K. McEntire - Lightbringer

“How many times have I told you to stop with that foreign jibber-jabber?” echoed a reply, sounding both close and far all at once. Elle had picked her hiding spot well. “A simple ‘Hi, Elle’ will do me just fine.”

Piotr bowed at the waist, struggling to keep his senses attuned to their surroundings, attempting to assess which direction the arrow had come from. “My apologies! Good morning, Elle. I see that you’ve gotten better at hiding.”

“You haven’t.” There was a light tread behind him and Elle’s hand firmly cupped the back of his neck, the strength in her fingers daring him to try something. Knowing the power of those hands and the muscles behind them, Piotr held still.

“Elle!” cried Dora, dropping her bags and flinging her arms around the slight girl holding him hostage. “I missed you!”

The hand squeezed sharply once, pinching, before dropping away. Elle turned to embrace the child. Freed, Piotr swiveled and dropped his hands cautiously to his pockets, hooking his thumbs just inside.

Dora had always adored Elle and the feeling was mutual. Watching them hug was like watching a rainbow appear from the mist—all the darkness fell away and they were momentarily awash in happiness and light. Where the two of them touched, crackles of blue essence hummed, the years traveling from Dora into Elle and back to Dora in a circuit of joy. Dora was so pleased Piotr could taste her energy on the air itself.

Keeping her tone easy, Elle glanced up from rubbing her cheek along the top of Dora’s head, and said, “I never’a thought a palooka like you’d show your mug around here. Didn’t I give you the bum’s rush last time?”

“Yes, well, times change.” Piotr scratched his chin and glanced up at the brilliant silver sky. The sun shone with fiery white light, basking them in its dim warmth and faded glory, but in the distance thick black clouds churned above the sea. “The weather’s looking foul. May we move this elsewhere?”

Elle rose from her crouch, muscles rippling. Her short, fringed tunic and thigh-high skirt left nothing to the imagination and Piotr politely turned his face away. Noticing his discomfort, Elle smirked. “Fine, ya wet blanket. What’s eating you?”

“A Walker was poking around the mill last night.”

Elle stilled and her blonde waves, silvery pale and close-cropped, trembled. “It sussed you out.”

“Yes. And it escaped.” Piotr shoved his hands deep into his pockets and hunched over slightly. “So I was wondering if you’d—”

“Of course.” Elle turned fluidly, taking Dora’s hand in her left hand and Specs’ hand in her right. “This way.”

Once, when they had been on better terms, Elle had confided in Piotr and shared some of her living memories like the jewels they were. She’d been a gymnast once, and rich, spoiled by parents with too much money and not enough time for their wild daughter. Archery, horseback riding, a separate tutor for every fancy. In the Never, these skills made her a handy ally but a terrible enemy. Piotr struggled to keep up as Elle sped through walls and past throngs of living men, their heat momentarily searing but fading the further they traveled. Confidently athletic, Elle raced along, never turning to note his pace behind.

It was early afternoon when they neared the pier and Elle’s home. Unlike the mill, one derelict building among many where few humans bothered wandering, Elle’s tribe squatted in an abandoned bookshop just off the main strip of Pier 39, the walls papered with droppings and overrun with nesting rats.

If he squinted, Piotr could just make out the words “Coming Soon” above the door. The letters were pink with age, however, and the floor inside was littered with the ghostly living shapes of sleeping rats huddled beneath overturned bookshelves and gently decaying easy chairs. Termites chewed the stairs, seagulls cooed in the eaves, and the floor was white and pebbled with decades of dried droppings. The living animal heat was mild however, easy to stand, and Piotr passed the rats with no problem.

The third floor of the bookstore was empty of furniture but sectioned into offices, the areas claimed by Elle’s dozen or so Lost clearly marked with bundles of possessions and sectioned apart with piles of books that reached the warped and splintered ceiling. Elle led them here, leaving the kids to pick spaces of their own while she unstrung her bow and checked the arrows in her quiver.

Piotr, at a loss for what to do in this room once familiar but now alien, hovered near the door as Tubs explored the cupboard underneath the stairs and Specs unpacked in a relatively clean hollow in a far corner lined with the ghostly original copies of Yeats, Dickenson, and Blake.

Without pausing from her work, Elle said, “I have to hand it to you, Pete, you’ve done a good job with those kids. They kept pace pretty well.”

Piotr crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorway. He was surprised to realize that he was relieved. Elle was a good fighter, and smart. She’d keep his Lost safe. “That wasn’t me. I still don’t train them the way you do.”

She snorted. “You oughta.”

“Da? Well, I say let kids be kids.” Piotr rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was warm up here, and close. He felt as if he could barely breathe. “As long as they want to be, that is.”

“Whatever. You staying, too?” Elle glanced up from her task. Her voice was pitched low. “I don’t see that excuse you call a bag.”

“Have you forgiven me?”

“Never will.” Elle returned to her task, her fingers flying nimbly over the arch of the bow, smoothing and polishing the grain of the wood. “But maybe I can forget for a bit. We can be copasetic for an emergency.”

“Then I’m not going to impose.” Ignoring the bittersweet pang at her words, Piotr sketched a shallow bow. “I owe you that courtesy.” Glad to have the current state of their animosity sorted out, Piotr stepped away from the door and raised his voice. “I’m leaving.”

“What?” Dora appeared at the door of a far office, pale-faced and scowling. “You ain’t staying too?”

“Sorry, I can’t.” Piotr knelt down and opened his arms. Tubs trundled willingly in for a hug but Specs and Dora hung back, both frowning. “I need to go get the lay of the land.”

Dora tried again. “But it ain’t safe—”

“For you.” Passing Tubs to Elle’s waiting arms, Piotr rose and dusted his knees. “Walkers usually don’t eat Riders, remember?” he teased, poking his bicep. “Our meat’s too tough.”

“Technically, you aren’t a Rider anymore,” Specs pointed out, pushing his glasses up his nose. When Piotr wouldn’t drop his arms, Specs reluctantly stepped to Piotr’s side and hugged him. When he squeezed, Piotr could feel Specs’ ribs and the steady thrum of the years unlived just beneath his skin. “You quit, remember?”

“Teenagers, then.” Specs stepped away and Piotr held out his arms. “Dora, please? I don’t know when I’ll be back this way again.” He glanced out the window as he pleaded, noting the swiftly rising fog rolling in from the bay and the dappled clouds covering the shining silver sun. The storm was rolling in.

“I changed my mind.” Hurrying across the room, Dora dropped her backpack at his feet and flung herself at Piotr. Clinging powerfully to his waist she cried, “I ain’t stayin’ here without you.”

“Geeze, thanks,” Elle muttered under her breath, and Piotr hid a smile.

“It’s safer here for you.” Piotr knelt down and embraced Dora tightly. “Elle is amazing at this. You know how good she is with her bow. She’ll keep you safe.”

“But you ain’t comin’ back if I stay!”

“Pandora, my malen’kaya printsessa,” Piotr groaned. He hugged her tighter. “I promise. I promise that when I can guarantee there aren’t any more Walkers sniffing around the mill, I’ll come back for you three, yes? We’ll go back home as soon as it’s safe. Da?”