Terry Brooks - The Elves of Cintra

The Ghosts began to gather up their possessions, a sad and desul–tory group, none of them saying anything. Bear walked over and lifted Squirrel's body out of Sparrow's arms, hushing her sobs as he did so, telling her to come with him. Fixit and Chalk picked up the Weather–man, and River took the handles of Owl's wheelchair and turned her about.

It was Panther who said, "What about him?"

He pointed at the boy with the ruined face, who still lay sprawled in the street where Bear had flattened him with the cudgel. When no one else moved, Logan Tom walked over and bent down, checking the boy's pulse and breathing. "He's unconscious, not dead."

"Leave him," Bear growled, stopping long enough to look back, still holding Squirrel in his arms.

Logan glanced at the others. "Can you wake him?" Owl asked. "Can you get him on his feet?"

Logan examined the damage done by the blow that Bear had ad–ministered, a deep, purplish bruise on the left temple. "I think he'll get past this and wake on his own."

"But if we leave him?" she pressed.

Logan glanced at the throng on the overpass, and then at the fight–ing on the docks. He shook his head. "He probably won't make it." "Leave him?" Bear repeated, shouting it this time.

"Leave him," Panther agreed.

The others repeated the words, all except for Candle. "Squirrel wouldn't want that," she said quietly to no one in particular.

Owl's dark eyes fixed on the little girl's, and she nodded. "No, he wouldn't. We'll take the boy with us."

"Frickin' spit!" Panther snapped at her. Bear muttered something under his breath as he turned away. The others gave Owl dark glances of disapproval, but no one said anything more. Logan waited a mo–ment, then picked up the disfigured boy and trudged downhill after Bear. He thought it was a mistake to take him, but it wasn't his place to say anything. Not yet, anyway. Later, perhaps. He knew how it worked. Sometimes you did what you had to, not what you wanted to. Some–times you did what you knew was right even when you knew you would regret doing it. He had learned that particular lesson from his time with Michael. As a result, he had accumulated enough regret to last him a lifetime, but he had done what he had done because it was what was needed.

Now he was looking after a pack of street kids because he had failed to rescue their leader. Not necessarily because they needed it or be–cause it was given to him to do so, but because it seemed like the right thing.

Still he found himself wondering, as he glanced at his ragged young charges, if doing what he thought was the right thing made any sense at all.

THEY TRAVELED through the remainder of the night with Logan driving the Lightning S-150, the Weatherman and the boy with the ru–ined face strapped to the roof, Squirrel and Sparrow riding in the back, Owl riding in the passenger's seat, and the cart with the assorted pos–sessions salvaged by the Ghosts attached behind. The others either walked or rode on the wide, flat fenders, taking turns when one or more needed to rest. Panther and Bear walked almost the entire way, riding only when Owl ordered them to do so, unwilling to acknowledge any hint of weakness. Logan kept the car's pace slow enough so that even Candle did not have trouble keeping up. Speed wasn't crucial just yet. A destination wasn't immediately important, either, which was a good thing since none of them–including Logan Tom, or maybe especially Logan Tom–knew where they were supposed to be going. At some point soon, they would need to have some sort of destination in mind. But for tonight it was enough to maintain a steady pace that would take them out of the city and into the surrounding countryside, far away from the once–men and their madness.

They traveled south, the direction in which the freeway took them after coming down off the entry ramp and the one with which Logan felt most comfortable. He had come into the city from the north and east, and he was not anxious to go back through those mountain passes. Perhaps it was the possibility of another encounter with the ghosts of the dead or perhaps it was his aversion to retracing his steps when his enemies were always looking for him to do so. He did not know yet where they would have to travel to find the missing Hawk and Tessa, but he knew he would be happier searching for them somewhere other than where he had already been.

He also knew that in order to make any sort ofjourney, they would require a trailer large enough to haul both themselves and their posses–sions. It was all right to poke along the freeway at a snail's pace for tonight, but after that they would need a means by which they could move more quickly, if the need arose, and the Lightning couldn't hold them all.

These considerations and others flitted through his mind as he eased the AV down the long ribbon of concrete into the darkness, weaving through a tangle of abandoned vehicles and trash heaps and the bones of the dead. Distant now, but still visible, the fires of the ships and the compound lit the night sky in a yellowish haze. He found himself thinking of the people who lived in the compound and likely would die there before this was finished. In particular, he found himself thinking of Meike, with her freckles and anxious eyes. He wondered if she would do as he had told her or make the easy choice and stay put. He decided that maybe he didn't want to know.

When they got far enough down the highway, all the way to the far end of a huge airfield, he turned off the road and drove them to a piece of high ground that overlooked the airfield and, farther back the way they had come, the city. He drove the Lightning into a small copse of trees where it wouldn't be immediately noticed, parked, and climbed out. He had a pair of tents and blankets in the back, enough so that with the interior of the vehicle to use, as well, they could all get a little sleep. That they needed to rest was a given. Everyone was exhausted.

Using the boys to help set up the tents and Owl to provide encour–agement, Logan put them all to bed. Owl went last, taking time to clean the wounds of the boy with the ruined face before insisting that Logan put him inside with the Weatherman. Logan agreed, but hand–cuffed one wrist to a ring at the rear of the vehicle.

Alone again, he set up watch in the driver's seat, facing the AV out toward the roadway they had just traveled down. He didn't expect any pursuit, but he had learned never to take anything for granted, even the reliability of the Lightning's warning systems. With the uneven breath–ing of the Weatherman drifting out of the rear of the vehicle, he stared out into the darkness and fell into a light doze.

He was drifting somewhere between dreams and reality when the Lady came to him.

HE SENSES HER PRESENCE before he hears her voice, and it is enough to cause him to rise and move out onto the grassy knoll on which the Light–ning S-150 AV sits. He sleeps poorly this night, his mind restless, his thoughts dark and rife with foreboding. Memories of missed chances haunt him, come like ghosts to plague his rest. He dozes for a few minutes here and there, but he fights a losing battle with his personal demons; they give him no peace. Mostly he tries to pretend that he is equal to their challenge and to the wounding accusations they whisper

"Logan Tom," she says, speaking his name.

I am here, he wishes to answer, but his throat tightens and he cannot give voice to the words.

He crosses through grasses grown long and shaggy, breathing in the cool night air and the smell of damp bark and dried leaves. A few of the Ghosts snore, Bear more loudly than the others, wrapped in their blankets and hunched close together for warmth. He glances back to where the boy who killed Squirrel hunkers down inside the Lightning, awake now, though still chained and shackled. The boy does not look in his direction. It doesn't matter, of course. Even if he turned, he would not see her. She is never seen unless she wishes it. This night, he believes, she does not.