The Elves of Cintra (Book 2 of The Genesis of Shannara)

SPIDERS! It was Owl’s first thought. An entire community of them, living in those rusted-out vehicle shells. It was an odd choice of habitat. Spiders preferred basements or underground tunnels with a dozen entrances and exits. Shy and reclusive, they mostly kept away from the other denizens of the city. They were not normally a threat to anyone. But she shivered anyway, despite herself. There was something creepy about Spiders—about the way they moved, crouched down on all fours, arms and legs indistinguishable; about their hairy bodies and elongated limbs, disproportionate and crooked; and about their flat faces, which were almost featureless. They were Freaks like the others, mutants born of the world’s destruction, humans made over into something new and unnatural. Rationally, she understood this. Viscerally, she had difficulty accepting it.

As she watched this bunch creep into view, still nothing more than a featureless cluster of dark shapes in the gloom, she tried to think what the Ghosts should do. They could turn back and seek sanctuary in the buildings at the top of the freeway ramp and wait there for Logan Tom. Or they could continue ahead and try to make their way past the Spiders to where the Knight of the Word’s vehicle was parked. If they kept to the far side of the ramp and managed not to act hostile, perhaps it would be all right. Maybe they could even explain what they—She froze. The first of the dark shapes had emerged into the faint glow cast by the distant lights of the compound and the ambient brightness of stars peeking through cloud-concealed sky. As their faces lifted out of the shadows, she saw that these weren’t Spiders, after all.

They were street kids.

But they were something else, too.

While they were still recognizable as human, it was clear that the poisons that had permeated everything had damaged them. Their faces were deformed, their skin burned and riddled with lesions. Some of them were missing eyes and noses and ears. Some carried themselves in ways that suggested they could not move as normal humans did. Some had no hair; some had so much hair they could almost be mistaken for Spiders. They were dressed in ragged clothes that barely covered their mutilated bodies. She had never seen street kids like these, all twisted and broken. She wondered how they could have been living so close without the Ghosts knowing.

Then it occurred to her that these kids were not from here at all, but had come from someplace else. They were nomads. That was why they were living on the freeway in abandoned vehicles rather than in a building where they could be better protected.

“What are they, Owl?” Chalk asked from behind the wheelchair, his voice uncertain.

“Children,” she answered him, “like you. Only they have had a much harder time of it.” She glanced at the other Ghosts. “Don’t do anything to threaten them. Stay close to me. Do what I tell you.”

Despite her orders, Bear was already taking out the heavy cudgel he favored for close-quarters combat, an old, gnarled staff that could crack a skull with a single blow. The others looked uncertain, glancing at one another and back at the approaching shapes. In her lap, Squirrel stirred slightly, restless in his sleep. She considered handing him to one of the others, but decided against it. He was safest where he was.

“Candle?” Owl called out. “Can you sense anything?”

The little girl with the preternatural instincts turned.

“I’m not sure. I can’t tell if they mean to hurt us or not.”

Owl hesitated, then said, “Move me to the front, Chalk.”

The boy wheeled her forward, but she could sense his reluctance. He eased her wheelchair past Bear with his cart and Fixit and River with their litter and stopped. Ahead, the strange collection of street kids continued to advance.

She held Squirrel tighter in her lap and stroked his fine hair.

“Who are you?” she called out.

The advance halted immediately. For a moment, no one said anything. Then a strong voice answered, “Who are you?”

“We are the Ghosts,” she said, speaking the litany of greeting. “We haunt the ruins of the world our parents destroyed. This city is our home; we live down by the water. But an invasion force has landed to attack one of the compounds, and we are leaving.” She paused. “You should leave, too.”

“Everyone says that to us,” the voice answered, laced with unmistakable bitterness. She could tell now who was doing the speaking, a tall figure near the front of the advance. “Maybe you’re just like all the others, telling us lies to make us go away.”

“I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m telling you the truth. We’re all in danger here. You should get away. If you want to stay, though, at least let us pass. We need to go farther down the ramp and wait for our guide to come for us.”

The speaker for the newcomers came forward and stood directly in front of her, a thin, ragged boy with scars everywhere, the right side of his face so badly mutilated that it looked like melted candle wax. His hand was resting on the butt of a strange black weapon, a handgun of some sort, that he had stuck into his belt.

“I don’t believe you,” he said. “Maybe you should turn around and go back.

“

Those with him began to advance again. Owl glanced at them.

There were an awful lot of them if it came to a fight, even if they did seem half crippled. Already the other Ghosts were tensing. Bear had stepped away from the cart. River and Fixit had put down the litter with the Weatherman and brought out their prods. Even Chalk had stepped up beside her protectively. If she didn’t find a way to calm them all down, things were going to get out of hand quickly.