“Too much metal,” Wraith voiced the sekasha’s collective opinion.
Wolf nodded, he thought as much. Using magic to track was rarely possible in Pittsburgh with its ominous web of metal in the roads, the buildings, and the power lines overhead.
There was whistle from the rear guard, indicating the arrival of a friendly force. Still, the sekasha around him went alert when a limo belonging to the EIA pulled to a stop at the far end of the bridge. The oni had infiltrated every level of the U.N. police force; they could no longer automatically assume the EIA was friendly.
With a cautiousness that made it clear that he understood his position, Director Derek Maynard got out of his limo and walked the rest of the distance to Wolf. Apparently Maynard had spent the morning dealing with humans, as he was in dressed in the dark solid suit that spoke of power among men. Wolf thought it might be the way they perceived color.
“Wolf Who Rules ze Domou.” Over the years, Maynard had picked up much of the elfin body language. He projected politely constrained anger as he bowed elegantly.
“Director.” Wolf used his title without his name to mildly rebuke him.
Maynard bowed his head slightly, acknowledging the censure. He paused for a minute, nostrils flared, before speaking. He looked worn and tired. Time wore Maynard down at an alarming rate; in twenty short years he had gone from a young man to middle age. Gazing at him, Wolf realized that in a few decades he’d lose his friend.
If I could have only made him an elf too. But no, that would have destroyed Maynard’s value as a “human” representative.
“Windwolf,” Maynard chose to continue in English, probably because it placed him in the less subservient role. “I wish you would have warned me about declaring the treaty void.”
Wolf sighed — it was going to be one of those conversations. “You know the terms. Pittsburgh could exist as a separate entity only while it continued to return to Earth.”
“You’ve said nothing in the last two days about voiding the treaty.”
“And I haven’t said anything about the sun setting, but it has and will.”
“The sun setting does not cut me off at the knees.”
Wolf glanced down at Maynard’s legs, and confirmed that they were still intact. Ah, an English saying he hadn’t heard before. “Derek, pretend I don’t understand human politics.”
“The treaty is between the humans and the elves.” Maynard followed the human tendency to talk slowly and in short sentences in the face of confusion. It made the time to enlightenment agonizingly long, even for an elf. “But the treaty is the basis for many agreements between United States and the United Nations. It makes Pittsburgh neutral territory controlled by a UN peacekeeper force — the EIA — for the duration of the treaty.”
“Ah, with the treaty void, Pittsburgh reverts to control of the United States.”
“Yes!”
“No.”
“No?” Maynard looked confused.
“Pittsburgh now belongs to the Wind Clan, and I decide who will be my representative with the humans and I choose you.”
Maynard took a deep breath as he pressed his palms together, prayer-like, in front of his mouth. He breathed out, took another breath. Windwolf was starting to wonder if he was praying. “Wolf, I thank you for your trust in me,” Maynard said finally. “But for me to continue acting as Director of the EIA, it would require me to disregard all human laws — and I can not do that.”
“There are no human laws anymore. Humans must obey elfin laws now.”
“That’s not acceptable. I know you’re the viceroy, and as such Pittsburgh falls under your control, but the humans of Pittsburgh will not accept you unilaterally abolishing all human laws and rights.”
“These were conditions agreed to by your own people.”
“Well, shortsighted as it might have been, it was assumed that if something happened to the gate that Pittsburgh would return to Earth.”
“Yes, it was.” Wolf did not point out that humans were typically shortsighted, rarely looking to past the next hundred years. “But we knew that sooner or later we would have to deal with humans wanting to or needing to remain on Elfhome.”
“Yes, of course,” Maynard said dryly. He gazed down at the blue paleness of the Ghostlands. “Is your domi sure that we’re truly stranded? We’re still a week before scheduled Shutdown.”
“Something fell from orbit. She believes it to be the gate.”
“But she could be wrong.”
“It’s unlikely.”
“Let us say that we wait a week to be sure before calling the treaty null and void.”
“A week will not make any difference.”
“Ah, then it will be no problem.” Maynard spread his hands and smiled as if Wolf had agreed.
In that moment, Wolf could see the tactfully charming young officer he hand selected out of the U.N. security force to act as the liaison between human and elf. Maynard had been so young back then. Wolf smiled sadly. “And if I agree to a week?”
“During this week, we draw up an interim treaty that basically extends the original treaty.”
“No.” Windwolf shook his head. “We could create an interim treaty but the original treaty can not stand. It makes humans too autonomous.”
“Pittsburgh has existed as an independent state for thirty years.”
“No, not Pittsburgh, humans. All elves belong to a household and to a clan. They hold a very specific position within our society. They are responsible to others, and others are responsible for them. It’s the very foundation of our culture, and if humans are to be part of our world, then they must conform to our ways.”
“You mean — you want humans to form households? Set up enclaves?”
“Yes. It’s imperative. All of our laws are structured on the assumption that the people under our laws are part of our society. You can’t be as independent as most humans are and still be part of us.”
They searched late into the evening but found nothing more of the dragon. Storm clouds had gathered throughout the day, and as dusk became night, it started to rain. Unable to track the dragon farther, Wolf and his sekasha returned to the enclave. He checked first to see how his domi was doing. Tinker lay in the center of their shared bed, a dark curl of walnut on the cream satin sheets. Wolf paused beside the footboard to watch his beloved sleep. Despite everything, he found great comfort in seeing her back where she belonged, safe among the people who loved her.
A saigin flower sat on the night table, scenting the warm air with its narcotic fragrance. Little Horse slept in a chair beside the bed. The hospice healers had stripped off his wyvern armor; fresh bruises and healing spells overlaid the pale circles of bullet holes from two days ago.
I almost lost them both to the oni, Wolf thought and touched his blade brother’s shoulder. “Little Horse.”
The sekasha opened his eyes after a minute, rousing slowly. “Brother Wolf. I only meant to sit down for a moment.” He looked drowsily to the flower beside him. “The saigin must have put me asleep.”
The narcotic was starting to color Wolf’s senses with a golden haze, so he opened the balcony doors to let in rain-damp air.
“Are you well?” Wolf took the other chair, waiting for Little Horse to wake up from his drugged sleep, wondering if he’d made a mistake pairing his blade brother with Tinker. They were both so young to go through so much.
“I’m bruised, that is all.” Little Horse rubbed at his eyes. “My shields protected me.”
“Good.”
“I was thinking about the oni leader, Lord Tomtom, before I drifted off. He checked on our progress either at noon or at midnight. Some days he would make two inspections. It occurred to me that he was rotating between compounds, overseeing two or three of them.”