Lena tensed. Until that moment, she had shown little consideration for her own safety, having been far too preoccupied with worry over Emilio. Now, she studied the ground at her feet, her previous aura of confidence absent. For the first time since Steven first laid eyes on her, she appeared very much a scared, seventeen-year-old girl.
“Now, now, Lena,” Grey said, “do not be afraid. I have seen your steel, and though that mace may feel foreign in your hand now, I assure you when the time is right, you will more than rise to the occasion.”
Grey brought Lena and Emilio close. “You two must complement each other in the coming days if you are to survive. The reach of the lance coupled with the power of the mace is a combination few can best.”
As Lena and Emilio absorbed his words, Grey turned from the fire and walked toward the ocean. Steven joined him down the beach a ways at the edge of the undulating surf. As his feet touched the ocean foam, Grey spoke again, his usual timbre hushed and reticent.
“Steven, you face the most dangerous of days. The Game proper is almost upon us, and I cannot imagine the lengths the enemy will go in the coming hours to prevent you from obtaining your Queen. The White stands not even half assembled, and while our young friends by the fire are brave and true, they are both so very young. Watch after them. Prepare them. Lead them.”
Steven nodded solemnly. “I will.”
“Know the three of you will never be far from my thoughts.” Grey peered up again at Mars the Warbringer. “If all goes well, you should have your fourth by nightfall tomorrow. However, never forget you are navigating uncharted territory. Though our enemy seems limited in their ability to scry our comings and goings, they are not to be underestimated.” Grey rested a hand on Steven’s shoulder. “Take care, Steven, and let the pouch take you where it will.”
The pair gazed out over the dark ocean waves for one last moment before Grey turned inland. Stopping only briefly by the fire to say his goodbyes, he marched for the forest, his vague outline fading into the dense foliage. As he disappeared from view, a silver flash revealed the silhouettes of dozens of horses interspersed among the trees.
Have they been here all night watching us? Maybe even watching over us?
He rubbed his eyes in disbelief and when he looked again, only the shadowy outlines of the trees remained.
Steven rejoined Lena and Emilio at the fire. “Well, here we are.” He flashed them a smile as he exuded every bit of confidence he could muster.
“Where did Grey go?” A hint of panic colored Lena’s tone.
“He had business to attend to.” Steven shook his head, attempting to hide his frustration. “He does that, I’m afraid.”
“So, what do we do now?” Emilio asked.
Steven heard an echo of himself from the morning before in Emilio’s plaintive question. “That’s what we’ve got to figure out and fast.”
Emilio crossed his arms. “I say we start by heading back to the mainland like the man said. I’m starving, and Lena’s been shivering since the sun went down.”
Steven agreed and reached for his belt, stopping mid-step as his fingers touched the pouch’s silver cord. “There’s no door.” He searched Lena’s questioning eyes. “When traveling via the pouch, I’ve always used a door. I’m not sure I know how to get us back.”
Standing beneath the dark sky, Steven reviewed with Lena and Emilio everything he’d learned over his various mystical jaunts. His analysis was embarrassingly short.
“So,” Lena said, “if this entire island is centered on one of these crossing things, the spot where we first appeared must be the place, right?”
“I suppose so,” Steven said. “That doesn’t solve the door problem, though. Even if it’s there, I don’t know how to access it.”
“We’ll never find out sitting around here, now will we?” Lena stepped away from the dwindling fire. “Emilio’s not the only one who’s hungry enough to eat a horse.”
The white stallion whinnied from beyond the flickering light.
Emilio stroked the horse’s broad neck. “Don’t worry, fella. She didn’t mean that.”
“Shall we?” Lena made her way back up the beach, retracing their steps in the dim light of the crescent moon. Emilio soon joined her, leaving Steven alone by the fire.
He let out a laugh. “And I’m supposed to be leading them.”
The three of them cast about for the better part of half an hour, retracing various trails of nearly invisible footprints in the sand, many of which had been obliterated by the thousands of hoofprints that divided the beach north and south. The previously lukewarm gusts from the ocean grew colder as the night went on, turning the already dismal evening into a shade above miserable. Steven’s mind had begun to flirt with hopelessness when a shout from Lena drew him and Emilio to her side.
Three distinct sets of footprints all converged on an unspoiled strip of sand not far from the edge of the trees. Steven brought out the pouch and held it over the intersecting footprints. Its low hum rose in volume almost imperceptibly.
“You’re right, Lena. This is the spot.” Steven smiled, relieved. “So, any ideas?”
Lena thought for a moment before answering. “These crossings have been around pretty much forever wouldn’t you think?”
Steven knelt by the intersecting footprints. “I suppose so.”
“Then it makes sense the doors aren’t the important part. It’s the place.”
“Maybe it just needs a little push.” Steven crossed the air above the undisturbed sand and waited. The pouch’s monotone hum grew louder, but other than a brief gust of wind whistling through the nearby trees, nothing changed. He tried again and met with similar results.
“Nothing’s happening. I don’t feel anything.” Steven threw up his hands in exasperation. “If I can’t figure this out, we’re stuck.”
“We’re not stuck,” Emilio said. “You’re just doing it wrong.”
“I’m doing the best I can here.” Steven looked up at Emilio and tried to keep the exasperation from his voice. “Have you got a better idea?”
“Coach Henley taught us something last year. He called it visualization.”
“Tell me more.” Steven’s knuckles went white around the neck of the pouch.
Emilio knelt next to him. “He said if you want to win on the mat, you have to win in your mind first. Before he’d let us face another wrestler, he’d have us play out every hold, grab, and move in our heads. We had one hell of a season.” Emilio sat on the cool sand. “Does that help?”
“Can’t hurt to try.” Steven focused his mind on the image of a door and unwound the pouch’s knotted silver cord. In his mind’s eye, he turned the knob on the imaginary portal as his fingers opened the pouch’s mouth wide. This time, it responded. The muted hum escalated into the familiar pulsating drone and the open mouth shimmered with silver-white radiance. In answer, the ground at their feet shimmered with light, the eerie luminescence in the shape of an eight-pointed star.
The wind picked up, whistling louder and louder above their heads, though the air between Steven and his companions remained quiet and still. Steven’s eyes blinked closed for a moment, and when they opened again, an ornate double door of dark wood and wrought iron stood in their path, its lower edge transecting the glimmering figure in the sand. At least eight feet in height and six across, it reminded Steven of the entrance to a grand cathedral.
“Can you two see it?”
“The glow?” Lena asked.
“No. The door. Big as life and standing right in front of us.”
The two of them stared at him, their expressions bordering on incredulous.
“Never mind. Bring the horse. We’re getting out of here.”
Lena clicked her tongue twice and the horse cantered over to her side. She stroked his flank and led him over to Steven.
“Steven,” Emilio asked, “are you sure about this?”
“As sure as I am about anything.” Steven smiled at Emilio. “All
right. You came up with the way off this rock. Where do we go next?”
Emilio ran his fingers through the white stallion’s mane. “That thing can find a horse on an island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. You think it can find us a Motel 6 and an IHOP?”
18
Rocinante
Oregon. I’m standing in Oregon.
Steven stood at a crossroads next to a large boulder with the words “Welcome to Sisters” etched in the stone. Emilio and Lena stood off the pavement next to their newly claimed white stallion. The horse stood unfazed by their recent translocation and chewed on the uncut grass of the low shoulder. Through the morning haze, Steven could just make out a distant road sign with the mileage to Portland. The city lay far north and west of their current location, opposite the rising sun peeking above the backdrop of evergreens.
“Looks like we walk.” Steven motioned to Lena’s sandals. “We’ll see if we can’t get you some better shoes.”
A quaint little burg, Sisters was the sort of place Katherine would have loved to explore. The siren call of the small town had always been her weakness, a penchant Steven had learned first to accept and then to adore. A pained smile crept across his face, a memory of a night stranded at a little motel south of Gettysburg crossing his mind. How a night that started with a dead alternator could have turned out so perfect was beyond him.
The pouch remained silent as Steven and his entourage moved farther into town. The multitude of restaurants and gift shops on either side of the main strip suggested the chief business of Sisters was tourism. Lena spotted a building less than a block off the beaten path with a sign that said “Information Center.” A refurbished house with a screened-in porch and a pair of wooden rocking chairs, the center was closed, which didn’t surprise Steven in the least. By his best estimation, it was around 6:30 in the morning, west coast time. Fortunately, the maps posted on the outer wall were more than sufficient for their needs. The Three Sisters, a range of volcanic mountains to the west for which the town was named, were prominently marked on a larger map of the region, along with several other local points of interest.
“Population’s around two thousand,” Emilio said. “This shouldn’t be too bad.”
“I don’t know. Places like this tend to be pretty spread out, not to mention tourist towns do tend to attract tourists.” One of the myriad of brochures in the wall dispenser listed the catchment area for Sisters at around ten thousand people, and Steven guessed that didn’t include out-of-towners. “Get ready you two. Our Queen could be anywhere.”
That morning, Steven had awakened with a start, his dreams a swirl of dark arrows and flames that burned black. A beam of sunlight filtered in between the closed curtains, transecting the darkness of the room. Lena lay crashed out on the adjoining bed while Emilio dozed in the chair by the door. Steven’s first instinct was to grab the boy and shake him awake. They had agreed to sleep in shifts, with Lena taking the first, Steven the second, and Emilio the last.
Like Emilio could’ve done anything if they’d found us. Steven’s resignation at their situation brought cold comfort, but did put some perspective on the situation. At eighteen, the boy had likely been through the worst twenty-four hours of his life and deserved some slack.
Steven crept to the back of the small hotel room and flipped on the bathroom light. He barely recognized the exhausted face that stared back from the mirror’s scratched surface. He rubbed the sleep from his bloodshot eyes and splashed some water on his face. The digital clock between their beds read 7:10 and a peek out the window at the relatively undisturbed parking lot suggested theirs was not the only party sleeping off a long night. Steven opened the window to let in the cool Pennsylvania morning air and a moment later, the sound of stirring brought his attention back to the room. Emilio stood by the chair, wide-eyed and panicked.
“It’s all right, Emilio.” Steven raised a hand. “It’s only me.”
“Steven, man, I’m sorry. I must’ve dozed off. It’s only been a few minutes and—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Steven said. “We all got some sleep and made it through to morning none the worse for wear.”
Emilio’s furrowed brow broke into an expression of relief.
“Now, if you’ll keep an eye on Lena for a few minutes, I’m going to get cleaned up.”
Steven took a quick shower, the water turned up as hot as he could stand it. The few extra moments it took to shave away the day and a half of coarse stubble from his face made him feel at least moderately human again. He slid back into his sweat-stained T-shirt and jeans and stepped out of the steamy bathroom into the dark chill of the air-conditioned motel room.
“So, who’s next?”
He was greeted with silence, the room abandoned, but with no sign of a struggle. Steven fished the Pawn out of his pocket and held it up for inspection. The absence of all but the faintest glimmer from its polished surface put his mind at ease, but only a bit. He slipped on his shoes, grabbed the room key, and bolted for the door, but stopped short at the sound of the doorknob.
“Who’s there?” he grunted, freezing in his tracks.
“It’s us, Steven.” Lena’s voice was sweet relief. “Sorry. We didn’t mean to scare you. We went to check on the horse.” The two teens entered and closed the door behind them.
For the second time in less than an hour, an almost paternal ire rose in Steven’s throat. “You’ve got to let me know if you’re going to vanish on me, understand? A lot is riding on us keeping it together and…” Steven paused. “What is it? Did something happen?”
Emilio jabbed his thumb at the door, the dumbfounded expression on his face mirrored in Lena’s eyes. “You’re going to have to see this to believe it.”
Lena and Emilio led Steven down the stairs to the parking lot and around to the back of the hotel where they bedded down the white stallion the night before.
“Where’s the horse?” Steven asked.
“Over here.” Emilio led Steven over to a fenced off area containing three green dumpsters, the closest thing to a stable they had been able to find the previous night. Steven followed them inside and the cause of their awestruck expressions became apparent.
Between the second and third dumpsters where they had left the horse now rested a motorcycle, a machine like none of them had ever seen. Longer and more massive than Emilio’s red Honda, the bike’s trim was pearly white. The morning sun glinted off the engine’s highly shined chrome. The headlight shimmered with a piercing silver-white luminescence while the quiet purr of a well-tuned engine emanated from its gleaming twin mufflers. The handlebars swept back in a form reminiscent of a crescent moon with a V-shaped projection situated near the right handgrip. A running stallion in bright silver above nine letters of gold adorned the main body of the motorcycle.
Emilio’s face broke into a wide smile. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.” He paced excitedly while Lena stared at the letters inscribed below the image of the horse
“What does it say?” Steven asked.
“Rocinante.” Lena’s face was a mask of wonder. “That wasn’t there before.”
“Rocinante?” Steven asked. “Does that mean something to you?”
Lena smiled. “It’s from Don Quixote. His horse was Rocinante.” She ran her fingers along the gilded lettering. “Papa read it to me when I was very young, and it kind of stuck. He used to claim our family was related to Cervantes, though I’ve never been sure it that was just a joke. My brother and I would ride around on his back and knock down make-believe windmills and giants.” A tear rolled down the girl’s cheek. “Papa doesn’t even know where I am. I’m sure my aunt and uncle have called him by now. He must be so worried.”
“Lena, you know I’ll do everything in my power to get us through this.” Steven wiped away her tear. “We’ll call your dad as soon as we can afford the time. Believe me. I want all of us to see our fathers again.”
“All right,” Lena said. “As soon as possible, ri
ght?”
“I promise,” Steven said. “So what do you two make of the motorcycle?”
“And where did the horse go?” Lena turned to Emilio. “We left him right here.”
“It may sound strange,” he said, “but I think the motorcycle is the horse, or at least how we’re seeing him right now.”
“The horse…” Steven said dubiously, “is now a motorcycle.”
“Come on, Steven.” Emilio stroked the cycle’s chrome handlebar. “You walked around my barrio dressed like you stepped off the set of Braveheart and no one even batted an eye. This isn’t all that different, is it?”
“Makes as much sense as any of this.” Steven slid his hands into his pockets and let out a sigh. “So, why don’t you take the bike out for a spin and see what it can do?”
Needing little encouragement, Emilio mounted the bike and gunned the throttle. The motorcycle answered with a guttural roar. Lena squealed, leaped on behind Emilio, and wrapped her lithe arms around his broad chest. Before Steven could say another word, Emilio gunned the motor and peeled out of the parking lot.
“And it’s not even 8 a.m.,” Steven mused as he watched the pair speed away. “Can’t wait to see what the rest of the day brings.”
After a quick breakfast at the local Pancake King, a transcontinental jaunt through the front door of an abandoned warehouse left the foursome roadside just west of the small town of Sisters, Oregon. Upon their arrival, Emilio asked Steven if he thought the motorcycle would need fuel, only to have Rocinante resume his equine form and start munching on the unmown grass between the guardrails. Now, the noble stallion sat outside a diner on Sister’s main strip resting in mechanical guise, while his three companions sat inside discussing the day’s strategy.
“Any thoughts on how to proceed?” The three of them had canvassed the streets for hours with nary a sound or flash of heat from the pouch. The town bustled as noon approached, and Steven felt certain they should have at least crossed paths with the Queen at some point. “I’m open to suggestions.”
Pawn's Gambit Page 15