The Last Stand of Daronwy (31 page)

Epilogue

Jeremy flung the Frisbee upward into the wind over the grass-covered wasteland at the perfect angle to make it fall back to him. He hated coming home to find more houses crowding each other in this quagmire of cul-de-sacs built on the bones of Twin Hills. He didn't need this—especially not today. The ongoing argument with his parents clung to his skin like the sheen of oil that still danced on every body of water in southeast Texas.

Maybe they were right; the computer science scholarship the refinery had offered him
was
a lot of money. If he didn't take it, he might not be able to stay at University of Texas after this semester. And he had to decide by Monday. Unfortunately, the loan application that Mira had encouraged him to fill out wouldn't return for another month. Jeremy sighed, watching the Frisbee sail over his head, not even trying to catch it. He wanted to study environmental law, not computers.

Look at these houses, sitting on top of that pond and tar pit. None of them know about Travis; none of them will have any recourse if their kids die of leukemia
. Jeremy didn't even know what company had developed this land. Even if he still wanted to fight them, he couldn't. Jeremy told himself for the thousandth time that he didn't care. He checked his watch. Still an hour until Rosalyn's high school pageant. At least coming home for this stupid pageant meant he wouldn't have to return until Christmas.

As he started toward the Frisbee, a black Mercedes slowed to the curb. Jeremy had the feeling he was being watched. The driver's door opened and a tall, balding man got out. He wore a purple polo shirt and khakis. Jeremy blinked, then his fist balled. It was the Suited Man!

The man had changed very little since the day Jeremy had spied on him from the remnants of Helter Skelter. The Suited Man was walking toward him, profaning the ground with every step of his wingtips. Jeremy sucked air through his teeth.
I should punch him. Maybe then the Suit would understand!
But what good would that do? Jeremy let his breath out, relaxing his hands. This battle was over, and the Suit had won. Hitting the old man now wouldn't change that.

“Hello,” the Suit said, “I'm Walter Schneider.” He held out his hand.

Jeremy hesitated, still deciding, then took the hand. “Jeremy Trahan.” There was no glint of recognition in Schneider's dark eyes. The handshake was firm, business-like. Schneider's hands were silky-smooth, as though the hardest thing he'd done in the war for Twin Hills was pick up a pen to sign the checks.

“Do you live around here?”

“I used to. My parents' place is over there on Vermont Street, but I'm in Austin now, at school.”

“Ah, U.T.?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, son, you see, I am building these houses.” Schneider pointed at the homes. “And somebody is vandalizing my building materials. Spray painting my bricks, turning over the porta-potties, tearing up my gypsum. Really stupid stuff like that.”

Deep inside Jeremy, a ten-year-old boy danced with rekindled hope.
Who on Earth would still be fighting?
Outside, the young man suppressed the smile, changing it into his very best frown of compassionate concern. “Really?”

“Yes, and I was wondering if you might have any information about who might be doing it?”

Jeremy paused, fighting to keep from laughing.
Who would still be fighting?
It had to be Sy; he was only a sophomore in high school. Just then, a shadow flitted between two stacks of bricks behind Schneider, near one of the half-constructed houses. Jeremy blinked, uncertain he'd seen it.

“What is it?” Schneider turned, squinting.

“Nothing,” said Jeremy. An uneasy tingling spread across the old scars on his back.
It couldn't be.
“It was just a bird,” Jeremy continued.

Schneider turned to face Jeremy, crossed his arms, and leaned closer. “I'll make it worth your while.”

Jeremy held his hands up, taking a step backward. “No, I'm… I'm sorry. I'm afraid I really can't help you. I've been away at college almost a year now, and all my friends are at school, too. I don't know anyone here anymore.”

Schneider stared at him, as though weighing that statement. “Here's my card. If you think of anything, or if you hear anything, you give me a call. And remember, I'll make it worth your while.”

Jeremy took the card, which was printed on heavy, cream-colored cardstock with gilded edges and embossed type. He glanced at the name:

Walter P. Schneider

Owner

Twin Hills Development

Schneider walked back to his Mercedes and drove away. Jeremy affixed his eyes on the stack of bricks, bound together with a metal ribbon. He crossed the street, and in the mud next to the bricks was a single, round footprint.
How is that possible?
As if in answer, the old scars on his back burned in a way they hadn't in years. A cold wind blew across the grass, coming from the last piece of Helter Skelter that had never been cut down. Jeremy walked toward that dark line of thicket. He climbed the barbed wire fence that Schneider had erected around it and dropped inside its dark, cloistered heart.

Jeremy rolled his shoulders, trying to find some relief from the burning pain as he followed the beckoning call—so like the one he remembered from when he was a kid. A few more steps through the tangled underbrush and he was standing at the edge of a small clearing where a young oak sapling was growing. The tree was about sixteen feet tall, its trunk about a half-foot in diameter. It had already shed most of its leaves in preparation for autumn, but a few dry leaves and acorn clusters still clung tenaciously to the slender, twisting branches. As he stared at the tree, Jeremy's mouth dropped open.
This is the tree I planted—the tree from the acorn!

Another feverish gust of cold, sweet wind swept through the clearing, roaring around the tree in a circle. Jeremy flinched, then ducked as something dropped and bounced off the trunk of the tree, rolling across the ground towards his shoe. It was a new, fist-sized acorn. Slowly, Jeremy looked up at the tree, following the path the acorn had traced.

“So, you
didn't
die,” he said out loud to the silent, ethereal presence he sensed before him. His breath smoked in the frosty air of the clearing, but no answer came.

As Jeremy reached down to pick up the acorn, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. His scars burned and his breath caught in his throat as a familiar Irish voice spoke behind him.

“You must stand up for what is right, laddie—especially when no one else will.”

Jeremy whirled around, but he could see no one else in the grove. A single tear pooled at the corner of his eye; how he had longed to hear that voice again, for so many years! He stared at the acorn in one hand, and Schneider's business card in the other.

“I will!” said Jeremy.

He was going to study environmental law; he'd find some way to pay for it. And he knew exactly where to plant
this
acorn; there was an endangered park in Austin that he and a few other students were trying to save from development. But first, he needed to find out just what Windmere Development had done with that tar pit.

This was only the beginning.

The End

Acknowledgements

This novel has been a rich and incredible adventure. I owe a debt of thanks to many I've met along the way, and I only have space to catch a few of you here. First, to those who plowed through revision after revision: Aaron Capps, Mina Mauldin, Christina Johnson-Sullivan, Mom, Dad, Allison Maglothin, Bob Finch, Jayden Gonzales, and Rose Snyder.

In the midst of any grand journey is a darkness shrouded in doubt, and these incredible writers are friends and mentors that kept me on the path: Gabrielle Faust, Jen Mahon, Mary Hershey, Heidi Kling, and the entire Taxicab Crew: RaeLynn Fry, Dave DiGrazie, and Beth Albright.

And lastly, this book would not be what it is today without two excellent editors: Gabrielle Harbowy and Miranda Rabuck.

I am grateful to all of you. Thank you so very much.

Clint Talbert

Clint Talbert Biography

CLINT TALBERT started writing at a very young age, after reading all the King Arthur stories he could find in his backwoods Texas library. He figured the world needed more Camelot, but fortunately, his next door neighbor loaned him Tolkien, which really got him going. Talbert has now completed four novels and several short stories.
The Last Stand of Daronwy
is his first published novel. Clint lives on the ocean in California with a very cute Boxer puppy. You can follow his progress at his website, www.clinttalbert.com. You can also find him on Twitter and Facebook.

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