The Gypsy Morph

THIRTEEN

THE VENTRA 5000 lurched ahead through the trees at breakneck speed, bouncing wildly over ruts and holes, hummocks and fallen branches, its broad frame shaking and groaning, its big engine whining in protest. Trees whizzed past the vehicle occupants in a blur of dark vertical shadows, and the rising sun burned through the canopy of the forest in fiery flashes. Kirisin was gripping the armrests in preparation for an inevitable collision with something, but Logan Tom seemed to know what he was doing, even when there was every reason to doubt it. His dark face was angry and set as he drove, his eyes fixed on the road, his hands moving over the control levers and wheel with quick, sure movements.

“First time in one of these?” he asked the boy.

He never looked over, never changed expression, never showed the slightest interest in Kirisin’s answer. He just asked the question and kept driving.

“Last time,” the boy answered finally.

He gave the Knight of the Word a quick glance. Logan Tom was stone–faced. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

They struck a deep hole that caused the AV to pitch forward, jump up sharply, grind as if metal was tearing loose, and then gain fresh purchase and rumble on. The straps securing Kirisin had been wrenched loose, and he tightened them at once. He risked a quick glance over his shoulder and found Praxia staring at him from out of the Elves clustered in the rear seats. The young woman’s face was pale, her lips set in a tight line, her hands clenched in fists. But she gave him a wry smile.

“Scared, Little K?” she asked.

He shook his head and looked away again. He didn’t like Praxia, mostly because Sim didn’t like her, and he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of hearing him admit to something like that. Even if it meant lying. Besides, she looked more scared than he did. They all did. None of them had ridden in one of these machines before. Probably none of them ever would again.

Kirisin hunkered down in his seat, riding out both the rough passage and his growing fears. He wanted to look out at the forest to see if he could detect any pursuit, but he was afraid doing so would make him sick. Already his stomach felt more than a little queasy. He settled for keeping his eyes fixed on the rutted road they were careening down, willing the AV to stay centered and not go crashing off into the forest and overturning. Let Logan Tom worry about any pursuit.

After a time the trees thinned, the road smoothed, and the wildness of the ride subsided. Soon after that, they turned onto a road with a smooth surface, one made by humans in better times, and they followed its winding stretch through the high desert heading north. The mountain peaks receded behind them, their jagged tips distant and stark in the midday sunlight. Kirisin glanced back and then away, thinking that like those peaks his Elven past was already a long way behind him.

He looked over at the Knight of the Word, studying his still–angry face, hard and intense and filled with hints of thoughts too dark to reveal. He looked more dangerous than ever, a man who might do anything.

Logan caught him looking and glanced over. “What is it?”

Kirisin shook his head. “Nothing.” He was silent for a moment, and then suddenly, impulsively, he said,

“You shouldn’t have left Sim behind.”

“I shouldn’t have, huh?”

“You could have said something to her. It looked to me like she was paying an awful lot of attention to you. Why didn’t you tell her she had to come with us?”

The dark gaze shifted away, fixing once more on the road. “Ask yourself this. Does she always do what you tell her to do?”

“No.”

“So what makes you think it would be any different with me?” He sounded really angry now. “I just met her yesterday. I’m not the one who could change her mind, even if I wanted to. Anyway, she’s not my responsibility. You are.”

Kirisin felt a sudden surge of anger. “It probably helps that you’re a Knight of the Word and don’t have to answer to anyone for your decisions!” he snapped.

Logan Tom glared at him. “Is that what you think? That I don’t have to answer to anyone? You don’t know anything.”

“I know that you left my sister behind!” Kirisin was furious. “I know that there wasn’t any good reason she couldn’t have come with us! I know I didn’t see you try to change her mind! You just left her!”

They sat in silence after that, the AV bouncing and sliding along the weather–damaged road, the sounds of their passage cocooning them away with their anger. Kirisin was furious, but he was also afraid. He knew next to nothing about Logan Tom, and now he was in the Knight of the Word’s care. He might have been smarter to keep his thoughts to himself. But he could hardly stand it that they had abandoned Sim.

“She insisted on staying,” Logan Tom said suddenly, his voice unexpectedly calm. “We talked about it last night. I asked her to come. I told her you needed her. But she refused. She said you would be all right with me. She said she was the only one who would know how to guide those Elves who stayed outside the Loden to where they need to go. She refused to leave them on their own.”

Kirisin was quiet for a moment, his own anger dissipating. “That sounds like Sim.”

“You would know.”

“I still think you should have insisted she come.”

Logan Tom gave him a look. “Would that have worked?”

Kirisin hesitated. “Maybe.” Then he sighed. “All right, no. Probably not.”

“Then stop talking about it. It’s over and done. She made her choice, even if it was the wrong one. She stayed behind and she has to catch up on her own. Maybe she can do it, I don’t know. She seems to think she can.”

All at once Kirisin realized that Logan Tom was afraid for Simralin. For reasons that the boy could scarcely fathom, the Knight of the Word cared a whole lot about what happened to her. Why that should be was hard to figure out. He supposed it had something to do with Sim’s effect on men, the same thing he had thought earlier when he watched them standing together before he used the Loden. But his reaction this time seemed so intense, so much stronger than it should have been.

They were silent again as the AV rolled on, the road noise from the big tires a steady rumble. Kirisin squirmed in his seat, glanced over his shoulder. Those sitting in the back of the AV couldn’t have heard what he and Logan Tom were saying even if they had wanted to. Still, talking about Simralin like this made him decidedly uncomfortable.

“How do you feel?” Logan Tom asked suddenly.

He was so surprised by the question that for a moment he didn’t answer.

“After what happened,” the other said. “After using that … what do you call it, a Loden?”

Kirisin almost didn’t answer the question, unsure of the other’s motives in asking it. But then he decided that not answering was pointless. “I don’t know. It happened so fast.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’ll know better later. Right now, I just feel relieved that it worked.”

“Did you know you could do that? Your sister didn’t seem to think so.”

He didn’t like hearing that: that Sim had talked about him with Logan Tom. But he let it pass. “She was right,” he admitted. “I didn’t. I didn’t know what would happen. I’d never used the Loden before. No one had.”

“What if you hadn’t been able to summon the magic? What would you have done then?”

Kirisin looked at him. “What would you do if you couldn’t make your magic work?”

That produced a tight smile. “Die, probably. It’s what keeps me alive. Same with you, I gather. So Simralin says.” He paused. “I was just wondering if using magic feels the same to you as it does to me. Call it professional curiosity. I think it must. I think magic works the same, no matter if it’s a human or an Elf using it.”

“I suppose.”

Kirisin leaned back in his seat. He was wondering how much Sim had told Logan Tom about what had happened to them on Syrring Rise. A lot, it seemed. For some reason, that made him uncomfortable. Why would she tell him so much? She barely knew him.

He was aware suddenly that the other was looking at him. He shrugged. “Using the magic makes me feel like something is coming alive inside me, something that generates heat and light, but something else, too. It’s hard to explain. It consumed me when it surfaced. It filled me up.” He shook his head at the memory, then added softly. “It took me over.”

The Knight of the Word nodded. “It’s the same with me. Tell me some more.”

To his surprise, Kirisin did, happy all at once to be talking about it, to be sharing what he knew. Logan Tom already knew so much that telling him this probably didn’t matter. Besides, he hadn’t talked about it with anyone else who understood magic, and while he would not have believed earlier that he would ever talk about it so freely, he found it easy to do so. That they shared a common experience and responsibility where magic was concerned certainly helped. Angel had never wanted to talk about herself, only about him. For all his brooding and intensity, Logan Tom seemed less constrained.

They were in the middle of exchanging thoughts on the matter when the Ventra’s engine suddenly died and the AV slowed to a stop.

“What’s happened?” Praxia wanted to know at once, leaning forward from the backseat.

Logan shook his head, released his seat belt, and climbed out of the cab. He moved to the front of the AV, opened a metal covering, and leaned in for a look at the engine. Kirisin got out, as well, and walked around to stand next to him. Logan was peering at a cluster of tiny dials protected by thick pieces of round glass recessed into narrow metal cylinders.

“The connectors have failed,” he said quietly. “The solar cells are dead. There’s no power.” He walked to the rear of the vehicle, with Kirisin following, and opened a storage compartment where several more of the cylinders were resting in slots obviously constructed to hold them. “These, too. All dead.”

He straightened and looked at the boy. “I’ll have to find out what’s gone wrong or we’ll have to walk. A long way. Back to where you traveled before, the Columbia River, what you call Redonnelin Deep.” He glanced back the way they had come. “Too risky. They’ll be coming. Skrails. Perhaps some others.”

His dark face studied the horizon for a moment longer; then he ordered everyone out of the AV and began pulling open metal plates covering machine compartments and nests of wire. Kirisin watched him for a time, and then he walked over and sat down on a log by the roadside. Maybe he should have asked about skrails. But maybe he was better off if he didn’t.

Seconds later Praxia appeared and sat down beside him. She didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared off into the distance, her dark features expressionless. Finally she looked over. “Why do you think the Ellcrys chose you?”

Kirisin shook his head, not looking at her. “I really don’t know. I guess because I was there.”

“So were the others. She didn’t choose one of them.”

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to tell her about Erisha. That was private, not something she needed to know. “I can’t explain.” “You must have been surprised when it happened.” She was still looking at him, her eyes locked on his face. “What did you think? Did you think you were losing your mind?”

“No, I didn’t think that.”

“What did you think, then?”

“Why do you want to know, Praxia?” He looked at her now, growing suddenly irritated. “Why should I tell you?”

She didn’t answer for a moment. Then she said, “I wish it could have been me. I wish she would have asked me. I know she wouldn’t; I’m not even a Chosen. But I wish it anyway.”

He stared at her in surprise. “Why?”

“Because what you did back there, that was the most wonderful thing I have ever seen. That was … I don’t have the words for it. How the magic came to life. How it gathered in our city and all our people, scooped them up like toys and drew them inside. Like a mother with an unborn baby, keeping it safe and alive inside her body.” She shook her head, her eyes filled with wonder. “I wish I could have done that. I would give anything.”

The way she said it made him look at her with new eyes. She wasn’t teasing or making fun. She meant what she was saying. Even if he didn’t like her all that well, her words moved him.

“I know this might seem like an odd thing to say,” she continued, looking away now, “but even though your sister and I don’t always see things the same way, I’ve always admired her. She’s what everyone says she is. The best at what we do as Trackers.”

Kirisin cocked an eyebrow. “You should tell her.”

Praxia grimaced. “I don’t think so. I’d rather just tell you. That’s difficult enough. You tell her, if you want.” She bit her lip. “Can I ask a favor? Can I see the Elfstone for a moment? Just take a quick look at it?”

Kirisin was instantly wary. But he tamped down his immediate response and nodded. He had placed the Loden in a small pouch that hung about his neck on a cord. He reached down his neck, found the pouch, and brought the Elfstone out into the light. Praxia didn’t try to take it from him. Instead, she leaned forward to peer at it, her brow furrowing in concentration.

“Kirisin,” she whispered. “I can see movement inside. I can see a little of the city and the Elves!” Her voice was filled with excitement. “I can see them, right there, inside!”

“I could see it, too,” he said. “After the magic drew everything in, I looked. I could see movement, too.”

He gave her another few moments, then put the Loden away. Praxia smiled. “Thanks for letting me see.

It makes what we’re doing real. It makes it have meaning. Saving our city and our people.” She paused. “You’re very lucky.”

“Is that what I am?”

She nodded. “I know you must be scared. I would be. I know you must have all kinds of doubts about what you are doing. But I meant it. I wish it were me. No matter what that means. I wish it were me. I would die for that to happen.”

Her words were so intense that for a moment Kirisin just stared at her, unable to say anything.

She brushed stray strands of her dark hair from her eyes. “I would, Kirisin. I would.”

The afternoon wore on, the sun passing west toward the mountains and finally dipping below the jagged peaks. Twilight settled in, a slow fading of the light toward darkness, a gradual emergence of stars and moon, a cooling of the air. Even though the landscape was stark and barren and seemingly empty of life, the gathering darkness softened and smoothed the rougher edges. Kirisin sat with Praxia and the other Elves and watched it slowly disappear into blackness.

All the while, Logan Tom continued to work on the Ventra 5000, tinkering with its parts, laboring over the solar collectors that powered its engine.

He was still working on it when Kirisin, who had stretched out on the ground close by to watch him, fell asleep.

His SLEEP was deep and untroubled, a blanket of silence and darkness wrapped tightly about him. He was unaware of time’s passage, of anything having to do with the waking world.

Kirisin.

His mother was calling his name.

Kirisin.

Her face appeared from out of the darkness, familiar and welcoming, and he smiled with joy. “Kirisin!”

His eyes snapped open. Praxia was bending over him, her small, wiry frame taut, her face dark with misgiving and fear. She put a hand over his mouth when he tried to speak, silencing his effort.

She bent so close he could feel her breath in his ear. “Get up. No talking. Walk over to the transport and get inside. The skrails have found us.”

He flinched at her words, even without knowing yet what skrails were. She released her hand and straightened, turning away from him and staring off into the darkness. Looking past her, he could see Logan Tom still working on the Ventra, hunched over the open hood, hands buried somewhere in the engine workings. His black staff rested against one fender, its runes glowing as if they were on fire. The other Elves were spread out in a loose circle, weapons drawn, dark shadows in the pale glow of the starlight.

He listened for a moment. He could hear nothing.

He climbed to his feet carefully, making no noise at all. Praxia was standing right next to him, a long knife in each hand, crouched and ready.

“How long was I asleep?” he whispered.

She shook her head. “Not long. Get inside the transport.”

From somewhere off in the distance, back the way they had come, a series of high–pitched screeching sounds broke the silence. It reminded Kirisin of the cries of hunting birds, large and fierce predators, and it sent a chill up his spine.

“Go!” Praxia hissed at him, gesturing urgently with her long knife.

He had only moved a couple of steps when he was struck from behind, a hard blow to his head and shoulders that sent him sprawling. Fire lanced across his back where claws had raked through his clothing to tear into the skin, and he could feel the blood running freely from his wounds. As he struggled to his feet, he saw dark forms swooping down out of the night, a gathering of shadows that completely surrounded the Elves and the Knight of the Word. Sharp, piercing cries filled the night, mingling with shouts and cries of warning.

“Kirisin! Run!”

Praxia dodged and weaved as the night fliers came at her–one, two, three of them, claws ripping at her head. But she was small and quick, and they missed their target, catching only air. Her knives flicked out at them as they passed, and two shrieked in pain and anger, one rising only momentarily before falling back, wings beating uselessly. Kirisin saw it clearly as it landed, a human–shaped form with leathery wings and a reptilian spine and tail.

Human once, he thought, scrambling away. Reptile now. Changed into something monstrous.

A flock of them had fallen on the two Elven Hunters and both had gone down, buried in a mass of beating wings and ripping claws. The boy heard them scream as their lives were torn out, their efforts at defending themselves too little, too late. Others were coming at Ruslan and Que’rue, but both had backed themselves against the AV and were using short swords and long knives to keep their attackers at bay. Three of the skrails died right in front of the boy, cut to pieces. Others escaped with deep cuts and slashes. Blood flew everywhere from the injuries, some of it spattering his face.

Logan Tom had turned away from his work to summon the magic of his black staff, had called it up and sent it arcing across the night sky. It illuminated the darkness and revealed dozens of skrails. The Knight of the Word spun the magic out across the flats, into the darkness, and more of the skrails, revealed in its blue blaze, were caught up in its sweep and incinerated. Shifting his stance, Logan Tom raked the skies overhead, and another knot of attackers was beaten back.

“Get into the AV!” he shouted at the Elves.

Kirisin was already trying to do just that, but the path was blocked by skrails and Trackers locked in combat. The battle was raging back and forth in front of the Ventra’s doors, and the boy could not find a way past.

Then Praxia was next to him, grabbing his arm, hauling him ahead, into the teeth of the fighting. She cut their way through, shouting at Que’rue and Ruslan to let them past. In desperation, she threw herself into the battle ahead of him, and the three Trackers fought to clear a path through the knot of skrails. From farther out on the flats, Logan Tom was struggling to keep others that were still in the sky from joining those on the ground, his magic flaring into the darkness in sharp bursts. But the skrails were coming at him from everywhere, recklessly flying into the magic’s fire, almost as if eager to sacrifice themselves.

Kirisin hesitated, uncertain which way to go.

“Get down!” he heard Logan Tom yell at him.

He dropped to one knee, searching wildly. Dark bodies surged toward him, flew at him. He hunched his shoulders and tried to think which way to go.

“Kirisin!” Praxia screamed.

An instant later four sets of talons locked onto his shoulders. He had been seized by not one but two of the skrails, huge creatures with reptilian faces that were beaked and horn–encrusted. Their leathery wings beat madly as they hoisted him aloft, and although he twisted and thrashed in their grip he could not break free. The ground fell away beneath him, and his companions began to diminish in size.

He experienced an overwhelming terror as he realized what was happening. He screamed for help, but it was already too late. Even if he were freed from the skrails, the fall would kill him. His companions were not going to be able to save him. Already he could barely see them. Only Praxia was giving chase, shouting up at him futilely.

A cold certainty flooded through him. He knew where he was being taken and the fate that awaited him when he got there. Demons would be waiting for him, and he would be made to use the Loden exactly as Culph had intended.

In desperation he yanked the pouch that contained the Loden Elfstone from within his shirt, broke it free from its cord, and cast it away. He watched it fall to earth. At least they wouldn’t get that, he thought.

But would his companions find it? Had they seen him drop it? Would they even know to look for it?

Then he was too high to see anything more, and he quit looking.