The funeral of Arthur Vance was the strangest event in the history of the Beastworld.
It took place on the edge of the Salt Flats, a neutral ground where the sand met the hard-packed earth of the wasteland. A pyre had been built—not of wood, which was precious, but of dried bramble and the wreckage of a smashed Hunter-Killer droid.
Elara stood before the fire, wearing a clean tunic (courtesy of the Griffins, who were surprisingly good at laundry once they stopped trying to eat the soap).
"He was a man of Earth," Elara addressed the gathered crowd.
The crowd consisted of 300 Lions, 200 Wolves, 100 Griffins, and about 50 confused Ferals who had wandered over to see what the noise was about.
"He liked classic cars," Elara continued. "He liked peace. And he hated that chair."
Kaelen stepped forward. He held a torch. "He fought the Iron Demon from the inside," the Lion Alpha rumbled. "He had no claws, but he had a strong spirit. The Lion honors him."
Roric stepped out of the shadows. He placed a small, carved wolf-totem on Arthur's chest. "He walked in the dark so others could see the sun. The Wolf honors him."
Zev fluttered down, looking solemn. He placed a shiny hubcap (scavenged from the ruins) on the pyre. "He knew the name of the Metal Beast 'Betsy.' The Griffin honors him."
Kaelen touched the torch to the bramble. The fire roared to life, consuming the body of the cyborg and the wreckage of his prison. The sparks drifted up into the twin-sun sky, joining the stars.
"Goodbye, Grandpa," Elara whispered. "Say hi to Betsy for me."
The Spoils of War
Three days later, the mood had shifted from mourning to the logistical nightmare of "What do we do with a sci-fi city?"
The Lost City—now renamed "Vance's Landing"—was a problem. It was filled with dangerous tech, comfortable chairs, and infinite amounts of copper wire.
Elara set up a temporary office in the lobby of the tower. She was currently arbitrating a dispute between a Lion Warrior and a Griffin Scout.
"He ate the magical light-stick!" the Griffin complained.
"It was crunchy!" the Lion defended himself.
"It was a fluorescent bulb, Steve!" Elara groaned, rubbing her temples. "Spit it out! It's toxic!"
She looked at her three Alphas, who were "guarding" her.
Kaelen was sitting in the executive swivel chair he had dragged down from the 20th floor. He was spinning in slow circles, looking delighted.
"This throne," Kaelen said, spinning past her. "It moves. It respects my need for rotation."
"It's an Aeron chair, Kaelen. It costs a thousand dollars."
"It is worth three cows," Kaelen declared.
Roric was inspecting a stapler with deep suspicion. "It bites the paper," he murmured, clicking it. Chk-chk. "It binds without knots. It is a metal snake."
Zev was wearing a necklace made entirely of CDs. They reflected rainbows everywhere. "I am the Lord of Reflections!" he preened.
"Okay, listen up," Elara slammed her hand on the desk. "We need a plan. We can't just loot the place. This technology... the solar panels, the water filtration, the medical bay... it can change everything. But if we fight over it, we'll destroy it."
"We do not fight," Kaelen said, stopping his spin. "We are the Union."
"The Union needs a treaty," Elara said. "A real one."
The Treaty of Vance's Landing
They held the summit in the cafeteria (which Kaelen insisted on calling the "Hall of Feasts," even though they were eating MREs and dried jerky).
Elara laid out the terms on a whiteboard she had found.
1. The Medical Bay is Neutral Ground. "Anyone—Lion, Wolf, Griffin, or Feral—can come here for healing. No fighting in the hospital. If you fight in the hospital, I will sedate you with the big needle."
2. The Water Filtration is Shared. "The clean water goes to the Oasis, the Forest, and the Aerie. We run a pipeline. Roric, your wolves are in charge of digging the trench. You guys love digging." Roric nodded. "We do enjoy the earth-work."
3. The Ferals are Citizens. This was the hardest sell. "They were mind-controlled," Elara argued. "Now they're just... people. Ugly, smelly people, but people. They need jobs. They can work the city. They can do the heavy lifting in exchange for food and protection." "They smell of sulfur," Zev wrinkled his beak. "And you smell like wet bird," Elara countered. "They stay."
4. The Technology Stays Here. "No taking laser guns home. No taking generators to the den. The tech stays in the city under my supervision. We are a University, not an Armory."
The Alphas looked at each other. They looked at the whiteboard.
"We agree," Kaelen said formally. "On one condition."
"What?" Elara asked.
"You," Roric said softly.
The Elephant (or Lion) in the Room
The room went quiet. The politics of the city were settled. The politics of the bedroom were not.
Elara blushed. She had been avoiding this.
She looked at Kaelen—the golden King who made her feel safe. She looked at Roric—the silent Guardian who understood her mind. She looked at Zev—the chaotic Storm who made her laugh.
"I can't choose," Elara admitted, her voice small. "I'm not... I'm not going to pick one and break the alliance. And I don't want to lose any of you."
Kaelen stood up from his swivel chair. He walked over to her, his massive presence filling the room.
"We do not ask you to choose, Weaver," Kaelen rumbled. "We are the Trinity. You bound us together. To separate us now would be to break the pack."
Roric stepped up beside him. "The Wolf shares the hunt. Why not the heart?"
Zev hopped onto the table. "And the Griffin shares the... well, Griffins usually don't share, but for you, I will make an exception. Plus, Kaelen is very warm in the winter."
Elara blinked. "So... you guys are okay with... sharing?"
"We have discussed it," Kaelen nodded solemnly. "It is a logistical challenge. But we are warlords. We understand logistics."
"I have drawn up a schedule," Roric produced a piece of paper.
Elara grabbed it. "You made a spreadsheet? Roric, did you make a spreadsheet on the back of a napkin?"
"Monday and Thursday are for the Lion," Roric recited. "He requires attention and ego-stroking."
"Hey!" Kaelen protested.
"Tuesday and Friday are for the Wolf," Roric continued. "Quiet reflection. And back scratches."
"Wednesday and Saturday are for the Storm!" Zev chirped. "Adventure! Flying! Chaos!"
"And Sunday?" Elara asked.
"Sunday is for the Pile," Kaelen said seriously. "We all sleep. It is the Day of Rest."
Elara looked at the three terrifying, beautiful, ridiculous men. She laughed. It was a happy, relieved sound.
"Okay," she said. "I sign the treaty."
Epilogue: Six Months Later
The suns beat down on the Vance Academy of Sciences (formerly the lobby of the office tower).
Elara stood in front of a chalkboard. Her audience was a mix of Lion cubs, Wolf pups, and a few Feral children who were chewing on their pencils.
"Okay, class," Elara said, tapping the board. "Who can tell me why we wash our hands before we eat?"
A Wolf pup raised a hand. "Because of the invisible demons?"
"Germs," Elara corrected. "But yes, invisible demons is close enough."
Outside the window, the world was changing.
A pipeline of bamboo and scavenged PVC pipe ran from the city toward the desert, carrying clean, filtered water. In the sky, Griffins were carrying baskets of supplies, coordinating via walkie-talkies (Zev had insisted everyone get a call-sign; his was "Thunder-God"). In the courtyard, Lions and Ferals were working together to clear the rubble, using leverage bars and pulleys Elara had designed.
The door to the classroom opened.
Kaelen walked in. He was wearing his loincloth, his royal cape, and—Elara sighed—a pair of neon aviator sunglasses he had found in a desk drawer.
"Weaver," Kaelen rumbled, looking over the rims of the glasses. "It is lunch. The hunt was successful."
"What did you catch?" Elara asked.
"A wild boar," Kaelen said. "And Roric found a box of 'Twinkies' in the basement. He says they are eternal cakes of the gods."
Roric slid into the room, holding the box of Twinkies like it was a holy relic. "They are spongy," he whispered in awe. "And they do not rot."
Zev flew in through the window, landing on Elara's desk, scattering the students' papers.
"I have news!" Zev squawked. "The radio! The big transmitter! It picked up a signal!"
Elara froze. The class went silent.
"A signal?" Elara asked. "From where? Earth?"
"No," Zev shook his head. "From the South. Beyond the ocean. Another city. Another voice."
Elara looked at her mates.
"Another city," Kaelen mused, adjusting his sunglasses. "Do they have swivel chairs?"
"Do they have Twinkies?" Roric asked.
Elara smiled. She looked at the map on the wall—a map that was slowly being filled in, edge by edge.
The mystery of how she got here, the particle accelerator, the time rift—maybe those were questions for another day. Or maybe, just maybe, there were other "Weavers" out there.
But for now?
"Class dismissed," Elara announced. "We have Twinkies to eat. And then... we have an expedition to plan."
Kaelen roared in approval. Roric howled. Zev screeched.
Elara Vance, the Weaver of Aetheria, grabbed her backpack, took the Lion's hand, and walked out into the sunlight of her strange, beautiful, hilarious new world.