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

She crossed the ravine, walking down into it and climbing out the other side, then moving over to the discarded pile of brush, peering intently at the ground. When she had seen enough, she cast about at the surrounding woods, and then looked back at them. “I can’t be sure. The ground is too rocky for a clear read. One man, I think. But it could be more. I don’t understand it. We don’t have any Trackers out this way just now.”


She knelt, studying the footprints a second time. “Nothing special about the few scuffs I can make out.” She shook her head. “If it was the demons, I could read the marks from that cat thing. But if it was just the other…” She trailed off. “All right. Come on over.”

Angel crossed with Kirisin and stood looking down at ground so hard and rocky it told her absolutely nothing. She could not understand how Simralin had determined as much as she had. “What’s going on?” she asked. “What are we doing here?”

“Uncover one of those baskets,” she said by way of response.

“Kirisin can help. Remove everything you find packed in the bottom, separate it, and spread it out on the ground. Don’t try to attach any of it. Leave that to me. I’ll be back in a moment.”

She walked back down into the ravine, out the other side, and off into the trees until she could no longer be seen. Angel looked at Kirisin, and together they moved over to the closest basket, pulled off the dead limbs and brush concealing it—Angel thinking as they did so that this sort of concealment would only work against someone looking down from above, not someone who somehow happened upon it—and peered down into the basket interior.

The basket was divided into four compartments, interlocking partitions that sectioned the interior and served as bracing for the sides. A tightly folded piece of material was shoved into the bottom along with various ropes, metal locking clasps, and hoses.

“What is this?” Angel asked the boy.

Kirisin shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Together they emptied the contents of the basket on the ground, laying out all the pieces separately as Simralin had told them to do.

The material turned out to be a lightweight fabric that Angel could not identify, thin but strong, a mottled gray and white in color. Once it was unfolded and spread out, it took on a recognizable shape.

“This looks like a balloon,” Angel said.

“A hot-air balloon,” Simralin amended, striding out of the ravine once more. “Which is what will get us where we’re going.”

She was carrying several solar cells and what looked to be some sort of small motor. She put the solar cells into the basket and the motor on the ground next to the mouth of the balloon.

“This is a burner,” she advised, gesturing at the motor.

She hooked up one end of the hose to a nozzle and shoved the other into the mouth of the balloon. “

It heats the air and feeds it into the bag, which inflates.

When the bag is full, it lifts the basket and its occupants off the ground.”

She flipped a switch, and the burner roared to life, breaking the silence.

Slowly, the balloon began to fill. “Elven Trackers use these balloons for long-distance travel. We keep them hidden away in a handful of places on both sides of the mountains. Humans invented them, but we saw a use for them, too. Our Trackers began appropriating them a generation ago. We were using them even before your government collapsed, but after the wars started we began using them more frequently. We found it impossible to move about as we once had. Much of the open country was flooded with militia and mutated creatures. Much of it was dangerously poisoned. And travel time became a more important factor in many instances. The balloons helped us solve those problems.”

“Elves using human technology,” Angel murmured, shaking her head.

“Once in a while.” Simralin grinned. “We know enough to take advantage of a good thing. I’ll show you another example when we get to Syrring Rise.

“

She gave the pile of brush to one side a quick glance. “We had three, but someone has taken one. Took some cells and a burner, too. All that equipment was hidden back in the rocks. Only long-range Trackers know where all that is; stumbling over it by accident is highly unlikely.”

She shook her head, turning to the ropes and clasps. “Here.

Help me attach these to the balloon and the basket,” she said.

Under her direction, they made the balloon ready, watching the bag fill and begin to lift slowly off the ground. By that time, they had it firmly attached and had placed the burner and their gear inside the basket.

Ropes tied to old logs and dead trees held the basket grounded as it strained to rise skyward. When Simralin was satisfied that it was ready, she ordered the other two into the basket, climbed in after them, released the restraining ropes, and they were off.

Madre de Dios, Angel thought.