“Oh, wow, um, okay,” Glam said, seeming flustered. It was an odd look for her and I found it sort of sweet and charming. “I didn’t expect you to have such an eloquent answer all ready to go.”
“I just spoke honestly and from the heart,” I said. “Like always.”
“Okay, then I’ll do the same,” Glam said. “I like smashing because . . . well, because it makes me feel good. But not because I merely like pointless destruction. Smashing relieves me. It’s beautiful and simple. There’s no guesswork. Something was there in front of us. Whole. Then you smash it and now it’s not. It’s in pieces on the ground. It’s not complicated. I don’t like complicated. And there’s a splendor to that simplicity. To the way things shatter and crumble. And then there’s what comes next.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice so hoarse it sounded like a whisper.
“I mean everything always comes back better than it was before,” Glam said, smiling now. Excited. “When something is destroyed, people build it back up, even stronger than it was. Buildings, whole cities, societies, everything. There’s almost always progress after destruction. Plus, well, you know, my family is really into smashing, too. And so it was also sort of easy to just follow in their footsteps.”
“Why are they into smashing?”
Glam shrugged, but answered anyway.
“It started with Elves,” she said. “A pledge made long ago by my ancestors to live every day for smashing Elves and Elven things. It’s obviously evolved some since then, you know, with the peace treaty and all. Now we can’t just run around the world randomly destroying things without getting into trouble.”
“Why would your family even make such a pledge in the first place?”
“Because of what Elves did to my ancestors,” Glam said. “It’s a long story, one that’s been passed down in the Shadowpike family for tens of thousands of years. There was once a time when the Shadowpikes were simple cattle ranchers back in Separate Earth. One day, a young Elven girl named Alinor Dadi showed up at their small cottage and said she’d been cast out by her family, shamed for chopping off her hair and wearing it too short—which is just the sort of superficial thing Elves would throw a fit over. She wondered if they had a bed for her, just for a night. She’d be happy to work for it, she said. Mind you, this was very early on in the world, before the natural tensions had grown to war between Elves and Dwarves. And so they brought the girl in, fed her, and gave her their youngest child’s bed for the evening.
“As often happens in stories like these, she ended up staying longer than expected. In fact, she almost became a part of the family. But then a few months later, Alinor discovered that the vast field of quartz deposits on the Shadowpikes’ farmland was rich with veins of gold. My ancestors brushed it off. Said they already knew and didn’t care. Money and gold were of no use to the Shadowpikes—they did not care for wealth beyond things they needed to merely be happy and content. But Alinor couldn’t understand this. Why wouldn’t they want more money? It was unfathomable to her. So instead she began to see this as a chance to get back into her parents’ good graces. She returned to her old home and told her Elven family about the farm and its hidden riches.
“Naturally, Alinor’s family attempted to buy the land from the Shadowpikes and were summarily rejected. They then used their natural Elven charm to convince the Shadowpikes to sell them the land for a hefty sum, but with an enticing perk: the Shadowpikes could stay on the land and farm it and live as they had lived for decades. They wouldn’t own the land in name, but would essentially be leasing it for free. The Elves promised to let the Shadowpikes stay on the land as long as they wished, an indefinite lease. And the Shadowpikes, accustomed to dealing primarily with other Dwarves, who almost always said what they meant, took their word for it.
“Of course, as I’m sure you’re already predicting, Alinor’s family did not keep their promise. Three days after the documents were signed, they used a hidden loophole in the contract’s fine print to promptly and legally evict the Shadowpikes, leaving them homeless. While the Elves used the land and its gold deposits to become even richer, the Shadowpikes had to move to an unfarmable, rocky hillside. Inches from starvation, they were forced to become stone harvesters at a nearby quarry. Within months, a few of them fell ill and the youngest eventually died. They lost all they cared for, the land and livestock that they had found so humbly rewarding, all because of the generosity they showed to an inherently greedy and selfish Elven girl. Plus, the real gut punch is the ending.”
“Oh no,” I said warily, not seeing how it could get worse.
“Yeah, exactly,” Glam said. “Roughly a decade later, gold was found in the quarry as well, part of the Shadowpikes’ new land. And sure enough the Elves, who had become very prominent in this region of Separate Earth, found a way to tax the Shadowpikes’ new gold deposits so heavily that the family couldn’t afford to stay there either. The Elves forced them off their new land and managed to steal everything they had a second time!
“So,” Glam said at the end, her fists balled so tightly that her knuckles were white and shaking, “hearing this story, among so many others, all throughout my childhood, it was hard to grow up not hating Elves. I mean, how can people put financial gain over the well-being of others? Or lie to someone to make money? It’s baffling to me that any living creature could be so heartless, let alone people who claim to be morally civilized, superior even.”
It was hard to argue with her points. But then again, this was just an isolated story in history. It didn’t mean that all Elves would have acted the same way.
“I could argue that perhaps it wasn’t because Alinor’s family were Elves, but just greedy, terrible people in general?” I suggested. “We shouldn’t define people based on things their ancient ancestors did. We make our own destiny. Our legacy is what we as individuals do, not what our parents or grandparents did.”
“Fine, I get that. But let me ask you this: How many greedy, self-serving Dwarves have you met?” Glam challenged. “Dwarves who would put their own needs above the well-being of others in such a vicious way? I may live Underground, but that doesn’t mean I’m not aware of what modern Elves are doing. Shareholders and board members and executives always find ways to reap personal benefits, even when the actual workers are penalized. Rich people excel at finding ways to expand their already absurd wealth at the expense of the poor. It’s the way of the modern world, dominated by Elves. How many Dwarves do you know doing things like that?”
I was shocked, having assumed that living Underground her whole life would have made her entirely ambivalent to the world above. But even separatist, traditional Dwarves like Glam’s family apparently always kept one eye on the Elves and what they were doing.
“Well,” I started. “I mean—that’s a complicated question.”
“No, it’s not. The answer can come in the form of a basic whole number. Zero? One? Maybe five at most?”
“That’s not what I mean,” I said, thinking about how much I was risking by even being here on this train in an effort to cure my dad—which could definitely be perceived as a semi-selfish pursuit. “First you’d have to be sure that everything you think you see when you meet a person is what they actually are. Which is almost impossible. Then you’d need to define what greedy means. Because if you’re including anyone who simply wants a better life, that’s pretty broad. Then you have to dissect the nuances of how and why people view the world the way they do and reconcile that with your own values and—”
“Okay, okay!” Glam held up her palms. “Forget I asked! Morgor’s Beard, Greg! You’re a pretty unusual guy, you know that? You seem so easygoing all the time, almost dopey. You’re so . . . earnest. Even for a Dwarf. And quiet. But then I ask you a simple question about Elves and Dwarves and you turn into a freaking philosopher on me.”
I grinned, trying to pretend my face wasn’t turning red agai
n.
“Okay, I’ll let you get back to your Smashing Instruction Manual,” I said. “I really should try to sleep before we get there. I mean, Eagan gave Ari a lead to follow when we arrive, but she said it wasn’t much to go on. We may end up spending a whole day just aimlessly wandering the city. So you should get some sleep, too. I’ve read that New Orleans heat makes Chicago feel like the Arctic.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Glam said playfully. “Only my mustache gets that right.”
I laughed as I climbed into the lower bunk and switched off the reading light in the cubby. The thin mattress was lumpy and hard, but still undoubtedly better than a regular train seat. Glam’s reading light above me clicked off a short time later and then there was only darkness and the sounds of the train clanking and clunking as it rattled across the tracks.
She’s right about Elves, you know. The Bloodletter’s voice filled my head.
It was just outside our sleeper car, wrapped up in blankets inside a hockey bag on the luggage rack.
I’m not surprised you’d say that, I thought back.
If I keep saying it, maybe you’ll believe me eventually, the Bloodletter challenged. Elves are not good for this world. I know. I’ve been around longer than you can even picture in your head. The things I’ve seen would make the story she just told feel like a fairy tale with a sappy ending where a unicorn barfs a rainbow of joy all over a bunch of well-behaved kids.
Yeah, you keep saying that, I thought. But the world is different now.
But soon it won’t be. It will go right back to what it was all those years ago. Magic is coming back more rapidly now. I can feel it, and I’m sure you can, too. That’s why the Council is so overworked. They can’t keep up. This world is on its last legs. Its time is short. In fact, you could say it’s already passed.
Shhh, you’re scaring me, I thought, only half kidding. I’ll have nightmares.
You should. It will prepare you for what’s ahead. In many ways, the new world will BE a nightmare.
CHAPTER 20
Moss-Covered Logs, Traffic Jams, and an Outlaw with No Name
When I woke at just after one in the afternoon, Glam was snoring loudly, her Fairy-romance book lying open across her chest.
We were scheduled to arrive in New Orleans around 5:00 p.m. The other two sleeper cars were empty, and I figured Lake, Ari, and Froggy might have gone to the dining car for lunch. I headed that way through the narrow, jostling aisles of the half-empty train cars.
But I stopped when I got to the observation deck—a train car made mostly of windows so people could take in the passing scenery. It was empty except for a young couple in the corner sitting side by side, sharing a sandwich and giggling about something; an old man near the center of the car, looking out at the trees and farm fields as they whipped by; and a few tables behind him, Froggy sitting quietly.
He was alone and surprisingly not wearing his earbuds. Instead, he just sat there staring at the window. Not through it at the scenery outside, but at the glass itself, like he was looking at his own reflection, or perhaps at nothing at all. His face rested on one hand cupping his cheek.
“Can I join you?” I asked.
He looked up, startled. After a few seconds, during which I worried I shouldn’t be there interrupting him, he finally nodded.
I sat down across from him.
“Everything okay?” I asked. “You know, you didn’t have to come with us just because everyone else did. I wouldn’t have held it against you.”
Froggy shrugged.
“I wanted to help a friend,” he said. “But I am conflicted about it all.”
I waited for him to say more—which with Froggy was certainly no guarantee.
After a healthy pause, he did finally continue.
“I have doubts about this mission,” he said. I was about to once again plead my case about stopping the Elves’ sinister plans, but Froggy held up his hand to stop me. “Not the point behind the mission. Whether it’s to stop an evil plan or save your dad doesn’t even matter—I agreed to come because I simply wanted to help you. It’s the other specifics of the mission that worry me.”
“I don’t . . . I don’t really follow . . .” I said, realizing this might already be the most I’d ever heard Froggy say in one sitting—and we were clearly just getting started with the conversation.
“I’m half Elf, remember?” he said quietly. “But I really don’t even think that’s the reason I’m so torn. The Battle of Hancock Tower really messed me up. To me, that night, I wasn’t fighting—and potentially harming—Elves. I was fighting, simply, other people. Other living beings. And I didn’t like it.”
“Well, I mean, if it makes you feel better, I don’t think any of us took pleasure in battling Elves—aside from maybe Glam. And even for her, I’m not sure how much she really enjoyed it or just pretended to because that’s how she was raised to be—she’s just living up to a family image. But the point is: I think that night was traumatic for all of us.”
“I don’t think you understand,” Froggy said. I nodded, but he shook his head emphatically. “You may think you do, but you don’t. To you, and to most Dwarves, Elf is a loaded word. Troll is a loaded word. Goblin. Werewolf. Etcetera. Even if you’re willing to judge each Elf or Troll or Goblin individually, you still start with an idea based on something else. You see them as a member of a race and not merely a member of society. It makes me uncomfortable when Dwarves view the world this way, which they frequently do. As someone who grew up in both worlds, it’s hard for me to see things from either a purely Dwarven or a purely Elven perspective. And I like that I don’t have to feel obligated to, even if it does make me feel abnormal most of the time.”
I nodded slowly.
He was right. And I knew he was right because I felt that way, too. Ever since I found out I was a Dwarf, although I fit in with them immediately, I’d still always grappled with their somewhat singular vision of the world and of Elves in particular. And I’d been struggling to not let Dwarven biases get to me. It’d been a difficult thing to do, considering the fact that Elves had, in fact, taken my dad prisoner, tortured him, and then tried to kill us when we went to rescue him. Elven behavior so far had mostly only confirmed some of those biases.
But then on the flip side, of course, was Edwin.
“Don’t forget my best friend was an Elf,” I said. “And, sure, after I found out, it complicated things. Because you’re right: Dwarves can’t let go of the past and it’s clouding their view on things now that magic is returning. But Elves do the same thing. So do Humans. And dogs and cats. And all species who naturally don’t understand each other, exceptions aside. Every creature on this earth is prone to this type of thing—rushing to judgments, letting stereotypes or instincts influence their thinking. You’re the outlier, Froggy, one of the rare people able to totally and authentically rise above it somehow. It’s a good thing, though. I mean, I wish more Dwarves thought that way.”
“It doesn’t always feel like a good thing,” Froggy said. “It makes me dangerous for this mission, for example. For every mission of all kinds going forward.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m not sure I can fight Elves again, even if they are up to no good,” Froggy said, looking up at me, making direct eye contact for what felt like the first time since we’d started talking. “But what if they’re hurting you, or Ari, or any of my friends? Or even innocent bystanders? Is violence toward Elves, or anyone, justified in that kind of case? The easy answer is yes, of course. But I don’t find violence against living beings easy, ever. No matter the circumstances. I don’t know the right answer to that question. Maybe there isn’t one? Maybe this is just the way life is supposed to be? A series of enigmas and struggles and contradictions that all end in all of us dying eventually anyway?”
I didn’t know what to say. In Froggy’s mi
nd, the world was a bleak place. And was he wrong? Especially considering where I knew the world was heading. Where we were headed at that very moment: to New Orleans to face off in battle with a group of Elves planning a “universal annihilation.” But to Froggy’s point, was our potentially also doing something bad in an effort to stop them really worth it? Was fighting these Elves the right solution or would it just add more fuel to the larger fire?
Tell him if he’s not ready for this to stay on the train, the Bloodletter interjected from several train cars away. He doesn’t have to help. But you can’t let him get in our way. You can’t let him stop us from doing what we KNOW is right.
So I did as the Bloodletter suggested, because he did make a good point. I was the reason my friends were doing this, and I didn’t want anyone along who might compromise the safety of the group. Someone we couldn’t rely on to fight back when we needed them most.
Froggy listened and nodded and for a few seconds actually seemed close to accepting the offer. But then he finally shook his head as the train began slowing for its next stop.
“No, I agreed to help and I meant it,” he said. “I can deal with all these thoughts later. For now, we need to find out if what Stoney said was true. And if so, we need to stop the Elves by any means necessary.”
Good. Good, the Bloodletter nearly whispered in my ear. He may be useful to us, after all.
Then Froggy smirked at me knowingly.
“And, hopefully, we can find a way to cure your dad while we’re at it,” he said.
“Thank you, Froggy,” I said. “By the way, how in the world did you get that nickname? I’ve been meaning to ask.”
“That,” he said, still smiling, “is a story for another time, probably. I think I’ve already met my quota of spoken words for the week. Probably even for the whole month.”
I laughed.
Ah, drat! the Bloodletter complained, sounding less amused. I’ve been wondering that myself all this time!
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