Author's Note: This is the second story in my Zorro trilogy. If you read The Ballad of El Halcón first (and I strongly recommend you do), there may not be many HUGE surprises in this one, since they will cover roughly the same events and time period, but hopefully this will still be entertaining and satisfying.

PLEASE NOTE this is NOT the "Journal of Diego de la Vega" mentioned (twice) in the other story. That would have been a secret daily journal Diego wrote about his adventures as Zorro, which predate the events herein. In fact, that journal would have been the basis for the TV series we all love. I am not going to attempt to redo any of it.

I will, however, be referencing at least a couple of episodes, in particular An Affair to Remember, but will hopefully be descriptive enough that it won't matter if you don't remember them.

This is an interesting exercise, writing (many of) the same scenes from the perspectives of two very different characters (and Felipe's ostensibly writing his memories several decades later). Do not expect them to match up exactly!

Disclaimer: I have no idea who (if anyone) owns these characters now; I sure as heck don't.

PROLOGUE

Diego lurched raggedly in and out of consciousness, his head spinning in time to waves of nausea and agony, laying on his stomach on his thin bedroll in the tiny two-man tent he shared with his partner Jaime Mendoza. His back was a single mass of fire, the skin having been ripped open and torn away in dozens of places by Corporal Pedrona's heavy bullwhip. They'd only given him twenty-five lashes, but the Corporal, grinning evilly at this chance to take down his despised targets, had made certain it was laid on hard.

Diego was aware at times of Jaime weeping softly as he sat slumping on his own bedroll beside him, keeping watch over his friend and carefully tending the wounds with clean rags and plain water. Everyone else in the camp stayed far away. Around noon, Jaime had pulled out a couple of pieces of army hardtack, but hadn't tried very hard to get Diego to eat any, knowing from his own long history in the army that it was futile. He'd tucked a piece into Diego's hand and left it for him to gnaw on eventually when he could, while he nibbled slowly and half-heartedly on his own. He'd also come up with some evil-smelling salve at one point and smeared it across Diego's back, nearly making him scream again before he passed out once more. Diego didn't object, though; he knew his friend was only trying to help, and the salve was supposed to stop the bleeding and help those horrific cuts heal.

During his rare lucid moments, one thought kept returning: How could it have come to this? Only a short time before, he'd been on top of the world: riding high as the masked avenger known as Zorro on his magnificent stallion, Toronado. Playing tricks and making his opponents, including various government officials and the successive venal (and stupid) alcaldes of the pueblo of Los Angeles, look even dumber than they were. In love with, and loved by, the most beautiful and bravest woman in the world. He had even won her hand in the end.

Now here he was: broken, beaten, lashed. A shell of a man. A shadow. Someone to be laughed at and pitied, not admired or feared. All his fancy, high-minded principles lay shattered in the dust, abandoned along the long, lonely trail which had led to him lying in this tent with his back in shreds.

How?

PART ONE: CALIFORNIA DAWN

ONE

There had been no omens warning Diego that this day would change his life forever. No portents, no auguries, not even a funny feeling in his gut – and he did get those from time to time; Zorro always knew precisely when to make his exit. But today... nothing.

He and Felipe had been out most of the night before, liberating a handful of innocent native men of the local Indio tribe from the clutches of a press gang come to collect "recruits" for the Army of New Spain. The idea infuriated Diego; he considered the gang the same as slavers, condemning their uncomprehending captives to near-certain death fighting against the nascent Mexican rebellion. Zorro had been careful to wreak a bit of havoc in the gang's camp, both to slow down any pursuit to let the natives get clean away, and to hopefully discourage the press gang from returning to California. He'd made a careful mental note of the leader's face and name when he saw them in the pueblo earlier in the day.

The two of them made it back to the secret tunnel under the hacienda about an hour before dawn, Felipe perched on Toronado's rump behind Diego – he had located the camp and captives himself earlier, streaking back to tell Diego, and so went along as a guide, also serving to help the men escape into the brush. Diego sent the boy off to bed to get what sleep he could, taking care of Toronado himself before collapsing into his own sheets.

He was deeply asleep a few hours later when he was awoken by Don Alejandro shaking his shoulder. "What are you doing still in bed?" his father asked gruffly. "You missed breakfast, lazy oaf!"

Diego brought himself upright, rubbing his eyes and trying to ignore the knife in his heart at his father's words. "Sorry," he mumbled, then motioned towards the book on the bedside table, a thick volume of history. "I was up late last night, reading."

"Well get up," Don Alejandro replied sharply. "You'll have to get something to eat at the cantina later. We need to see the Alcalde, and Rojas, and get that beef contract signed for the next year." The army garrison in the pueblo might not have been their largest customer, but losing it would still hurt – and there were many other ranchos in the area who would be happy to pick up the slack.

As the older man turned away, Diego told himself it was anxiety over the contract and the necessity of dealing with Alcalde de Soto that made his father so impatient, not disappointment at his son's "unmanly" behavior. Not that he believed it, but if he didn't keep up the pretense, he'd lose what little control over himself he had left. He stood and dressed quickly, then peeked in at Felipe still sound asleep – fully dressed under his blanket but for his boots – deciding instantly to let the boy be. He managed to put off Don Alejandro with some nonsense about Felipe having other duties that morning, and off they went on horseback.

It wasn't until a couple of hours later, after the Alcalde (after brushing off the complaints from the leader of the press gang) and Rojas, the garrison cook and supply officer, had finally signed the prized contract for a fat steer each week, and father and son were relaxing in the cantina with coffee and rolls, laughing over something with Victoria, that the earth went crazy. A massive jolt hit the building without warning, nearly knocking Victoria off her feet and into Diego's lap. She grabbed the table with a shriek and managed to keep upright as the tremendous shaking went on, causing bottles of wine and whiskey to fall off the shelves behind the bar.

"What the – " Don Alejandro cried, before Diego cut him off sharply with one word: "Earthquake!" Without thinking, Diego bolted out of his chair as it fell over behind him, tucked Victoria protectively close to his side with one arm, grabbed his father's elbow with the other hand, and pulled them both out the door into the plaza and away from the building, followed by the several other cantina patrons. There they staggered and clutched each other to stay on their feet as the aftershocks rolled through, one after another. They seemed to subside after a couple of minutes, and Victoria started to run back inside, but Diego grabbed her shoulders to stop her again. "Wait! There's always one final big rolling wave!"

He was right. After a few quiet minutes, looking around nervously, a single massive wave visibly rolled through the ground from one side of town to the other, setting the bells in the church steeple clanging.

"How did you know about that?" Don Alejandro asked breathlessly.

Diego shot him a level look. "I read about earthquakes," he replied shortly, managing not to snarl.

"Did everyone make it out?" Victoria called over to the men closest to the cantina, and they nodded.

"We were the last."

"That's it," she muttered, loud enough for the de la Vegas to hear. "I'm punching a door in the back wall."

"I thought you had a back door," Diego said, puzzled.

She glanced briefly at him, rattled and furious about it. "Through the kitchen, yes. But it's hard to reach, and people could get trapped by the oven." Taking a deep breath, she put her hands on her hips, asking with exaggerated courtesy, just this side of open sarcasm, "May I go back inside now, Don Diego?"

"Wait a moment," he replied, brushing past her. "Let me make sure it's safe first."

"You're a building inspector now?" Don Alejandro called after him, then rolled his eyes before following his son inside the cantina. Together they looked around quickly, pushing on walls and stomping on floors and stairs, and checking the fire was still safely inside an uncracked oven; finding no trouble spots they nodded to each other and allowed the upset owner back inside.

"Nothing but some broken bottles," Diego told her. "It could have been much worse. Be careful, there could be more tremors – what they call aftershocks – for a few hours, but they shouldn't be as bad as the first." He started to turn away, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm – then, shockingly, used both hands to pull his head down, and quickly kissed his cheek.

"Thank you, Don Diego," she said sincerely, all sarcasm gone. "For saving my life." Didn't she know he'd do anything for that smile?

Blushing, he managed to stammer out, "It was nothing, Señorita." He fumbled, and came up with a flimsy, "You were between me and the door. Easier to bring you along than leave you there," and she laughed and turned away to find a broom. He watched her go, his heart in his eyes, then turned the other way back out into the sunshine.

He made to start over to the church to inspect it, but Don Alejandro stopped him. "Diego! Leave it! We need to get back to the hacienda and make sure everything – everyone – is all right there!"

Felipe. Worry for the mute teenager suddenly flared in Diego's mind. Sure, the earthquake hadn't seemed to leave any major damage in the pueblo, but what about their house? He ran to his horse and nearly jumped into the saddle, only barely managing to remember to stay in character and let his father take the lead down the road at a run.

Fifteen minutes later, they found their two women servants, Maria Luisa the cook, and Belinda the housemaid – their only indoor staff – clutching each other in fear in the courtyard in the front of the hacienda, too afraid to go back inside. They had been out back doing laundry together when the earthquake struck, and had crept around to the front to await the de la Vegas' return. No, they had not seen Felipe. Diego ran up the steps and through the front door on his father's heels.

The house, miraculously, seemed entirely undamaged. A few books and knickknacks had come off shelves, and some furniture had "walked" a few inches across the floor, but that was it. But there was no trace of Felipe. His room was empty, his bed unmade – a sight that made Diego stop and stare. Ever since he had been taught how, Felipe had conscientiously – and fastidiously – made his bed wrinkle-free the moment he got out of it, every morning.

Meeting back in the front hall, Diego and Don Alejandro stared at each other for a moment, each shaking their heads, No Felipe. Then, "You check out back. I'll check the barns," his father directed before he went down the front steps again. Diego watched him out of earshot, then turned, not to the back door, but into the parlor. He jabbed at the loose brick that worked the entrance to the secret tunnel and dashed through the door in the huge fireplace as soon as it opened and down the stairs, skidding to a halt on the stone floor below.

Sunlight streaming in through the hidden holes in the cavern roof played across empty space. No one was there – not even Zorro's horse, the black Andalusian stallion Toronado, was in his wooden stall across the stone-lined, vaulted cavern. "Felipe?" he called anyway, listening to the echoes – no other sounds.

Then he noticed that the door of Toronado's stall was in pieces – kicked out by the horse, from the looks of it. He looked around carefully, taking an inventory. The saddle and blanket were still there, hanging over the side of the stall, but the horse's bridle was gone. All of Zorro's black clothes, the cape and the mask, were hanging by the mirror – and so was his silver sword. Nothing else was missing.

Toronado must have kicked the stall down in fear at the earthquake, he realized, and Felipe must have gone after him with the bridle. He must have. He'll come back soon – or I'll go out and find him.

Lighting a lantern, Diego took it down the long tunnel to check the ground outside the hidden entrance – the tunnel floor itself was all stone and would show nothing. Outside were many prints, coming and going – but it looked like the top sets – the most recent – were Toronado's horseshoes and Felipe's boots, both heading away at the run. He was right. Not that it made him feel much better. Scanning the horizon, he saw no sign of horse or boy.

He scrambled through the brush and out of the little arroyo that hid the tunnel entrance, then walked to the back door of the hacienda, going in as though he had been following Don Alejandro's instructions. His father met him in the hall again.

"Nothing," Don Alejandro told him, and Diego shook his head, same. "But some horses got out of their stalls and ran off," his father continued, "and Miguel is gone. Perhaps they both went after the horses." Miguel was their old stable hand.

"Then we should go look, too," Diego said firmly. After a moment, Don Alejandro nodded.

Four horses had escaped the barn. Diego noticed, but didn't point out, that Felipe's usual mount, a small black-and-white paint gelding, was still in his stall. Don Alejandro followed the small herd's tracks out and towards the east, opposite from the road to the pueblo, but Diego managed to convince him they should split up, just in case. He rode back to the arroyo and tried to pick up the tracks there, but they petered out quickly. No surprise – he had been using that rocky ground a quarter mile from the hacienda, where the arroyo ended, for five years to mask Zorro's comings and goings. Diego kept trying, using all his considerable tracking skills around the perimeter of the rocky apron, but found nothing. He wondered briefly if the earthquake itself had somehow shaken the tracks out of the dirt. He kept riding, spiraling outward, eventually bumping the spiral out to surround the hacienda, but still came up empty.

Hours later, nearing evening with the sunlight giving out, he finally gave up and returned home. Don Alejandro was waiting in the parlor, worried and exasperated. "Where have you been? I thought I was going to have to start a search for you! I found Miguel bringing the horses back in half an hour! Did you find Felipe?"

"He's not back?" Diego had half convinced himself the boy had somehow evaded him and returned with the horse, but Don Alejandro shook his head sharply.

"What happened to him? Where did he go?"

"I don't know, Father. I don't know." Sick with exhaustion and distress, Diego walked slowly over to the window and leaned against it, a hand on each side of the wooden frame, staring out into the gathering gloom.

Where are you, Felipe?

Behind him, Don Alejandro let out a long, exasperated breath. "He must have run away again."

Diego twisted around to peer at his father. "Why do you say that? He wouldn't run away."

"Oh, and you know that, do you? You know what goes on in that head of his? I don't – and I don't think you do either."

"What do you mean?"

Don Alejandro shook his head. "He cannot speak. He knows – a few hand signs. He never says what he's thinking. Oh, I know, he's always smiling, always willing to help. But..."

"But?" Diego asked sharply, more and more aggravated.

"But many, many times, I have come across him before he knew I was there, and seen such a look of..." He struggled a moment for the words. "Of such black fury on his face. The moment he sees me, he wipes it off and smiles, and when I ask what's wrong, he signs, nothing. You have seen it, too." It was a statement, not a question, but Diego reluctantly nodded. He had seen that look on Felipe's face, and gotten the same reaction. "So can you honestly tell me you know for certain what goes on inside his head?"

Caught, Diego had to shake his head, slowly. "No." But then he fought back. "But I don't know what goes on inside your head all the time, either. And I can't believe Felipe would run away."

"And how can you say that?" His father was dismissive, unbelieving.

Diego flared. "Because he's my son. He has been, since the day I found him on that battlefield and brought him home."

"Your son? I'm the one who was adopting him."

"Because you insisted on it for some reason, after I told you I was going to adopt him! I let you have it because I was tired of arguing with you! Besides, the most important thing was that he become a member of the family – it didn't matter exactly how."

"Yes, I insisted on it, because I'm a better father than you! I certainly have more experience, anyway!" And look how that turned out hung in the air unspoken.

Stung to the quick, Diego clenched his jaw and looked away, staring at the window again. It was all he could do not to punch something.

Don Alejandro knew he'd gone too far. "I'm sorry, Diego," he managed to apologize after a moment's heavy breathing. "I shouldn't have said that." He shrugged with a heavy sigh. "It's done now, anyway – the adoption."

Diego swung back. "Yes, it's done, because you never even wrote up the petition for the court. And now he's gone."

"He'll be back," his father started to reassure him.

"If he can," Diego said sharply. "What if he's hurt – or worse – caught in a rock slide from the earthquake? Lying somewhere with a broken leg?" The visions had been haunting him all day.

"We would have found him," Don Alejandro told him, showing certainty Diego wondered how he could feel. "Our rancheros searched the entire rancho today, looking for him, as well as damage from the earthquake." He waved a dismissive hand, then took a decisive breath. "They brought word that the quake centered northwest, towards the coast. That's where all the damage occurred. Tomorrow, you will take the men in that direction to survey the damage, and do what you can to help."

Diego was staring at him in shock. How could his father react like that? He shook his head finally. "No, I'm not. The men can go without me."

"And what are you going to do?" Don Alejandro was incredulous.

Fury flared within Diego's heart again. "I'm going to look for my son," he ground out. "I'll find him – I'll track him down."

"Oh, and you're a tracker now?" His father scoffed hard, and made to turn to walk down the hall away from his son.

And that's when Diego finally snapped.