Tigerheart by Peter David Read Free Book Online Page B

times when The Boy wanted to be treated as a child as well, although Gwenny confusingly remained in her role as mother in those instances. In his inability to decide whether he wanted the most significant female in his life to be his mother or his life mate—and perpetually alternating between the two—The Boy was closer to the attitude of adult men than in any other aspect of his nature.
    When The Boy departed with the balance of the Vagabonds that first day which would mark a major tragedy in their lives, Gwenny went about the usual routine of spring cleaning. Naturally she had no true idea how much time or how many springs might have passed in her absence, but she dealt with the considerable mess with her usual aplomb. The day slid easily into night, and Gwenny told her two young charges stories and settled them in bed, while assuring them that their father would be back by the morning.
    The morning came and went and brought no sign of The Boy. The evening followed as had the previous, and by the time of the third morning, Gwenny’s assurances that all was well rang hollow in her own ears.
    Time passed, and passed some more. In The Boy’s prolonged absence, the Vagabonds were responsible for food gathering, and they did an adequate if not spectacular job. They would come home with armloads of plants mostly, but tell great stories of how the vegetation had put up a mighty fight. Gwenny would ooh and aah, but her efforts to do so were halfhearted as her concern grew.
    Gwenny lost track of how long The Boy was gone. That wasn’t all that difficult to do, for the Anyplace was adept at draining one’s awareness of times past or present, encouraging its residents to live only in the now. But every so often her mind, or the thoughts of the Vagabonds, would return to their missing father and siblings, and the concern would grow once more. Eventually it took such deep root that no amount of the Anyplace’s influence could distract them from their anxiety over their father’s prolonged absence.
    “What if he’s dead?” Irregular whispered to Gwenny, thinking that he was the only one who was doing so when in fact so was Porthos.
    “He’s not dead,” Gwenny said firmly. “He is far too wonderful to die, and he would be the first to tell you, if given the opportunity.”
    “Then I hope he has that opportunity soon.”
    Then one day, Gwenny woke up with the distinct feeling that this day was going to be significantly different from those that had gone before. She didn’t know why she thought it, but it was an ill-at-ease that she could not escape. She continued to try to put up a brave front for the others, but they picked up on her worry, and it permeated the entirety of their day.
    Day once more rolled into night, and Gwenny let out a deep sigh of relief that her premonition appeared groundless. But the sigh caught in her throat when Porthos suddenly tugged at her arm, pointed, and said, “Who is that?”
    Gwenny didn’t initially see at what he was pointing, but then she did. From her vantage point in the tree house, she spotted an elderly lady, crooked and bent, standing some distance away.
    “Are you going to invite her up?” Irregular said, never praying more that the answer was going to be no.
    Gwenny obliged him. “Stay here,” she said, and vaulted off the edge of the house.
    With The Boy having been gone for so long, and no ready supply of pixie dust to supplement them, flight was problematic. In some measure, it was The Boy’s own belief in their ability to fly that enabled them to do so, and with The Boy gone, flying—like every other Anyplace activity—became far more difficult. But Gwenny was still able to float a bit when needed, and she did so now, drifting like a feather to the ground. She was extremely worried and nervous, for she had no idea who this lady might be or if she presented any sort of danger. Gwenny told herself that she could handle anything, especially if it involved a threat to