Elfhome

The elevator climbed back to the gondola and then glided downwards again, this time loaded with sekasha. Thorne slipped her hand free. Oilcan expected Thorne to start a conversation with the newly arrive sekasha, but apparently that wasn’t how it was handled. After one surprised glance to Oilcan, one of the males shifted forward and squared off against Thorne Scratch, locking into a silent stare down. Thorne Scratch had her warrior’s mask on and looked wildly beautiful, stone cold and deadly.

A minute later, the elevator returned again, this time bearing a male domana. For an elf, he was plainly dressed. He wore slouch boots, doeskin pants, a white silk shirt that showed off the fact he was strongly built through the shoulders and chest. All the hair in his braid was dark brown, and the only lines on his face were laugh lines at the edges of his dark eyes, but there was something vaguely grandfatherly about him.

Oilcan knew enough about elf customs that he should introduce himself first. “Welcome to Pittsburgh. I’m Oilcan Wright. Lacking any other candidates, Prince True Flame has deemed me head of the Stone Clan, because I’m a descendent of Unbounded Brilliance of Stone.”

The male stared at him with hurt and dismay on his face. His gaze dropped, taking in Oilcan’s clothes and paint-speckled hands.

“Forgiveness, I was painting.” Oilcan held out his hands as evidence.

The male breathed out a laugh like it been kicked out of him. “You could always tell what room she was working in by what colors were on her hands.” He reached out and rubbed at Oilcan’s face, scrubbing at a splotch of paint. “You have her eyes and her smile.”

“Forgiveness — I–I don’t understand.”

“You have your grandmother’s eyes.” And the male wrapped him tight in a hug. “My child, I have prayed for this day.”

And then the whole grandfatherly feel became clear. The male was a weirdly younger, elfin ghost of his grandfather, Tim Bell. “You’re Forge of Stone?”

Forge smiled. “I’ve come to take you home.”

35: Forest Moss

Tinker had heard that Forest Moss was not lucid, so she expected that finding him would be fairly simple. A quick check with the hospice — where she expected to find him drugged — and Ginger Wine’s — where she was hoping to find him locked up — both turned up empty.

The elves were letting a mad howitzer roam Pittsburgh unchecked? A quick scry showed that Forest Moss wasn’t even in Oakland.

In the end, she called Riki. “Do you have any idea where I can find Forest Moss?”

“He’s at Kaufmann’s.”

#

Kaufmann’s been built in the heart of Pittsburgh back in the 1800s. Clad in limestone, decorated with carved stone arches, cherubs and loin heads, it stood like a fortress, resisting time and space. The elevators boasted bronze doors with art deco designs. The ancient escalators on the upper floors were clad in wood. The only department store that survived relocation to Elfhome, it was normally over-stocked with all that humans might want to stay well-heeled while isolated on another planet. Two months being stranded without restocking from Earth and even Kaufmann’s was starting to look picked-over.

There was something slightly incongruent about riding up the wooden escalators with her Hand in armor and carrying swords and bows…

It all became very surreal when they found Forest Moss.

The crazed elf was in the children’s department. There were no humans on the floor — both customers and salesclerks had abandoned it to the elf. The air was oddly hazed, as if a sudden dust storm had erupted in the department. Forest Moss sat in the back corner at a tiny tea table, not exactly alone. All of the pint-sized mannequins were gathered tightly around the table, clothed and naked, bright smiling and headless, hands and amputated arms all outstretched to the elf in silent welcome. Someone had supplied Forest Moss with a china toy tea set, a plate of the bakery’s fancy cookies, and real tea for the teapot. He had shared out the cookies and tea and was now imploring the children to eat. All the while, a fine dust snowed down on the mannequins, the table, and the white-haired, one-eyed elf.

“Try the yellow ones,” he murmured to the mannequin standing beside him. It was a little brunette eight-year old girl in a white tank top and blue flowered pants. He put his arm about it and pulled the doll close, rubbing his empty eye socket along the mannequin’s pale cheek. “They are sweet perfection like you.”

Somehow, Tinker doubted that questioning the insane elf was going to useful, but she had to try. “Forest Moss?”

The male’s good eye flicked to Tinker even as he continued rubbing his wound over the curves of the mannequin’s face. “Hm, Wolf’s child bride, so young and waif-like, what could she want with one such as me?”

“I want to talk to you about the children.” Tinker said.

“My beautiful, lovely children are all so happy and carefree.” His hands slipped under the tank top to caress the flawless plastic skin underneath.