Tinker controlled the urge to rip the mannequin out of the elf’s hold. He was better off playing with the dolls than pinning down real children. She tried to ignore the way that the fabric of the tank top stretched tight, molding to Forest Moss’ large hand as it traveled over the small, anatomically-correct body.
“Do you know that Earth Son told people that he would sponsor them if they came to Pittsburgh?”
“Earth Son? Now there was a disappointing child.” Forest Moss frowned and glanced at one of the boy mannequins standing to his right. “Whine. Whine. Whine. I told you to shut up, you spoiled little coward!”
Forest Moss flicked his free hand up to his mouth, set up a resonance and gave a quick closed fist gesture. Pony snatched Tinker up and whirled her about, putting himself between her and Forest Moss. She didn’t see the boy mannequin explode, but fingers and toes and part of an ear tumbled by as white dust woofed out around Pony’s shields. Only then did she notice that the floor was already littered with plastic body parts and tattered clothes. The haze became self-evident.
If Forest Moss had been just pretending to be crazy before, he wasn’t acting any longer.
Pony cautiously put Tinker down but stayed between her and Forest Moss.
Forest Moss pulled the girl mannequin close and nuzzled into its neck, keening slightly. “All this is his fault.”
“Earth Son’s?”
Forest Moss keened more, his caressing hand making its way into the tight flowered pants. Judging by the gender ratio of his plastic audience, Forest Moss had a beef with little boys. “What a spoiled child, he was! He could swallow the moon and still be hungry for the sun. He could not be happy with the prosperity of peace; he clung to the grudges of the past. It did not matter that his lovelies, the ones that loved to fight the best, begged him to put away such pettiness. Endless war would take us to extinction. It was time to put away old hates.”
Tinker wasn’t sure if Forest Moss’ rant had anything to do with Earth Son and the children. She’d been under the impression that Earth Son wasn’t that much older than Windwolf.
“Shut up!” Forest Moss suddenly bellowed at one of the few remaining boy mannequins. “Shut up! Yes, they chose the Fire Clan over us! Whining spoiled…”
And he snapped out the closed fist spell again, reducing the silent mannequin to dust and started to keen again. Tinker found herself teleported back a dozen feet more, both Stormsong and Pony between her and the crazed elf.
Was Forest Moss destroying himself again and again, the one that made the mistake that lead to the slaughter of his household?
“Did you know — did he know that the pathway lead to Onihida?”
“He should have been more cautious!” Forest Moss howled. “They trusted him to be careful! Some near stranger comes to him and whispers of a chance to beat all the other clans to wealth and he leaps to the chance without wondering why him.”
“Someone else told you about the path to Onihida?”
“Oh how hard he searched for their deaths. In and out of caves, over mountains, round and round, searching for the way to oblivion.”
“Who told him about the path?” Tinker pressed.
“You cannot find what you cannot see,” Forest Moss whispered. “That’s all
Tinker nudged Stormsong aside and caught Forest Moss’ face between her hands and made him look at her with his one good eye. “Tell me who wanted the pathway found!”
Forest Moss whimpered softly and let drop the mannequin. As it clattered on the ground, he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around her.
“Wait.” Tinker growled as Pony and Stormsong grabbed hold of the male, trying to pry him away from her. “Let me deal with him.”
While Pony watched with concern, Stormsong had murderous hate in her eyes.
Forest Moss sobbed as he ran hands over her, rubbing his face against her stomach. “So long! So long since I’ve held true flesh — soft and warm and yielding.”
“Tell me.” Tinker said. “Tell me about him or I’ll go away.”
“Oh child, you can’t imagine what it is like to live so long. Memories do not stay bright and sharp. Years wear away the polish and then all details. Even with those you love, everything slowly washes away, the shape of their face, the sound of their voice, the scent of their hair. Names of friends and even enemies slip away, lost in the dark waters of time.”
“You don’t remember?” Tinker cried.
“No!” Forest Moss tightened his hold as if he was afraid she would tear away from him. “It was at one of countless parties at Summer Court. I remember I was on a bridge, somewhere in the gardens, and he found me there. We talked but I don’t remember the words. All there is left is a dark wind smelling of cherry blossom, and the murmur of voices just over that of running water.”
“How could you forget the male that destroyed everything?”
“We searched for years!” Forest Moss wailed. “I deemed him unimportant. A