Free The Elves of Cintra by Terry Brooks

Squirrel as he did so. “It isn’t working,” he said softly. “He isn’t breathing.”
    If anyone heard him, no one was saying so. They stood grouped together in silence, watching River work, praying silently for a miracle. The minutes passed. River continued her efforts—breathe mouth-to-mouth, a dozen quick pumps with her crossed palms against Squirrel’s chest, breathe mouth-to-mouth again, a dozen more pumps, over and over. There was determination mirrored on her face and an almost fanatical insistence to her movements. She would bring Squirrel back to life; she would find a way to make him breathe.
    Finally, Owl said, “That’s enough, River.” When River ignored her, she said it again, more sharply. When River looked up at her in disbelief, she said, “He’s gone, sweetie. Let him go.”
    The words hung in the night air against the backdrop of the waterfront battle and the freeway ramp of ruined cars and scattered bones. The words whispered of other times and other losses, conjuring memories of Mouse and Heron when their lives had ended. The Ghosts stood together in the near dark and remembered, and their memories made them feel empty and helpless. Tears filled their eyes. Several cried openly.
    They were still standing there, frozen by shock and dismay and incomprehension, staring down at Squirrel’s silent form, when a ragged Panther and Sparrow appeared at the head of the ramp shadowed by the dark, spectral figure of the Knight of the Word.
     

     
    L OGAN T OM knew something of CPR and combat injuries, and he tried his luck with Squirrel, even knowing how unlikely it was that he could do anything. But his luck proved no better than River’s. The shock of the stun gun’s electrical charge had been enough to stop the boy’s heart, an organ already weakened by sickness and maybe even by genetics. There was probably nothing anyone could have done, he assured the others, knowing even as he said it that no one was listening to him.
    Sparrow was devastated. She had been Squirrel’s primary caregiver, his nurse and companion for the weeks of his illness, and she could not accept that he was gone. Disdaining the help offered for her own injuries and ignoring her bone-aching weariness, she knelt next to the little boy, wrapped him in the blanket that Owl offered, and held him while the others listened to Panther and Logan Tom explain what had happened at the compound.
    “You’re saying that he just disappeared into thin air?” Owl demanded when she heard the Knight’s explanation of why Hawk wasn’t with them. “Tessa, too? They just vanished?”
    “So those who saw it claim.” Logan Tom could hear the disbelief in her voice and shrugged. “You never know. But it does seem clear that something supernatural intervened to spirit them away from the compound and those who wanted to hurt them. That means they were saved one way or the other.”
    “Or taken prisoner by those demon things you keep talking about,” Panther declared. “You can’t know.”
    “No, but I can take a reasonable guess. The demons don’t have the power to lift humans out of thin air. They can find them and kill them by physical means, but they cannot extract them with magic. No, this is something else.”
    “What sort of something else?” Panther persisted.
    Logan Tom shook his head.
    “Well, how are we supposed to find them again?” Chalk wanted to know. He was almost as impatient and angry as Panther. “What are we supposed to do now?”
    “Get away from here, first of all,” Owl declared. “It’s not safe to stay even another minute.”
    “Tell me about it,” muttered Panther, walking over to Sparrow. He reached down and stroked her hair gently. “You be strong, little bird,” he said. “You be tough.”
    Logan Tom glanced down at the city and the fires and fighting on the docks. The invading boats had secured a landing and were disgorging their occupants onto the waterfront in droves. Thousands of feeders,