Only now Tinker realized how odd it was for an elf in a world of elves to live alone. What clan and caste had she been born into? Why wasn’t she part of a household? Was it because she was a half-elf? If she was half human, born and raised on Earth, how could she be so fluid in High Elvish, and know all things arcane? If she was a full, blooded elf, trapped on Earth when the pathways were dismantled, why hadn’t she gone back to her people? The three centuries was a short time for elves.
Tinker doubted if Tooloo would tell her if she asked. Tooloo had always refused to be known. She went by an obvious nickname, neither human nor elfin in origin. Not once, in eighteen years that Tinker knew her, had she ever mentioned her parents. She would not commit to an age, the length of time she lived on earth, not even a favorite color.
Tooloo squirmed in Cloudwalker’s hold. “Oh, you murderous little thing! You had to satisfy that little monkey brain of yours. I told you, starve the beast called curiosity — but noooo, you had to play with Czernowski and now you’ve killed him.”
Tinker felt sad as she realized she’d lost yet another part of her life. “I didn’t mean for Nathan to get killed.”
“Oh, you didn’t mean to! Do you think those threadbare words will heal his family, all off grieving over his headless body?”
“I’m sorry it happened.” Tinker swallowed down on the pain that words caused her. “I–I—wasn’t paying attention when I should have been — and I’m so sorry — but there’s nothing I can do. I was wrong. I should have listened to you from the very start — but I didn’t see where all this was going to lead.”
“Pawgh, this is all Windwolf’s fault — killing my bright wee human and making a dirty Skin Clan scumbag in her image.” Tooloo spat.
“This has nothing to do with Windwolf making me an elf.”
“Does it? My wee one never had such superciliousness of power.”
“Supercil-whatis?”
Tooloo glanced at Pony standing behind Tinker. “Giving you sekasha is like giving an elephant roller-skates — stupid, ridiculous and dangerous.”
Tooloo could say what she wanted about her, but now she was going too far to include the sekasha too.
“Yes, I killed Nathan,” Tinker said, “but I’m not the only one to blame. I’m a stupid clueless little girl, but you’ve lived with humans for over 200 years — you knew exactly how Nathan would react if —” and then it dawned on Tinker and she gasped with horror. “Oh sweet gods, you wanted him to think I was a whore! You deliberately misled him! You evil she-goat!”
Tooloo slapped her hard across the face enough to make stars dance in her vision.
Tinker heard the sekasha draw their blades and threw out her hands to keep Nathan’s death from repeating. “No! No! Don’t you dare hurt her!” Once she was sure that she was obeyed, she turned back to the stranger who raised her. “Why? Why did you do that to Nathan? You had to see it coming!”
“Because nothing else would have slapped you out of wallowing in your own piss. The city is about to run with blood unless you do something. Czernowski was the sacrificial lamb to save this city.”
“I was trying to! I don’t know how!”
“Use that little monkey brain of yours! The elves are about to march all over this city with jack boots. I’ve lived with humans for hundreds of years. They are good, compassionate people. I lived through the American Revolutionary War, its Civil War, the fight for woman suffrage, and the struggle for civil rights — and all those advancements for equality among humans is about to be flushed down the crapper. It’s already started — they’re searching through Chinatown, dragging people out of their homes and testing them and killing them where they stand.”
Tinker glanced to Stormsong since the rant had been in English. Stormsong nodded in confirmation. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“You’ve been too fragile.”
She couldn’t trust Tooloo’s version of this; the ‘lone one’ kept whatever truths she had to herself. Nor, as much as she loved them, count on the elves in her life to understand what it was to be human. Tinker gathered up the newspapers; she needed their human-biased facts. And Maynard — she needed to talk to Maynard.
Red was becoming a predominant color in Pittsburgh, like an early autumn. They encountered four roadblocks on the way to the EIA offices; all manned by laedin caste Fire Clan soldiers.
“If True Flame has this many warriors, why do we need the Stone Clan?” Tinker had let Pony drive, but she hung over the front seat to talk to him and Stormsong. The backseat was crowded with the other three sekasha.
“Stone Clan magic can find individuals in a wilderness and things hidden in the ground.” Pony told her.
“It’s like calling in bloodhounds,” Stormsong said in English.
Tinker remembered the sonar-like spell that Jewel Tears used. Yes, that should make finding the oni hidden in the forest easier. She wondered how the Stone Clan would fare, though, in the steel-riddled city.
“And if you can not solve the problem with the Ghostlands,” Cloudwalker added. “They should be able to. They closed the natural pathways after the first invasion.”
Stormsong made a rude noise. “There is a difference between collapsing caves and dealing with whatever is wrong with Ghostlands.”
“The Ghostlands should collapse on their own.” Tinker was growing less sure of that — she would have expected the rate of decay to be faster. This morning marked the fourth day since she reduced Turtle Creek to chaos. Now there was something not everyone could claim: I reduced a square mile of land into pure chaos. It made her sound like a small atomic warhead — someone dropped a Tinker on us!
The EIA offices directed her back across the Allegheny River to Chinatown. There she found Maynard overseeing the testing of the Chinese population. A mix of laedin caste soldiers and Wyverns were systematically emptying a house, putting the occupants into a line to be tested by the EIA. As she approached, it became clear that the process was hampered by the fact that most of the elves and many of the Chinese didn’t speak English. East Ohio Street was cacophony of shouted instructions, crying and pleading. The coroner van — identified by bold letters — stood at the far end of the street. Blood scented the hot summer air. And for one dizzy moment, she was back on Ohio River Boulevard, splattered with Nathan’s blood.
“Domi, are you alright?” Pony murmured into her ear as he supported her by the arm. He’d activated his shields at some point and they now spilled down over her.
She nodded.
“It is clear!” One of the Wyverns came out of a nearby building shouted in High Elvish.
There was a pulse of magic, and she felt the house, from the pipes underneath it to the tip of the chimneys. There wasn’t anyone inside. Apparently that was the point. On some unheard command, the Wyverns moved down to the next building. Annoyingly, because of her height, Tinker couldn’t see through the crowd to spot the Stone Clan domana directing the search.
“Is Jewel Tears here?” she asked Stormsong, who could see over the heads of most of the humans.
Stormsong shook her head. “It is the mad one, Forest Moss.”
“Oh, joy,” Tinker muttered. “Where is Maynard?”
“This way.” Pony kept hold of her elbow.
She thought they would have to push their way through the crowd, but as they approached the humans and elves, the crowd parted as shoved by an invisible wedge. In the human faces there was a mix of fear and hope. They wanted her to be one of them but afraid she was wholly an elf.