looking for something?” a voice growled from out of the darkness of the doorway.

  Kirisin felt his heart stop. He met Erisha’s frightened gaze as her head jerked up, and he could not look away.

  H ANDS SHOOK HAWK’S shoulders hard and brought him awake with a start.

  “Wake up, Bird-Man,” he heard Panther say.

  He blinked his sleep-fogged eyes, trying to focus. It took him a moment to orient himself. He was still on the floor of the common room where he had fallen asleep last night. He could hear voices in the background, hushed and filled with wonder. He sen
sed joy emanating from their rise and fall.

  “Hey!” Panther shook him again, and this time he looked up into the other’s eyes. A faint, ironic smile greeted him. “Better come see what your dog is up to.”

  Cheney. He sat up quickly—too quickly—and everything started spinning. He sat with his head between his legs for a moment, waiting for things to quit moving.

  “You worse off than that animal,” Panther snorted derisively. “Maybe you got some of what he don’t. Get up, will you? You want to miss it?”

  Hawk blinked, the spinning stopped, and he looked at Panther. “Miss what?” he asked.

  “Over there,” the other said, pointing.

  The remaining Ghosts were crowded around Cheney, who was on his feet and lapping water from a bowl. He looked a bit ragged around the edges, but his wounds from yesterday’s battle had all but disappeared.

  Owl wheeled, dark eyes intense. “How did this happen?” she asked, a mix of amazement and deep suspicion evident on her face. “We all saw it. He was dying, Hawk.”

  Hawk shook his head. He was as confused as she was, although for different reasons. He knew what had happened, knew the part he had played in it, but didn’t understand how it could possibly be.

  “That dog, that’s a devil dog,” Panther murmured, looking over at Cheney, his brow furrowed. “Ain’t no way he should be walking around. He was all tore up, couldn’t hardly draw a breath. Now he’s moving like he’s just the same as always.” He shook his head. “Yeah, he’s a devil dog, all right.”

  Candle glanced up from where she knelt beside Cheney, saw that Hawk was awake, and rushed over to give him a big hug. “Isn’t it wonderful?” she whispered.

  Hawk guessed it was. He guessed it was a miracle of sorts, although he thought it was something else, too—something more personal and more mysterious, perhaps, than even a miracle. He wanted to understand, but at the same time he was afraid of what he might learn. Cheney had indeed been dying, so far gone that he barely knew that it was Hawk who cradled his big head, his eyes glazed and his breathing harsh and ragged. There was nothing anyone could do for him, nothing that could save him, and yet…

  Yet Hawk had saved him.

  How had he done that?

  He detached himself from Candle, climbed to his feet, and walked over to where Cheney lay quietly in place, his drink finished. The gray eyes shifted to find Hawk as he approached, no longer glazed, but sharp and clear. Hawk knelt next to him, running his hands over the thick coat, across the grizzled head, pausing to scratch the heavy ears. Every injury had healed. There were ridges of scar beneath the fur—as if the injuries had all occurred a long time ago—but Cheney’s coat was virtually unmarked.

  Hawk looked down at the big dog, wondering if he were imagining his part in all of this. Maybe he only thought he had done something by wishing for it. Maybe the injuries hadn’t been as severe as they all presumed, more superficial than they seemed, and…

  He stopped himself. He was being foolish. He hadn’t imagined anything about those injuries. No, something had happened last night, something between himself and Cheney that only they had been witness to, something that he didn’t yet understand.

  Or might never understand.

  He rose, feeling alien to himself. He wasn’t the same person anymore. He was someone else entirely because only someone else, someone he didn’t know anything about, could have done for Cheney what he had done.

  “Look at him,” Panther murmured. “He knows something, but he ain’t telling. Devil dogs don’t ever tell.”

  Hawk put them all to work then, deciding that it was better to just get on with things rather than sit around puzzling over mysteries. Given yesterday’s events, he knew instinctively what was needed. For the next few days, they would live aboveground on one of the upper floors of the building. It wasn’t as safe as he would have liked, but nothing felt very safe at the moment. He delegated Fixit and Chalk to choose a set of rooms that could be closed off and defended. They would move today, taking with them what they could carry of stores and necessities, and leave the rest for later. They would leave the carcass of the giant centipede, as well. It was too heavy and too cumbersome to try to move, and there was little reason to do so in any case. He hoped there weren’t any more of these monsters, that there had been only the one, a mutation that had climbed out of the sewers and underground tunnels. Where it had come from and what had caused its mutation were mysteries he doubted any of them would ever solve. But at least they knew now what they should look for if the killings and mutilations of the Lizards and Croaks and other tribes continued.

  As he joined the others for a quick breakfast, served cold and salvaged from amid the debris of the kitchen area, he found himself thinking anew of the signs he had missed. He should have been more alert after encountering the savaged Lizard and hearing of the dead Croaks. He should have known to keep his guard up after Candle’s sense of danger in the basement of the old warehouse where they’d retrieved the purification tablets. He felt certain now that the basement had been the centipede’s lair. It must have nested there, then gone out searching for food. Somehow it had tracked Tiger and the Cats, caught them off guard, and killed them before they could defend themselves. Then it had tracked the Ghosts back to their underground home, wormed its way in through the old air ducts, and dug down through the ceiling.

  He shook his head, a mental image forming of a nightmarish creature, a monster that could burrow through steel mesh, plaster, and concrete.

  It made him wonder anew at Sparrow’s bravery in standing up to it to protect Owl and Squirrel. He glanced over at her, making sure she was still the same little girl, that she wasn’t somehow changed in the way he felt himself changed. She sat eating quietly, not saying much, her face composed beneath her mop of straw-colored hair. She looked the same, but he didn’t think she was. How could she be?

  She caught him looking. He smiled and gave her a wink. She smiled back uncertainly and then went on eating.

  When they were finished, he sent Chalk and Fixit off on their search for new quarters and Panther and Bear down to the waterfront to find River and the Weatherman. After what had happened, he couldn’t bring himself to leave the girl and her grandfather out there unprotected, plague or not. He would isolate them in one of the upstairs rooms, somewhere they would be as safe as he could make them. Maybe Owl would know what to do to help the old man, once she saw the symptoms. If not, they would simply do the best they could for him until it was time to leave the city.

  And they were leaving, that much he knew for certain. He had been debating it for days now, but the unexpected appearance of the giant centipede had decided him. Staying in the city was too dangerous. Things were changing, some of them visible, some that he simply sensed. He didn’t think they should be around to see how it would all turn out. It was time to fulfill the vision, even if he wasn’t certain how to do so. It was time to take his family and find the home the vision had promised them.

  That meant convincing Tessa to come with them. He didn’t know how he was going to do that, either. He only knew he would have to find a way. He would meet with her tonight, at their prearranged place, and he would tell her what he was going to do. Then he would convince her in whatever way he could, using whatever means were necessary, to come away with him.

  He went to work with Owl and Sparrow, gathering up the supplies and equipment they would need to take with them, making preparations for the move upstairs. Chalk and Fixit returned shortly after to say they had found a suitable place. On going with them to inspect it, Hawk found it adequate, a series of rooms with more than one exit, not too far up, not too exposed, a perfect compromise. It wasn’t as secure as the underground, but then the underground hadn’t turned out to be all that secure, either.

  By the time Panther and Bear returned carrying the Weatherman on a makeshift litter with River trailing after, they were ready to install the girl and her grandfather in a room that was physically isolated
from the others, but still close enough that they could be protected. The Weatherman looked the same, still covered in purple splotches, still feverish and unresponsive. River hugged Hawk and told him how much it meant to her that he was doing this, and he hugged her back and reminded her again that they were family and must look out for one another. Panther slouched around muttering that they had all lost their minds, that taking chances was becoming a way of life and he, for one, wanted no part of it. Then he pitched in with the rest of them to haul supplies up the stairs to their new quarters.

  It took them all day to finish their work. By then, Owl had examined the Weatherman and done some more reading on types of plagues. She thought she understood the nature of the one the old man had contracted and how best to treat it. She instructed River on what to do, using a combination of medicines she already had, if only in limited quantities, liquids to keep him for dehydrating and cold cloths intended to bring down his fever. It was rudimentary, but it was all they had. Hawk promised to speak with Tessa about it when he saw her that night, already knowing that it wouldn’t make any difference, that he was not going to allow her to go back inside the compound, even for additional medicines.

  By sunset, the Ghosts had everything pretty much in order and had settled in for the night. Cheney was back guarding the doors, his strength returned at least in part, and Hawk had established a schedule for two-hour guard shifts until dawn. There was no point in taking chances, even knowing how reliable Cheney was. It would only be for a few days, and then they would be gone from the city and everything would change. He tried thinking of what that meant and failed. He knew he couldn’t hope to foresee everything, even though he desperately wanted to end the uncertainty. He would have to take their departure and their journey one day at a time and hope that he would discover what he needed to know along the way. It was a big risk, but he had the feeling that staying put and hoping for the best was a bigger risk.