Though she chooses not to hear me, you must listen.
He sat up slowly and stared off into space. She. He remembered the tree's words now, how they had seemed an accusation that lacked any basis. But they made perfect sense if this morning's attempt to seek help from the Chosen wasn't the first, if the Ellcrys had spoken to someone earlier.
To Erisha.
His gaze drifted across the clearing and settled on his cousin. She was their leader, the foremost among the Chosen. If the tree had spoken to anyone before him, she would have spoken to Erisha. She would have revealed her fears and asked for Erisha's help, and the girl would have told her father. That was how he would have known about the seeking-Stones.
He went back to weeding while he fought to contain his anger and channel it into something more productive than crossing over to wring Erisha's neck.
Could it really have happened that way? If so, why? It didn't make any sense.
Erisha might have told her father, but why would she keep it secret from the Chosen? For that matter, why would they both keep secret the tree's perceived danger? Everyone knew how important she was as protector of the Elves.
He knew that he was going to have to find out. But that meant getting the truth out of Erisha without having her run to her father. He took a deep breath.
He had no idea how he was going to do that.
He continued with his work, trying unsuccessfully to come up with a plan.
He was still trying when she suddenly appeared at his elbow.
"What happened with my father?" she asked perfunctorily, kneeling next to him. She brushed back her long, dusky hair. "What did he say when you told him about the tree?"
Something in the way she asked it set his teeth on edge, and as quickly as that, he made his decision. He looked up at her so that he could watch her face.
"He already knew all about it," he said.
Her fine, delicate features tightened, and she flushed. Her gaze dropped, and then lifted again to meet his. "What do you mean?"
He knew instantly that he had been right in his suspicions. The Ellcrys had spoken to her before this morning, and instead of confiding in the other Chosen she had gone to her father. Both of them had been hiding the truth ever since.
"You know what I mean," he said quietly, his eyes locked on hers. He could see the mix of anger and fear mirrored there; she was visibly distraught. "The Ellcrys spoke to you before today and you told your father about it, but you didn't tell us."
"That's not true." She tried to look away.
"Then how did your father know what I was going to say before I said it?
He knew all about the Loden and the Elfstones and the histories. He knew about everything, Erisha." He paused. "What is this all about?"
Her lips tightened, and she looked as if she might cry. He thought for just a moment that she was going to tell him what he wanted to know. But then she regained her composure, and her face closed down.
"You imagine things, Kirisin," she whispered furiously. "You make up stories to suit your own purposes. You have a talent for it. I think you had better go back to your work and let me do the same."
She scrambled to her feet. "You better keep these wild stories to yourself, too, or I won't be responsible for what happens to you!"
She stalked away, arms stiff at her sides, shoulders rigid, long hair swaying. She did not look back. Kirisin waited until she had knelt down again to continue her work, then quit watching. So much for not acting precipitously. He wondered how long it would take for her to tell her father. He wondered what would happen to him then. It didn't bear thinking on too closely. If the King determined to keep what the Ellcrys had revealed a secret, he would do whatever he felt was necessary to keep Kirisin from interfering.
It was a very long day after that. He worked in the gardens all morning, then spent the afternoon studying lessons on caring for plants and trees with old Willum. He was close enough to Erisha the entire time for either to call over to the other, but he never said one word to her, nor she to him. He tried to think of what he should do next, but couldn't come up with anything. It seemed he had burned all his bridges by telling her what he knew. If he now told anyone else, she would deny everything. Would the other Chosen back him up?
Maybe, but he couldn't be sure. They hadn't been too eager to back him up so far. They were uncertain of him and would not be quick to want to take a stand.
He could talk to Biat, he decided. Of all of them, Biat was the one most likely to support him.
But when the day ended, he didn't say anything to Biat. He left alone and walked home through the trees without a word to any of them. He found he didn't know exactly what he wanted to say or how he wanted to say it. He wasn't sure what he should do, and he needed time to think it over. So he walked out to one of his favorite places, a promontory overlooking the River Orish, and sat down with his back to one of the old–growth cedars.
He wished Simralin were home. She would know what to do. Or at least she would have an opinion. He could talk to his parents, but they might decide to confront Arissen about it, and what happened to them then would be his fault.
Worse, they might decide he was confused or mistaken. He was just a boy, after all. Boys like him were confused or mistaken much of the time. Every adult knew that.
But he had to do something. The Ellcrys was in peril, and time was running out. If she didn't receive the help she was asking for, she might perish. It didn't seem that anyone else was going to do anything if he didn't. So he had better come up with a plan.
He sat there until dusk, looking for such a plan. By the time it was dark and he started home, he still didn't have one.
SIXTEEN
IT WAS LATE in the day, the light turned gray and the world become a place of shadows and mysterious sounds, when Angel Perez finally found what she was looking for. She had marched the compound children and their protectors north all afternoon through a haze of smoke and ash to get clear of the city. She had stopped when rest was necessary and once for a quick bite to eat from their meager supplies, but otherwise she had kept them moving. It was hard on the children, especially the little ones, many of whom had to be carried as the march wore on. But stopping was dangerous. They were still too close to the creatures who sought their annihilation, the demons and the once–men and especially that old man. She didn't know if he had discovered yet that she had escaped him again. She didn't know if a pursuit had been mounted. Yet she knew better than to assume anything but the worst, and took no chances.
So they walked out of Anaheim and into the Chino Hills, a distance of more than twenty miles, a march that left them footsore and weary and ready for sleep by the time they reached the scouts from the guerrilla force who were waiting to lead them on. She had formed the unit eight months earlier, when she knew that Robert was gone and the compounds east of the mountains had fallen. She had culled them from the Los Angeles compounds, men and women who believed that fortresses could no longer protect them and that their way of life was ended and another way was needed. She had joined them together with a ragtag band of outcasts and drifters that knew something about staying alive outside the compounds, men and women who had learned how to survive in the open. She had prepared them for what would happen and the exodus of the children she would try to save. She had given to them the responsibility for guiding those children north, protecting them on their journey, and finding them safe haven in another place.
Including the ones she had brought with her from the Anaheim compound, the children now numbered more than a thousand.
The men and women she had waiting had come with trucks scavenged from all over the city and repaired, vehicles that could transport the children to the rendezvous point farther north and well outside the city proper, where the other children and adults were gathered. Once joined, the entire force would begin the long trek toward San Francisco–although Angel had not yet decided if that was to be their final destination.