As he was being led off, Oscar looked back once more, his gaze disguising all emotion. Soon after, the faeries went to the tunnel entry to pluck out Oscar’s naked body. They wrapped him in a caul of spider’s silk and vines. He remained placid during the process, but his eyes appeared more alert, as if he deliberately was trying to be calm. Hoisting him atop our shoulders, we ran, crashing through the undergrowth toward the river. Until we reached the edge of the water, I did not notice that Speck had stayed behind. Béka, our new leader, proclaimed the incantation as we lifted our package high into the air and threw it. In midair, the body jack-knifed and fell headfirst into the water. Half of the group split off to chase and retrieve the body, as the ceremony required. They were expected to pull it ashore, as they had done with me years before, as had been done with us all. I stood there, determined to be helpful to the boy, to be understanding and patient as he made the transition.
All such hopes were washed away. The retrievers waited ashore, ready to fish the body from the water, but it never floated to the surface. Despite their severe fear of drowning, Smaolach and Chavisory waded into the river. Soon all of the faeries were in waist-deep, frantically searching for our bundle. Onions dived again and again, until, exhausted and gasping for breath, she could barely climb to the riverbank. Béka charged downstream to a ford where the body would most likely be snagged in the shallows. But Oscar could not be found. We kept vigil there all night and well into the morning, examining the stones and tree limbs where his body might have been caught, looking for any sign, but the water did not yield its secrets. The boy was gone. Around midday, below in the valley, a dog yowled with excitement. Kivi and Blomma were sent to look out for the intruders. Red-faced and panting, they came back a half hour later, collecting us from our scattered posts along the riverbank.
“They’re coming,” said Blomma, “with a pair of bloodhounds.”
“The firemen and policemen,” said Kivi.
“They’ll find our camp.”
“Igel brought the boy’s scent to our home.”
The sound of baying dogs echoed in the hills. The rescuers drew near. In his first crisis as our new leader, Béka commanded our attention. “Quick, back to camp. Hide everything. We’ll stay in the tunnels until they leave.”
Kivi spoke sharply to the rest of us. “There’s too many coming.”
“The dogs,” Blomma added. “They’ve gone to ground and won’t be tricked by a few sticks of brush thrown over the tunnels’ entrances.”
Béka looked perplexed and began to pace, fists clenched behind his back, a vein of anger throbbing on his forehead. “I say we hide and wait.”
“We need to run.” Smaolach spoke with quiet authority. Most of us fell in behind him. “They have never been this close in all my years.”
Luchóg stepped up and confronted Béka. “That mob is already deeper into the woods than any human has come. You’re wrong to think—”
Béka raised his arm to strike him, but Onions grabbed his hand. “But what about the boy?”
Our new leader turned from the crowd and announced, “Oscar is gone. Igel is gone. What’s done is done, and we must save ourselves. Gather what you can carry and hide the rest. But be quick, for we will have to outrun them.”
Abandoning Oscar’s body to the waters, we raced home. While others stashed useful items—burying pots or knives, caching food and clothing—I gathered my papers and fashioned a sack to put them in. While a few of my possessions were safe beneath the library, I still had my journal and collection of pencil stubs, my drawing of my family and the dream lady in the red coat, and some treasures—gifts from Speck. I was ready quickly and hurried to find her.
“Where were you?” I asked. “Why didn’t you come to the river?”
“What happened?”
“We never found it. What happened with Igel?”
“He crawled out and started to cry.”
“He cried?” I began helping her pile brush over the tunnel openings.
“Like a baby,” she said. “He crawled out dazed, and when he saw that I had stayed behind, he ran off. He may be hiding nearby still.”
We gathered our belongings and joined the others, climbing the ridge, now a band of refugees. Below us lay a simple clearing that might fool the men, if not the dogs.
“We will never come back,” Speck said.
Béka sniffed the air. “Dogs. Humans. Let’s go.”
Now eleven in number, we raced away, the mournful bays of the bloodhounds echoing through the hills, drawing nearer and nearer. We could smell them approaching and heard the excited voices of the men. As the sun set bloodred on the horizon, the searchers came close enough for us to make out two burly fellows, straining at the leashes, gasping to keep up with the dogs. Stumbling on the trail, Ragno dropped his pack and scattered his possessions in the leafy debris. I turned to watch him gathering up his garden spade and saw a red cap flash behind him, the man oblivious to our presence. Zanzara reached out and grabbed Ragno by the hand, and off we sped to the others, leaving behind those few clues.
We ran for hours, crossing a creek like a hunted fox to mask our scent, cloaking ourselves at last behind a tangle of nettles. The sun dipped below the treeline as the sound of the men and dogs faded. They were circling back. We bivouacked there for the night, laying down our burdens, taking up our anxieties. No sooner had I stashed my papers than Béka strode up to me, his chest puffed out, ready to command.
“Go back to check when it is safe to return.”
“By myself?”
“Take someone with you.” He surveyed his charges, then leered at me. “Take Speck.”
We waded in the winding creek back toward our pursuers, stopping now and then to listen and look ahead for trouble. Halfway to the river, Speck hopped out midstream onto a large rock.